"I wish to say, sir, that I have no claim to the hand of Mademoiselle la Comtesse." I saw from the tail of my eye her head take a prouder pose and herlips curl scornfully as she perceived that I was tamely renouncing my "claim" at the chevalier's bidding; but I went calmly on: "I have always known that there was a great gulf fixed between the proud Lady of France of royal blood and a simple American gentleman. Mademoiselle la Comtesse has never given me any reason to hope that that gulf could be crossed, but," and I turned and looked straight at the chevalier,—and if my head was flung back too proudly and my eyes flashed too fiercely and my voice rang out too defiantly, it was from no lack of respect to the great Bonaparte, but because my soul was seething with wrath and indignation against that cowardly villain "but should Mademoiselle la Comtesse give me the faintest hope that the honest love of an honest American heart could weigh with her against lands and titles, that the devotion of a lifetime to her every thought and desire could hope to win her love, then no argument the Chevalier Le Moyne could bring to bear would have a feather's weight with me. I would renounce my 'claim to her hand' only with my life!"
The First Consul's eyes were smiling as I ceased speaking; there was no frown on his brow. The duchesse looked aghast, as if it were inconceivable blasphemy that I should think of aspiring to the comtesse, and the chevalier's face was dark, with an ugly sneer distorting his lips. But I cared little how Consul or duchesse or chevalier took my speech: I cared only for what mademoiselle might think. I glanced quickly at her. Her head was drooping, her long lashes were sweeping her cheek, her face was rosy red, and a half-smilewas playing about her mouth. My heart beat high with exultant joy. I turned proudly to the chevalier and awaited the thunderbolt I knew was sure to fall. He, too, had seen mademoiselle's soft and drooping aspect, and the sight had lashed him to fury. But before he had a chance to speak, the First Consul himself spoke with good-natured raillery:
"I think, Citizen Le Moyne, your golden-haired giant makes a very good plea for himself. Suppose I offer him a position on my staff and make a Frenchman of him, and then let the Citizeness de Baloit choose between you? Perhaps her estates would be as safe in his hands as in yours."
Had the First Consul uttered his speech with the purpose of lashing the chevalier to fury and goading him to still greater venom against me, he could have taken no better course to accomplish it.
"Safe!" he hissed. "Safe in the hands of an assassin! You would give mademoiselle and her estates to the man who hid in your closet to attempt your life in your bath! Regardez! the coward—the sneak—the villain! When your Mameluke discovers him he flees. I run to your defense. Does he meet me with his sword like an honorable gentleman? No! he trips me with the foot like a school-boy, and throws me down the stair, to be the laughing-stock of my fellow-officers! Because he is a giant, he falls upon your sentry of small stature and hurls him down the terraces! He calls to his trick horse,—trained in the circus, I do not doubt,—and rides away in the dark, and thinks no one will ever know! ButIknow. I have seen histricks in America. He is a clown—a mountebank! No gentleman would touch his hand!"
The chevalier's voice had grown shriller and higher with each word, till he ended in a scream, tearing his hair, rushing up and down the cabinet in his fury, and pointing every epithet with a long finger extended toward me. I could have smiled at such childish rage but that it was too serious a matter to me for smiling. Mademoiselle's eyes were wide with terror and amaze, and the Consul's brow grew darker with every word of the chevalier's.
"Officer, call the guard!" he said in his rasping voice, as soon as the chevalier gave him a chance to speak, and I knew my doom was sealed.
But mademoiselle sprang forward, one arm outstretched to stay the officer, and one extended toward the Consul in supplication.
"No, no, officer, not yet!" she cried, and then to Bonaparte:
"Oh, Citizen Consul, it is all a terrible mistake! I know him well. He could not be guilty of so dreadful a crime! He could not do anything mean or low or dishonorable. There is no gentleman in the world more generous and noble! And the man who denounces him owes his life to him!"
"Look at him, Mademoiselle," said the Consul, harshly, "and see if his looks do not confess him the culprit."
I knew that I must look the very picture of conscious guilt, for every word mademoiselle had uttered had pierced me like a two-edged sword. I might havebraved the chevalier's accusations and the First Consul's suspicions (for, after all, neither had any evidence against me), but I could not bear her generous confidence in me, feeling that I had so miserably forfeited my right to it by indulging in a foolish boyish prank. I did not raise my head (where it had sunk in shame), but by reason of being so much taller I yet could see her turn toward me, see her look of implicit trust change slowly to doubt and fear. Then I heard her utter one low cry, "Oh, Monsieur, Monsieur!" and turn away. In a moment my resolve was taken. I would make a clean breast of it; she should not think me worse than I was. I lifted my head.
"Mademoiselle!" I cried, and she turned quickly toward me and looked straight into my eyes with a look that was hard to bear. "I am guilty Mademoiselle! I am the man who was in the First Consul's closet, and who escaped on Fatima's back."
The Consul made a motion toward the officer, but I turned to him quickly.
"I beg you, sire,"—and this time I did not know that I had said it, not until long afterward, when one of those who heard told me of it,—"that you will not send your officer for the guard until I have made my confession; then you can send for it, and I will go away quietly, without resistance."
"Very well, officer; you can wait," said Bonaparte, still harshly. The rest of my confession I addressed directly to him.
"I am no clown, mountebank, or circus rider in my own country, sir, as the Chevalier Le Moynewould have you believe; I am the son of a Philadelphia gentleman, and the nephew of Madame Marbois. Unfortunately, life in my native land has bred in me a spirit of adventure that has many times been near my undoing. It has also bred in me a great love for the life of a soldier, and a great admiration for the famous soldiers of history. When I accompanied my uncle to St. Cloud, and knew that he was summoned there to meet the First Consul, I was seized with a desire to enter the palace and roam through the rooms where the First Consul dwelt. When I found admission was not permitted I thought it would be a fine adventure to find my way in without permission. It was a boy's wild spirit of daring, and a boy's almost idolatrous hero-worship that led me into such a scrape."
The Consul interrupted me here, but I thought his tones a little less harsh than before:
"Did your uncle know of your intention to enter the palace?"
"Most certainly not, Citizen First Consul," I answered, "else had I never accomplished it."
"Then how did you find your way to my closet?"
