In a flash she had passed the two other horses and her dainty hoofs were flinging the soft dirt of the road in their faces. It was more a country lane than a village street, with scattered houses tree-embowered, and just back of Auguste Chouteau's place, which I recognized from the rear, was a church, and behind it the crosses of many graves, and beside it a priest's house with two black-robed priests taking a noonday siesta in comfortable chairs on the shady, vine-covered gallery. They awoke with a start as Fatima thundered by, and the two other horses, now well in the rear, pounded after, and I doubt not they thought it was the beginning of another 1780 affair, so frightened did they look.
It did not take Fatima long to cover that mile and a half, and when I saw that we were approaching the stockade at the end of the road, with only one house between (which, like the Chouteaus', was set in a great yard inclosed with high stone walls), I drew rein under a wide-spreading oak and waited for the others. And as I waited I began once more to wonder what kind of creature Dr. Saugrain's ward could be: the acknowledged belle of St. Louis and now in some extreme danger from a white villain and a rascally Indian, for so I had easily understood Black Hawk's figurative language—the White Wolf and the Red Dog.
I could hear the soft thrumming of a guitar, and a low voice crooning songs, of which I could now and then catch a word of the creole French. I did not doubt it was the doctor's ward who thus beguiled thehours with melody, and I grew vastly impatient to meet the loveliest lady in St. Louis and the sweetest of singers, if I could judge from the snatches of song that floated to my ears.
In a minute more the doctor himself rode up, shouting lustily before he reached the gate, "Narcisse, Narcisse!" which put a sudden end to the music. As a black boy ran out in answer to his call, the doctor sprang as nimbly from his horse as I myself could have done, and flung the boy his reins with a sharp command to take care of the horses. He started swiftly for the house, but stopped suddenly and turned to Narcisse.
"Where are your mistress and mademoiselle?" he asked, in a tone so sharp and excited the boy was frightened and stammered as he answered:
"In the house, sir."
"You are sure?"
"Yes, sir; 'fore God, sir, they're in the living-room this minute."
"Thank God!" ejaculated the doctor, and then I saw, to my astonishment, that he was all white and trembling. He recovered himself in a moment and turned to us with the suavity of a genial host:
"Gentlemen, I fear that rascal Black Hawk has played us a scurvy trick; very likely for reasons of his own he wanted to get rid of me. He has given me a bad quarter of an hour, but otherwise he has only given me the pleasure of welcoming you a little earlier to Émigré's Retreat. Let us go find the ladies."
Before we had time to reply, round the corner ofthe house sauntered slowly a huge mastiff, and as I caught a glimpse of him my heart sank into my boots, and there seemed to rise into my throat a tumultuous beating that was nigh to choking me: not from fear of the dog, though the moment he caught sight of me he stopped, every muscle tense, the hair on his mane erect, his eyes red, glowing, vicious, while he uttered one deep angry growl after another.
It was not fear of the brute that set my pulses throbbing painfully: it was the truth that flashed upon me for the first time—Dr. Saugrain's ward was Mademoiselle Pelagie! At that moment through the open door came a clear whistle and the sweetest voice I had ever heard, calling in ringing tones of command:
"À moi, Leon!"
"A rosebud set with little wilful thorns"
It was too late to beat a retreat. I caught once more a merry twinkle in the little doctor's eyes as we followed the dog, who, obedient to his mistress's voice, had rushed before us into the house. I felt the red blood surging to the roots of my hair, and I knew when I stopped on the threshold beside my captain to make my grand bow that I looked more like an awkward country lout than the fine gentleman I was in the habit of considering myself.
I hardly dared raise my eyes, and yet I saw very distinctly that if Mademoiselle Pelagie in ball costume was bewitching, Mademoiselle Pelagie in simple morning dress was an angel. The room was a long, low one, cool and shady from the sheltering galleries outside, and with many windows, all open to catch the southern breezes that kept the dimity curtains bellying like white sails. On a low seat beside one of the open windows, looking out into cool depths of dusky green, sat Mademoiselle Pelagie. Her white dress, short of skirtand reaching hardly to the daintiest of ankles, was just low enough in the neck to show the round, white throat, and just short enough in the sleeve to leave uncovered below the elbow the beautifully molded arm. Across her shoulders was a broad blue ribbon that held the guitar to whose soft thrumming I had been listening, and one restraining hand was laid on Leon's head, who sat beside her, erect on his haunches, regarding me with angry suspicion.
She rose as we entered, and still holding her guitar with one arm, while the other hand lifted her skirt daintily, she made us the deepest and most graceful of curtsies. Then she lifted her dark eyes shyly to Captain Clarke and with a ravishing smile bade him welcome in broken English. To me she vouchsafed not even a glance. I stood by stiff as any martinet while she made soft speeches to the captain in her adorable baby-English, and the captain responded in his most gallant fashion.
I grew more rigid and more gauche every minute, and I know not what would have become of me if the doctor, who had left the room to look for his wife, had not come to my relief. He came in, bringing Madame Saugrain with him, and a sweet and simple little old lady she proved to be. Her cap was almost as flowery as Madame Chouteau's, but she was as warm and cordial in her manner as the other was stern and forbidding. She greeted my captain first, of course, but she was as cordial to me as to him, and in her motherly way she called me "My son," which, after my icy reception from another lady, went straight to myheart. I was grateful to her in spite of the fear I felt that it was my very youthful appearance had called forth the endearing term.
We were all comfortably seated, Captain Clarke chatting gaily with Mademoiselle Pelagie, I pointedly addressing all my conversation to Dr. Saugrain and madame, when Narcisse came in with a tray of cooling drinks—a mild and pleasant beverage made of raspberry conserves and lime-juice mixed with some spirits and plenty of cold spring water. I liked it well, and would have taken another glass, for I was thirsty and our ride had been a warm one, and Madame Saugrain urged it upon me, but as I was about to take it I heard a saucy voice saying:
"'Tis no wonder that you empty not your glass, Captain Clarke; 'tis a drink much more suited to maidens and to young boys than to men."
My glass was half extended, but I drew it back hastily, and then was angry with myself, for I heard a mocking laugh that I was sure was intended for me, and for the life of me I could not refrain from glancing quickly in mademoiselle's direction. Her eyes met mine with more of scorn in their dark depths than I could well stand. I gazed steadily into them for as much as half a second with all the defiance in my glance I knew how to convey, and then I turned again to Madame Saugrain:
"If you will permit me to change my mind, madame," I said, "I would like another glass of your delicious beverage."
And then, lifting it to my lips, I added:
"I drink to the ladies: they add fragrance and beauty to our lives, like the red berries; comfort and strength, like this good ratafia; sweetness, like the sugar; and if sometimes they also add bitterness and acid, like the limes, it is doubtless for our good."