"I followed a servant through some winding corridors, but an officer suddenly appeared. I fled, opened the first door I came to, saw myself in a dressing-room, opened another, and found myself in the closet connecting with your cabinet."
All of which was literally true, and implicated neither Gaston nor Félice, I hoped. The Consul signed to me to go on with my story.
"All would have been well, and I should haveslipped out the way I came, had not the First Consul decided to take a bath."
I was watching my auditor narrowly as I talked, for I felt my life depended upon his change of mood, and I thought I saw here the least glimmer of a twinkle in his eye; but if it was there it was banished instantly, and his face was as set and stern as before.
"I have never heard any words, your"—I started to say "your Majesty," caught myself, and stumbled miserably—"your—your—Excellency, that filled me with greater dismay than these: 'Tell my valet to prepare my bath'!"
Again I thought I caught that fleeting twinkle of the eye, but could not be sure.
"There was no hope for me," I went on, "but to wait for the First Consul to finish his bath; but, unfortunately for me, he is fonder of his bath than most men, and I stood in that dark closet in an agony of suspense, and revolving in my mind every conceivable plan of escape, for what seemed to me many long hours. All might still have been well,—for in the nature of things even the First Consul's bath must come to an end sometime,—had I not made a slight noise which the quick ears of the Consul and the Mameluke heard. I was discovered, and there was nothing for me to do but to flee through the audience-chamber and the main corridor, surprising the guard at the door, who, in his turn, raised the whole palace in pursuit.
"I was distancing my pursuers, and should havegotten out of the palace without difficulty, but that at the head of the grand staircase I met the Chevalier Le Moyne, running from the opposite end of the corridor. I would not under ordinary circumstances refuse a sword encounter with the chevalier (though I would prefer an opponent with a nicer sense of honor), but there was no time for such an encounter now if I would not have the whole palace upon me, and, besides, it was most important that the chevalier should not recognize me. There was nothing to do but to hide my face with my arm as if shielding it from his sword, and trip him up, as he says, school-boy fashion. I am sorry that it should have hurt his self-esteem to be vanquished by such a youthful trick, and regret still more that he should have suffered in the estimation of his fellow-officers thereby."
This time the twinkle in the Consul's eye was unmistakable, and I could hear the chevalier grinding his teeth with rage.
"As for your sentry," I continued, "he was aiming his gun to fire at me. There was no time for ceremony. I could have spitted him upon my sword, which was in my hand, and it might have been more respectful; but I dislike bloodshed, unless it is absolutely unavoidable, and so I threw up his gun with my arm, and sent him spinning after it in the dark. I had left my mare Fatima—who is no trick horse, but a young Arabian trained by myself from colthood to do my bidding—in a pine thicket close by. I was on her back and away just in time to escape your mounted guards, who thundered out the gates of the park scarce twentypaces behind me. Had Fatima been less swift I had not been here to tell the tale. I hope the First Consul will believe me when I say I have suffered much from remorse for my rash and thoughtless act. It was a wild spirit of adventure that led me into it, but I see clearly now that does not in the least excuse it, and I am ready to atone for it in any way you decree."
The eye of the First Consul, clear, piercing, heart-reading, had been upon me through the whole of this recital; but I, feeling that I was keeping nothing back (save only Gaston and Félice), and being nerved up to meet whatever fate should befall, bore its scrutiny well. He was silent for a moment after I had finished speaking, and my heart sank steadily down, for life looked very bright to me and I began to be very sure I had forfeited it by my foolishness. Suddenly the Consul spoke, but it was not to me nor to the chevalier; he turned to Pelagie.
"Mademoiselle, that was a boyish escapade, certainly, and it was a very pretty boy that contrived it. What do you think would be suitable punishment for such a crime? You shall be the arbiter of his fate."
Mademoiselle gave me one fleeting glance, saucy merriment dancing in her eye; then she turned to Bonaparte, and, curtsying low, she said with pretty archness:
"Citizen First Consul, I know him well, and I know that only death could be a greater punishment to him than to be called a 'pretty boy'! Do you not think his crime is atoned for?"
Bonaparte's wonderful smile lighted his face and fell on mademoiselle with almost too great sweetness, I thought.
"It is as you say, Mademoiselle," he replied. "Officer, you need not call the guard."
But I, suddenly relieved from the fear of death, stood there scarlet with confusion, head drooping, and ready to sink through the floor with shame, while I mentally anathematized my yellow curls and rosy cheeks and blue eyes, and most of all mydomtiferousvanity that had led me to array myself in shining white satin and glittering gold lace, that I was sure made me look fairer and rosier and more than ever like a big blond baby.
"Our hopes, like towering falcons, aimAt objects in an airy height."
"Officer," said Bonaparte, in his iciest tones, "conduct Citizeness Capet and Citizen Le Moyne back to the salon. I have something to say to the others that it will not be necessary for them to hear. You need not return yourself until I ring for you."
Madame la Duchesse glared at the little figure lazily and haughtily reclining at ease in the deep-armed chair while we all stood meekly before him. I think for a moment she was tempted to spring upon him and tear his eyes out. That the parvenu ruler of the republic should so address a member not only of the old nobility but the old royalty, was more than she could bear. A cool stare from the fathomless eyes of the Consul made her think better of it; she turned and accompanied the chevalier (who was nigh to foaming at the mouth with ill-suppressed rage) back to the salon.
As they left the cabinet, conducted in state by the officer, Bonaparte turned to Pelagie.
"Mademoiselle la Comtesse," he said in tones whose suavity were in marked contrast to the coldness of hislast speech, "will you not be seated? I am sorry to have kept you standing so long. I have asked you to wait while I spoke to this young man, because I have something more to say to you on the subject we were discussing. I beg, therefore, you will make yourself perfectly comfortable while you wait."
I think Pelagie was of half a mind to decline the Consul's courtesy, for she hesitated a moment, and I saw a dangerous spark leap into his eyes. I do not know whether she saw it also, or whether she simply decided it was better to be as complaisant as possible in small matters, since she might have to be recalcitrant in great ones. She sat down, apparently cool and collected, but in the chair most distant from the First Consul. I had noted the change in the form of his address, and wondered at it; but I believe he liked titles, and was glad to use them when there were no jealous ears about to find fault with his lapse from republican simplicity. He did not ask me to sit down, but turned to me as soon as Pelagie had taken her seat, and began abruptly:
"I made a proposition a few moments ago in jest; I now make it in earnest: I offer you a position on my staff as military aide. The young man who has the skill to extricate himself from such an escapade as yours is of the stuff I would like to use in my service, and when he adds to his other qualities the ability to tell his story so discreetly that it is impossible to guess whether or not he has heard anything of state councils and family quarrels, he is of still greater value in such a capacity."
I was overwhelmed. Lifted from the depths of disgrace and fear of death to the pinnacle of my day-dreams realized (for it had ever been my fondest dream to be a soldier of fortune, and to serve under the great Bonaparte—one that I had hardly dared to confess to myself) was almost more than brain could stand. More than that, to hear such words of commendation from the great soldier, when I had expected severest censure, set heart throbbing and head whirling. I could only stammer out:
"It would be the greatest joy and glory of my life to serve under the First Consul! I shall have to get my uncle's permission; may I defer my answer until I have an opportunity to consult him?"
The Consul frowned quickly; I have no doubt he was used to receiving only instant acceptances of his offers. But in a moment his countenance cleared, and he answered, pleasantly enough:
"Very well; I shall expect to hear from you the day after to-morrow"; and with a slight nod from him I understood myself dismissed.
Somehow I liked not leaving Pelagie there alone with him, but there was no alternative. I thought, too, as I made my low bow to her in leaving the room, that her eyes met mine with a look of appeal in their dark depths it was hard to withstand. I determined to take my station in the salon near the cabinet door, so that if she should need me I would be near at hand.
And thus it happened that a few minutes later I heard the Consul's bell ring violently, saw theofficer on duty enter the cabinet hastily, and immediately return, conducting Pelagie. Her eyes were shining with a fierce light, a bright spot was burning in either cheek, and her head was held so high and she was looking so straight forward with an unseeing gaze that she did not see me as she passed. I saw her take her place among the court ladies and Madame Bonaparte look at her with cold displeasure. Being no longer on sentry duty, I joined my aunt, and she whispered to me:
"The pretty Comtesse is in trouble. Madame will not easily forgive her husband spending ten minutes alone with her in his cabinet."
My soul raged within me, for I could see that others also were whispering about her, and for a moment I was ready to challenge all the world, including the great Bonaparte himself, who (though, I believed, innocently) had given occasion for the whisperings. Of course I knew that his interview with Pelagie had been entirely in behalf of the chevalier, but others did not seem to be so certain of it, and especially did Madame Bonaparte's attitude toward her give rise to unpleasant comment. I longed eagerly for a word with Pelagie herself, but I saw no chance of obtaining it. Yet fortune favored me, for later in the evening, when they were preparing the piquet-tables, I found myself placed next to her; and once, when excitement over some disputed point in the game was running high, and the din of contending voices made a friendly cover for a low-toned speech, I managed to say to her:
"You look troubled, Mademoiselle; is there any way in which I can be of service to you?"
She smiled up at me with a look of trust that touched me greatly, and said hurriedly, mentioning no names (which might have been dangerous):
"I wanted this chance to tell you. He insisted on that marriage, and when I told him I would never marry a man who had denounced and betrayed in such cowardly fashion the man to whom he owed his life, he was very rude to me."
"Rude to you!" I whispered fiercely. "Then I cannot take service under him."
But she looked greatly alarmed when I said that, and whispered eagerly:
"No, no, Monsieur; do not say that! Take the place, if you can, for your own sake,"—and then she hesitated a moment,—"and for mine."
There was no chance for another word; the game was breaking up, and the old duchess came and carried her off with a glare of distrust and suspicion at me, and I had no doubt she had been watching our whispered consultation.
There was no chance, either, to tell my uncle of my interview with the Consul; for I could say nothing before my aunt without entering into explanations that I did not want to make to her, and I knew the fact of my returning to the salon instead of being hurried off to prison had quieted his alarms. The hour was late, and we said good night to each other in the corridors when we returned home, going at once to our rooms.
I hurried down-stairs the next morning, hoping to find my uncle taking his morning coffee in the garden, as he often did in this lovely spring weather; but I had overslept, and he was already gone. Late in the afternoon I sought him in his library, for I knew my answer to the First Consul must be decided upon at once, and I was anxious to tell him all about my interview. He answered my knock by a quick "Enter, enter!" and I found him brimming over with gay good humor and excitement.
"You are just in time, my boy," he cried. "I am expecting the American ambassadors every moment, and, if they offer no objection, you may stay and see how history is made. We are to sign the treaty that is to give the First Consul the munitions of war, and that will place America in the very front rank of nations."
My own affairs seemed of small moment beside such stupendous ones, and I saw that my uncle had entirely forgotten his alarm of the evening before. I was myself very greatly excited, for this was the moment to which I had been looking for nearly a year, though the realization about to be consummated was far exceeding my wildest fancies.
The two gentlemen were announced a moment later, and they both greeted me cordially, for they knew my family at home and I had called on them several times in Paris. Nor did my uncle have to prefer a request that I should be permitted to be a witness of the signing of the treaty. Mr. Livingston himself suggested that I be invited to remain, and, the others assenting most cordially, I thanked them heartily for theircourtesy, and retired to a seat in the background, where I might not intrude upon their deliberations.
The document seemed long, and in fact, as I understood it, there were three documents—one which they called the treaty, and two others they called "conventions." They read them all over carefully several times before signing, and I heard the article read that I had seen the First Consul write, and discovered that one convention was to determine in what manner the sixty million francs were to be paid to France, and the other convention was concerned with the twenty million francs to be paid by the United States to such of its citizens as held claims against France.