The gentlemen both touched glasses with me as they drank to my toast, the little doctor preternaturally solemn, and my captain almost as grave, but for a wicked twinkle in his eye. I knew they thought my toast a boyish one, and doubtless understood its inspiration, while they struggled to preserve their gravity out of courtesy to me. Whether mademoiselle's eyes were more mocking than ever I did not know, for I looked not in her direction. But madame glowed with genuine pleasure and declared 'twas a pretty toast, and she thanked me for her share in it. Whereupon mademoiselle said in the gravest voice:
"I also, monsieur, thank you for my share in it, for I suppose the lime-juice is mine," and, to my amazement, when, as in duty bound, I glanced at her, since she spoke directly to me, I saw that her eyes were downcast, and the richest color had flamed into the warm white of her cheeks.
I know not what I might have said or done, so repentant was I at once for having caused her annoyance, had not a short, sharp exclamation from Dr. Saugrain startled us all:
"'Tis that skulking Osage again. What does he here, Narcisse?"
"He bring note, m'seh, for La Petite," answeredNarcisse, rolling his eyes at the unwonted sharpness in his master's tones.
Dr. Saugrain turned at once to mademoiselle.
"Pelagie," he said, "what does this mean? Who is sending you notes by Red Jean?"
Mademoiselle looked up half defiantly, half inclined not to reply to such peremptory questioning in the presence of strangers. But on second thought she answered quite submissively:
"It was the young Chevalier Le Moyne who is staying at Gabriel Cerré's."
"Now, I like not that," said the doctor, hastily; and then bethinking himself, he ordered Narcisse to take away the empty glasses and keep an eye on Red Jean.
"Don't let him get out of your sight as long as he stays about the place; he will be stealing the horses if you don't watch him."
The moment Narcisse had left the room the doctor repeated:
"I like not that; I begin to think Black Hawk may have had good reason to warn us against the White Wolf and the Red Dog."
Then, turning to mademoiselle, he added more gently:
"I like not to inquire into mademoiselle's little affairs, but this is of the gravest importance. Will you tell us the contents of that note, ma chère?"
Mademoiselle hesitated, and glanced almost unconsciously at the captain and at me. We both sprang to our feet at the same moment, and the captain spoke:
"The lad and I will step out on the gallery, where, if you permit, we will light our pipes."
But with a quick gesture of dissent, mademoiselle also sprang to her feet.
"No, no! mon capitaine, no, no! Meestaire, it is not'ing, not'ing. I will say all before you. 'Tis only that the chevalier asks may he escort me to the peek-neek on Chouteau's Pond."
"Sit down, gentlemen, if you please," said the doctor; "I think it wise for us to hold a council of war. I shall need your advice much, possibly your help. First, I want to say that some weeks ago I received letters from France warning me of a plot to capture Mademoiselle Pelagie and carry her back to France. A week ago this mysterious stranger arrived in St. Louis. Gabriel Cerré picked him up in Ste. Genevieve and brought him home with him, and that is about all any one knows of him, except that he claims to be of an old French family, who has saved enough from the wreck to permit him to travel and see the world. When he has finished this trip he declares he will return and settle on his estates on the Loire which he says have been returned to him by Bonaparte. Whether Black Hawk meant him when he bade me beware of the White Wolf I know not. I could get very little information when I spoke to him before leaving Pierre Chouteau's, and I am not sure he had any to give me, yet I think he knows something. I confess I have been suspicious of this fellow from the first, arriving, as he did, on the heels of my letter of warning. And now what think you 'tis best to do?"
I was eager enough to say what I thought best to do, but I knew my place better than to speak before my elders, and so I waited for my captain. Mademoiselle was not so modest, or perhaps she thought no one had a better right than herself to speak on a subject so nearly concerning her.
"I think, sir," she said, lapsing into her native tongue, "you wrong the Chevalier Le Moyne. I have seen much of him in the week of his stay at Gabriel Cerré's, and he has been invariably respectful and most gentleman-like in all his demeanor."
"'Tis the very fact of his seeing so much of you, my child, that first roused my suspicions. He is forever hanging round you at dance and dinner; not even Josef Papin gets much chance to come nigh you."
Mademoiselle flushed slightly at the mention of Josef Papin's name—a name I was beginning, for some reason, to dislike.
"I should think," she said demurely, "there might be other reasons for that than suspicious ones"; and then she laughed merrily when I murmured, "Vraiment!" and touched my heart with my handkerchief. I thought she was mocking me again.
"Mademoiselle is quite right," said Captain Clarke, gravely; "there are doubtless very natural reasons for the chevalier's devotion, yet I think it would be well, nevertheless, to act on Dr. Saugrain's suspicions. May I inquire whether mademoiselle has accepted the chevalier's offer of escort?"
We all listened eagerly for the answer.
"No," said mademoiselle; "I had just received thenote when you arrived, and I would not answer it until I had consulted my guardian. He is very stern with me, messieurs," turning to us with a witching smile that I could see pleased the good doctor greatly.
"Then," continued the captain, "it would be a very easy matter, I suppose, to decline his escort."
But La Petite pouted.
"Not so easy, mon capitaine. I have no reason to offer, and it would shut me off from accepting a second invitation."
"I think," said Dr. Saugrain, "it would be better that you should not go to the picnic. Chouteau's Pond is beyond the stockade, and shut in by the woods; it would be an ideal spot for a surprise and a capture. There are always plenty of rascally Osages to be hired for a trifle to carry out any such villainy."
"Not go!" exclaimed mademoiselle, in dismay. "But it is given for me! It is my fête! Josef Papin planned it entirely for me, he said."
Mademoiselle was now growing rosy red, for, with a child's eagerness to carry her point at all hazards, she had said more than she meant to.
"Then why did not Josef offer himself as your escort?"
"He will, probably, later; but," and she tossed her head like the spoiled beauty she was, "it will serve him right, for being so slow, to find that I have accepted another. Besides which," and she shrugged her shoulders with all the airs of a Parisian dame, "you know your bourgeois etiquette. I cannot acceptanother: it would be a just cause for a duel au pistolets."
"C'est vrai," said the doctor, with an answering shrug, and looking woefully perplexed.
"Now, if you will permit me," suggested the captain, "since mademoiselle is so sure Mr. Papin will ask her later, why can she not plead to the chevalier a previous engagement?"
But not for a moment would mademoiselle listen to that.
"And be the laughing-stock of all St. Louis when it gets about, as it surely will. I refuse the chevalier because I prefer to wait for Monsieur Papin. Monsieur Papin hears of it and invites some one else to teach me not to be so sure, or," primly, "I have given him undue encouragement."
"Then," said the doctor, gravely, "I see nothing for it but that you stay away from the picnic and write the chevalier that you have decided not to go. Unless," he added hastily, seeing the gathering storm on Pelagie's brow, "unless—" and then he hesitated, much embarrassed. "Perhaps our young friend here would like to attend one of our rural picnics, and would be willing to look after you and give you the opportunity of writing to the chevalier that you have a previous engagement."
It was now my turn to blush. I had been ardently longing to offer my services, but not for a moment had I thought of daring. Now it was thrust upon me.