There seemed to be some little discussions on a few minor points which were easily settled, and then very solemnly they each signed the three documents, Mr. Livingston writing his name first, then Mr. Monroe, and then my uncle. When this was done, the three gentlemen, as by a common impulse, rose to their feet and shook hands, their faces shining with a solemn light which I believe had nothing to do with self-glory, but with an unselfish joy at having accomplished an act that would bring honor and benefit to two great nations and to future generations. I, in my corner, was almost as proud as they, and quite as happy (when I thought of the honor that was to come to my country, and especially the blessings to that great West I was so interested in), and for the first time in my life I felt it might be almost finer to accomplish such great things by statesmanship and a stroke of thepen than to win fame and glory by the sword. Then I saw that Mr. Livingston was beginning to speak. He stood up straight and tall and fine-looking, and his manner was very impressive and full of dignity and a kind of solemn joy. I was very proud of him as a representative of my country, and each word that he spoke made me prouder and happier.
"We have lived long," he began, "but this is the noblest work of our whole lives. The treaty which we have just signed has not been obtained by art or dictated by force; equally advantageous to the two contracting parties, it will change vast solitudes into flourishing districts. From this day the United States take their place among the powers of the first rank. The English lose all exclusive influence in the affairs of America. Thus one of the principal causes of European rivalries and animosities is about to cease. The instruments we have just signed will cause no tears to be shed; they prepare ages of happiness for innumerable generations of human creatures. The Mississippi and Missouri will see them succeed one another, and multiply, truly worthy of the regard and care of Providence, in the bosom of equality, under just laws, freed from the errors of superstition and the scourge of bad government."
My uncle and Mr. Monroe seemed greatly impressed by his words (as, indeed, no one who heard them could help being); and then there was half an hour of pleasant talk, in which the three gentlemen kindly included me. As the American ambassadors took their leave, my uncle turned to me.
The Signing of the Louisiana Purchase Treaty by Marbois, Livingston, and MonroeThe Signing of the Louisiana Purchase Treaty by Marbois, Livingston, and Monroe
"Well, my boy," he said, his kind face beaming, "we have settled the affairs of two great nations most satisfactorily; now we will settle yours. What did the First Consul want of you last evening?"
I had made up my mind to tell my uncle all about my acquaintance with the Comtesse de Baloit and the Chevalier Le Moyne, if he had time to listen,—for otherwise it would be difficult to explain my interview with the Consul, or how I happened to be summoned to his presence,—and I asked him if he had time to hear a long story. He replied that he considered he had accomplished enough for one day, and he should do nothing more, until dinner at least; he might possibly be summoned to an interview with the First Consul at the Tuileries later in the evening.
He scarcely interrupted me through my long recital, unless an occasional heavy scowl at some special perfidy of the chevalier's could be called an interruption. He chuckled with delight when I told how I tripped up the chevalier on the grand staircase of St. Cloud, and uttered a vigorous "Diable!" when he heard how I came to be summoned before the First Consul. He listened almost breathlessly to my account of my interview with the Consul, and drew a great sigh of relief as I finished.
"Why, my lad," he said, "you have been having great experiences! I wonder you could forget them sufficiently to be so deeply interested, as you seemed to be, in the doings of three old diplomats."
I assured him that what the three diplomats had just accomplished was of greater interest to me thanany of my own affairs could possibly be. In all my story I had touched as lightly as I could on the Comtesse de Baloit, hoping that my uncle would not discover that I had any special interest in that direction; but he was too astute a reader of human nature to be easily misled.
"That is all very well," he said, in reply to my assurance of a deeper interest in affairs of state than in my own; "I do not doubt for a moment that you believe what you say, and I could easily believe it, too, if it were not for the Comtesse de Baloit. Such affairs are more engrossing than all others in the world, if I remember my own youthful days aright. But I had no idea the wind sat in that quarter, as your Mr. Shakspere would say. Have you any idea how high you are aspiring? I know you Americans stop at nothing; but, my dear boy, you might as well aspire to the hand of the Princess Charlotte of England!"
"I am aspiring to the hand of no one, sir," I answered rather hotly, for I knew so well how hopeless any dreams of mine might be that I liked not to have any one think I was cherishing false hopes. "Whatever my feeling toward the Comtesse may be, I have never had the slightest hope. If Citizeness Capet, as the First Consul calls her, does not succeed in marrying the comtesse to the Chevalier Le Moyne, then her cousins the Comte d'Arbois and the Duc d'Enghien will probably marry her into one of the reigning houses of Europe. Mademoiselle la Comtesse has shown me some kindness, but only such as any right-feeling young maiden would show to one who has been able todo her some little service, and I am not one to presume upon her grateful feeling."
My uncle looked at me for a moment with a little frown between his brows, as if he were trying to solve some perplexing question, and then the frown cleared away and he spoke smilingly:
"Well, well, we will dismiss the Comtesse; that is too difficult a problem. And now for what is, after all, a question of more practical importance. Do you want to accept this offer of the First Consul's?"
"Very much, sir," I answered eagerly.
"I doubt whether I have any right to give you permission to do so," responded my uncle; "but this much authority I will assume. If the First Consul is willing to take you subject to the commands of your father when we can hear from him, I will give my permission, and I will write to your father by the first packet. It will be ten or twelve weeks before we can possibly hear from him, and it may be much longer. But I am rather relieved that you desire to accept the First Consul's offer. He does not like his favors rejected, and he is quite capable of holding me responsible for having influenced you, should you decline."
The First Consul was willing to take me on those conditions (I think he felt no doubt of my father's answer; such confidence had he in the magnetism of his own name that he believed any man would feel proud to have his son serve under him), and a very few days saw me arrayed in my glittering uniform and spending every spare moment, when I was offduty, riding up and down the Champs-Élysées in the hope not so much of seeing the Comtesse de Baloit as of being seen by her. For I felt that half the joy I had in my gorgeous trappings would be gone if she could not see them and admire them too.
And as my sword clanked and my spurs jingled while Fatima pranced and curveted under me in the bright spring weather, my heart sang an accompaniment to them.
Could it be possible that the great Bonaparte might turn the rest of his speech from jest to earnest? Would he, perhaps, now that he had made me his aide, trust her to me as willingly as to the chevalier?
And higher still sang my heart as Fatima, in answer to my excited touch, leaped and bounded along the avenue, and I remembered that night uponLa Belle Rivièrewhen mademoiselle had wished that I was a chevalier of France. Was I not one now in fact, if not in name?
"Take a straw and throw it into the air; you may see by that which way the wind is."
All my riding up and down the Champs-Élysées was like to have been for naught. We had received orders to be in readiness to start on the morrow for Belgium, where Bonaparte was to make his headquarters while preparing for war with England, and still I had not seen the comtesse, and she had not seen my beautiful regimentals.
My packing was done, my last arrangements made, most of my good-bys said; there was nothing left to do but to take my last ride down the avenue. And this time not in vain! There she sat in her gorgeous coach of scarlet and gold with the footmen and coachmen in dazzling liveries of gold lace and scarlet plush, and beside her, not the stern duchesse this time, but a younger woman who looked as if she might be a less formidable guardian.
She saw me, though for a moment she did not recognize me in my new and gaudy plumage. When she did, her eager look of welcome more than repaid me for my fruitless rides up and down the avenue. Shesignaled to her coachman to stop, and with a pretty little peremptory gesture summoned me to her side. She seemed to have no fear of the lady beside her, and no doubt she was merely a paid companion, for she ignored her entirely, or noticed her presence only by using English when she had anything of serious import to say.
"'Tis Fatima I wish to see, sir," she said as I drew up by her coach, my hat tucked under my arm. She put out her little hand and gently stroked the white star on Fatima's forehead, and the mare whinnied softly and rubbed her nose against the little gloved hand as if to say, "I remember you well; those were famous rides we had in old St. Louis."
"And 'tis you I wish to see," I responded boldly. "I have been looking for you for many days; why have you deserted the Champs-Élysées?"
She looked up at me quickly, as if pleased with the audacity of the first part of my speech, but as I finished with my question she dropped her eyes and seemed embarrassed. In a moment she spoke in a low, constrained voice, and in English:
"My aunt and I have had misunderstandings. She wishes me to appear in public with a man I do not like. In Paris that means fiancé. I will stay in my hôtel with headaches rather than ride on the avenue beside him!" with sudden fire. Then she added with an attempt at her old lightness:
"But I must drive on. Should it be reported to madame that I stopped to talk to Monsieur, I might have to suffer for it."
A sudden horror seized me.
"Mademoiselle, they do not use force?" I cried. "You are not held a prisoner?"
"No—not yet," she said slowly.
"Mademoiselle," I said, looking steadily into her eyes, "I have tried to see you to say good-by; I leave Paris to-morrow."
I saw her go suddenly white, but in a moment she spoke very calmly, and in French:
"Do you go back to America, Monsieur?"
"No, to Belgium with the First Consul: to Antwerp, I believe."
I spoke also in French, but added in English:
"Mademoiselle, if you need me, I will not go to Belgium; I will resign."
She shook her head.
"No; I am sorry you are going, but I would not have you resign. The First Consul is vindictive, they say; should you reject his favors, he may remember your St. Cloud offense."
"I care not for that!" And then I added moodily, "They will compel you to marry him."
She threw up her head in much the same fashion Fatima throws up hers when she scents conflict in the distance.
"They cannot coerce me!" she said proudly, and then she added, half playfully, half defiantly:
"They tell me I have royal blood; they shall see I know how to use my royal prerogative." She held out her hand to me and spoke again in French:
"Good-by, Monsieur, and bon voyage!"
I bent low over her hand.
"Let me stay, Mademoiselle," I whispered.
"What! and lose your beautiful uniform! 'Tis too severe a test of friendship. No, no, Monsieur," with the old mocking laugh. But before I had time to resent her teasing speech, her mood had changed. She leaned far out of the carriage and threw her beautiful arm over Fatima's arching neck.
"Good-by, Fatima," she cried—"dear, dear Fatima!" And as Fatima, in answer to her caress, drew closer to her, she dropped a light kiss on her soft muzzle, leaned back in her carriage with a signal to the coachman, and rolled away.
The weeks that followed were in some respects the strangest weeks of my life, and often in memory they return to me as a confused dream. War had been declared with England, and in Antwerp, in Dunkirk, on the Loire, in every little bay and inlet that indented the coast from Brest, where a great squadron was gathered, to Boulogne, where another was getting together, ships were building of every kind: floating fortresses of wood, light pinnaces and yawls for carrying the swift van of an army, and heavy barges for the impedimenta of war. A mighty flotilla, gathering from the Scheldt to the Garonne, from Toulon and Rochefort to Calais and Antwerp, to bear a vast invading army to the shores of England.
In constant communication with the great captain, I yet saw little of him, for day and night I was kept riding over the green fields of France, through thebeautiful May and June, carrying orders, sometimes to little inland streams where tiny yawls were building, sometimes to great city dockyards where mighty ships were on the stays. And though these were not the deeds of valor I had dreamed of, I began to realize what a wonderful mind was planning all these wide-spread activities, and to understand that a great captain must be something more than a good fighter, and prowess on the field of battle was not all that was required of a soldier.
Yet I began to long for the din and stir of conflict and to see my hero, as in dreams I had often seen him, calm and unmoved, 'midst smoke and carnage, directing with unerring genius masses of men, infantry, cavalry, artillery, through the mazes of battle; or himself leading a resistless charge, sword extended, waving his men forward to victory and glory.
So when an old officer who had seen many wars told me he had no doubt it would be two years before the preparations for war were finished and war actually begun, my heart sank within me. Two years of hard work day and night and no glory! To be aide to the First Consul was not what I had dreamed of, and my thoughts turned longingly back to Paris and the Comtesse de Baloit. All the more did my thoughts turn in that direction because the Chevalier Le Moyne, who was also on the general's staff, had been for some weeks absent from headquarters. I always studiously avoided him if we happened to be in quarters at the same time, and so I did not at first miss him; but when day after day and even weeks passed withouthis reporting at mess, I began to be greatly troubled. My imagination pictured him as back in Paris urging his suit to Pelagie, and I feared greatly, either that she would at last yield to his importunities, seeing no way of escape, or that some trouble would come to her if she persistently scorned him.
In the midst of my anxieties a letter was brought me from home. The ten weeks were up when I could begin to expect an answer to my uncle's letter asking my father's permission for me to take service under Bonaparte, and I tore it eagerly open, hardly knowing, since hostilities would be so long delayed, whether I most hoped that it would contain his permission or his refusal. In my haste I had not noticed that it was not my father's writing on the outside, and that made it the greater shock to find within, in my mother's dearly loved penmanship, only these few words:
"Your father is very ill; come home at once."