"If mademoiselle would be so good," I murmured, bowing low, "I am her obedient servant."
But mademoiselle was speechless. One moment she turned white, and the next she turned red, and then white again. When she found her voice she said, looking not at all at me, but straight at Dr. Saugrain:
"I will remain at home, monsieur. I care not to be a burden upon unwilling hands."
And then rising to her feet, with her head held high, her guitar on one arm, and the other hand still on the mastiff's head, she said:
"Allons, Leon!" and was sweeping proudly from the room.
I was in such consternation that probably I would have sat like any bumpkin and let her go, if not that, as she passed me, although her head was turned from me, it was not quite so much turned but that I caught a sudden quiver of the little chin, held proudly in air, and something bright glistening on the long, dark lashes. I sprang quickly before her. There was an angry growl from Leon, who no doubt thought I intended to serve his mistress the same trick I had served him, but I did not heed it.
"Mademoiselle!" I entreated, "I beg you will reconsider. Nothing could give me more pride and pleasure. Besides," adopting an argumentative tone, "you know it would be my only chance for attending the picnic, and I have a vast desire to engage in some of your St. Louis festivities, and to meet some of the young maidens I was deprived of meeting last night."
She was compelled to stop,—I barred her way; but for a few moments she showed no signs of relenting. She dashed away the shining drops from her lashes,and quieted Leon with a low "Taise-toi." But gradually I saw her face change, and then, still holding herself proudly, and with the air of a queen graciously condescending to bestow a favor upon a suppliant, but also with a smile of radiant sweetness, she spoke, and her voice was like the song of the thrush beside running waters:
"Very well, monsieur; if I am not to be considered as putting myself under obligations to a stranger, I will go and write the chevalier that I have a previous engagement."
"Many a youth and many a maidDancing in the chequered shade."
The good doctor uttered a sigh of relief as mademoiselle left the room, followed by madame, who no doubt, in the goodness of her heart, went out to praise the young lady for having done as she ought, and to condole with her for being obliged to go to the picnic with a man she knew so slightly, and knew but to dislike.
The sigh was quickly followed by a frown.
"I wish that my ward had not so strong a will of her own. I scarce think it safe for her to go to Chouteau's Pond at all if, as I fear, her enemies are plotting to capture her."
"I will defend her with my life, sir," I hastened to aver, "since you are so good as to intrust her to me."
The doctor smiled at my boyish ardor, but said kindly:
"I would trust her with you sooner than with most, my lad, for I believe I have seen enough of you to know that you are brave to a fault, and entirely trustworthy.But you know not the wiles of these treacherous Osages, and if this Chevalier Le Moyne is the man I fear he is, he is a much to be dreaded villain."
"Whom do you fear him to be?" the captain and I uttered in one breath.
The good doctor hesitated a moment and then seemed to take a sudden determination.
"I am afraid I have no right to be letting you into my confidence, for it is not mine alone. In what I am about to say to you it is my country reposing a confidence as well. But our brief acquaintance has inspired me with trust in you both, and I have need of advice and help in this emergency, and perhaps of a good sword, if one of you be free to offer it. It is not the fortunes of a simple maid, such as my little Pelagie seems to be, that are alone involved, and yet I am not at liberty to tell you what great issues are at stake. We will say, by way of illustration, it would be to the advantage of an Orleanist to get rid of all possible Bourbon claimants to the throne of France, would it not? Merely by way of further illustration, suppose there were some young Orleanist, far removed from any pretensions to the throne, who by marrying a young Bourbon maid much closer to the throne, but, of course, barred from it by her sex, should prevent her marrying royalty and so having a son who might succeed to the throne. Do you follow me?"
We both bowed our comprehension, for we were too eager to interrupt him by a word. The doctor went on:
"And suppose by such a marriage he removed onemore obstacle from the path of a powerful kinsman in his progress toward the throne. And if this young Orleanist were penniless and the Bourbon maid rich in prospect, he would save his kinsman the necessity of providing for him. And if he were dissolute and unprincipled, he would hesitate at no means to accomplish his ends. And if he were handsome, after a fashion, and accomplished in all Parisian arts, there would be reasonable chance of his success with a young maiden but little versed in the wiles of the world. Although I have used this merely as an illustration, this is very much the situation that confronts Pelagie's friends. You see, I have some reason to feel alarmed, and I fear I have no right to permit her to go to this picnic. Yet," with a grimace, "what can I? Where a wilful maiden will, a man is helpless.
"And now, messieurs, you see how fully I have trusted you, not only with my affairs, but the affairs of France. I am not asking for a pledge of secrecy, for I feel no such pledge is necessary. Pelagie and her interests and the interests of her house in France I believe to be as safe in your hands as in my own."
As the doctor uttered these last words he sprang to his feet, and betrayed the intensity of his feeling by the mist in his eyes, the tremor in his voice, and the dramatic clasping of his hands.
By a simultaneous emotion of sympathy, both the captain and I found ourselves on our feet also. The captain extended his hand, and, like the straightforward, simple-minded gentleman he is, said only:
"Your trust is not misplaced, Dr. Saugrain; your secret is safe."
I was almost too deeply moved for words; I could only murmur as I bowed low over the hilt of my sword:
"Safe as my honor!"
I know not with what emotions my captain had listened to this long recital. As for me, I had been intensely interested. Yet I could not tell why it should not please me to find that this scornful little lady was presumptive heiress to wealth and titles, probably even of royal rank, for so I could not but understand the doctor's illustration.
"Does Mademoiselle Pelagie know all this?" inquired the captain. "Does she know her rank and prospects? Is it permitted to speak of them to her?"
"Oh, no, no, no!" uttered the doctor, rapidly, with vigorous protestations of head and hands. "Pelagie knows nothing but that almost longer ago than she can remember she lived in a beautiful house with many servants, and with a father and mother who idolized her, but who went away from her one day never to return. Of course she knows now why they never returned, but that is all. She has lived with us in America nearly ten years, and I think she has learned to love Madame Saugrain and me almost as if we were indeed her father and mother, and we could not love child of our own more tenderly.
"And so you see, my dear young sir," regarding me with affectionate concern, "what a weighty responsibility I have put upon your young shoulders.If the burden is too great for you, I absolve you from your offer as escort, and Pelagie shall stay at home whether she will or not. I think it would be far the better way."
"Oh, no, no, sir!" I protested eagerly. "I am proud you think me worthy such a responsibility. I will never let her out of my sight for one moment, and I promise to bring her back to you in safety."
"Thank you," said the doctor, gravely; "that is what I would wish. Do not let her out of your sight if it is possible. Even if she seems to be fretted by your espionage I hope you will bear with her temper,—which I know to be a royal one,—and persist in your watchfulness. I shall be deeply grateful to you."
By the time the day of the picnic arrived, I flattered myself I had made some slight progress in Mademoiselle Pelagie's regard. Very slight, to be sure, yet I thought she did not treat me with quite the disdain she had shown at first. Indeed, I even thought I sometimes detected that she was listening with interest when Madame Saugrain or the good doctor was questioning me about my life at home in Philadelphia.