I had never known my father to be ill even for a day. I knew this must be no ordinary illness to cause so brief and so peremptory a summons home, and all my world seemed suddenly topsy-turvy.
I loved my father, but I had been much away from home, in school at Princeton, and in my short vacations I had found him somewhat cold and stern in manner; so that my love for him was more of reverence and honor than the tender affection I felt for my beautiful mother. None the less was my heart torn with anguish at the thought of what might befall in the long weeks before I could possibly reach his side, and how vainly I wished that I had been a betterson, and shown him more of the love that was really in my heart for him.
There was no time to be lost, and my first duty was to seek the First Consul and show him my letter. He was more kind and considerate than I could have expected.
"You have my sincerest sympathy," he said. "There is no question as to your course. Your first duty is to your father. I am sorry to lose my officer whom I have found even more efficient than I had expected and for whom I predicted great glory as soon as actual war should commence. But it may be possible you will find your father entirely recovered on your arrival at home; in that case, and should you have his permission to return, your old position will be open to you."
I hardly knew how to thank him suitably and to express my regret at leaving his service, and I have no doubt I did it awkwardly enough. As I was leaving the room he called me back.
"Will you go to Paris before you sail?"
There was nothing in the question to make me blush and stammer, yet I did both.
"I must sail on the earliest packet, sir," I said; "but if one is not sailing immediately I would like your permission to return to Paris and settle my affairs there and say good-by to my aunt and uncle."
"It is no doubt the wiser course," replied Bonaparte. "In sailing from Antwerp you are liable to fall into the hands of the English in passing the Straits of Dover. From Paris you can find a ship sailingfrom Le Havre carrying the American flag. It will be safer, and you will save time in going by Paris. Should you decide to do so, I shall have a commission to intrust to you."
Since the First Consul advised it, I decided on the moment, and an hour later, saddle-bags packed, my man Cæsar holding his own horse and Fatima at the door, I was ready to start, only awaiting the Consul's commission. An officer rode up and handed me a packet.
"From General Bonaparte, sir," he said; and as I opened my saddle-bags to put the packet away for safe keeping, my eye caught the directions on the wrapper.
"To be delivered to the Comtesse de Baloit, Faubourg St. Germain."
The sight of the inscription gave me only pleasure, and I was tempted to think that the Consul had devised this commission especially to give me an opportunity of seeing the comtesse. It seemed to me an evidence of wonderful delicacy of feeling and thoughtfulness for others on the part of the great general, and I could not sufficiently admire him or be grateful to him. There was no question but that his commission would be faithfully executed the very first possible moment after my arrival in Paris.
It was early morning, the dew still on the hedges and the lark still singing his matins, as we entered the city with a stream of market-carts bringing in fresh fruits and vegetables and flowers for the early morning markets. Only working-people were in the streets:men going to their day's labor, blanchisseuses with their clothes in bundles on their heads, cooks and maids of all work with their baskets on their arms going to the market for the day's supply of food for the family.
Crossing the Place de la Bastille, a man on horseback rode up beside us and gave us good day. He had evidently come in with the country folk and was himself without doubt a small market-gardener, for the loam of the garden was on his rough cowhide boots and his blue smock was such as a countryman wears. I thought at first there was something strangely familiar in his face, and then I remembered I had seen him the evening before at the little country inn, twenty miles out from the city, where we had spent the night. He, like us, must have started at early dawn to reach the city by seven o'clock, very like for the same reason—to take advantage of the cool of the day; and like us also, he must have had a very good horse to make that distance in that time. I glanced at his horse as the thought occurred to me, and saw that it was indeed a good horse. Coal-black, except for a white star on his forehead and one white stocking, he was powerfully built, and yet with such an easy stretch of limb as promised speed as well as endurance. I thought it a little strange that a country farmer should own a horse of such points and breeding as this one showed itself to be, and perhaps my thought appeared in my face, for the countryman answered it.
"'Tis a fine horse, Monsieur, is it not?" he said.
I noticed that he spoke with a very slight lisp, but that otherwise both his language and his intonations were better than I could have expected.
"Yes," I said. "Did you breed him yourself?"
"Not exactly," he answered, "but he was bred on an estate belonging to the Comtesse de Baloit, where I work, and I have helped to train him."
He must have seen my irrepressible start when he mentioned Pelagie's name, for he looked at me curiously with something like either alarm or suspicion in his glance. I was tempted to tell him that I knew his mistress and expected to see her that very day, but I was saved from making such a foolish speech by the fellow himself.
"I am bringing him into the city for the comtesse to try," he said. "He is a very fine hunter."
"Then your mistress intends to follow the chase?" I asked, feeling a queer little pang that I did not stop to explain to myself at the thought.
"I suppose so, Monsieur, since she has sent for her hunter."
We were now well down the Rue de la St. Antoine, just where the narrow street of François-Miron comes in; and as if a sudden thought had struck him, the countryman said:
"I go this way, Monsieur; adieu," turned into the narrow street, and Cæsar and I rode on into the Rue de Rivoli, past the Hôtel de Ville, and so toward my uncle's house.
"Marsa," said Cæsar, as we turned off the Rue de Rivoli, "dat fellah had a gold belt and a little daggerstuck in it under his smock. I seed it when I's ridin' behind youse bof and de win' tuk and blew up his smock-skirt."
I believed the "gold belt" and the "little dagger" were inventions of Cæsar's, for he loved to tell wonderful tales; but none the less was I uneasy and troubled, for suppose it should be true! I liked not the thought of a man wearing a concealed weapon going on a plausible errand to the Comtesse de Baloit.
"Hope tells a flattering tale,Delusive, vain, and hollow.Ah! let not Hope prevail,Lest disappointment follow."
Not many hours later saw me seeking admittance to the stately but dilapidated hôtel of the Comtesse de Baloit in the Faubourg St. Germain. I was determined to see Pelagie, and if possible alone, so I sent up word that a messenger from the First Consul desired to see Mademoiselle la Comtesse on business of importance. I feared, should I send up my own name, that the duchesse would not permit her to see me, but, had I known it, I could have sent no message less likely to win Pelagie's consent to an interview. It was only through a lurking suspicion of whom the messenger might be that she consented to see me.
I was ushered into a room very luxuriously furnished, but in which everything had an air of faded grandeur—as if belonging to another age. The tapestries were not only faded but rapidly growing thread-bare, and the gold of the buhl furniture was peelingoff in strips, and in tables inlaid with fine mosaics many of the stones were wanting. All this lack of care or evidence of poverty rather surprised me, remembering the magnificent coach and gorgeously liveried servants I had twice seen on the avenue. Then I recalled what I had often heard since coming to Paris, that the nobility of the old régime would starve and go cold at home to make the display in public they considered befitting their dignity. It seemed very sad to me, and I wondered if it could be because mademoiselle did not have enough to eat that she had seemed of late to be growing thin and pale. To me, who am both somewhat of an epicure and a valiant trencherman (and remembering the abundance she had been used to in America), nothing could seem more pitiful than to think of my little Pelagie as going hungry.
Yet when, in a few minutes, she came in, radiantly beautiful in some Frenchy flowing gown of pale rose-color and much soft lace and ribbons, no one could think of her as hungry or poverty-pinched in any way, but only as some wonderful fairy queen who dined on peacocks' tongues and supped on nectar and ambrosia.
She was greatly surprised to see me; I think she thought of me as a kind of Daniel venturing into the lion's den. But the old lioness, the duchesse, was not with her, only the same companion I had seen in the carriage on the Champs-Élysées, and I felt once more that fate smiled on me. It meant much to me, for I knew not whether I should ever see her again, and I longed greatly to have a few minutes' untrammeledconversation with her, such as I had often had in St. Louis in those days that seemed so far away.
Perhaps my eyes dwelt too eagerly upon her. I never could quite remember how beautiful she was when I was away from her, and so every time I saw her I was dazzled afresh. This time, too, I was trying to fasten every lovely curve of cheek and throat, and glowing scarlet of lips, and shadowy glory of dark eyes and waving hair, and witching little curls about white brow and neck, yes, and every knot of lace and ribbon, so firmly in my mind that I might always have the beautiful picture to look on when there was no longer any hope of seeing again the bright reality.
So absorbed was I in fixing fast in memory every little detail of the bright picture that I think I must have forgot my manners: it was only seeing the long lashes on the rose-tinted cheek that brought me to myself. I bent low over her hand and then put into it the packet the First Consul had intrusted me to give to her.
"For me? From the First Consul?" she said, in slow surprise.
"Yes," I said; "and when you have opened it, Mademoiselle, then I crave a few minutes' speech with you."
I turned and walked to one of the windows and stood looking down into the courtyard where Cæsar was holding our horses, that mademoiselle might examine its contents unobserved.
I knew not what was in the package nor the contents of the note that accompanied it, but somehow Ihad had a feeling (perhaps because the First Consul had seemed so kind in his manner at our last interview, or perhaps only because my hopes pointed that way) that the Consul's note was to use his influence with her in my behalf, as he had once used it for the chevalier. Therefore as I stood with my back to her, looking down into the courtyard, my eyes saw not what they were looking at, for they were filled with a vision of future happiness and I was trembling with the beauty of the vision.
"Monsieur!" I turned quickly, for the voice was cold and hard, and it fell on my heart like the sleet of early spring falling on opening buds to chill them to death. And when I turned, the Pelagie that met my gaze was the Pelagie I had first seen in Mr. Gratiot's house: eyes blazing with wrath, little teeth close set between scarlet lips, and little hands tightly clenched. My heart froze at the sight. Could the Consul's plea for me have been so distasteful to her?
"Monsieur," she repeated, every word a poniard, "how did you dare bring me such a message!"
I found no words to answer her, for if the message was what I had hoped, then I began to wonder how I had dared, though my spirit, as proud as hers, brooked not that she should take it as an insult. But she did not wait for any answer.
"You!" she said, with inexpressible bitterness. "Has wearing the First Consul's uniform so changed you from the American gentleman I once knew that you delight to humiliate a poor and helpless lady of France?"
"Mademoiselle la Comtesse," I said coldly, for still the foolish idea clung to my brain that the First Consul had wished to further my suit, and that mademoiselle had regarded it as humiliating that I should so presume, "I know not the contents of the First Consul's note, but I think la Comtesse knows I would never willingly humiliate her."
"You know not!" and she half extended the note toward me, as if to show it to me, and then drew it quickly back, a sudden change in her manner from proud anger to shrinking shame. She turned to her companion and said in a cool tone of command:
"You may wait for me, Henriette, in the blue salon; I have something to say to Monsieur."
Henriette seemed to hesitate. No doubt in France it was not permitted to see a young gentleman alone, or perhaps Henriette had instructions from the duchesse to be ever on guard when she herself could not be present. Mademoiselle saw her hesitation.
"Go!" she said haughtily, and I believe no being on earth would have dared disobey that ringing tone of command. Henriette shrank from it, and as she hastened to obey, mademoiselle added in a gentler tone:
"You may return in five minutes."
As she left the room, mademoiselle turned quickly to me, as if to lose no moment of the few she had given herself.
"Monsieur," she said, and her manner was the manner of the old Pelagie, "I hope you will forgive me for supposing for a moment that you knew the contentsof the First Consul's note. I cannot show it to you, but I am going to place a great trust in you. Monsieur, I cannot stay longer in France. Between the duchesse, the chevalier, and the First Consul, I will be driven to marry the chevalier, or—worse. Ah, Monsieur, if I had never left St. Louis!"
She had spoken hurriedly, as if fearing to lose courage otherwise, but she looked not at me as she spoke, and her face was dyed with painful blushes. A horrible suspicion of the contents of that note almost froze my blood, but the next thought, that mademoiselle must fly from France, sent it rushing hotly through my veins.
"Mademoiselle," I cried impetuously, "go home with me to America."
I saw her turn pale and draw herself up proudly. I did not dream she could misunderstand me: I only thought she scorned so humble a suitor. And the thought set fire to a pride that was equal to her own.
"Mademoiselle," I said sternly, "I cannot set you upon a throne nor place a crown upon your head, but in America the wife of an honorable gentleman is a queen always, his heart is her throne, his home is her kingdom, his love is her crown."
To my amazement, she was all soft and drooping and rosy and smiling. I was ready to pick her up and fly with her that moment, so adorable was she in this mood, but she would not let me come near her.
"Monsieur," she said, looking up at me most sweetly, "to be the wife of an honorable American gentleman, it seems to me, would be great happiness;but you have not your father's permission to marry: he would not thank you for bringing home an émigré bride."
There came to me a sudden vision of my stern father. He would certainly think that was a matter on which he should be first consulted. He was capable of making it very unpleasant for my wife should I bring one home unannounced, and if he did not cut me off with a shilling, he might easily put me on so small an allowance as would make it impossible for me to maintain her in the luxury suited to her position. I would be glad to work for her, early and late, but I knew nothing about earning my own bread, and while I was learning to earn hers she might suffer for the comforts of life.
Mademoiselle was quick to see my embarrassment, and I suppose her pride was touched, for when she spoke it was with her old hauteur.
"It is very kind of Monsieur to think of offering me a refuge, but my plans are made."
I hardly heard her, for I was busy with my own thoughts. I interrupted her eagerly:
"Mademoiselle, let me take you back to St. Louis and put you in Dr. Saugrain's care; then I will make all necessary arrangements with my father and come for you."
"You did not understand me, Monsieur," she answered coldly; "my plans are made: I am going to my cousin the Duc d'Enghien."
"The Duc d'Enghien!" I repeated, in a dazed fashion. Had I not heard that her cousin would marryher into one of the royal families of Europe? This, then, was the knell to all my hopes! This was the reason she answered me so coldly: there was something better in store for her than to be the wife of a simple American gentleman.
Well, I had never cherished any hopes; had I not told both my uncle François and the First Consul so? Ah, but had I not? Had not every moment since I had first known her been a fluctuation between hope and despair? I had told the First Consul she had not given me any reason to hope; but had she not? Did she not seem a few minutes ago almost willing to become the wife of an American gentleman? What had changed her mood?
While I was trying to collect my scattered thoughts she spoke again, hurriedly:
"I am telling you this in great confidence, Monsieur, because I can trust you. No one must know—least of all, any one in this house."
For a moment I could not speak. I turned away to the window and looked down once more into the courtyard with unseeing eyes. But it was no beautiful vision of the future that dimmed their gaze this time: it was the black darkness of despair that blinded them like a pall.
Then I made a great resolve. The Comtesse de Baloit, the Bourbon princess, was not for such as I; but to mademoiselle, to my little Pelagie, I might still be loyal friend and offer devoted service. I turned toward her again.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "I will go with you to theDuc d'Enghien. I will never leave you until I see you safe under the protection of your cousin."
"What! The young officer of the First Consul aiding and abetting an émigré who flees from the First Consul! It is rank treason, Monsieur!" and Pelagie smiled with something of her old merry raillery.
"I am no longer an aide, Mademoiselle," I said seriously. "I have been called home by the illness of my father, and General Bonaparte has relieved me from duty."
Her quick sympathy was sweet to see and to feel, but I did not dare linger in its warmth, for the five minutes, I knew, must be nearly up.
"Now, Mademoiselle," I said, "since I am no longer in service to the First Consul, there will be no treason in helping you in your flight—"
But she interrupted me: "No, Monsieur, it is not necessary; the Prince de Polignac has made every arrangement and will see me safe to my cousin."
"The Prince de Polignac!" I exclaimed, in surprise. "But he is in exile, and almost as much under the First Consul's ban as Cadoudal himself; how can he help you?"
In my astonishment that she should think of relying upon Polignac, whose life I believed would be forfeit if he dared to enter Paris, I had unconsciously spoken his name with raised voice. We had heretofore been speaking almost in whispers for fear of a possible listener. As I uttered his name Pelagie started and looked nervously toward the door of the blue salon.
"I beg you to be careful, Monsieur," she said anxiously. "As you say, his life would be forfeit if any one suspected his presence in Paris. I do not know that he is here, but I am hourly expecting to hear from him. There is no one in the world I would have trusted this secret to but you, and I am relying on your discretion as well as your honor."
I bowed my thanks, grateful for her confidence and ashamed of the indiscretion that might so easily have betrayed her secret. But I had not gained my point.
"You will let me help in this flight, too, Mademoiselle! It is a great peril you are undertaking, and one more sword, whose owner will lightly risk his life for you, cannot come amiss."
But she only shook her head and whispered, "It is impossible," and at that moment Henriette entered the room.
"Mademoiselle la Comtesse," she said timidly (I fear Pelagie must have been at times something of a little tyrant, to make her companion stand in such awe of her), "I have stayed away, not five minutes, but ten. I come to remind you that the hour has arrived at which Madame la Duchesse returns."
"Thanks, my good Henriette," said Pelagie, sweetly; "it is true, and I had forgotten it."
She turned quickly to me: "You must go at once, Monsieur! It is much better the duchesse should not find you here."
"And can I not see you again? Shall I never see you again?" I asked eagerly, in English.
"No, no! Do not try—I will send word," she answered,also in English, and then put out her hand, "Go, Monsieur," she said in French, "and farewell!"
I took her hand and bent low over it.
"Farewell, Mademoiselle," I said, for it cut me to the quick that she had not said "Au revoir," as she had said it on La Belle Rivière.
Down in the courtyard, in the act of throwing my leg over Fatima's back, there rode under the arch of the entrance the countryman who had overtaken us in the morning, leading the magnificent horse he had said was for Mademoiselle la Comtesse, and riding another. It was not strange that he should be bringing mademoiselle her hunter, but it struck me as somewhat strange that the moment he caught sight of me a quick scowl should darken his brow and as quickly be cleared away: as if it had come unbidden and been driven away from a sense of expediency. As I passed him on the way out he touched his cap to me politely, and the sleeve of his rough jerkin falling away a little in the act, I thought I caught a glimpse of a lace wrist-ruffle.
"Perhaps Cæsar was not mistaken, after all," I said to myself; "if he wears lace ruffles at his wrist he may well wear a gold belt and poniard at his waist. A strange countryman, forsooth!" And a secret uneasiness that I could neither explain nor dismiss returned to me as often as he came into my thoughts.