Twice a day at least we were brought together at the table, for the captain and I had taken up our abode at Dr. Saugrain's. It was not without much demur that we had, at last, accepted the doctor's urgent invitations to do so. To be sure, there was no hostelry in the village, except the low tavern where the disreputable Indians and rough river-men congregated, and we would have been obliged to accept some of themany hospitable invitations extended us by the Chouteaus, the Papins, the Cerrés, indeed by nearly every leading citizen of St. Louis, all eagerly vying with one another for the privilege of entertaining General Clarke's brother. I think the captain's hesitancy arose from the feeling that he ought to accept Émile Yosti's or Manuel Lisa's hospitality, since his business was chiefly concerned with them; but with me it was the feeling that it would be intolerable to dwell under the same roof with my Lady Disdain, and be subjected to countless little ignominies at her hands. Yet when the doctor presented it to us as a very great favor to him at this time, when he might need our assistance as well as our advice in protecting Mademoiselle Pelagie, we could object no further, and I, at least, was as eager to stay as I had before been unwilling. To me it seemed the more reasonable that he might easily need what assistance our swords could give him, if there were really on foot a plan to capture mademoiselle, because the doctor's house was set in a large garden, at the extreme borders of the village, next to the stockade and with no neighbor within hearing.
The day of the picnic rose clear and bright, changing soon to the purple haze and soft air of a day in late November. Breakfast was hardly over when the picnickers began to pass the house, some of them walking in merry groups, some in little French carts drawn by oxen or small, hardy ponies, but many of them, I noted with a beating heart, on horseback carrying double, the maiden on a pillion holding fast with her arm around her escort's waist. Was it thusmy Lady Disdain expected to be carried to the picnic, I wondered, and could not tell for the life of me whether I most hoped it or dreaded it.
But my hopes and fears were alike vain. I sat smoking on the shady gallery, and was beginning to wonder when my lady would see fit to start, for by now the procession had thinned out to almost none, only a straggling couple occasionally hurrying by as if they feared they were late and must hasten to be in time for the sport. I began to think it possible she had changed her mind and would stay at home rather than go with an undesired escort.
I had risen early, and though I had made an unusually careful toilet, calling Yorke to my aid to see that every lacer was fresh and securely tied, and my buckles shining, yet I had made much haste also, not knowing at what hour mademoiselle proposed starting, and fearing greatly to annoy her by being one moment tardy. So here had I sat smoking on the shady gallery a good two hours awaiting my lady's pleasure, and beginning inwardly to fume, for my temper was not such as to bear meekly even the caprices of a beautiful maiden—no, not though she might be also some great lady in disguise.
But when I had for the tenth time started up to stride angrily up and down the gallery, I heard the creaking of wheels, and around the corner of the house came a little French charrette, its wooden wheels making a great noise, drawn by one ox and Narcisse walking beside it, driving. I was filled with dismay, for to me it seemed not a mode of conveyance suited to thedignity of the son of one of the proudest families of Philadelphia, to say nothing of Mademoiselle Pelagie. Besides, I had had visions of the fine figure I was to cut before the St. Louis beaus and belles on my prancing and curveting Fatima, whose glossy coat was like satin this morning from the extra rubbing I had ordered Yorke to give her.
But as Narcisse passed me and pulled off his hat with an amiable grin, I saw a great hamper in the charrette, and from a spicy whiff borne to my nostrils by a passing breeze I knew he was conveying our dinner to the picnic-grounds, and I was duly thankful that neither Fatima nor I was to be hampered ('tis a poor pun, and my father hath ever taught me 'tis the lowest form of wit) with clumsy packages dangling from saddle and arm.
In a moment more, around the corner of the house again came a black, leading a small Indian horse gaily caparisoned, and fitted with a lady's pillion, and immediately behind, Yorke, leading my own Fatima. I knew then we were about to start, and my heart began once more its silly thumpings. Yet would I not move from my seat, where I had assumed an attitude of indifference, until I suddenly heard behind me a cool and haughty voice:
"Are you not ready, sir? It is high time, I should think, we were on our way, or we will be too late for the déjeuner."
Now was I in wrath indeed, to be spoken to in tones of reproach when I had every reason to expect at least an excuse, if not an apology, for having been kept solong waiting. I rose to my feet in leisurely fashion and made mademoiselle a most elaborate bow, as I replied in a voice as cool and haughty as her own:
"Had I been informed at what hour mademoiselle would require my presence, I should have been belted and hatted and not have detained your ladyship for even a moment, to say nothing of having wasted two good hours of my own time in idle waiting."
As I spoke I stooped to pick up my sword-belt from the floor beside my chair, and began slowly to buckle it on. My eyes were on my belt, but not so closely but that I could see a little smile hover around mademoiselle's lips, and I thought she was not displeased to find I had a little spirit of my own and was not always to be cowed by her scornful airs. I was so elated by the discovery that I, foolishly, prolonged the buckling beyond all possible necessity, and mademoiselle's good humor was quickly exhausted. She tapped her little foot impatiently for a moment and then spoke as icily as before:
"Since monsieur finds difficulty with his belt, I will ask Yorke to put me on my horse and then send him to your assistance."
All my foolish elation was gone in a moment, and, between my mortification and my impatient haste, I fumbled in earnest. I was in desperate haste; for not for a moment did I intend to let Yorke put her upon her horse: yet so swiftly had she swept down the long gallery and the steps to the driveway a little distance off, and so slow had I been with my buckle, that I reached her side just in time to hear her say:
"Yorke, put me on my horse, and then go at once and buckle your master's belt. We are like to be all day getting to Chouteau's Pond."
"Yes, missy," said Yorke, and flinging Fatima's reins to Narcisse, prepared to obey her, though he could only have comprehended by intuition, for not a word of her tongue did he understand.
I was restored at once to my equanimity by her impatient tones, and I spoke to Yorke with a calm authority he dared not disobey:
"Take care of Fatima, Yorke; I will attend to mademoiselle," and without giving her time to object I coolly lifted her to her horse. She was only a feather's weight, but I think she liked not that fashion of mounting, and was minded for a moment to kick and scream like an angry child. But she thought better of it, and though the quick flame sprang into her cheek, she bowed her thanks in stately fashion, and I springing on Fatima's back and bidding Yorke to follow at once, we set forth at a round pace.
Not a word did she speak as we galloped side by side down the driveway, through the gate, and along the short bit of road that extended to the stockade. When we had passed through, there was not much more than a rough foot-path, that began to descend very soon from the high bluffs, sometimes by a gentle incline, sometimes by a steep and rocky descent, to the valley of La Petite Rivière.
The path was no longer wide enough for two horses, and we were compelled to ride in Indian fashion. Fatima was ahead and was picking her way daintily andsurely, but slowly. The little Indian horse, being much more used to such rough paths, would have gone on more rapidly, and fretted at being kept back by Fatima. So, no doubt, did his rider, for presently, in her formal way, she said:
"If monsieur will permit, I will take the lead. I think my pony knows the path better and can show you the way."
But I had been specially warned to keep ever in advance, and it did not add to mademoiselle's good humor that I was compelled to refuse her thepas. I was beginning to feel that my task was a thankless one, and the picnic on Chouteau's Pond did not look to me quite so alluring as it had looked a few days before. Perhaps my face betrayed my feeling; for when we reached the foot of the incline and our path broadened out as it turned to follow the windings of the little river toward the pond, mademoiselle rode up beside me, and with a very pretty air indeed, half arch, half shy, wholly sweet, she said:
"I pray monsieur will not think me ungrateful. I do not forget that but for his courtesy I could not have gone to my fête."
Then she added roguishly:
"But I will make amends. I will introduce you to many St. Louis belles, the fascinating Pelagie Chouteau, Émilie Gratiot, who dances like a fairy, and Marguerite and Marie Papin, the beautiful sisters. And there are many more just as beautiful."
I bowed gravely:
"I thank you, mademoiselle. I have heard much ofthe beauty of the St. Louis demoiselles, and have desired much to meet them. You remember it was largely for that inducement I consented to undertake the difficult task of looking after your ladyship."
Pelagie pouted.
"Why do you persist in calling me 'your ladyship'? I am only mademoiselle."
"Indeed!" I said, with affected surprise: "your manner has led me to suppose you marquise at least, if not duchesse."
Mademoiselle reddened, but spoke very seriously and very sweetly,
"I am afraid I have very bad manners, and a very bad temper. But I intend to be good now, and to remind me I give you permission when I am haughty or disagreeable to call me comtesse."
The sycamores and cottonwoods that bordered our path had lost more than half their leaves, and the soft haze of the late November sun filtering through flecked mademoiselle with pale gold. It touched her dark hair and turned it to burnished bronze, it brought a faint rose to the warm white of her cheek, and made little golden lights dance in the shadows of her eyes uplifted to mine. The mysterious fragrance of late autumn, of dying leaves and bare brown earth, and ripening nuts and late grapes hanging on the vines, and luscious persimmons on the leafless trees, rose like incense to my nostrils and intoxicated me. I hardly knew how I answered as I looked deep into her shadowy eyes, and I was almost glad that, our way crossing the little river by a steep path leading downto a shallow ford, I was compelled once more to take the lead.
Half-way across we stopped to let our horses dip their noses in the cool water dashing merrily over the stones. Fatima only played with it, swashing her muzzle well, and flinging the bright drops over mademoiselle's horse, who drank steadily. The opposite bank was more heavily wooded, and I became aware, as I sat idly flecking the foam from Fatima's flanks with my riding-whip, that I had for some time been hearing a whippoorwill calling and its mate replying. The woods looked dense enough to be the haunts of the lonely birds, but, nevertheless, I felt uneasy and began to listen—for rarely, indeed, does one hear a whippoorwill in the daytime. I knew birds well, and I soon became convinced that these whippoorwills were like none I had ever heard. They were too deliberate in their calls and replies, and the varying number of each sounded like a system of signals. I began to wish mademoiselle had not been so tardy in starting, that we might have had company on our way, and I strained my ears if I might hear anything of Yorke, who should be not far behind.
But there were no signs of Yorke; and mademoiselle's horse had finished drinking, and there was no excuse for our delaying longer. I would not alarm mademoiselle with my suspicions, yet I wanted my firearms ready to my hand. I drew my pistol from its holster and laid it across my saddle-bow, saying carelessly that if I caught a glimpse of that whippoorwill in the woods I should shoot it for my aunt inParis, who was making a collection of American birds.
Mademoiselle Pelagie accepted my explanation without comment, and I led the way up the steep bank opposite. Once up, I saw, to my satisfaction, that the path was still wide enough for two. I put mademoiselle on the side nearest La Petite Rivière, and I rode next the woods; and though mademoiselle had suddenly grown talkative, and was full of a saucy French wit, I fear I must have seemed very stupid to her, for all the while I was trying to keep up my share of repartee and quip I was listening, listening. Mademoiselle noticed at last that I was somewhat distrait.
"Why do you keep your eyes turned upon the woods, monsieur? In France we are taught that it is polite to look at a lady when she speaks."
"Pardon, mademoiselle," I stammered. "I am looking for that whippoorwill."
"Your apology is more than sufficient, monsieur," in her haughtiest tones. "There will, no doubt, be no other opportunity so suitable for adding to your aunt's collection."
I had kept my eyes fixed on the woods even while speaking to her, not daring to turn them away, but at her tone I turned quickly toward her.
"Pardon, mademoiselle la comtesse," I began saucily, but went on seriously. "Permit me, I beg, to seem rude, though it is farthest from my desire to appear so. It is more than the whim of my aunt that is at stake. Some day I will explain to you."
Even as I spoke I was startled by a sharp crackle followed by a stealthy rustle, as if some one had inadvertentlystepped upon a dry twig and had then glided quickly away. I turned at once to the woods, and could almost have sworn I caught a fleeting glimpse of a copper-colored hand, and the flash of a rifle-barrel. But as I gazed longer I saw nothing but the dense foliage of the low scrub-oaks that grew under the tall forest trees, and I hoped I was mistaken.
A level bit of road stretched ahead of us.
"Will you race with me, mademoiselle, to yonder tree?"
The quicker we got to Chouteau's Pond the better, I thought, and the faster we left the whippoorwills behind the better also.
"I will race you and beat you," she said gaily; "my little La Bette is fleet of foot. But what shall be the prize?"
"If I win," I said boldly, "the first dance to-day."
I thought a shadow of annoyance passed over her face, but it cleared and she answered slyly:
"And if I win, I claim the first whippoorwill you shoot; the second may go to your aunt."
"Done!" I said grimly. "Are we off?"
It was evident that fleet as La Bette might be, Fatima was far fleeter. But not for worlds would I have left mademoiselle behind; so, while seeming to urge Fatima forward, I was, in reality, giving her the constant little touch that meant a check. Still I was mindful of my prize, and when we were not more than twenty yards from the tree, and I thought we were safe, I gave Fatima the rein and passed the tree a full length ahead.
I felt a little more comfortable now, for I thought if I had really seen a redskin with a gun lurking among the bushes, we must have left him well behind, and we fell into a comfortable little jog-trot, side by side again. Suddenly I heard once more the ominous crackle of a dry twig, and turning quickly, I looked full into a pair of dark eyes peering through the bushes. I hesitated not a moment, but raising my pistol, leveled it straight at the eyes, and would have fired but that a voice called to me in good English:
"Hold, monsieur! Do not fire!"
And from behind the clump of bushes sprang a more elaborately dressed man than any I had yet seen in St. Louis. In truth, I thought him too foppishly arrayed for the woods, for there were fine ruffles at wrist and knee, and beneath his leathern doublet peeped the edges of a satin waistcoat, canary-colored. His hair was long and curled and tied with a ribbon, but it was not powdered, and over his forehead it fell in short, black curls that made his skin look very white and pink; indeed, I was not at all sure but the pink of his cheeks and the red of his lips were more of art's cunning than nature's mingling. A soft, dark mustache on his upper lip, carefully trained and curled, proved him a Parisian of the latest mode, and I at once felt an instinctive dislike and distrust of him. I had never seen him before, but I was not at all surprised when mademoiselle addressed him as Chevalier Le Moyne and paid me the compliment of presenting him to me.
There was just a little disapproval in mademoiselle'smanner, for the chevalier had certainly been caught spying, if nothing worse; and he had the grace to be embarrassed, and hastened to make his apologies in voluble French, which he seemed to take for granted I did not understand.
"I missed mademoiselle from the fête, and I sauntered out to see if there were any signs of her approach. Mademoiselle must know that it is no fête for me when the queen is away, and the day istristeindeed that is not lighted by her eyes. I was not sure it was mademoiselle when I heard voices, and so I looked through the bushes to see before addressing her."
"You spoke just in time," mademoiselle replied. "Monsieur took you for a whippoorwill, and a moment more," with an arch glance at me, "he might have added you to his aunt's collection."
I thought at first my lady must be heartless indeed to make a jest of a very narrow escape from death, but as I glanced at her, I saw little tongues of flame leaping in and out of her cheeks, and a great pulse beating in her throat, and I knew the light manner was only a mask.
I watched the chevalier narrowly as she spoke of the whippoorwill, and I saw him look quickly at her with a startled glance, but her evident innocence reassured him. I spoke to him in his own tongue, partly to show him I understood it very well and he must be careful what he said before me, and partly because I was not sure he understood mine. Indeed, I had many times been thankful that my French wasalmost as natural to me as my English, for in this French-and Spanish-speaking town there was almost no one could speak my tongue. Once in a great while (but not often) mademoiselle attempted it, either to practise her English or out of compliment to my captain, who was not quite so fluent with his French as I. (And when she did, her pretty broken accents made our rough language sweet as the song of birds.)
"Monsieur was fortunate to speak so soon," I said. "I am looking for whippoorwills, and I took you for one. A moment more would have been too late."
But as I spoke I looked straight into his eyes with a meaning he could not misunderstand. His glance fell, and a deep red slowly mounted from beneath the artificial pink of his cheeks and spread over his face. He recovered himself in a moment, however, and answered me gaily:
"Thanks, monsieur, for a narrow escape. 'Tis the luck of the Le Moynes. Perhaps you know the motto of our house?—'By hairbreadth escapes wealways win.'"
And this time he looked straight into my eyes, and conveyed by his glance a haughty challenge.
I bowed a mute acceptance of it; and mademoiselle, conscious from our manner we were not particularly amiable toward each other, hastened to avert any threatening unpleasantness.
"I think the chevalier will excuse us if we hasten on. We are already late, and I fear we will keep déjeuner waiting."
The chevalier bowed low, with his hand on his heart, and stepped aside to allow us to pass.
It was but a five minutes' ride till we left the woodland path and the merry company of the little river and stood on the shores of Chouteau's Pond. I had not expected to find such a beautiful woodland lake, and at my exclamation of delighted surprise, mademoiselle looked pleased indeed.
"We are proud of our pond, which Mr. Auguste Chouteau has made for us," she said. "Is it not as beautiful as your Pennsylvania lakes?"
"I have never seen a more beautiful!" I ejaculated fervently, and I spoke truly.
We had drawn rein on a point of high land, and at our feet the waters of the little river, in foaming rapids and tumbling cascades, stretched up to the foot of a high dam, where the waters of the lake poured over in a silver flood. To the right, embowered in trees, were the vine-covered stone towers of Chouteau's mill, and beyond, gentle grassy slopes, with drooping trees dipping their branches in the water. To the left rose high banks with overarching foliage, and then for a mile or two the lake wound from one embowered cove to another, till it was lost in the hazy distance. Directly below us, it lay a glorious topaz in the soft November sun, for which the dark porphyry of oaks, the tawny gold of cottonwoods, and the emerald of turf and darker green of cedars made a jeweled setting richer and more harmonious than would have been the flaming scarlet and gold of our Eastern woods. On the bosom of the little lake a white sail was floating lazily, for there was but little breeze, andtwo or three canoes were darting swiftly from shore to shore, the dip of their paddles breaking the lake to flashing silver.
There were no other signs of life, and now mademoiselle took the lead and we followed the right shore of the lake behind the stone mill, along the shady, grassy slopes, until, after several windings, we came out on a little cove where a silvery fountain bubbled up and flowed down in a tiny rivulet to the lake. Around the fountain was soft green turf, with natural seats of rock, shaded by lofty trees, where the deep forest came down to the shores of the cove, and here we found our party of merry revelers. Horses, ponies, and oxen were all tethered deep in the forest, while young men and maidens were running to and fro, arranging tempting piles of broiled fowl, venison, and game pasties on the white cloth, spread on the green grass. A delicious odor of coffee came from a great caldron, hung over a stone fireplace on an improvised crane, and two young men were mixing, in a great bowl, a spicy compound of spring water, ratafia, sweet spices, and raspberry wine.
They hailed the arrival of mademoiselle with delight, and young Josef Papin came running up, and took hold of her horse's bridle-rein, and led her to the head of the table, where they had made a throne for the queen of the fête out of a flat rock, covered with bright-colored capotes, and wreathed with garlands of bright-leaved vines.
He claimed it his due, as giver of the feast, to sit at her right, and awarded to me, as a courtesy due herescort, the seat on her left. In the merry scramble for places that followed (there was nothing rude in it: these French folk are gentle and courteous in their gayest frolics) the chevalier was forgotten. When he came in, late (somewhat flushed, as if he might have been running when no man was looking, but debonair and smiling, with many apologies), there was no place for him near mademoiselle, and I was not sorry. Neither, I confess, did he seem to be, for he devoted himself pointedly to Mademoiselle Chouteau, as fascinating a little coquette as mademoiselle had described her.
Half-way through the meal the chevalier made an excuse for going for a cup of water to the spring, and, in passing behind mademoiselle, he stopped a moment to ask her, in a low tone, for the first dance. It was not so low but that I overheard, and I heard, too, the tone of regret with which she told him it was already promised. I might have thought the tone only a tribute to politeness had I not caught her glance, which said louder than any words, "I had much rather it were you," and I said to myself, "Either mademoiselle is a most dangerous coquette, or the chevalier has already succeeded in at least winning her interest," and for a moment it sprang to the tip of my hasty tongue to release her from her promise. But I shut my lips firmly before the words were out.
"Ce garçon-çà! The second, then?"
I turned away my head and did not willingly hear any more, but I could not quite help overhearing the chevalier once again, in a tone intended to be quitecutting, and for that reason, no doubt, more distinct:
"If mademoiselle's dances are not taken for the entire afternoon, perhaps she will be so kind as to say which one she will graciously grant me?"
I did not hear her reply; but I heard his joyful response to it:
"A thousand thanks, ma belle reine; au troisième, donc!"
I was in two minds through the rest of the meal: should I hold mademoiselle to her promise, which was, evidently, irksome to her, or should I free her from it? I resolved, finally, that the dance was fairly mine and I would hold her to it. Yet when the music sounded and the line was forming I was a little late in reaching her side, for I had been following the chevalier's example and getting my dances promised ahead, and Mademoiselle Chouteau had been so full of her little French coquetries I had found it hard to get away in time to claim mademoiselle's hand. I found her tapping her little foot impatiently, and an ominous line between her dark eyes. I made my apologies humbly, but mademoiselle was coldly scornful.
"Had I known monsieur would find it so irksome to keep his engagement I could have released him. There were others who would have appreciated the honor, since it is my duty to open the dance."
"It is inexcusable," I murmured, "but it was unavoidable"; and without waiting for further recriminations I led her to the head of the line.
I had never seen the minuet danced with more graceand spirit. These Frenchmen have winged feet, and though I knew my steps well and had not thought myself particularly awkward, yet now it seemed to me impossible, with my great size, not to seem, to mademoiselle at least, a clumsy giant. It made me more conscious of my awkwardness that I was leading the line with mademoiselle, reine de la fête, and a perfect fairy for grace, and that, opposite us, with Mademoiselle Chouteau, was the chevalier, full of Parisian airs, which looked a little ridiculous to me, but were, no doubt, the admiration of all the maidens.
And if anything could have made me more clumsy it was the accident that befell me in the sword-figure. It fell to my lot to cross swords with the chevalier, and I cannot be sure that he did it wilfully, yet so it seemed to me. By a twist of his wrist he loosened my sword from its grasp, and it fell clattering to the ground at the very feet of my lady. Had I been expecting anything more than the usual crossing of points my grasp would have been firmer, and I really think I was not to blame. Yet I was covered with confusion, and as I stooped to pick it up, necessarily delaying the progress of my lady, who was leading her line of maidens under the arch of swords, I glanced at her face, expecting nothing less for my gaucherie than the mocking smile I had learned to dread. To my amazement, my glance was met with the sweetest of smiles, and it was the chevalier who winced this time.
"I hope monsieur will pardon the chevalier's awkwardness," she said; "he is, no doubt, more at homein a Parisian ball-room than at a rustic dance on the turf."
After that, you may be sure, I carried myself proudly, and so elated was I by her unexpected sweetness that I lost all sense of awkwardness, and I began to hear murmurs of admiration that I knew were intended for my ears, and lent wings to my feet, also.
"A handsome pair!" "What grace!" "He carries his head like a grand seigneur!" and Mademoiselle Chouteau was wicked enough, as we crossed in the dance, to look up at me and whisper saucily:
"I die with impatience, monsieur, for la troisième!"
"Is this that haughty, gallant, gay Lothario?"
It was in the third dance, in the middle of an intricate figure (and Mademoiselle Chouteau was proving herself a most bewitching partner), that I suddenly discovered that neither mademoiselle nor the chevalier was dancing; nor could I see them anywhere, though my glance shot rapidly into every leafy nook and corner.
An unreasoning terror seized me, and with all my might I tried to think what I could do. Should I leave my partner and fly in pursuit, as I longed to do, the figure would be broken up, and should my fears prove unfounded I could never again hold up my head among the St. Louis maidens. Yet I thought if I waited until the dance was over there would be time for the worst to happen, and I had promised not to let mademoiselle out of my sight. Now did I curse my folly (with many of my bigd-inventions) that, since I had come to the picnic solely to look after mademoiselle, I had allowed myself to make any engagement with any other maiden, however bewitching.
In my agony of indecision, though I was still goingthrough the figure in a dazed fashion, great drops of perspiration started out on my brow. At that moment there came a pause in the dance, while the figure was changing, and above the babble of talk that broke forth I heard the distant call of a whippoorwill. It was enough. I bent low and whispered to my partner:
"Mademoiselle, do you think you could invent a pretext by which we could both be excused from the dance? Could you be taken suddenly ill?"
Mademoiselle Chouteau looked up at me quickly; I think for a moment she thought I wanted to get her away for a cozy flirtation in a quiet little nook, such as some of the other young couples seemed to be enjoying. But when she saw my anxious face she spoke quickly, with the prompt resource I have ever noted in young maidens:
"Certainly, monsieur! In a moment you will see me grow quite pale, and then we will go and ask Gabriel Cerré and Marguerite Papin to take our places."
She was as good as her word: in a moment she really seemed to me to turn pale, and she said, quite distinctly, so that those standing near could hear:
"I am very tired, monsieur; I will have to ask you to excuse me from dancing. Perhaps we can persuade another couple to take our places."
I think Gabriel Cerré and Mademoiselle Papin were a little loath to give up their pleasant chat, but on Mademoiselle Chouteau's representing that the dance would be broken up, and she was really not able totake another step, they very amiably consented to take our places.
Then I had to explain to Mademoiselle Chouteau, very hurriedly, the reason for my strange request, and in doing so I was compelled to confide to her somewhat of my fears, and beg her to be silent if any one should notice that I too had disappeared. She proved a good ally, and, on my expressing my perplexity as to where to look, she suddenly remembered that she had seen mademoiselle and the chevalier, as the dance was beginning, enter the woodland path that led on around the lake to Rock Spring at its head.
"A favorite resort for young people, and especially," she added slyly, "les amants."
The dance had been moving rapidly and it was not yet over; they could not be so far away but that I could overtake them, and I felt a little relieved. Yet I must see Mademoiselle Chouteau disposed of among her friends; I could not leave her discourteously, and every second of delay fretted me greatly. When that was accomplished, I caught Yorke's eye (for he had arrived very shortly after us, and having made himself generally useful at the déjeuner, was now watching the dancers with grinning delight), and motioned to him to follow me.
I slipped into the woodland path, and Yorke did not keep me waiting long. As rapidly as possible I told him my suspicions, and bade him slip into the woods where the horses were tethered and bring his own horse and Fatima by some roundabout way, so as to be unseen, and follow me on the path to the head of the lake.
It was a comfort to feel that Yorke would not be many minutes behind me, for impatient as I often was with his pranks and his eternal grin, I knew him to be a good fighter, and true as steel. Still more of a comfort was it to know Fatima would be within calling of my whistle, for I knew not into what I was going, and if those dark forests overhanging the cliffs on the opposite shore of the lake were as full of the treacherous savages as the frequent call of the whippoorwills had led me to think, I might find that the only road to safety for both mademoiselle and myself was on Fatima's back.
So it was with better courage (though I will not deny that my heart was beating fast) that I set off at a round pace on the woodland path toward the head of the lake. I had ever an eye for the beauties of nature, and an ear attuned to all its voices, yea, and a nostril for its sweet odors, and engrossed as I was (rushing on lest I might be too late, yet dreading every step that I fall into some ambush of whippoorwills), I still could not but note how softly the November sun fell through the half-bare branches, flecking the path with shine and shadow; how glowing cardinals and flaming orioles, not yet started south, flitted through the trees in rollicking sport; and how the sweet odor of dying leaves mingled with the soft call of wood-thrushes. The cottonwoods had laid down a path of gold for me to walk upon, but, fortunately, it had rained the night before and the leaves were still damp and so did not rustle to my tread.
I had hurried on at a breathless pace, following thepath that in its turn followed the windings of the lake for nearly a mile, when suddenly I heard voices at no great distance ahead of me. I stopped for a moment, my heart beating so fast I could scarce listen. Yes, it was a man's voice and a maiden's, speaking in low tones as if for each other's ears alone, and I did not doubt it was mademoiselle and the chevalier.
Now it was most distasteful to me to think of playing eavesdropper, and I was of half a mind to stop where I was and wait until they had finished what they had to say and were ready to return. I would at least be near enough at hand to prevent a capture should it be attempted. But as I waited, mademoiselle's voice was suddenly raised, and I heard her say in a tone of pain:
"Do not make me distrust my guardian! I can believe no wrong of him! He has been the only father I have known."
I caught nothing of the chevalier's reply but the two words "interested motives"; but I thought, since it was evidently no tender interchange of sentiment to which I would have to listen, but the rascal was maligning my good friend Dr. Saugrain, it was my duty to listen with all my ears. I crept forward softly, fearing lest a crackling twig or a dry leaf might betray my presence, and fearing, too, since I could not discover whence the voices came, that I might come upon them unawares and so reveal myself.
Which I came very near doing. Another step, and I would have stepped over the brink of a low bluff which encircled a cup-like depression. A cluster oftall oaks rose from the center of the little glen thus formed, sheltering a silvery fountain gushing from a great rock and then, in a bright rivulet, dancing merrily over moss and stones to the lake.
This, then, was Rock Spring, and the source of Chouteau's Pond! A sylvan retreat indeed for lovers, and I had heard it was much frequented by them. A fringe of crimson sumac-bushes screened the edge of the bluff and effectually screened me from two people just below me. I liked not to be spying, but I felt that duty and honor both, and my pledged word to the doctor, demanded that I keep mademoiselle in sight. So I cautiously leaned forward and looked.
Mademoiselle was seated on a boulder with her face turned toward me and uplifted to the chevalier, who was standing with his back to me, looking down on her. Her dark eyes were wide and startled, full of surprise and pain; I was not sure but there were tears in them. Her straight brows were drawn together in a deep furrow, and the scarlet lips, usually so like a Cupid's bow, were set and stern. I wondered what the chevalier could be saying in that low voice of his to move her so deeply. As he finished, mademoiselle sprang to her feet, generous indignation in her flashing eyes and ringing tones.
"I can never believe it! Either I have no such prospects, or he has some good reason for not telling me yet. I will never doubt his truth and honesty!"
Then I heard the chevalier's reply, low and distinct:
"Mademoiselle, your friends in France doubt boththe friends of your father and mother. They have sent me here to find you and bring you back with me to your rich estates, to your rank and position, and to the friends who love you. But they know well Dr. Saugrain will never let go his hold on you, until he can get control of your property himself, and so they have instructed me to use all caution and secrecy.
"In the woods yonder, on the other side of the lake, is a trusty escort to ride to Cape Girardeau, where a boat is waiting to take you to New Orleans. In New Orleans is a ship ready to sail the moment mademoiselle puts her foot upon its deck, and in a little more than a month you will be in Paris, among friends who will receive you with outstretched arms, surrounded by every luxury, living the life of grande dame as you ought to live, among the great nobles where you rightfully belong, and not in this rude, rough country among Indians and boors. And mademoiselle will permit me to add, there is no great lady in France so fitted by nature to adorn her high station as she. She will have all Paris at her feet. Come with me now, mademoiselle! There is no time to be lost! Any moment we may be interrupted and it may be too late."
My eyes did not leave mademoiselle's face through all this long speech, and I saw her expression slowly change. The generous indignation was still there, but I saw that the picture that he presented of the life that awaited her in Paris began to fascinate her. She spoke slowly and doubtfully:
"I will tell Dr. and Madame Saugrain all you havetold me, and if it is right, they will let me go with you. I will not doubt my friends."
The villain saw that he was gaining ground:
"They are not your friends! They are your bitterest foes. They are keeping you from everything that will make your life grand and beautiful, with the hope of their own gain some day. They will never let you go! If home and Paris and friends and wealth and rank and power are to be won at all, it must be at once. Five minutes more may be too late. That boy [with infinite scorn] may have discovered your absence and come to seek you."
Suddenly the chevalier dropped on one knee, his hand on his heart. I turned quickly away (for I would not listen to what I feared would be a declaration of love), and, as I turned, I saw Yorke coming up the path, leading the two horses, who were picking their way as cautiously as if they knew the occasion demanded the utmost secrecy. I motioned to Yorke to leave the horses where they were (I knew they were so trained they would stand perfectly still without tying) and to come silently to me. I felt that the moment of rescue could not be far distant.
He had crept cautiously up just as the chevalier ceased speaking. I was intent on noting the position of the horses and forming a plan of rescue, and so did not observe Yorke, or I might have prevented what followed. He had stolen up softly behind me, and, unconscious that he was on the edge of a bluff, had stepped a step beyond me. Of course he went over at once, heels over head, turning a complete somersault,and alighted erect, astride the neck of the kneeling chevalier.
At his terrified cry I turned quickly, just in time to see him alight; and if it had been a time for laughing it would have been a funny sight indeed: the look of startled terror on mademoiselle's face gradually changing in spite of herself to one of convulsive merriment; the chevalier, his nose ground in the dust, squirming helplessly and sputtering vigorously in French; and, lastly, the big black, the white balls of his eyes almost starting from his head in amazement and fright, and a ceaseless torrent of ejaculations pouring through his white teeth!
"Oh! Oh, Lordy! Oh, my gracious! Oh, de good Lord! Oh, massy!"
Yet he made no effort to rise, and I began to suspect he was enjoying the situation, for the more vigorously the Frenchman sputtered the louder the negro bellowed.
It was time for me to interpose, but I wished to avoid the appearance of having been spying on them, with Yorke, from above, otherwise I could easily have leaped down the low bluff. Looking around hastily, I discovered, what I had not noted before, that the main path led around the foot of the bluff into the little glen from below. I had followed a branch of it in coming to the top of the bluff. I ran quickly down to the lower entrance of the glen, but there I stopped a moment to assume an air as of one leisurely strolling. I did not pretend to see the group until I was well into the glen where I could also be seen. Then I struck anattitude of intense surprise for mademoiselle's benefit (who by this time had caught sight of me), and when I had sufficiently recovered from the surprise for utterance, I spoke to Yorke in tones of stern command: