mmmmammmmmmr^m^mmm 
 
 3 1822 011 
 
 2 9814 
 
 -J Al li> :;..:::::; 
 
 f^m 
 
 mMM 
 
 
 
 
 
 MMF»«W»fifl»0«M»«M»m»l«mfMin«»#Ki,«»0«»IMf*»fflOO«l^^
 
 presented to the 
 UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 SAN DIEGO 
 
 by 
 
 Mrs, Griff ing Bancroft
 
 '"■Q .'216 K514 1879 
 UMi','7.1,.9'..f*K!fP«NlA SAN DItGO 
 
 fin ill* 11 ■Til. iM ,i'r™ LfitbU 
 , iilliiiillli 
 
 3 1822 01112 9814 
 
 Pa,
 
 'Paris is beautiful, is it not?" Page 6.
 
 Kings in Exile ^^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 From the French of ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 1? ^ 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ '&^ Alphonse Daudet 
 
 By Virginia Champlin '^ ^ ^ "^ ^ ^ 
 
 Chicago and New York ♦ ♦ ♦ 
 Rand, McNally & Company
 
 Copyright, iS/g, by Lee & Shepard. 
 All Rights Reserved.
 
 To 
 
 Mr. George Parsons Lathrop, 
 
 whose appreciation of foreign authors has brought 
 
 them many admirers, 
 
 this translation is dedicated, 
 
 in memory of enjoyment afforded by his prose 
 
 and poetical writings, and as a slight 
 
 recognition of his kindness and 
 
 literary encouragement.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 FiKST Day i 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 A Royalist 26 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The Court at Saint Mande 55 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 The King enjoys himself 76 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 J. Tom Levis, Agent for Foreigners . . . .108 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 The Bohemia of Exile 135 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Joys of the People 160 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 The Great ScHKiMt 176
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 At the Academy 202 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 A Home Scene 225 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Military Preparations 239 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 The Night-Train 265 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 A Prisoner 290 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A DfeNoOMENT . 294 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 The Little King 309 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 The Darkened Room 319 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 Fides, Spes 333 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 The Extinction of a Race 348
 
 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FIRST DAY. 
 
 FRtoERiQUE, who was feverish and exhausted, had been 
 sleeping since morning, and dreaming of her troubles as a 
 dethroned and exiled queen, and was living again amid 
 the tumult and anguish of a two-months' siege. Her 
 sleep was disturbed by bloody visions of war, and broken 
 by sobs, shudders, and nervous tremors, from which she 
 awoke with a start of fear. 
 
 "Zara ! where is Zara?" she cried. 
 
 One of her waiting-women approached the bed, and 
 gently quieted her : H. R. H. the Count of Zara was 
 sleeping quietly in his room ; Madame Eleonora was with 
 him. 
 
 "And the king?" 
 
 " He went out at noon in one of the hotel carriages." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 " No : his Majesty took the councillor Boscovich with 
 him." 
 
 The servant's Dalmatian patois, which was hard and 
 resonant as the sound of waves rolling pebble-stones.
 
 2 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 caused the queen's terrors to vanish ; and the quiet hotel 
 room, of which she had merely caught a glimpse on arriv- 
 ing at daybreak, gradually impressed her with its comfort- 
 ing commonplaceness and luxurious furniture, its bright 
 draperies, tall mirrors, and soft, white woollen carpet, on 
 which fell, through the window-blinds, shadows from the 
 rapid, noiseless flight of swallows, interspersed with occa- 
 sional moths. 
 
 " Five o'clock already ! Come, Petscha, dress my hair 
 quickly ! I am ashamed at having slept so long." 
 
 It was five o'clock, and the most charming day with 
 which the summer of 1872 had yet delighted the Par- 
 isians. 
 
 When the queen stepped out on the long balcony of 
 the Hotel des Pyramides, which had fifteen windows 
 along the front, shaded by pink awnings, and facing the 
 most beautiful part of the Rue de Rivoli, she gazed 
 around her in wonder and admiration. Below, on the 
 broad road, an unbroken file of carriages, mingling the 
 noise of their wheels with the light sprinkling of the water- 
 ing-carts, swept like the wind down towards the Bois in a 
 confused dazzle of glittering harnesses and bright toilets. 
 
 Then, from the crowd hurrying in at the gilded gates of 
 the Tuileries, the charmed gaze of the queen wandered to 
 the bright mass of white dresses, fair hair, gay silks, toy- 
 balloons, and the pleasure-seekers and children in holiday 
 attire who are to be seen in the great Parisian garden on 
 sunny days ; and it finally rested with delight on a dome 
 of verdure, an immense roof of dense foliage, which, as 
 seen from above, was formed by chestnut-trees, under 
 whose shade a military band was playing, adding its 
 music to the merry babel of children's voices. 
 
 The bitter heartache of the exiled queen was gradually
 
 FIRST DAY. 3 
 
 soothed by the sight of the joy around her. A pleasant 
 sense of warmth enveloped her all around like a clinging, 
 supple, silken net. Her cheeks, faded by watching and 
 privations, now wore a healthy rose-tint ; and she ex- 
 claimed, "Ah, my God, how happy one is here ! " 
 
 The most unfortunate sometimes have these sudden 
 and unconscious moments of delight ; and it does not 
 come from human beings, but from the limitless elo- 
 quence of inanimate objects. 
 
 To this dethroned queen, — cast into exile with her hus- 
 band and child by one of those revolutions of the people 
 which make one think of earthquakes, thunder and light- 
 ning, and volcanic eruptions, — to this woman whose low, 
 haughty brow still bore the mark where had rested one of 
 the finest crowns in Europe, words could not have brought 
 consolation ; and here joyous nature, blooming in re- 
 newed life in this marvellous summer of Paris (which has 
 an atmosphere between that of a hot-house and the mild 
 coolness of river countries), spoke to her of hope, resto- 
 ration, and peace. 
 
 But, while relaxing the tension of her nerves and 
 drinking in the fertile scene, the exile all at once shud- 
 ders. Yonder, at her left, near the entrance to the gar- 
 den, stands a spectral monument of burned walls, with 
 reddened columns and a crumbling roof, and whose win- 
 dows are holes against a blue space, the open front having 
 a background of ruins ; and at the end, looking upon the 
 Seine, a pavilion almost entire, gilded by the flame which 
 has blackened the iron of its balconies. It was all that was 
 left of the palace of the Tuileries. 
 
 The sight of it cost the queen deep emotion ; and she 
 felt stunned, as if her heart had fallen down on those rocks. 
 Ten years, — it was not ten years since then ! Oh, how
 
 4 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 sad was chance ! and how prophetic it seemed to her to 
 have taken up her abode opposite these ruins ! 
 
 In the spring of 1864 she hved there with her husband. 
 A bride of three months, the Countess of Zara displayed 
 in the allied courts her happiness as a wife and an heredi- 
 tary princess. Every one loved and welcomed her. 
 
 In the Tuileries particularly there were balls and fetes 
 without number. She beheld them again behind those 
 crumbled walls, and saw once more the vast and brilliant 
 galleries dazzling with light and jewels, and the court- 
 dresses trailing down the grand staircases between a 
 double row of glittering cuirasses ; and the music from the 
 invisible band, which reached her now and then from the 
 garden, seemed to her the band of Valdteufel in the Hall 
 of the Marshals. Was it not to this lively stirring air that 
 she had danced with their cousin Maximilian a week 
 before his departure for Mexico ? Yes : it was that very 
 air, — a quadrille formed by emperors and kings, queens 
 and empresses, whose august faces, and the voluptuous 
 measures of the dance, were brought before her by this 
 motif from " La Belle H^lene : " Max, thoughtful, and 
 biting his blond beard ; Carlotta opposite him, near Na- 
 poleon, radiant and transfigured by the joy of being an 
 empress. Where were now the dancers in that beautiful 
 quadrille? All dead, exiled, or mad. Mourning upon 
 mourning ; disaster after disaster ! God, then, was no 
 longer on the side of kings. Then she remembered all 
 that she had suffered since the death of the old King 
 Leopold had placed on her brow the double crown of 
 Illyria and Dalmatia. Her daughter, her first-bom, had 
 been carried off, in the midst of the sacred festivals, by 
 one of those strange and obscure maladies which cause 
 the extinction of a family, and thereby end a race ; so
 
 FIRST DA V. 5 
 
 that the candles around the dead mingled their light with 
 the illuminations of the city, and on the day of the burial 
 at L'Eglise du Dome there had not been time to remove 
 the flags. Together with these great griefs, and the 
 anxiety which her son's delicate health constantly caused 
 her, she had other sorrows known only to herself; for 
 her woman's pride made her conceal them in the most 
 secret corner of her heart. Alas ! the heart of the people 
 is no more faithful than that of kings. 
 
 One day — no one knew why — this Illyria, which had 
 given them so msiny/e/es, became disaffected towards her 
 sovereigns. Misunderstandings arose, followed by obsti- 
 nacy, defiance, and finally hatred, — that horrible hatred 
 of a whole country which is felt in the air and in the silence 
 of the streets, and is manifested by ironical looks and the 
 frowns of bent brows, which made the queen afraid to 
 show herself at a window, and obliged her to shrink into 
 the comer of her carriage during her short rides. 
 
 Oh, those cries of death beneath the terraces of her 
 chdteau at Laybach ! As she looked at the great palace 
 of the kings of France, she fancied she heard them again. 
 She saw once more the last meeting of the council, and the 
 ministers, pale and mad with fear, imploring the king to 
 abdicate. Then she recalled their flight in peasants' garb 
 at night across the mountains ; the villages in rebellion ; 
 the inhabitants shouting, as intoxicated with liberty as 
 were those in the cities ; and bonfires everywhere on the 
 mountain-tops. And she also remembered the tears of 
 gratitude she shed amid all this woe on finding in a cabin 
 milk for her son's supper ; finally the sudden resolution 
 with which she inspired the king to shut himself up in 
 Ragusa, which was still faithful, and the two months of 
 privation and suffering passed in the besieged city with t!ie
 
 6 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 royal child ill and almost dying of hunger ; the shame of 
 the final surrender ; the gloomy embarking in the midst of 
 a silent, weary crowd ; and the French ship carrying them 
 to other miseries, — to cold lands and the unknown trials 
 of exile, — while behind them the new flag of the Illyrian 
 Republic floated victorious over the crumbling walls of the 
 royal chateau. Of all this did the Tuileries remind her. 
 
 "Paris is beautiful, is it not?" suddenly said a voice 
 near her that was youthful and joyous, notwithstanding its 
 nasal tone. 
 
 It was the king, who had just appeared on the balcony 
 holding the little prince in his arms, and showing him the 
 wide expanse of verdure, roofs, and cupolas, and the 
 people moving through the streets in the beautiful light 
 of the closing day. 
 
 " Oh, yes, very beautiful ! " said the child, a poor Uttle 
 fellow of five or six years, with sharp, marked features, and 
 very light hair, which had been cut short since his sick- 
 ness ; and who looked around him with an amiable but 
 weak smile, astonished at no longer hearing the cannon 
 of the siege, and feeling enlivened by the cheerful scene 
 around. For him exile opened happily. Neither did 
 the king seem very sad : his two hours' ride had given 
 him a bright, healthful look, which formed a strong con- 
 trast to the queen's sorrowful countenance. They belonged 
 to two absolutely distinct types : he was slender and frail, 
 with a dull complexion, black, curly hair, and a light 
 mustache, which he continually twirled with a pale and 
 too pliant hand ; and he had handsome eyes, whose ex- 
 pression was rather troubled, irresolute, and childlike, 
 which, although he was over thirty, made one say on 
 seeing him, " How young he is ! " 
 
 The queen, on the contrary, was a robust Dalmatian,
 
 FIRST DA Y. 7 
 
 with a serious air and sparing in gestures ; and was the 
 real man of the two, in spite of the brilliant delicacy of 
 her complexion and her superb hair of Venetian blond, 
 in which the East seemed to have mingled red and tawny 
 tints. 
 
 Christian appeared constrained in her presence, and 
 somewhat wearied, like a husband who has received too 
 much devotion and sacrifice. He asked in gentle tones 
 if she had slept well, and how she felt after her journey ; 
 and she answered in a manner which she endeavored to 
 make kind, but which was full of condescension, though 
 in reality she was thinking only of her son, whose nose 
 and cheeks she touched, and whose every movement she 
 watched with the anxiety of a mother. 
 
 " He is much better here than he has been," said 
 Christian in a low voice. 
 
 " Yes : color is coming back to his face," she answered 
 in the same familiar tone, which they only used when 
 speaking of the child, who, smiling fi-om one to the other, 
 brought their foreheads together in his pretty caresses, 
 as if he understood that his two little arms formed the 
 only true link between their opposite natures. 
 
 Below, on the sidewalk, some curious people who had 
 heard of the arrival of the sovereigns, stopped for a 
 moment, and were looking up at this king and queen 
 from Illyria, whose heroic defence in Ragusa had made 
 them celebrated, and whose portraits appeared on the 
 first page of the illustrated journals. Soon, as it happens 
 when one person stops and looks at a pigeon on the edge 
 of a roof, or at an escaped parrot, idlers increased in 
 number, and gazed up in the air, not knowing what was 
 to be seen. A crowd looked towards the young couple, 
 who were in travellin/? costume, with the child's fair head
 
 8 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 above them as if held high by the hope of the conquered, 
 and the joy which they felt at still keeping him alive after 
 such a frightful tempest. 
 
 " Are you coming, Fr^d^rique?" asked the king, who 
 was annoyed at the attention they attracted. 
 
 But the queen, who was accustomed to brave the an- 
 tipathy of crowds, held up her head haughtily, and 
 answered, — 
 
 " Why should we leave ? We are very comfortable on 
 this balcony." 
 
 " Because — I forgot — Rosen is here with his son and 
 daughter-in-law. He wishes to see you." 
 
 At the name of Rosen, which recalled many kind and 
 loyal services, the queen's eyes brightened. 
 
 " My worthy duke ! I was expecting him," she said. 
 And as she cast a haughty look into the street before 
 re-entering, a man opposite sprang upon the lower part of 
 the fence around the Tuileries, and stood above the heads 
 of the crowd. Some one had done the same at Laybach 
 when their window was fired at ; and Fr^d^rique had a 
 vague fear of a similar attack, and drew back. A high 
 forehead, locks scattered by the wind, with the sun shin- 
 ing on them, as, with uplifted hat, a calm, strong voice 
 shouted above the noise in the street, " Long live the 
 king ! " was all that she saw of the unknown friend who 
 dared in the heart of republican Paris, before the crum- 
 bled walls of the Tuileries, to greet with a welcome sove- 
 reigns who had lost their crown. 
 
 This kindly salutation, which she had so long been 
 deprived of, had the same effect on the queen as would 
 a bright fire after a long walk in the cold. It warmed 
 her to the very heart, and the sight of old Rosen com- 
 pleted the beneficial re-action.
 
 FTRST DA Y. 9 
 
 General the Duke de Rosen, the former chief of the 
 military service, had been away from Illyria three years, 
 — ever since the king had removed him from his post 
 of confidence to give it to a Liberal, thus favoring new 
 ideas to the detriment of what was then called at 
 Laybach the queen's party. Certainly he might well be 
 angry with Christian, who had coldly sacrificed him, and 
 let him depart without a word of regret or farewell, — he, 
 the conqueror at Mostar and Livno, and the hero of the 
 great Montenegrin wars. 
 
 After having sold castles, lands, and all, and given his 
 departure the effect of a strong protestation, the old gen- 
 eral settled at Paris, married his son there, and, during 
 three long years of vain waiting, felt his anger at royal 
 ingratitude increase with the sorrows of exile and the 
 melancholy of an unoccupied life. And yet, at the first 
 news of the arrival of his sovereigns, he hastened to 
 them, and now was standing erect in the middle of the 
 salon, his tall figure reaching the chandelier. He was 
 waiting with so much emotion for the favor of a welcome, 
 that one could see his long pandour limbs tremble, and 
 the quick breathing of his broad chest under the cross 
 of the Legion of Honor on his tight-fitting blue frock-coat 
 cut hke that of an officer. His face alone — resembling a 
 sparrow-hawk's, with eyes of steel, a nose like the beak of 
 a hawk, a few bristling white hairs, and a thousand little 
 wrinkles on its weather-beaten skin — wore an impassive 
 look. 
 
 The king, who did not like scenes, and who was rather 
 embarrassed by this interview, assumed a lively tone of 
 cordial fellowship, saying, as he approached and held out 
 his hands, — 
 
 "Well, General, you were right. I held too loose a 
 rein. I was thrown, and am stiff from the fall."
 
 lO KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 Then, seeing that his old follower was bending his 
 knee, he nobly raised him, and held him to his bosom in 
 a close embrace. No one could prevent the duke from 
 kneeling to his queen, who felt strangely moved as the 
 old mustache touched her hand with a respectful, pas- 
 sionate caress. 
 
 "Ah, my poor Rosen ! my poor Rosen ! " she mur- 
 mured. And she slowly closed her eyes, that no one 
 might see her tears ; but all those she had shed for years 
 had left their trace on the delicate smoothness of her eye- 
 lids from the hours of watching, anxiety, and the wounds 
 which women think they hide in the depth of their being, 
 but which show on the surface as the least agitation 
 leaves visible ripples on the water. For a second her 
 beautiful face, with its pure lines, wore a sad, weary 
 expression, which did not escape the old soldier. 
 
 " How she has suffered ! " he thought, as he looked at 
 her ; and, to conceal his emotion, he rose quickly, turned 
 to his son and daughter-in-law, who were at the other end 
 of the room, and with the same stem manner in which he 
 shouted through the streets of Laybach, " Draw sabres ! 
 charge the mob ! " he called, " Colette, Herbert, come 
 and salute your queen ! " 
 
 Prince Herbert de Rosen — who was almost as tall as 
 his father, with jaws resembling those of a horse, and in- 
 nocent, babyish cheeks — obeyed the summons, followed 
 by his young wife. He walked with difficulty, leaning on 
 a cane, having eight months previous broken his leg and 
 crushed several ribs at the Chantilly races ; and the gen- 
 eral did not fail to remark, that had it not been for that 
 accident, which placed his son's life in danger, both 
 would have been found behind the defences of Ragusa. 
 
 " I should have gone with you, father," interrupted the
 
 FIRST DAY. II 
 
 princess in a heroic tone, which did not harmonize in the 
 least with her name — " Colette " — and her little kitten- 
 like face, which looked so spirituelle and bright under her 
 fluffy, light curls. 
 
 The queen could not help smiling, and held out her 
 hand cordially ; while Christian twirled his mustache, and 
 with eager curiosity watched the little Parisian, — the 
 pretty, fluttering bird of fashion, with trailing, radiant 
 plumage, a mass of overskirts and flounces, and whose 
 showy prettiness was in strong contrast with the noble 
 features and majestic type of lUyria. 
 
 " Where did that devil of a Herbert get such a jew- 
 el?" he said to himself, envying the playmate of his 
 childhood, — that tall booby with goggle eyes, and hair 
 parted and plastered in Russian fashion on a low, narrow 
 forehead. Then it occurred to him, that, if this type of 
 woman was rare in Illyria, it was seen every^vhere in the 
 streets of Paris ; and this thought made exile at last seem 
 endurable. Besides it could not last long ; for the lUyr- 
 ians would soon tire of their republic. He would be 
 away from their country only two or three months on a 
 royal vacation, which he must spend as gayly as possible. 
 
 " Do you know. General," he said, laughing, " some 
 one has already urged me to buy a house ? It was an 
 Englishman, who called on me this morning, and offered 
 me a magnificent hotel, carpeted, and furnished with 
 linen, silver, china, and servants ; and there were also 
 horses in the stable, and carriages in the coach-house, 
 and all to be put in my possession in forty-eight hours, 
 and chosen from whatever locality might please me 
 best." 
 
 " I am acquainted with your Englishman, your High- 
 ness : it is Tom Levis, the agent for foreigners."
 
 12 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 " Yes : it seems to me it was some such name. Have 
 you ever had business-dealings with him? " 
 
 " Oh, all the strangers who come to Paris receive a call 
 from Tom in his cab ! But I hope, for your Majesty's 
 sake, that your acquaintance with him will not go any 
 farther." 
 
 The particular attention with which Prince Herbert, 
 as soon as Tom Levis's name was mentioned, began to 
 look at the ribbon of his shoes, which were open, disclos- 
 ing his silk stockings, and the furtive glance which the 
 princess gave her husband, made it plain to Christian, 
 that, if he needed information about the illustrious agent 
 in Rue Royale, these young persons could furnish it. 
 
 But how could Levis's agency be of use to him? 
 He desired neither house nor carriage, and expected to 
 pass the few months of his stay in Paris in a hotel. 
 
 "Is not that your opinion, Fr^derique?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly ! it is much the wisest," answered the 
 queen, who at heart, however, did not share her hus- 
 band's illusions, nor his taste for a temporary establish- 
 ment. 
 
 Papa Rosen ventured a few remarks in his turn. 
 Hotel life did not seem to him quite suited to the dig- 
 nity of the house of Illyria. Paris, at this time, was full 
 of exiled sovereigns, all of whom lived in sumptuous style. 
 The King of Westphalia occupied a magnificent residence 
 in Rue de Neubourg, with a pavilion for his retainers. 
 
 The hotel of the Queen of Galicia, in the Champs 
 Elysees, was a perfect palace of luxury and royal style. 
 The King of Palermo had a house finely fitted up at Saint 
 Mande, with many horses in his stable, and a whole bat- 
 talion of aides-de-camp ; and there was no one, not even 
 the Duke of Palma in his little house at Passy, who had
 
 FIRST DAY. 13 
 
 not a semblance of a court, and five or six generals always 
 at his table. 
 
 "No doubt, no doubt," said Christian, becoming im- 
 patient; "but it is not the same thing. They will never 
 leave Paris : it is understood, — a fixed fact ; while we — 
 But there is a good reason for us not to buy a palace, 
 Friend Rosen. Every thing was taken from us in lUyria. 
 Several hundred thousand francs with the Rothschilds at 
 Naples, and our poor diadem, which Madame de Silvis 
 saved for us in a hat-box, ai-e all we have left. If I could 
 only describe the marchioness on this long journey into 
 exile, — now on foot, then on the sea, in cars, or in a car- 
 riage, — carrying her precious box in her hand ! It was 
 so droll, — so droll ! " 
 
 And, his childish nature gaining the ascendency, he 
 began to laugh at their distress as the most amusing thing 
 in the world. 
 
 But the duke did not laugh. 
 
 " Sire," he said, with so much emotion on his withered 
 face that the wrinkles trembled, " you did me the honor 
 to assure me just now that you regretted having left me 
 so long far from your counsel and from your heart. 
 Well, I ask a favor in return. While your exile continues, 
 let me again fill the position held near your Majesties at 
 Laybach, — the head of the civil and military service." 
 
 " See the ambitious man ! " cried the king gayly. Then 
 he added in a friendly tone, " But there is no longer a 
 home, my poor General, — neither domestic nor military. 
 The queen has her chaplain and two waiting-women ; 
 Zara has his governess ; while I took Boscovich for my 
 correspondence, and Master Lebeau to shave me : these 
 are all." 
 
 " In that case, your Highness, I will make another
 
 14 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 request. Will your Majesty take my son Herljert as aide- 
 de-camp, and the princess here as reader and maid of 
 honor to the queen? " 
 
 " It is granted on my part," said the queen, turning 
 with her beautiful smile to Colette, who was enchanted 
 with her new dignity. 
 
 As for the prince, he, with a charming neigh (a habit 
 acquired by living at Tattersall's) , thanked his sovereign, 
 who brevetted him aide-de-camp with the same gracious- 
 ness as the queen. 
 
 " I will present the three appointments to-morrow morn- 
 ing for your signature," added the general briefly, though 
 in a respectful tone, indicating that he already considered 
 that he had entered upon his duties. 
 
 On hearing this voice and this formula, which had so 
 long and so solemnly pursued him, the face of the young 
 king wore an expression of discouragement and ennui. 
 Then he consoled himself by looking at the little princess, 
 whom happiness beautified and transfigured, as is the case 
 with pretty little faces without marked features, whose sole 
 charm is their piquant and mobile expression. 
 
 Only think of it, — maid of honor to Queen Fr6d6- 
 rique ! She, Colette Sauvadon, the niece of Sauvadon, 
 the great wine-merchant of Bercy ! What would they 
 say to it in Rue de Varennes and Rue Saint Dominique, 
 — in those exclusive salons where her marriage with 
 Herbert de Rosen had given her an entree on days of 
 ceremony, but never on a footing of social intimacy? 
 Already her little worldly imagination was wandering in a 
 court she pictured to herself. She thought of the visiting- 
 cards she would order, and the new toilets, — a dress 
 with the colors of lUyria, and rosettes to match for her 
 horses' heads. But the voice of the king roused her 
 from her dreanis.
 
 FIRST DAY. 15 
 
 "This is our first meal in the bad of exile," he said to 
 Rosen in a half-serious tone ; and added, with intentional 
 emphasis, " I wish my table to be gay, and surrounded 
 by all our friends." 
 
 On observing the horrified look of the general at this 
 brusque invitation, he added, — 
 
 " Ah, yes ! it is true, — etiquette and behavior ! But, 
 dear me ! we have become accustomed to do without all 
 that since the siege ; and the head of our house will find 
 many reforms to make. Only I beg that they won't begin 
 till to-morrow." 
 
 Just then the steward appeared at the folding-doors, 
 which stood wide open, and announced their Majesties' 
 dinner. The princess arose proudly to take Christian's 
 arm ; but he offered it to the queen, and, without trou- 
 bling himself about his guests, escorted her to the dining- 
 room. All the court ceremony had not been left behind 
 in the casemates at Ragusa, whatever he might say. 
 
 The change from sunlight to candlelight had a severe 
 effect on the guests as they entered the dining-hall. Not- 
 withstanding the chandelier, the candelabra, and two 
 large lamps on the buffet, one could hardly see ; for the 
 daylight, which had been shut out at this untimely hour, 
 crept in, and made the room dim as at twilight. The 
 general dreariness of the apartment was increased by the 
 appearance of the table, which was very long, and out of 
 all proportion to the small number of guests. The hotel 
 had been searched for just such a table, which might 
 answer all the requirements of etiquette, and at which 
 the king and queen could sit together at one end, with no 
 one at their side or opposite. 
 
 This filled the little Princess de Rosen with admiration 
 and astonishment. In the last days of the empire, when
 
 I 6 JT/JVGS TN EXILE. 
 
 she visited the Tuileries, she remembered having seen the 
 emperor and empress sitting opposite each other like 
 bourgeois at their wedding-dinner. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the little cocodette, shutting her fan reso- 
 lutely, and placing it near her by the side of her gloves, 
 "this is royalty. There is nothing like it." In her eyes 
 this thought transformed this table, which resembled one 
 of the tables d'hote in the splendid inns of the Cornici be- 
 tween Monaco and San Remo in the beginning of the sea- 
 son, when the majority of the tourists have not arrived. 
 There was the same variety of people and toilets, — Chris- 
 tian in a jacket, the queen in her travelling-dress, Herbert 
 and his wife in a watteau of the boulevards, and the Fran- 
 ciscan robe of Pere Alph^e, the queen's chaplain, brushing 
 against the gold-laced undress uniform of the general. In 
 short, nothing could be less imposing. There was but 
 one thing that was impressive, and that was the chaplain's 
 prayer, calling down divine benediction on this first meal 
 in exile. 
 
 " Quce sumus sumpturi prima die in exilic,''' said the 
 monk, with extended hands ; and these words, slowly re- 
 cited, seemed to prolong King Christian's short vacation 
 far into the future. 
 
 "Amen!" responded the dethroned sovereign in a 
 grave voice, as if in the Church Latin he at last felt con- 
 scious of the thousand sundered ties still quivering with 
 life, like the living roots of uprooted trees, which exiles 
 of all times have borne with them. 
 
 But this soft and caressing Slavonian nature did not 
 allow him to long retain strong impressions. He had 
 hardly seated himself before he resumed his gayety and 
 indifferent air, and began to talk a great deal, out of re- 
 spect for the Parisian lady speaking French, which he did
 
 FIRST DAY. 17 
 
 with great purity, though with a shght Italian 2 sound, 
 which went well with his laugh. He related certain epi- 
 sodes of the siege in an heroic-comic tone, — of the court 
 taking up their quarters in the casemates, and the absurd 
 appearance which the governess, the Marchioness Eleonora 
 de Silvis, made in them with her bonnet and green feather 
 and her plaid. Fortunately the innocent lady was din- 
 ing in her pupil's room, and could not hear the laughter 
 provoked by the king's jokes. Boscovich and his her- 
 barium next served him for a target. It seemed as if he 
 were trying to revenge himself for his grave situation by 
 indulging in nonsense. 
 
 The Aulic councillor Boscovich — a timid Uttle gentle- 
 man, of no particular age, with rabbit's eyes that always 
 looked sideways — was a learned lawyer with a passion for 
 botany. When the courts were not in session at Ragusa, 
 he spent his time in botanizing under fire, in the ditches 
 of fortifications, — an almost unconscious heroism in one 
 absorbed in a mania, and who, through all the troubles 
 of his country, thought of nothing else but a magnificent 
 herbarium left in the hands of the Liberals. 
 
 " My poor Boscovich," said Christian, to finghten him, 
 " think what a splendid bonfire they must have made of 
 those heaps of dried flowers, unless the Republicans, 
 being too poor to do this, took it into their heads to cut 
 up your big sheets of blotting-paper for fatigue-caps for 
 their militia ! " 
 
 The councillor laughed like the rest of the company, 
 but with a frightened look, and a "But — but — but," 
 which betrayed his childlike fear. 
 
 " How charming the king is ! he has so much wit and 
 such beautiful eyes ! " thought the little princess, whom 
 Christian bent over every moment, trjing to lessen the 
 ceremonious distance between them.
 
 1 8 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 It was a pleasure to see her expand under his gracious 
 looks, and play wiili her fan, and utter little exclamations 
 of delight, and draw back her supple frame, which quiv- 
 ered with undulating waves of laughter. 
 
 The queen, through her attitude and the familiar con- 
 versation she was holding with the duke, seemed to be 
 shut out of this extravagant gaycty. Two or three times, 
 when they spoke of the siege, she uttered a {^v^ words, 
 and each time to proclaim the king's bravery and strategic 
 skill ; then she again kept aloof from the conversation. 
 The general, in a low voice, asked after the people at the 
 court, and his former companions, who, more fortunate 
 than he, followed their sovereigns to Ragusa. Many 
 remained there ; and, at every name spoken by Rosen, the 
 queen answered in her serious voice, " Dead ! dead ! " like 
 the stroke of a funeral-knell tolling those recently lost. 
 But after dinner, when they returned to the salo?i, Fr^d^- 
 rique became somewhat more lively. She bade Colette de 
 Rosen sit by her side on a divan, and talked to her with 
 that affectionate familiarity with which she tried to bring 
 people nearer to her, and which was like the clasp of her 
 beautiful hand, — with the delicate touch of the fingers, but 
 strong pressure of the palm, — which communicated its in- 
 spiriting earnestness to others. All at once she said, — 
 
 " Let us go and see them put Zara to bed. Princess," 
 
 At the end of a long corridor — which, like the apart- 
 ments, was blocked up with piles of boxes and open 
 trunks, whose contents had been pulled out in the dis- 
 order of arrival — opened the room of the little prince, 
 which was lighted by a lamp, with a screen lowered so 
 that the light came only to the line of the blue bed- 
 curtains. A servant was sleeping on a trunk, with her 
 head enveloped in a white cap and the large fichu bor-
 
 'Good evening, mamma! Must we rj-i :i,-,jj' agj ri " t^i^" '
 
 FIRST DAY. 19 
 
 dered with pink, which completes the head-dress of Dal- 
 matian women. Near the table, the governess, lightly 
 leaning on her elbow, with an open book on her knees, 
 also yielded to the drowsy influence of reading, and even 
 in her sleep preserved the romantic, sentimental air 
 which the king made such sport of. The entrance 
 of the queen did not awaken her ; but the little prince, 
 at the first movement of the mosquito-netting which 
 veiled his bed, stretched out his little fist's, and made an 
 effort to sit up with his eyes open, and gazed vacantly 
 around. For some months he had become so accus- 
 tomed to being taken up in the middle of the night, and 
 hastily dressed for flight or a journey, and on awakening 
 to see new faces and new surroundings, that his sleep 
 was no longer regular and calm, — no longer a ten-hours' 
 journey to the land of dreams which children accom- 
 plish, while breathing quietly and uninterruptedly, with 
 their little mouths partly open. 
 
 " Good-evening, mamma ! " he said in a low voice. 
 " Must we run away again? " 
 
 In these resigned and touching words, one felt that 
 here was a child that had suffered much from misfortunes 
 too great for him to bear. 
 
 " No, no, my darling ! we are safe this time. Go to 
 sleep again : you must have sleep." 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad I can ! for I shall return with the 
 giant Robistor to the mountain of glass. I was having 
 such a nice time there ! " 
 
 " His head is full of Madame Eleonora's stories," said 
 the queen softly. " Poor little fellow ! life is so dark for 
 him. He has only stories to amuse him. His mind must 
 be occupied with something else, however." 
 
 While speaking, she shook up the child's pillow, and
 
 20 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 gently laid him back to rest with loving caresses, as any 
 simple woman among the bourgeoisie might have done, 
 which quite upset Colette de Rosen's lofty ideas about 
 royalty. Then, as she leaned over to kiss her son, he 
 asked from his pillow, if that was cannon or the sea 
 grumbling in the distance. The queen listened a mo- 
 ment to a confused, continual rumbling, which at times 
 shook the walls and rattled the window-panes, and was 
 felt from the roof of the house to its foundation, — at 
 times becoming fainter, then suddenly increasing and re- 
 peating itself afar. 
 
 " That is nothing : it is Paris, my son. Go to sleep 
 now." 
 
 And the child, who had fallen from a throne, and to 
 whom they had talked of Paris as a place of refuge, went 
 to sleep again, full of confidence, though cradled by the 
 city of revolutions. 
 
 When the queen and princess returned to the salon, 
 they found a young woman with a very grand air stand- 
 ing and talking with the king. The familiar tone of their 
 conversation, and the respectful distance which the rest 
 of the company kept, indicated that it was a person of 
 importance. 
 
 The queen uttered a cry of delight : — 
 
 "Maria !" 
 
 " Frdderique ! " 
 
 And with one impulse they sprang into each other's 
 arms. At an inquiring look from his wife, Herbert de 
 Rosen gave the visitor's name. It was the Queen of 
 Palermo. Being rather taller, and more slender than her 
 cousin from lUyria, she seemed several years older. Her 
 black eyes, and black hair turned back smoothly from her 
 forehead, and her dark complexion, gave her the appear-
 
 FIRST DAY. 21 
 
 ance of an Italian, although she was bom in the Bavarian 
 court. There was nothing German about her except the 
 stiffness of her tall, flat figure, the haughty expression of 
 her smile, and an indescribable lack of harmony and 
 taste in her toilet peculiar to women beyond the Rhine. 
 
 Fr^derique, who was early left an orphan, was brought 
 up with this cousin at Munich ; and, though they had been 
 separated in after life, they retained a strong affection for 
 each other. 
 
 " You see I could not wait," said the Queen of Paler- 
 mo, holding out her hands. " Cecco had not come back ; 
 so I came without him. I did so long to see you : I have 
 thought of you so often ! Oh ! the cannon that night at 
 Ragusa and Vincennes ! I seemed to hear it." 
 
 " It was only the echo of that at Caserte," interrupted 
 Christian, alluding to the heroic attitude maintained a few 
 years before by this queen, who, like them, was dethroned 
 and exiled. 
 
 " Ah, yes ! Caserte ! " she said with a sigh. " We, too, 
 ivere left alone. It was pitiful. Why should not all 
 crowns endure? But it is over now. The world is mad." 
 
 Then, turning to Christian, she continued, — 
 
 " It is all one to me. I present you my compliments, 
 Cousin. You fell like a king." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Christian, pointing to Fred^rique, "there is 
 the real king of us two." 
 
 A motion from his wife checked him from saying more. 
 He bowed with a smile, and, wheeling around, said to his 
 aide-de-camp, — 
 
 " Come, Herbert, let us go and have a smoke." 
 
 And both stepped out on the balcony. 
 
 It was a splendid, warm evening ; the brilliant glow of 
 day was not yet eclipsed by the dazzling gaslight with
 
 22 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 which it blended in a dying glimmer of bluish vapor. A 
 gentle breeze, like that from a fan, stirred the dense black 
 mass of the chestnut-trees around the Tuileries ; and the 
 stars were brightening the sky above. With this cool, 
 open space, in which the noise of the crowd was unheard, 
 the Rue de Rivoli lost the stifling aspect of Paris streets in 
 summer ; but one still could hear the immense travel from 
 the town to the Champs Elys^es, and the open-air con- 
 certs under the showers of sky-rockets. The pleasure 
 that winter shuts in behind the warm drapery of the 
 closed windows sang freely, laughed, and ran, — the pleas- 
 ure that young girls find in hats with flowers, floating 
 mantillas, and light dresses, with the reflection of a street- 
 lamp displaying a white throat, around which is fastened 
 a black ribbon ; the gay throngs from the cafes crowding 
 the sidewalks, and mingling their voices with the shouting 
 of venders of ices, the jingling of money, and the clinking 
 of glasses. 
 
 "This Paris is a wonderful place," said Christian of 
 Illyria, puffing out little rings of smoke into the darkness. 
 " Even the air is different here from elsewhere. There 
 is something exciting, intoxicating, about it ; and at Lay- 
 bach at this hour every thing is dead, the houses closed, 
 and the people gone to bed." Then he added joyously, 
 " Ah, now. Aide-de-camp ! I hope I shall be initiated into 
 Parisian pleasures. You seem to me to be well posted 
 and thoroughly launched." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, your Highness ! " said Herbert, neighing 
 with pleasure and pride. " At the club, the opera, and 
 everywhere, they call me the King of the Swells." 
 
 While Christian was having this new word explained to 
 him, the two queens, who had gone into Fr^d^rique's 
 room in order to talk more freely, were giving their ex-
 
 FIRST DAY. 23 
 
 periences in long stories and sad confidences ; and their 
 whispering was heard through the partly open blinds. 
 Father Alph^e and the old duke were talking to each 
 other in a low voice in the salon. 
 
 " He is right," said the chaplain : " it is she who is the 
 king, the true king. If you could have seen her on 
 horseback riding at full speed day and night. At Fort 
 San Angelo, when it rained shot, in order to encourage 
 the soldiers, she rode twice round the ramparts, sitting 
 proudly erect, with her riding-skirt raised over her arm 
 and her whip in her hand, as if she were in her park at the 
 residence. And you should have seen our sailors when 
 she alighted. And he, during that time, was travelling 
 Heaven knows where. He is brave, parbleu / as brave as 
 she, but with no thought of his destiny, no faith ; and to 
 reach heaven, as well as to save one's crown, Duke, one 
 must have faith." 
 
 The monk was getting excited and grandiloquent in 
 his long robe, and Rosen was obliged to calm him. 
 
 " Softly, Father Alph^e ! Father Alph^e ! come, come ! " 
 he said, fearing Colette might hear them. 
 
 She had been left to the company of the councillor 
 Boscovich, who was entertaining her about his plants, 
 using scientific terms in giving the most minute details 
 of his botanical excursions. His conversation savored of 
 dried herbs and the dust of an old country library. But 
 then there is such a powerful attraction about nobility, its 
 atmosphere is so deliciously mtoxicating to certain little 
 natures eager to breathe it, that the young princess, — 
 this Princess Colette, — the constant attendant at balls in 
 high life, races, and rehearsals, and always the first among 
 the pleasure-seekers in Paris, — put on her prettiest smile 
 while listening to the dry botanical classifications of the
 
 24 JCINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 councillor. It was sufficient for her that a king was talking 
 at the window near her ; that two queens were exchan- 
 ging confidences in the room by her side ; that this com- 
 monplace hotel salon, where her elegance was out of i)lace, 
 was filled with the grandeur and sad majesty which ren- 
 ders the vast halls at Versailles so gloomy with their waxed 
 floors, polished and bright as the mirrors. She could 
 have remained here in ecstasy till midnight, without mov- 
 ing or becoming wearied, feeling only somewhat puzzled 
 by the long conversation Christian was holding with her 
 husband. What grave questions were they discussing? 
 what extensive projects for restoration of the monarchy? 
 Her curiosity increased when she saw them both come in 
 with Hvely faces, and a bright resolute look in their eyes. 
 
 " I am going out with his Highness," Herbert said to 
 her in a low voice. " My father will escort you home." 
 
 The king then approached : — 
 
 " You will not be too angry with me. Princess, I hope. 
 His duties have begun." 
 
 " Every moment of our lives belongs to your Majesties," 
 answered the young woman, feeling convinced that some 
 important step was about to be taken, — perhaps a first 
 rendezvous of conspirators. Oh, if she too could have 
 been one of' them ! 
 
 Christian went to the queen's room, but, when near 
 her door, stopped. 
 
 " They are weeping," he said to Herbert. " A good- 
 evening to them : I will not enter." 
 
 When in the street, he gave vent to his joy and relief, 
 passing his arm under that of his aide-de-camp, after 
 lighting a cigar in the vestibule of the hotel. 
 
 " Do you know, it is so pleasant to go off alone through 
 the crowd, and to walk in the ranks like other men, to
 
 FIRST DAY. 25 
 
 be master of one's words and moveuicnls, and, when a 
 pretty girl passes, to be able to turn your head round 
 without all Europe being excited over it? That is the 
 benefit of being an exile. When I was here eight years 
 ago, I saw only Paris through the windows of the Tuiler- 
 ies, and from the height of gala carriages. Now I wish to 
 know it thoroughly, and go everywhere. Sapristi ! now 
 I think of it : I am making you walk, and you are lame, 
 my poor Herbert ! Wait : we will stop a carriage." 
 
 The prince protested that his leg did not pain him. 
 He felt strong enough to go where they intended. But 
 Christian would not consent. 
 
 " No, no : I do not wish my guide to be foundered the 
 ver}' first evening." 
 
 He hailed a cheap public hack that was rolling towards 
 the Place de la Concorde with a clattering of broken 
 springs, and a cracking of the whip on the bony spine of 
 the horse, and jumped in lightly, and threw himself back 
 on the old, faded blue cushions, and rubbed his hands 
 in childlike joy. 
 
 " Where shall I take you, my Prince ? " asked the 
 coachman, not knowing he had used the right title. 
 
 " To Mabille ! " cried Christian of Illyria triumphantly, 
 like a liberated collegian.
 
 26 X/NGS IN EXILJi, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A ROYALIST, 
 
 Through a fine, piercing December rain, which froze 
 on their brown woollen frocks like the points of needles, 
 two monks with bare unshaven heads, and wearing the 
 girdle and hood of the Order of St. Francis, were rapidly 
 descending the hill in Rue Monsieur-le-Prince. 
 
 Among the changes in the Latin Quarter, — the broad 
 gaps made by cannonading, which demolished the sou- 
 venirs and original character of ancient Paris, — Rue Mon- 
 sieur-le-Prince still has the aspect of a student's street. 
 Bookstores, cook-shops, coffee-shops, with those of bric- 
 a-brac merchants and dealers in silver and gold, are 
 alternately seen as far as the hill Sainte-Genevifeve, which 
 the students cUmb every hour in the day, — not those from 
 Gavarni, with long hair escaping from their woollen caps, 
 but future advocates, wrapped from head to foot in ulsters, 
 and carefully brushed and well gloved, with enormous 
 morocco bags under their arms, and having already the 
 manner of cold, shrewd men of business. Besides these, 
 there were medical students, rather freer in their ways, 
 who, notwithstanding their studies of matter and of 
 human beings, preserved an exuberance of life as a 
 relief from their constant dealings with death. 
 
 At this ekrly hour in the morning, girls in wrappers and 
 slippers, with eyes swollen from late hours, and hair care- 
 lessly tucked into a loose net, were crossing the street to
 
 Their absent eyes looked steadily in front. Page 27.
 
 A ROYALIST. i^ 
 
 buy at the coffee-shops milk for l^reakfast. Some were 
 laughing, and running along through the hail ; while others, 
 on the contrary, were very dignified, and balanced their tin 
 cans, and shuffled along in their old shoes and faded attire, 
 with the majestic hauteur of fairy queens. Notwithstand- 
 ing the ulsters and morocco bags, hearts of twenty must 
 have their day ; and the students smiled on the fair ones. 
 
 " Stop a moment, Lea ! " " Good-morning, Clem- 
 ence ! " they called from one sidewalk to the other, and 
 made rendezvous for the evening "at Medicis " or "at 
 Louis XI IL" And again, if the fair ones received too 
 spicy a compliment, which they took amiss, they would 
 burst out in a startling fit of girlish indignation, in the 
 stereotyped form, — 
 
 " Go your way, you insolent fellow ! " 
 
 It can be imagined that the friars' frocks shrank from 
 the contact of all these young people, who jostled them 
 as they went laughing home, but laughing to themselves, 
 for the appearance of one of the Franciscans was forbid- 
 ding. He was as black, slender, and lean as a carob-pod, 
 and had a terrible face under his bushy eyebrows, like 
 that of a pirate ; while his robe, which his girdle confined 
 in big, bulgy folds, revealed the loins and muscles of an 
 athlete. 
 
 Neither he nor his companion appeared to notice what 
 was going on in the street, whose atmosphere they shook 
 off with their rapid walking ; while their absent eyes 
 looked steadily in front of them, as their thoughts were 
 wholly absorbed on the end of their journey. Before 
 reaching the wide steps which lead to the Medical School, 
 the oldest beckoned to the other, and said, — 
 
 "This is it." 
 
 " This " meant a furnished hotel, of shabby appearance, 
 a
 
 28 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 with a green gate, with a bell, opening into the passage 
 which led between a newspaper-shop filled with pam- 
 phlets, and songs for two sous, and colored pictures in 
 which the grotesque hat of Basile was repeated in a 
 thousand attitudes, and a brewery on the lower floor, 
 which bore on its sign "The Brewery of the Rialto," 
 where the work was done by young girls in Venetian 
 head-dresses. 
 
 "Has Monsieur Elys6c gone out?" asked one of the 
 fathers, as he went by the hotel office on his way to the 
 first story. 
 
 A big woman, who must have gone into many lodgings 
 before finding one to suit, lazily answered from her chair, 
 without even looking at the row of keys dismally ranged 
 in the key-rack. 
 
 " Gone out at this hour ! It would be much better for 
 you to ask if he has come in." 
 
 Then a glance at the woollen robes made her change 
 her tone ; and she pointed, in the greatest confusion, to 
 the room of Elys^e M^raut. 
 
 " No. 36, on the fifth floor, at the end of the hall." 
 
 The Franciscan friars ascended, and wandered through 
 narrow corridors encumbered with men's muddy boots 
 and women's high-heel boots, some of which were gray 
 or reddish brown, and of either fancy, elegant, or cheap 
 make, and which told the tale about the "inhabitant." 
 But the priests paid no attention to them, sweeping them 
 along with their rough skirts and the cross pending from 
 their long rosaries ; and they were equally indifferent when 
 a beautiful girl in a red petticoat, with her bare throat 
 and arms showing under a man's great coat, crossed the 
 landing on the third story, and leaned over the bannister, 
 and called a boy, with a thin, worn voice and laugh that 
 came fi^om a singularly vulgar mouth.
 
 ^ ROYALIST. 29 
 
 The two men exchanged a significant look. 
 
 ** If he is the man you say he is," muttered the pirate, 
 with a very foreign accent, " he has chosen pecuhar sur- 
 roundings." 
 
 The other, who was older, with a cunning, intelligent 
 face, and a velvety smile of malice and priestly indul- 
 gence, replied, — 
 
 " Saint Paul among the Gentiles." 
 
 When they reached the fifth story, they were again 
 embarrassed for a moment ; for the arch of the staircase, 
 being very low and dark, almost prevented them from dis- 
 tinguishing the numbers on the doors, which were orna- 
 mented with placards as follows : — 
 
 «Mlle. ALICE," 
 
 without any sign of her profession, which, however, would 
 have been useless, as there were several of the same trade 
 in the house ; and the good fathers knocked at one door 
 hap-hazard. 
 
 " We must call hm\,parbleu ! " said the monk with the 
 black eyebrows ; and he made the hotel resound with 
 the name of " Monsieur Meraut," shouted with a strong 
 mihtary accent. 
 
 No less vigorous and ringing than his call was the 
 answer which came from a room at the end of the pas- 
 sage ; and, when they opened the door, the voice contin- 
 ued joyously, — 
 
 " Is it you, Father Melchior? No luck ! I thought I 
 was to have a registered letter. But come in, your Rev- 
 erences ! You are very welcome. Take a seat, if you 
 can find one." 
 
 This was difficult indeed ; for over all the furniture were 
 spread books, journals, and reviews, concealing the sor-
 
 30 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 did, commonplace look of lodgings of the eighteenth 
 order, with its dull tiles, tumble-down lounge, and the 
 everlasting secretary of the Empire, and three chairs in 
 dingy velvet. On the bed printed papers were lying in 
 confusion with clothing and the scant counterpane. They 
 were bundles of proofs, which the owner of the apartment, 
 who was still in bed, was slashing with heavy dashes of a 
 colored pencil. This wretched working-room, with its 
 fireless chimney-place and dusty, bare walls, was lighted 
 from neighboring roofs by the reflection of a rainy sky 
 on wet slates ; which also revealed the forehead of Me- 
 raut, whose bilious, powerful face had the sad, intellectual 
 light which distinguishes certain faces one only meets in 
 Paris. 
 
 " My same old den, you see, Father Melchior. What 
 can you expect? I stopped here on my arrival eighteen 
 years ago. Since then I have not moved. There are so 
 many dreams and hopes buried here in every corner, and 
 ideas that I can find again under a coating of old dust, 
 that I am sure, if I were to give up this shabby room, I 
 should leave the best part of myself behind. This is so 
 true, that I retained it when I went abroad." 
 
 " Well, what about your journey?" said Father Mel- 
 chior, with a wink of his eye to his companion. " I 
 thought you had gone for a long time. What happened ? 
 Did not the situation suit you?" 
 
 " Oh ! as to the situation, nothing could be more de- 
 lightful," answered M^raut, shaking his coarse head of hair. 
 "Appointments by a minister plenipotentiary ; lodged in 
 the palace ; with servants, horses, and carriages ; every one 
 charming to me, — the emperor, empress, and archdukes. 
 But, notwithstanding all this, I grew weary. I longed for 
 Paris, and this neighborhood above all ; and the fresh, live-
 
 A ROYALIST. 31 
 
 ly, stirring air we breathe here ; and the galleries of the 
 Odeon ; and the shops where we fumble over new books 
 with two fingers, or hunt for old ones, — those which are 
 heaped up along the wharves, like a rampart sheltering 
 studious Paris from the frivolity and selfishness of the 
 other Paris. And then that is not all." Here his voice 
 became gx-aver : " You know what my ideas are. Father 
 Melchior. You know what was my ambition in accepting 
 that place as a subaltern. I wished to make a king of 
 that litde man, — a king who would be a king indeed, such 
 as we do not see nowadays ; to elevate him, to make 
 him over, and cut him out for this grand I'ole, which sur- 
 passes and overpowers all others, like those arms of the 
 middle ages which are hung in armories, and weigh down 
 our shoulders and narrow chests. Ah, yes ! they were 
 liberals, my friend, reformers, men of progress and new 
 ideas ; that is what I found at the court of X . Hor- 
 rible bourgeois, who cannot understand, that, if the mon- 
 archy is condemned, it is better for it to die in combat, 
 wrapped in its flag, rather than to end its days in a 
 ga-ga chair pushed by some parhament. There was a 
 great hullabaloo in the palace at my very first lesson : 
 ' Pray, where does he come from ? What does the bar- 
 barian want of us ? ' Then they begged me, with every 
 kind of flattery, to keep to simple schoolmaster's questions, 
 A school-teacher, indeed ! When I heard that, I took my 
 hat, and bade their Majesties good-evening." 
 
 He spoke in a full, strong voice, whose Southern accent 
 rung through every metaUic cord, and his countenance 
 became transfigured as he spoke. His face — which was 
 enormous and ugly in repose, with a lofty forehead, above 
 which was an inextricable tangle of black hair surmounted 
 by a broad white tuft, with a thick, broken nose, a
 
 32 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 harsh mouth not hidden by beard or moustache, and a 
 complexion that had the burning glow, seams, and ster- 
 ility of volcanic soil — became wonderfully animated with 
 passion. 
 
 Picture to yourself the rending asunder of a veil, the 
 lifting of a dark curtain from a fireplace whence suddenly 
 bursts on your vision the warm, joyous glow of leaping 
 flames, and you will have an idea of the flashes of elo- 
 quence lighting the eyes, and quivering on his nose and 
 on his lips, and rushing with the blood from his heart, 
 and illumining the face that had so long been dulled by 
 excesses and late hours. 
 
 The landscapes of Languedoc — Meraut's native coun- 
 try, which is bare and sterile and dusty gray like its olive- 
 trees — are bathed at sunset in a glow of a thousand hues 
 from the fierce sun ; while fairy-like shadows sweep over 
 these magnificent bursts of light and color, which seem 
 like a decomposed sunbeam, the slow, graduated death of 
 a rainbow. 
 
 "So you are disgusted with grandeur?" resumed the 
 old monk, whose insinuating, expressionless voice formed 
 so great a contrast with this outburst of eloquence. 
 
 " I am indeed," answered M^raut energetically. 
 
 " But all kings are not alike. I know one to whom 
 your ideas " — 
 
 " No, no, Father Melchior. I don't care to hear any 
 more about them. I would not make the trial again. If 
 I were to see too much of sovereigns, I fear I should lose 
 my loyalty." 
 
 After a moment's pause, the cunning priest veered off 
 on to a new track, and introduced his subject through 
 another door : — 
 
 " Your six months' absence must have done you harm, 
 M^raut."
 
 A ROYALIST. 33 
 
 " Oh, no ! not very much. In the first place, Uncle 
 Sauvadon remained faithful to me. You know Sauvadon, 
 my rich man at Bercy. As he meets a great deal of com- 
 pany at his niece's house, and as he wishes to engage in 
 the conversation there, he has charged me to give him what 
 he calls ' ideas about things ' three times a week. He is 
 charmingly 7idive and confiding, the worthy man ! ' M. 
 M^raut, what ought I to think about this book ? ' he says. 
 ' It is execrable,' I answer. ' But it seems to me — I 
 heard some one say at the princess's the other even- 
 ing ' — 'If you have an opinion of your own, my pres- 
 ence here is useless.' — ' No, no, my dear friend : you 
 know very well that I have not an opinion.' The fact is, 
 he really has none, and blindly accepts whatever I say. I 
 am his thinking-machine. Since my departure he has not 
 spoken at all for lack of thoughts. And, when I return, 
 you ought to see how he rushes to meet me. I have two 
 Valaques to whom I give lessons in political law. Then 
 there is always some odd work on hand. I am now finish- 
 ing a ' Memorial of the Siege of Ragusa ' from authentic 
 documents. There is not much of my writing in it, 
 except the last chapter, which pleases me pretty well. I 
 have the proofs here. Do you wish me to read it? I 
 call it 'Europe without Kings.'" 
 
 While he was reading his royalist memoir, and becom- 
 ing animated and moved to tears, people in the hotel 
 were stirring, and youthful laughs enlivened it ; and the 
 gayety of private pleasure-parties mingled with the clink- 
 ing of glasses and plates and the broken notes of an old 
 piano, which made the wood resound as some one played 
 a popular dancing-tune. 
 
 It was a powerful contrast to the scene above, which 
 the friars hardly perceived, being absorbed in the dehght
 
 34 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 of that rude and powerful apology for royalty. The great 
 man in particular was trembling and stamping his feet, 
 and restraining exclamations of enthusiasm with an energy 
 that made him clasp his arms over his bosom tight enough 
 to crush it. When the reading was ended, he arose, and 
 walked rapidly up and down with a profusion of gestures 
 and words : — 
 
 "Yes: that is really the true, the divine, legitimate, 
 absolute right." He spoke with a Southern accent. " No 
 more parliaments, no more la\vyers. May the whole lot be 
 burned ! " And his eyes sparkled and flashed like a fagot 
 of Sainte Hermandad. 
 
 Father Melchior, who was calmer, congratulated M^raut 
 on his book : — 
 
 " I hope you will put your name on it." 
 
 " Not any more than I have the others. You know 
 very well. Father Melchior, that my only ambition is for 
 my ideas. The book will be paid for (it was my Sau- 
 vadon who brought me this windfall) ; but I would have 
 written it for nothing with equal pleasure. It is so pleas- 
 ant to study the history of royalty in its death-agonies ; 
 to listen to the fading breath of the Old World struggling 
 and dying in its exhausted monarchies. There is a fallen 
 king who has been a proud example to all of them. 
 This Christian is a hero. These random notes are the 
 recital of a walk taken by him under fire at Fort San 
 Angelo. It was a daring act." 
 
 One of the fathers hung his head : he knew better than 
 any one what to think of this heroic deed, and of the still 
 more heroic falsehood. But a will stronger than his com- 
 manded him to be discreet. He contented himself with 
 making a sign to his companion, who all at once said to 
 Mdraut, as he rose, —
 
 .4 ROYALIST, 35 
 
 " Well, it is in behalf of the son of that hero that I 
 have come to you with Father Alph^e, an almoner in 
 the court of Illyria. Will you take upon yourself the 
 education of the royalchild ? " 
 
 "You will have neither a palace nor state can-iages 
 with us," said Father Alph^e sadly, "nor the imperial 
 
 generosity of the court of X . You will serve fallen 
 
 sovereigns, around whom an exile of more than a year, 
 which threatens to become still longer, has brought 
 mourning and solitude. Your ideas are ours. The king 
 had some liberal notions ; but he saw their worthlessness 
 after his fall. The queen — the queen is sublime. You 
 will see her." 
 
 " When ?" asked the visionary, suddenly seized once 
 more by the fancy of making a king by his genius, as a 
 writer creates his book. 
 
 And at that very moment they agreed upon the next 
 meeting. 
 
 When Elysee M^raut thought of his childhood, — and 
 he thought of it often, for the strongest impressions of his 
 life had been received at that time, — this is what he 
 always saw : a large room with three windows, flooded 
 with light, and each filled with a Jacquard silk-loom fas- 
 tened into the window like a rolling blind, its network of 
 meshes intercepting the hght and the view without, which 
 consisted of a mass of roofs and houses, with staircases 
 on the outside, whose windows were all ornamented with 
 looms worked by two men in shirt-slevees, whose alternate 
 motions resembled those of pianists in a duet. 
 
 Between these houses a few precious gardens climbed 
 the hill, — gardens of the South, parched and faded, 
 barren and stifling, and filled with coarse plants and 
 gourd-vines ; and where a tall growth of broad sun-
 
 36 K/NoS TN EXILE. 
 
 flowers, spreading towards the west with their corollas 
 reaching to the sunlight, filled the air with the dead odor 
 of their ripening seeds, — an odor which, after thirty 
 years, Elys^e fancied he perceived whenever he thought 
 of his home. 
 
 The most prominent feature in this neighborhood — 
 crowded and humming like a beehive — was the rocky 
 knoll on which stood some old abandoned windmills — 
 once the support of the town, now preserved for their 
 long service — which stretched out their skeleton arms 
 like gigantic broken antennae, while their stones were 
 loosened, and became the prey of the sun, the wind, and 
 the corrosive dust of the South. 
 
 The whole bottrgade, or the Enclos de Rey as they 
 also called this part of the neighborhood, was and is now 
 strongly royalist ; and on the walls of every shop was 
 found the portrait (in the fashion of 1 840, with a bloated 
 pink-and-white complexion, long curly hair, pomaded, 
 and having pretty dashes of light) of him whom the 
 villagers called among themselves Lou Goi (the lame 
 man). 
 
 At the home of Elys^e's father, underneath this picture, 
 there was another smaller one, on which a large seal of red 
 wax stood out from a sheet of blue letter-paper, with the 
 words, " Fides, Spes,^^ around the cross of Saint Andrew. 
 From where he sat working his shuttle, the elder Meraut 
 cjjuld see the portrait, and read the motto, "Faith, 
 Hope ; " and his broad face with its statuesque lines, like 
 an old medal struck off in the reign of Antoninus, having 
 the aquihne nose and rounded contours of the Bourbons 
 whom he loved so much, swelled and grew purple under 
 strong emotion. 
 
 This Meraut was a terrible man, violent and despotic ;
 
 A ROYALIST. 37 
 
 and his voice was like heavy claps of rolling thunder, from 
 his habit of raising it above the noise of the loom and 
 the mob. His wife, on the contrary, was timid and com- 
 pletely put in the shade, never speaking at all ; being im- 
 bued with those traditions which make the Southern 
 women of the old school like Eastern slaves. In this 
 home Elys6e grew to manhood, being more delicately 
 brought up than his two brothers, because he was the last 
 child, and sickly. 
 
 Instead of putting him at the loom in his eighth year, 
 they gave him a little of the pleasant liberty which is so 
 necessary to childhood, and which he employed in run- 
 ning around the enclosure all day, and playing battle on 
 the knoll by the windmill with white against red, and 
 Cathohcs against Huguenots. This party hatred is still 
 seen in this part of Languedoc. The children divided 
 into two parties, each choosing a mill whose crumbhng 
 stones served them for projectiles. Then invectives were 
 hurled at each other ; sling-stones whistled through the 
 air; and for hours they waged Homeric battles, which 
 always ended tragically by some bloody gash on a 
 ten-year-old forehead, or a wound beneath some silky 
 head of hair, which, when received in childhood on the 
 tender skin, leaves a mark for life, such a one as Elys^e 
 now showed on the temple and in a corner of his 
 lips. 
 
 Oh, those windmills ! How his mother cursed them 
 when her little one returned at nightfall all in tatters and 
 covered with blood ! His father scolded him for fonn's 
 sake and from habit, in order not to get out of practice 
 in using his thunder-like tones ; but at table he wished to 
 hear the fortunes of the battle and the names of the 
 combatants.
 
 38 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 " Tholozan ! Tholozan ! There are still some of the 
 race. Ah, the beggar ! I had his father under my gun 
 in 1 8 15. It were better had I killed him." 
 
 And then he told a long story in the rude, picturesque 
 Languedoc patois, and spared no phrase or syllable in 
 telling of the time when he enrolled himself under the 
 Duke of Angouleme, a great general and a saint. 
 
 These recitals, repeated a hundred times, though varied 
 according to his father's mood, left as deep an impression 
 in Elys^e's mind as the cuts from the stones of the mill 
 did on his face. He lived in a royalist legend, in which 
 Saint Henry and the 21st of January were the commemo- 
 rative dates ; and learned to venerate the martyr-princes 
 blessing the multitude with Episcopal hands, and brave 
 princesses mounting their horses for the good cause, 
 and who were persecuted, betrayed, and surprised in 
 the trap of a fireplace in some old Breton hotel. And 
 to enliven this tale of sorrow and exile, which would 
 ©therwise have left too gloomy an impression on the 
 mind of a child, the story of " The Chicken in the Pot " 
 and the song of the " Vert-Galant " were given, and filled 
 it with glorious souvenirs and the lively times of old 
 France, This song of the " Vert-Galant " was the " Mar- 
 seillaise " in the Enclos de Rey. 
 
 On Sundays, after vespers, when the table had been 
 propped up Avith great difficulty in the steep httle garden, 
 the M^raut family dined au don de Pair, as they say in 
 that region, in the stifling atmosphere which follows a 
 summer's day, when the heat, which has been greatest on 
 the ground and on the rough walls, is radiated more 
 powerfully, and becomes more injurious to health than in 
 the glare of the mid-day sun. At this hour the old vil- 
 lager would sing in a voice greatly admired by his neigh-
 
 A ROYALIST. 39 
 
 bors, " Long live Henry the Fourth ! long live the valiant 
 king ! " and everyone in the enclosure kept still to listen. 
 The only sounds to break the silence were the dry crack- 
 ing of reeds along the walls, and the shrill whirr of some 
 belated grasshopper, and the ancient royalist chant roll- 
 ing out majestically to the measure of the Spanish dance. 
 and recalling stiff bouffants, shoulder-knots, and hooped 
 petticoats. The refrain was sung in chorus : — 
 
 " A la sante de noire rot, — c''est un Henri de bon oJoi. 
 — qui f era le Men de toi, de moi.^'' 
 
 This "</(? toi, de jnoi," in the form of a rhythmical 
 fugue greatly amused Elysee and his brothers, who 
 pushed and nudged each other as they sang it, which 
 brought upon them a scolding from their father ; but the 
 song was not interrupted for so small a matter, and con- 
 tinued, through blows and sobs and laughter, like a chant 
 of demons at the tomb of Paris. 
 
 To Elysee, who always participated in izvsxAy fetes, this 
 name of "king" had something familiar and homelike, 
 besides the prestige given it in fairy-tales and " histories 
 related to children." 
 
 This feeling was increased by the mysterious letters on 
 very fine paper which came two or three times a year 
 from Frohsdorf to the inhabitants of the enclosure, and 
 contained autographs in fine ^vriting, with big fingers 
 pointing to where the king spoke to his people to bid 
 them have patience. On these days Meraut would turn 
 his shuttle more gravely than usual ; and at evening, when 
 the doors were shut tight, he began to read the circular, 
 which was always the same insipid proclamation with 
 words as vague as hope : — 
 
 " Frenchmen, they deceive themselves and deceive 
 you ! "
 
 40 A'/.VGS /A liXTLE. 
 
 And then there was the same fixed seal ; Fides, Spes. 
 Ah, poor people ! it was not faith or hope they lacked. 
 
 " When the king returns, I shall buy a new arm-chair," 
 said Meraut. " When the king returns, we will change 
 the paper on the room." 
 
 Later, after his journey to Frohsdorf, the formula was 
 changed. 
 
 "When I had the honor of seeing the king," he would 
 say at every opportunity. 
 
 The good man had indeed accomplished his pilgrim- 
 age, — a real sacrifice of time and money for the village 
 workman ; and never a hadji returning from Mecca came 
 back so dazzled. Yet the interview had been very short. 
 The claimant said to the worshippers introduced to his 
 presence, "Ah! is it you?" And no one had an 
 answer for this affable reception, — Meraut less than the 
 others ; for he was choked by emotion, and his eyes were 
 so blurred with tears that he could not even see the fea- 
 tures of his idol. Only, when he was taking leave, the 
 Duke of Athis, the military secretary, questioned him a 
 long while about the state of mind of the people in 
 France ; and one can imagine how much the exalted 
 weaver, who had never left the Enclos de Rey, could 
 answer, — 
 
 " But let him come, the lucky rogue ! Let our Henry 
 come quickly, we so pine to see him ! " 
 
 The Duke of Athis, delighted at this information in 
 regard to the people's sentiments, thanked him heartily, 
 and suddenly asked him, — 
 
 " Have you children. Master Meraut? " 
 
 " I have three, Duke." 
 
 "Boys?" 
 
 "Yes: three children," repeated the old villager.
 
 A ROYAL/ST. 41 
 
 (Among the people in tliat region daughters were not 
 accounted children.) 
 
 " \Vell ! I will make a note of it. His Highness will 
 remember it when the time comes." 
 
 Then the duke drew out his note-book, and — era — 
 era. 
 
 This era, era, with which the worthy man described the 
 gestures of the protector writing the names of M^raut's 
 three sons, was invariably part of the recital recorded in 
 the family annals, which were touching by their accuracy 
 in the slightest details. 
 
 After this, in dull seasons, when the mother was fright- 
 ened at seeing her husband grow old and the little house- 
 hold stock diminish, this era, era, formed part of the 
 answer to the timid anxieties she expressed in regard to 
 the children's future : — 
 
 " Make yourself easy now : the Duke of Athis made 
 a note of them." 
 
 And, having become suddenly ambitious for his chil- 
 dren, the old weaver, who saw his oldest sons already 
 started, and rooted to the narrow path he had followed, 
 l)uilt all his hopes and desire for grandeur on Elys^e. 
 He was sent to Papel's school, kept by one of those 
 Spanish refugees who filled the southern towns after the 
 capitulation of Marotto. 
 
 It was at the end of the butchers' quarter, in a house 
 that was dilapidated and mouldy, as was plainly to be 
 seen by its greenish window-glass, and the lizards adher- 
 ing to its walls ; and it stood in the shadow of the cathe- 
 dral. 
 
 To reach it, one must follow along the row of shops 
 bristling with railings with lancelike points, from which 
 hung enormous quarters of meat surrounded by unhealthy
 
 42 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 swarms of flies, and a network of narrow streets with the 
 pavements red and sticky with refuse-matter. In after 
 life, when thinking of his childhood, it seemed to Elys^e 
 as if it had belonged to the middle ages in the time of 
 the ferule and knotted rope of a terrible fanatic whose 
 Latin in ous alternated, during the recitation of his squalid 
 class, with the benedictions or harsh notes of neighboring 
 bells falling on the apsis of the old church, its founda- 
 tion, stone foliage, and grotesque gargoyles. 
 
 This little Papel — who had a very large, oily face, 
 shaded by a dirty white cloth cap drawn down over his 
 eyes to conceal a big, swollen blue vein, which divided his 
 forehead from the eyebrows to the roots of his hair — re- 
 sembled a dwarf in Velasquez' pictures, v/ithout the brilliant 
 tunics and the severe bronzing of time. He was brutal 
 withal, and cruel, but had a prodigious stock of ideas 
 under his broad skull, being a living, luminous encyclo- 
 psedia, closed in the middle of the forehead, one would 
 have said, by an obstinate royahsm, like a clasp, and 
 which was well represented by the abnormal swelling of 
 the strange vein. 
 
 There was a report in the town that the name of Papel 
 concealed another more famous, — that of a ringleader 
 under Don Carlos, celebrated for his ferocious manner of 
 waging war and for giving variety to death. Being so near 
 the Spanish frontier, his shameful glory embarrassed him, 
 and forced him to live under an anonymous name. But 
 what truth was there in these stories? During the many 
 years that Elys^e passed near his teacher, M. Papel, 
 although he was his most intimate and favorite pupil, 
 he never heard the terrible dwarf speak a word, or saw 
 him receive a visit or letter, which could confirm his sus- 
 picions. Only when the child became a man and his
 
 A ROYALrST. 43 
 
 Studies were ended, — the Enclos de Rev being found too 
 narrow a field in which to display his laurels and diplonjas, 
 and to satisfy his father's ambition, — it was proposed to 
 send him to Paris. M. Papel gave him several letters of 
 introduction to the chiefs of the Legitimate party, — heavy 
 letters, sealed with mysterious arms, which seemed to 
 invest the legend of the masked ringleader with truth. 
 
 M^raut ordered this journey ; for he began to think 
 that the king's return was too long delayed : and he 
 stripped himself of every thing, and sold his gold watch 
 and his mother's silver chain, and also the vineyard which 
 every villager possesses. And he did this simply and 
 heroically for the party. 
 
 " Go and look about a bit, and see what they are do- 
 ing," he said to his youngest son. "Why do they wait? 
 They should know that the people in this place are weary 
 of waiting." 
 
 Elys^e M^raut went to Paris in his twentieth year, 
 overflowing with exalted convictions, in which his father's 
 blind devotion was strengthened by the combative fanat- 
 icism of the Spaniard. He was received- by the party 
 like a traveller entering at night a first-class car which 
 is half-way on its journey, when each occupant has 
 settled himself in his corner to sleep. The intruder 
 comes in from out of doors with his blood stirred by 
 walking in the fresh air, and feeling a desire, which he 
 would impart to others, to move about, talk, and keep 
 awake ; but finds that he clashes against the ill humor of 
 people who grumble at him from the depths of their furs, 
 having been lulled into drowsiness by the rocking motion 
 of the train, and the effect of the dim light from the 
 lamp shaded by a little blue curtain, and who, in their 
 half-stupid state, dread nothing so much as draughts 
 4
 
 44 A'INGS IN EXILE. 
 
 and disturbing invasions. Such was the aspect of the 
 Legitimist clan under the Empire, travelhng in distress on 
 an abandoned road. 
 
 This madman with black eyes and a thin, lion-like face, 
 who emphasized each syllable like a satirist, and each 
 period with strong gestures, was ready for every thing. 
 Possessing the spirit of a Suleau and the audacity of a 
 Cadoudal, he caused the party an astonishment that was 
 mingled with fright ; for they found him dangerous and 
 aggressive. 
 
 Under their excessive politeness, and the forced inter- 
 est which their good breeding made them show, Elys^e, 
 with the clear-sightedness pecuHar to the southern French, 
 felt that behind their enthusiasm there was something 
 selfish and cringing about them. According to them, 
 nothing was to be done at present, but to wait, and, above 
 all, to be calm, and to avoid being carried away by im- 
 pulse and youthful enthusiasm. 
 
 " Look at his Highness ! See what an example he 
 gives us ! " 
 
 This advice recommending wisdom and moderation was 
 quite in keeping with the old hotels in the faubourg, which 
 were imbedded in ivy, and shut off from the sounds in the 
 street ; and behind their massive doors, heavy with the 
 weight of centuries and traditions, the inmates lived in 
 luxury and idleness. Two or three times Elys^e was invited 
 through politeness to political reunions, which v/ere held in 
 great mystery and in great fear in one of these ancient nests 
 of malice, every kind of precaution being taken. There 
 he saw the great names of the wars of La Vendue and 
 the fusillades of Quiberon, and all the funereal inscriptions 
 in the field of martyrs, borne by good old gentlemen, 
 who were partly bald and enveloped in velvety folds of
 
 A ROYALIST. 45 
 
 fine cloth like prelates, and whose voices were gentle, but 
 always thick from mouthfuls of jujube paste. They would 
 arrive with the air of conspirators, with all the importance 
 of being tracked by the police, who, in truth, amused 
 themselves greatly at these platonic rendezvous. 
 
 While, with heads shining like the brass counters, they 
 were bending over a game of whist, played beneath the 
 cautious light of tall, shaded candles, some one gave the 
 latest news from Frohsdorf ; and all expressed admiration 
 for the unwearied patience of the exiles, and encouraged 
 each other to imitate it. 
 
 But, hush ! softly ! They are now repeating M. Baren- 
 tin's last joke about the empress ; and again, on the sly, 
 humming the song, " When Napoleon — giving you the 
 stirrup-strap — will have cut your flanks unmercifully." 
 After which, scared at their own audacity, the conspirators 
 filed out one by one, and went creeping home, hugging 
 the walls in the broad, deserted Rue de Varenne, which 
 echoed their footsteps to their great disquietude. 
 
 Elys^e saw plainly that he was too young and too 
 active for these ghosts of ancient France. Besides, they 
 were then in the height of the imperial reign ; and the 
 victorious eagles, returning from the wars in Italy, were 
 marched along the boulevards beneath the flag-decked 
 windows. 
 
 The son of the villager soon learned that the opinions 
 held in the Enclos de Rey were not shared everywhere, 
 and that the return of the legitimate king would be de- 
 layed longer than was supposed in that region. His 
 loyalty was not affected by this ; but his ideas became 
 elevated and enlarged, since action was no longer possi- 
 ble. He dreamed of writing a book, and filling it with 
 his convictions and beliefs, — Avith what agitated him, and
 
 46 KINGS TX EXfLE. 
 
 what he needed to say and to have known in the great 
 Paris that he wished to convince. His plan was made 
 at once, — to earn his bread by giving lessons (pupils 
 were easily found), and to write his book in the intervals, 
 which required much more time. 
 
 Like all the people in his part of the country, Elys^e 
 was a man of words and gestures. Ideas only came to 
 him when he was standing on his feet, and heard the 
 sound of his own voice, as thunder is attracted by the 
 vibrations of bells. Nourished by reading, by deeds, and 
 constant meditation, his thoughts, which flowed from his 
 lips in a tide of words pouring forth one after another in 
 musical eloquence, left his pen slowly, drop by drop, 
 coming from a reservoir too vast for the measured filtra- 
 tion of writing, with all its niceties. To talk of his con- 
 victions relieved him, since he found no other way of 
 giving them vent ; and he therefore spoke to the popottes, 
 in conferences, and also in cafes, especially those in the 
 Latin Quarter, which, in the Paris that cowered under 
 the Second Empire, when books and journals were sup- 
 pressed, were the only places where opposition was 
 offered. Each saloon then had its orator, and its great 
 man. They said, " Pesquidoux of the Voltaire is very 
 powerful ; but Larminat of the Procope is much more 
 powerful than he." Indeed, all the learned and eloquent 
 youth came there, repeating with greater spirit the fine 
 political and philosophical discussions of the beer-shops 
 of Bonn and Heidelberg. 
 
 In this noisy and smoky forge of ideas, where men 
 shouted boldly, and drank more boldly still, the singular 
 spirit of this tall Gascon, who was always inspired, who 
 did not smoke, and who became intoxicated without 
 drinking ; whose rude and figurative language worked on
 
 A ROYAL/ST. 47 
 
 convictions as old-fashioned as panniers and powder, and 
 as out of place in the surroundings where they were- ex- 
 pressed as are objects of antiquarian taste among Paris 
 articles, — quickly gained him fame and audience. When 
 the gas was blazing in the crowded, noisy cafes, and his 
 tall, ungainly figure appeared on the threshold, with its 
 haggard-looking, near-sighted eyes, and hair tossed back 
 in his effort to see plainly, his hat on the back of his 
 head, and with some book or review, from which pro- 
 truded an enormous paper-cutter, always under his arm, 
 people would rise and shout, " Here is M^raut ! " And 
 they pressed close together to make a place where 
 he could move his elbows, and gesticulate at his ease. 
 As soon as he entered, the shouts and reception of these 
 young people inspired him, in addition to the heat and 
 gaslight which makes the head giddy and intoxicated. 
 And on one subject or another — the newspaper of the 
 day, or the book open under the Odeon as he passed — 
 he burst forth, now sitting, now standing, holding the 
 cafe with his voice, and attracting auditors around him 
 with his gestures. 
 
 The parties at dominos stopped, and the billiard-play- 
 ers in the entresol leaned over the staircase with pipes 
 between their teeth, and long ivory cues in their hands. 
 The wine-glasses, beer-mugs, and the saucers trembled 
 as from the passing of an express-wagon ; and the lady 
 at the counter said proudly to all who entered, " Come 
 in quick ! we have M. M^raut here." Ah ! Pesquidoux 
 and Larminat might be powerful ; but he put them into 
 the shade. He became the orator of the place ; and the 
 glory which he did not seek sufificed him so well, that he 
 clung to it fatally. Such was the fate of more than one 
 Larminat at that period, in whom fine powers were
 
 48 ICINGS IN EXTLE. 
 
 wasted. They were motors or levers letting off their 
 superfluous steam with great noise through the neghgence, 
 carelessness, or poor guiding of the fly-wheel. 
 
 With Elys^e it was different. Being without intrigue or 
 ambition, this southerner, who had inherited from his 
 country nothing but her ardor, considered himself the 
 missionary of his faith, and showed the indefatigable 
 proselytism of the missionary, the independent vigorous 
 nature, and the disinterestedness which makes light of the 
 fees and prebends, and a life given up to the hard lot 
 of the vocation. 
 
 After the eighteen years that he had been sowing his 
 ideas among the youth of Paris, many of them who had 
 reached a high position, when speaking of him, said dis- 
 dainfully, "Ah, yes ! M^raut ! an old scholar." But they 
 did all they could for their own glory by gathering the 
 crumbs the singular fellow carelessly dropped from his 
 table. Elys^e knew it ; and when, under a great lord's 
 green coat with palm-leaf figures, he again found any 
 of his chimeras logically expressed in a fine academical 
 phrase, he felt the disinterested happiness of a father who 
 sees the daughters of his heart well married, yet has no 
 right to their affection. It was the chivalric self-denial 
 of the old weaver of the Enclos de Rey, with something 
 grander still, since he lacked confidence in success, — that 
 unfaltering confidence which the worthy father Mdraut 
 kept to his last breath. The very evening of his death — 
 for he died suddenly of a sunstroke, after one of his 
 dinners au bon de Pair — the old man sang in his loud- 
 est voice, " Long live Henry the Fourth ! " When he 
 was about breathing his last, and his eyes were dim and 
 his speech thick, he still said to his wife, " Be easy about 
 the children — Duke of Athis — made note" — And
 
 A ROYALIST. 49 
 
 with his feeble hands the dying man essayed to make 
 "era, era" on the sheet of his bed. 
 
 When Elys^e, hearing too late of his overwhelming 
 loss, reached home in the morning, his father was laid 
 out, with hands folded, stiff and pallid in death, while the 
 bed still awaited its new hangings. Through the shop- 
 door, left open for the dead to pass, around which a 
 large space was made, one saw that the looms were still, 
 
 — that of the father abandoned, like the fallen mast of a 
 ship against which the wind no longer blows ; then the 
 portrait of the king and the red seal, which had looked 
 down on this life of labor and fidelity; and far above 
 the Enclos de Rey, on the hill-top, one saw the old wind- 
 mills throwing up their arms to the sky in an attitude of 
 despair. 
 
 Never did Elys^e forget the spectacle of that serene 
 death which surprised the toiler at his labors, and closed 
 his eyes to the familiar horizon. He was moved by envy, 
 
 — he who was so filled with dreams and adventure, and 
 was the embodiment of all the chimerical illusions of the 
 fine old man sleeping there. 
 
 It was on the return from this sad journey that they 
 
 offered him the place of preceptor at the court of X . 
 
 We already know his disappointing experience. His dis- 
 comfiture was so great ; the littleness, competition, and 
 envious calumny with which he was surrounded, and the 
 gilded splendor of the monarchy seen from too near a 
 point of view in the corridors of its palace, so saddened 
 him, that, in spite of his admiration for the King of 
 Illyria, when the monks had gone and the first fever 
 of enthusiasm was over, he regretted having decided so 
 quickly. 
 
 All the disappointments he found there came back to
 
 50 KINGS IN E^ii^E. 
 
 his memory, and he foresaw the sacrifice to be made of 
 his liberty and habits ; then his famous book, which was 
 always in his thoughts. In short, after long debates with 
 himself, he resolved to say no ; and on Christmas Eve, 
 when the time for the- interview was approaching, he 
 wrote to Father Melchior to acquaint him with his decis- 
 ion. The monk did not protest, but merely answered, — 
 
 " Meet me in the Rue des Foumeaux at this evening's 
 service. I still hope to convince you," 
 
 The convent of the Franciscans in the Rue des Four- 
 neaux, where Father Melchior was treasurer, is one of the 
 most curious and least-known buildings in Catholic Paris. 
 This convent, mother of a celebrated order, concealed 
 mysteriously in the wretched faubourg whose rumbling 
 is heard behind the Montparnassus station, is also called 
 "The Commissaryship of the Holy Sepulchre." It is 
 there that monks in foreign garb, who pass through this 
 dark, wretched district in their woollen travelling-suits, 
 bring for the traffic in relics pieces of the true cross, 
 rosaries of olive-nuts from the trees of the Garden of 
 Olives, roses from Jericho, withered and fibrous, suffering 
 for a drop of holy water, — a miraculous stock, converted 
 into beautiful, silent, heavy money, to be carried in the 
 large portable pockets of the hoods, and spent afterwards 
 in Jerusalem for the care of the Holy Sepulchre. 
 
 Elysee had been taken to the Rue des Foumeaux by a 
 friend of his, — a sculptor, a poor artist living in rooms, by 
 the name of Dreux, who had just made a Saint Margaret 
 d'Ossuna for the convent, and brought as many people 
 as possible to see his statue. The place was so curious, 
 so picturesque, and so congenial to his Southern convic- 
 tions, as it united them — to save them from modern 
 lucidity — to the most remote centuries and countries of
 
 ' Tliu) aic tne Queens." Pa^.^ .J.
 
 A ROYALIST. 51 
 
 tradition, that he often returned to it afterwards, to the 
 great joy of his friend Dreux, who was quite proud -of 
 the success of his Margaret. 
 
 On the evening of the appointment, it was near mid- 
 night when Elys^e Meraut left the noisy streets of the Latin 
 Quarter, where the hot cook-shops, decorated butcher- 
 shops and open provision-stores, beer-shops attended by 
 women, students' lodgings, and venders of knic-knacs, of 
 the Rue Racine and " Boul-Mich," gave out till morning 
 the smoking odor of a universal feast. Without a change 
 of feehng, he entered the deserted avenues where the pas- 
 ser-by, whose shadow is shortened by the reflection of the 
 gas, seems to creep rather than walk. The shrill chimes 
 of the convents rang out from behind their walls, bor- 
 dered by skeleton-like trees ; and the odor and rustling 
 sound of straw, from the stables where all was asleep, 
 came from the large enclosures of the milk-producers ; 
 and, while the broad street still preserved the vague white- 
 ness of the smooth snow that had fallen in the day, the 
 villager's son, who walked along lost in a dream of faith 
 and ardor, fancied, that, among the stars that glittered 
 brightly with the cold, he recognized the one that guided 
 the kings to Bethlehem. On looking at it, he remem- 
 bered the Christmas days of the past, — the beautiful 
 Christmas days of his childhood, celebrated in the cathe- 
 dral, — and the return through the queer streets in the 
 butchers' quarter, outHned by their roofs and the moon, to 
 the home-table in the Enclos de Rey, where the midnight 
 supper awaited him with the three traditional candles in 
 a mass of green holly with dots of scarlet, the estcve- 
 nons (little Christmas cakes), and the dehciously smeUing 
 pastry and fried bacon. He was so absorbed in these 
 memories of home-life, that the ragpicker's lantern mov-
 
 52 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 ing along the sidewalk seemed to him to be that of his 
 father, who was walking at the head of the party on his 
 return from midnight mass. 
 
 Ah ! poor father, he would never see him again ! And, 
 while he talked of the past in a low voice to the shadows 
 he loved, Elys^e reached the Rue des Fourneaux, which 
 was a neighborhood partially built, and lighted by a street- 
 lamp, and where were tall manufactories surmounted by 
 straight chimneys, with wooden palisades, and the walls 
 of which were made of materials taken from ruins. The 
 wind blew with great violence from the great plains of 
 the suburbs. From a neighboring abattoir were heard a 
 terrified squealing and heavy blows, and a dead smell of 
 blood and fat was perceived. It was there that pigs are 
 sacrificed for Christmas, as in the festivals of some Teu- 
 tates. 
 
 The large gate of the convent, which stands in the mid- 
 dle of the street, was open ; and in its court were two or 
 three carriages, whose showy harness astonished M^raut. 
 Services had begun ; and strains from the organ and 
 choir came from the church, which, however, was 
 empty, and dimly lighted by the feeble gUmmer from the 
 small lamps around the altar, and the pale reflections from 
 the snowy night against the phantom-like window-panes. 
 
 The nave was almost round, and adorned with large 
 red-cross standards from Jerusalem, which hung from 
 the walls, and rather rude painted statues, among which 
 the Margaret of Ossuna, in pure marble, pitilessly flagel- 
 lated her white shoulders ; for, as the monks tell you 
 with a certain affectation, " Margaret of our order was a 
 great sinner." 
 
 The ceiling of painted wood, crossed by small beams ; 
 the high altar, under a kind of dais sustained by columns ;
 
 A ROYALIST. 53 
 
 the choir, in a wainscoted rotunda of empty stalls, with a 
 moonbeam playing over the page of the open hymn- 
 book, — were left to the imagination ; for nothing was dis- 
 tinct. But one descended by a broad staircase, concealed 
 vmder the choir, to the subterranean church, where — 
 perhaps in memory of the catacombs — religious service 
 was performed. At the end of the cellar, in the white 
 masonry supported by large Roman pillars, was repro- 
 duced the tomb of Christ at Jerusalem, its low door and 
 narrow crypt being lighted by a number of small sepul- 
 chral lamps in their alveoles of stone, which threw a flick- 
 ering Hght on a Christ of life-size in tinted wax, the bright 
 red of his bleeding wounds showing through the opening 
 of the shroud. 
 
 At the other end of the cellar, like an odd antithesis, 
 and embracing the whole Christian age, was displayed one 
 of those childish reproductions of the Nativity, whose 
 manger, animals, and Holy Child, surrounded by gar- 
 lands of crimped paper in tender colors and leaves, are 
 taken from the legend-casket every year, just as they 
 originally came from the brain of a visionary, though 
 perhaps they were then more poorly cut and much 
 larger. As in those days, a file of children and old 
 women, longing for affection and with a passion for the 
 marvellous, — the poor whom Jesus loved, — crowded 
 around the manger ; and among them, in the first row of 
 the humble worshippers, to Elys^e's surprise, were two 
 men in secular dress and two fine ladies in dark toilets 
 kneehng low on the flagging, one of them holding a little 
 boy, around whom she clasped her arms, in an attitude 
 of protection and prayer. 
 
 An old woman, breathless with admiration, said to him 
 in a low voice, " They are the queens."
 
 ■54 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 Elys^e trembled ; then, approaching, lie recognized the 
 delicate profile and aristocratic bearing of Christian of 
 Illyria, and near him the dark, thin face and youthful 
 but bald forehead of the King of Palermo. Of the two 
 women nothing was seen but the black hair of one, and 
 the tawny hair of the other, and that figure of an impas- 
 sioned mother. 
 
 Ah ! how well the sly priest understood M^raut, having, 
 as it were, arranged a meeting between the young prince 
 and his future governor ! 
 
 These dethroned kings coming to render praise to 
 God, who seemed to have hidden in that crypt to receive 
 them ; this assemblage of fallen royalty worshipping in sor- 
 row the star of exile guiding these poor magicians to a 
 Bethlehem in the suburbs, with empty hands and without 
 followers, — made his heart swell. The child — the 
 child, above all — was such a touching sight, with his little 
 head leaning over the animals in the manger ; the curi- 
 osity of his age being tempered by the reserve of sorrow. 
 And before this brow of six years, where the future 
 rested like the butterfly in its white shell, he thought how 
 much knowledge and tender care would be necessary to 
 make it bloom into splendor.
 
 THE COURT AT SAINT MANDE. 55 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE COURT AT SAINT MAN^D. 
 
 The unsettled state of affairs in the Hotel des Pyra- 
 mides lasted just six months, and trunks were but par- 
 tially unpacked. Bags were still unstrapped, and all 
 around were the disorder and uncertainty of an encamp- 
 ment. Every day glorious news came from lUyria. Torn 
 from her roots, and transplanted to a new soil, where she 
 had neither past nor heroes, the republic did not flour- 
 ish. The people grew weary of it, and mourned their 
 sovereigns ; and, calculating on a dead certainty, the 
 exiles said to themselves, " Hold yourselves in readiness : 
 it will be to-morrow." 
 
 They did not drive a nail in the apartments, nor move 
 a single piece of furniture, without saying hopefully, " It 
 is not worth while." 
 
 However, the exile was prolonged, and the queen soon 
 felt that to remain in the hotel among a crowd of stran- 
 gers, like a flock of birds of eveiy feather with wings 
 spread for a flight, would be contrary to the dignity of 
 their rank ; and they therefore packed up, bought a 
 house, and moved into it. From wanderers they be- 
 came fixed residents. 
 
 Their mansion was in Saint Mand^, in the Avenue Dau- 
 mesnil, at the head of the Rue Herbillon, in the part that 
 skirts the wood and is bordered by elegant houses with 
 fanciful fences, affording a glimpse of gardens laid out in
 
 56 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 gravelled paths ; and where the circular terraces and Eng- 
 lish lawns give the illusion of the Avenue du Bois-de- 
 Boulogne. It was in one of these hotels that the King 
 and Queen of Palermo, who had not a large fortune, re- 
 tired, avoiding the excitement and the luxurious associa- 
 tions of high life. 
 
 The Duchess of Malines, the sister of the Queen of 
 Palermo, had come to join her at Saint Mand6 ; and both, 
 without difficulty, induced their cousins to come to this 
 place. 
 
 Besides the question of friendship, Fr^d^rique desired 
 to hold aloof from the gay excitement of Paris, to pro- 
 test against modem society and the prosperity of the 
 Republic, and to avoid the curiosity which is attached to 
 persons of prominence, which to her seemed an insult 
 in her misfortunes. The king at first objected to the 
 distance of the house ; but he soon made it a pretext for 
 his long absences and late returns. Finally, what decided 
 the matter was, that it was less expensive living there 
 than anywhere else, and their luxury could be maintained 
 with but little cost. 
 
 They found themselves comfortably situated. 
 
 The house, which was white, and three stories high, and 
 flanked by two towers, had a view of the woods through 
 the trees in its little park ; while on the side towards the 
 Rue Herbillon, between the servants' quarters and the 
 hot-houses opposite, a broad, gravelled court extended 
 in a circle as far as the terrace, which was covered by 
 a canopy supported in the manner of a tent by two long, 
 inclined poles. 
 
 There were ten horses in the stable, — draught-horses 
 and saddle-horses. The queen rode every day. The 
 coachmen in livery with the colors of lUyria, with pow-
 
 THE COURT AT SAINT MANDE. 57 
 
 dered hair drawn up on the top of their heads in the form 
 of a hammer ; with a porter whose halberd and shoulder- 
 belt of green gold were as legendary at Saint Mand6 and 
 Vincennes as the wooden leg of the old Daumesnil, — 
 all constituted appointments that were sufficiently luxu- 
 rious and almost new. 
 
 It was indeed but little more than a year before that 
 Tom Levis had improvised, with all the decorations and 
 accessories, the princely stage on which is to be played 
 the historical drama we are about to relate. 
 
 Ah, Heavens ! yes : Tom Levis ! In spite of mistrust 
 and repugnance, it was necessary to apply to him. This 
 all-important little fellow had a most surprising tenacity 
 and versatility. He had a bagful of cunning devices 
 with many keys and picks to open or force rebellious 
 locks, to say nothing of his many ways of gaining 
 the hearts of tradespeople, valets, and chambermaids. 
 "Above all, no Tom Levis," they always said at first ; but 
 then nothing went right. The tradespeojDle did not de- 
 liver their goods in time, and the servants rebelled, until 
 the day when the man in the cab appeared with his gold 
 spectacles and charms, when the curtains hung down 
 from the walls of themseh^es, sweeping the floors, and 
 knotting and forming into complicated folds as portieres, 
 drapery, and thick, ornamental hangings. Fires burned 
 in stoves, and the camellias held their heads up in the 
 greenhouses ; and the owners, being quickly settled, 
 had only to enjoy themselves, and sit in comfortable 
 chairs, and await the bundles of bills which arrived from 
 every comer of Paris. At the Rue Herbillon it was the 
 elder Rosen, the head of the domestic and mihtary ser- 
 vice, who received the accounts, paid for the livery, and 
 managed the king's small income so adroitly, that, with
 
 58 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 their misfortune relieved by this gilded frame, Christian 
 and Fr<^d^rique still lived freely. Both being sovereigns, 
 and the children of kings, they did not know the cost of 
 any thing, and were accustomed to see themselves repre- 
 sented on every gold piece, and to have money coined 
 whenever they pleased ; and, far from being astonished at 
 this comfort, they felt, on the contrary, all that their new 
 existence lacked, to say nothing of the chilling void 
 around their brows, where the lost crown had rested. 
 
 The house at Saint Mand^, so simple outside, was 
 ornamented like a little palace within to no purpose ; 
 for the queen's chamber, with its blue lai?ipas covered 
 with old Bruges, exactly resembled that in the castle 
 at Laybach ; and the room of the sovereign was also 
 identical with the one he left, and on the staircases were 
 copies of the statues of the royal residence, and in the 
 gi-een-house was a warm cage for monkeys provided with 
 climbing vines for the favorite ouistitis} What were all 
 these small details, so delicately flattering, to the own- 
 ers of four historical castles and those summer resi- 
 dences between the sky and the lake, whose lawns 
 extended to and disappeared beneath the waves, in the 
 green islands they call "the gardens of the Adriatic "? 
 
 At Saint Mand(§ the Adriatic was the little lake in the 
 wood opposite the queen's windows, which she looked 
 at sadly, as the exiled Andromache looked at her imagin- 
 ary Simois. Restricted as were their lives, it happened 
 that Christian, who was more experienced than Fr6d6- 
 rique, was astonished at their comparative ease. 
 
 "This Rosen is incomprehensible. I really do not 
 know how he manages to make the little we have suffice 
 
 ^ Translator's Note. — The ouistiti (a native of Brazil) is a small striated 
 monkey.
 
 THE COURT AT SAINT MANDE. 59 
 
 for every thing." Then he added laughingly, " But one 
 can be sure that he does not use any of his own money." 
 
 The fact is, that, in Illyria, Rosen was synonymous with 
 Harpagon.' At Paris this reputation for closeness fol- 
 lowed the duke, and was confirmed by his son's marriage, 
 which was concluded in special agencies, and which all 
 the prcttiness of the little Sauvadon did not prevent from 
 being a sordid mesalliance. However, Rosen was rich. 
 The old Austrian officer, whose avarice was written on his 
 profile, which was that of a bird of prey, had not waged war 
 against the Turks and Montenegrins for glory alone. At 
 each campaign his baggage-wagons returned well laden ; 
 and his magnificent hotel at the point of the Isle Saint 
 Louis, very near Hotel Lambert, overflowed with rare 
 things, Oriental hangings, mediaeval furniture of the time 
 of chivalr}', massive gold tryptiques, sculptures, reliquaries, 
 costly stuffs embroidered and worked in silver, and spoils 
 from convents or harems, piled up in a suite of immense re- 
 ception-rooms, which had been opened but once, — at the 
 time of Herbert's maniage, when the fairy-show was paid 
 for by Uncle Sauvadon, — but which since then had been 
 locked, and were now gloomy, their treasures being pre- 
 served behind the tightly drawn curtains and closed blinds, 
 without fear of a sunbeam being so indiscreet as to enter. 
 
 The good man, confined in one story of the immense 
 hotel, led the existence of a monomaniac, being contented 
 with two servants, a regimen of a provincial miser ; while 
 the vast kitchens in the basement, with their motionless 
 spits and their cold stoves, were also closed like the gala 
 apartments. 
 
 The arrival of his sovereigns, the appointing of all the 
 Rosens to the duties of the little court, had somewhat 
 
 1 Translator's Note. — Harpagon, figuratively speaking, means " miser." 
 5
 
 6o KINGS IN EX HE. 
 
 changed the old duke's habits. At first the young people 
 had come to live with him, their home in Park Monceaux 
 — a true modern cage, with gilded bars — being too far 
 from Vincennes. 
 
 Every morning at nine o'clock, no matter what the 
 weather, the Princess Colette was ready to attend the 
 rising of the queen, and stepped into her carriage, and 
 seated herself by the general's side, while the river fog, 
 which in winter and summer mornings lingered till noon 
 at the point of the island, fell like a veil over the magic 
 beauty of the Seine. 
 
 At this hour Prince Herbert tried to regain a Httle of 
 the sleep lost in a hard night ; King Christian having to 
 make up for ten years of provincial and domestic life, and 
 being so httle able to do without the nocturnal Paris, 
 that, when the theatres and cafes were closed, he found 
 delight in walking the deserted boulevards, which sounded 
 dry and resonant under his feet, or shone with water, 
 while the street-lamps extended like a line of fire into 
 dim perspective. 
 
 They had hardly reached Saint Mande, when Colette 
 went up to the queen. The duke established himself in 
 the paviHon-cottage adjoining the servants' quarters, within 
 reach of the servants and tradespeople. They called this 
 the intendant's house ; and it was touching to see this tall, 
 old man seated in an arm-chair covered with moleskin, 
 among heaps of papers, classified and labelled, and green 
 pasteboard boxes, receiving and arranging little bills of 
 the bourgeoisie, when he had at the Residence a houseful 
 of decorated ushers under his orders. His avarice was 
 such, that, even when not paying on his own account, each 
 time that he had to give money every feature and wrinkle 
 in his face contracted nervously, as if they had been
 
 THE COURT AT SAINT MANDE. 6l 
 
 tightened with the string of a bag ; his straight, stiff body 
 protested, even to the automatic gesture with which he 
 opened the box on the wall. In spite of this, he man- 
 aged to be always ready, with the modest resources of 
 the princes of Illyria, to meet the inevitable pillage in a 
 large house, the charities of the queen, and the liberality 
 of the king, and even the pleasures which also formed part 
 of it j for Christian 11. kept his word, and spent his hours 
 of exile gayly. Constant at Parisian fetes, received in the 
 first clubs, sought in salons, his mocking, delicate profile, 
 familiar in the lively bustle of stage-boxes or the gay 
 throng returning from races, was now to be seen, in the 
 medallions known by " all Paris," between the bold locks 
 of a fashionable actress and the haggard face of the royal 
 prince in disgrace who frequented the cafes in the boule- 
 vard while waiting for the hour of his reign to strike. 
 
 Christian led the idle, yet well-filled life of a young 
 swell. The afternoons were devoted to tennis or skating, 
 then the Bois ; at the close of the day a visit to a certain 
 boudoir, which was then the chic, and whose atmosphere 
 of luxury and great freedom of speech pleased him ; in 
 the evening the minor theatres, dances, the club, and, 
 above all, gambling with cards, in which one would see 
 him reveal his Bohemian origin and his passion for stak- 
 ing his luck with all the consequent hopes and fears. 
 He hardly ever went out with the queen, except on Sun- 
 day to take her to the church at Saint Mande, and rarely 
 saw her except at meals. Her sensible, upright nature 
 thinking always of duty, he held in fear ; and her scornful 
 coldness restrained him like a visible conscience : for it 
 reminded him of his burdens as a king, and the ambitions 
 he would forget ; and, too weak to rebel against this si- 
 lent power over him, he preferred to lie, to avoid it, 
 and even to fly from it.
 
 6 2 A'/NGS IN EX/I.E. 
 
 Fr^d^rique, on her part, so well knew this ardent, 
 effeminate, vacillating, and weak Slavonian temperament ; 
 she had so often pardoned the errors of this child-man, 
 who retained every thing of childhood, — its grace, its 
 mirthfulness, and even its cruel whims ; and had seen 
 him so often on his knees before her, after one of his in- 
 discretions, in which he had staked her happiness and 
 dignity, — that she was thoroughly discouraged with the 
 husband and man, even if she had any respect left for the 
 king. 
 
 And this contest lasted almost ten years, although in 
 appearance the household was very united. In high life, 
 where one lives in spacious apartments, with a large 
 number of servants, and surrounded by the ceremony 
 which maintains distances and represses sentiment, such 
 deceptions are possible. But exile would betray them. 
 
 Fr^d^rique at first hoped that this hard trial would 
 ripen the king's reason, and awaken in him those sudden 
 impulses which create heroes and conquerors. On the 
 contrary, she saw his eyes brighten with the giddy intox- 
 ication of pleasures, while a diabolic, phosphorescent 
 light was kindled in them by his stay in Paris, and by 
 opportunities given by his incognito. 
 
 Ah ! if she had but followed him in his mad rush 
 through the Parisian whirl ; if she had allowed her beauty, 
 horses, and toilets, to be the talk, and, with all a woman's 
 coquetry, had lent herself to her husband's thoughtless 
 vanity, — harmony might have been possible. 
 
 But she became more the queen than ever, and did not 
 renounce any of her ambitions and hopes ; but, far from 
 it, gave herself up to the struggle, sending letter after 
 letter to friends at home ; protesting, conspiring, and in- 
 forming all the courts of Europe of the wickedness of 
 their misfortune.
 
 THE COURT AT SA/.VT MANDE. 63 
 
 The councillor Boscovich wrote from her dictation ; 
 and at noon, when the king came down, she herself pre- 
 sented the papers to be signed. 
 
 He signed. Parbleii / he signed every thing she 
 wished, but with a scornful contraction at one corner of 
 his lips. The cold, mocking scepticism of the atmos- 
 phere in which he passed his time, had gained power over 
 him ; and the illusions of his debut, through a re-action 
 peculiar to extreme natures like his, were followed by the 
 settled conviction that his exile would be prolonged in- 
 definitely. Therefore it was with ennui and fatigue that 
 he listened to the conversations in which Fr^d^rique tried 
 to work him up to her fervor, looking into the depths of 
 his eyes to find the attention she could not fix. Absent- 
 minded, and haunted by some silly refrain, his head was 
 filled with the last night's scene and the intoxicating, lan- 
 guishing whirl of pleasure. And what an " Ouf ! " of relief 
 he gave when he finally escaped out of doors, and how 
 youthful and full of life he again became ! which always 
 left the queen feeling sadder and more solitary. 
 
 After the morning's correspondence, and sending off 
 some of the short, eloquent notes, in which she revived 
 fainting courage and hopes, Fr^d^rique's only diversion 
 was to read from her own royal library, which was com- 
 posed of memoirs, correspondences, and chronicles of 
 past times, or of deep religious philosophy; then she 
 would play with her child in the garden, and take a few 
 horseback-rides in the woods at Vincennes, and walks 
 that were seldom extended to the line where the last 
 echoes of the Parisian whirl died away on the outskirts in 
 the part of the large faubourg where the poor reside ; 
 for Paris caused her antipathy and ungovernable horror. 
 
 About once a month she would ride out in full livery,
 
 64 KJNGS IN EXILE. 
 
 and make a round of visits among the exiled sovereigns. 
 It was a pleasureless excursion, from which she returned 
 dispirited. Among these royal misfortunes, which were 
 properly, nobly borne, she felt that there was utter aban- 
 donment and renunciation ; that exile was accepted 
 patiently from habit; and that they were led away by 
 manias, childish trifles, or even worse. 
 
 The most dignified and the proudest of these fallen 
 majesties, the King of Westphalia, — a poor blind old 
 man, who was touching to behold, — with his daughter, 
 his blond Antigone, maintained the pomp and outward 
 appearance of his rank, but occupied himself only in col- 
 lecting snuff-boxes, and filling glass cases in his salon with 
 curiosities, — a singular mockery of the infirmity which 
 prevented him from enjoying his treasures. There was 
 the same despairing apathy with the King of Palermo, 
 owing to a complication of troubles, sorrow, want of 
 money, a disunited household, and ambition destroyed 
 through the loss of an only child. The king, who was 
 almost always absent, left his wife in her widowed and 
 exiled home ; while the Queen of Galicia, who had lux- 
 urious tastes and a passion for pleasure, did not change 
 her wild ways when an exiled sovereign. 
 
 The Duke of Palma, from time to time, took down his 
 gun to try and cross the frontier, from which he was 
 often severely repelled, and again forced to endure the 
 wretched idleness of his life. At heart he was more of a 
 freebooter than a claimant, waging war for money and 
 dove, and causing his poor duchess all the emotions of 
 the unhappy bride of a bandit of the Pyrenees, whom, 
 if he stay out till daybreak, one brings home on a 
 stretcher. All these dethroned ones had but one word 
 on their lips, and one device, taking the place of the
 
 THE COURT AT SAINT MANDL. 65 
 
 high-sounding ones of their royal houses : " Why do 
 anything? Of what use is it?" The most poUte re- 
 sponded to Fr^d^rique's enthusiasm and active fervor 
 with a smile ; the women answered by talking about the 
 theatre, rehgion, gallantry, or the fashions ; and gradually 
 this tacit lowering of principle, this weakening of strength, 
 conquered the proud Dalmatian herself. Between the 
 king, who no longer wished to be one, and the poor little 
 Zara, who grew up so slowly, every thing seemed to be 
 failing. The old Rosen talked but little, shut up in his 
 office all day. The princess was only a bird, occupied 
 incessantly in smoothing her plumage. Boscovich was a 
 child, and the marchioness a simpleton. There was still 
 Father Alphee ; but this stern, frowning monk would not 
 have easily understood the emotions in the queen's soul, 
 — the doubts and fears that began to possess her. The 
 weather also had its influence. 
 
 This wood of Saint Mande, — bright with flowers and 
 verdure in summer, deserted and calm as a private park 
 during the week, alive with the joyous sounds of the 
 people on Sunday, — as winter approached, wore all the 
 gloom of a rainy landscape, and of the floating mists of 
 its lake ; having the desolate aspect, void of grandeur, of 
 forsaken pleasure-resorts. Flocks of ravens flew over 
 the dark bushes, and tall, gnarled trees, on whose branches 
 the nests of the magpie swayed and the mistletoe swung. 
 
 It was the second winter that Fr^d^rique passed in 
 Paris. Why did it seem longer and more gloomy than 
 the first ? Was it the bustle of the hotel, the stir in the 
 lively, wealthy city, that she missed ? No ; but, as there 
 was less of the queen, the weakness of the woman re- 
 turned with all the sorrows of a forsaken wife, and the 
 home- sickness of a foreigner torn from her native soil.
 
 66 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 In a glass-covered gallery adjoining the grand salon, 
 of which she had made a little winter-garden, — a cool spot, 
 far from the noise of the household, and adorned with 
 bright hangings, and with green plants in every corner, 
 — she now remained for entire days doing nothing, and 
 looking out in the hollowed garden with its tracery of 
 slender boughs, through which the gray horizon made a 
 patchwork background, like that of an etching, mingled 
 with the dark, solid mass of verdure which the holly and 
 box preserved under the snow which their sharp branches 
 pierced. The sheet of water falling from the three basins 
 of the fountain wore a cold, silvery hue ; and, beyond the 
 high fence along the Avenue Daumesnil, the steam-cars 
 ^ent screeching by from time to time, breaking the silence 
 and the solitude of two leagues of wood, and leaving a 
 train of smoke behind, which settled so heavily in the 
 murky air, that Fri^d^rique could follow it a long time, 
 and see it gradually fade, slow and aimless as her life. 
 
 It was on a rainy winter morning that Elys^e M^raut 
 gave his first lesson to the royal child in the queen's 
 little retreat, where she gave herself up to sorrow and 
 dreams, and which on this day had the appearance of a 
 study, with books and pamphlets lying on the table, and 
 the light streaming in as in a studio or schoolroom. 
 The mother wore a simple dress of black cloth, which 
 fitted closely to her tall figure, and was seated near a 
 small lacquered work-table ; and master and pupil — one 
 as much as the other — were embarrassed at their first 
 interview. 
 
 The little prince had a faint recollection of the large, 
 imposing face which had been pointed out to him on 
 Christmas night in the dim, religious light of the chapel, 
 and which his imagination, filled with Madame de Silvis'
 
 THE COURT AT SAINT MANDE. 67 
 
 fairy-tales, likened to the giant Robistor or the magician 
 Merlin. 
 
 And Elys^e's impressions were as fanciful ; for in this 
 frail, precocious, and sickly little boy, with a forehead as 
 wrinkled as if it felt the weight of the six hundred years 
 of his race, he imagined he saw a pre-ordained leader of 
 men and of nations, and he said to him in a grave and 
 trembling voice, — 
 
 " Your Highness, you will be a king some day, and you 
 must learn what it is to be a king. Listen to me, and 
 look at me attentively ; and, what my lips do not speak 
 plainly enough, you will learn from my eyes." 
 
 Then, bending almost to the floor to reach that little 
 intelligence \vith fit words and images, he explained to 
 him the dogma of divine right, — that kings were sent 
 on the earth by God with a mission to the people, and 
 charged with duties and responsibilities which other men 
 have not, and which have been imposed upon them since 
 childhood. 
 
 That the little prince understood perfectly what was 
 said to him is hardly probable ; but perhaps he may 
 have felt the warm, revivifying atmosphere with which 
 gardeners who nurture a tender plant give life to the 
 delicate fibre and sickly bud. 
 
 The queen, as she leaned over her embroider}', listened 
 in delighted surprise to the words which she had waited 
 for in despair for years, and which responded to her most 
 secret thoughts, and gave them voice. 
 
 She had so long dreamed alone, and of so many things 
 which she could not have spoken, and which Elys^e put 
 into words ! From the very first day, she felt in his pres- 
 ence as would an unknown musician, an unexpressed 
 artist, before a skilful performer of his work. Her vaguest
 
 68 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 sentiments about this great idea of royalty took form, 
 and were unfolded grandly, and simply too, since a child 
 — a mere child — could almost understand them. 
 
 While she looked at this man, whose noble features 
 were animated with faith and elocjucnce. Christian's hand- 
 some, indolent face and irresolute smile rose before her \ 
 and she seemed to hear the eternal " Of what use ? " of 
 all the dethroned kings, and the idle talk of princely 
 boudoirs. It was this plebeian, this weaver's son, — 
 whose history she knew, — who had gathered the lost 
 traditions, and preserved the relics and the shrine ; and 
 the sacred fire, whose light was visible on his brow at 
 this moment, communicated itself to the ardor of his 
 speech. 
 
 Ah ! if Christian had been like that, they would still be 
 on the throne, or have both disappeared under its ruins. 
 
 It was very singular : observing Elys^e, as she could not 
 help doing, his face and voice seemed to awaken remem- 
 brance. Out of what shadow of her memory arose that 
 brow of genius ? and from what secret recess of her heart 
 came the accents which resounded in the depths of her 
 being ? 
 
 Now the teacher began to question his pupil, not about 
 what he knew, — which was nothing, or but little, alas ! — 
 but to find out what he could be taught. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; No, sir," were the only words that came 
 from the lips of the little prince, who exerted all his 
 strength to utter them, in the timid, pretty manner of 
 boys brought up by women, and retaining their child- 
 ishness. 
 
 The poor little fellow tried, under the mass of varied 
 information which Madame de Silvis had given him, to 
 disentangle a few ideas of general history from among
 
 THE COURT AT SAINT MANDE. 69 
 
 the adventures of dwarfs and fairies glittering in his im- 
 agination, which was like a fairy-theatre. The queen 
 gave him encouraging looks, and tried to aid him by her 
 sympathy, as, when young swallows are leaving the nest, 
 the mother-bird lends the support of her wings to the 
 youngest which cannot fly. 
 
 When the child hesitated in his answers, the bright 
 look in Fr^d^rique's blue eyes deepened like waves in a 
 storm ; but, when he happened to answer correctly, with 
 what a smile of triumph she would turn to the teacher ! 
 For months she had not felt such perfect comfort and 
 joy. Little Zara's sad, dejected countenance seemed to 
 her to have new blood under its waxen complexion, and 
 even the gloomy landscape was brightened by the magic 
 of the teacher's words ; and Fr^d^rique saw in the bare, 
 wintry waste only what was imposing and beautiful. As 
 she sat leaning forward on her elbow, her thoughts soared 
 into the future, where she had a vision of the child-king 
 returning in triumph to Laybach. 
 
 Elys^e, not knowing that he was the cause, trembled 
 with wonder at her change of countenance. Around her 
 beautiful pale brow he saw the shadow of her heavy 
 crown of braids wreathe itself in the form of a royal 
 diadem. 
 
 It was noon, and the lesson still lasted. In the prin- 
 cipal salon, where the little court assembled each morning 
 at breakfast-time, the company were beginning to whisper, 
 and wonder that neither the king nor queen made their 
 appearance. Hunger and restlessness, caused by waiting 
 for their repast, lent a certain ill humor to the low-toned 
 conversation. 
 
 Boscovich, who was pale with cold and hunger, having 
 been stirring about in the bushes for two hours to find
 
 70 KINGS- LV EXILE. 
 
 some late flower, stood thawing his fingers in front of the 
 tall white-marble mantel-piece in the form of an altar, 
 before which Father Alphde sometimes said private mass 
 on Sundays. 
 
 The marchioness, who stiff and majestic, in a dress 
 of green velvet, tragically sat on the edge of a lounge, 
 drew up her head, and long, slender neck, which was 
 covered by a boa, while talking confidentially to Princess 
 Colette. The poor woman was in despair because her 
 pupil had been taken from her, and confided to the care 
 of a vagabond, — a real vagabond : she saw him crossing 
 the court-yard that morning. 
 
 " My dear, he would have frightened you : his hair is 
 as long as that, and he looks like a fool. It takes Father 
 Alphee to find such creatures." 
 
 "They say he is very learned," said the princess ab- 
 sently. 
 
 The marchioness sprang up. " Very learned ! very 
 learned ! Does the son of a king need to be stuffed with 
 Greek and Latin like a dictionary? No, no ! you see, 
 little one, their education requires especial accomplish- 
 ments, and I possessed them. I was fitted for it. 1 
 have studied the treatise of the Abb6 Diguet on " The 
 Education of a Prince." I know by heart the different 
 rules he gives for understanding men, and those for 
 avoiding flatterers. There are six of the first, and seven 
 of the latter. Here they are in order." 
 
 And she began to repeat them to the princess, who did 
 not listen, but sat dispirited and dull on cushions, over 
 which swept the long train of her very pale-blue dress, 
 made in the fashion of the day, and looked towards the 
 door which led to the king's apartments. She seemed to 
 have magnets on the end of her eyelashes, and had the
 
 THE COURT AT SAINT MANDE. 71 
 
 pouting, disappointed look of a woman who has made a 
 toilet for some one who does not come. The old 
 Duke de Rosen, holding himself stiff and erect in his but- 
 toned-up coat, was walking up and down with a step like 
 that of an automaton, and as regularly as the pendulum 
 of a clock, stopping first at one, then at the other, of 
 the windows overlooking the garden or court-yard. As 
 he looked from under his frowning forehead, he had the 
 appearance of a ship's officer on watch charged with the 
 responsibility of the conduct on deck. 
 
 And really the appearance of the ship did him honor. 
 The red bricks of the servants' quarters, and the pavihon 
 of the intendant's house, shone where they were washed 
 by the rain which beat down on the clean piazzas and 
 fine pebbly paths. 
 
 The gloomy day seemed positively brightened by the 
 neatness of things, and to reflect light into the large salon, 
 which was made cheerful by the comfort and warmth of 
 the stove, draperies, and the Louis XVI. furniture in white 
 and gold, with classical ornaments reproduced on the 
 wood-work of the panels and looking-glasses. The latter 
 were very large, and had a little gilded dial-clock fastened 
 to one of them by ribbon-cords. In one of the corners 
 of the immense room, on an etagere of the same period, 
 stood a glass box, in which was kept the diadem saved 
 from the downfall. Fr^d^rique wished it to be there as a 
 "reminder," she said. And in spite of Christian's railler- 
 ies, — who thought it rococo, like a treasure from the 
 museum of broken-down sovereigns, — the splendid 
 jewel of the middle ages, with its sparkling, precious 
 stones of embossed and open-work old gold, gave an air 
 of ancient chivalry to the coquettishness of the eighteenth 
 century, and the diversified taste of our times.
 
 72 A'/NGS IN EXILE. 
 
 The rolling of a private carriage over the gravel 
 announced the arrival of the aide-de-camp. Well, some 
 one had arrived at last. 
 
 '• How late you come to your duties, Herbert ! " said 
 the duke gravely. 
 
 The prince, although a tall young man, always trem- 
 bled in his father's presence, and blushed, and stam- 
 mered out a few excuses : " Very sorry — Not his fault 
 — Duties to perform all night." 
 
 "Then that is why the king has not come down yet," 
 said the princess, putting her sagacious little nose into the 
 dialogue between the two men. 
 
 A severe look from the duke silenced her. "The 
 king's conduct was no one's concern,'" he said. 
 
 " Go up to his Majesty quickly, sir ! He must be wait- 
 ing for you." 
 
 Herbert obeyed, after trying to obtain a smile from his 
 dearly loved Colette, whose ill humor was far from being 
 calmed by his coming ; and she seated herself on the 
 lounge, and smoothed her pretty, disordered curls, and 
 the blue dress which was crumpled by the fidgetty move- 
 ments of her childish hand. Prince Herbert had been 
 playing the fine gentleman for some months ; and his wife 
 had insisted, that, as an aide-de-camp, he must let his 
 mustache grow, which gave a formidable, martial expres- 
 sion to his pleasant face, which was thin and pale from late 
 hours and the fatigue of his duties to the king. Besides, 
 he still limped a little, and leaned on his cane as he 
 walked, like a true hero of that siege of Ragusa of which 
 he had just written a memorial, which was famous before 
 it appeared ; and which, read by the author one evening 
 at the house of the Queen of Palermo, brought him a 
 brilliant ovation and the formal promise of a prize at 
 the Academy.
 
 THE COURT AT SAINT MANDE. 73 
 
 Think what a position and what power that gave Co- 
 lette's husband, who none the less retained his appear- 
 ance of a simple, timid, good fellow, especially in the 
 presence of the princess, who continued to treat him 
 with the most gracious scorn. So true is it that no man 
 is a hero to his wife. 
 
 "Well, what is it now?" she asked, in a slightly im- 
 pertinent tone, as he returned, looking stunned and over- 
 come. 
 
 " The king has not come home ! " 
 
 These few words of Herbert's produced the effect of 
 an electric discharge in the salon. Colette, who became 
 very pale, was the first to speak, and said, with tears in 
 her eyes, — 
 
 " Is it possible ? " 
 
 And the duke added sharply, — 
 
 " Not come home ! Why was I not told of this? " 
 
 Madame de Silvis' boa bristled and wriggled convul- 
 sively. 
 
 " I hope nothing has happened to him," said the 
 princess, in an unusual state of excitement. 
 
 Herbert calmed her fears, and told her that Lebeau, 
 the valet-de-chambre, had been gone an hour with the 
 king's valise, and he certainly would bring back news. 
 
 In the silence which followed, the same anxious 
 thought passed through every one's mind ; and the Duke 
 de Rosen suddenly expressed it : — 
 
 " What will the queen say? " 
 
 Boscovich answered, in a trembling voice, — 
 
 " His Majesty told her perhaps." 
 
 "I am sure he did not," affirmed Colette; "for the 
 queen said, a moment ago, that she would present the new 
 tutor to the king at breakfast." And then she added be-
 
 74 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 tween her teeth, with a shiver, and loud enough to be 
 heard, — 
 
 " If I were in her place, I know what I would do." 
 
 The duke's eyes flashed ; and he turned round in in- 
 dignation to the little bourgeoise, whom he could not suc- 
 ceed in crushing, and was apparently about to give her a 
 severe lesson on the respect due a king, when the queen 
 appeared, followed by Elys(^e, who led his royal pupil by 
 the hand. 
 
 All arose. Fr^d^rique, with a beautiful, happy smile, 
 which had not been seen on her face for a long time, 
 presented Monsieur M^raut. 
 
 Oh ! the salutation of the marchioness, mocking and 
 lofty, which she had been practising for a week ! The 
 princess had not strength to make even a gesture. From 
 pale she became purple on recognizing in the new 
 teacher the strange tall youth who sat beside her at 
 breakfast at her uncle's, and who had written Herbert's 
 book. Was he there through chance or some wicked 
 plot ? What disgrace it would bring on her husband, and 
 what new ridicule, if his literary fraud should be found 
 out ! She was somewhat relieved by Elys^e's cold bow, 
 who, however, must have recognized her. 
 
 " He is a man of wit," she thought. Unfortunately 
 all was compromised by Herbert's innocent frankness, 
 and his amazement at seeing the tutor enter, and the 
 familiar shake of the hand which he gave him, with a 
 foolish " Good-morning ! How do you do? " 
 
 " Then you are acquainted with monsieur? " asked the 
 queen, who knew the history of " The Memorial " from 
 her chaplain, and smiled, not without malice. 
 
 But she was much too kind to be long amused at 
 another's expense ; and, turning the subject, she said, —
 
 THE COURT AT SAINT MANDE. 75 
 
 " Really, the king has forgotten us. Please go up, and 
 tell him we are awaiting him, Monsieur de Rosen." 
 
 The truth had to be confessed, that the king was not in 
 the hotel ; that he passed the night out ; and they told 
 about the valise. It was the first time such a thing had 
 happened ; and they expected an outburst from that 
 proud and ardent nature, especially as the presence of a 
 stranger made the mortification greater. But, no : the 
 queen was unmoved. She simply said a few words to 
 the aide-de-camp, to ask what was the latest moment that 
 he had seen Christian. 
 
 " About three o'clock in the morning. His Majesty 
 was going down the boulevard on foot, with his Highness 
 the Prince d'Axel." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! it is true. I forgot. They had something 
 to say to each other." 
 
 In these quiet words she regained her calmness ; but 
 no one was deceived. Every one was acquainted with 
 the Prince d'Axel, and knew what style of conversation 
 this degraded nobleman and wicked high liver was capa- 
 ble of. 
 
 " Come, let us go to breakfast ! " said Fr^d^rique, with 
 a queenly movement, and trying to inspire her little com- 
 pany with the calmness she forced herself to show. 
 
 She needed an escort into the hall, and hesitated, the 
 king being absent. And all at once, turning to the Count 
 of Zara, who followed this scene with staring eyes, and 
 with the intelligent look of a precocious sick child, she 
 said to him, with deep, almost respectful, tenderness, and 
 a serious smile that he had never seen on her face, — 
 
 " Come, sire ! "
 
 76 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 
 
 Three o'clock at night by the Church of Saint Louis 
 en rile. Wrapped in silence and darkness, the Hotel de 
 Rosen is sleeping under the weight of its time-worn 
 stone-work and its massive, arched doors, with an antique 
 knocker ; and behind the closed shutters the dim mirrors 
 reflect only the sleep of centuries, — a sleep whose 
 dreams seem to be the faint paintings on the walls, while 
 the murmuring of a fountain near is the quick, uneven 
 breathing. But the deepest sleep in the hotel is that of 
 Prince Herbert, who has returned from his club, hardly 
 more than a quarter of an hour ago, tired and exhausted, 
 and cursing the troubled existence of a fast man, that he 
 led in spite of himself, and which deprived him of what 
 he loved best, — his wife and horses ; — horses, because 
 the king took no pleasure in the active, out-of-door life 
 of a sportsman ; his wife, because the king and queen, 
 living lives so divided, saw each other only at meals ; and 
 because both the aide-de-camp and maid of honor, fol- 
 lowing them in their divided domestic life, were as much 
 apart as two confidants in a tragedy. 
 
 The princess left for Saint Mand^ before her husband 
 awoke ; and, when he returned at night, she was asleep, 
 with her door locked. And, if he complained, Colette 
 would answer him majestically, with a little smile in the 
 comer of her dimples, " "We owe this sacrifice to oui 
 sovereigns."
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 77 
 
 And thus was the loving Herbert defeated and left 
 alone in his large room on the first story, the ceiling of 
 which was four metres above his head, with the upper 
 part of its doors painted by Boucher, and with tall mir- 
 rors set in the wall, which reflected his image in endless 
 perspective. 
 
 Sometimes, however, when used up as he is this night, 
 Colette's husband enjoys a certain selfish comfort in 
 stretching himself out in his bed, without having to make 
 conjugal explanations, and in resuming the effeminate 
 habits of his bachelor-life, with his head wrapped up in 
 a large silk bandanna, which he never dared to display 
 before the mocking eyes of his Parisian wife. 
 
 The aide-de-camp, weary with his night-wanderings, is 
 hardly in bed, with his head on the embroidered, embla- 
 zoned pillow, before a trap opens, and he sinks into 
 depths of forgetfulness and repose ; but he is suddenly 
 drawn out of it by the painful sensation of a light pass- 
 ing to and fro before his eyes, and a little sharp voice 
 trying to work its way into his ear like a corkscrew. 
 
 "Herbert! Herbert!" 
 
 " Eh ? what is it ? Who is there ? " 
 
 " Heavens 1 be quiet ! It is I, — Colette." 
 
 It was Colette, indeed, standing before the bed with 
 her peignoir trimmed with lace, open at the throat, and 
 slashed at the sleeves, and her hair turned off from her 
 face and twisted around her head, and with a nest of 
 blond frizzle at the back of her neck. A small lantern 
 cast a milky glow over her, and made her eyes, which 
 were enlarged by a solemn expression, stand out from 
 her face ; but they suddenly laughed at the sight of the 
 scared, stupid Herbert, whose neckerchief got out of 
 place and stood up in menacing points, while his face,
 
 78 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 with its bristling mustache staring out from his night- 
 dress, which resembled an archangel's robe, looked like 
 that of a bourgeois rowdy awakening fioin a bad dream. 
 
 But the princess's mirth did not last, liccoming seri- 
 ous, she places her night-lamp on a table with the de- 
 cided air of a woman who has come to have a scene ; 
 and without considering the vague, half-awake condition 
 of the prince, she begins, with her arms crossed and her 
 two little hands meeting the dimples at her elbows, —7 
 
 " And you think this is the right way to live, — to 
 come in every night at four o'clock in the morning? Is 
 that proper for a married man? " 
 
 "But, sweetheart," — he suddenly stops, pulls off his 
 bandanna, and tosses it away hap-hazard, — " it is not my 
 fault : I would like nothing better than to return sooner 
 to my little Colette, to my darling wife, whom I " — 
 
 As he said this, he tried to draw towards him the 
 snowy peignoir, whose whiteness attracted him ; but he 
 was sharply repulsed. 
 
 "Really, it is of no consequence in regard to yourself. 
 Eh ? no doubt ! People know you, do they ? They think 
 you a great innocent, incapable of the least — Well, 
 I wish it were not as it is. But the king, — in his posi- 
 tion ! Think of the scandal of such conduct ! If he 
 were free, and a bachelor — Bachelors must amuse 
 themselves. But then the elevation of his rank, the dig- 
 nity of exile " — Oh, to hear little Colette, who raises 
 herself on the heels of her slippers, and talks about 
 the dignity of exile ! " But he is married, and I do 
 not understand how the queen — That woman has no 
 blood in her veins." 
 
 " Colette ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! I know — You are hke your father —
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 79 
 
 What the queen does is all right. Well, now, in my 
 opinion, she is as guilty as he. It is she who Jaas 
 brought him to this, with her indifference and her cold- 
 ness." 
 
 "The queen is not cold : she is proud." 
 
 " Ah, bah ! Is one proud when one loves ? If she 
 loved him, the first night that he spent away from her 
 would have been his last. One lectures, one threatens, 
 one shows temper : but one does not preserve a cowardly 
 silence before faults which kill. So now the king spends 
 all his nights on the boulevard, at the club, and with 
 Prince d'Axel. God knows in what company ! " 
 
 " Colette ! Colette ! " 
 
 But it is not an easy matter to stop Colette when once 
 she is started ; for she has a ready tongue, like every 
 woman of the bourgeoisie brought up in this exciting 
 Paris, where the very dolls talk. 
 
 " That woman loves nothing, I tell you, — not even her 
 child. Otherwise, would she have confided him to the 
 care of that savage? They are wearing him out with 
 work, the poor little fellow ! It seems that in his sleep at 
 night he recites Latin and a heap of things : the mar- 
 chioness told me so. The queen is present at every 
 lesson. They are both at the child, so that he may 
 reign ! But they \vill have killed him before that. Oh, 
 stop ! don't say a word about your M^raut : I detest 
 him ! " 
 
 " But he is a good fellow. He might have been very 
 disagreeable to me, telUng the history of that book ; but 
 he did not breathe a word." 
 
 " Really ! Well, I assure you, that, when they congratu- 
 lated you in the queen's presence, she wore a singular 
 smile as she looked at you. But you are so simple, my 
 poor Herbert ! "
 
 8o KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 At the sight of her husband's grieved face, which had 
 suddenly flushed, while his mouth swelled with a childish 
 pout, the princess feared she had gone too far, and might 
 not obtain what she had come to seek. 
 
 But how could one be hard on that young woman 
 sitting there on the edge of the bed? — her head partly 
 turned away, with a movement full of coquetry, which 
 displays her youthful, pliant figure under the laces, the 
 soft roundness of her throat, and the sly, provoking eye 
 looking up from under its lashes. 
 
 The prince's pleasant face quickly became amiable 
 again, and began to brighten in an extraordinary manner 
 at the warm touch of the little hand left in his, and at 
 the delicate fragrance which pervaded the atmosphere 
 of the woman he loved. 
 
 "Ah, well ! what did the little Colette wish to know?" 
 
 " Nothing of any consequence ; simply a little infor- 
 mation about something. Has the king mistresses? 
 Yes, or no? Is it a passion for gambling which leads 
 him away, or only the love of pleasure and absorbing 
 diversions?" 
 
 The aide-de-camp hesitates before he answers. His 
 companion on every field of battle, he fears that in tell- 
 ing what he knows he would be betraying the professional 
 secret. Yet this little hand presses his so caressingly, 
 so eagerly, that the aide-de-camp of Christian H. no 
 longer resists. 
 
 "Well, yes : the king has a mistress just at present." 
 
 Colette's little hand, which lay in his, became damp 
 and cold. 
 
 "And who is she?" she asked in a quick, breathless 
 voice. 
 
 "An actress in the Bouffes, — Amy F^rat."
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 8 1 
 
 Colette was well acquainted with Amy F^rat, and 
 thought her atrociously ugly. 
 
 '' Oh ! " said Herbert in excuse, " his Majesty has had 
 nothing to do with her for some time ! " 
 
 " Really? " said Colette, with evident satisfaction. 
 
 Thereupon Herbert, delighted with his success, ven- 
 tures to touch a knot of satin ribbon fluttering at the 
 throat of the peigjwir, and continues lightly, — 
 
 " Yes : I fear that, some day or other, Amy F^rat will 
 receive her ouistitiJ'^ 
 
 " A ouistiti ! What do you mean? " 
 
 " Why, yes : I have observed that all those who know 
 the king as intimately as I, find that, when a liaison begins 
 to weary him, he sends one of his ouistitis with a ' P. P. 
 C.,' — his peculiar way of jokingly deahng with one he 
 no longer cares for." 
 
 " Oh ! is that so? " cried the princess indignantly. 
 
 " It is the pure truth. At the Royal Club they no 
 longer say, 'Turn off a mistress,' but 'Send her one's 
 ouistiti.^ " 
 
 He stops, put out of countenance at seeing the princess 
 rise suddenly, take her lantern, and walk straight away 
 from the alcove. 
 
 " Why, why ! Colette ! Colette ! " 
 
 She turns scornfully, and says, in a choked voice, — 
 
 " Oh, I have had enough of your hideous stories ! 
 They were repugnant at last." 
 
 And, lifting the curtains, she left the unhappy King 
 of the Swells amazed, with outstretched arms, with his 
 heart excited, and ignorant of the wherefore of this un- 
 timely visit, and this departure so like a gust of wind. 
 With the rapid step of an actress leaving the stage, and 
 holding her floating train in a crumpled mass under hei
 
 82 AVA'GS IN EXILE. 
 
 arm, Colette reached her room at the farther end of the 
 hotel. 
 
 On a cushion of Oriental embroidery, in a lolling-chair, 
 is sleeping the prettiest little beast in the world, gray and 
 silky, with hair like feathers, a long, winding tail, and 
 a silver bell fastened around the neck by a pink ribbon. 
 It is a delightful little ouistiti, which the king sent her 
 several days before in a basket of Leghorn straw, which 
 she received gratefully as a mark of homage. Ah ! if she 
 had known the meaning of the present. In a furious pas- 
 sion she clutches the little beast, — a bundle of living and 
 scratching silk, from which sparkle two iiuman eyes sud- 
 denly awakened, — and opens tne window looking on the 
 quay, and, with a fierce movement, cries, — 
 
 "There ! you dirty beast i '• 
 
 The little monkey goes rolling down upon the lower 
 wharf; and it is not he alone who vanishes and dies in 
 the night, but a dream as fragile and capricious as him- 
 self, — that of the poor little creature who throws herself 
 on her bed, hides her head in her pillow, and sobs. 
 
 Their amour had lasted more than a year, — an eternity 
 for this child just emerged as a butterfly. The king had 
 but to hold out his arms : Colette de Rosen, dazzled and 
 fascinated, fell into them. Till then she had been an 
 honest woman, not for love of her husband or of virtue, 
 but because in the brain of this bird there was a care 
 for the purity of its feathers which kept it from falling on 
 the muddy ground, and because she was a true French- 
 v/oman of that race whom Moli^re, long before modern 
 physiologists, declared to be without passion, and to be 
 simply imaginative and vain. 
 
 It was not to Christian, but to the King of Illyria, tKat 
 the little Sauvadon had given herself. She sacrificed her-
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 83 
 
 self to the royal diadem, which, through legends, com- 
 monplace and romantic reading, she saw like an aureole 
 above the selfish and passionate image of her lover. She 
 pleased him while he found her a new plaything beauti- 
 fully colored, — a Parisian plaything, which would initiate 
 him into livelier amusements. But she had the bad taste 
 lo look seriously upon the position of the " king's mis- 
 tress." 
 
 The faces of all those women who had become partly 
 historical, and all the paste from the crown that to her 
 was more brilliant than real jewels, glittered in her ambi- 
 tious dreams. She was not willing to be the Dubarry, 
 but the Chateauroux, of this stranded Louis XV. The 
 regaining of Illyria, and the conspiracies she would bring 
 about with the tip of her fan, the surprises, and the 
 heroic landing, became the subject of all her conversa- 
 tions with the king. 
 
 She saw herself rousing the country, and hiding in har- 
 vest fields and on farms, like one of those famous female 
 brigands of Vendue whose adventures they were made 
 to read at the Convent of Sacre Creur. In her imagi- 
 nation she had already prepared for herself a page's cos- 
 tume ; for the costume of a pretty little page of the Re- 
 naissance, who would gain interviews with the king every 
 hour, and who would be his constant companion, always 
 played the first part in her plans. Christian did not like 
 these exalted reveries very much ; for he quickly saw the 
 false and silly side of them. Then he did not take a 
 mistress to talk politics Avith ; and, when he held her on 
 his knees, — his little Colette, with her soft hands and 
 rosy face, — reports on the recent resolutions of the diet 
 of Laybach, or the effect of the last royal announcement, 
 sent a shiver through his heart such as is caused by a
 
 84 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 sudden change of temperatiire, like April frosts on the 
 bloom of an orchard. 
 
 On account of this, he began to feel scruples and 
 remorse, — the complicated, naive remorse of a Slavonian 
 and a Catholic. His caprice being satisfied, he now felt 
 the hatefulness of this liaison carried on so near the 
 queen, almost under her eyes ; and the danger of the hur- 
 ried, stealthy rendezvous in hotels, where their incognito 
 might be betrayed ; and the cruelty of deceiving so good 
 a creature as that poor great devil of a Herbert, who 
 always talked of his wife with unquenchable affection, 
 and did not suspect that when the king met him at the 
 club with a bright color, beaming eyes, and the look of a 
 successful lover, that he had just left Colette. But his 
 greatest embarrassment was on account of the Duke de 
 Rosen, who held in great contempt the principles of this 
 daughter-in-law, who was not of his caste, and felt 
 anxious about his son, who, he considered, was a " cuck- 
 old : " he said the word out plainly, like an old trooper, 
 and considered himself responsible for all this, since his 
 love of money was the cause of this plebeian mairiage. 
 He watched Colette, took her out, and brought her home 
 mornings and evenings, and would have followed her all 
 the time, if the supple creature had not constantly slipped 
 from between his clumsy fingers. There was a silent 
 contest between them. 
 
 From the window of the intendant's house, the duke, 
 seated at his desk, to his displeasure saw his pretty 
 daughter-in-law, in the most lovely toilets tliat she and 
 her fashionable dressmaker could devise, wrap herself up 
 in her carriage, looking like a rose through the frost on the 
 windows when it was cold, or under her fringed sunshade 
 when the day was bright.
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 85 
 
 "Are you going out?" he would ask. 
 
 "To wait on the queen " the httle Sauvadon answered 
 triumphantly from behind her veil ; and it was true. 
 
 Fr^d^rique went very little into the noisy part of Paris, 
 and gladly left all her errands to her maid of honor, hav- 
 ing never had the vanity of giving her name and title to a 
 fashionable shopkeeper among a bowing crowd of attend- 
 ants and curious women. Therefore she lacked popu- 
 larity. They never discussed the shade of her eyes or 
 hair in a saloji, or the rather stiff majesty of her figure, 
 and her careless way of wearing Parisian fashions. 
 
 One day, in the morning, the duke found Colette so 
 really serious on her departure from Saint Mand^, and 
 her grisette face so very excited, that from instinct (he 
 hardly knew why, — true hunters have these sudden intui- 
 tions), he started after her, and followed her a long 
 time — a very long time — as far as a famous restaurant 
 on the Quai d'Orsay. 
 
 By dint of her imagination and skill, the princess suc- 
 ceeded in dispensing with the ceremonious repast at the 
 queen's table, and went to breakfast with her lover in a 
 private room. They breakfasted at the window, fi-om 
 which they had a splendid view : the Seine gilded by 
 the sunlight ; the Tuileries behind, — a mass of stones 
 and trees ; and, close by, the masts of the school-ship 
 moving by the dark foliage on those margins of the 
 quay where the opticians display pieces of blue glass. 
 The day was just the kind for a rendezvous, — warm and 
 beautiful, with a lively northerly breeze. 
 
 Never had Colette laughed so heartily, and her laugh 
 was the pearly triumph of her grace ; and Christian, who 
 adored her when she would be the gay woman he loved, 
 enjoyed the dainty breakfast in her company.
 
 86 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 All at once Colette saw her father-in-law on the side- 
 walk opposite walking up and down with a measured 
 step, and appearing determined to wait as long as possi- 
 ble, like a mounted sentry, at the door, which the old 
 man knew was the only exit from the restaurant, and 
 where he watched the entrance of fine officers in epaulets 
 coming directly from the cavalry-barracks ; for, as a for- 
 mer general of the Austrian light infantry, he believed 
 the military irresistible, and had not a doubt that his 
 daughter-in-law had some intrigue with spurs and sabre- 
 taches. 
 
 Colette and the king felt great anxiety, which reminded 
 one of the embarrassment of the savant perched on the 
 palm-tree at the foot of which was a crocodile with gap- 
 ing jaws. Sure of the discretion and incorruptibility of 
 the servants, they knew at least that the crocodile would 
 not come up to them. But how could they get away 
 from the place ? The king could remain ; for he had 
 time to wear out the patience of the animal. But Co- 
 lette ! The queen would be expecting her, and perhaps 
 unite her suspicions to those of the old man Rosen. The 
 proprietor, whom Christian sent for and acquainted with 
 the situation, tried every thing, but found no other way 
 to escape than to break through the wall of the next 
 house, as in the time of revolution ; but he afterwards 
 thought of a more simple expedient. The princess could 
 put on the suit of a baker's boy, and stow away her dress 
 and petticoats in the basket which she could carry on her 
 head, and dress herself in her own clothing at the house 
 of the barmaid in the next street. 
 
 Colette objected to this at first, — to appear like a scul- 
 lion before the king ! but she was obliged to submit, or 
 run the risk of the direst catastrophe ; and the freshly
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 87 
 
 ironed suit of a lad of fourteen years made the Princess 
 de Rosen {nee Sauvadon) the prettiest and most coquet- 
 tish kitchen-waiter that runs about the streets of Paris at 
 lunch-time. 
 
 But the white linen cap, the child's shoes in which her 
 feet danced about, and the vest in whose pockets rattled 
 the pennies received as fees, were far from resembling the 
 costume of an heroic page, with a pearl-handled dagger 
 and high boots, which she was ambitious to wear as she 
 followed her Lara. 
 
 The old duke saw without mistrust two bakers' boys 
 pass him, bearing on their heads baskets, from which 
 escaped a pleasant odor of warm pastry, which gave him 
 cruel pangs of hunger : he was fasting, the poor man ! 
 
 Above, the imprisoned king, relieved of a great weight 
 of anxiety, was reading, smoking, and drinking his Roe- 
 derer, and peeped out from behind a corner of the cur- 
 tain, from time to time, to see if the crocodile was still 
 there. 
 
 That evening, when the elder Rosen returned to Saint 
 Mand6, the princess received him with the most ingenu- 
 ous smile. He was aware that a trick had been played 
 upon him, but did not breathe a word about the adven- 
 ture. It got abroad nevertheless. Who knows through 
 what cracks of a salon or anteroom, through what low- 
 ered window of a coupe, or by what echo reflected from 
 a hollow wall to silent doors, a scandal spreads about 
 Paris till it reaches full daylight, or rather the first page 
 of the book of the world, and from it speaks to the 
 crowd, enters millions of ears, and becomes the public 
 shame, after having been the amusing anecdote of a 
 club ? For a week all Paris made sport of the story of 
 the Uttle baker-boy. The names, whispered as low as
 
 88 KINGS FN EXILE. 
 
 is possible in the case of so great ones, did not penetrate 
 Herbert's thick skin. But the queen had a suspicion of 
 the adventure ; for, after a terrible explanation they had 
 at Laybach, she never reproached the king with his con- 
 duct, but took him aside some days later as they were 
 leaving the table. 
 
 " People are talking a great deal," she said gravely, 
 without looking at him, " of a scandalous story in which 
 your name is mixed up. Oh, do not defend yourself ! 
 I do not wish to hear any more. Only think of this 
 which is intrusted to your keeping." She pointed to 
 the crown, whose radiance was veiled in its crystal box. 
 " Take care lest shame or ridicule fall on it ; for your son 
 must Wear it." 
 
 Did she know all about the adventure ? Could she give 
 the right name to the woman who was half betrayed by 
 slander? Fr^d^rique was so strong, so thoroughly self- 
 possessed, that no one around her could tell. But Chris- 
 tian felt that she knew ; and his fear of scenes and stories, 
 the necessity of his weak nature to be surrounded by 
 smiles to respond to his own perpetual light-hearted one, 
 made him resolve to take the prettiest and the most cun- 
 ning of his ouistitis from its cage, and offer it to Princess 
 Colette. 
 
 She wrote to him after receiving his gift : but he did 
 not answer, feigned not to understand her sighs or 
 mournful attitudes, and continued to talk to her with the 
 airy politeness which women loved in him ; and relieved 
 of the weight of remorse which had grown heavier as his 
 fancy died away, and followed by no more tyrannical affec- 
 tion than that of his wife, he threw himself unrestrained 
 into the vortex of pleasure ; and, to use the hideous, weak, 
 current language of the fast men, his only thought was
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 89 
 
 how he could "/aire la fete." That was the fashion- 
 able term in the clubs that year. There is probaibly 
 another one now. Words change ; but the famous res- 
 taurants where these things take place remain unchange- 
 able and monotonous, — the gilded and garlanded saloons 
 where fast women display themselves, and receive ; and 
 where enervating, commonplace pleasures are degraded 
 to an orgie, without power to give enjoyment again. 
 What does not change is the classic stupidity of the 
 crowd of fast men and women ; their stereotyped slang 
 and laugh, without a gleam of fancy finding its way into 
 this world, which, under its appearance of folly, is as 
 bourgeois and conventional as the other. It is orderly 
 disorder, fancies according to programme, and, at the 
 bottom of it all, ennui, — nothing but yawning, fettered 
 e?inui. 
 
 The king, however, sought pleasure with the ardor of 
 a twenty-year-old youth. He brought to it that longing 
 to run away by himself which led him to Mabille the 
 very evening of his arrival, and satisfied his desires, which 
 had long been sharpened by reading certain Parisian 
 journals, which daily give the appetizing menu of gay 
 life through plays and romances which relate and ideal- 
 ize it for provincials and foreigners. His liaison with 
 Madame de Rosen stopped him some time on the brink 
 of easy pleasure, which resembles the small stairs in 
 night-restaurants, which, flooded with light and well-car- 
 peted at the top, descend step by step in the first stages 
 of intoxication, are rendered steeper at the foot by the 
 fresh air from the open doors, and which lead straight to 
 the gutter at the uncertain hour when scavengers and 
 porters are around. Christian abandoned himself now to 
 this descent, to this fall ; and what encouraged and in-
 
 90 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 toxicated him more than the wines at dessert was the 
 little court and clan of broken-down noblemen lying in 
 wait for royal dupes which surrounded him ; of fast 
 journalists, whose paid reports amused him, and who, 
 feeling proud of their intimacy with the illustrious exile, 
 led him into the green-rooms of theatres, where women 
 had eyes only for him, sparkling and alluring, and 
 blushed with confusion under the paint on their enam- 
 elled cheeks. 
 
 Quick to take to the language of the boulevards with 
 its ways, fashions, exaggerations, and caprices, he kept say- 
 ing, like a perfect swell, " Chic, tres chic ! Cest infect! 
 On se tord! " But he said it less vulgarly, owing to his 
 foreign accent, which relieved the slang, and gave it Bo- 
 hemian point. One word he was particularly fond of, — 
 " Jiigo/o." He used it on every occasion to express his 
 opinion of every thing. Plays, romances, public or pri- 
 vate events, they were, or were not, rigolo. That saved 
 his Majesty from the necessity of reasoning. After sup- 
 per one night. Amy F^rat, who was intoxicated, and whom 
 this word irritated, cried out, " Hallo ! say Rigolo." This 
 familiarity pleased him. Th.'s one at least did not treat 
 him as a king. He made her his mistress ; and, long 
 after his liaison with the actress was over, the surname 
 remained, like that of " Queue de Poule " given to Prince 
 d'Axel no one knew why. 
 
 Rigolo and Queue de Poule, who had become friends, 
 were constantly together, and hunted their game in com- 
 pany, uniting their quite similar destinies even in bou- 
 doirs ; the disgrace of the hereditary prince constituting 
 a true exile. He passed it as pleasantly as he could, 
 and for ten years had been dissipating in all the public- 
 houses on the boulevard with the high spirits of .an 
 undertaker.
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 9 1 
 
 The King of Illyria had his apartments in the Hotel 
 d'Axel on the Champs Elys^es. He at first slept there 
 occasionally, but soon more frequently than at Saint 
 Mand6. These explained absences, apparently necessary, 
 left the queen perfectly calm, but threw the princess into 
 deep chagrin. No doubt her wounded pride hoped to 
 again capture this fickle heart. She employed a thou- 
 sand coquettish inventions, new adornments and head- 
 dresses, and combinations of cuts and shades in her dress, 
 which harmonized with her changeful beauty. 
 
 But what disappointment for her when the clock struck 
 seven at evening, and the king did not appear ; and when 
 Fr^d^rique, who was imperturbably serene, after saying, 
 " His Majesty is not coming to dinner," would place 
 the high chair of little Zara in the place of honor ! 
 
 The nervous Colette, who was obliged to be silent and 
 hide her displeasure, would have liked an outburst from 
 the queen, which would have avenged them both ; but 
 Fr^d^rique, who was but little paler, preserved her royal 
 calmness, even when the princess, with cruel feminine 
 cunning, and insinuations cunningly introduced, tried to 
 make revelations about the Paris clubs, the coarse con- 
 versations among men, the still grosser pleasure which 
 they found in irregular habits and pleasures outside of 
 home ; and about the fast parties, and fortunes crumbling 
 away in the card-castles of the gambling-table, and the 
 eccentric wagers recorded in a private book, whose pages 
 were curious to read, — the golden leaves of sin. But her 
 efforts were wasted : the queen was not moved by these 
 tormenting spurs, and did not or would not understand. 
 
 She betrayed herself once in the morning, in the wood 
 at Saint Mand^, during a ride on horseback. 
 
 It was a sharp, chilly day in March ; and the wind, stir- 
 7
 
 92 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 ring the waters of the lake, drove them in ripples to the 
 banks, which were still frozen and flowerless. A few birds 
 were peeping through the denuded copse-wood, where 
 remained red winter berries ; and the horses, filing side by 
 side up a path that was filled with dead branches, made 
 them crackle with a sound like that of new leather, 
 which, with the rattle of their curb-chains, broke the 
 silence of the deserted wood. 
 
 The two women, equally good riders, went on slowly, 
 absorbed by the calm of an intermediary season, when a 
 change is about to take place in the sky that is full of 
 rain, and the earth that is still black under late snow. 
 
 Colette, however, every time that she found herself 
 alone with the queen, soon entered upon her favorite 
 subject. She dared not attack the king directly ; but 
 she made up for it by talking about those around him, — 
 the noblemen of the Royal Club, — all of whom she knew 
 through Herbert and "The Paris Chronicle," and whom, 
 — the Prince d'Axel before all — she set off with the skill 
 of an artist. Really, she could not see how one could 
 keep company with such a man, who spent his life in gam- 
 bling and feasting, who took pleasure only in bad com- 
 pany, and sat in the boulevard at evening by the side of 
 some low character, drinking like a coachman with the 
 first comer, and saying " thou " to low comedians. And 
 to think he was the hereditary prince, and delighted in 
 degrading and sullying royalty in his person. 
 
 She went on and on with fire and anger ; while the 
 queen, who was purposely absent-minded, and looked as 
 if she did not hear, patted her horse's neck, and urged 
 him on a little, as if to escape the stories of her maid of 
 honor. But Colette kept at the same pace. 
 
 " Besides, there is some excuse for Prince d'Axel : he 
 
 \
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 93 
 
 resembles his uncle, — a king who keeps his mistresses 
 with such impudence before his court and his . wife. 
 One wonders what kind of sacrificing, slavish nature a 
 queen can have who permits such outrages." 
 
 This time the blow struck home ; and Fr6d6rique, with 
 veiled eyes and trembling, showed on her features, which 
 grew hollow in a moment, an expression so sad and aged, 
 that Colette felt touched on seeing the proud sovereign, 
 whose heart she had never been able to wound, descend 
 to the level of womanly suffering. But she soon recov- 
 ered her pride. 
 
 " She whom you speak of is a queen," she said earn- 
 estly, "and it would be a great injustice to judge her as 
 you would other women, who can be happy or unhappy 
 openly, and shed all their tears, and cry out if the pain is 
 too great. But queens, whether theirs be the sorrow of 
 wife or mother, must conceal and stifle all. Can a queen 
 run away when she is wronged? Can she plead for a 
 separation, and give that joy to the enemies of the throne ? 
 No ; at the risk of appearing cruel, blind, and indifferent, 
 she must hold her head erect to wear her crown. And 
 it is not vain pride, but the true feeling of our lofty 
 position, which sustains us. It is that which makes us 
 ride out in an open carriage between husband and child, 
 with threats in the air of a conspiracy, and shots that may 
 be fired at us ; it is that which makes this exile and 
 leaden sky less heavy, and also gives us strength to 
 endure certain cruel affronts, of which you should be the 
 last to speak to me. Princess de Rosen." 
 
 She became animated as she spoke, and hurried to fin- 
 ish, then whipped up her horse with a vigorous " Hep ! " 
 which sent him through the Bois, like the wind, in a mad, 
 dizzy flight, making her blue veil flap, and the folds of her 
 riding-dress rustle.
 
 94 KINGS IN EXrr.E. 
 
 After this, Colette left the queen in peace : but as she 
 needed a distraction for her nerves, and some relief, she 
 turned her anger and attacks on Elys^e, and placed her- 
 self on the marcliioness's side ; for the royal house was 
 divided into two factions. Elys6e usually had no one on 
 his side but Father Alph6e, whose rude speech and rea:dy 
 wit were a great support ; but the monk made frequent 
 visits to Illyria, being charged with missions between the 
 mother convent in the Rue des Fourneaux and the Fran- 
 ciscan convents of Zara and Ragusa. At least this was 
 the pretext for his absences, which were accompanied by 
 the greatest mystery, and from which he returned more 
 ardent than ever, climbing the stairs with furious strides, 
 rolling his rosary between his fingers, and mumbling a 
 prayer between his teeth. 
 
 He shut himself up with the queen for hours ; then, after 
 two or three days' rest, he would go off again, leaving all 
 the marchioness's coterie boldly leagued against the tutor. 
 From the old duke, whose military discipline and social 
 ideas were shocked by M^raut's careless dress and rum- 
 pled hair, to Lebeau the valet-de-chamhre, the instinc- 
 tive enemy of independence, and to the most humble 
 groom or kitchen-boy of Monsieur Lebeau, and also to 
 the inoffensive Boscovich, who did like the others from 
 his own weakness and respect for numbers, there was a 
 complete coalition against the new teacher. It was man- 
 ifested less by acts than by words, looks, and attitudes in 
 the little nervous skirmishes which every-day life brings 
 between people who detest each other. Oh, the atti- 
 tudes which were a specialty with Madame de Silvis ! 
 Disdainful, haughty, ironical, and bitter, she made her 
 features expressive before Elys^e, and succeeded in 
 patiently assuming a kind of respectful pity, and stifled
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 95 
 
 sighs, and cast pale glances at the ceiling every time she 
 found herself with the little prince. " Are you not suffer- 
 ing, your Highness?" And she would feel of his long, 
 slender fingers, making him feel languid by trembling 
 caresses. Then the queen would say, in a joyous voice, — 
 
 " Come, come. Marchioness ! you would make Zara 
 think he is ill." 
 
 " I find his hands and forehead rather warm." 
 
 " He has just come in from out of doors. It is the 
 fresh air." 
 
 The queen carried away the child, and felt troubled by 
 the remarks made in her presence, — the talk of the house 
 that they were making his Highness work too much, and 
 which the Parisian servants repeated without believing it, 
 but which was taken seriously by those brought from 
 Illyria, — the great Petscha and old Greb, — who looked 
 threateningly at M^raut, and hectored him with that 
 silent expression of disgust with service which is so easy 
 to practise against dependants and absent-minded men. 
 
 Elys^e again found the persecutions, littleness, and jeal- 
 ousies of the Palace of X ; the same grumbling of 
 
 servile souls around thrones, — from which it seems exile 
 and a fall do not free them. His nature, which was too 
 generous and too affectionate not to suffer from this 
 shrinking antipathy, felt annoyed, as his simple, daily 
 habits and Bohemian artistic ways became restricted in 
 the forced ceremony of the house ; in the repasts lighted 
 by tall candelabra, where the men, and the women who 
 were always dressed in low-necked dresses, sat around 
 the table, which was enlarged by the distance between the 
 guests \ and he did not speak or eat till the king and queen 
 had eaten and spoken. They were also governed by the 
 implacable etiquette which the civil and military head
 
 96 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 of the house maintained with more severity during the 
 exile. 
 
 It happened, however, that the old student in the Rue 
 Monsieur-le- Prince sat at table in a colored cravat, spoke 
 without permission, and launched forth into one of those 
 elegant improvisations with which the walls of the Cafd 
 Voltaire still resounded. Then the looks of thunder 
 which he drew upon himself, and the importance which 
 the least infraction of the rules of the little court as- 
 sumed, caused him a great desire to let every thing go, 
 and return quickly to the quartier, as he had done once 
 before. 
 
 Only the queen was there. 
 
 From having lived in intimate companionship with 
 Fr^d^rique, with the child in their company, he had 
 been inspired with a fanatical devotion mingled with 
 respect, admiration, and superstitious faith. In his eyes 
 she expressed and symbolized all his belief, and the 
 monarchical ideal, as the Madonna is the symbol of 
 religion to a peasant from the Transt^v^re. It was for 
 the queen that he remained, and found courage to go on 
 with his hard task. Oh, yes ! it was very hard, and re- 
 quired great patience ; for it was difficult to instil the least 
 thing into the mind of this child-king. But this poor 
 Zara was charming, gentle, and good, and did not lack 
 will. One could see that he possessed the serious, up- 
 right soul of his mother, with an indescribable weakness 
 and capriciousness, and that he was too backward for his 
 age. The mind was visibly undeveloped in his little, old, 
 stunted body, which play never tempted, and which was 
 burdened by reveries which often ended in torpor. Lulled 
 to sleep during his infancy — which to him was only a 
 long convalescence — by the fanciful nonsense of his
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HTMSELF. 97 
 
 governess, the life which he began to have a glimpse of 
 impressed him only by its resemblance to that of those 
 stories in which fairies and good spirits were mixed up 
 with kings and queens, and who released them from 
 dreadful towers and dungeons, and delivered them from 
 persecutions and snares with a wave of their golden wand, 
 removing glass walls, ramparts of thorns, and the dragons 
 which send forth fire, and the old women who turn one 
 into a beast. In a lesson, in the middle of a difficult ex- 
 planation they gave him, he would say, " That is like the 
 story of the httle tailor ; " or, if he were reading about a 
 great battle, "The giant Robistor killed a great many 
 more than that." It was the love of the supernatural so 
 strongly developed in him which gave him his absent ex- 
 pression, and made him remain motionless for hours 
 buried in the cushions of a lounge, while in the depths 
 of his eyes floated the changing phantoms and decep- 
 tive glamour likely to follow a child after reading the 
 Rothomago, whose fable was passing through his mem- 
 ory in wonderful colored pictures. And this made rea- 
 soning and the serious study which was required of him 
 very difficult. 
 
 The queen was present at every lesson, with a piece of 
 embroidery, which did not progress very fast, in her hand ; 
 and in her beautiful eyes the attentive look so prized by 
 the master, who felt it influence all his thoughts, even 
 those which he did not express. It was thus, above all, 
 that they were held together by dreams, fancies, and what 
 floats above convictions and expands them. She had 
 taken him for an adviser and confidant, feigning to talk 
 to him only in the name of the king. 
 
 " Monsieur M^raut, his Majesty would like to have 
 your opinion about this."
 
 98 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 Elys6e was greatly astonished at never hearing the 
 king talk to him on these matters which interested him 
 so much. He addressed him familiarly, as he would a 
 comrade ; which was delightful, but little to the purpose. 
 Sometimes, as he crossed the study, he would stop a 
 moment to listen to the lesson, and, placing his hand on 
 the prince's shoulder, would say in an undertone, which 
 sounded like an echo of the servants' talk, " You would 
 not make a sava?ii of him, I hope." 
 
 " I wish to make a king of him," replied Fr6d6rique 
 proudly. And, when her husband showed doubt, she 
 added, " Is he not to reign some day? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes !" he answered. 
 
 And with a low bow, closing the door behind him to 
 cut short all discussion, he went off whistling the air 
 of a fashionable light opera : " He will reign — he will 
 reign — for he is a Spaniard." 
 
 On the whole, Elys^e hardly knew what to make of this 
 hospitable, superficial sovereign and perfumed flirt, full of 
 caprices, who lolled languidly on lounges, and whom he 
 believed to be the hero of Ragusa, the king of energetic 
 will and bravery, as "The Memorial" described him. 
 
 But, in spite of Fr^d^rique's skill in masking the empti- 
 ness behind this crowned brow, and although she herself 
 kept in the background, some unforeseen circumstance 
 always presented itself to show their true natures. 
 
 One morning after breakfast, just as they had entered 
 the salon, Fr^d^rique, on looking over the newspaper, — 
 " The Ill)Tian Courier," which she was always the first to 
 read, — gave such a loud, grieved cry, that the king, who 
 was about leaving the room, stopped, while every one 
 gathered around the queen, who passed the paper to 
 Boscovich. 
 
 " Read ! " she said.
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 99 
 
 There was an account of the meeting of the Diet at 
 Laybach, and the resolutions which had been passed to 
 restore all the property of the crown to the exiled sov- 
 ereigns, to the amount of more than two hundred mil- 
 hon, on the expressed condition — 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried Christian, in his nasal voice : " that 
 just suits me." 
 
 "Go on ! " said the queen severely. 
 
 " On the expressed condition that Christian II. would 
 renounce, for himself and descendants, all his right to the 
 throne of Illyria." 
 
 They all cried out in indignation. The elder Rosen 
 choked, and Father Alph^e's cheeks became as white as 
 a sheet, which made his beard and eyes seem all the 
 blacker. 
 
 "This must be answered: we must not endure this," 
 said the queen ; and in her indignation she looked at 
 M^raut, who was nervously scribbling on a comer of the 
 table. 
 
 " This is what I would write," said he, coming forward ; 
 and he read, in the form of a letter to a royalist deputy, 
 a haughty proclamation to the Illyrian people, in which, 
 after having rejected the outrageous proposition which 
 was made to him, the king encouraged and re-assured his 
 friends in the feeling words of a head of a family parted 
 from his children. 
 
 The queen clapped her hands enthusiastically, seized 
 the paper, and held it out to Boscovich. 
 
 " Quick, quick ! translate, and send it off. Is not that 
 your advice?" she added, turning to Christian, as she 
 remembered that he was there, and that people were 
 looking at them. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," said the king, very much per-
 
 lOO KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 plexed, and biting his nails in fury. " All that is very 
 fine. Only the question is whether we can hold out." 
 
 The queen turned quickly round, looking very pale, 
 and as if she had received a heavy blow between her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Hold out ! whether we can hold out ! Is it the king 
 who speaks? " 
 
 " When Ragusa wanted bread, with the very best will 
 in the world we were obliged to surrender," he answered 
 very calmly. 
 
 " Well, this time, if we want for bread, we will take a 
 basket, and beg it from door to door ; but royalty will 
 never surrender." 
 
 What a scene it was which took place in this small 
 salon in the outskirts of Paris, — this debate between two 
 fallen sovereigns ! one of whom, one felt, was weary of 
 the struggle, and paralyzed for lack of faith ; while the 
 other was exalted with ardor and faith. A mere glance 
 revealed their opposite natures. On the one hand was 
 the king, with his supple, delicate figure, and bare throat, 
 and his garments hanging loosely upon him, and his soft 
 character plainly apparent in the effeminate drooping of 
 his pale hands, and in the damp, curly hair on his fore- 
 head ; and on the other was the queen's slender form, 
 superb in her riding-dress with broad lapels, a small, 
 upright collar, and simple cuffs bordering her dark cos- 
 tume, which brought out her bright complexion, sparkling 
 eyes, and golden braids. Elys^e for the first time had a 
 clear, fleeting vision of what was passing in this royal 
 household. 
 
 " Rosen ! " said Christian II. suddenly, turning to the 
 duke, who stood leaning against the mantel-piece, with 
 his head hung down.
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. lOI 
 
 "Sire?" 
 
 " It is you alone who can tell us this. How is it with 
 us ? Can we hold out any longM' ? " 
 
 The chief of the house said, with a haughty gesture, — 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " How long? Can you tell pretty nearly? " 
 
 " Five years : I have reckoned it." 
 
 " Without privations for any one ? without the suffering 
 or injury of those whom we love ? " 
 
 "Yes, sire." 
 
 " You are sure of it ? " 
 
 "Sure," affirmed the old man, drawing up his tall 
 figure. 
 
 " Well, that is right. M^raut, give me your letter, that 
 I may sign it before I go out." Then he said in a low 
 voice, taking the pen fi-om his hands, — 
 
 " But look at Madame de Silvis. Would not one say 
 that she was about to sing ' La Sombre Foret ' ? " 
 
 The marchioness, who was just then entering from the 
 garden with the little prince, gave the room the appear- 
 ance of a scene in a drama. With her cap adorned with 
 a green feather, and wearing a velvet spencer, and with 
 her hand on her heart, she stopped, with a sudden stage 
 pose of romantic surprise, like a piitna dojina in a 
 cavatina in the opera. 
 
 Having been read in full parliament, and published by 
 all the journals, the protestation, at Elys^e's advice, was 
 autographed, and thousands of copies sent about the 
 country, carried in packages, and passed by the custom- 
 house officers as articles of charity, with rosaries of olive- 
 nuts, and roses from Jericho. It was the means of 
 spurring royalist opinions. Dalmatia, in particular, where 
 republican ideas had not widely spread, was greatly
 
 I02 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 moved at hearing her king's eloquent words, which in 
 many villages were delivered from the pulpit, and dis- 
 tributed by the Franciscan monks appointed to ask 
 charity, and who opened their baskets at farmhouse- 
 doors, and received eggs and butter in payment for a 
 small printed package. Soon addresses were covered 
 with signatures and crosses, the touching proofs of igno- 
 rant good will ; and pilgrimages were organized. 
 
 In the litlle house at Saint Mandd there were arrivals 
 of fishermen, and some porters from Ragusa with black 
 coats over their rich Mussulmans' costume, and Morlaque 
 peasants three-quarters barbarians, and all shod with the 
 sheepskin opanke fastened on the feet with straw thongs. 
 They got out of the cars in bands ; and the scarlet Dal- 
 matian tunics, fringed scarfs, and waistcoats with metal 
 buttons clashed against the gray uniformity of the Parisian 
 dress. They crossed the court-yard with a firm step ; then 
 stopped at the vestibule, consulted with each other in a 
 low voice as if excited and intimidated. 
 
 Meraut, who was present at all these presentations, felt 
 moved to the depths of his being. The legend of his 
 childhood was revived by the enthusiasm that led them 
 to such a distance : and the journey to Frohsdorf made by 
 the villagers in the Enclos de Rey, their privations and 
 preparations for departure, and their unconfessed disap- 
 pointment on their return, came back to his memory ; 
 while he suffered from Christian's indifferent manner, and 
 the sighs of relief he gave at the end of every interview. 
 
 At heart the king was furious at these visits, which dis- 
 turbed his pleasures and habits, and condemned him to 
 spend long afternoons at Saint Mandd. For the queen's 
 sake, however, he received, with a few commonplace 
 remarks, the protestations of these poor people, who were
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 103 
 
 choked with their tears ; then avenged himself for his 
 ennui by some sport or other, — a caricature pencilled, 
 with an expression of wicked mischief at the comer of 
 his lips, on the end of the table. He thus caricatured 
 one day the syndic of the fishermen of Branizza, with a 
 broad Italian face, with staring eyes, and stupefied by 
 nervousness and his joy at the royal interview, while tears 
 rolled down to his double chin. This chef (fxuvre circu- 
 lated at table the next day amid laughter and exclama- 
 tions of the guests. 
 
 The duke himself, in his scorn for the people, had just 
 puckered his mouth as a token of great hilarity ; and the 
 drawing reached Elysde, receiving on its way the noisy 
 flattery of Boscovich. He looked at it a long while, 
 handed it to his neighbor without saying a word ; and 
 the king, calling to him from the end of the table in his 
 impertinent nasal voice, said, — 
 
 "You do not laugh, Meraut ; yet my syndic is pretty." 
 
 " No, your Majesty : I cannot laugh," answered Me- 
 raut sadly. " It is a perfect picture of my father." 
 
 Some time after this, Elysee found himself the involun- 
 tary witness of a scene, which at last revealed Christian's 
 character to him and his relations with the queen. It was 
 on a Sunday, after mass. The little hotel, which had an 
 unusually festive appearance, threw its gates on the Rue 
 Herbillon wide open ; and all the servants in livery stood 
 in a line in the antechamber opening on the porch, 
 which was as full of foliage as a greenhouse. The recep- 
 tion which was to take place on this day was one of the 
 greatest importance. They were expecting a royalist 
 deputation of members of the Diet ; the elite and flower 
 of the party coming to pay their homage of fidelity and 
 devotion to the king, and to consult with him on the
 
 I04 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 measures to take for a near restoration. A real event 
 that had been hoped for and announced, and whose 
 solemnity was relieved by a magnificent winter's sun gild- 
 ing and driving away the chill of the solitude of the 
 vast reception-room with the high arm-chair of the king 
 arranged as a throne, and bringing out of the shadow 
 streams of sparkling light from the rubies, sapphires, and 
 topazes of the crown. 
 
 While the house was in commotion with a continual 
 coming and going, and with the rustle of silk dresses on 
 every story ; while the little prince, allowing them to put 
 on his long red stockings, velvet costume, and collar of 
 Venetian guipure, repeated the speech they had made 
 him study for a week ; and while Rosen, in grand style 
 and covered with stars, was holding himself up straighter 
 than ever to introduce the deputies, — Elysee, who had 
 voluntarily taken refuge from all this bustle, was alone in 
 the study-room, meditating on the consequences of the 
 coming interview ; and in that mirage in which his South- 
 em imagination loved to hover, he was already preparing 
 the triumphant return of his sovereigns to Laybach amid 
 salvos of artillery and ringing of bells, the streets joy- 
 ously strewn with flowers, and the king and queen hold- 
 ing before them, as a promise to the people of a future 
 which would again ennoble them, — place them in the 
 ranks of younger ancestors, — his dearly loved pupil, the 
 little Zara, who was intelligent and grave, as are all 
 children who feel emotions too great for them. 
 
 The brilliancy of this beautiful Sunday, the lively bells 
 ringing out in broad noonday sunshine, increased his hope 
 of 2Lfete where Frederique's maternal pride would perhaps 
 send a proud, satisfied smile to him over the child's 
 head.
 
 THE KING ENJOYS HIMSELF. 1 05 
 
 But in the court of honor, which was filled with the 
 noisy bustle of arriving guests, the state carriages which 
 had been sent to the hotel for the deputies were heard 
 rolling heavily over the gravel. The coach-doors were 
 noisily shut, and the footsteps died away on the carpets 
 of the vestibule and salon into a murmur of voices pay- 
 ing their respects. Then there was a long silence, which 
 surprised Meraut; for he expected to hear the king's 
 speech delivered in his nasal voice. What was happen- 
 ing ? what had checked the order of ceremonies ? 
 
 At this moment, he, whom he believed in the next 
 room and presiding at the official reception, appeared, 
 walking with a stiff, embarrassed step, and grazing the 
 blackened espaliers in the bright, chilly garden. He must 
 have entered by the Avenue Daumesnil through the pri- 
 vate gate, which is hidden by the ivy. Elysee at first 
 thought there must have been a duel, or some accident : 
 but, soon after, he heard the noise of a fall in the upper 
 story, — a fall which seemed to carry with it the furniture 
 and draperies of the room it was so prolonged and 
 heavy, and accompanied by a crashing of articles falling 
 to the floor, which confirmed him in his belief; and he 
 ran up quickly to the king. 
 
 Christian's room, which was in the form of a semi- 
 circle in the principal wing of the castle, was warm, and 
 lined like a nest. It was hung with purple, and adorned 
 with trophies of ancient arms ; while the furniture con- 
 sisted of lounges, low chairs, with bear and lion skins 
 scattered about. And in the midst of this downy luxury 
 was the original conceit of a little camp-bed, on which 
 the king slept on account of a family tradition, and that 
 posing for Spartan simplicity which millionnaires and sov- 
 ereigns voluntarily affect.
 
 lo6 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 The door was open. 
 
 Opposite Christian — who was leaning against the wall, 
 with his hat pushed back from his pale, disturbed face ; 
 with his long fur robe partly open and showing his coat, 
 which was disarranged, his untied white cravat, his broad 
 linen plastron in stiff, soiled creases, and his linen in that 
 crumpled state which denotes the exhaustion of the pre- 
 vious night and the disorder of intoxication — the queen 
 stood erect and severe, trembling with the violent effort 
 she made to restrain herself, and saying, in a hollow, re- 
 proving voice, — 
 
 " You must ! you must ! Come ! " 
 
 But he answered in a very low voice, looking 
 ashamed, — 
 
 " I c-c-annot. You see that I c-c-annot — By and 
 by — Promise you." 
 
 Then he stammered his excuses with a stupid laugh 
 and a childish voice. It was not because he had been 
 drinking. Oh, no ! but the air, the cold, when he came 
 out from supper. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! I know. No matter. You must go down. 
 Let them see you ; only let them see you ! I will speak to 
 them myself: I know what is necessary to say." 
 
 And as he still remained motionless and mute from 
 the stupor, which showed itself on his horribly distorted 
 face, Frederique grew exasperated in her anger. 
 
 " But remember that our destiny is at stake. Christian, 
 it is your crown — the crown of your son — which you 
 are playing for now. Try now : come ! I beg you, — I 
 command." 
 
 She was superb in her strong will, which was expressed 
 in her greenish-blue eyes, and visibly magnetized the 
 king.
 
 'At last I am tired of acting for this 
 
 Page 10/
 
 I
 
 THE KING EN'TOYS HIMSELF. 107 
 
 She held him by her look, tried to give him strength, 
 to keep him erect, and helped him to remove his hat and 
 great coat which was strongly scented with the fumes of 
 drunkenness and the stifling smoke of cigars. He stiff- 
 ened himself a moment on his weak limbs, and tottered 
 forward a few steps, supporting his burning hands on the 
 marble ones of the queen. But she felt that he was 
 reeling, and recoiled from this feverish contact, and re- 
 pulsed him with violence and disgust, leaving him to fall 
 his whole length on a lounge ; then, without casting a 
 look at the tumbled, motionless body, she left the room, 
 and passed by Elyse'e without looking at him, holding 
 herself erect, but casting down her eyes, and murmuring 
 in a wandering, troubled way, like one walking in her 
 sleep, '* At last I am tired of acting for this wretched 
 king." 
 
 8
 
 io8 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 J. TOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. 
 
 Of all the Parisian dens, all the Ali-Baba caverns with 
 which the great city is mined and countermined, there is 
 not one more peculiar, or of so interesting a character, 
 as the Levis Agency. You are acquainted with it, like 
 every one else, — at least from the outside. 
 
 It is in the Rue Royale, at the comer of the Faubourg 
 Saint Honore, direcdy on the route of the carriages on 
 their way to the Bois or returning, so that no one can 
 escape the alluring invitation of the sumptuous ground- 
 floor with the eight steps leading to it; and its large 
 windows with a single pane of glass, each bearing the 
 vermilion, blue, and gilded arms of the principal powers 
 of Europe, — eagles, unicorns, leopards, and all the he- 
 raldic menagerie. The Levis Agency attracts the atten- 
 tion of the least curious, at thirty metres' distance, across 
 the entire width of the street, which is equal to a boule- 
 vard. Every one asks, "What is for sale there?" — 
 " What is not for sale ? " one should say. On each 
 window-pane could be read in gold letters, " Here are 
 sold wines, liquors, provisions, pale ale, kiimmel, raki, 
 caviare, prepared codfish ; " and " Modem and ancient 
 furniture, drapery, carpets from Smyrna and Ispahan, and 
 plants." And farther on : " Pictures by the masters, mar- 
 ble and terra-cotta ornaments, costly arms, medals, and 
 armor." Besides : " Change, discount, foreign money ; "
 
 y. TOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. 109 
 
 and also, " Universal bookstore, journals of every country 
 in every language." With, " Houses for sale or to let in 
 the hunting country, sea-shore, or the suburbs ; " and " In- 
 formation, secrecy, despatch." 
 
 This swarming of inscriptions and brilliant armor makes 
 a strange medley in the front of the establishment, and 
 does not allow one to get a good sight of the articles dis- 
 played. There is a confused mass of bottles of strange 
 forms and colors, chairs in carved wood, pictures and 
 furs, and some loose rolls of piasters and piles of paper 
 money in wooden bowls. But the vast basement of the 
 agency opening on the street on a level with the sidewalk, 
 by a kind of port-holes with gratings, serves as a solid 
 and sober support for the rather glaring display in the 
 windows of the immense store, and gives the impressioc 
 of the substantial warehouses of London, but retaining 
 the chic and the claptrap of a window in the Boulevard 
 de la Madeleine. It overflows with every kind of costly 
 article, — rows of barrels, bales of goods, piles of chests 
 and trunks, boxes of preserves, holes deep enough to 
 give one the vertigo, as, when standing on the deck of a 
 "packet " covered with freight to be shipped, one looks 
 down into the gaping hold of the ship which is about to 
 be loaded. 
 
 Thus situated and firmly established in the very whirl 
 of Parisian travel, the net captures the floating tide of 
 great and little fishes, — even the small fry of the Seine, 
 the most cunning of all. If you pass it towards three 
 o'clock in the afternoon, you will find it almost always 
 filled. 
 
 At the large, polished glass door opening on the Rue 
 Royale, and surmounted by a broad frontal of carved wood, 
 — the entrance to a store where novelties or fashions are
 
 no KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 supplied, — stands the footman of the house, decked with 
 miUtary lace, turning the door-knob as soon as he sees 
 you, and, when necessary, holding an umbrella over pa- 
 trons alighting from their carriages. Before you is a long 
 room, divided by partitions and railings, with gates, into 
 a large number of compartments or boxes, as far as the 
 end of the store on the right and left. 
 
 The dazzling daylight brightens the waxed floors, the 
 wood-work, and the correct coats and curled hair of the 
 employes, who are all elegant and fine looking, but have 
 a foreign accent and manner. 
 
 Here were seen olive faces, pointed heads, and narrow 
 Asiatic shoulders ; and, underneath the china-blue eyes, 
 American beards encircling the throat like a collar, with 
 German red carnation complexions. In whatever idiom 
 the purchaser makes known his wants, he is always sure 
 to be understood ; for they speak every language in the 
 agency except the Russian, which is quite unnecessary, 
 since the Russians speak all except their own. The crowd 
 comes and goes around the gates, and sits in light chairs 
 while waiting. In it are ladies and gentlemen in travel- 
 ling-dress, with Astrachan caps, Scotch caps, long veils 
 floating over water-proofs, and dusters ; with Scotch plaids 
 clothing indiscriminately the two sexes, bundles in straps, 
 and leather bags slung over the shoulder. It is a true 
 public waiting-room, where people gesticulate, and talk 
 loud in the free unembarrassed manner one sees in peo- 
 ple when away from home, and where they make the same 
 discordant hubbub that one hears in bird-stores on the 
 Quai de Gevres. At the same time corks pop out of 
 bottles of pale ale or romanee, and piles of gold rattle 
 down on the wooden counters. There is a constant 
 whistling and striking of speaking-tubes mingled with
 
 y. TOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. Ill 
 
 the sound of a chord of arpeggios from some one trying 
 the piano, or the exclamations of a tribe of Samoides 
 around an enormous photograph in charcoal, and the 
 unrolling of a pasteboard plan of a house. And then, 
 from one box to another, clerks call out to each other, 
 imparting some piece of information, — a number, or a 
 name of a person or street ; and, from being eager and 
 smiling, become all at once majestic, frozen, and indif- 
 ferent, with an expression of countenance as if their 
 thoughts were completely detached from the things of 
 this world, whenever an unfortimate man, wandering 
 about as if lost, and sent from gate to gate, at last leans 
 over and speaks to them in a low voice of a certain 
 mysterious thing, which seems to fill them with astonish- 
 ment. Sometimes, feeling tired of being gazed at like a 
 waterspout or meteor, the man becomes impatient, and 
 asks to see Tom Levis himself, who would certainly 
 know all about it. Then he is answered with a disdain- 
 ful smile that J. Tom Levis is busy. J. Tom Levis is 
 engaged with some one ; and not about little unimpor- 
 tant matters like yours, — not with little nobodies like you, 
 my worthy man ! Stop ! look yonder to the further end 
 of the store. A door has just opened, and Tom Levis 
 appears a second, more majestic himself than are all in 
 his employ ; majestic in his rounded paunch ; majestic in 
 his bald pate, which is as shiny as the floor of the agency ; 
 majestic in his way of tossing back his little head, and 
 looking fifteen steps away from you ; and majestic in the 
 despotic gesture of his short arm, and in the solemn way 
 in which he asks in very loud tones, with his insular 
 accent, if the "envoa" of his Royal Highness the 
 Prince of Wales has been attended to : while at the 
 Cc;me time, with the hand that is free, he keeps his office-
 
 112 IC/NGS IN EXILE. 
 
 door behind him tightly closed, to give people to under- 
 stand that the august personage who shuts himself up 
 there is not to be disturbed under any pretext. 
 
 It need not be told that the Prince of Wales never 
 came to the agency, and they have not the smallest order 
 of his to fill ; but you can imagine the effect of this name 
 on the crowd in the store, and on the solitary patron to 
 whom Tom has just said in his office, " Pardon ! A 
 moment — A little matter to ask about." 
 
 Some banking business ! banking business ! There is 
 no more a Prince of \Vales behind the office-door than 
 there is raki or kiimmel in the odd bottles in the window, 
 or English or Viennese beer in the barrels arranged in a 
 row in the basements ; nor are goods transported in the 
 gilded and varnished wagons, emblazoned with the ini- 
 tials "J.T. L.," which go galloping along, the faster be- 
 cause they are empty, through the beautiful quarters of 
 Paris, — a perambulating, noisy advertisement, tearing 
 along with the fierce speed which distinguishes men and 
 beasts in the Tom Levis Agency. 
 
 If a poor devil, intoxicated by this glitter, should 
 plunge his fist through the cash-window, and eagerly 
 thrust' his bleeding hand in the wooden bowls, he would 
 draw it out full of brass counters ; if he takes that enor- 
 mous pile of bank-notes, he will carry off a five-pound 
 note on a ream of brown paper. 
 
 Nothing in the show-windows ; nothing in the base- 
 ment, — nothing ! nothing ! not as much as the snap of 
 your finger. But the port these English taste ! the 
 change which this boyar carries off for his rubles ! the 
 little bronze packed up for that Greek of the Isles ! Oh, 
 heavens ! there is nothing more simple ! The English 
 beer comes from the public-house next door; the gold
 
 y. TOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. 113 
 
 from a broker on the boulevard ; the trinket from the 
 store of " Chose " in the Rue du Quatre Septembre, All 
 that is required is an errand (quickly done by two or three 
 clerks who are waiting in the basement for orders through 
 the speaking-tubes. 
 
 Going out through the yard of the neighboring house, 
 they return in a few minutes, emerge from the winding 
 stairs, with its open-work balustrade and glass ball at the 
 end, which connects the two stories. Here is the article 
 asked for, guaranteed, and labelled "J. T. L." And do 
 not give yourself any concern, my prince : if this does not 
 please you, it can be changed. The cellars of the agency 
 are well stocked. Things are a little dearer here than 
 elsewhere, — only double and triple the price. But is not 
 that better than to run about in shops where one cannot 
 understand a word of what you say, in spite of the prom- 
 ise on the signboard, " English spoken," or "Man spricht 
 deutsch"! — these stores on the boulevard, where the 
 stranger, overcome and circumvented, never finds any 
 thing but the last of boxes or remnants, the old stock, the 
 refuse of Paris, the shop-worn goods, the articles which 
 are no longer in the fashion, and last year's contents of 
 the show-window faded more by age than by dust or sun- 
 light. 
 
 Oh ! the Parisian shopkeeper, obsequious, yet disa- 
 greeably persistent ; disdainful and indifferent, yet follow- 
 ing one closely about ! his days have ended : the for- 
 eigner wishes no more of him. He is weary at last of 
 being so cruelly imposed upon, not only by the shop- 
 keeper, but by the people in the hotel where he sleeps, 
 the restaurant where he eats, the hack which he hails in 
 the street, and the ticket-seller who sends him to yawn in 
 empty theatres. At least, in the Levis establishment —
 
 114 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 in that ingenious agency of foreigners, where one finds all 
 that one desires — you are sure not to be deceived ; for 
 J. Tom Levis is an Englishman, and the commercial 
 integrity of the English is known in the old and new 
 world. 
 
 J. Tom Levis is an Englishman — and as much of one 
 as it is possible to be — from the square toes of his Quaker 
 shoes to his long overcoat hanging down over his green 
 checked pantaloons, to his pyramidal-shaped hat, with its 
 very small brim, from which his round, rosy face, with its 
 innocent, boyish look, stands out prominently. One 
 read loyalty to Albion in the beefsteak complexion, the 
 mouth which reached from ear to ear, and the blond silki- 
 ness of the whiskers, which were uneven through their 
 owner's mania for devouring one of them — always the 
 same one — in his moments of perplexity ; and one could 
 divine it by his short hand, with fingers covered with red 
 hair and loaded with rings. And there was a loyal look 
 in his eyes too, underneath a large pair of spectacles deli- 
 cately mounted in gold ; so loyal, that, when Tom Levis 
 was obliged to lie, — the best of us are forced to do this 
 sometimes, — the pupils, by a singular nervous twitching, 
 revolved like small wheels carried away in the perspective 
 of a gyroscope. 
 
 But that which thoroughly completes Tom Levis's Eng- 
 lish appearance is his cab, the first vehicle of the kind 
 ever seen in Paris, and a natural shell for such an origi- 
 nal being. If he has business which is somewhat com- 
 plicated, or one of those moments that come to a business- 
 man sometimes when he finds himself driven into a 
 tight comer, he says to himself, " I will take a cab ; " and 
 in it he is sure to have an idea. He contrives, weighs, 
 and decides; while the Parisians see the profile of a
 
 y. TOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. 115 
 
 thoughtful man energetically gnawing his right whisker roll 
 by in the two-wheeled transparent box, which is almost 
 on a level with the ground. It is in this cab that he 
 has conceived his finest strokes, — those that belonged to 
 the last days of the Empire. Ah ! those were good times. 
 Paris overflowed with strangers, — not transient ones 
 but an influx of wealthy foreigners, — who ordered nothing 
 but weddings and entertainments. We had the Turk Hus- 
 sein Bey and the Egyptian Mehemet Pacha, two cele- 
 brated Islamites, near the lake ; and the Princess Verkats- 
 cheff, who threw all the money of the Oural Mountains 
 out of the fourteen windows of her apartments on the first 
 story on the Boulevard Malesherbes ; and the American 
 Bergson, whose enormous income in petroleum-wells was 
 consumed by Paris (he recovered his money afterwards) ; 
 and nabobs — flotillas of nabobs — of every color, yellow, 
 brown, and red, a variegated collection, were seen in 
 every promenade and theatre, eager to spend money and 
 enjoy themselves, as if they foresaw that they must exhaust 
 the pleasures of the grand saloon before the formidable 
 explosion which would crush in the roof, and break the 
 mirrors and windows. 
 
 You may be sure that J. Tom Levis was the indispensa- 
 ble intermediary in all these pleasures ; that a louis was 
 not given in change without his having previously pared 
 it ; and that in addition to his foreign patrons were Parisian 
 high livers of the time, amateurs in search of rare game, 
 poachers on private hunting-grounds, who applied to friend 
 Tom as the shrewdest and most skilful agent, and also 
 because their secrets seemed to them safer behind his 
 barbarous French and difficult enunciation. 
 
 The seal J. T. L. stamped all the scandalous stories at 
 the close of the Empire. It was in the name of Tom
 
 Ii6 KINGS FN EXILE. 
 
 Levis that the box in the pit, No. 9, in the Opera 
 Comique, was retained, and in which the Baroness Mills 
 spent one hour every evening listening to her dear little 
 tenor, whose handkerchief, moistened with perspiration 
 and hly-white, she carried off in the lace in her corsage 
 after the cavatina. 
 
 In the name of Tom Levis the small hotel in the Ave- 
 nue de Clichy was let for the use of a lady jointly, and 
 without their suspicion, to the brothers Sismondo, two 
 bankers in partnership, who never left their counting-room 
 at the same time. Ah ! what beautiful romances one 
 could have read in the books of the agency at that 
 time : — 
 
 '■^ House with two entrances, on the road to Saiftt 
 Cloud. Let furnished. Security to the tenant" — so 
 much. 
 
 And underneath : — 
 
 " Manager's commission " — so much. 
 
 " Country-house at Little Vattin, near Plombieres : 
 garden, coach-house, two entrances. Security to the 
 tenant" — so much. 
 
 And always "a manager's commission." This man- 
 ager's commission swells the accounts of the agency. 
 
 Though Tom grew rich in those days, he also spent 
 money liberally, — not in gaming, or on horses or women, 
 but in gratifying wild, childish caprices, and the most 
 foolish and absurd fancies imaginable, which he carried 
 into execution as soon as conceived. Once it was his 
 fancy to have an alley of acacias at the end of his estate 
 at Courbevoie ; and, as it takes trees too long to grow, for 
 a week one saw large carts winding slowly along the 
 banks of the Seine. — which were bare and dingy in this 
 vicinity, from the smoke of factories, — and each bore an
 
 y. TOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. II7 
 
 acacia, from whose plumy, green branches, swayed by the 
 motion of the wheels, trembling shadows floated over the 
 water. 
 
 This suburban estate — in which Tom Levis lived all 
 the year, according to the custom of great London mer- 
 chants — was at first a country-box, consisting of one 
 story and attics ; but afterwards it became a source of 
 frightful expense. His business prospering and extend- 
 ing, he increased his property in proportion ; and from 
 one building after another, and acquisition after acquisi- 
 tion, he finally possessed a park made up of annexes and 
 tracts of cultivated ground joined to woodland. It was 
 a strange estate, in which his tastes, ambitions, and Eng- 
 lish eccentricity were revealed, and which was deformed 
 and made more unshapely still by bourgeois ideas and 
 pretentious attempts at art. 
 
 Around the main house to the upper stories — which 
 had been lately added, as was plainly seen — extended 
 an Italian terrace with a marble balustrade, flanked by two 
 Gothic towers, leading by a covered bridge to another 
 row of buildings, representing a chalet with open-work 
 balconies, and a curtain of climbing ivy. This was of 
 brick, painted in stucco, like a toy-house in the Black 
 Forest, with a wealth of towers, embattlements, weather- 
 vanes, and moucharabies . In the park there was a dis- 
 play of bristling kiosks and belvederes, and dazzling hot- 
 houses and ponds, and the black bastion of an immense 
 reservoir for supplying water to the heights, which was 
 surmounted by a real windmill, whose sails, sensible to the 
 slightest breeze, flapped and turned on their axis with a 
 perpetual grating. 
 
 Indeed, in the narrow space through which the trains 
 pass in this suburb of Paris, many burlesque villas, framed
 
 Il8 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 in the glass window of the car, flit by like visions and 
 nightmares, — the effort of a shopkeeper's brain escaped 
 from business, and gambolling. But none are to be com- 
 pared to Tom Levis's " Folly," unless it be that villa of 
 his neighbor Spricht, — the great Spricht, the illustrious 
 dressmaker for ladies. 
 
 This pompous personage only remains in Paris during 
 the three business-hours in the afternoon, when he gives 
 his dainty consultations in his grand office on the boule- 
 vards ; then immediately returns to his house at Cour- 
 bevoie. The secret of this forced retirement is, that 
 " le cher Spricht," the " dear'' as the ladies call him, — 
 although he has in his drawers, among wonderful samples 
 of Lyonnese fabrics, specimens of handwriting and scrawls 
 from the best gloved hands in Paris, — has been obliged 
 to content himself with no more than this intimate cor- 
 respondence, as he is received in none of the houses 
 where he supplies costumes ; and his fine connections 
 have spoiled him for all intercourse with the commercial 
 world of which he is a part. Therefore he lives very 
 retired in his home, which is invaded, like that of all 
 parvenus, by a host of poor relations, and uses his 
 wealth to have them royally entertained. His only diver- 
 sion, and what would be a flavor necessary to the life of 
 a retired spendthrift, is the neighborhood and rivalry of 
 Tom Levis, and the hatred and scorn which they mutu- 
 ally vowed for each other without hardly knowing why, 
 which made all understanding between them impossible. 
 
 When Spricht erects a tower, — Spricht is a German, 
 and loves the romantic, castles, valleys, and ruins, and 
 has a passion for the middle ages, — Tom Levis immedi- 
 ately has a veranda built. When Tom builds a wall, 
 Spricht tears down all his hedges.
 
 J. rOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. 119 
 
 There is a story in regard to a pavilion built by Tom 
 which spoiled Spricht's view towards Saint Cloud. The 
 dressmaker then raised the balcony of his pigeon-house. 
 Tom responded by a new story ; but Spricht did not con- 
 sider himself beaten, and the two edifices, with a great 
 re-enforcement of stones and workmen, continued their 
 ascension till one fine night, when the wind threw them 
 both down without any difficulty, on account of their frail 
 construction. Spricht, on his return from a journey to 
 Italy, brings back a gondola, — a real gondola, — and 
 places it in the little harbor at the foot of his estate. A 
 week afterwards, pft 1 pft ! a pretty steam-yacht with sails 
 comes to Tom Levis's wharf, and stirs the water in which 
 the towers, roofs, and battlements of his villa are reflected. 
 
 To support such style as this it would have been neces- 
 sary that the empire should last forever ; and its last hour 
 had come. The war, the siege, and the departure of 
 foreigners, were a veritable disaster to the two business- 
 men, especially for Tom Levis, whose estate was devas- 
 tated by the invasion, while that of Spricht was spared. 
 But, when peace was made, war began again between the 
 two rivals ; and this time their fortunes were unequal, the 
 great modiste having seen all his patrons return, and poor 
 Tom having waited in vain for his. The notice, " Infor- 
 mation, secrecy, despatch," brought no more, or hardly 
 any more ; and the mysterious manager no longer came 
 clandestinely to get pay at the offices of the agency. 
 Any other in Tom Levis's place would have checked 
 himself; but this devil of a fellow had habits of spending 
 money which he could not conquer, and a certain some- 
 thing about his hands which prevented them from closing. 
 
 And then the Sprichts were there, dismal enough since 
 late events, declaring that the end of the world was near ;
 
 T 20 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 and, having built at the end of their park a small repre- 
 sentation of the ruins of the Hotel de Ville with its 
 crumbled walls blackened by flames, on Sunday even- 
 ing they illuminated it with Bengal lights, and all the 
 Sprichts gathered around it to lament. It was very 
 gloomy. 
 
 Tom Levis, on the contrary, having become a repub- 
 lican through hatred of his rival, y?/<?^ regenerated France, 
 organized pleasure-excursions and regattas and crowned 
 rosieres ; and on one of these coronations, in an outburst 
 of luxurious joy, he carried off one summer evening at 
 the concert-hour the band of the Champs Elys^es, and 
 brought it to Courbevoie, playing on the water, in a yacht 
 with all sails flying. 
 
 Debts accumulated by such doings ; but the Englishman 
 troubled himself little about them. No one understood 
 better than he how to disconcert creditors by coolness 
 and lordly independence. No one — not even the clerks 
 in his agency, who held their heads quite as high — had 
 his way of examining bills curiously, as if they were pal- 
 impsest, and tossing them into the drawer with a lofty air ; 
 no one had his tricks to avoid payment and to gain time. 
 Time ! it was that which Tom Levis counted on in which to 
 find some fruitful operation again. — what he called "a big 
 strike " in the figurative slang in the Bohemia of money. 
 But it was in vain that he took a cab, or ran nervously 
 about Paris with his watchful eye and long teeth, looking 
 like some animal scenting and waiting for his prey. The 
 years passed, and the "big strike " was not made. 
 
 One afternoon, when the agency was crowded with 
 people, a tall young man with a haughty, languid appear- 
 ance, quizzing eyes, and a delicate mustache on the pale, 
 bloated, but handsome face, approached the principal 
 gate, and asked to see Tom Levis.
 
 y. TOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. 121 
 
 The clerk, mistaking the cavaUer intention which lay 
 beneath the request, beUeved him to be a creditor, and 
 put on his most disdainful look ; when the young man, 
 with a sharp voice, whose nasal tone increased its imperti- 
 nence, declared to the " swell fellow " that he might notify 
 his patron at once that the King of lUyria wished to speak 
 to him. " Ah, your Majesty ! your Majesty ! " There 
 was an eager stir among the cosmopolitan crowd, who 
 had some curiosity regarding the hero of Ragusa. From 
 all the open boxes came a swarm of clerks hurrying for- 
 ward to do escort to his Majesty, and to introduce him to 
 Tom Levis, who had not yet arrived, but was Ukely to 
 come in at any moment. 
 
 It was the first time Christian appeared at the agency, 
 the old Duke de Rosen having till now settled all the bills 
 of the little court. But to-day the business was of such 
 a private and delicate nature, that the king did not dare 
 to confide it even to the heavy but discreet aide-de-camp, 
 — a little house to be hired for a circus-rider, who had just 
 taken Amy F^rat's place ; a furnished pavilion ready for 
 occupancy in twenty-four hours, with service, a stable, and 
 certain facilities of access. It was one of those master- 
 strokes which the Levis Agency alone knew how to make. 
 
 The salon where he waited contained just two large 
 arm-chairs in moleskin ; and one of those fireplaces 
 lighted by gas, narrow and silent, whose reflection seemed 
 to come from a fire in the next room ; and a little stand 
 with a blue cloth, with a Bottin almanac lying upon it. 
 Half of the room was taken up by the tall railing, which 
 was draped with blue curtains ; and by a desk carefully 
 placed, and showing above itself the great book with steel 
 corners standing open under a paper weight, and sur- 
 rounded by sand-powder, erasers, rulers, and pen-wipers ;
 
 122 KINGS IN EX/LE. 
 
 and by a long case full of books of the same size, — the 
 books of the agency, with their green backs, in a row, 
 looking like Prussians on parade. The order in this 
 small, hospitable place, the freshness of the things that 
 filled it, did honor to the old cashier, who was absent for 
 a short time, and whose life, full of details, was passed 
 there. 
 
 While the king continued to wait, lounging in his arm- 
 chair, his head raised from his furs, all at once, without a 
 movement of the glass door leading into the store, he 
 noticed a light, quick scratching of the pen behind the 
 railing, which was closed with a large Algerian curtain, 
 with a harlequin's hole like that of the drop-curtain in a 
 theatre. Some one was seated at the desk : not the 
 old clerk with the face of a white wolf, for whom the 
 niche seemed made, but the most charming little body 
 that ever turned the pages of a ledger. At Christian's 
 movement of surprise, she turned around, measured him 
 with her sweet, deliberate look, — a look so prolonged that 
 a little spark in the corner of each eye seemed to radiate 
 to the temples. The whole room was illuminated by this 
 look, and was musically charmed by a feeling and almost 
 trembling voice, which murmured, " My husband keeps 
 you waiting a long time, your Majesty." 
 
 Tom Levis her husband ! the husband of that agreea- 
 ble creature with the delicate, pale profile, and the full, 
 graceful oudines of a statuette of Tanagra ! How came 
 she there alone in that cage turning over the leaves of 
 those great books, whose whiteness was reflected on her 
 colorless complexion, and whose pages her little fingers 
 could with difficulty turn over, and doing all this on one 
 of those beautiful, sunny February days of which along 
 the boulevard fair promenaders were profiting to dis-
 
 y. TOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. 1 23 
 
 play their toilets, sprightly graces, and smiles? As he 
 approached her, he made some kind of a remark, in which 
 his various impressions were confusedly expressed; but 
 his heart beat so that he could not talk, and was stirred 
 by a sudden, ungovernable desire, such as this spoiled, 
 blase child never remembered to have had. It was 
 because the type of this woman, who was twenty-five or 
 thirty years, was absolutely new to him, and as different 
 from little Colette de Rosen, with her rebellious curis, as 
 from the girhsh poise of La F^rat with her impudent 
 eyes with painted circles beneath, and from the embar- 
 rassing majesty of the queen, whose manner was noble 
 and sad. Neither coquetry nor boldness nor proud re- 
 serve did she show, — nothing like what he met in refined 
 society, or in his relations with the demi-monde. This 
 pretty person — with her calm, domestic ways, with her 
 beautiful dark hair, as smooth as that of women who 
 dress it in the morning for the day — was simply attired 
 in a woollen dress shading on violet. Two very large 
 brilliants on the rosy tips of her ears alone prevented one 
 from taking her to be the most modest of clerks. She 
 appeared to him, in the imprisonment of her desk and 
 work, like a Carmelite behind the grating of a cloister, or 
 some Oriental slave looking imploringly through the 
 gilded railing of her terrace. She had the submissive 
 timidity of the slave, as well as the sloping profile, and 
 the amber tints of skin where the hair began ; while the 
 straight line of the eyebrows, and parted lips, gave an 
 Asiatic look to this Parisian woman. Christian, as he 
 stood opposite her, thought of the bare forehead and 
 monkeyfied appearance of the husband. How happened 
 she to be in the power of such 2,fantoche ? Was it not a 
 theft, — a flagrant injustice? 
 9
 
 124 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 But the sweet voice continued to slowly proffer ex- 
 cuses : " It is very provoking Tom does not come. If 
 your Majesty would only tell me what brings you here, I 
 might, perhaps " — 
 
 Christian blushed, feeling a little embarrassed. He 
 never would have dared to trust this frank kindness, and 
 tell her of the rather equivocal establishment he medi- 
 tated. She then insisted, faintly smiling : " Oh ! your 
 Majesty need have no fear. It is I who keep the 
 agency's books." 
 
 And it was plain to be seen that she had authority ; for 
 every other moment a clerk would come to the little 
 bull's-eye window which gave communication between 
 the private room of the cashier and the store, and whisper 
 the oddest information : " Madame Karitidds Pleyel is 
 wanted ; " " The person from the Bristol Hotel was 
 there." She seemed to understand every thing, answer- 
 ing with a word or a figure. And the king, feeUng very 
 much disturbed, wondered if this angel in the shop — this 
 aerial being — really knew the Englishman's plots and 
 filibustering. 
 
 " No, Madame : the business that brings me is not 
 urgent, or at least is no longer so. My ideas have 
 changed very much in the past hour." 
 
 He leans over the railing as he whispers this, very 
 much moved ; then stops, and reproaches himself for his 
 audacity in the presence of this woman with her calm 
 activity, and with her long lashes sweeping the pages, 
 while her pen glides on in regular lines. Oh, how he 
 would like to take her from her prison, and carry her 
 away in his arms, — far away, — murmuring tender and 
 caressing words, such as one uses to comfort little chil- 
 dren ! The temptation was so great that he was obliged
 
 y. TOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. 125 
 
 to avoid it, and take a sudden leave, without having seen 
 Tom Levis. 
 
 Night came on foggy and chilly; but the king, who 
 was usually so sensitive to cold, did not feel it, and sent 
 his carriage away, and returned on foot to the Royal 
 Club by the broad streets which go from the Madeleine 
 to the Place Vendome ; and was so transported with 
 enthusiasm, that he talked aloud to himself, while the 
 locks of his fine hair fell down over his eyes, before 
 which flames were dancing. In the street sometimes one 
 brushes by people who are filled with this exuberant 
 happiness, and, walking along with a light step and head 
 erect, seem to leave a phosphorescence on your clothing 
 as they pass. 
 
 Christian reached the club, still in the same happy 
 mood in spite of the gloom of the row of salons where 
 gathered the shadows of the vague, idle hour of twilight, 
 which is particularly melancholy in these half-public 
 places, where one misses the social, familiar home-atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 Lamps were brought. In the distance were heard the 
 sounds of a quiet game of billiards, with the rattling of 
 ivory resounding against the hollow walls, a rustling of 
 newspapers laid aside after being read, and the weary 
 breathing of some one asleep on a lounge in the grand 
 salo7i whom the king disturbed as he entered, and caused 
 to turn round and open his toothless mouth in a yawn, 
 with an endless stretching of his long, slender arms, while 
 at the same time he asked in a dull voice, — 
 
 " What's up to-night ? " 
 
 Christian gave a cry of joy. 
 
 " Ah ! my prince, I was looking for you." 
 
 His delight was owing to the fact that the Prince
 
 126 KINGS TN EXILE. 
 
 d'Axel, more familiarly known as Queue de Poule, hav- 
 ing paraded Parisian sidewalks as an amateur for ten 
 years, knew them up and down and across, from the 
 steps of Tortoni to the gutter, and no doubt could give 
 him the information he wished. Therefore, knowing 
 the only way to unburden that heavy, torpid mind which 
 the wines of France — which the prince abused, how- 
 ever — succeeded in stirring no better than the fermenta- 
 tion of the vintage can swell and raise a heavy thunderbolt 
 into a balloon. Christian quickly asked him for cards ; 
 for, like Moliere's heroines who have no wit without a 
 fan in their hands. Axel only showed Hfe while shuffling 
 the pasteboard. The fallen and the presumptive majes- 
 ties being in disgrace, the two celebrities of the club 
 began a game of Chinese bezique before dinner, — the 
 most swell game in the world, because it does not tire the 
 head, and permits the most awkward player to lose a for- 
 tune without the least effort. 
 
 " So Tom Levis is married ? " asked Christian II. care- 
 lessly, as he cut the cards. Axel looked at him with his 
 dull eyes, with their reddened lids. 
 
 " Did you not know it? " 
 
 " No. Who is the woman ? " 
 
 " Sephora Leemans, a celebrity." 
 
 The king trembled at the name Sephora. 
 
 "Is she a Jewess?" 
 
 " Probably." 
 
 There was a moment's pause. Truly the impression — 
 with the oval, colorless face of a recluse, sparkling eyes, 
 and glossy, bewitching tresses — that Sephora left must 
 have been very strong to triumph over the prejudice 
 which had existed in the memory of the Slavonian and 
 Catholic, whose childhood was haunted by the pillage and
 
 y. TOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. 127 
 
 fiendish sorcery of the Bohemian Jews of his country. 
 He continued his questions. Unfortunately the prince 
 was losing, and, being thoroughly absorbed in his game, 
 grumbled from behind his long yellow beard, — 
 
 " Ah ! but I am getting bothered : I am bothered." 
 
 It was impossible to get another word out of him. 
 
 " Good ! here is Wattelet. Come here, Wattelet," said 
 the king to a tall youth who had just entered as frisky 
 and noisy as a young puppy. 
 
 This Wattelet, the painter of the Royal Club and high 
 life, who was rather handsome at a distance, but whose 
 features looked worn and showed the marks of a fast 
 life, represented the modem artist, who bears very little 
 resemblance to the brilliant tradition of 1830. Correctly 
 dressed from head to foot, a news-bringer in salons and 
 green-rooms, he preserved nothing of the rapin ^ of the 
 studio, but the supple, rather ungainly, gait and dress of 
 a man of the world ; and in his mind, as in his language, 
 there was the same elegant indistinctness, with a careless, 
 mocking pucker of the lips. Having come to the club 
 one day to decorate the dining-room, he made himself 
 so agreeable and so indispensable to all these gentlemen, 
 that he remained with the house the organizer for life of 
 games and of the rather monotonous fetes of the place, 
 bringing to these pleasures the surprises of a picturesque 
 imagination, and an education obtained from every kind 
 of society. 
 
 "My dear Wattelet. My little Wattelet." No one 
 could do without him. He was intimate with all the 
 members of the club, with their \vives and mistresses. 
 He sketched on the right side of a card the costume of 
 the Duchess of V for the next ball of the embassy, 
 
 * A pupil who li tlic drudge of the studio.
 
 128 KINGS TN EXILE. 
 
 and, on the other side, the airy skirts and the flesh-colored 
 tights of Mademoiselle Alzere, the duke's little musk-rat. 
 
 Thursdays his studio was open to all his noble patrons, 
 who enjoyed the freedom with the unrestrained fanciful 
 talk of the house, the dazzle of soft colors from the tap- 
 estries, collections, lacquered furniture, and the artist's 
 canvases, — a painting which resembled himself, elegant 
 but a trifle common ; some portraits of women, for the 
 most part executed with an understanding of the Parisian 
 frauds, — disguised complexions, disordered, fluffy locks, 
 and all the furbelows in the form of puffs and sweeping 
 trains and airy bits of floating ribbon, which made 
 Spricht say, with the disdainful condescension of the 
 parvenu business-man towards a rising artist, — 
 
 " No one but this little fellow knows how to paint the 
 women I dress." 
 
 At the first word the king uttered, Wattelet began to 
 laugh. 
 
 " But, your Majesty, it is little Sephora." 
 
 " Do you know her? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " Tell me about her." 
 
 And, while the game between the two great lords con- 
 tinued, the painter, placed on terms of intimacy of which 
 he was very proud, sitting astride a chair, posed, coughed, 
 and, assuming the voice of the showman who describes 
 the painted canvas of a side-show, began : — 
 
 " Sephora Leemans was born in Paris in eighteen hun- 
 dred forty-five, six, or seven, among the brokers in the 
 Rue Eginhard in the Marais, — a dirty little mouldy lane, 
 between Charlemagne Street and Saint Paul's Church, in 
 the very heart of the Jewish colony. Some day, when 
 you are coming from Saint Mand6, your Majesty must
 
 y. TOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. 129 
 
 make your coachman turn down these streets, and you 
 will see a part of Paris that will astonish you, — houses 
 and faces, an Alsatian and Hebrew medley, shops, old- 
 clothes dens, and a pile of rags as high as that before 
 each door ; old women poking their crooked noses among 
 them, or stripping the frames of old umbrellas ; and 
 dogs, vermin, and odors, — a true Ghetto of the middle 
 ages, swarming in modern houses, with iron balconies 
 and high dormer windows. Her father is not a Jew, 
 however, but a Belgian of Ghent and a Catholic : and 
 the little one need not call herself Sephora ; for she is a 
 half-breed Jew, with the complexion and eyes of her 
 race, but without the hooked nose. On the contrary, she 
 has the prettiest little straight nose. I do not know 
 where she got it indeed ; for Leemans has a regular 
 Jewish face. My first medal in the salon had just such 
 a one. Heavens ! yes, the good man will show you in a 
 corner of the mean, muddy Rue Eginhard, — in what he 
 calls his broker's office, — his full-length portrait, signed 
 'Wattelet,' and not one of my worst either. I found the 
 way to gain an entrance into the hovel, and to pay my 
 court to Sephora, for whom I had one of those beguins." ^ 
 
 " A begtnn ? " said the king, to whom the Parisian dic- 
 tionary always caused some surprise. " Ah ! yes, I 
 understand. Continue." 
 
 " I was not the only flame, you may be sure. All day 
 long there was a procession in the Rue de la Paix ; for 
 I must tell you, your Majesty, that Leemans in those 
 times had two establishments. The old man was verj^ 
 shrewd, and understood the change in the fashions in 
 
 1 Translator's Note. — Beguin means " weak infatuation," from the name 
 given to women who adopted the heresy of the Beguins, a religious order in the 
 thirteenth century.
 
 I30 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 regard to trinkets during the last twenty years. The 
 romantic second-hand bric-a-brac dealer of the dingy 
 quarters after the style of Hoffman, and even of Balzac, 
 has given place to the merchant of curiosities in the 
 wealthy part of Paris, where there are well-lighted show- 
 windows. Leemans kept his musty place in the Rue 
 Eginhard, and amateurs continued to haunt it ; but for 
 the public, the passers-by, for the Parisian follower and 
 swallower, he opened a superb store of old curiosities in 
 the middle of the Rue de la Paix, which, with tawny gold 
 and deep silver of old jewels, dingy laces the color of a 
 mummy, outvied modem jewellers' or watchmakers' es- 
 tablishments sparkling with riches on the same street. 
 
 " Sephora was then fifteen ; and all these ancient things 
 made a becoming setting to her quiet, youthful beauty. 
 She was very intelligent, and very quick in showing off an 
 article, with as correct an eye as her father for the true 
 value of a trinket. Ah ! amateurs came to the shop for 
 the pleasure of feeling the touch of her fingers, and the 
 silky waves of her hair, as they leaned over the same 
 show-case. The mother, who was not in the way, — an old 
 lady with so dark a circle under her eyes that she looked 
 as if she had on spectacles, — always held her nose over 
 some piece of lace or old tapestry-work, and paid no 
 attention to her daughter. And in this she was quite 
 right. Sephora was a serious person, whom nothing 
 could turn from her path." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the king, who appeared to be de- 
 lighted. 
 
 " Your Majesty can judge by this. Mother Leemans 
 slept in the store ; and the daughter returned to the 
 bric-a-brac shop by ten o'clock, that the old man might 
 not be alone. Well, this admirable creature, whose
 
 y. TOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. 131 
 
 beauty was celebrated and sung in all the papers, and 
 who by a simple nod of the head might have seen Cin- 
 derella's chariot rise up before her, waited every evening 
 for the omnibus from the Madeleine, and returned directly 
 to the paternal owl's nest. In the morning, as the omni- 
 bus did not pass at the hour she left, she went on foot 
 through every kind of weather, with a water-proof over 
 her black dress ; and I would swear that among all the 
 crowd of shop-girls who go down the Rue de Rivoli 
 Saint Antoine with hood, hat, or bareheaded, wth pale 
 or smiling faces and small dewy mouths, and coughing 
 in the foggy air, with some gallant always at their heels, 
 none could compare with her." 
 
 "What time did she use to go that way ?" mumbled 
 the royal prince, very much enamoured. 
 
 But Christian grew impatient. 
 
 " Let him finish. And then " — 
 
 "Then, your Majesty, I succeeded in gaining ad- 
 mittance into my angel's house, and I mildly pushed my 
 point. On Sundays they organized little family games 
 of loto with a few old clothes-dealers in Charlemagne 
 Street. A fine society it was. I invariably brought away 
 fleas. But I always seated myself near Sephora, and 
 touched her knee under the table, while she looked at 
 me with a certain angelic, limpid look in her eyes, which 
 made me believe she possessed the innocence and frank- 
 ness of true virtue. 
 
 "One day, when I arrived at the Rue Eginhard, I 
 found the shop topsy-turvy ; the mother in tears ; while 
 the father, in a passion, was cleaning an old lock-musket, 
 with which he intended to shoot the infamous eloper : 
 for the little one had run off with Baron Sala, one of 
 Leeman's richest patrons ; but I learned later that the
 
 132 A'/NGS IN EXILE. 
 
 daughter had been sold hke some ancient jewel. For 
 two or three years Sephora concealed her happiness and 
 amours with this septuagenarian in Switzerland, in Scot- 
 land, on the borders of the blue lakes. Then I heard one 
 fine morning that she had returned, and was keeping a 
 family hotel at the end of the Avenue d'Antin. I hastened 
 there to see her, and found my old flame, still adorable 
 and calm in her manners, occupying the head of a very 
 queer table d'hote, where were gathered Brazilians, 
 Englishmen, and cocottes. Half of the guests were still 
 eating dessert, while the other half had turned away the 
 table-cloth to attack a game of cards. It was here that 
 Sephora became acquainted with Tom Levis, who was 
 not handsome or young, and without a cent into the 
 bargain. How did he get round her? Well, that is a 
 mystery. One thing I do know, however, and that is, she 
 sold her property for him, married him, and helped him 
 to establish the agency, which at first was prosperous and 
 elegantly fitted up, but is now losing ; so that Sephora, 
 who never used to be seen, and lived hke a recluse in the 
 queer castle bought by Tom Levis, made her appearance 
 before the world again a few months ago, playing the role 
 of the most delightful little book-keeper. And, bless me ! 
 how the patronage increased ! The flower of the clubs 
 began to make rendezvous in the Rue Royale. They 
 flirted through the railing around the desk as they used 
 to do in the shop of antiquities, or the room bearing on 
 the door the number and name of the " family." As for 
 me, I am no longer one of her admirers : she frightened 
 me at last. She was just the same that she had been for 
 ten years, not a crease or Avrinkle on her face, which was 
 fresh and full under her eyes with the long, drooping 
 lashes, which turned up at the end in a way that would
 
 yr. TOM LEVIS, AGENT FOR FOREIGNERS. 133 
 
 melt your heart. And all this for this grotesque husband 
 whom she adores. It is enough to torment and discour- 
 age the most enamoured." 
 
 The king rattled the cards scornfully. 
 
 " Come, now : is it possible ? An ugly monkey, a 
 poussah like Tom Levis, bald, and fifteen years older than 
 she, — a pickpocket, who speaks French with such an 
 abominable English accent ! " 
 
 " But some people like that, your Majesty." 
 
 And the prince royal, with his drawhng, common tone 
 of voice, said, — 
 
 " I won't have any thing to do with the woman. I 
 have whistled to the moon long enough. The way is 
 blocked." 
 
 " Fardieii, d'Axel ! We know your way of whistling 
 to the moon," said Christian, when he comprehended 
 this expression, which had passed from the slang of the 
 mechanic into that of the high-toned swell. " You have 
 no patience. The way must be open to you at the 
 Grand Seize. But I assert that a man who would take 
 the pains to be in love with Sephora, who would not grow 
 weary of silence and scorn, would find it but the affair of 
 a month, — no longer." 
 
 " I bet you he wouldn't," said d'Axel. 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 "Two thousand louis." 
 
 " I take it up. Wattelet, call for the book." 
 
 This book, on which were inscribed the bets of the 
 Royal Club, was as curious and instructive in its way as 
 those in the Levis den. The greatest names of the 
 French aristocracy sanctioned the oddest and silliest bets, 
 — that of the Duke of Courson-Launay, for example, 
 who, having bet and lost all the hair on his body, was
 
 134 iriNGS IN EX/LE. 
 
 obliged to peel himself like a Moor, and for a fortnight 
 could neither walk nor sit down. There were other 
 wagers still more extravagant ; and signatures of heroes 
 inscribed on a hundred glorious parchments were de- 
 graded in this album of folly. 
 
 Several members of the club grouped with respectful 
 curiosity around the bettors ; and this ridiculous and 
 cynical bet, excusable perhaps in the fun or intoxication 
 of overflowing youth, took, in the presence of the gravity 
 of all these bald heads, the social dignity which they rep- 
 resented, and the heraldic importance of the signatures 
 attached, the appearance of an international treaty regu- 
 lating the destinies of Europe. 
 
 It read thus : — 
 
 " On the J d of February, 187^, his Majesty Christian 
 II. has bet two thousand louis that before the end of the 
 present month Sephora L. will be his. 
 
 " His Royal Highness the Prince d'Axel takes the bet.'' 
 
 "This perhaps was an occasion for signing ' Rigolo ' 
 and ' Queue de Poule,' " said Wattelet to himself, carrying 
 back the book ; and across his worldly, clownish face 
 flitted the shadow of a wicked smile.
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EXILE. 1 35 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EXILE. 
 
 " Well, well ! we know that ! ' Adh / Yes : Goddam 
 — Schoking.' It is when you wish neither to pay nor 
 answer that you make use of that coin. But with Bibi 
 that no longer makes any impression. Let us settle our 
 accounts, old miser." 
 
 " Truly, Master Lebeau, vd pdlez a mod avec one vehe- 
 mence.^^ ^ 
 
 And to utter this word "vehemence,'' which he seemed 
 very proud of having added to his vocabulary, — for he 
 repeated it two or three times in succession, — Tom Levis 
 threw himself back, and his drooping chin disappeared in 
 the large, white, clerg>Tnan's cravat which choked him. 
 
 At the same time the pupils in his widely open eyes 
 began to turn round and round, making their expression 
 still more unfathomable, while his adversary's look, which 
 was cringing and fawning under his lowered eyelids, an- 
 swered the rascally fluency of the Englishman with the 
 cunning which was still visible in his narrow, smooth, 
 weasel face. 
 
 With his light, frizzly hair, and clothing austerely black 
 and high in the neck, and the correctness of his circum- 
 spect bearing. Master Lebeau had something of the look 
 of an agent of the ancient chdtelet ; but, as there is noth- 
 ing like debates and selfish anger to show natures as they 
 
 * You speak to me with vehemence.
 
 136 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 are, in the present moment this well-brought-up man, who 
 was as poHshed as his finger-nails, — the unctuous Lebeau, 
 the pet of royal antechambers, the former footman in the 
 Tuileries, — showed what a hateful rogue he was, always 
 eager for gain. 
 
 To escape a spring shower which was flooding the 
 court-yard, the two confederates had taken refuge in the 
 spacious coach-house, whose walls, freshly whitewashed 
 and covered half-way up with thick matting which pro- 
 tected from dampness the numerous and magnificent 
 carriages which stood in a row, wheel against wheel, from 
 the gala coaches, all glass and gilt, to the comfortable 
 four-in-hand with a hamper, to the light shopping phaeton, 
 and to the sleigh in which the queen drove over the lakes 
 when they were frozen, — all preserving, in repose and in 
 the dim light of the coach-house, the dashing and impos- 
 ing appearance of creatures of luxury, glittering and 
 costly as the fantastic horses of Assyrian legends. The 
 adjoining stables from which were heard the snorting and 
 loud kicking of horses against the wood-work, the partly 
 opened saddle-room with its waxed floor and wainscoting 
 like a billiard-hall, all the whips in the rack, the harnesses 
 and saddles on wooden horses, glittering with steel orna- 
 ments, and hung like trophies around the walls and twined 
 about with bridles, completed this impression of comfort 
 and royal style. 
 
 Tom and Lebeau were conversing in a comer ; and their 
 voices grew loud, and mingled with the noise of the rain 
 on the asphalt walks. The valet-de-chambre in particular, 
 who felt himself at home, called out in a very loud voice, 
 " Did any one understand this fiUbustering of Levis ? Who 
 could have imagined such a trick ? When their Majesties 
 left the Hotel des Pyramides for Saint Mand^, who at-
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EXILE. 137 
 
 tended to the business? Was it Lebeau, or not? And 
 did he not do it in spite of every one, — in spite of open 
 hostihty? And what was agreed upon on returning? 
 Were we not to divide all the commissions, all the wine- 
 pots of the tradespeople? Come, now : was it not so?" 
 
 " Adh ! yes : ce etait bien cela.^^ 
 
 "Then why do you cheat?" 
 
 " No, no, I never cheat," said Tom Levis, with his 
 hand on his chin. 
 
 " Come, now, old humbug : all the tradespeople give 
 you forty out of a hundred. I have proof of it; and 
 you told me that you had ten. And, out of the million 
 it cost to move into Saint Mand6, I have my five out of 
 the hundred, — that is fifty thousand francs ; and you 
 have your thirty-five of the hundred, — that is seven times 
 fifty thousand francs, or three hundred and fifty thousand 
 francs — three hundred and fifty " — 
 
 He was choking with rage, and this sum seemed to 
 stick in his throat. Tom tried to calm him. In the first 
 place, all this was exaggerated ; and then the agent had 
 enormous expenses. His rent in the Rue Royale had just 
 been increased, — so much money out ; and it was very 
 hard to collect any thing. And then for him it was only 
 a temporary affair, while Lebeau had a permanent posi- 
 tion ; and, in a house where they spent more than two 
 hundred thousand francs a year, opportunities for profit 
 were not wanting : but the valet-de-chambre did not see it 
 in that light. His affairs did not concern any one, and 
 you may be sure he would not let himself be cheated by 
 a dirty rascal of an Englishman. 
 
 " Monsieur Lebeau, voiis etes one impertinente. J^e 
 vole pas plus longtemps paler avec vous." ^ 
 
 1 " Mr. Lebeau, you are an unpertinent fellow. I will not talk with you any 
 longer."
 
 138 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 And Tom Levis started as if to go to the door. But 
 the other blocked his way. "Going off without paying? 
 Ah ! no you won't ! " His lips were pale. He put out 
 his face, which looked like that of an angry weasel, and 
 grumbled at the F^nglishman, who was still very calm, and 
 so exasperatingly cool, that at last the valet-de-chambre, 
 losing all moderation, shook his fist in his face in an 
 insulting manner. 
 
 With the back of his hand, and quick as the parry of a 
 sword, and with more of French than English boxing in 
 the movement, the Englishman struck down the fist, and 
 said in the purest tone of the Faubourg Saint Antoine, — 
 
 " No more of that, Lisette, or I fight." 
 
 The efTect of these few words was amazing. Lebeau, 
 stupefied, looked around him mechanically to see if it 
 really was the Englishman who had spoken ; then his 
 eyes, glancing back at Tom Levis, — who was all at once 
 very red, and whose eyes were rolling round, — lighted up 
 with mad gayety, though flashing with anger a moment 
 ago, and he also upset the gravity of the business-agent. 
 
 " Oh, you cursed cheat ! cursed cheat ! I might have 
 suspected it. You're no more an Englishman than 
 that." 
 
 They were laughing still harder, without being able to 
 stop and take breath, when behind them the door of the 
 saddle-room opened, and the queen appeared. Having 
 stopped a moment in the next room, where she herself 
 fastened her favorite mare, she had not lost a word of the 
 conversation. Coming from one so beneath her, treach- 
 ery troubled her but little. She knew by long experience 
 what to expect from Lebeau, this cheating valet, the wit- 
 ness of all her humiliations and all her poverty. The 
 other — the man in the cab — she hardly knew ; for he was
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EXILE. 139 
 
 a tradesman. But these men had just given her knowl- 
 edge of strange things. So moving to Saint Mand^ cost a 
 milhon ; their living, which they thought so modest and so 
 restricted, two hundred thousand francs a year, and they 
 barely had forty thousand. How was it they had been 
 blinded so long to their style of living, and the inade- 
 quacy of their real income? Who, then, met all these 
 expenses ? Who paid for all this luxury, — the house, the 
 horses, and even her toilets and personal charities? 
 Shame made her cheeks bum at the thought, while she 
 went directly across the court-yard in the rain, and 
 quickly ascended the little steps of the intendant's 
 house. 
 
 Rosen, who was occupied in arranging bills, on which 
 piles of louis were heaped, on seeing her, was so sur- 
 prised that he sprang to his feet. 
 
 " No : sit still," said the queen brusquely. Leaning 
 over the desk, on which lay her' hand still wearing her rid- 
 ing-glove, she said, in a resolute, urgent, authoritative 
 voice, — 
 
 " Rosen, what have we lived on for two years ? Oh ! 
 no evasions. I know that what I thought was hired has 
 all been bought in our name, and paid for. I know that 
 Saint Mand6 alone costs us more than a million, — the 
 million we brought from lUyria. You must tell me who 
 has aided us since then, and from whose hands we receive 
 the charity." 
 
 The old man's disturbed face, and the piteous trembling 
 of his thousand little wrinkles, enlightened Fr^d^rique. 
 
 " You ? is it you ? 
 
 She would never have thought it. And while he was 
 excusing himself, and stammering the words " duty," 
 "gratitude," and "restoration," she said passionately, 
 10
 
 IjO ICINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 " Duke, the king cannot take back what he has given ; 
 and the queen must not be maintained like a dancer." 
 
 Two tears — tears of pride, which did not fall — 
 sparkled in his eyes. 
 
 " Oh, pardon ! pirdon ! " 
 
 He was so humble, and kissed the tips of her fingers 
 with such an expression of sad regret, that she continued, 
 rather softened, — 
 
 '' You must prepare a statement of all you have ad- 
 vanced, my dear Rosen. A receipt will be given you, 
 and the king will discharge it as soon as possible. I shall 
 take charge of future expenses, and shall take care that 
 they do not exceed our income. We shall sell our 
 horses and our carriages, and cut down the number of 
 our attendants. Royalty in exile ought to be content 
 with little." 
 
 The old duke started. 
 
 "Undeceive yourself, Madame. It is in exile above 
 all that royalty needs all its prestige. Ah ! if I had been 
 listened to, your Majesties would not have come here, in 
 a faubourg, with an establishment which is only suitable 
 for a stay in the bathing-season. I would have had you 
 in a palace, in face of worldly Paris ; for I am convinced 
 that what dethroned kings have most to fear is the free 
 ways which bring them down when they go in the ranks 
 and among the crowd, coming into contact with the 
 familiarities and elbowings of the street. I know, I 
 know ! I have often been considered ridiculous in my 
 respect for etiquette, and for my childish and superannu- 
 ated strictness. And yet these forms are more than ever 
 important ; for they aid in preserving the proud bearing 
 so easily lost in misfortune, like the inflexible armor 
 which keeps the soldier on his feet even when he is 
 wounded to death."
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EXILE. 141 
 
 Fr^d^rique did not answer for a moment. Her pure 
 brow betokened that a sudden thought had come to her. 
 Then, raising her head, she said, — 
 
 " It is impossible. There is a pride loftier still than 
 that. I intend, as I told you, that, from this evening, 
 matters shall be changed." 
 
 Then the duke said more earnestly, and almost im- 
 ploringly, — 
 
 " But your Majesty cannot think of it. Sell your 
 horses and carriages ? A sort of royal failure ! What 
 a noise, what a scandal, it would make ! " 
 
 "What is happening now is even more scandalous." 
 
 " Who knows about it ? who even suspects it ? How 
 could any one suppose that it is the old miser de Rosen ? 
 You were even uncertain just now. O Madame, Ma- 
 dame ! accept what you are pleased to call my devotion. 
 In the first place, it would be trying the impossible. If 
 you knew ! Why, your yearly income would hardly suf- 
 fice for the king's gambling-purse." 
 
 " The king will not play any more, Duke." 
 
 This was said in such a tone, with such an expression 
 in her eyes, that Rosen did not insist, but took the liberty 
 to add, — 
 
 " I will do what your Majesty desires. But I beg you 
 to remember that all I possess is yours, and that, in case 
 of distress, I deserve to be applied to first." 
 
 He felt a certainty that this would be the case before 
 long. 
 
 On the very next day the proposed reforms began. 
 One-half of the servants were dismissed, the useless car- 
 riages sent to Tattersall's, where they were sold at pretty 
 good prices, except the state carriages, which were too 
 annoyingly conspicuous for private individuals. They got
 
 142 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 rid of them, however, thanks to an American circus 
 which had just been estabhshed at Paris with a large 
 amount of flaming advertisements; and these splendid 
 coaches, which Rosen had ordered that the royal scions 
 might preserve a little of their lost pomp, and because 
 he had a hope of a future return to Laybach, served for 
 the exhibition of Chinese dwarfs and learned monkeys, 
 historical cavalcades, and grand finale a la Franconi. 
 
 Towards the end of the performances, to the inspiring 
 strains from the band, these royal carriages, with their 
 escutcheons but partly effaced, are seen driving on the 
 trodden gravel of the arena three times around the seats, 
 while some grimacing, grotesque face looks out from the 
 open window, or some famous female gymnast, with a 
 head that looks coarse in its short hair, and a bust con- 
 fined in pink-silk armor, salutes the crowd, her forehead 
 shining with pomade and perspiration. All these vene- 
 rated properties fallen into a circus, and kept between 
 horses and huge elephants ! What a presage for roy- 
 alty ! 
 
 Two placards on the walls announcing this sale at 
 Tattersall's, and that of the diamonds of the Queen of 
 Galicia at Hotel Drouot, made considerable talk; but 
 Paris does not pay attention to any one thing long, for 
 its ideas follow the quickly changing sensations in the 
 newspapers. People talked about the two sales for 
 twenty-four hours, and the next day thought no more 
 of them. Christian II., without making any opposition, 
 accepted the reforms the queen desired. Since his sad 
 escapade, his manner was almost confused when in her 
 presence ; and he lowered himself still more by the volun- 
 tary childishness which he seemed to make an excuse 
 for his behavior.
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EXILE. 143 
 
 What did he care for the reform in the house? His 
 life, which was nothing but dissipation and pleasure, was 
 spent away from home. It was astonishing that in six 
 months he had not once had recourse to Rosen's 
 purse. That raised him in the queen's eyes a httle, who 
 was, in addition, gratified at no longer having to see the 
 Enghshman's fantastic cab standing in a corner of the 
 court-yard, and at no longer meeting the obsequious smile 
 of courtier creditors on the staircase. 
 
 Yet the king was spending a great deal, and dissipating 
 more than ever. Where did he get the money ? Elys^e 
 found out in the most singular way through Uncle Sauva- 
 don, that worthy man to whom he formerly gave " ideas 
 about things," the only one of his former acquaintances 
 whom he had retained since his entrance to the Rue Her- 
 billon. Occasionally he used to go and breakfast with 
 him at Bercy, and bring him news about Colette, whom 
 he complained of no longer seeing, — his adopted child, 
 the daughter of a poor brother whom he tenderly loved 
 and supported till his death. He had always been 
 wrapped up in her, paid for her nurses and baptismal 
 cap, and, later, for her education in the most noted con- 
 vent in Paris. She was his idol, his living vanity, the 
 pretty doll which he decked with all the ambition that 
 stirred in his vulgar, millionnaire pan>emi head ; and 
 when the litrie Sauvadon whispered to her uncle in the 
 parlor of Sacr6 Coeur, " See that girl ! her mother is a 
 baroness, or duchess, or marchioness," the millionnaire 
 uncle would answer, with a shrug of his big shoulders, — 
 
 " We will make you something better than that." 
 
 He made her a princess at eighteen. A nobility in 
 search of dowers is not wanting in Paris. The Levis 
 Agency has a whole assortment of titles, and one has
 
 144 ICINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 only to give their price. Sauvadon did not think two 
 millions too dear to enable him to appear in a comer of a 
 salon on the evenings when the young Princess de Rosen 
 received, and to have the right to sit in a recess of a 
 window, and look round with a broad, beaming smile on 
 the lips that turned over like the rim of a porringer, from 
 between short, bunchy whiskers of a style that had been 
 out of date since Louis Philippe's time. His little gray 
 eyes, — Colette's eyes, — with their lively, cunning ex- 
 pression, somewhat softened the stuttering, simple, incor- 
 rect words that came from his shapeless, thick-lipped 
 mouth, which looked like a horse's hoof. The revela- 
 tions of those big, square hands reminded one that they 
 had rolled barrels on the wharf. When he first appeared 
 in society, he mistrusted himself; spoke but httle, and 
 astonished and frightened people by his speechlessness. 
 Bless me ! it was not at the warehouse at Bercy, or in 
 selling Southern wines diluted with logwood, that fine 
 language was to be learned. But, thanks to M^raut ! he 
 had some ready-made opinions and bold aphorisms about 
 the events of the day and the latest popular book. 
 When the uncle talked, he managed pretty well, with the 
 exception of bringing out his fs for his s's at the end of 
 words in a manner startling enough to shatter the chan- 
 delier, and alarming those around this water-bearer in a 
 white waistcoat, who heard him express, in a picturesque 
 manner, certain theories a la de Maistre. But the sov- 
 ereigns had taken the furnisher of his ideas away from 
 him, and his means of showing them off. Colette, on 
 account of her duties as maid of honor, no longer left 
 Saint Mand6 ; and Sauvadon knew the l^ead of the 
 domestic and military house too well to hope to be ad- 
 mitted there. He had not even spoken of it. Imagine
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EXILE. 145 
 
 the duke broaching the subject to the lofty Fr^d^rique ! 
 A wine-merchant from Bercy ! and not a retired mer- 
 chant, but one, on the contrary, in active business : for, 
 in spite of his milHons and of the supplications of his 
 niece, Sauvadon still kept at work ; spending all his time 
 at the warehouse on the wharf, with his pen over his 
 ear, and his white forelock all in a rumple, surrounded 
 by truckmen and sailors unloading and loading wine- 
 casks ; or else he was sure to be under the gigantic trees 
 of the old park, now mutilated and cut up, and where 
 his wealth was displayed in innumerable rows of casks 
 under the sheds. 
 
 " I should die if I were to give up business," he said 
 repeatedly. And he verily lived on the noise of rolling 
 wine-casks, and the pleasant odor of wine ascending from 
 the damp cellars of those large warehouses where he 
 had made his debut as a cooper's boy forty-five years 
 before. It was here that Elys^e came sometimes to see 
 his former pupil, and enjoy one of those breakfasts that 
 can only be prepared at Bercy under the trees in the 
 park, or in the cellar, with wine drawn on the spot, and 
 sparkling fish fresh from the pond, prepared as a matelote 
 as in the remotest part of Lauguedoc or the Vosges. He 
 no longer desired to have ideas about things, since he 
 could not attend soirees at Colette's house : but the good 
 man loved to hear M^raut talk, and to see him eat and 
 drink freely ; for the wretched hovel in the Rue Mon- 
 sieur-le-Prince was ever before his eyes, and he treated 
 Elys^e like one that had been shipwrecked. It was the 
 touching thoughtfulness of a man who has known hunger 
 towards another he knows to be poor. M^raut gave him 
 news of his niece and her life at Saint Mande, and 
 brought him the reflections of those splendors which cost
 
 146 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 the worthy man so dear, and which he would never 
 witness. No doubt he was proud to think of the young 
 maid of honor dining with kings and queens, posturing 
 in a court ceremony ; only his sorrow at not seeing her 
 increased his ill humor and bitterness against the elder 
 Rosen. 
 
 " What has he, indeed, to glory in so very much? His 
 name and title ? But did I not buy the same things with 
 my money? His crosses, his ribbons, and his stars? 
 Humph ! I can have them, too, whenever I wish. After 
 all, my dear M^raut, you do not know. Since I saw you 
 last, good fortune has come to me." 
 
 "What is it. Uncle?" 
 
 He called him " uncle " through the affectionate fa- 
 miliarity peculiar to the South ; the desire he felt to put 
 into words the sympathy — not intellectual — that he felt 
 for the great merchant. 
 
 " My dear fellow, I have the Lion of IllyTia, — the 
 cross of commander. And the duke feels so proud with 
 his cross of the Legion of Honor ! On New Year's Day, 
 when I go to make him a visit, I shall put on my decora- 
 tions : that will teach him." 
 
 Elys^e could not believe it. The order of the Lion — 
 one of the most ancient and the most sought after in 
 Europe — given to Uncle Savaudon, — to " uncle " ! And 
 why ? Because he sold diluted wine at Bercy ? 
 
 " Oh, it is very simple ! " said the other, blinking his 
 little gray eyes : " I paid for the rank of commander as 
 I did for che title of pnnce. A lime more, and I would 
 have had the cross of the Legion of Honor ; for it also 
 was for sale." 
 
 " Where ? " asked Elys^e, turning pale. 
 
 " Why, at the Levis Agency, the Rue Royale. One
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EXILE. 14? 
 
 can find every thing at that devil of an Enghshman's. 
 My cross cost me ten thousand francs. The ribbon was 
 worth fifteen thousand ; and I knew some one who 
 offered that for it. Guess who. Biscarat, the great hair- 
 dresser, — Biscarat on the Boulevard des Capucines. 
 But, my good fellow, what I am telling you is known to 
 all Paris. Go to Biscarat's, and you will see at the end 
 of the large room where, surrounded by his thirty boys, 
 he officiates, an immense photograph, in which he is rep- 
 resented as Figaro, with a razor in his hand, and the 
 ribbon of the order over his shoulder. The drawing is 
 reproduced in small size on every bottle in the store. If 
 the general were to see that, how his mustache would 
 go up to his nose ! You know how he does it." 
 
 And he tried to imitate the general's grimace ; but, as 
 he had no mustache, it was not at all the same thing. 
 
 " Have you your brevet. Uncle ? Will you show it to 
 me?" 
 
 Elysee had a hope that there was some trickery of 
 writing about it, a forgery in which the Levis Agency 
 traded without scruple. But, no ! all seemed regular, 
 labelled according to form, and stamped with the arms 
 of Illyria, bearing Boscovich's signature and that of 
 King Christian II. Doubt was no longer possible : a 
 business of selling crosses and ribbons had been estab- 
 lished by permission of the king. Besides, to convince 
 himself still further, M^raut need only go up to the 
 councillor's as soon as he returned to Saint Mand^. 
 
 In a corner of the immense hall, which rose to the 
 roof of the hotel, and which sen-ed as a working-room 
 for Christian, — who never worked, — and also as an 
 armory, gjTnnasium, and library, he found Boscovich 
 among the pigeon-holes and big envelopes of wrapping-
 
 148 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 paper, and sheets of paper laid one over the other, and 
 between which the plants that had been recently gath- 
 ered were drying. Since his exile, the savant had be- 
 gun to make a collection from the Paris woods of Vin- 
 cennes and Boulogne, where the richest flora in France 
 are found. Besides, he had purchased the herbarium of 
 a famous naturalist who had just died ; and absorbed in 
 the examination of his new riches, with his bloodless 
 face, from which one could not judge his age, bowed 
 over a magnifying-glass, he was raising with precaution 
 the heavy pages, between which were plants spread out 
 from their corolla to the roots, and whose tints were lost 
 on the edges. He uttered a cry of joy and admiration 
 when the specimen was intact and well preserved, looked 
 at it a long time with delight, reading its Latin name 
 aloud, and a description written at the bottom in a little 
 note. At other times an exclamation of anger escaped 
 him on seeing the flower attacked and perforated by the 
 imperceptible worm, well known to herbarium-keepers, — 
 an atom bom of the dust of plants, on which it also main- 
 tains its life, and which endangers and often destroys col- 
 lections. The stem was still sound ; but, as soon as the 
 page was stirred, every thing fell to pieces and floated 
 off, flowers and roots, in a light cloud. 
 
 " It is a worm, a worm ! " said Boscovich, with his 
 magnifying-glass over his eye ; and, in a manner that 
 was both grieved and proud, he pointed out a perfora- 
 tion similar to that of the borer in wood, and which in- 
 dicated the monster's passage. 
 
 Elys^e could not suspect him. This monomaniac was 
 incapable of infamy, and also of the least opposition. At 
 the first word about decorations, he began to tremble, 
 looking sideways from under his glass, with timidity and
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EXILE. 149 
 
 mistrust. What was this that he had just said to him? 
 No doubt the king lately had made him prepare a quan- 
 tity of brevets of every grade, with a blank for the name ; 
 but he knew nothing more about them, and never would 
 have asked. 
 
 " Well, Councillor," said Elys^e gravely, " I warn you 
 that his Majesty is trading his crosses with the Levis 
 Agency." 
 
 Thereupon he told the story about the Gascon barber 
 which so amused all Paris. Boscovich gave one of his 
 little womanish screams ; but at heart he was only very 
 slightly shocked, for he felt very little interest in any 
 thing which did not concern his mania. His herbarium 
 which he left at Laybach represented his country to him ; 
 and that which he was preparing, his exile in France. 
 
 " But don't you see it is unworthy a man like you to 
 lend a hand to such shameful intrigues? " 
 
 Boscovich, who was in despair because his eyes had 
 been forced open to what he did not wish to see, stam- 
 mered, — 
 
 "But — but what can I do, my good Monsieur M^- 
 raut ? The king is the king. When he says, ' Bosco- 
 vich, write that,' my hand obeys without my thought, 
 particularly when his Majesty is so kind and so generous 
 to me. It was he who, seeing my despair at the loss of 
 my herbarium, made me a present of this one. Fifteen 
 hundred francs, — a magnificent opportunity ; and I have 
 had the ' Hortus Cliffortianus ' of Linnaeus into the bar- 
 gain, and the earliest edition." 
 
 Thus naively and cynically the poor man bared his 
 conscience. All within him was dry and dead, and of the 
 color of the treasures in his herbarium. His mania, 
 which was as cruel as the invisible worm of naturalists,
 
 ISO KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 had perforated and consumed every thing. He felt no 
 emotion, except when Elys^e threatened to notify the 
 queen. Then only the monomaniac dropped his glass, and 
 made his avowals in a low voice, and with deep sighs like 
 a penitent at the confessional. Many things took place 
 before his eyes which he could not help, and which 
 troubled him. The king had bad company about him. 
 And then what can you expect? He had no desire to 
 reign, — no taste for the throne ; nor had he ever. 
 
 " But tarry a moment ! I remember : it was a long time 
 ago, in the lifetime of the late Leopold, when the king 
 had his first attack as he left the table ; and, when they 
 told Christian that he would no doubt succeed his uncle, 
 the child — he was hardly twelve, and played croquet in 
 the court-yard of the residence — began to weep, and 
 wept immoderately, having an hysterical attack. ' I will 
 not be a king ! I will not be a king ! ' he said. ' Let 
 them place my cousin Stanislas in my place.' The look 
 that I have often seen since then in Christian's eyes has 
 reminded me of the startled and frightened expression 
 in them that morning, as he clung with all his might to 
 his mallet, as if he were afraid they would carry him 
 into the throne-hall ; and he kept crying, ' I will not be 
 a king ! ' " 
 
 Christian's whole character was shown in this anec- 
 dote. Oh, no ! without doubt, he was not a wicked 
 man, but childish, married too young, with uncontrollable 
 passions and hereditary vices. The Hfe that he led — 
 nights at the club, with women, and suppers — is the nor- 
 mal existence of husbands in a certain class of society. 
 All was aggravated by his having to fill the role of king 
 when he did not know how, and to assume responsibih- 
 ties above his capacity and strength, and, above all, by
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EXILE. 151 
 
 this protracted exile, which was slowly demoralizing him. 
 Firmer natures than his could not withstand this breaking- 
 up of fixed habits, this doubt of the future, this hope, 
 anguish, and expectancy, which enervated him. 
 
 Exile, like the sea, has its torpor : it beats down and 
 swallows up ; it is a phase of transition. One cannot 
 escape the ennui of long passages, except by fixed occu- 
 pations and hours of regular study. 
 
 But how can a king occupy his time when he no lon- 
 ger has a people or ministers or council, nothing to de- 
 cide or sign, and far too much mind or scepticism to 
 amuse himself by pretending all these things, and far too 
 much ignorance to attempt a diversion in any other assid- 
 uous work? 
 
 Then exile is the sea; but it means also shipwreck, 
 throwing the first-class passengers pell-mell among those 
 of the deck, and in the open air. It needs a proud bear- 
 ing, a truly royal temperament, not to be affected by famil- 
 iarity, and the degrading promiscuous society for which 
 one will later blush and suffer, — to be a king in the midst 
 of privations, distress and disgrace, which bring classes 
 together, and confuse them in one wretched humanity. 
 
 Alas ! this Bohemia of exile, from which the Duke of 
 Rosen had so long preserved it at great sacrifice, began 
 at last to affect the house of Illyria. The king was at his 
 wits' end to pay the expenses of his " enjoying himself." 
 He began to give notes like a son who has not come into 
 his property, finding this very simple, and even more con- 
 venient, with Tom Levis's help, than the " good on our 
 bank," which he formerly addressed to the head of the 
 domestic and military service. The notes came due, and 
 were increased by many renewals, till the day when Tom 
 Levis, finding himself hard up, invented this pretty trade
 
 152 KINGS fN EXILE. 
 
 in brevets ; a king without a people, or civil list, having 
 no other resource. Tlic poor Lion of Illyria, cut up like 
 an old ox, was divided into quarters and slices, sold at 
 auction and at the butcher's shop for so much the mane, 
 the pope's eye, the side-pieces, and the claws. 
 
 And this was only the beginning. In Tom Levis's cab 
 the king would not st6p on a road made so smooth for 
 him. This is what M^raut said to himself as he went 
 down from Boscovich. He saw plainly that the coun- 
 cillor could not be depended upon, being as easy to be 
 deceived as are all those who have a mania. He him- 
 self was too new, too much a stranger in the house, to 
 have any authority over Christian's mind. What if he 
 should apply to the elder Rosen ? At the first words of 
 the preceptor, the duke cast upon him the terrible look of 
 one whose religion had been attacked. The king, how- 
 ever low he had fallen, was still the king to him ; and 
 there was no help to expect from the monk, whose ta%vny 
 face only appeared at long intervals between two journeys, 
 when it looked thinner and more sunburnt. 
 
 And the queen? But he had seen her looking sad 
 and restless for some months, her beautiful, pure forehead 
 being always shadowed with care ; and, when she came 
 to the lessons, she only listened absent-mindedly, her 
 work lying idly in her hands. Grave thoughts disturbed 
 her ; and they were strange ones to her, as they rose from 
 common things, anxiety about money, and the humiliat- 
 ing thought of all those hands held out which she could 
 no longer fill, — tradespeople, the needy companions of 
 exile and misfortune ; for this sad calling of sovereign has 
 cares, even when it no longer has rights. All those who 
 learned the way to the prosperous house now waited 
 hours in the anteroom, and, weary of waiting, often went
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EXILE. 1 53 
 
 away uttering words that tlie queen divined, rather than 
 heard, by their discontented step, and their weariness of 
 having been sent away three times. 
 
 She really tried to bring order into their new mode of 
 life ; but misfortune, bad investments, and paralyzed val- 
 ues threatened it. They must wait, or lose every thing. 
 Poor Queen Frdd^rique, who thought she knew every 
 thing relating to suffering, had yet no experience in those 
 trials which wear one out, — the hard and wounding con- 
 tact with commonplace, every-day life. As the end of 
 the months drew near, she would think of them at night, 
 and shudder, like the head of a business-house. Some- 
 times a servant's wages were overdue ; and she feared to 
 believe that delay of an order, or a more determined 
 look, meant his discontent. Finally she became ac- 
 quainted with debt, — the debt which is gradually harass- 
 ing, and in the insolence of its demands forces open the 
 loftiest and most beautifully gilded doors. The old duke 
 gravely and silently watched the queen's anguish of 
 mind, and constantly made excuse to be near her, as if 
 to say, " I am here." But she determined to exhaust 
 every thing before breaking her word, and applying to 
 the one she crushed with so haughty a lesson. 
 
 They were passing one evening in the large saloji as 
 drearily as usual, the king, as always, being absent, and in 
 the light of silver candlesticks were preparing a whist- 
 table for what was called the queen's game ; the duke 
 sitting opposite her Majesty, with Madame Eleonora and 
 Boscovich for opponents. 
 
 The princess was playing in an undertone a few of 
 those " Echoes of Illyria " which Fr^d^rique was never 
 weary of hearing, and which at the least sign of satisfac- 
 tion the musician changed into a war-chant or bravura.
 
 T54 A'INGS IN EXILE. 
 
 These reminders of their country, which brought a beau- 
 tiful smile and heroic expression, brightened the atmos- 
 phere around these resigned exiles, and varied the ways 
 of life acquired in this elegant salon which sheltered 
 royalty. Ten o'clock struck. The queen, instead of as- 
 cending to her apartments, as was her custom every 
 evening, and giving a signal to retire by her departure, 
 cast an anxious look around her, and said, — 
 
 "You can withdraw. I have work to attend to with 
 Monsieur M^raut." 
 
 Elys^e, who was busy reading near the fireplace, bowed 
 as he closed the pamphlet whose leaves he was turning, 
 and passed into the study for pens, ink, and other writing 
 materials. 
 
 When he returned, the queen was alone, listening to 
 the carriages rolling into the court-yard, while the great 
 gateway closed behind them ; and in the passages and on 
 the stairway of the hotel were heard the going and coming 
 which in a large household precede the hour for retiring. 
 All was silent at last ; the silence being intensified by 
 two leagues of woodland, where the rustling of the wind 
 through the leaves deadened the distant rumbling of 
 Paris. The deserted salon, which was still lighted, 
 seemed in its calm solitude as if ready for some tragic 
 scene. Fr^d^rique, leaning her elbow on the table, 
 pushed away the blotting-paper prepared by M^raut. 
 
 " No, no ! We are not to work this evening," she 
 said. " It was an excuse. Sit down, and let us talk." 
 
 Then she added in a lower voice, — 
 
 " I have something to ask you." 
 
 But what she had to tell him probably cost her a great 
 effort ; for she reflected a moment, with her mouth and 
 eyes partly closed, and with that worn, extremely old
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EXILE. 155 
 
 expression which Elys^e had seen in them sometimes, 
 and which made the beautiful face still more beautiful, 
 marked as it was by all her devotion and sacrifices, and 
 its pure lines deepened through her loftiest sentiments as 
 a queen and woman. She also inspired him with a re- 
 ligious respect. Finally, summoning all her courage, 
 Frdddrique asked in a very low voice and timid manner, 
 bringing out one word after the other, as if they were 
 groping steps taken in dread, if he did not know " one 
 of those — one of those places in Paris where they — lent 
 money on security." 
 
 To ask that of Elys^e, of this great Bohemian, who 
 knew all the Parisian pawn-shops, and had used them 
 for twenty years as a place to fall back upon, — where he 
 put his summer clothing in winter, and his winter gar- 
 ments in summer ! Did he know the " clou " ? did he 
 know " ma tante " ? This slang of the poor, returning 
 with the memory of his youth, brought a momentary 
 smile to his lips. But the queen continued, while trying 
 to make her voice firm ; — 
 
 " I would like to intrust something to you to take 
 there, — some jewels. One has moments of embarrass- 
 ment sometimes." 
 
 Her beautiful eyes were now raised, and revealed a 
 deep abyss of calm and superhuman grief. 
 
 Want among kings ! so much grandeur humiliated ! 
 Was it possible? 
 
 M^raut made a sign with his head that he was ready 
 to take charge of whatever was desired. 
 
 If he had uttered a word, he would have sobbed. If 
 
 he had made a movement, he would have fallen at the 
 
 feet of this great distress. And yet his admiration began 
 
 to change to pity. The queen now seemed to him a 
 
 11
 
 156 A'/A'CS IN EXILE. 
 
 little lower, a little less above the vulgarities of life, as if, 
 in the sad avowal she had made, he caught a Bohemian 
 accent, something like the beginning of a downfall, 
 which brought her nearer to him. 
 
 She rose suddenly, went to the crystal box, and took 
 out the forgotten antique relic, which she placed on the 
 table-cloth. It was a handful of jewels of every ray of 
 color. 
 
 Elys^e trembled. The crown ! 
 
 " Yes, the crown ! It has been in the house of Illyria 
 six hundred years. Kings have died, and streams of 
 noble blood have been shed, to defend it. At present it 
 must help us to live. We have nothing left but this." 
 
 It was of fine old gold, — a magnificent closed diadem, 
 whose circles, relieved by ornaments, joined above the 
 cap of ruby velvet. Over the circles, above the bandeau 
 of twisted filagree, in the heart of each gem which rep- 
 resented the veining of the clover-leaf, the point of the 
 scalloped open-work arches supporting them, contained 
 every known variety of stones, — the transparent blue sap- 
 phire, the velvety-blue turquoise, the topaz of the pale 
 hues of dawn, the flame-colored Oriental ruby, and emer- 
 alds that were like drops of water on leaves, the cabalistic 
 opal, and the pearls of the milky iris ; but, overpowering 
 them all, the diamonds, scattered everywhere, radiated 
 from their facets a thousand varied fires, like luminous 
 dust or a cloud full of sunlight, and blended and soft- 
 ened the brilliancy of the diadem, causing it to gleam 
 with the subdued vermilion light of a lamp as seen at the 
 end of a sanctuary. 
 
 The queen placed her trembling finger in this place 
 and that place, remarking, — 
 
 " Some of the stones must be taken out, — the largest."
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EXILE. 157 
 
 "With what?" 
 
 They spoke in a low voice, like two criminals ; but, 
 seeing nothing in the salon which could answer, Fr6- 
 d^rique said, — 
 
 "Hold the light for me." 
 
 They passed into the glass veranda, where the tall lamp 
 they carried made fantastic shadows, and cast a long 
 stream of light, which vanished on the lawns in the dark- 
 ness of the garden. 
 
 " No, no ! not the scissors," she murmured, seeing him 
 move towards her work-basket. " They are not strong 
 enough. I have tried." 
 
 Finally they discovered a pair of gardener's shears on 
 the tub of a pomegranate-tree whose delicate branches 
 sought the moonlight against the glass. Both having 
 returned to the salon, Elys^e tried to raise with the point 
 of the instrument an enormous oval sapphire, which the 
 queen pointed out to him ; but the polished stone, being 
 firmly set, resisted, slipped from under the iron, immovable 
 in its clutch. Besides, the hand of the operator — fearing 
 to injure the stone or to break the setting, which bore, 
 in marks on its gold, traces of previous attempts — was 
 neither strong nor sure. The royalist suffered, and was 
 indignant at the outrage that they made him do the 
 crown, the symbol of all the sovereignties. And it 
 seemed really alive. He could feel it shudder, resist, and 
 struggle. 
 
 " I cannot ! I cannot ! " he said, wiping the perspira- 
 tion from his forehead. 
 
 The queen replied, — 
 
 "You must." 
 
 " But it will show." 
 
 Fr^d^rique gave a proud, ironical smile.
 
 158 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 " Will show ! Is there any one who even looks at it ? 
 And who thinks of it, who takes care of it here, except 
 myself ? " 
 
 While Elys^e resumed his task with bowed head and 
 pale face, with his long hair tumbling in his eyes, and 
 with the royal diadem between his knees, which the 
 shears were clipping and cutting, Fr(jddrique, holding the 
 lamp high above her, was watching the attempt as cold 
 as the stones which were shining among pieces of gold 
 on the table-cloth, intact and splendid in spite of having 
 been torn out. 
 
 The next day, Elys(^e who had been out all the morn- 
 ing, returned soon after the first breakfast-bell, and seated 
 himself at table moved and disturbed, and hardly join- 
 ing in the conversation of which he was usually the light 
 and spirit. This agitation affected the queen without in 
 the least checking her smile, or changing the serene 
 tones of her contralto voice ; and, when the repast was 
 over, it was long before they could come together, and 
 be able to talk freely, being watched through the etiquette 
 and rules which had been established in the house, which 
 necessitated the service of a lady of honor, and the jeal- 
 ous surveillance of Madame de Silvis. Finally, it was the 
 lesson-hour. While the little prince was settling himself 
 to work, and preparing his books, the queen said to 
 Elys^e, — 
 
 "What is the matter? What has happened to me 
 now? " 
 
 " Ah, Madame ! all the stones are false." 
 
 "False?" 
 
 " And very carefully imitated in paste." 
 
 " How was it done ? By whom ? There is a traitor in 
 the house, then? "
 
 THE BOHEMIA OF EX FEE. 1 59 
 
 She grew fearfully pale at the word " traitor ; " and sud- 
 denly clinching her teeth, with a look of despair and 
 anger in her eyes, she answered, — 
 
 " It is true. There is a traitor here, and you and I 
 know him well." 
 
 Then with a nervous gesture, taking Elys^e's hand pas- 
 sionately, as if in a compact known to themselves alone, 
 she added, — 
 
 " But we will never denounce him, will we ? " 
 
 " Never ! " he answered, turning away his eyes ; for, in 
 a word, they understood each other.
 
 l6o KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 JOYS OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 It was the afternoon of the first Sunday in May, — a 
 splendid, bright day, a month ahead of the season, and so 
 warm that they had taken off the top of the landau in 
 which Queen Fr^d^rique, the little prince, and his gov- 
 ernor were riding in the Bois de Saint Mand^. This first 
 caress of spring, which came through the young new 
 branches, warmed the queen's heart, and brightened the 
 face under the blue silk umbrella. She felt happy with- 
 out reason ; and for some hours, forgetting her hardships 
 amid the universal loveliness, she leaned back in a cor- 
 ner of the heavy vehicle, with her child pressed against 
 her, and abandoned herself to the intimacy and the 
 security of a familiar talk with Elys^e M^raut, who sat 
 opposite them. 
 
 " It is singular," she said to him, " but it seems to me 
 we must have met before we became acquainted. Your 
 voice and face at once awoke a memory within me. 
 ^Vhere can we have met the first time? " 
 
 Little Zara remembered that first time very well. It 
 was in the convent in the church under the ground, 
 where Monsieur Elys^e frightened him so. And in the 
 gentle, timid eyes which the child turned towards his 
 teacher, one could still see a little of that superstitious 
 fear. But, no : even before this Christmas evening, the 
 queen was convinced that she had met him.
 
 JOYS OF THE PEOPLE. l6l 
 
 "Unless it was in another life," she added, almost 
 seriously. 
 
 Elys^e laughed. 
 
 " Indeed, your Majesty is not mistaken. You saw me 
 not in another life, but in Paris, on the very day of 
 your arrival. I was opposite the Hotel des Pyramides, 
 mounted on the lower part of the fence of the Tuileries." 
 
 " And you shouted, ' Long live the king ! ' Now I 
 remember. Then it was you. Oh, how glad I am ! It 
 was you who first gave us a welcome. If you knew how 
 much good your words did me." 
 
 "And myself also," continued M^raut. "It was so 
 long since I had an opportunity to utter that triumphant 
 cry of ' Long live the king ! ' — so long, that it sang on 
 my lips. They were the household words in my family, 
 and associated with all the joys of my childhood and 
 youth ; and by them, in our own home, we expressed our 
 emotions and beliefs. That cry, when I hear it, recalls 
 my father's Southern accent, voice, and gesture ; it brings 
 the same tears to my eyes that I saw in his so many 
 times. Poor man ! it was instinctive with him, — a pro- 
 fession of faith in one word. One day, while passing 
 through Paris on his return from a journey to Frohs- 
 dorff, my father went through the Place du Carrousel as 
 Louis Philippe was coming out from there. The people 
 belonging to the class that were seen at the close of the 
 Empire were waiting and hanging to the fence, and were 
 indifferent and even hostile. My father, on learning that 
 the king was to pass, pushed the crowd aside, and 
 elbowed his way through to the first row to see him near 
 to, and crush with scornful looks this brigand and rascal 
 of a Louis Philippe, who had stolen the place of the le- 
 gitimate king. Suddenly the king appeared, and crossed
 
 1 62 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 the deserted court, amid an oppressive, deathlike silence, 
 that weighed on all tlie palace, and in which it seemed 
 as if they could distinctly hear the firing of the guns of 
 the mob cracking the planks of the throne. Louis Phi- 
 lippe, who was ab-eady old and very much of a bourgeois, 
 approached the fence with little, mincing steps, with his 
 umbrella in his hand. There was nothing of the sover- 
 eign, nothing of the master, about him. But this my 
 father did not see ; and as he thought that in the great 
 palace of the kings of France, which was paved with 
 glorious memories, the representative of the monarchy 
 was coming out through the frightful solitude which is 
 made around royalty by the hatred of the people, some- 
 thing stirred within him, and rebelled. He forgot all his 
 bitterness, took off his hat suddenly, and instinctively 
 cried, or sobbed rather, ' Long live the king ! ' in such 
 ringing, earnest tones, that the old man started, and 
 thanked him \vith a look full of emotion." 
 
 " I should have thanked you thus," said Fr^d^rique ; 
 and her eyes rested on M^raut with such tender grati- 
 tude, that the poor fellow felt himself grow pale. She 
 resumed almost immediately, full of the recital she had 
 just heard : — 
 
 " But your father was not of the nobility? " 
 
 " Oh, no, Madame ! a very low-bom, humble man, a 
 working-man, a weaver." 
 
 " It is singular," said Fr^d^rique dreamily. 
 
 Mdraut answered her, and an endless discussion began. 
 The queen did not love, and did not understand, the 
 people, and had a kind of physical horror of them. She 
 thought them rude and alarming in their joys as in their 
 revenge. Even in the holy festivals, during the honey- 
 moon of her reign, she was afraid of them, — of their
 
 yOVS OF 7 HE PEOPLE. 163 
 
 thousand hands held out to applaud, and which she felt 
 made her a prisoner. They had never been able to 
 agree. Pardons, favors, and alms had fallen from her 
 hands to theirs, like those unblessed harvests which can- 
 not germinate, though there be no reason to positively 
 blame the sterility of the soil or the barrenness of the 
 seeds. Among the fairy-tales with which Madame de 
 Silvis created a kind of mist in the mind of the little 
 prince, there was a story about a young lady of Syria 
 married to a lion, who was horribly frightened by the roar- 
 ing of her tawny-colored husband, and his violent way 
 of shaking his mane. This poor lion, however, was full 
 of attention and loving delicacy : he brought home rare 
 game and honeycomb to his child-wife, and watched 
 over her while she slept, and imposed silence on the sea, 
 forests, and animals. But, for all this, she felt the same 
 repulsion and fear, which wounded him so greatly that 
 he got angry one day, and, opening his mouth and flash- 
 ing his mane, roared a terrible " Begone ! " as if he had 
 as great a desire to devour her as to give her her lib- 
 erty. This story would describe Fre'd^rique's attitude 
 towards her people ; and, since Elys^e had lived under 
 her roof, he tried in vain to make her admit the con- 
 cealed goodness, chivalric devotion, and shy suscepti- 
 bility of this great lion who roared so many times in 
 joke before getting into a rage. Ah ! if the kings had 
 so willed, — if they had shown themselves less defiant ! 
 And, as Fr^derique waved her sunshade doubtfully, he 
 continued, — 
 
 " Yes : I know very well. The people frighten you ; but 
 you do not love them, or rather you do not know them. 
 Look around you, your Majesty, in these paths and under 
 these trees. The people who are walking and amusing
 
 r64 KTNGS /N EXILE. 
 
 themselves here are from the most terrible faubourg in 
 Paris, through whose unpaved streets flows the tide of 
 revolutions. They all look so simple, good, natural, and 
 innocent ; and how they enjoy the delights of a day of 
 rest in a bright season ! " 
 
 From the broad mall through whicli the landau was 
 slowly passing, one saw, indeed, among the shrubbery, 
 which was still bare of leaves, though the ground was blue 
 with early wild hyacinths, breakfasts spread out on the 
 grass dotted with white plates ; baskets with gaping 
 covers ; stout bottles from the wine-merchants' shops, like 
 so many great bullfinches hiding in the young vegeta- 
 tion ; shawls and blouses hung on the branches, the women 
 in waists and the men in shirt-sleeves, — some reading, 
 some taking naps, others making elaborate carving on the 
 trunks of trees ; bright glades, where one saw bits of 
 some cheap stuff tossed about in a game of shuttlecock, 
 and blind-man's-buff, or some quadrille improvised to the 
 music of an invisible band borne on the wind at intervals. 
 There were children without number, making a link be- 
 t\veen the company at table and the players, running from 
 one family to another, leaping and shouting, filling the 
 whole wood with a warbling like that of swallows ; and 
 their endless flitting to and fro had also the same swift, 
 capricious, shadowy fluttering in the sunlit branches. As 
 a contrast to the Bois de Boulogne, swept, raked, pro- 
 tected by its little rustic bars, this wood of Vincennes, 
 with every avenue free, seemed well suited for the holiday 
 sports of a people, with its green grass trodden down, its 
 sturdy trees bent low, as if nature here were more gener- 
 ous and more lively. 
 
 All at once, at the turn of the path, the sudden flood 
 of air and light from the lake, breaking tlirough the foliage
 
 yOYS OF THE PEOPLE. 1 65 
 
 of the wood around its turf-covered banks, drew from the 
 loyal child a cr}' oi enthusiasm. It was superb, like the 
 sea suddenly disclosed to view after the labyrinth of bare 
 rocks of a village in Brittany, the tide flowing to the foot 
 of the nearest lane. Sailing-barks, filled with boatmen in 
 bright colors of blue and red, were literally ploughing the 
 lake ; while the silvery strokes of oars mingled their foamy 
 plashing with the sparkling play of little waves. 
 
 Ducks in line were swimming along, uttering their 
 sharp cries ; and swans, with their more sweeping, grace- 
 ful motion, were following the long curve along the bor- 
 ders, their light wings ruffled by the breeze ; while far in 
 the background, screened by the green curtain of an 
 island, the band sent joyous strains through the wood, to 
 which the surface of the lake served as a sounding-board. 
 In addition to all this, there was a lively commotion, — 
 the stir of wind and wave, the flapping of streamers, the 
 calls of boatmen, and the picture formed by people seated 
 on the slopes, of children playing, and of two noisy little 
 cafes built close to the water, with a plank of resonant 
 wood for a bridge. In the open space beneath the cafes 
 were bathing and sailing boats. There were but few 
 carriages on the borders of the lake ; but from time to 
 time they saw a depot-cab carrying home a couple the 
 day after their wedding in the suburbs, and who were to 
 be recognized by the new overcoats and the gayly figured 
 shawls ; and business jaunting-cars with their signs in 
 gold letters, and laden with stout ladies with flower- 
 bedecked hats, who looked with pity on the pedestrians 
 crowding the paths. But most worthy of observation 
 were the little baby-carriages, the first domestic luxury 
 of a workman, those moving cradles, in which little 
 lieads framed in ruched caps nod happily and fall asleep
 
 1 66 KINGS TN- EX TLB. 
 
 while watching the interlacing of the branches against the 
 blue sky. 
 
 During this promenade of little people, the carriage 
 with lUyrian arms, harness, and livery, excited considerable 
 astonishment wherever it passed, Fr(^d(^rique having never 
 come there excepliiig on week-days. The people were 
 elbowing each other about ; and the bands of workmen 
 with their families, who were silent and felt stiff and 
 restrained in their best clothes, moved aside at the sound 
 of wheels, then turned round, and did not conceal their 
 enthusiastic admiration of the queen's haughty beauty 
 and the aristocratic appearance of little Zara. 
 
 Now and then a little bold face would pop out from 
 the hedge, and a voice would cry out, — 
 
 "Good morning, Madame ! " 
 
 Was it Elys^e's words, the splendid weather, or the 
 joyousness which extended even to the distant horizon, 
 which — the factories being idle — was clear as in the 
 real country, or was it this cordial greeting, which made 
 Fr^d^rique feel a kind of sympathy for this Sunday of the 
 workmen, who were almost all touchingly neat, consider- 
 ing their hard labor and rare leisure ? 
 
 As for Zara, he could not keep still, but fairly shook 
 with delight, and would have liked to leave the carriage, 
 and roll on the lawns and sail in the boats with the other 
 children. 
 
 Soon the landau reached paths that were less noisy, 
 where people were reading and sleeping on benches, and 
 couples were walking close beside each other through the 
 groves. There was mystery here in the shade, with the 
 air cooled by fountains, and with the real woody scents 
 of the forest, and with birds chirping in the branches. 
 But, as they left the lake where it was noisiest behind
 
 yOYS OF THE PEOPLE. 167 
 
 them, the echo of another gay party reached their ears 
 distinctly. Shots, the rattling of money-boxes and tam- 
 bourines, the sound of trumpets and ringing of bells, were 
 heard apart from a wave of sound which suddenly rolled 
 towards them like a cloud of smoke over the sun. 
 
 " What is the matter? What is it we hear? " asked the 
 little prince. 
 
 " The Gingerbread Fair, your Highness," said the old 
 coachman, turning round on his seat ; and, as the queen 
 consented to approach the festive scene, the carriage, 
 which was now out of the park, wound through a number 
 of lanes and partly built roads, where new houses, six 
 stories high, rose by the side of wretched hovels, and 
 between a gutter from the stable and a market-garden. 
 Everywhere were small pleasure-gardens, with arbors 
 and little tables, and the posts of a swing all, painted the 
 same ugly green. Streams of people poured out from 
 them, and there was a crowd of soMiers, — the shakos 
 of artillery-men, the white gloves. They made but little 
 noise, and were listening to the harpist and violinist 
 walking around, and who, having permission to play 
 between the tables, were rattling off an air from " Favo- 
 rita " or " Trovatore ; " for this mocking people of Paris 
 adores sentimental music, and bestows its money freely 
 when amused. 
 
 Suddenly the landau stops. Carriages go no farther 
 than the entrance to this broad court-yard of Vincennes, 
 along which the fair-grounds extend, having for a back- 
 ground, in the direction of Paris, the two columns of the 
 Gate du Trone, which rise in the dusty atmosphere of the 
 suburbs. The sight of a bustling crowd beyond, in a real 
 street of immense booths, made Zara's eyes kindle with 
 such eager, childlike curiosity, that the queen proposed
 
 1 68 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 to alight. This desire of the proud Frdd^rique to go on 
 foot through the dust of a Sunday crowd was so extraor- 
 dinary, that Elysee was surprised, and hesitated. 
 
 "There is danger, then?" said the queen. 
 
 " Oh ! not the least, Madame. Only, if we go on the 
 fair-grounds, it is better that no one should accompany 
 us. The livery would cause too much remark." 
 
 At the cjuccn's orders, the tall footman, who was about 
 to follow them, resumed his place on the box ; and they 
 agreed that the carriage should wait. They did not, 
 however, intend to go all around the fair-grounds, but 
 only walk a few steps in front of the first booths. 
 
 At the entrance there were little movable benches, a 
 table covered with a white napkin, and firing at rabbits, 
 and roundabouts. The people passed by disdainfully, 
 without stopping. Then there was something being fried 
 in the open air, which gave out a choking odor of burnt 
 grease ; and rosy flames burst forth, between which and 
 piles of sugared fritters kitchen-boys dressed in white 
 were moving busily two and fro. And the maker of 
 marshmallow-paste was pulling and twisting into great 
 rings the white mass fragrant with almond. The little 
 prince looked on with amazement. It was so new to 
 him, who, caged like a canary, had been brought up in 
 the lofty rooms of a castle, enclosed within the gilded 
 fence of a park ; and who had grown up amid scenes of 
 terror and distrust, walking out only when accompanied, 
 and never seeing the people, except from a balcony, or a 
 carriage surrounded with guards. 
 
 At first he felt frightened, and walked close to his 
 mother, holding her hand tightly ; but gradually he be- 
 came excited by the noise, nnd the odors, and the grind- 
 ing of the organs. To judge by the manner in which he
 
 JOYS OF THE PEOPLE. 1 69 
 
 pulled Fr^d^riqu-j along, he seemed to have a mad desire 
 to run, and was in a conflict between the desire to stop 
 everywhere and that of going ahead ; on and on, — yon- 
 der, where the noise was loudest and the crowd was 
 largest. Thus, without perceiving it, they were farther 
 away from the starting-point, as unconscious of it as the 
 swimmer whom the water floats along, and the more 
 easily because no one remarked them ; because, among 
 all those flashy toilets, the queen's graceful costume of 
 several tawny shades — dress, cloak, and hat to match — 
 passed unnoticed, as the quiet elegance of Zara, with 
 large starched collar, short jacket, and bare calves, merely 
 caused several good women to say, " He is English." He 
 walked between his mother and Elys^e, who smiled to 
 each other at his joy. 
 
 " O Mother ! see that ! Monsieur Elys^e, what are 
 they doing over there ? Let us go and see." And, from 
 one end of the avenue to the other, they went in curious 
 zigzags deeper into the thickening crowd, following its 
 swaying motion. 
 
 " Suppose we return," proposes Elys^e ; but the child 
 is like one intoxicated. He entreats, and pulls his 
 mother's hand ; and she is so happy at seeing her little 
 sleepy one roused from his torpor, and she herself is so 
 excited by the fermentation of the people, that they go on 
 farther and farther. The day becomes hotter, as if the 
 sun on going down were gathering stormy mists at the 
 end of its beams ; and, as the sky changes, the fete with 
 its thousand colors assumes a fairy-like aspect. It is the 
 hour for parade. All the members of the circus and 
 the people in the booths are out under the banners of 
 the entrance, in front of the canvas signs, which swell 
 with the wind, making the large animals, acrobats, and 
 gymnasts that are painted on them seem alive.
 
 17© A'/NGS IN EX/r.E. 
 
 This is the exhibiiion of the great military piece, a dis- 
 play of Charles IX. and Louis XV. costumes, arquebuses, 
 guns, wigs, and plumes mingled together, with the " Mar- 
 seillaise " played by the brass band. Opposite, colts be- 
 longing to a circus, and guided by white reins, like a 
 bride's horses, perform some masterly steps on the plat- 
 forms, count with their hoofs, and bow from the chest ; 
 and on one side the real mountebank's booth exhibits its 
 clown in a checked vest, its little Aztecs in their tights, 
 and a tall girl with sunburnt face, dressed in pink like a 
 ballet-dancer, and who tosses gold and silver balls, bot- 
 tles, and knives, their shining, clinking, metal blades 
 crossing above her hair, which is piled up and fastened 
 with glass pins. 
 
 The little prince is rapt in admiration of this beauti- 
 ful person, till a queen — a real queen of fairy-tales, with a 
 brilliant diadem, and a short tunic of silvery gauze, and 
 feet crossed one over the other — appears before him lean- 
 ing over the balustrade. 
 
 He would never have wearied of looking at her, had 
 not the band diverted him, — an extraordinary band, 
 composed neither of French guards nor acrobats in pink 
 tights, but of real men of the world. A gentleman with 
 short whiskers, shining pate, and soft boots, deigned to 
 play the comet; while a lady, — a real lady, having a 
 somewhat solemn appearance like Madame de Silvis, — in 
 a silk mantle, and hat trimmed with waving flowers, was 
 looking to the right and left, shaking a big money-box, 
 and jerking out her arms till the chenille fringe of her 
 mantle was tossed up into the roses on her hat. 
 
 Who could tell? Perhaps she, too, was a member of 
 some royal family whom misfortune had befallen. 
 
 But the fair-ground presented many other astonishing
 
 JOYS OF THE PEOPLE. 17I 
 
 sights. In an endless but continually varied panorama 
 were bears dancing; negroes wearing only a strip of 
 linen ; men and women devils in close purple skull-caps ; 
 wrestlers struggling ; famous tumblers with one fist on 
 their hips, and balancing above the crowd the tights des- 
 tined for the amateur ; a fencing-mistress in a cuirass 
 waist, and red stockings with gold coins, her face cov- 
 ered with a mask, and hands in leather gauntlet-gloves 
 like those of a jester ; a man in black velvet, who re- 
 sembled Columbus or Copernicus, describing magic 
 circles with a diamond-headed whip ; while from behind 
 the platform there arose a dead odor of hide and the 
 stable, and one heard the roar of the wild beasts in the 
 Garel menagerie. All these living curiosities were mingled 
 with those which were only represented by paintings, — 
 female giants in ball-dress, with bare shoulders, and their 
 arms from the short sleeve to the closely buttoned glove 
 in pink eider-down ; clairvoyants looking into the future 
 as they sat with bandaged eyes, and near them a black- 
 bearded doctor; monsters, freaks of nature, and every 
 kind of eccentricity and queer-looking object, which 
 were sometimes curtained only by two large sheets held 
 by a cord, with the money-box for the proceeds on a 
 chair. 
 
 And everywhere, at every step, was to be seen the 
 king of the fefe, — gingerbread of every shape and ap- 
 pearance, that was found in stores draped with red and 
 fringed with gold. It was covered with satin figured 
 paper, tied with favors, and decorated with sugar-work 
 and roasted almonds. It was in the form of men, flat, 
 and of a grotesque appearance, and represented Parisian 
 celebrities, Amanda's lover, Prince Queue de Poule with 
 his inseparable Rigolo. The gingerbread, which exhaled 
 12
 
 172 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 a pleasant fragrance ot honey and cooked fruits, was car- 
 ried in baskets and on portable stands through the slowly 
 moving crowd, which was closely packed, and among 
 which progression was becoming very difficult. It was 
 impossible at present to retrace one's steps. It was ne- 
 cessary to follow thfs despotic current, to move uncon- 
 sciously, puslied forward and backward towards this 
 booth, then to the other ; for the living wave which presses 
 to the centre of the festivities tries to make its way out at 
 the sides where there is not a possibility of finding an 
 opening. There are bursts of laughter, and jokes are 
 made during this continual and unavoidable elbowing. 
 
 The queen has never seen the people so near. With 
 their breath almost in her face, and feeling the rough 
 contact of their strong shoulders, she is astonished at 
 feeling neither disgust nor terror, and advances with the 
 others with the hesitating step one takes in a crowd whose 
 solemn tread seems like that of an advancing host when 
 there are no carriages. 
 
 The good humor of all these people, the exuberant 
 gayety of her son, and the quantities of baby-carriages 
 continuing to wind about in the thickest of the crowd, 
 re-assure her. 
 
 "Don't push! don't you see there is a baby ? " — not 
 one, but ten, twenty, hundreds of children borne on the 
 mothers' bosoms and on the fathers' backs. And Fr^de- 
 rique gives an amiable smile when she sees pass one of 
 these little children of the people of about the same age 
 as her son. Elysee begins to feel anxious. He knows 
 what a crowd is, calm as it may be in appearance, and 
 the danger of its ebb and flow. If one of those big 
 clouds above them should burst into rain, what a panic 
 and confusion there would be ! And his imagination,
 
 yOYS OF THE PEOPLE. 173 
 
 which was always lively, pictured the scene, — the horrible 
 stifling, the crowding close together, and such crushes as 
 are seen in the Place Louis XV., that formidable rushing 
 of a whole people to the centre of an overcrowded Paris, 
 and but two steps from large deserted avenues that could 
 not be reached. 
 
 The little prince feels very warm between his tutor and 
 his mother, who hold him up and protect him. He 
 complains of not being able to see any thing. Then, like 
 the workmen around him, Elysee lifts him, and carries him 
 on his shoulder : and the little fellow bursts into new ex- 
 clamations of delight ; for from that height the view of the 
 scene is splendid. Against a sunset sky traversed by 
 alternate streams of light and floating shadow, far away in 
 the dim perspective between two columns of a gate, flutter 
 banners and bright colors and the canvas in front of the 
 booths. The light wheels of the great fandangoes raise 
 one by one the small cars filled with people ; and an im- 
 mense merry-go-round with three tiers, varnished and col- 
 ored like a plaything, turns mechanically with its fantastic 
 lions, leopards, and tarasques, on which the children are 
 as stiff in their motions as little jumping-jacks. Nearer 
 clusters of red balloons are flying in the air ; and innumer- 
 able windmills of yellow paper are revolving like suns in 
 fireworks, and, rising above the crowd, are quantities of 
 little heads with hair light as smoke, like Zara's. The rays 
 of the setting sun, now paling, threw on the clouds reflec- 
 tions of brilliant color, lighting and darkening objects in 
 turn, and giving still greater movement to the perspective. 
 They fall on a harlequin and a colombine, two frisking 
 white spots, — one opposite the other in a pantomime in 
 chalk on the dark background of a booth \ yonder a tall 
 bent fellow with the pointed hat of a Greek shepherd is
 
 174 KTNGS IN EXILE. 
 
 making motions as if he were pushing the dark stream of 
 people on the steps of his booth inside, as one shovels 
 into an oven. This fellow keeps his mouth wide open ; 
 but, though he shouts and roars, no one can hear him 
 any more than they can hear a bell which is furiously rung 
 in the corner of a platform, or the firing of a gun just 
 loaded and discharged. Every separate sound is lost in 
 the general uproar of elements made up of all kinds of 
 discords, — rattles and reed-pipes, gongs, tambourines, 
 speaking-trumpets, the roaring of wild beasts, organs from 
 Barbary, and whistling of steamboats. Each tried to see 
 who could use the noisiest instrument the longest to 
 attract the crowd, as one captures bees by noise ; and from 
 the tilts and swings came shrill screams, while every ten 
 minutes the whistle of steam-cars passing on a level with 
 the fair-grounds rose above this mad din. 
 
 Suddenly fatigue, and the stifling air among the crowd, 
 and the dazzling sun which for five hours has been send- 
 ing down hot, oblique rays, in which many brilliant, flash- 
 ing things have been revolving, make the queen giddy ; 
 and, overcome, she stops. She has only time to seize 
 Elys^e's arm to save herself from falling ; and, while she 
 supports herself and clings to him, erect and pale, she 
 murmurs in a very low voice, " Nothing : it is nothing." 
 But her head, in which the nerves were painfully throbbing, 
 and her whole body, lose sensation for a moment. " Oh, 
 never will this moment be forgotten ! " thought Elysee. 
 
 But it is over. Fred^rique is strong now. A breath of 
 fresh air on her forehead has revived her ; yet she does 
 not let go of her protector's arm : and the footsteps of 
 his queen keeping pace with his, and the warm, gloved 
 hand on his arm, cause him inexpressible emotion. The 
 danger, the crowd, Paris, and the fete are forgotten : he
 
 yOVS OF THE PEOPLE. 175 
 
 is in the impossible country where dreams are realized in 
 all their magic and extravagance. 
 
 Lost in the multitude, he walks without hearing or see- 
 ing it, borne on as on a cloud enveloping him to the eyes, 
 and carried insensibly out of the avenue. And there he 
 comes back to earth, and becomes conscious of what is 
 around him. The queen's carriage is far away : there is 
 no means of reaching it. They must walk to the Rue 
 Herbillon, following wide paths in the fading light and 
 the streets that were lined with inns full of people, and 
 merry-makers passing by. It is a reale scapade ; but none 
 of them think of their strange manner of returning. The 
 little Zara keeps up a continual chatter like all children 
 after a fete, eager to express through their little mouths 
 the impressions and ideas received through their eyes. 
 
 Elysee and the queen remained silent. He, still trem- 
 bling, tried to recall and again to banish the memory of 
 the deUcious and thrilling moment which revealed to him 
 the secret, the sad secret, of his life. Fr^derique is 
 thinking of all the strange new things she has seen. For 
 the first time she has felt the beating of the people's 
 heart ; she has leaned her head on the lion's shoulder, 
 and has received a strong, sweet impression, like a loving, 
 protecting clasp of the arms.
 
 176 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE GREAT SCHEME. 
 
 The door was shut in a brusque, lordly manner, send- 
 ing a gust of wind from one end of the agency to the 
 other, causing a flutter among blue veils, the little feath- 
 ers in travelling hats, mackintoshes, and the bills held 
 between the clerks' fingers. Hands were extended, and 
 heads bowed. J. Tom Levis had just entered. He cast 
 a smile around, gave two or three orders to the book- 
 keeper, stayed only long enough to ask, in an extraordi- 
 narily exultant tone, if they had " sent off the package to 
 his Highness the Prince of Wales," and was already in 
 his office. The clerks winked to each other that their 
 employer was in a good humor. It was very evident that 
 something new had happened. The quiet Sephora her- 
 self, behind the railing of her desk, understood this, and 
 said to Tom, in a low voice, when he entered, — 
 
 " What has happened ? " 
 
 " Great things," answered Tom, with a broad, silent 
 laugh, and roUing his eyes around, as was his way on 
 great occasions. 
 
 " Come ! " he beckoned to his wife. And both de- 
 scended the fifteen steep, narrow steps, edged with cop- 
 per, and which led to a small boudoir on the lower fl:oor, 
 which was very daintily carpeted and hung with drapery, 
 and contained a lounge and dressing-table, and was al- 
 ways lighted by gas ; the little port-hole, through which
 
 THE GREAT SCHEME. 1 77 
 
 came the daylight from the Rue Royale, being closed by 
 ground glass as thick as horn. From here one gained 
 entrance to the cellars and yard, which enabled Tom to 
 go in and out, without being seen, to avoid bores and 
 creditors, who are called, in Parisian slang, "paves ;^^ that 
 is to say, people or things who obstruct circulation. In 
 business as complicated as that of the agency, such ruses 
 are indispensable ; for life otherwise would be wasted in 
 quarrels and contests. 
 
 The oldest of Tom's clerks — men who had served him 
 for five or six months — had never descended into this 
 mysterious basement, which Sephora alone had the right 
 to visit. It was the agent's private retreat, where he met 
 his inner self and his conscience ; the cocoon from which 
 he emerged transformed ; a sort of comedian's box which, 
 moreover, the boudoir, with a glare of light from the 
 gas-burners falling on the marble, the furbelowed drapery 
 of the toilet-table, and the singular comic performances 
 in which J. Tom Levis was indulging at this moment, 
 very much resembled just now. With one turn of the 
 hand he pulled off his long frock coat, and flung it away ; 
 then one waistcoat, then another, — the variegated ones of 
 a circus-performer. He next unwound the ten metres 
 of white muslin which formed his cravat, the bands of 
 flannel one above the other around his waist ; and from 
 this majestic and apoplectic rotundity, which was seen 
 flying about Paris in the first and only cab known at that 
 time, there emerged all at once, with an " Ot/ff " of satis- 
 faction, a little, lean, nervous man, not bigger than an 
 unwound reel, — a frightful Paris rough, fifty years old, 
 who, one would hav© said, had been saved from a fire 
 or drawn from a lime-kiln, with the wrinkles, seams, and 
 scars of one who had been scalded, yet with a young
 
 lyS KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 and boyish, air like the old leaders of '48, — the real 
 Tom Levis ; that is to say, Narcissus Poitou, the son of a 
 joiner in the Rue de TOrillon. 
 
 Having grown up among the chips from his father's 
 bench till he was ten years old, and from ten to fifteen 
 having been brought up by the Mutuelle and in the 
 street, that incomparable school in the open air. Nar- 
 cissus in his earliest years felt a horror of the people and 
 manual trades ; while at the same time there was devel- 
 oped in him a consuming imagination, which the Parisian 
 gutter, with all the heterogeneous matter it collects, fed 
 better than a voyage across the ocean. 
 
 While quite a child, he made plans and business-pro- 
 jects. And later this castle-building prevented him from 
 concentrating his powers and making them productive. 
 He travelled, and took up a thousand trades, — a miner 
 in Australia, a squatter in America, a comedian in Bata- 
 via, a bar-tender in Bruxelles. After having contracted 
 debts on both sides of the water, and being stripped by 
 creditors in the four comers of the universe, he estab- 
 lished himself as a business-agent in London, where he 
 lived quite a long time, and where he might have suc- 
 ceeded had it not been for his terrible, insatiable imagi- 
 nation, always seeking something new, — the imagination 
 of a voluptuary ever anticipating the next pleasure, only 
 to be thrown back on the dreary British poverty. This 
 time he rolled very low, and was picked up at night in 
 Hyde Park as he poached the swans in the pond. A 
 few months of prison completed his disgust for free 
 England ; and, returning in a shipwrecked condition, he 
 was stranded on the Parisian sidewalk which he started 
 from. It was another fantastic caprice, joined to his 
 instincts of a showman and comedian, which led him to
 
 THE GREAT SCHEME. 1 79 
 
 get himself naturalized as an Englishman in the very 
 centre of Paris, which was easy for him on account of 
 his knowledge of the manners, tongue, and Anglo-Saxon 
 ways. This came to him at once, by instinct, in his first 
 business undertaking, — in his first "great hit" as an 
 agent. 
 
 "Whom shall I announce?" he was insolently asked 
 by a tall rascal in livery. 
 
 Poitou looked so shabby and so sad in the vast ante- 
 room, and trembled so lest he be sent away before he 
 could be heard, that he felt the need of rising above all 
 this by something abnormal and foreign. 
 
 " Adh/ announce Sir Tom Levis," he said. 
 
 And he immediately felt self-possessed under this name 
 improvised on the spur of the moment, and, in this bor- 
 rowed nationality, amused himself by perfecting peculiari- 
 ties and eccentricities and, while watching his accent and 
 bearing, very quickly corrected his exuberant dash, which 
 enabled him to invent traps, while he was apparently seek- 
 ing his words. 
 
 It was very singular, that, of the numberless combina- 
 tions of his brain, — which was full of discoveries, — this, 
 the least sought of all, succeeded the best. 
 
 He owed Sephora's acquaintance to it. She was then 
 keeping a kind of " family hotel " in the Champs Elys^es, 
 — a dainty lodging-house, three stories high, with pink 
 curtains, and a little porch on the Avenue d'Antin, between 
 two broad asphalt walks enlivened with verdure and 
 flowers. The mistress of the house, who was always 
 dressed, sat at a window on the first floor, and presented to 
 the beholder her calm, di\ine profile bowed over some 
 piece of work or her account-book. Within was a 
 strangely foreign society — clowns, bookmakers, circus-
 
 l8o AVA'GS IN I XILE. 
 
 riders, horse-dealers, and all the Anglo-American Bohemia, 
 — the worst of all, — the scum of mining-districts and 
 gambling-towns. The female servants were recruited from 
 the cjuadrilles at the Mabille, from which the violins could 
 be plainly heard on summer evenings, mingled with the 
 noise of family disputes, and the rattling of counters and 
 louis ; for they played heavily after dinner. 
 
 If, perchance, some honest family from abroad, de- 
 ceived by the deceitful facade, came to take up their 
 quarters at Sephora's, the strange appearance of the 
 guests, and the tone of their conversation, very quickly 
 drove them away in horror before their trunks were 
 hardly unpacked. Among all these adventurers and spec- 
 ulators. Master Poitou — or rather Tom Levis, the little 
 tenant lodging under the eaves — very quickly obtained a 
 situation by his gayety, his versatility, and his experience 
 in every kind of business. He invested the servants' 
 money, and through them gained the mistress's confi- 
 dence. And how could he but have it with his good, 
 open, smiling face, and that indefatigable life and spirit 
 which made him a valuable guest at the table d'hote, warm- 
 ing up a patron, baiting a trap for him, the moving spirit 
 in bets and consummations ? Cold and distant to every 
 one, the beautiful hostess of the family was free only 
 with Monsieur Tom. Often in the afternoon, when he 
 went out or came in, he stopped in the little office of the 
 hotel, which was very neat, and all mirrors and sparkle. 
 Sephora told him her business-affairs, showed him her 
 jewels and her books, consulted him about the day's bill 
 of fare, or the care necessary to give a large, flowering, 
 horn-shaped arum, drinking up the water from a Minton 
 china pot. They laughed together over love-letters and 
 proposals of every kind that she received ; for hers was a
 
 THE GREA T SCHEME. l8l 
 
 beauty that sentiment did not alter. Being without pas- 
 sion, she preserved her sangfroid everywhere and always, 
 and treated love as a business. It is said that it is only 
 the first lover who counts ; that of Sephora — the sexa- 
 genarian chosen by her father — froze her blood forever, 
 and perverted love. She saw in it only money, and also 
 intrigue, nises, and trade ; this admirable creature hav- 
 ing been bom in the bric-a-brac shop, and only for the 
 bric-a-brac shop. Gradually a tie was formed between 
 her and Tom, — a friendship like that of an uncle to a 
 ward. He advised and guided her, and always with a 
 skill and fertility of imagination which charmed her bal- 
 anced, methodical nature, in which Jewish fatalism was 
 mingled with the heavy Flemish temperament. She had 
 never planned or imagined any thing, living only in the 
 present moment ; and Tom's brain — that piece of fire- 
 works that was always lighted — could but dazzle her. 
 What completed it was to hear her boarder say one even- 
 ing, as he took his key fi-om the desk, after talking bar- 
 barous French in the most comical manner, — 
 " And, you must know, I'm no EngHshman at all." 
 From that day she became enamoured ; or rather — for 
 sentiments are of no value unless labelled — she went 
 crazy over him, as a woman of the world is crazy about 
 the comedian, whom, away from the footlights, paint, and 
 his stage-dress, she alone knows such as he is, and not 
 what he appears to others. Love always demands to be 
 privileged. Then both came from the same Parisian gut- 
 ter : it had soiled the hem of Sephora's petticoats, and 
 Narcissus had rolled in it ; but they both preserved the 
 stains of such contact, and their low tastes. The stamp 
 of the faubourg, and the dissolute lines on the distorted 
 face of the rough, which helped him in his mimicry, and
 
 1 82 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 which sometimes Hfted a corner of llie mask from the face 
 of the EngHshman, Sephora showed in sudden expressions 
 in the bibhcal Hnes of her face, and in the scornful, com- 
 mon laugh, which rang out from a mouth resembling that 
 of Salom^. This singular love of the beauty and the 
 beast increased as the woman entered more into the life 
 of the showman, and into the confidence of his plots and 
 monkey tricks, — from the invention of the cab to that of 
 the multiple waistcoats, by the aid of which Tom Levis, 
 not being able to grow tall, tried at least to appear majes- 
 tic ; and also as she associated herself to a life full of 
 chance, excitement, bold projects, and dreams, and de- 
 voted to both grand and small affairs. 
 
 This monkey-man had so much power, that, after a ten- 
 years' lawful home with him, he still amused and charmed 
 her as at the first time they met. One would have been 
 convinced of this at seeing her on this day lying back 
 on the lounge of the little salon, rolling around con- 
 vulsed with laughter, while saying with an ecstatic, admir- 
 ing air, — 
 
 "Isn't he bright? isn't he bright?" while Tom, in 
 colored tights and knitted hose, and reduced to his most 
 sober, bald, angular, bony appearance, was frisking about 
 in the maddest of jigs. 
 
 When both were weary, — she of laughing, and he of 
 dancing the jig, — he threw himself on the lounge, brought 
 his monkeyfied face close to that angelic head, and, blow- 
 ing his exultant words into her face, said, — 
 
 " The Sprichts are done for ! The Sprichts are put 
 out of the way ! I have found the way to make my 
 strike." 
 
 " Are you certain ? Who is it ? " 
 
 At the name he gave, Sephora made up a pretty, scorn- 
 ful little face.
 
 THE GREAT SCHEME, 1 83 
 
 "What ! that great canary ! But he has not a sou 
 now. We have stripped, shaved, and shorn him, — he and 
 his Lion of Illyria. There isn't that much of wool on his 
 back." 
 
 " Don't run down the Lion of Illyria, my girl : the skin 
 alone is worth two hundred millions," said Tom, recover- 
 ing his usual coolness. 
 
 The woman's eyes glowed. He repeated, emphasiz- 
 ing every syllable, — 
 
 " Two hundred millions ! " 
 
 Then coolly and clearly he explained the scheme to her. 
 Christian II. must be made to accept the proposals of 
 the Diet, and give up his rights to the crown for the large 
 price that was offered him. Indeed, what was it? A 
 signature to be given — no more. 
 
 Christian of himself would have consented long ago ; 
 but the influence around him — that of the queen in par- 
 ticular — prevented him from signing that renunciation. 
 But he must come to it some day or other. There was 
 no longer a sou in the house. They owed every one in 
 Saint Mand^, — the butcher, the grain-dealer ; for, in spite 
 of the poverty of the masters, there were still horses in 
 the stable, and the house was fitted up and the table laid 
 with every appearance of luxury, although there were 
 serious privations in the background. 
 
 The royal linen, marked with the crown, was becoming 
 full of holes in the press ; and they were not replacing it. 
 The stables were empty ; the largest pieces of silver were 
 pawned ; and the servants, of whom there were not 
 enough, were often kept waiting for their wages for 
 months. All these details Tom had from Lebeau, the 
 valet-de-chambre, who also told him about the two hun- 
 dred millions proposed by the Diet of Laybach, and the
 
 1 84 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 scene which took place when the proposition was re- 
 ceived. 
 
 Since the king knew that there were two hundred mil- 
 lions for him close at hand, obtainable by a penful of 
 ink, he was no longer the same man : he neither laughed 
 nor spoke, and retained this one fixed idea like a neural- 
 gic spot on the same side of the forehead. He was 
 surly as a bear, and gave heavy sighs without speaking a 
 word. But nothing was changed in his household ser- 
 vice. The secretary, valet-de-chambir, coachman, and 
 footmen remained ; and there was the same costly luxury 
 in furnishing and style. Fr^d^rique, in her wounded 
 pride, believing she could hide her distress by her hau- 
 teur, would never have permitted the king to be deprived 
 of any thing. When he happened to take his meals at 
 the Rue Herbillon, the table must be luxuriously set. 
 What was wanting, however, and what she could not fur- 
 nish, was pocket-money for the club, play, and young 
 women. Evidently this would make the king yield. 
 Some fine morning, after late hours spent at a game of 
 baccarat and bouillotte, not being able to pay and unwill- 
 ing to owe, — think of Christian of Illyria being pub- 
 lished at the Royal Club ! — he would take his best pen, 
 and with one stroke sign his abdication as a monarch. 
 The thing would have already happened if old Rosen, 
 secretly, and in spite of being forbidden by Fr^derique, 
 had not begun to pay his Majesty's debts again. So 
 the plan was to make him exceed his small current 
 debts, and draw him into real expenses, into various 
 kinds of engagements, which would exceed the old duke's 
 resources. This required considerable money to be ad- 
 vanced. 
 
 " But," said Tom Levis, " it is such a splendid opera-
 
 THE GREAT SCHEME. 185 
 
 tion, that funds will not be lacking. The best thing to do 
 would be to speak to your father, and work it in "the 
 family. Only what bothers me is the mainspring, — the 
 woman." 
 
 " What woman? " asked Sephora, opening her innocent 
 eyes very wide. 
 
 "The one who will put the halter round the king's 
 neck. We must have some one who will steadily eat into 
 his income, — a serious girl with a sound stomach, who 
 will snatch at the big pieces at once." 
 
 "Amy F^rat, perhaps." 
 
 " No, no ! worn out, — a thousand times worn out ; 
 and, besides, not serious enough. She would feast and 
 sing, and have a good time like young persons generally, 
 but is not the woman to fritter away her little million a 
 month quietly, without appearing to touch it, keeping 
 people waiting for pay, and buying things at retail by the 
 square centimetre, which is much dearer than to buy a 
 piece of land in the Rue de la Paix." 
 
 " Oh ! I see very well how the thing must be man- 
 aged," said Sephora dreamily. "But who will do it?" 
 
 "Ah ! that is it: who?" 
 
 And the smile they exchanged was equivalent to a 
 compact. 
 
 " Go on with it, since' you have begun." 
 
 "What ! do you know? " 
 
 " Do I not see his game when he looks at you, and 
 plants himself before your desk as soon as he thinks I 
 have gone out? Besides, he makes no mystery of it, but 
 tells his love to whomever will hear it. He has even 
 written it down, and put his signature against it in the 
 book at the club." 
 
 On learning the story of the bet, the quiet Sephora 
 became roused.
 
 iS6 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 " Ah, truly ! Two thousand louis that he would win 
 me, indeed ! ITiat is too much." And, saying this, she 
 rose, walked about a little to shake off her anger ; then, 
 returning to her husband, continued : — 
 
 "You know, Tom, for more than three months this 
 great booby has been hanging round my chair. Well, 
 listen : not even that." 
 
 A grating sound was heard, as though a stout little claw 
 were being snapped at by a tooth ready to bite. 
 
 She told the truth. Since the king had pursued her, he 
 had not succeeded further than to touch the end of her 
 fingers, to bite her pen-handles after her, and get intox- 
 icated by the touch of her dress. Such a thing had never 
 happened to this Prince Charming before, spoiled as he 
 was by women, besieged by entreating smiles and per- 
 fumed letters. His pretty, curly head, which bore the 
 impress of a crown, the heroic legend which the queen 
 wisely proclaimed, and, above all, the bewildering perfume 
 which surrounds worshipped beings, brought him real 
 success in the faubourg. More than one young woman 
 could have shown a ouistiti from the royal cage, wrapped 
 up on a lounge in her aristocratic boudoir ; and in the 
 green-room, in general monarchical and conservative, 
 it would set up a young lady to have the portrait of 
 Christian II. in her album. This man, accustomed to 
 find eyes, lips, and hearts come out to him, and to never 
 cast a glance without seeing it thrill whomsoever it met, 
 had been dancing attendance upon the calmest, coldest 
 nature he had ever seen. She played the model cashier, 
 counted, ciphered, and turned heavy pages, showing her 
 sighing admirer only the velvety roundness of her profile, 
 with the shadow of a smile rising at one comer, and 
 reaching her eyehds.
 
 THE GREAT SCHEME. 1 87 
 
 His capricious Slavonian nature at first caused him to 
 take pleasure in this struggle, and his self-love had part in 
 it also. All the eyes of the Royal Club were directed 
 towards him ; and it ended by becoming a true passion, 
 fed by the void of his unoccupied existence, in which the 
 flame burned without a check. 
 
 He came every day towards five o'clock, — the pleas- 
 antest part of the day in Paris, — the hour for calls, when 
 the pleasure engagements for the evening are made ; and 
 gradually all the young men from the club, who lunched 
 at the agency and hovered around Sephora, respectfully 
 yielded the place to him. This desertion, diminishing 
 the sum of small current affairs, increased the lady's cold- 
 ness ; and, as the Lion from Illyria brought nothing to her, 
 she began to let Christian feel that he bored her, — that 
 he monopolized rather too royally the corner of the rail- 
 ing she left open ; when all at once — the next day after 
 her conversation with Tom — all this changed. 
 
 " Your Majesty was seen last evening at the Fantai- 
 sies?" 
 
 At this question, asked with an anxious, sad look. 
 Christian H. felt deliciously moved. 
 
 " It is a fact. I was there." 
 
 "Not alone?" 
 
 " But " — 
 
 " Ah ! there are some fortunate women." 
 
 Immediately, as if to lessen the provocation of her 
 words, she added, that for a long time she had been 
 crazy to go to that little theatre "to see that Swedish 
 dancer, you know." But her husband took her no- 
 where. 
 
 Christian proposed to take her. 
 
 " Oh ! you are too well known." 
 
 13
 
 1 88 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 " But we should be out of sight, in the back part of a 
 box." 
 
 They made a rendezvous for the next day, for Tom 
 was to pass the evening out. What a dehghtful escapade ! 
 Sephora in the front of the box, in an artistic, quiet 
 toilet, was radiant with childlike joy at seeing this 
 foreigner dance, who was now the celebrity in Paris, — a 
 Swede, with a thin face and angular gestures, whose 
 brilliant black eyes, filling the whole iris, like rat's eyes, 
 contrasted with her fair hair ; and being dressed in black, 
 as she flew about silently, she resembled a great, frightened 
 bat. 
 
 " Oh, how I enjoy it ! how I enjoy it ! " said Sephora. 
 
 And this king, a high liver, who sat motionless behind 
 her, with a box of bon-bons on his knees, could not 
 remember a more delightful sensation than the touch of 
 her bare arm under the lace, and her sweet, fresh breath, 
 as she turned her face to him. He drove her back to 
 the Saint Lazare station, since she was going to the 
 country, and in the carriage was carried away by impulse, 
 and threw his arms around her, and clasped her to his 
 heart. 
 
 " Oh ! " said she sadly, " you will spoil all my pleas- 
 ure." 
 
 The immense waiting-room on the ground-floor was 
 deserted, and dimly lighted. Both were seated on one 
 bench. Sephora, shivering, was wrapped up in Christian's 
 ample fur. Here she was no longer afraid, and spoke 
 softly into the king's ear. From time to time a clerk 
 would go by swinging his lantern, or some troop of come- 
 dians living in the suburbs, and returning home after the 
 theatre. Among them a mysterious couple, with arms 
 around each other, were walking apart.
 
 THE GREAT SCHEME. i8r 
 
 " How happy they are ! " murmured Sephora. " No 
 ties, no duties. Following the impulse of their hearts. 
 All else is a mockery." 
 
 She knew something about it, alas ! and suddenly, car- 
 ried away as if by impulse, she related her sad life with a 
 sincerity which touched him, telling of the snares and 
 temptations in the streets of Paris for a girl whom her 
 father's avarice made poor, and the gloomy story of her 
 being sold at sixteen, and all being over with her life ; the 
 four years passed with this old man to whom she was only 
 a nurse ; and afterwards, not wishing to go back to father 
 Leeman's shop, the necessity of having a guide and sup- 
 port which made her marry this Tom Levis, a moneyed 
 man. She was a devoted wife, deprived herself of all 
 pleasure, and buried herself alive in the country ; then put 
 herself to work as his clerk, and did not get a thank you, 
 or a favor from this ambitious man, who was full of his 
 affairs, who at the least sign on her part of rebellion, or 
 the least desire to enjoy life, brought up the past, for 
 which she was not responsible. 
 
 "This past," said she, rising, "which brought upon me 
 the shameful outrage of your name on the book of the 
 Royal Club." 
 
 The bell for the departure of the cars brought this lit- 
 tle theatrical effect to a close just at the right point. She 
 moved away with her gliding step, the soft folds of her 
 black dress following her motions, waved a farewell to 
 Christian with her eyes and hand, and left him, amazed 
 and motionless, overcome by what he had just heard. 
 She knew then. But how? Oh, how angry he was with 
 himself for his baseness and bragging ! He passed his 
 night in writing and in asking pardon in French, sown 
 with all the flowers of his national poetry, which compares
 
 igo ICINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 the well-beloved to the timid doves and the rosy fruit of 
 the azarola. 
 
 It was a wonderful invention of Sephora, this reproach 
 about the bet. It gave her full power over the king, 
 and for a long time, and also explained her coldness, 
 and almost hostile reception, and the profit she in- 
 tended to make from it in the furtherance of her plans. 
 Ought not a man to endure every thing from her to 
 whom he has offered such an affront ? Christian became 
 the timid servant, docile under all her caprices, the titled 
 cicisbeo, — known as such to all Paris ; and, though the 
 lady's beauty might be his excuse in the eyes of the world, 
 it was not pleasant to have the husband's friendship and 
 intimacy. 
 
 "My friend Christian II.," Tom Levis would say, 
 drawing up his little figure. He once had a fancy to 
 receive him at Courbevoie, an event which caused 
 Spricht one of those jealous, angry fits which shortened 
 the days of the illustrious dressmaker. The king went 
 over the house and park ; went on board the yacht ; con- 
 sented to have his photograph taken on the doorsteps 
 between the host and hostess, who wished to perpetuate 
 the memory of this never-to-be-forgotten day ; and in the 
 evening, while they were sending off, in honor of his Ma- 
 jesty, fire-works, whose rockets were reflected in the Seine, 
 Sephora, leaning on his arm, said to him, as they walked 
 along the hedges, which were rosy with the color of 
 a Bengal light, — 
 
 " Oh, how I should love you if you were not a king ! " 
 
 It was her first avowal, and very shrewd. All the 
 women till now had adored him as a sovereign, for his 
 glorious title and ancestry. This one really loved him 
 for himself. " If you were not a king." But he was so
 
 THE GREAT SCHEME. 191 
 
 little of one, he would so willingly have sacrificed the frag- 
 ment of dynastic purple which barely covered his 
 shoulders ! 
 
 Another time she explained herself still better. When 
 he was disturbed at finding her pale and weeping, she 
 answered his questions by saying, — 
 
 " I fear that soon we shall not be able to see each 
 other any more." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " My husband has just declared that business was too 
 dull for him to stay in France, and that he must close his 
 store, and go elsewhere." 
 
 " Would he take you ? " 
 
 " Oh, I am only a check to his ambition ! He said to 
 me, ' Come, if you wish.' And I must follow him. What 
 would become of me all alone here? " 
 
 " Cruel woman, am I not here? " 
 
 She looked at him fixedly straight into his eyes. 
 
 "Yes, it is true : you love me. And I also love you. 
 I could be yours without shame. But, no : it is impossi- 
 ble." 
 
 "Impossible?" he asked breathlessly at the glimpse 
 of paradise opened before him. 
 
 "You are too much above Sephora Levis, your Ma- 
 jesty." 
 
 And he replied, with adorable fatuity, — 
 
 " But I will raise you to my position. I will make you 
 a countess or a duchess. It is one of the rights left me ; 
 and we will find a lovers' nest somewhere in Paris, where 
 I will establish you in a manner worthy your rank, and 
 where we will live all alone, — only ourselves. 
 
 " Oh, that would be too beautiful ! " 
 
 She became dreamy, and raised her tearful eyes, which
 
 192 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 were as frank as those of a little girl ; then said 
 quickly, — 
 
 " But, no : you are a king. Some day, in the midst of 
 my happiness, you would leave me." 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 "And if you should be recalled?" 
 
 "Where? To Illyria? All is over there forever. I 
 lost last year one of those opportunities which do not 
 come twice." 
 
 " Is it true ? " she said, with a joy which was not feigned. 
 " Oh, if I were sure of it ! " 
 
 There came to his lips to convince her a word which 
 he did not speak, but which she understood plainly ; and, 
 in the evening, Tom Levis, whom Sephora kept informed 
 of all, declared solemnly that things had come to the 
 right point ; that they must notify her father. 
 
 Charmed, like his daughter, by Tom Levis's imagi- 
 nation, contagious spirits, and inventive gabble, Leemans 
 several times placed money in the operations of the 
 agency. After having gained, he lost, following in this 
 the chances of the game ; but when he had been " taken 
 in," as he expressed it, two or three times, the good man 
 stopped. He made no recriminations nor became 
 angry, knowing too well what business was, and detesting 
 useless words ; only, when his son-in-law came to talk to 
 him about joint stock for one of those marvellous castles 
 in the air which his eloquence raised to the skies, the old 
 bric-a-brac dealer smiled in his beard, with a movement 
 of his lips, which signified very plainly, " Ov-over : it is 
 over ! " and lowered his eyelids, which seemed to bring 
 Tom's extravagances to reason, and to the level of prac- 
 ticable things. Tom knew this ; and, as he wisely insisted 
 that this Illyrian affair should not go out of the family,
 
 THE GREAT SCHEME. 1 93 
 
 he sent Sephora to the bric-d-brac dealer, who, as he 
 grew old, began to feel something like affection for his 
 only child, with whom, besides, he felt as if he were 
 living again. 
 
 Since the death of his wife, Leemans had given up his 
 curiosity-store in the Rue de la Paix, contenting himself 
 with his second-hand bric-d-brac shop. 
 
 It was there that Sephora visited him one morning 
 early, to be sure of meeting him ; for the old man re- 
 mained at home but little. Being immensely rich, and 
 having retired from business at least in appearance, he 
 continued to ransack Paris from morning till evening ; 
 ran after the merchants, and followed sales, seeking the 
 atmosphere and the contact of business ; and, above all, 
 watching with marvellous acuteness the crowd of small 
 traders, mechanics, dealers in pictures and trinkets, with 
 whom he was associated, without acknowledging it for 
 fear his fortune might be suspected. 
 
 Sephora, through caprice and a reminiscence of her 
 youth, came on foot from the Rue Royale to the Rue Egin- 
 hard, following almost the same road which she used to 
 take formerly from the store. It was not eight o'clock. 
 The air was keen, and towards the Bastille there remained 
 of the dawn an orange cloud, in which the gilded genius 
 on the column appeared to bathe his wings. A crowd of 
 pretty girls from the faubourg came from this direction, 
 through the side streets, on their way to work. If Prince 
 d'Axel had risen early enough to watch them come down, 
 he would have been content this morning. Walking 
 very fast in twos and threes, and chatting in a sprightly 
 manner, they reached the swarming shops in the streets 
 Saint Martin, Saint Denis, and Vieille du Temple, and a 
 few elegant ones, the stores in the boulevards, farther off,
 
 194 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 but oi)ening later. It was not like the animation in the 
 evening, when, their work being done, they return home, 
 with their heads full of a day in Paris, laughing and 
 frolicking, but often filled with regret for that luxury of 
 which they had had a glimpse, which made the attic 
 seem higher up, and the staircase darker. 
 
 But, if these young faces still showed traces of sleep, 
 rest had beautified them with a freshness which was 
 completed by their carefully dressed hair, with an end of 
 ribbon fastened in its braids and under their chin, and by 
 their black dresses, which were hastily brushed before 
 daylight. Here and there glittered a false jewel at the 
 tip of an ear rosy with the cold, a bright-red comb, the 
 gilt ornaments of a buckle at the waist, and the white line 
 of a newspaper folded in the pocket of a waterproof. 
 And how full of courage they hurried along, dressed in 
 light cloaks and scant skirts, walking unsteadily on heels 
 too high for ease, and which constant running about had 
 worn on one side ! All seemed to be bom to flirt. They 
 had a pecuUar way of walking with their foreheads up in 
 the air, and with their eyes looking straight ahead, as if 
 curious to know what would happen on the day just 
 begun. Their natures were on the qui vive for a change 
 of fortune, as their Parisian type, which is no type at all, 
 is capable of any transformation. 
 
 Sephora was not sentimental, and never saw any thing 
 beyond material things and the present hour ; yet this 
 confused tramping, and hasty rustling of skirts, amused 
 her. She saw her own youth in all these pretty faces, 
 under this morning sky, in this old neighborhood which 
 is so curious, and where each street has on the corner- 
 signs the name of noted merchants, just as it was fifteen 
 years ago.
 
 THE GREAT SCHEME. 1 95 
 
 In passing under the black arch which serves as an 
 entrance to the Rue Eginhard, in the direction of the Rue 
 Saint Paul, she brushed by the long robe of the rabbi who 
 was going to the neighboring synagogue ; and, two steps 
 farther off, the rat-catcher with his pole and board from 
 which are suspended the sleek bodies, — a type of 
 ancient Paris which one only sees in this medley of 
 mouldy houses, where all the rats in the town make their 
 head-quarters. Farther on was a coachman — whom, 
 when she was a shop-girl, she used to see going to market 
 
 — moving heavily in his stout boots, not much used to 
 walking, and holding in his hand with precious care, 
 and upright as a communicant's taper, the whip, which 
 is the coachman's sword, the insignia of his rank, and 
 which never leaves him. At the door of two or three 
 stores which filled the whole street, and from which they 
 were removing the shutters, she saw the same bundles of 
 rags, and heard the same Hebraic and Tudesque jargon ; 
 and when, after having crossed the low porch of her father's 
 house, the little court, and the four steps leading to the 
 shop, she pulled the string of the cracked latch, it seemed 
 to her that there were fifteen years less on her shoulders, 
 
 — fifteen years which hardly weighed on them. 
 
 As in those days, Darnet came to the door. She was a 
 robust, Auvergnat woman, whose shining, florid face had 
 heavy shadows around the eyes and mouth. Her dotted 
 shawl was drawn closely around her, and the head-dress 
 bordered with white seemed to have the mourning hue of 
 a charcoal-shop. Her role in the house was apparent by 
 the very manner in which she opened the door to Sepho- 
 ra, and the smiles on the puckered Ups of the two womea 
 
 "Is father in?" 
 
 " Yes, Madame, in the shop. I will call him." 
 
 " It is not necessary. I know where that is."
 
 196 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 She passed through the anteroom and the salon, and 
 in three strides crossed the garden, a black well between 
 tall walls, where grew several trees, its narrow paths encum- 
 bered by numberless pieces of rubbish, old iron, lead, old- 
 fashioned banisters, and strong chains whose blackened 
 and oxidized metal blended with the sad box-plants, and 
 the greenish tinge of the old fountain in the garden. On 
 one side was a shed overflowing with debris, skeletons of 
 broken-down furniture of every age, with heaps of tapes- 
 try rolled up in the corners ; on the other was a shop with 
 ground-glass windows for protection from curious eyes in 
 neighboring stories. 
 
 A mass of wealth rose to the ceiling in apparent disor- 
 der, and was known for its true value only by the old 
 man. There were lanterns, chandeliers, torch-holders, 
 screens, censers, and antique and foreign bronzes. In 
 the background were two blacksmith's furnaces, a joiner's 
 bench, and that of a locksmith. It was here that the 
 bric-a-brac dealer brushed up, copied, and rejuvenated 
 old models with wonderful skill, and the patience of a 
 monk. Formerly there was a great deal of noise from 
 morning until night, five or six workmen surrounding the 
 master. Nothing was now heard but the clicking of a 
 hammer on fine metal, and the scratching of a file. The 
 single lamp lighted in the evening showed that there was 
 life in the shop. 
 
 When his daughter entered, the old Leemans — in a 
 large leather apron, with the sleeves of his shirt turned up 
 on fair and hairy arms, which looked as if bits of copper 
 from the bench had clung to them — was about to forge 
 in a vice a Louis XIII. chandelier, a model of which 
 he had before his eyes. At the sound of the door he 
 raised his ruddy face, which was lost in abundant red hair
 
 THE GREAT SCHEME. 197 
 
 and beard, streaked with white, and knitted his uneven 
 eyebrows, from which his eyes looked out as from the 
 shaggy hair of a griffin. 
 
 " G'morning, pa !" said Sephora, pretending not to see 
 the embarrassed movement of the good man, who was try- 
 ing to hide the torch he held ; for he did not like to be 
 disturbed or seen at his work. 
 
 "Is it you, little one?" he said, rubbing his old face 
 against the two delicate cheeks. " What has happened? " 
 he asked, pushing her into the garden. " Why have you 
 risen so early?" 
 
 " I have something of great importance to tell you." 
 
 " Come ! " 
 
 He pulled her towards the house. 
 
 " Oh ! but, you know, I don't wish Darnet to be pres- 
 ent." 
 
 " Good, good ! " said the old man, smiling in his thick- 
 et of hair ; and, as he entered, he called to the servant, 
 who was about to polish the glass of a Venetian mirror, 
 and who was always wiping and scrubbing, with a brow as 
 polished as the floor, — 
 
 " Darnet, you will go into the garden, and see if you 
 find me there." ^ 
 
 And the tone with which this was said proved that the 
 old pacha had not yet abdicated in favor of the favorite 
 slave. Father and daughter remained alone in the little, 
 neat bourgeois salon, where the furniture was in white slip- 
 coverings, and the little wool mats in front of the chairs 
 contrasted with the topsy-turvy mass of dusty treasures in 
 the shed and shop. Like those skilful cooks who only 
 like simple dishes, Leemans, who was so expert and curi- 
 ous in things of art, did not have a vestige of them in his 
 
 1 Translator's Note. — A French idiomatic saying, meaning that one's 
 company is not wanted.
 
 198 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 own house, and showed in this the merchant that he was, 
 by estimating, trading, and exchanging without passion or 
 regret. He was not hl<e those artists in trinkets, who, 
 before giving up a rare object, feel anxious as to the style 
 in which the amateur may surround it and set it off. Noth- 
 ing hung on the walls but his large, life-size portrait, signed 
 " AVattelet," representing him at work among his bnc-a- 
 brac collection. It was his very self, — a little less white, 
 but unchanged, just as thin and bent, with a face half- 
 man, half-dog, a flat red beard, and long, oily hair, show- 
 ing nothing of his face but a nose reddened by chronic 
 inflammation, which made tlie sober tea-drinker look like 
 a drunkard. The picture was the only characteristic 
 mark of the room, with a prayer-book placed edgewise 
 on the mantel-piece. Leemans owed some successful 
 business to this book. In this he was distinguished from 
 his rivals, — the old miscreant of a Schwalbach, Mother 
 Esau, and the rest, with their Ghetto descent ; for he was 
 a Christian, married through love to a Jewess, but still 
 remaining a Christian, even a Catholic. This served him 
 with his noble patronesses. He heard mass in the ora- 
 tories of these ladies, — the Countess Mallet, and the elder 
 of the Sismondos, — and also appeared on Sundays at Saint 
 Thomas d'Aquin and at Sainte Clotilde, where his best 
 patrons went ; while through his wdfe he visited the 
 houses of the great Israelite traders. As he grew older, 
 this religious grimace became a wrinkle and a habit. 
 Often in the morning, when he went to his place of busi- 
 ness, he entered Saint Paul to " take " — as he said seri- 
 ously, — " a little bit of mass" having noticed that every 
 thing succeeded better on those days. 
 
 " Well ! " he said, looking slyly at his daughter. 
 
 " A grand affair, pa."
 
 THE GREAT SCHEME. 199 
 
 She drew from her pocket a roll of bills and drafts 
 bearing Christian's signature. 
 
 "This must be cashed. Will you do it? " 
 
 At a mere glance at the handwriting, the old man 
 made a grimace, that puckered his face till it disappeared 
 almost entirely under his bushy hair, after the manner of 
 a hedgehog that bristles up in defence. 
 
 " Illyrian paper ! Thanks : I know what that is. Your 
 husband must be a fool to send you on such an errand. 
 Come, really, have you any thing to do with it? " 
 
 Without allowing herself to be disturbed at this recep- 
 tion, which she expected, she said, — 
 
 " Listen ! " And in her deliberate manner she told him 
 in detail all about the great scheme, bringing, as proofs to 
 support her assertions, the number of the " Quernaro " 
 where the sitting of the Diet was reported, and the letters 
 from Lebeau keeping them acquainted with the situation. 
 The king, who was madly in love, wished to find a place 
 in which to enjoy his new happiness. A superb hotel in 
 Messina Avenue, a house thoroughly fitted up, and car- 
 riages, were what he wished for the lady ; and he was 
 ready to sign as many notes as was necessary, and at 
 whatever rate was asked. Leemans now opened both 
 ears, made objections, asked questions, and ferreted out 
 the whole affair, which had been so wisely planned. 
 
 " For how long a time are the notes? " 
 
 " For three months." 
 
 " Then in three months ? " 
 
 " In three months " — 
 
 She made a movement as if she were fastening a 
 noose, and puckered up her quiet lips. 
 
 "And the interest?" 
 
 "As large as you wish. The heavier the notes, the
 
 200 KINGS IN EXIf.E. 
 
 better ; and he must not have other resources than he will 
 obtain by signing his renunciation." 
 
 "And when he has signed it? " 
 
 " That concerns the woman. She has a gentleman of 
 two hundred millions to nibble." 
 
 " And suppose she keeps every thing for herself. It is 
 necessary to have a woman one is deusedly sure of." 
 
 " We are sure of her." 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 " You do not know her," said Sephora, without mov- 
 ing a muscle, and putting all the papers back into her 
 little lawyer's bag. 
 
 "Leave that here," said the old man eagerly. "It is 
 a great deal of money, you must know, — considerable 
 of a sum to expend ; but I will talk about it to Pichery." 
 
 "Take care, p'pa. You must not let in too many 
 persons. There are already ourselves, Lebeau, and you. 
 If you go looking for others " — 
 
 " Only Pichery. You must remember I could not do 
 it all alone. It is a great deal of money, — a great deal 
 of money." 
 
 Sephora answered coldly, — 
 
 " Oh, it will need a great deal more ! " 
 
 There was a silence. The old man was reflecting, and 
 keeping his thoughts to himself. 
 
 "Well," said he, "I will do it ; but on one condition. 
 That house in Messina Avenue will have to be furnished 
 in swell style. And it is I who will furnish the orna- 
 ments." 
 
 In the bargaining of the usurer, the bric-a-brac dealer 
 was showing his paw. Sephora burst into a laugh, which 
 displayed her thirty-two teeth. 
 
 " Oh, the old rubbish ! the old rubbish ! " she said,
 
 THE GREAT SCHEME. aOI 
 
 using a word that the atmosphere of the shop suddenly 
 brought back to her mind, and which clashed with ^ her 
 distinguished toilet and bearing. " Well, it is agreed, pa : 
 you will furnish the ornaments. But nothing from mam- 
 ma's collection, remember." 
 
 Under the hypocritical label, " Madame Leemans's 
 Collection," the bric-d-brac dealer had gi-ouped a lot of 
 castaway, unsalable articles, which he disposed of at a 
 magnificent sale, thknks to his sentimental grimace, taking 
 from the precious lot of the relics of his dear departed 
 wife only what purchasers would pay for by their weight 
 in gold. 
 
 " You understand me, old fellow, — no tricks, no 
 frauds. The lady knows the worth of the articles." 
 
 "You think she does?" said the old dog from under 
 his mustache. 
 
 " As well as you and I." 
 
 " But, pray " — He approached his rough face to her 
 pretty little one ; and on both the bric-d-brac business 
 was written, — on the old man's parchment-skin, and on 
 the downy rose-leaves of his daughter. 
 
 " But, pray, who is this woman ? You can certainly tell 
 me, now that I am in the affair." 
 
 " It is " — 
 
 She stops a moment, fastens the broad strings of her 
 hat under her delicate oval face, looks into the mirror 
 with the satisfied gaze of a pretty woman and with a new 
 feeling of pride, and says gravely, — 
 
 " It is the Countess of Spalato."
 
 202 K/NCS IN EXILE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AT THE ACADEMY. 
 
 The classical palace which sleeps under its cupola at 
 the end of the Bridge of Arts, at the entrance of studious 
 Paris, wore this morning an air of unusual life, which 
 extended to the quay. In spite of the rain, — a June 
 rain coming down in sharp showers, — the crowd 
 thronged round the steps of the great gate, and wound 
 along the fences and walls, and flowed under the arch in 
 the Rue de la Seine, in a line as at the entrance to a thea- 
 tre, — a well-gloved, well-dressed, well-behaved crowd, who 
 stood shivering in patience, knowing they would enter, as 
 the little cards of different colors — which were bright and 
 conspicuous in the rain, and with which each person was 
 provided — fully proved. The carriages filed down in a 
 regular line through the deserted Quai de la Monnaie, — 
 the most luxurious equipages that Paris contained, — bear- 
 ing on their panels the arms and grand escutcheons of 
 France and all Europe, even royal devices, with coach- 
 men in dainty and showy livery, adorned with gold braid, 
 protected democratically by umbrellas and waterproofs, 
 and with wigs dressed in the form of a hammer. All 
 formed a picture like an immense panoramic d'Hosier 
 unrolled along the Seine. When a sunbeam pierced the 
 clouds, — a gleam of the Parisian sun, which has the grace 
 of a smile on a serious face, — there was a glitter like stars 
 in the reflections from the wet harnesses, guards' helmets,
 
 AT THE ACADEMY. 2O3 
 
 the lantern of the dome, and the iron fountains at the 
 entrance, which were usually dusty and tarnished, but 
 were now of a beautiful black, having been washed by the 
 rain. 
 
 From time to time, on grand reception days, the 
 old Institute has this unusual and interesting appearance 
 of afternoon life. But on this morning there was no 
 reception. The season was too far advanced ; and the 
 recipients, who were as coquettish as comedians, would 
 never consent to make their debut, the Paris prize being 
 already contended for, the salon closed, and trunks 
 packed for a journey. There was simply a distribution of 
 academical prizes, — a very quiet ceremony, which usually 
 attracts only the families of those who win them. The 
 cause of this unusual show of wealth — this aristocratic 
 dust — at the door of the Institute is, that, among the 
 works crowned, is " The Memorial of the Siege of Ragusa," 
 by Prince de Rosen, and by which the monarchical coterie 
 have profited to organize a manifestation against the gov- 
 ernment under the protection of its police-officers. By 
 an extraordinary chance, or the fact of these intrigues 
 which mysteriously hollow out mole-paths in the official 
 or academical grounds, the regular secretary being ill, the 
 report on the crowned works was to be read by the noble 
 Duke de Fitz Roy ; and it was known, that, being a Legit- 
 imist to the marrow of his bones, he would emphasize and 
 show off the most ardent passages of Herbert's book, — 
 that beautiful historical pamphlet, on which were centred 
 all the devotion and all the fen-or of the party. In short, 
 it was one of those malicious protestations which the 
 Academy dared attempt even under the Empire, and 
 which the amiable indulgence of the Republic authorized. 
 
 It is noon, and the twelve strokes from the old clock 
 14
 
 464 A'/iV(7.<r IN F.xrr.E. 
 
 cause a noise and stir in the crowd. TIk- doors are open, 
 and people advance slowly and methodically towards the 
 entrance of the place and the Rue Mazarine ; while the em- 
 blazoned carriages, turning round in the court, set down 
 their owners — the privileged having cards — under the 
 portico, where, aniong ushers with badges, the affable 
 chief secretary, in silver lace, moves around smiling and 
 eager as the good major-domo in the palace of the Sleep- 
 ing Beauty in the Wood, when, after a sleep of a hundred 
 years, the princess awakes on her bed of state. The doors 
 close ; the ready footmen in long surtouts jump down 
 from their boxes ; and there are greetings and courtesies 
 of ladies in sweeping trains ; and smiles and whisperings 
 among habitues are exchanged and lost in a rustle of 
 silk on the carpeted stairs leading to the reserved seats 
 or in the narrow, sloping passage-way, worn by the foot- 
 falls of centuries, which leads to the interior of the 
 palace. 
 
 The hall fills in the form of an amphitheatre on the 
 side reserved for the public. The benches are blackened 
 one after the other as far as the upper tier, where the last 
 rows of people, who are standing, are outlined against the 
 oval windows. There is not an empty place : the room 
 is filled with a sea of faces on which falls the dim light 
 of a church or museum, made colder still by the reflec- 
 tion from the smooth and yellow stucco on the walls and 
 the marble of the grand meditative statues, — Descartes, 
 Bossuet, Massillon, — the glory of the great century con- 
 gealed in motionless attitudes. 
 
 In front of the overflowing semicircle, a few unoccupied 
 seats, and a little green table with the traditional glass of 
 water, await the Academy and its officers, who will enter 
 presently through those liigh doors surmounted by a
 
 AT THE ACADEMY. 205 
 
 gilded and tomb-like inscription, — " Letters, Sciences, 
 Arts." 
 
 All this is antique, cold, and ordinary, and contrasts 
 with the spring toilets, which give the hall the appear- 
 ance of a flower-bed, — toilets in light colors, of pale, 
 dead tints, downy gray, and the rosy hues of the dawn, 
 cut in the modern close-fitting fashion, with fringes of 
 sparkling jet and steel ; and airy head-dresses, a bewilder- 
 ing mass of mimosas and lace, with bright-hued tropical 
 birds among knots of velvet and sun-colored sprays of 
 straw; and, in addition, the constant fluttering of large 
 fans, whose delicate odors cause the eagle of Meaux to 
 blink his great eyes. 
 
 Bear in mind, it is no reason because one belongs to the 
 party of Old France that one should be musty, and dress 
 frightfully. All those in Paris who may be considered 
 exclusive, well-born, and right-minded, make rendezvous 
 here, smile at each other, and make little masonic signs. 
 Here is seen the flower of the clubs, the cream of 
 the faubourg, — a society which is not demonstrative nor 
 very social, and which one never sees at rehearsals, but 
 only at the opera or the Conservatory on certain days ; 
 a conservative, fastidious society, which drapes the win- 
 dows of its salons to shut out the light and noise of the 
 street, and is only heard of from time to time through 
 death, or a trial for divorce, or the eccentric adventure 
 of one of its members, who is a hero of the " Persil " 
 and " La Gomme." Among them were several noble Illy- 
 rian families, who followed their sovereigns into exile, — 
 fine types of men and women, but rather too conspic- 
 uous and foreign in this refined society. Then grouped 
 at certain prominent points were the members of the 
 academical salons, who, a long time in advance, prepare
 
 206 AVA'GS IN EXILE. 
 
 for the elections, influence llie votes, and whose presence 
 is worth more to a candidate than his weight in genius. 
 Famous gamblers of the Empire insinuate themselves 
 among these "old leaders," on whom they formerly ex- 
 hausted their parvenu irony ; and, select as the assembly 
 was, a few hangers-on of stage-boxes, celebrated for 
 their adherence to the monarchy, slipped in in simple 
 dress with two or three fashionable actresses, whose 
 faces were known by all Paris, and who were the more 
 commonplace and conspicuous because other women of 
 every class tried to copy them. 
 
 And then there were journalists and reporters of for- 
 eign papers, armed with every convenience in writing- 
 materials, and equipped from head to foot as for a jour- 
 ney to the centre of Africa. 
 
 In the little reserved circle at the foot of the steps is 
 seen the Princess de Rosen, the wife of the winner of 
 the prize, who is charming in a greenish-blue toilet of 
 India cashmere and moire antique, and looks triumphant 
 and beaming under her frizzly flaxen hair. Near her is 
 a stout man with a common face. Father Sauvadon, who 
 is very proud at being allowed to accompany his niece, 
 but who, in his ignorant zeal and desire to do honor to 
 the solemn ceremony, has gotten himself up in evening 
 dress. This makes him very uncomfortable ; for he feels 
 as stiff in his white cravat as if he had a yoke around 
 his neck. He watches all the new-comers, hoping to 
 find some one who will keep him company in his style 
 of dress ; but there is no one. 
 
 From this dazzling mass of color and bright faces 
 there soon arises a very loud murmur of voices, rhyth- 
 mical but distinct, which starts a magnetic current from 
 one end of the hall to the other. The faintest laugh
 
 AT THE ACADEMY. 207 
 
 ripples out, and becomes contagious ; and the slightest 
 recognition, the silent motion of hands held out ready 
 to applaud in advance, is perceived from the top to the 
 bottom of the row of seats. It is the high state of ex- 
 citement and the good-natured curiosity one sees at a 
 fine rehearsal which is to be a success ; and when from 
 time to time celebrities take their place, the rustling of 
 this crowd accompanies them, and the buzz of curiosity 
 and admiration dies away only when they have passed. 
 Do you see up there above Sully those two women who 
 have just entered accompanied by a child, and who 
 occupy the whole front of a box? They are the Queen 
 of Illyria and the Queen of Palermo. The two cousins — 
 holding themselves proudly erect, and dressed alike in 
 mauve faille, with vests of ancient embroidery, and the 
 same sweeping plumes curling around turban hats on 
 the fair hair of one and the dark hair of the other — form 
 a charming contrast of two noble types that are totally 
 unlike. 
 
 Fred^rique has grown pale, and her sweet smile has 
 become sad and careworn ; while the face of her brunette 
 cousin bears the mark of anxiety and the hardships of 
 exile. Between them little Count Zara's fair curls are 
 seen tossing about, his hair brushed back from a face 
 that is held more erect, and that becomes more vigorous 
 every day ; while the expression of his eyes and mouth 
 shows more confidence, — a true off-shoot of the king 
 beginning to bloom. The old Duke de Rosen occupied 
 the back of the box with another person, — not Christian 
 II., who has escaped a certain ovation, but a tall youth 
 with thick, bushy hair, — an unknown person, whose name 
 will not be once pronounced during the ceremony, and 
 yet should be in every mouth ; for it is in his honor that
 
 2o8 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 this fete is given. It is he who has caused this glorious 
 requiem of the monarchy, attended by the last repre- 
 sentatives of nobiHty in France, and the royal families 
 who took refuge in Paris : for they are all there, — the 
 exiled and the dethroned, — come to do honor to their 
 cousin Christian ; and it has been no small affair to place 
 these crowned heads according to rank. Nowhere are 
 questions of precedence more difficult to solve than in 
 exile, where vanity leads to imbittered feeling, and 
 susceptibility becomes inflamed into real wounds. 
 
 In the Descartes Gallery, — all the galleries bear the 
 name of the statue above them, — the King of West- 
 phalia maintains a haughty attitude, which renders still 
 more striking the fixed gaze of his eyes, which look, but 
 do not see. From time to time he smiles in one direc- 
 tion, and bows in another, constantly striving to conceal 
 an incurable blindness ; and his daughter — that tall, 
 slender person, who seems to bow her head under the 
 weight of the golden tresses whose shade she has always 
 concealed from her father — aids him in this with the 
 utmost devotion. The blind king likes brunettes only. 
 "If you had been a blonde," he would sometimes say, 
 while caressing the princess's hair, " I believe that I 
 should have loved you less." They were a charming 
 couple, travelling the path of exile with the same dignity 
 and quiet pride which would distinguish their bearing in a 
 walk in the royal parks. 
 
 When Queen Frederique has hours of discouragement, 
 she thinks of this infirm man, led by this innocent girl, 
 and takes comfort in their pure and charming example. 
 
 Farther on, under a glaring satin turban, we see the 
 face of the stout Queen of Galicia, who, with her heavy 
 cheeks and rough complexion, resembles a thick-skinned
 
 AT THE ACADEMY. 209 
 
 red orange. She cuts a great dash, puffs, and fans her- 
 self, and laughs and talks with a woman who has a white 
 lace mantilla on her head, who is still young, and has a 
 sad, good face, marked from her reddened eyelids to her 
 pale mouth by a furrow where tears have fallen. It is 
 the Duchess of Palma, — an excellent creature, poorly 
 fitted for the shocks and terror caused her by the adven- 
 turous monarch of the highway to whom her life is 
 linked. He, too, is there, the great devil ; and, in famil- 
 iar proximity between the faces of the two women, one 
 sees his glistening black beard, and his face, which is 
 that of an old beau, bronzed by the last expedition, 
 which was as costly and disastrous as the preceding. He 
 has played the king ; has had a court, fetes, women, a 
 Te Deum ; and has made triumphant entrances over a 
 route strewn with flowers. He has flourished about, 
 made laws, danced, furnished food for ink and powder, 
 shed blood, and sown hatred ; and having lost the battle, 
 and set the example of each save himself who can, he 
 comes to recuperate in France, and find new recruits to 
 put in danger, new millions to sink. He wears a costume 
 appropriate for travel and adventure, — a frock-coat, fit- 
 ting close to his figure, and ornamented with buttons and 
 frogs, which give him the appearance of a g>'psy. Noisy 
 young people are stirring about, and talking in loud 
 voices in this box, with all the freedom of a court of 
 Queen Pomare ; and the national language, rude and 
 rough like small pieces of shot, bounds from one to the 
 other, accompanied by familiarities of manner and 
 speech, with frequent thee-\ng and thou-\ng, the secret 
 of which is whispered about among the company in 
 the hall. 
 
 It is very strange that, on a day when good places are
 
 2IO A'/NGS IN EXILE. 
 
 so rare tliat princes of the blood arc seen in the amphi- 
 theatre, a httle box — the Bossuet box — is empty. 
 Every one asks who is to come into it ; what great dig- 
 nitary, and wliat sovereign stopping at Paris, is so long 
 in appearing, and will let the exercises begin without 
 him. Now the old clock strikes one ; and a quick, sharp 
 shout is heard outside, "Carry — arms!" and, at the 
 automatic clicking of shifted guns, Letters, Sciences, and 
 Arts make their appearance through the lofty doors that 
 are thrown wide open. 
 
 What is very remarkable among these illustrious 
 IDeople, who are all alert and eager, — preserved, it may 
 be said, by a principle, the power of tradition, — is, that 
 the oldest affect a youthful manner and sprightliness, 
 while the youngest try to appear the more grave and 
 serious the less gray their hair. The general aspect lacks 
 grandeur, with the stiff, modern style of dressing the 
 hair, black costumes, and frock-coats. The wig of Boi- 
 leau, or of Racan, whose large greyhound ate his ad- 
 dresses, would have had more power and a more dig- 
 nified presence in such a place. But there was some- 
 thing of the picturesque in two or three frock-coats, 
 whose wearers were seated high up before the table and 
 the glass oi eau sucree ; and one of them pronounces the 
 consecrated words, "The meeting has begun." But he 
 says it in vain : no one believes it, and he does not him- 
 self. He knows very well that the real meeting is not 
 this report about the Montyon prizes, which one of the 
 most fluent in the assembly delivers, and modulates in 
 sing-song style. 
 
 A model of an academical address, written in academ- 
 ical style, with such phrases "as a little," "as it were ; " 
 which obliges the thought to continually retrace its
 
 AT THE ACADEMY. 211 
 
 steps, like a penitent who has forgotten sins at con- 
 fession ; a style ornamented with rhetorical figiu-es, 
 redundancies, and fine flourishes of the pen like those 
 of a writing-master, and which run between the phrases 
 to conceal and round out the void; a style which 
 needs to be learned, and which every one here puts on 
 with his coat with green palm-leaves. Under other 
 circumstances the ordinary public frequenting the place 
 would have gone into ecstasies at this homily ; and you 
 would have seen it stamp and neigh with delight at these 
 flowery phrases, whose climax they might have divined. 
 But to-day one is hurried, and has not come for this Uttle 
 literary entertainment. Note with what an air of scornful 
 ennui the aristocratic assembly listens to this enunciation 
 of humble devotions ; of fidelity under every trial ; of 
 secluded, monotonous, drudging lives, which pass along 
 on the pages of this obsolete, minute phraseology as the 
 actors moved in the tiled, fireless rooms of their provincial 
 homes. Plebeian names, shabby gowns, old blue frocks, 
 worn by sun and rain, from remote villages, where for a 
 moment one has a glimpse of the pointed steeple and 
 little low walls cemented with manure, are all ill at ease, 
 and shrink from being called from such a distance and 
 brought into this fine society in the cold light of the 
 Institute, which is as unmerciful as a photographic 
 machine. The noble society is astonished that there are 
 so many worthy people among the common classes. 
 Another, and still another ! They haven't ceased, then, 
 to suffer, and to be devoted and heroic. The club-men 
 declare this intolerable. Colette de Rosen smells of her 
 vinaigrette : all these old men, all these poor people they 
 are talking about, to her mind suggest an ant-hill. Their 
 faces and the very air indicate ennui.
 
 212 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 The reader begins to understand that he wearies them, 
 and hurries through the Ust. 
 
 Ah ! poor Marie Chalaye d'Amb^rieux-les-Combes ! 
 thou whom the people of the country call a saint, who 
 for fifty years hast taken care of thy old paralytic aunt, 
 hast endowed eighteen little cousins, wiping their noses 
 and putting them to bed ! and you, worthy Abbe Bouril- 
 lou, pastor of Saint Maximin-le-Haut ! when you went 
 through bitter weather to carry aid and consolation to the 
 cheese-makers in the mountain, — you did not suspect 
 that the Institute of France, after crowning your efforts 
 with a public reward, would feel ashamed of you, and 
 scorn you ; and that your names, rattled off and stumbled 
 over, could with difficulty be heard amid the inattention, 
 and the buzzing of impatient or ironical conversation. 
 The end of the address is a rout. Like a fugitive who 
 throws away knapsack and arms in order to run faster, 
 the speaker skips over passages relating to heroic deeds 
 and angelic self-denial without the least remorse ; for he 
 knows that the next day's papers will reproduce his ad- 
 dress in full, and that not one of those pretty flowery 
 sentences will be lost. But here it is at an end at last, 
 with much applause and sighs of relief. The unhappy 
 man sits down, wipes his brow, and receives the con- 
 gratulations of two or three colleagues, — the last ones to 
 preserve the purity of the academical style. Then there 
 are five minutes' intermission, and a general coughing 
 among the people in the hall, who stir about and stretch 
 themselves. Suddenly there is a perfect silence. An- 
 other green coat has just arisen. 
 
 It is the noble Fitz Roy ; and all have an opportunity 
 to admire him while he arranges his bundle of papers on 
 the little table. He is slender, bent, and feeble, with
 
 AT THE ACADEMY. 213 
 
 narrow shoulders, and stiff in his movements ; for he is 
 all elbows, and his arms are too long, and he seems sev- 
 enty, although but fifty, years old. On his worn-out, 
 badly built body is a very little head with irregular fea- 
 tures, of deathly pallor, between thin whiskers, and a few 
 tufts of hair like a bird. Do you remember Montefeltro 
 in " Lucrezia Borgia," who, feehng ashamed to live, 
 drank Pope Alexander's poison, and tottered to the 
 back of the stage utterly broken down in mind and 
 body? The noble Fitz Roy represented this person 
 very well. Not that he had drunk any thing, the poor 
 man, — neither the Borgia's poison nor any thing 
 else ; but he is the heir of an awfully ancient family, 
 which has never crossed its blood, the ofif-shoot of an 
 exhausted plant too old to make a mesalliance. The 
 green of the palm-leaves makes him look still whiter, 
 and still more like a sick monkey. Uncle Sauvadon, 
 however, thinks he is divine. " Such a beautiful name, 
 sir ! " The women think him distinguished. A Fitz Roy ! 
 It was the influence of this name, and this long gene- 
 alogy in which fools and flat feet certainly were not 
 wanting, which — much more than his poorly compiled 
 historical studies, the first volume of which alone showed 
 merit — gained him admission to the Academy. It is 
 true some one else wrote it for him ; and if the noble 
 Fitz Roy could see up there in Queen Fr^derique's 
 box the sound, brilliant head from which his best work 
 came, perhaps he would not pick up the sheets of his 
 address with that air of supreme and disdainful surliness, 
 and he would not begin his reading by casting that 
 haughty, sweeping glance over the heads of all, appar- 
 ently seeing nothing. In the first place, he skilfully and 
 lightly skims througli the smaller works which the Acad-
 
 214 KIJVGS TN EXILE. 
 
 emy has just crowned ; and to show how much beneath 
 him is this task, and how httle it interests him, he cuts 
 at will the names and titles of the books ; for people must 
 be amused. He finally comes to the Roblot prize, in- 
 tended for the finest historical work published during the 
 last five years. 
 
 "This prize, gentlemen, you know, has been awarded 
 to Prince Herbert de Rosen for his magnificent ' Memorial 
 of the Siege of Ragusa.' " 
 
 A formidable burst of applause greeted these simple 
 words sent forth in a ringing voice ; and, with the gesture 
 of a good sower of seed, the noble Fitz Roy lets this 
 first burst of enthusiasm subside, then, seeking an oppo- 
 site effect, which is apparently unstudied but sure, re- 
 sumes slowly and deliberately : " Gentlemen " — Then 
 he stops, casts a look over the crowd waiting breathlessly, 
 which is his, and which he holds in his hand, and seems 
 to say, " Hein ! if I did not choose to speak any more 
 now, who would be deceived? " 
 
 It is he who is deceived ; for, when he prepares to con- 
 tinue, no one listens to him. 
 
 A door has closed above in the box which till now 
 has been empty ; and a woman has entered, and seated 
 herself without embarrassment, but immediately attracts 
 attention. The dark toilet, designed by the great mo- 
 diste, and ornamented with the peacock's-eye pattern of 
 embroidery, and a hat edged with a fall of gold lace, are 
 charmingly becoming to the supple figure and the pale- 
 rose tints of the oval face of this Esther sure of her 
 Ahasuerus. The name is whispered around. All Paris 
 knows her, and for three months nothing else has been 
 talked about but her amours and luxurious style. The 
 splendors of her hotel in the Avenue Messina bring to
 
 AT THE ACADEMY. 215 
 
 mind the finest establishment in the time of the Em- 
 pire. 
 
 The newspapers have given the details of this society 
 scandal, the height of her stables, the cost of the paint- 
 ings in her dining-room, the number of her carriages, 
 and the disappearance of her husband, who, more honest 
 than another celebrated Menelaus, did not wish to survive 
 his dishonor, and went abroad to grieve as a deceived 
 husband of the great century. It is only the lover's 
 name that is left in blank. At the theatre the lady is 
 always alone in the first row of the proscenium-boxes, 
 escorted by a pair of delicate mustaches faintly seen in 
 the dim light. At the races and in the Bois she is also 
 alone, the empty place beside her in the carriage being 
 filled by a very large bouquet, and having on its panels, 
 around a mysterious coat-of-arms, the simple motto, newly 
 painted, — Mon droit, mon roy, — which her lover has 
 just given her with the title of countess. 
 
 This time the favorite is consecrated. Having placed 
 her here on such a day among the seats of honor re- 
 served for royalty, and given her for an escort VVattelet, 
 Christian's liegeman, and Prince d'Axel, who is always 
 ready when there is any compromising folly, is marking her 
 publicly with the arms of lUyria. And yet her presence 
 excites no feeling of indignation. There are all kinds 
 of immunities for kings, whose pleasures are as sacred 
 as their persons, especially in this aristocratic world 
 where the tradition has been preserved of the mistresses 
 of Louis XIV. or Louis XV. entering the queen's car- 
 riage, or supplanting her at the hunt. 
 
 Minxes like Colette de Rosen put on prudish airs, 
 and wonder that the Institute receives such creatures. 
 But be sure that each one of these ladies must have at
 
 2l6 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 home a pretty little ouistiti dying of consumption. In 
 reality the impression is excellent. The clubs say, " Very 
 swell ; " and the journalists, " It is bold." They smile 
 good-naturedly ; and the immortals themselves look com- 
 placently through their lorgnette at the adorable girl who 
 leans over the edge of her box without affectation, hav- 
 ing in her velvety eyes only that intentional fixed look of 
 women besieged by the attention of lorgnettes. 
 
 People turn to the Queen of Illyria to see how she 
 takes it. Oh, very well ! Not a feature of her face, 
 not a feather on her hat, has moved. Never mingling in 
 the entertainments of the day, Frt^d^rique cannot be 
 acquainted with this woman. She has never seen her, 
 and only glances at her at first as one well-dressed woman 
 looks at another. " Who is it? " she asks the Queen of 
 Palermo, who quickly answers, " I do not know." But, 
 in a neighboring box, a name spoken very loud, and re- 
 peated several times, strikes her to the heart : " Spalato, 
 — the Countess of Spalato." 
 
 For several months this name of Spalato has haunted 
 her like a bad dream. She knows that it is borne by a 
 new mistress of Christian, who only remembers that he 
 was a king to bestow one of the greatest titles of the 
 absent country on the creature of his pleasure. That 
 acquainted her with his treachery among a thousand 
 other things ; but this fills the measure to overflowing. 
 There, opposite her and the royal child, was this woman 
 raised to the rank of a queen. What an outrage ! And, 
 although Fr^derique is unaware of it, the serious, delicate 
 beauty of the creature makes her feel it more keenly. 
 Defiance is manifest in those beautiful eyes, the brow is 
 boldly insolent, and the radiant expression of the mouth 
 braves her. Then a thousand thoughts torture her mind,
 
 AT THE ACADEMY. 217 
 
 — their great privations; the daily humihations. Even 
 yesterday it was the carriage-maker who shouted under 
 her windows, and whom Rosen paid ; for it had come to 
 that. Where does Christian get the money that he gives 
 to this woman? Since the fraud in regard to the false 
 stones, she knows what he is capable of; and something 
 tells her that this Spalato will be the dishonor of the king 
 and of the race. For a moment, a second, the temptation 
 passes over this violent nature to rise and leave, taking her 
 child with her, and rush from this infamous neighbor and 
 degrading rival : but she remembers that she is a queen, 
 a woman, and the daughter of a king, and that Zara will 
 be a king also ; and she does not wish to give their ene- 
 mies the joy of such a scandal. A dignity higher than her 
 dignity as a wife, and which in despair she has made the 
 proud rule of her life, constrains her to maintain her rank 
 here in public, as in the privacy of her desecrated home. 
 O cruel destiny of the queens one envies ! The effort 
 that she makes is so violent, that tears are about to fall 
 from her eyes as the calm water of a pond leaps up under 
 the stroke of an oar. That no one may see her, she 
 quickly siezes her lorgnette, and looks obstinately and 
 fixedly through the moist glasses at the gilded inscription 
 above the head of the orator, — " Letters, Sciences, Arts," 
 
 — which is magnified by her tears. 
 
 The noble Fitz Roy continues his reading. As color- 
 less as a prison-coat was the pompous eulogy of the 
 " Memorial," this book of eloquent history of cruel deeds 
 written by the young Prince Herbert de Rosen, " who 
 uses the pen as he does the sword ; " a eulogy more 
 than all of the hero who inspired it, " this chivalrous 
 Christian II., in whom are united the grace, nobility, 
 strength, and the charming graciousness to be found only 
 on the throne." (Applause and cries of delight.)
 
 2i8 KINGS IN F.X/LE. 
 
 It is a kind public decidedly quick to feel, and easily 
 kindled, grasping at once and applying the most fleeting 
 allusions. Sometimes in the middle of these cottony 
 periods there was a true, striking-note, — a quotation from 
 the " Memorial," for which the queen furnished all the 
 documents, everywhere substituting the king's name for 
 her own, and keeping in the background for his benefit. 
 O God of justice ! this was how he rewarded her. The 
 crowd bows at the passages relating deeds of confident, 
 reckless bravery, and heroic acts very simply accom- 
 plished, framed by the writer in a prose full of imagery, 
 from which they stand out like epic narratives of ancient 
 times ; and, upon the enthusiastic reception accorded 
 these references, the noble Fitz Roy, who is not a 
 fool, renounces his literature, and contents himself with 
 turning over the book to the finest parts. It is so exhila- 
 rating, that the audience felt as if buoyed on wings in 
 this narrow, classical building, whose walls seem to ex- 
 pand, while a fi*esh breeze from without enters the 
 uplifted cupola. People breathe freely, and fans no 
 longer move in harmony with their restlessness. No : all 
 are on their feet. Every head is raised to Fr^d^rique's 
 box. They applaud and salute the conquered but glori- 
 ous monarchy in the wife and son of Christian IL, the last 
 king and last chevalier. 
 
 Little Zara, whom noise and bravos excite as they do 
 all children, applauds innocently, brushing away his fair 
 curls with his little gloved hands ; while the queen draws 
 back a little, being overpowered by this contagious enthu- 
 siasm, and tasting the momentary joy and illusion that it 
 gives. Thus she has succeeded in surrounding with an 
 aureole this phantom of a king behind which she conceals 
 herself, and gilding with new brightness this crown of
 
 AT THE ACADEMY, 2I9 
 
 Illyria which her son must wear some day, — a brightness 
 with which one could never traffic. Then what should 
 matter exile, betrayal, want ? There are dazzling moments 
 which dispel all the shadows around. She turns round 
 quickly, that her joy may be a homage to him who, seated 
 near her, with his head leaning against the wall and his 
 rapt gaze lifted to the cupola, listens to these magical 
 phrases, forgetting they are his own, and witnesses this 
 triumph without regret or bitterness, without saying to 
 himself for a single moment that all this glory has been 
 stolen from him. Like those monks of the middle ages 
 who grew old in building little-known cathedrals, the 
 son of the villager contents himself with having done his 
 work, and seeing it stand firmly in the broad sunlight. 
 And for the self-sacrifice, the unconsciousness of his 
 radiant smile, — for what of her o\vn nature she perceives 
 in him, — the queen holds out her hand to him with a 
 gentle " Thank you ! thank you ! " Rosen, who is 
 nearer, believes they are congratulating him on his son's 
 success. He perceives the queen's hasty, grateful pan- 
 tomime, and touches his rough mustache to the royal 
 glove ; and the two happy victims of ihefete were forced 
 to exchange from a distance, in one look, those unex- 
 pressed thoughts which bind souls together in mysterious 
 and lasting ties. 
 
 The meeting is over. The noble Fitz Roy, applauded 
 and complimented, has disappeared as if through a trap- 
 door ; the Letters, Sciences, Arts, have followed him, 
 leaving the desk empty ; and, through all the passages, 
 the crowd, hurrying along, begin to exchange the remarks 
 one hears on the breaking-up of an assembly, or when 
 leaving a theatre, and which to-morrow will be the opinion 
 of all Paris, Among these good people who are leaving, 
 15
 
 2 20 A'/.YGS IN EXILE. 
 
 many, pursuing the line of thought which has diverted 
 their minds at the reading, expected to find chair-bearers 
 before the Institute, but found awaiting them there the 
 rain, with its heavy patter sounding above the noise of 
 omnibuses, and the carnival din of steam-cars. 
 
 Only privileged ones, in the safety of their own car- 
 riages, will continue to lull themselves with the sweet 
 monarchical illusion. 
 
 Under the slender-columned porch, while a crier is 
 calling the royal carriages in the wet and glistening 
 court, it is a pleasure to hear this aristocratic society 
 chatter with the greatest animation while waiting for their 
 majesties to come out : " What a meeting ! What a 
 success ! If the Republic should be replaced ! " The 
 Princess de Rosen is almost surrounded. " You must be 
 very happy," all say to her. " Oh, yes ! very happy," she 
 responds beamingly, looking very pretty, and frisking 
 about, and bowing to the right and left, like a little pony 
 at a menagerie. 
 
 Her uncle by her side is very expansive, although very 
 much embarrassed by his white cravat and his maitre 
 <f'-^^/^/ shirt-front, which he tries to hide behind his hat, 
 but feeling very proud all the same of his nephew's suc- 
 cess. Certainly he knows better than any one what to 
 think of the character of this success, and that Prince 
 Herbert has not written a word of the crowned work ; but 
 at this moment he does not think of it, nor does Colette, 
 I assure you. A true Sauvadon in her vanity, appear- 
 ances suffice with her ; and when she sees the waxed ends 
 of the great mustache of her Herbert, who has come to 
 meet her, sticking out among a crowd of swells who 
 are congratulating her, she is so convinced that it was he 
 who besieged Ragusa, and wrote the " Memorial," and
 
 AT THE ACADEMY. 221 
 
 that his beautiful mustache does not conceal the lips of a 
 fool, that she is obliged to restrain herself, lest there 
 before every one she throw herself on his neck. And 
 although the good fellow is delighted and confused at the 
 ovations, and the glances he is favored with, — the noble 
 Fitz Roy having just said to him solemnly, " When you 
 wish. Prince, you shall be one of us," — nothing is more 
 precious to him than the unexpected reception of his 
 Colette, and the almost loving abandon with which she 
 leans on his arm, which has not happened to him since 
 their wedding-day, when they walked out from the Church 
 of Saint Thomas d'Aquin to the joyful peals of the organ. 
 But the crowd moves aside, and all take off their hats 
 respectfully. The guests in the boxes descend, — all the 
 fallen majesties who are returning to their shade after a 
 few hours' resurrection. They formed a true procession of 
 royal ghosts, — the old blind man leaning on his daughter, 
 and the Galician with her handsome nephew. A rus- 
 tling of stiff stuffs was heard as on the passage of a Madon- 
 na of Peru. Finally came Queen Frederique with her 
 cousin and her son. The landau approaches the porch ; 
 and proudly holding up her handsome, radiant face, she 
 enters it amid a restrained murmur of admiration. The 
 morganatic queen of the private stairway left before the 
 close with d'Axel and Wattelet, so that nothing disturbs 
 the glory of her departure. Now there is nothing more 
 for people to talk of to each other, or to see. The tall 
 valets hurry along with their umbrellas. For an hour 
 there is a stamping of horses, a rolling of carriages, a 
 closing of carriage-doors, mingled with the streaming of 
 water, and echoes from the stone walls of names as they 
 are being called, — echoes which haunt old buildings, but 
 are not often awakened in the French Academy.
 
 22 2 K/NGS IN EXILE. 
 
 This evening the coquettish allegories of Boucher, 
 painted on the panels of Ilerbert's chamber at Hotel 
 Rosen, are roused from their languid poses, and their 
 faded flesh-tints revive at hearing a little voice warble, — 
 
 " It is I : it is Colette." 
 
 It was Colette, enveloped in a night-wrapper with 
 floating Mechlin lace, who had come to say good-night 
 to her hero, her knight, her man of genius. 
 
 Almost at the same time Elys^e was walking alone in 
 the garden in the Rue Herbillon, under the light foliage 
 of the trees, through which gleamed a luminous, storm- 
 swept sky, — one of those skies of June, where lingers a 
 circle of light of the long days, sharply defining the 
 shadows on the dusky turn of the paths, and making the 
 house, with its closed blinds, stand out white and dead. 
 No light was seen but the king's lamp in the upper story. 
 There was not a sound save the trickling of water in the 
 basins of the fountain, and the distant trill of a nightin- 
 gale, to which other nightingales responded, floating 
 through an air filled with the penetrating fragrance, 
 exhaled by the rain, of magnolias, roses, and mint. The 
 fever, which for two months — ever since the fete at 
 Vincennes — had not left Elysee, and which burned on 
 his forehead and hands, instead of growing calm in this 
 burst of perfumes and song, throbbed and thrilled within 
 him, sending its glowing waves to his heart. 
 
 "Ah, old fool ! old fool !" said a voice near him, from 
 under the hedge. He stopped, abashed : it was so true, 
 so just, and what he had been telling himself for an 
 hour. 
 
 " Fool ! miserable maniac ! You ought to be thrown 
 into the fire, — you and your herbarium." 
 
 " Is it you, Councillor? "
 
 AT THE ACADEMY. 223 
 
 " Don't call me ' Councillor.' I am one no longer. 
 Nothing, nothing now ; neither honor nor intelligence. 
 Ah ! porco." And Boscovich, sobbing with real Italian 
 passion, shook his comical head, which had a strange, 
 weird look in the glow of light which fell on it through 
 the linden-trees. The poor man had been a little out for 
 some time. At one moment he would be very gay and 
 talkative, and bore every one about his herbarium, — his 
 famous herbarium at Laybach, — which he would soon 
 get possession of, he would say ; then all at once, in the 
 midst of this delirium of words, he interrupted himself, 
 looked at you from under his eyes, and you could not 
 get another word out of him. This time Elys^e thought 
 he was becoming really mad, when, after this childish 
 outburst, he sprang towards him, and seized his arm, 
 crying out in the darkness, as one calls for help, — 
 " It is impossible, M^raut ! it must be prevented." 
 "What prevented, Councillor?" said the other, trying 
 to disengage his arm from his nervous clasp. 
 
 Boscovich answered in a low voice, breathlessly, — 
 " The act of renunciation is ready, drawm up by me. 
 At this very moment his Majesty is signing it. I never 
 ought — But then he is the king, and there is my her- 
 barium at Laybach that he promised to restore to me. 
 Magnificent pieces " — 
 
 The monomaniac was let loose ; but Elysee did not 
 listen to him, stunned by this terrible blow. His first and 
 only thought was for the queen. This, then, was the 
 price of her devotion and self-denial, — the end of this 
 day of sacrifice ! How faded the glory which they wove 
 around a brow which no longer wished a crown ! 
 In the garden, which had quickly become dark, he 
 saw nothing but that light above shining on a myste-
 
 2 24 AV.VGS FN EXILE. 
 
 rious crime. What could be done? How could it be 
 prevented? By the queen alone. But how could he 
 reach her? The fact is, that the chambermaid, Madame 
 de Silvis lost in her fairy dreams, the queen herself, 
 every one, believed that a fire was suddenly threaten- 
 ing the slumbering hotel when Elyse'e asked to speak 
 to her Majesty. From the chambers came a chirp- 
 ing of women flurrying around as if a bird-cage had 
 been awakened at an untimely hour. At last Fr^d^rique 
 appeared in the little salon where the tutor was waiting 
 for her. She was enveloped in a long blue wrapper, 
 which moulded her charming arms and shoulders. 
 Never had Elys^e felt so near to the woman. 
 
 "What is the matter?" she quickly asked, in a low 
 voice, and with that quivering of the eyelids which waits 
 for the first blow one sees approaching. At the first 
 word she sprang forward, exclaiming, — 
 
 "That cannot be ! That shall not be while I am 
 alive ! " 
 
 The violence of her movements shook down the 
 phosphorescent tresses of her hair ; and, in fastening them 
 up with a turn of the hand, her motion was so tragic and 
 free, that it caused her sleeve to slip up to her elbow. 
 
 "Awaken his Highness," she said, in a low voice, in 
 the dim light of the luxurious room adjoining ; then, 
 without adding a word, she ascended to the king's room.
 
 A HOME SCENE. 225 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A HOME SCENE. 
 
 All the charm of this June night entered through an 
 open window of the large hall, where a single lighted 
 candelabra left it sufficiently obscure for the moon- 
 light to fall on the walls like a milky way, light up 
 the polished bar of a trapezium, the arched bow of 
 a suspended guzla, and the glass panes of a rather 
 poorly furnished bookcase, which the pigeon-holes of 
 Boscovich helped to fill, exhaling the dead odor of 
 a cemetery of dried leaves. On a bundle of dusty 
 papers on the table, a tarnished silver figure of Christ 
 was lying; for, though Christian 11. wrote but little, 
 he remembered his Catholic education, and sur- 
 rounded himself with pious objects ; and sometimes, 
 while sunk in dissipation, in the din and excitement of 
 festive hours, with a hand already limp with intoxication, 
 he felt of the coral rosary in his pocket, which never left 
 him. By the side of the figure of Christ lay a large, 
 heavy sheet of parchment, covered with a coarse, rather 
 unsteady handwriting. It was the prepared act of renun- 
 ciation of royalty. It lacked only the signature and a 
 stroke of the pen ; but this required a strong act of the 
 will, and that was why Christian II. delayed, sitting mo- 
 tionless under the light of tapers prepared for the royal 
 seal, and leaning his elbows on the table. 
 
 Near him, anxious, prying, and noiseless as a sphinx of
 
 226 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 night, or the black swallow that flits around ruins, Lebeau, 
 the confidential valet, watched him, and silently excited 
 him to the deed, having finally reached that decisive mo- 
 ment for which the coterie had been waiting for months, 
 passing through ups and downs, heart-beats, and all the 
 uncertainties of a game in the hands of this rag of a 
 king. Notwithstanding the magnetism of the overpower- 
 ing desire, Christian, though holding the pen in his fin- 
 gers, did not sign. Buried in his arm-chair, he was 
 looking at the parchment, and dreaming. It was not 
 that he would hold on to this crown, which he never 
 desired or loved, and which, as a child, he felt too heavy, 
 and whose irksome responsibilities he felt in after life. 
 To free himself from it, place it in a comer of the salon 
 which he never entered, and to forget it when out of 
 doors as much as possible, he had already succeeded in 
 doing. But the decision now to be made, and this ex- 
 traordinary measure, frightened him ; yet there was no 
 other way of procuring the money that was indispen- 
 sable to his new life, there being notes for three millions 
 signed by him which would soon come due, and which 
 the usurer, a certain Pichery, a picture-dealer, did not 
 wish to renew. Could he allow every thing to be seized 
 at Saint Mande? What then would become of the 
 queen and the royal child? There would be scene after 
 scene ; for he plainly foresaw the frightful results of his 
 cowardice. Would it not be better to have done with it 
 at once, and brave anger and recrimination with one 
 stroke ? And then — and then — all this was not the de- 
 termining reason. 
 
 He had promised the countess to sign this renuncia- 
 tion ; and upon this promise Sephora consented to let 
 her husband go to London alone, and accepted the hotel
 
 A HOME SCENE. 227 
 
 in Messina Avenue, and the title and name which bound 
 her to Christian's arm ; reserving all else for the day 
 when the king himself would bring the act signed by his 
 own hand. She gave such reasons for this as a loving 
 girl would, — perhaps later he might wish to return to 
 lUyria, and abandon her for the throne and power : she 
 would not be the first whom terrible state reasons had 
 caused to tremble and weep. And d'Axel, Wattelet, and 
 all the swells in the Royal Club, little suspected, when 
 the king, on coming out of Messina Avenue, joined them 
 at the club, that he had passed the evening constantly re- 
 pulsed and encouraged, quivering and strained as a bow, 
 and held at the feet of this woman of implacable will 
 and supple resistance, who left in his ardent grasp the 
 icy, cold little hands of a Parisian who was skilful in 
 freeing them and defending herself, while on her lips 
 burned the maddening words, — 
 
 " Oh, when you are no longer a king, I will be yours, 
 wholly yours ! " She made him pass through the danger- 
 ous alternations of passion and repulse ; and sometimes 
 at the theatre, after an advance chilled by her cold smile, 
 she would slowly lay aside her gloves, and look fixedly 
 at him, and then, partly yielding, would give her bare 
 hand as a first offering to his kisses. 
 
 "Then, my poor Lebeau, you say that this Pichery 
 will do nothing." 
 
 "Nothing, sire. If the payment is not made, the 
 notes will go to protest." 
 
 One should have heard the despairing gasp which 
 emphasized this word "protest" to understand all the 
 gloomy formalities it entailed, — stamped paper, the 
 royal house taken possession of, profaned, and he him- 
 self turned into the street. Christian did not see this
 
 228 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 himself: he was dreaming, and, having arrived at Sepho- 
 ra's in the middle of the night anxious and shudder- 
 ing, stealthily mounted the staircase that was mysteriously 
 draped, and entered the room where the night-lamp 
 faintly glimmered through the lace-shade. 
 
 " It is done ! I am no longer a king ! Mine, wholly 
 mine ! " And the fair one yielded. 
 
 " Come ! " said he with a start as his vision vanished. 
 Then he signed. 
 
 The door opened, and the queen appeared. Her 
 presence in Christian's room at this hour was so new and 
 unforeseen, and they had lived apart so long, that neither 
 the king who was about to sign his infamy, nor Lebeau 
 who watched him, turned round at the slight sound. 
 They thought it was Boscovich coming in from the gar- 
 den. Gliding along like a shadow, Fr^d^rique had ahready 
 reached the table and the two accomplices, when Lebeau 
 perceived her. Placing her finger on her lips, as a sign 
 for him to be silent, she continued to advance, wishing 
 to catch the king in the very act of betrayal, and to pre- 
 vent his excuses, subterfuges, and useless dissimulation ; 
 but the valet braved her forbidding gesture by giving an 
 alarm a la d'Assas : — 
 
 "The queen, sire !" 
 
 Furious, the Dalmatian struck the cheek of this vicious 
 brute with the palm of her hand, which was hard and firm 
 firom horseback-riding, and drew herself up, waiting till 
 the wretch disappeared before addressing the king. 
 
 "What has happened to you, my dear Fr^d^rique? 
 and who wishes me? " 
 
 Standing, leaning backward against the table which" he 
 tried to conceal behind him, in an easy pose, which dis- 
 played his foulard vest embroidered with pink, he smiled,
 
 A HOME SCENE. 229 
 
 though his lips were rather pale. His voice, however, 
 was calm, and his speech fluent ; and he still possessed 
 that graceful politeness which never forsook him in his 
 wife's presence, and which formed between them some- 
 thing like the flowery, complicated arabesques on the 
 hard, lacquered surface of a screen. With one word and 
 motion of her hand she removed the barrier behind 
 which he sheltered himself : — 
 
 " Oh, no speeches ! no grimaces ! I know what you 
 were writing there ! Do not try to lie to me." 
 
 Then approaching him, her haughty figure towering 
 above his in his timid abasement, she said, using " thou " 
 in addressing him, which, as it was unusual with her, 
 made her words serious, and almost solemn, — 
 
 " Listen, Christian ! You have made me suffer much 
 since I became your wife. I have only spoken of this 
 once, you remember. When I saw that you no longer 
 loved me, I ceased ; but I was ignorant of nothing, — not 
 of one of your acts of treachery and folly. You must be 
 really mad, — mad as your father who wore himself out 
 with love for Lola ; mad as your grandfather Jean, who 
 died mad in a shameful delirium, foaming and kissing in 
 his gasps, and uttering words that made the sisters who had 
 charge of him turn pale. Ah ! it is the same hot blood, 
 the same fire of hell, which devours you. At Ragusa, 
 when you were away nights, they sought you at Foedor's 
 house. I knew it, and I knew that she left her theatre to 
 follow you ; but I made no reproaches : the honor of 
 your name was safe. When the king was missing on the 
 ramparts, I took care that his place was not vacant. But 
 at Paris, at Paris ! " 
 
 Till now she had spoken slowly and coldly, her voice 
 falling at the end of each sentence in a tone of pity and
 
 230 ir/NGS IN EXILE. 
 
 maternal reproof, inspired by the king's downcast eyes, and 
 by his pouting face like that of a vicious child whom one 
 lectures. But the word " Paris " put her beside herself. 
 A city without faith, — a mocking, accursed city, with 
 pavements stained with blood, and always raised in barri- 
 cade and held by the mob ! How possessed were all these 
 poor, fallen kings, to take refuge in this Sodom, where 
 the air is poisoned by massacre, and vices which destroy 
 great races ! It is this Sodom which made Christian 
 lose what the maddest of his ancestors always knew how 
 to keep, — their self-respect and pride of blood. Ever 
 since the day of their arrival, — on the very first even- 
 ing of their exile, — when she saw him so gay and ex- 
 cited, while all were weeping secretly, Fr^d^rique divined 
 the humiliation and shame that he would make her 
 endure. Then in one breath, without stopping, and with 
 cutting words that brought mottled red spots to the wan 
 face of the royal libertine and streaked it as with the 
 lash of a whip, she reminded him of all his faults, — of 
 his rapid fall from pleasure to vice, and from vice to the 
 level of crime : — 
 
 "You have deceived me before my very eyes in my 
 own house. You have been an adulterer, sitting by my 
 side at my own table ; and, when you tired of the curly- 
 headed doll who could not even conceal her tears, you, 
 in your idleness, went to the gutter — into the mud of 
 the streets — to boldly wallow. "The next day after 
 your orgie, all covered with mire, you returned in bitter 
 remorse. 
 
 " Do you remember how I found you stammering and 
 stuttering that morning when you lost the throne for the 
 second time ? What have you not done ? Holy Mother 
 of the Angels ! what have you not done ? You traded 
 with the royal seal ; you sold crosses and titles."
 
 A HOME SCENE. 231 
 
 And in a lower voice, as if she feared the silence and 
 
 the night might hear her, she continued, — 
 
 " You also stole ! you stole ! Those diamonds and 
 stones were removed by you. And I let my old Grceb 
 be suspected, and sent away. I had to do it : the theft 
 was known ; and we were forced to pretend some one was 
 guilty, to avoid suspicion of the true thief. My constant 
 anxiety was to save the king ; to endure and accept every 
 thing, even the shame which in the eyes of the world 
 would end by disgracing me. To excite and sustain 
 myself in hours of trials, I made ' For the crown ! ' my 
 watchword of combat. And now you wish to sell the 
 crown, when it has cost me such anguish and so many 
 tears ! you wish to exchange it for gold with that dull- 
 faced Jewess whom you had the impudence to bring 
 before me face to face to-day ! " 
 
 He listened with downcast look, and without uttering 
 a word, feeling perfectly dumbfounded, till the insult to 
 her whom he loved made him spring to his feet ; and 
 looking at the queen fixedly, with his face marked with 
 a cross as from the blows of a whip, he said to her, still 
 politely but very firmly, — 
 
 " Well, you are mistaken. The woman you speak of 
 has nothing to do with the resolution I have made. 
 What I am doing is for you and for myself, — for the 
 happiness and peace of us both. Are you not weary 
 of this life of expedients and privations ? Do you think 
 I am not aware of what passes here ? that I do not suffer 
 when I see this mob of tradespeople and creditors at 
 your heels ? I heard that man in the court-yard the other 
 day when I was entering. If it had not been for Rosen, 
 I would have crushed him under the wheel of my phae- 
 ton. And you, behind the curtain of your room, were
 
 232 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 watching his departure. A fine business for a queen ! 
 We owe every one. There is one universal cry against 
 us. Half of your people are kept waiting for their 
 wages ; and two months have passed since the tutor 
 received any thing. Madame de Silvis pays herself by 
 majestically wearing your old dresses. And, some days 
 ago, the councillor, placed in charge of the crown seals, 
 borrowed of my valet-de-chambre the wherewithal to buy 
 snuff. You see that I am informed of the state of things. 
 And you have no idea how many debts I have. I am 
 loaded with them. There will be a crash soon : it is in- 
 evitable. And you will see your diadem sold before long, 
 in a doorway, with old dishes and knives." 
 
 Gradually led on by his mocking nature and the hoax- 
 ing habits of his circle, he dropped the reserved tone 
 he used at first, and with his thin, insolent, nasal voice, 
 poured forth words of ridicule, among which many must 
 have been of Sephora's invention, who never lost an 
 occasion to overcome with her satire her lover's last 
 scruples. 
 
 " You accuse me of making speeches, my dear ; but 
 it is you who are lavish with words. After all, what is 
 this crown of lUyria you are always talking to me about ? 
 It is of no value except on a king's head. Besides, it is 
 a cumbersome, useless thing, which one conceals in a 
 flight in a milliner's box, and exhibits under a globe, like 
 a comedian's laurels, or the orange-blossoms of a con- 
 cierge. You must be convinced of this, Fr^d^rique. 
 A king is only a king on the throne, with power in his 
 hand : when fallen, he is less than nothing, — a mere rag. 
 In vain we adhere to etiquette and to our titles, display- 
 ing our majesty everywhere, — on the panels of carriages, 
 and on our sleeve-buttons ; encumbering ourselves with
 
 A HOME SCENE. 233 
 
 old-fashioned ceremony. All that is hypocrisy on our 
 part, and politeness and pity in those who surround us, — 
 our friends and servitors. I am King Christian II. here 
 to you and Rosen, and a few faithful ones; but, when 
 away, I become like other men, — Monsieur Christian 
 Second ; not even a name, — nothing but a first name, — 
 simply Christian, like a mounteback at the Gaiete." 
 
 He stopped, out of breath, never remembering having 
 spoken so long while standing. The shrill notes of the 
 fern-owl and the eager trills of nightingales pierced the 
 silence of the night. A big miller, which had short- 
 ened its wings in the light, was flitting about, hitting 
 against every thing. One heard its flying distress, and 
 the stifled sobs of the queen, who could hold her own 
 against anger and violence, but whom mockery, jarring 
 against her sincere nature, found defenceless, like a val- 
 iant soldier who expects open blows and feels himself 
 harassed with pricks. Seeing her weak, Christian thought 
 her conquered, and, to complete his work, put the last 
 touch to his burlesque picture of a monarch in exile : — 
 
 " What a pitiful figure are all these poor sovereigns in 
 partibus playing at royalty, and draping themselves with 
 the trumpery of their first roles, and continuing to declaim 
 l^efore empty benches, with not a sou in the way of 
 receipts ! Would they not do better to keep silent, and 
 retire to common life and obscurity? This passion for 
 grandeur is a luxury which does very well for those who 
 have a fortune. But think of those who have not one, — 
 our poor cousins of Palermo, for example, with their 
 wretched Italian cooking, and crowded into a house too 
 small for them, where it always smells of onions when 
 you enter. They are excellent people certainly ; but what 
 a life they lead ! and yet there are others even more
 
 234 KINGS IN EXff.E. 
 
 unfortunate. I'he other day a Bourbon — a true Bourbon 
 — was running after an omnibus. People shouted to him, 
 ' Full, sir ! ' but he kept running. ' I tell you it is full, 
 my poor old man ! ' they repeated. He got angry because 
 they did not address him as 'Your Highness,' as if 
 that could be seen in one's cravat ! We are like kings in 
 the opera, I tell you, my dear ; and it is to escape from 
 this ridiculous situation, and shield ourselves in an as- 
 sured and dignified existence, that I have resolved to sign 
 this." 
 
 He added, suddenly showing the crafty Slavonian 
 brought up by Jesuits, " Remark, besides, that this signa- 
 ture is a farce. They return us our property after all ; and 
 I consider myself by no means pledged. Who knows? 
 These millions will perhaps aid us in regaining the 
 throne." 
 
 The queen raised her head impetuously, and for a 
 moment looked into his eyes steadily enough to make 
 them blink ; then, shrugging her shoulders, said, — 
 
 " Don't make yourself any viler than you are. You 
 know very well that when it is once signed — But, no : 
 the truth is, that the strength fails you. You desert your 
 post as a king in the most perilous moment, when the 
 new society, which no longer wishes God or master, pur- 
 suing the representatives of divine right with its hate, 
 makes the heavens over their heads and the ground 
 under their feet tremble with bombs, balls, and the knife. 
 No means are too severe. They betray and assassinate, 
 in the midst of a procession or a fete, the best as well as 
 the worst. There is not one of us who does not tremble 
 when a man steps out from the crowd. Every petition 
 covers a poignard. When coming out from one's palace, 
 who can feel sure of returning to it? And at this hour 
 you choose to leave the battle."
 
 A HOME SCENE. 235 
 
 " Ah, if it were only a matter of fighting ! " said Chris- 
 tian II. quickly. " But to struggle, as we do, against 
 ridicule and want, and to feel that we sink deeper into 
 the mire every day ! " 
 
 A gleam of hope lighted Fr^d^rique's eyes. 
 
 "Is it true? Would you fight? Then listen." And 
 she told him breathlessly, in a few brief words, about the 
 expedition which Elys^e and she had been preparing for 
 three months, sending letter after letter, addresses, and 
 despatches ; while Father Alph^e was constantly travel- 
 ling through the villages and mountains. For this time it 
 is not the nobility they address, but the common people, 
 — the muleteers and porters of Ragusa, the market-gar- 
 deners of Breno and Brazza, and the people from the 
 islands who come to market in feluccas, — the primitive 
 and traditional nation, ready to rise up and die for the 
 king, but on condition of seeing him at their head. Com- 
 panies were forming, and the watchword was already 
 circulating ; and they only awaited a signal. The queen, 
 hurrying out her words in a vigorous charge to conquer 
 Christian's weakness, felt a pang of grief on seeing him 
 shake his head, more indifferent even than discouraged. 
 Perhaps at heart there was added the pique that he felt at 
 all these preparations made without his knowledge ; but 
 he did not think the project could be carried out. They 
 could not advance into the country : they would have to 
 get possession of the islands, and besiege a beautiful region 
 with a very small chance of success, — a Duke of Palma 
 adventure, a useless shedding of blood. 
 
 " No : you see, my dear, the fanaticism of your chap- 
 lain and that hot-headed Gascon misled you. I have my 
 information also, and it is more rehable than yours. The 
 truth is, that in Dalmatia, as elsewhere, monarchy has had 
 
 13
 
 2^6 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 its day. I'hey have had enough of it there : they no 
 longer wish it." 
 
 "Ah ! I well know the coward who wishes no more of 
 it," said the queen. 
 
 Then she hastily withdrew, leaving Christian very much 
 astonished that the scene had ended so soon. He 
 quickly picked up the act of renunciation, and put it in 
 his pocket ; and was about leaving, when Fredd'rique 
 returned, this time accompanied by the little prince. 
 
 Taken from his bed while fast asleep, and dressed in 
 great haste, Zara, who had just passed from the hands of 
 the femme-de-chambre into those of the queen without 
 a word being uttered, opened his large eyes under his 
 tawny curls, but did not ask a question ; for the confused 
 memory passed through his still dazed little head of 
 similar awakenings for hasty flights, surrounded by pale 
 faces and breathless exclamations. It was thus that he 
 acquired the habit of abandoning himself to the guidance 
 of others, provided that the queen called him in her 
 grave, resolute voice, and he could feel the tender clasp 
 of her arms, and her shoulder ready for him to lean on 
 in his childish fatigue. She said to him, " Come ! " and 
 he came with confidence, feeling only astonished at the 
 quiet around him after other nights full of roaring sounds 
 and lurid sights, with the glare of flames, the noise of 
 cannon and musketry. 
 
 He saw the king standing there, — not the pleasant, 
 light-hearted father who sometimes surprised him in bed, 
 or crossed the study-room with an encouraging smile, — 
 but with a stem, weary face, which became still more so at 
 their entrance. Fr^d^rique, without saying a word, drew 
 the child to Christian's feet, and, kneeling with a sudden, 
 quick motion, made him stand before her, and clasped 
 his little fingers between her hands, saying, —
 
 A HOME SCENE. 237 
 
 " The king will not listen to me. He will listen to you, 
 perhaps, Zara. Come ! say with me, ' My father '" — 
 
 The timid voice repeated, — 
 
 "My father" — 
 
 " My father, my king ! I implore you, do not rob your 
 child. Do not take from him the crown he must wear 
 some day. Remember that it is not yours alone ; that 
 it comes from afar, from on high, from God, who sent it 
 to the house of Illyria six hundred years ago. God 
 wishes that I should be a king, my father. It is my in- 
 heritance, my property ; and you have no right to take it 
 from me." 
 
 The little prince followed his mother's words with the 
 supplicating looks, and low, fervent tones of a prayer : 
 but Christian turned away his head, and shrugged his 
 shoulders ; and, furious, though still polite, muttered a 
 few words between his teeth : " Highly wrought-up, un- 
 becoming scene ! Turn the head of that child." Then 
 he disengaged himself, and went to the door. With one 
 bound the queen sprang to her feet, looked at the empty 
 table where the parchment had been spread, and, under- 
 standing that the infamous act had been signed, that he 
 held it, fairly screamed, — 
 
 " Christian ! " 
 
 He continued to walk off. 
 
 Fr^d^rique took one step forward, and made a motion 
 as if to gather up her dress to follow him ; then suddenly 
 said, — 
 
 " Well, so be it." 
 
 He stopped, seeing her stand before the open win- 
 dow, with her foot on the narrow stone balcony, with 
 one arm around her child, about to seek death ; and with 
 the other threatening the coward who fled, while the 
 moonhght shone in on the charming group.
 
 238 KINGS fN EXILE. 
 
 " A king of comedy and a queen of tragedy ! " she 
 said in a grave and terrible voice. " If you do not 
 instantly burn what you have just signed, and take an 
 oath on the cross that you will never do it again, your 
 race is ended, — your wife, your child — here, from this 
 balcony — crushed to death." 
 
 ■And her words, and her beautiful body leaning over 
 into the void, expressed such an impulse to leap, that the 
 king, terrified, sprang forward to hold her back. 
 
 " Fr^derique ! " 
 
 At his father's cry, at the trembling of the arm which 
 bore him, the child, who stood entirely outside of the 
 window, thought it was over, — that they were to die. He 
 did not utter a word or a complaint, since he was going 
 with his mother : only his little hands clung around the 
 queen's neck, and throwing back his head, from which 
 hung down his hair like a victim, he closed his beautiful 
 eyes to their frightful fall. It was so high ! 
 
 Christian no longer resisted. Such resignation and 
 courage in a child-king, who already knew this much of 
 his future lot, — how to die bravely ! The sight almost 
 made his heart break. He threw the act, which he had 
 been crumpling in his hand a moment, on the table, and 
 fell sobbing into an arm-chair. 
 
 Fred^rique, still mistrustful, looked the paper through 
 from the first line to the signature ; then held it close to 
 a taper, and let it burn to her fingers ; shook off the 
 black ashes on the table, and left the room to put her 
 son to bed, for he was beginning to fall asleep m his 
 heroic ^ose of a suicide.
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. 239 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. 
 
 A DINNER given to friends in the parlor of the old bric- 
 a-brac establishment was drawing to its close. The old 
 man Leemans, when alone, breaks a crust in company 
 with Darnet at the end of the kitchen-table, which has 
 neither cloth nor napkin. When he has company, as on 
 this evening, the careful Auvergnat grumblingly removes 
 the white slip-covering, carefully stows away the little 
 mats, and arranges the table opposite " Monsieur's " 
 portrait, in the room that is quiet and neat as that of a 
 curate, and which is pervaded for a few hours with odors 
 of a ragoiU flavored with onion, and very excited dis- 
 cussions in the slang they use when talking about their 
 dishonest money transactions. Ever since the "grand 
 scheme " has been in preparation, these dinners at the 
 bric-a-brac estabhshment have been frequent. It is well 
 for those in partnership to see each other often, and to 
 plan together ; and in no other way could they do it so 
 safely as at the end of this little out-of-the-way Rue 
 Eginhard, which belongs to the past of ancient Paris. 
 Here at least they could speak aloud, discuss, and plan ; 
 for the end was near. In a few days — indeed, in a few 
 hours — the renunciation would be signed ; and the af- 
 fair, which had already consumed so much money, would 
 begin to bring in considerable. The certainty of success 
 kindles the eyes and brightens the voices of the guests
 
 240 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 with golden cheerfulness, makes the table-cloth whiter, 
 and the wine purer. A true festive dinner, presided over 
 by Father Leemans and Pichery, his inseparable, — a 
 wooden head, pomaded a la Hongroise, set in a stiff 
 stock, with a bold military step, and the aspect of a dis- 
 graced officer : profession, picture-dealer and usurer, — a 
 new business, complicated and very appropriate for the 
 art-mania of our day. When the son of a family is hard 
 up, and at his wits' end, he goes to Pichery, who has a 
 sumptuous store in the Rue Lafitte. 
 
 " Have you a Corot, — a chouette Corot ? I am crazy 
 over that painter." 
 
 " Ah ! Corot ! " said Pichery, in ecstatic admiration, 
 closing his eyes, which were like those of a dead fish. 
 Then, all at once changing his tone, he exclaimed, " I 
 have just what will suit you." And, on a tall easel 
 wheeled opposite him, he showed a very pretty Corot, — 
 a morning glimmering in silvery mist, with nymphs dan- 
 cing under the willows. The dandy puts on his glass, and 
 pretends to admire it. 
 
 " Swell ! very swell ! How much is it? " 
 
 " Fifty thousand francs," said Pichery, without moving 
 a muscle. The other does not move a muscle either. 
 
 " For three months? " 
 
 " Three months, with security." 
 
 The dandy gives his note, carries the picture home or 
 to his mistress, and for a whole day has the delight of 
 saying at the club and on the boulevard that he has 
 just bought a stunning Corot. The next day he sends 
 his Corot to the auction-rooms, where Pichery has it 
 bought back by Leemans at ten or twelve thousand 
 francs, its true price. This is usury at an exorbitant 
 rate, but usury secured and without risk. Pichery him-
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. 241 
 
 self does not know whether the amateur buys seriously, 
 or not. He sells his Corot very dear, — " frame and 
 all," as they say in this pretty business : and it is his 
 right ; for the value of an object of art is nominal, and 
 he takes care to deliver only the authentic article, tested 
 by Father Leemans, who furnishes him in addition all 
 his artistic vocabulary, which is very surprising in the 
 mouth of this veteran, who can make his face take any 
 expression, and who is on the best terms with the 
 young swells, and all the cocottes in the neighborhood 
 of the opera, as is necessary in his business. 
 
 On the other side of the patriarch Leemans are 
 Sephora and her husband, who, with their chairs and 
 glasses close together, are playing lovers ; for they have 
 seen each other very seldom since this business first be- 
 gan. Tom Levis, who, in every one's belief is in Lon- 
 don, lives shut up in his little chateau at Courbevoie, and 
 uses his fishing-line all day for lack of dupes to catch, or 
 occupies himself in playing terrible pranks on the Sprichts. 
 Sephora, who maintains greater style than a Spanish queen, 
 finely dressed and with great ceremony, awaits the king 
 every hour, and leads the fast life of the demi-monde, 
 which is so occupied and yet has so little that is enter- 
 taining, that these dames almost always go in couples to 
 enable them to endure the long, dull promenades, or de- 
 pressing leisure. But the Countess of Spalato has not her 
 equal in the city. She cannot associate with women in for- 
 bidden circles, honest women do not visit her, and Chris- 
 tian n. could not endure to see about her the flock of 
 idlers who fill the salons which only men visit. There- 
 fore she always remains alone in her boudoir, which has 
 painted ceilings, and mirrors encircled with roses and 
 cupids, which only reflect her own indolent face, weary of
 
 242 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 all the vapid sentiment which the king pours out at her 
 feet like sick-headache perfumes exhaling from gold cups. 
 Ah ! she would quickly exchange all this dull princely 
 life for the little basement in the Rue Royale, with her 
 buffoon opposite her performing the jig he danced when 
 he rejoiced over his great strokes. She seldom has a 
 chance to write him, and keep him informed of the affair 
 and its progress. 
 
 So she is happy this evening as she sits close to him, 
 and stirs him up. "Come, make me laugh," she says. 
 And Tom exerts himself : but his spirit is not spontane- 
 ous ; and after every attempt at merriment he falls again 
 into troubled thought, which he does not speak of, and 
 which you could not guess in a thousand times' trying. 
 
 Well, I will tell you : Tom Levis is jealous. He knows 
 that there can be nothing wrong between Christian and 
 Sephora ; that the latter is too shrewd to yield without 
 security. But the moment is near ; for, when the paper 
 is signed, one must perform. And, upon my word, Tom 
 feels an anxiety that is very strange in a man who is 
 devoid of all superstition and childishness. Little fever- 
 ish chills of fear run through him when his eyes rest on 
 his wife, who has never looked so pretty, with an exceed- 
 ingly attractive toilet, and this title of countess, which 
 seems to refine her features, to brighten her eyes, and to 
 raise her hair in the form of a crown studded with pearls. 
 Evidently Tom Levis is not equal to his role : his shoul- 
 ders are not strong enough for the business. He would 
 give a good deal if he could take back his wife, and bring 
 every thing to a standstill. But shame and fear of ridi- 
 cule restrain him ; and then there is so much capital 
 already put into the business ! The unhappy man de- 
 bates within himself, turned from his purpose by the
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. 243 
 
 various scruples the countess would never have believed 
 him capable of. He affects great gayety, gesticulates with 
 a dagger in his heart, and enlivens the table by relating 
 some of the successful hits of the agency, and finishes by 
 so rousing the old man Leemans, and the icy Pichery 
 himself, that they take out from their bag their best jokes 
 and amateur tricks. 
 
 They are here — are they not ? — among partners and 
 confederates, with elbows on the table. They tell about 
 every thing, — the lower part of the hotel, its traps and 
 snares ; the coalition of great merchants, who are rivals 
 in appearance ; their tricks and Auvergnat trading, — that 
 mysterious free-masonry which puts a true barrier of 
 greasy collars and worn out frock-coats between the rare 
 object and the caprice of a purchaser, and forces the 
 latter into being foolish and paying high prices. They 
 vie with each other in telling cynical stories, to prove who 
 is the shrewdest and most skilful. 
 
 " Have I told you the one about my Egyptian lantern 
 and Mora?" asked Leemans, sipping his coffee ; and he 
 tells it for the hundredth time, as old warriors tell about 
 their favorite campaign, — the story of that lantern which a 
 Levantine in a strait let him have for two thousand francs, 
 and which he sold again the same day for forty thousand 
 to the president of the council, with a double commission, 
 — five hundred from the Levantine, and five thousand 
 from the duke. But what constitutes the charm of the 
 story are the ruses, the subterfuges, and the manner of 
 working up the rich, vain patron to a desire to purchase. 
 " Yes, no doubt, a fine piece ; but too dear, much too 
 dear. I beg you, Duke, leave that folly to some one else. 
 I am sure that the Sismondo — Ah ! the work in the 
 mounting of these little shrines and this carved chain is
 
 244 K/NGS IN EXILE. 
 
 beautiful indeed ! " And the old man, becoming ani- 
 mated at the laughter which shook the table, turns over a 
 little note-book much worn at the edges, in which his 
 inspiration is fed by the aid of a date, a cipher, and an 
 address. All the famous amateurs are classed in it, like 
 the fiancees with a large dowry on Monsieur de Foy's 
 great book, with their peculiarities and manias, — the 
 brunettes and the blondes ; those whom it is necessary to 
 treat rudely ; and those who only believe in the value of 
 an object when it costs a great price ; and also the scepti- 
 cal amateurs, and the innocent amateur, to whom one can 
 say, when selling him an imitation, — 
 
 " Remember, now : don't let that go out of your 
 hands." 
 
 In itself this note-book is worth a fortune. 
 
 " Say, Tom," said Sephora to her husband, whom she 
 wished to show off, " suppose you tell them the story 
 about your arrival at Paris — your first business in the 
 Rue Soufflot, you know." 
 
 Tom does not need to be begged, pours out a little 
 brandy to recover his voice, and relates, that about ten 
 years ago, while returning from London, played out and 
 ragged, with a last hundred-sou piece in his pocket, he 
 learned from a former acquaintance, whom he met in an 
 English tavern near the station, that the agencies were 
 then occupied with a big affair, — the marriage of Made- 
 moiselle Beaujars, the daughter of the contractor. She 
 has twelve million dower, and has taken it into her 
 head to marry a gi-eat lord, — a real one. They promise 
 a magnificent commission, and the bloodhounds are 
 many. Tom is not disconcerted, enters a reading-room, 
 turns over the book of heraldry of France, Gotha, and 
 Bottin, and finishes by discovering an ancient — very
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. «45 
 
 ancient — family related to the most celebrated people 
 living in the Rue Soufflot. The want of keeping of the 
 title with the name of the street made him fear that the 
 family fortunes were in a state of decay, or that there was 
 a stain on their reputation. " On what floor is Marquis 
 
 de X ? " He sacrifices his last silver piece, and 
 
 obtains some information from the concierge, — high no- 
 bility ; a widower ; a son, who has left Saint Cyr ; and a 
 young lady, eighteen years old, and very well brought up. 
 "Two thousand francs in rent, gas, water, and carpets," 
 adds the concierge, in whose opinion all this increases 
 his tenant's dignity. " Just what I want," thinks Tom 
 Levis ; and he goes up, rather overcome by the fine 
 appearance of the stairs, a statue at the entrance, arm- 
 chairs on every story, and the luxury of a modern house, 
 with which his worn-out coat, his leaking shoes, and his 
 very delicate commission form a strong contrast. 
 
 " When I was half-way there," related the agent, " I 
 was tempted to go down again. Then, upon my faith ! 
 I thought it would be a famous thing to try and do it ; 
 and I said to myself, ' You have wit and coolness, and 
 your living to get. All honor to intelligence ! ' And I 
 climbed up four steps at a time. I was shown into a 
 large room, of which I quickly took an inventory. Two 
 or three fine curiosities, some pompous relics, and a 
 portrait of Largillieres comprised the list, with furniture 
 that showed there was great poverty in the background ; 
 which was also suggested by a broken-down lounge, 
 arm-chairs that needed stuffing, and a fireplace colder 
 than the marble of its mantel-piece. The master of the 
 house arrives, — a majestic old fellow, tres chic, like Sam- 
 son in ' Mademoiselle de la Seigliere.' 
 
 " * You have a son, Marquis ? *
 
 246 /r/NGS IN EXILE. 
 
 " At these words Samson rises indignantly. I mention 
 the sum, twelve million. That makes him sit down again, 
 and we talk. He begins by confessing that he has not a 
 fortune equal to his name, — twenty thousand francs in- 
 come at most, — and that he would not be sorry to 
 regild his escutcheon. The son would have one hundred 
 thousand francs dower. 
 
 " ' O Marquis ! the name would suffice.' Then we 
 set the price of my commission, and I run off in a great 
 hurry, — people waiting for me at my office. That was 
 fine about my office ! I did not even know where I 
 should sleep at night. But, when I reached the door, 
 the old man drew me back, and said good-naturedly, * I 
 have a great mind to propose to you that you should 
 marry my daughter also : she has no dower : for, to tell 
 you the truth, I exaggerated just now in stating I had twenty 
 thousand francs income. I have not half that sum ; but I 
 can dispose of the title of Roman count. Besides, if my 
 son-in-law were in the army, my relations with the min- 
 ister of war would enable me to assure him advance- 
 ment.* When I finished taking my notes, I said, ' Count 
 on me, Marquis.' And I was just going out, when a 
 hand was brought down on my shoulder. I turned round, 
 and Samson was looking at me, laughing with such a droll 
 air. ' And then there is myself,' he said. 
 
 '"What, Marquis?' 
 
 " ' Faith, yes ! I am not yet too passe, if I could get 
 a chance.' 
 
 " He finally confessed that he was deeply in debt, 
 without a sou to pay with. ' Pardieu f my dear Mr. 
 Tom, if you can find some good business-woman who 
 thoroughly understands economy, — an old maid or 
 widow, I don't care which, — send her to me with her 
 cash, and I will make her a marchioness.'
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. 247 
 
 "When I left the place, my education was complete. 
 I understood all there was to make trade in Parisian 
 society, and the Levis Agency was morally founded." 
 
 This story was a wonder narrated, or rather acted, by 
 Tom Levis. He would get up, and sit down again, 
 imitating the majestic deportment of the old noble, who 
 had so soon degenerated into a cynical Bohemian ; and 
 he showed how he spread his handkerchief between his 
 knees, to cross one leg over the other, and repeated 
 three times about the low condition of his resources. It 
 might have been called a scene from the " Nephew of 
 Rameau," but a nephew of Rameau in the nineteenth 
 century, without powder or grace or a violin, and with 
 something hard and ferocious, — the harshness of that 
 bull-dog English accent, which added to the raillery of 
 the former rough of the faubourgs. The rest laughed, 
 and were greatly amused, making philosophical and 
 c)Tiical reflections on Tom's recital. 
 
 " You see, my children," said old Leemans, " if bro- 
 kers understood each other, they would be the masters 
 of the world. Every thing is traded in these times. 
 Every thing must come to us, and leave a Uttle of its 
 skin behind as it passes through our hands. When I 
 think what business has been done the past forty years 
 in this hole in the Rue Eginhard, — all that I have melted 
 down, sold, made over, and exchanged ! I needed noth- 
 ing but a crown to trade for ; but now I have even that." 
 
 He rose, holding up his glass, and cried, with flashing, 
 ferocious eyes, — 
 
 " Here's to the brokerage business, my children ! " 
 
 Damet, with her keen eyes peering out under her 
 black Cantal cap, stood in the background watching all, 
 listening to every thing, and getting instruction about
 
 248 KINGS JN EXILE. 
 
 the business ; for she hoped to estabhsh herself after 
 " Monsieur's " death, and trade on her own account. 
 
 Suddenly the door-latch rattles violently, then stran- 
 gles as if it had chronic catarrh. Every one started. 
 Who could come at such an hour? 
 
 " It is Lebeau," said Sephora's father. " It can be no 
 one but he." 
 
 And the valet-de-cha?nbre was greeted with a noisy 
 welcome ; for they had not seen him for a long time. 
 And he entered, pale and haggard, clinching his teeth, 
 and looking absolutely out of sorts. 
 
 " Sit down here, my old broker ! " said Leemans, mak- 
 ing a place between himself and his daughter. 
 
 "The devil!" exclaimed the new-comer at the sight 
 of their excited faces, the table, and the remnants of the 
 repast. " It looks as if you had been having a good 
 time here." 
 
 At this observation, and the gloomy tone in which it 
 was made, all looked at each other rather anxiously. 
 " Far bleu, yes ! we enjoy ourselves, and make merry. 
 Why should we be sad? " 
 
 Monsieur Lebeau seemed dazed. 
 
 " What ! don't you know. Countess ? When did you 
 see the king?" 
 
 " Why, this morning, yesterday, — every day." 
 
 " Did he say nothing to you about the terrible inter- 
 view?" 
 
 Then in two words he describes the scene, — how the 
 treaty was burned, and the business at the same time 
 most probably destroyed. 
 
 "Ah, the rascal ! I am duped ! " cried Sephora. 
 
 Tom, very much disturbed at this, looked at his wife, 
 and into the very depths of her eyes. Could it be that
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. 249 
 
 she had been so horribly imprudent as to — But the 
 lady is not in a mood to explain herself, she is so carried 
 away by her anger and indignation against Christian, who 
 for a week has involved himself in a series of falsehoods 
 to explain why the act of renunciation was not yet 
 signed. Oh, the coward, the coward and liar ! But 
 why did not Lebeau warn them? 
 
 "Ah, yes ! why?" said the valet-de-chambre, with his 
 hideous smile. " It would have given me a great deal 
 of trouble to have warned you. For ten days I have 
 been on the road, — five hundred leagues without stop- 
 ping to take breath or undress. There was no way even 
 to write a letter, watched as I was by a frightful monk, 
 a Franciscan father, who is quick to suspect, and plays 
 with the knife like a bandit. He watched all my move- 
 ments, and did not let me out of his sight a moment, 
 under the pretext that he did not know enough French 
 to go alone and make himself understood. The truth 
 is, they mistrust me at Saint Mand^, and have profited 
 by my absence to plot a great undertaking." 
 
 "What is it?" asked every eye. 
 
 " It has to do, I believe, with an expedition to Dal- 
 matia." 
 
 " It is that devil of a Gascon who has stirred them up." 
 
 " Oh ! I said that you should have gotten rid of him 
 in the beginning." 
 
 You could not hide any thing from the valet-de-cham- 
 bre, who had long ago scented these preparations in the 
 air, and observed that letters were sent off every hour, 
 and that mysterious meetings were held. One day, on 
 opening an album of water-colors, which that little fool 
 Madame de Rosen had left lying round, he saw uni- 
 forms and costumes designed by her, — " Illyrian Volun-
 
 250 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 teers," "Dragoons of the Faith," "Blue Shirts," and 
 " Defenders of Justice." 
 
 Another day he surprised the princess and Madame 
 de Siivis in a grave discussion on the form and size of 
 the rosettes. From all this, and a word he caught now 
 and then, he concluded they were planning the great 
 expedition ; and the journey they have just made him 
 take is not probably unknown to them. The little man 
 in black — a kind of dwarf, whom they sought in the 
 mountains of Navarre — must be some great soldier, 
 commissioned to lead the army under the command of 
 the king. 
 
 "What? the king will go too ! " cried Sephora's father, 
 looking at her with scorn. 
 
 A tumult of words follows this exclamation : — 
 
 " And our money ? " 
 
 " And the notes ? " 
 
 " It is an outrage ! " 
 
 " It is a theft ! " 
 
 And, as in these times politics are the Esop's dish set 
 before every one, Pichery, who is a strong imperialist, 
 and as stiff as the stock around his throat, apostrophizes 
 the Republic : — 
 
 "They could not have done such a thing under the 
 Empire as to threaten the peace of a neighboring state ! " 
 
 " It is very certain," observed Tom Levis gravely, 
 " very certain, that, if they knew it at the presidency, they 
 would not suffer it. They must be warned, and stirred 
 up." 
 
 "Yes, I have thought of it," resumed Lebeau. "Unfor- 
 tunately I know nothing positively. They will not listen 
 to me, and then our people mistrust. They have taken 
 every precaution to avert suspicion. Thus this evening,
 
 narch and promenade. Page 253.
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. 25 1 
 
 the queen's anniversary, they are to give a great pte at 
 the Hotel de Rosen. Go and tell the authorities that all 
 those dancers are about to conspire and plan battles ! 
 There is, however, something unusual about this ball." 
 
 Then for the first time they remark that the valet- 
 de-chambre is in evening-dress, light shoes, and white 
 cravat ; for he is charged with arranging the buffets, 
 and must return very quickly to Isle Saint Louis. The 
 countess, who has been meditating for a moment, says 
 suddenly, — 
 
 " Listen, Lebeau ! If the king leaves, you will know 
 it : will you not? They will inform you, if only to fasten 
 his trunk. Well, let me know an hour before ; and I 
 swear to you that the expedition will not take place." 
 
 She says this in her quiet voice, but slowly, and in a 
 firm, decided manner. And while Tom Levis moodily 
 wonders how Sephora could prevent the king from leav- 
 ing, and the other partners, who are all disconcerted, are 
 calculating the cost to them should the affair not succeed, 
 Lebeau returns to his ball, hurrying along on the toes of 
 his pumps through the labyrinth of little dark streets, 
 whose lines were broken by old roofs, moucharabies, and 
 portals bearing escutcheons, and all this aristocratic quar- 
 ter of the last century which is transformed into stores 
 and manufactories, and which, shaken in the daytime by 
 heavy trucks and the tramping of poor people, at night 
 resumes its character of a curious dead city. 
 
 The^/(? was seen and heard from a distance, — a sum- 
 mer-evening y?/^, whose sounds reached both shores of 
 the Seine ; while the lights were reflected as from the glare 
 of a fire to the end of the island, which seems, as it 
 projects into the undulating water, like the high, round 
 poop of a huge ship at anchor. On approaching, one
 
 252 JCINGS FN EXILE. 
 
 distinguishes the high windows flooded with hght behind 
 the curtains. A thousand colored lights hung on the 
 bushes and the venerable trees in the garden and on the 
 Quai d'Anjou, which is usually quiet at this hour, and 
 the steady beams from the lanterns affixed to carriages cut 
 through the darkness. The Hotel de Rosen has not seen 
 such a fete since Herbert's marriage ; and that of this 
 evening was even more extensive and livelier, all the win- 
 dows and doors being thrown open to the splendors of a 
 starry night. 
 
 The first floor formed a long gallery of salons, one 
 opening into the other, and as lofty as a cathedral, adorned 
 with paintings and ancient gilding, where the Venetian 
 and Holland chandeliers and Chinese lanterns, suspended 
 from the ceiling, shed their light over a peculiar decora- 
 tion with hangings, over which played a shimmering of 
 red and greenish-gold color, heavy shrines of massive 
 silver, framed ivories in laid work, old tarnished tin 
 mirror, reliquaries, standards, and treasures from Mon- 
 tenegro and Herzegovinia, which Parisian taste had 
 grouped together with no element that was harsh or too 
 foreign. The band, on a platform of an ancient oratory 
 recalling that of Chenonceaux, was surrounded with ban- 
 ners, which screened the chairs reserved for the king and 
 queen ; and contrasting with all this representation of the 
 past and glitter of costly antique treasures, which would 
 have transported Father Leemans, was the mad, dizzy 
 whirl of the waltz of the day, through which glided long 
 embroidered trains, whose wearers, with dazzling eyes 
 glancing steadily through a cloud of crepe hair, floated 
 along, defiant in their brilliant youth, — willowy, gracefiil 
 blondes, and brunettes with complexion of palest olive. 
 From time to time some couple, threading their way
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. 253 
 
 through the whirling crowd of dancers and the confused 
 mass of silken stuffs whose rustling forms a coquettish, 
 mysterious murmuring as an accompaniment to the music, 
 reach a window opening to the floor, and, passing through 
 it, receive on their heads, thrown backwards, the glare of 
 the frontal on which the queen's cipher is inscribed in 
 flaming gas-jets. In the garden, guided by the music, 
 they follow the measures of the dance with hesitating 
 step, stopping occasionally when the sound is faint ; and 
 finally their waltz becomes a march and promenade, ca- 
 denced and harmonious, following along the fragrant 
 clusters of magnolias and rose-bushes. But with the 
 exception of the rare, curious decorations, and a few for- 
 eign types of women with tawny hair and the soft, supple 
 motions of the Slavonian, at first glance one only saw one 
 of those society parish festivals such as the Faubourg 
 Saint Germain, which is represented to-night at the Hotel 
 de Rosen by the most ancient and high-sounding names, 
 gives sometimes in the old gardens in the Rue de I'Uni- 
 versit^, where the dancers pass out from waxed floors on 
 to the lawns, and where black coats are relieved by light 
 pantaloons; and these out-of-door fetes are freer and 
 gayer than any others. 
 
 In his room on the second story, the old duke, who 
 had been racked for a week with an attack of sciatica, was 
 listening to the echoes of his ball, burying his head under 
 the coverlet, and stifling cries of pain, and cursing like a 
 soldier at the ironical cruelty of the affliction which forced 
 him to keep his bed on such a day, and made it impossible 
 for him to join all the fine young men who were to leave 
 the next day. The passports having been given, and the 
 order of battle arranged, the ball was intended as a fare- 
 well, a sort of defiance to the mischances of war, and at
 
 254 A'/NGS IN EXILE. 
 
 the same time a precautionary measure to blind the 
 French poUce. 'I'hougli the duke could not accompany 
 the volunteers, he consoled himself with the thought that 
 his son Herbert, as well as his crowns, would be in the 
 expedition ; for their Majesties consented to allow him to 
 defray the expenses. On his bed, mingled with officers' 
 maps, and plans of strategy, lay memoranda of the ec^uip- 
 ment, boxes of guns, boots, blankets, and provisions for 
 the campaign ; all of which he was carefully verifying 
 with a terrible puckering of his mustache, the grimace of 
 an heroic royalist struggling against his parsimonious and 
 molelike instincts. Now an amount or some information 
 was needed : then he would send for Herbert to come 
 up, — which was an excuse to keep the tall son a few 
 minutes at his bedside, as he was to leave him the next 
 day for the first time, and he might perhaps never see 
 him again, — the son for whom he felt the deepest 
 tenderness, poorly dissimulated under a majestic deport- 
 ment and silence. But the prince could not stay : he was 
 in a hurry to go down again, and do the honors of the 
 hotel, and especially desired not to lose one moment of 
 the few brief hours he could yet pass with his dear 
 Colette. 
 
 Standing with him in the first salon, she helped him 
 to receive his father's guests, and was prettier and more 
 elegant than ever in her close-fitting tunic of very old 
 lace made from the surplice of a Greek archbishop, and 
 whose softness well became her fragile beauty, which this 
 evening was marked by a mysterious, almost grave, man- 
 ner. This gave a look of repose to her features, and a 
 depth to her eyes, which were of the same shade of blue 
 as the Httle rosette waving among her curls beneath a 
 diamond aigrette, — list ! a rosette of the lUyrian volun-
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. 255 
 
 teer, a pattern chosen for the expedition, and designed 
 by the princess, who, the dear, little one, had nd"t been 
 idle for three months. Copying proclamations, carrying 
 them secretly to the convent of the Franciscans, design- 
 ing costumes and banners, and tracking the police, whom 
 she fancied were always at her heels, was the way she 
 filled her role of a great royalist lady, inspired by her 
 early reading at the Sacr6 Coeur. There was but one 
 thing wanting in this programme of Vendean brigandage : 
 she could not leave, and follow her Herbert. For now it 
 was Herbert, nothing but Herbert. Through a kindness 
 of nature, she no longer thought of the other any more 
 than of the unfortunate ouistiti so cruelly dashed to 
 pieces against the river-bank near by. The delight of 
 assuming a man's costume, and putting on small-sized 
 high boots, was denied Colette for two reasons, — one, her 
 duties towards the queen ; and the other, a very private 
 one, whispered the evening before in the aide-de-camp's 
 ear. . . . There were many secrets for the little woman to 
 keep ; and, notwithstanding her lips were closed in mys- 
 terious silence, the adorably speaking look in her eyes, 
 and the languid manner in which she leaned on Herbert's 
 arm, would readily tell all for her. 
 
 Of a sudden the band ceases to play, and the dance 
 stops, and every one rises to greet Christian and Fr^d^- 
 rique as they enter. They have crossed the three salons, 
 which are resplendent with national treasures, and in 
 every part of which the queen has seen her cipher em- 
 broidered with flowers, and lights, and precious stones, 
 and in which every thing has spoken to them of their 
 country and its glories ; and now they pause on the 
 threshold of the garden. Never has monarchy been 
 represented in a prouder or more brilliant manner, a
 
 256 IsriNCS IN EXILE. 
 
 perfect couple to be engraved on coins of a people, the 
 frontal of a dynasty. The queen, in particular, is charm- 
 ing, looking younger by ten years in a splendid white 
 dress, and having as her only ornament a heavy amber 
 necklace, with a cross for pendant. This necklace, hav- 
 ing been consecrated and blessed by the Pope, has its 
 legend, which the faithful repeat to themselves in a low 
 voice. She wore it all through the siege of Ragusa, lost 
 it twice, and found it again by a miracle, during the 
 sorties, under the fire of battle. She has a superstition 
 about it, and has made a queen's vow upon it, without 
 thinking of the charming effect of these gilded pearls so 
 near her hair, whose brightness they, as it were, reflect. 
 
 While the sovereigns are standing there radiant, and 
 admiring the fete and the fairy-like scene in the lighted 
 garden, three strokes of a bow in strange, thrilling, pow- 
 erful chords, suddenly are heard from a cluster of rho- 
 dodendrons. All the Slavonians among the company 
 tremble on recognizing the sound of the guzlas, of whose 
 long-armed mandolins one has a glimpse through the 
 dusky verdure. The music begins with a murmuring 
 prelude, like the rolling in of distant waves in cadenced 
 measure, coming nearer, leaping higher, swelling louder, 
 and spreading wider. It seems to symbolize a heavy 
 cloud charged with electricity, as from time to time the 
 swiftest bow emits quivering strokes like lightning-flashes, 
 and soon bursts forth the stormy, voluptuous, heroic 
 rhythm of the national air, which is both a hymn and 
 dancing melody, — the air of " Rodoitza," which in II- 
 lyria is heard at every fete and every battle, and presents 
 the double character of its ancient legend : The Hun- 
 garian soldier Rodoitza, having fallen into the hands of 
 the Turks, feigns death to escape. They kindle a fp^
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. 257 
 
 on his bosom ; but he does not move. Then a serpent, 
 excited by the sunlight, is placed upon it. They drive 
 twenty nails under his finger-nails, and he still is as mo- 
 tionless as stone. Then they send for Haikouna, the 
 tallest and most beautiful daughter of Zara, who dances 
 while singing the national air of Illyria. At the very 
 first measures, as soon as Rodoitza hears the rattling of 
 the sequins of the fair one's necklace, and the fringe 
 around her belt, he smiles, and opens his eyes, and would 
 be lost, if the dancer, taking a sweeping step, had not 
 flung across his animated face the silken scarf which she 
 weaves as a crown above her to give emphasis to her 
 dance. Thus he was saved ; and that is why for two 
 hundred years the national air of Illyria has been called 
 the air of Rodoitza. 
 
 On hearing it under the sky of the land of exile, all 
 the Illyrians, men and women, grew pale. This appeal of 
 the guzlas, which the band at the end of the salons softly 
 accompanies, like a murmur of waves heard above the 
 cries of the storm-bird, is the voice of their native land 
 trembling with memories and tears, silent regrets, and 
 hopes. The large, heavy bows, like those used in com- 
 bat, do not vibrate on common chords, but on nerves 
 strained and ready to sunder like delicate, resonant fibres. 
 
 These young men, brave and proud, with the deport- 
 ment of Hungarian soldiers, feel all the indomitable 
 courage of Rodoitza that was so well rewarded by the 
 love of a woman. These beautiful Dalmatians, tall as 
 HaiTcouna, have at heart her tenderness for heroes. And 
 the old men while thinking of their distant country, and 
 mothers when looking at their sons, all long to sob ; 
 and all, were it not for the presence of the king and 
 queen, would mingle their voices with the loud shrill
 
 258 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 cry which tlie players of the guzlas, their piece being con- 
 cluded, pour forth to the stars in a final burst of harmony. 
 
 Immediately afterwards the dancing is resumed with 
 an adandon and surprising spirit in a society where peo- 
 ple seldom amuse themselves except in a conventional 
 way. 
 
 Decidedly, as Lebeau said, there is something out of 
 the common order in \.h.\s/cie, — something ardent, fever- 
 ish, and passionate, wliich one recognizes in the clasp of 
 arms around the dancers' waists, their excitement, and 
 certain sparkling looks that are exchanged, even to the 
 cadences of the waltzes and mazurkas, where all at once 
 a clicking like that of stirrups and spurs is heard. 
 
 Towards the end of a ball, when the pale morning light 
 breaks through the windows, the last hour of pleasure has 
 this hurried ardor of intoxication and exhaustion. But 
 here the ball has hardly begun ; and already hands burn 
 under their gloves, and hearts beat under the bouquets 
 on their corsage or the little diamond brooches. When 
 a couple float by, inspired by the music and by love, eyes 
 follow them with a smiling, tender gaze ; for indeed every 
 one knows that all these fine dancers — the exiled nobil- 
 ity of Illyria, with their sovereign, and the French nobil- 
 ity, always ready to give their blood for a good cause — 
 are to leave at daybreak for a bold, perilous expedition. 
 
 Even in event of victory, how many of these proud 
 young men who enlist unconcernedly will return ? How 
 many before a week will be biting the dust on the other 
 side of the mountains, still having in their ears — in 
 which the blood, being turned from its course, is buzzing 
 — the sound of this intoxicating melody of the mazurka ! 
 It is the approach of danger which mingles the anxiety 
 of a night before battle with the life of the ball, making
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. 259 
 
 eyes glisten with tears and lightning- flashes, now brave, 
 then languishing. 
 
 What can one refuse to him who leaves us, who is 
 going to die perhaps? And with death hovering over 
 you, whose wing brushes you as you move to the sound 
 of the violins, how close it makes the clasp of an arm ! 
 and how it hastens avowals ! 
 
 Fugitive loves, meeting of ephemera crossing the same 
 sunbeam ! They have never seen each other before, and 
 will never see each other again, no doubt ; and yet two 
 hearts are enchained. A few, the proudest, try to smile 
 in spite of their emotion ; but with how much sweetness 
 under the irony? And they whirl round in the dance 
 with heads thrown back, and curls flying, each couple 
 oblivious of all but each other in the dizzy round of the 
 intricate mystical movement of a waltz of Brahm or a 
 mazurka of Chopin. 
 
 There was one person who was also thrilled and deeply 
 moved. It was M^raut, in whom the chant of the guz- 
 las — now soft and sweet, then full of savage energy — 
 had awakened the adventurous Bohemian mood which is 
 part of every Southern temperament, which makes one 
 feel a mad desire to go far away, on unknown roads, out 
 to the light, to adventure, and battle, and to do some 
 proud and valiant deed for which women would admire 
 him. Though he did not dance, and would not fight, he 
 was full of the intoxication of this heroic ball. To think 
 that all these young men were to leave, to give their 
 blood, and to perform dangerous and valiant deeds, while 
 he remained behind with old men and children ; to think, 
 that, having organized the crusade, he would let it be en- 
 tered upon without him, — caused him inexpressible sad- 
 ness and annoyance. Thought felt ashamed in the pres-
 
 a6o KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 ence of action. And perliaps, too, this heart-rending 
 sensation and longing to die, which the songs and Slavon- 
 ian dances poured into his veins, was increased by Frdd^- 
 rique's beaming pride as she leaned on Christian's arm. 
 One could see how happy she was at finding at last a king 
 and warrior in her husband. 
 
 Haikouna, Haikouna ! in the clinking of arms you can 
 forget, and pardon all, — treachery and falsehoods. What 
 you love above every thing is physical bravery ; and to it 
 you will always throw the handkerchief warm with your 
 tears, and filled with the delicate fragrance of your face. 
 While he grieves thus, Haikouna — who has just perceived 
 in a corner of the salon this broad poetical brow around 
 which waves the abundant hair which is so rebellious 
 and unconventional — smiles, and beckons him to ap- 
 proach ; for she seems to have divined the cause of his 
 sadness. 
 
 " What a beautiful /^/(f, Monsieur M^raut \ " Then she 
 added, lowering her voice, — 
 
 " I owe even this to you. But we owe you so much, 
 one hardly knows how to thank you." 
 
 It was indeed he whose sturdy faith had breathed on 
 all these dull flames, restored hope to fainting hearts, and 
 prepared the uprising by which they were to profit on the 
 morrow. The queen did not forget it ; and there was no 
 one in the illustrious assembly to whom she would have 
 spoken with this deferential kindness, this sweet look of 
 gratitude, here, before every one, in the respectful circle 
 made around sovereigns. But Christian II. approaches, 
 and takes Fr^d^rique's arm. 
 
 "The Marquis of Hezeta is here," said he to Elys6e. 
 " Have you seen him? " 
 
 " I am not acquainted with him, sire,"
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. 26 1 
 
 " He pretends, however, that you are old friends. But 
 here he is ! " 
 
 This Marquis of Hezeta was the chief who was to 
 command the expedition in the place of old General de 
 Rosen. In the last coup de main of the Duke of Palma, 
 he showed astonishing qualities as a military leader ; and 
 if they had listened to him the battle would never have 
 had its pitiful end. When he saw his efforts wasted, and 
 the claimant himself give the example and the signal for 
 flight, the ringleader, being weary and misanthropical, 
 plunged into the depths of the Basque mountains, and 
 lived there out of reach of childish conspiracies, false 
 hopes, and sword-thrusts in the water, which exhausted 
 his moral strength. He wished to die in obscurity in his 
 country, but was tempted once more to adventure by the 
 captivating royalism of Father Alph^e, and the fame of 
 Christian H.'s bravery. The partisan's ancient nobility, 
 his romantic life spent in exile, its persecutions, great 
 brilliancy, and fanatical cruelty, surrounded the Marquis 
 Jos6 Maria de Hezeta with an almost legendary interest, 
 and made him the hero of the evening. 
 
 " How do you do, Ely ? " said he, approaching Elys^e, 
 and holding out his hand, and calling him by his child- 
 hood's name in the time of the Enclos de Rey. " Eh, 
 yes ! it is I. It is your old teacher. Monsieur Papel." 
 
 His black coat, covered with crosses and orders, and 
 his white cravat, changed him but little ; nor had even 
 the twenty years which had since passed over his enor- 
 mous dwarfs head, which was so browned by sunburn 
 and the dust of the mountains, that the frightful and 
 characteristic vein in his face was hardly seen. With 
 it his royalist stubbornness seemed to be lessened, as if 
 he had left a part of the early beliefs and illusions of his
 
 262 ICINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 youth at the bottom of the Basque cap thrown by him 
 into a stream at the end of a campaign. 
 
 Elys^e was strangely surprised at hearing the voice of 
 his former teacher, who had made him what he was. 
 
 " You see, my Httle Ely " — 
 
 Little Ely was two feet taller than he, and had not a 
 few gray streaks in his hair. 
 
 " It is over. There are no more kings. The princi- 
 ple remains, but men are wanting. Not one of those un- 
 horsed men is capable of remounting ; not even one 
 has a real desire. Ah ! what have I not seen, what have 
 I not seen, during this war?" 
 
 A scarlet flush spread over his forehead, and suf- 
 fused his eyes, which had a fixed stare, as if they 
 were enlarged at the vision of shame, cowardice, and 
 treachery. 
 
 " But all kings are not the same," protested M^raut ; 
 " and I am sure that Christian " — 
 
 " Yours is no better than ours, — a child, caring 
 only for amusement ; not an idea, nothing that indi- 
 cates will in those pleasure-loving eyes. Only look at 
 him ! " 
 
 He pointed to the king, who was waltzing into the 
 room with suffused eyes and moist forehead, his little 
 round head bowed over his partner's bare shoulder as if 
 it would rest there, while the breath from his parted lips 
 touched it. In the increasing intoxication of the ball, 
 the couple passed near them without seeing them, their 
 rapid breathing reaching them as they swept past ; and, 
 as people poured into the gallery to see Christian 11. 
 dance, — the first waltzer in his kingdom, — Hezeta and 
 Meraut took refuge in the deep embrasure of one of 
 the windows which opened on the Quai d'Anjou. They
 
 MILITARY PREPARATIONS. 263 
 
 remained there a long time, partly within the noise and 
 whirl of the ball, and partly in the cool darkness and 
 soothing silence of the night. 
 
 " Kings no longer believe in any thing, no longer 
 desire any thing. Why should we hold out for them ? " 
 said the Spaniard savagely. 
 
 " You no longer have faith, and yet you are going." 
 
 " Yes, I am going." 
 
 "Without hope?" 
 
 " Only one, — that of getting my head shot off, — my 
 poor head that I know not where to lay." 
 
 "And the king?" 
 
 " Oh, I feel easy about him ! " 
 
 Did he mean that Christian II. had not yet mounted, 
 or that, like his cousin the Duke of Palma, he would 
 always return safe from the battle? He did not explain 
 himself further. 
 
 The dancers continued in their mad whirls ; but Ely- 
 s6e, discouraged by his old teacher and his own illusions, 
 saw them now with different eyes. He felt a deep pity 
 for all the brave youth who were so gayly preparing to go 
 and fight under hopeless chiefs ; and already the fete, 
 with its confusion and gayety and softened lights, was 
 obscured by the dust of a battle-field, — the grand melee 
 after a defeat, where the unknown dead are gathered 
 together. For a moment, to escape this gloomy vision, 
 he leaned on the window-seat, and looked out on the 
 deserted quay, where broad streams of Hght were re- 
 flected from the palace into the Seine beyond. And he 
 listened to the swollen and troubled water, which min- 
 gled the sound of its currents, and that of its furious ebb 
 against the arch of the bridges, with the sighs of the 
 violins, and the heart-rending plaints of the guzlas ; and
 
 a64 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 at one time leaped up with a gurgle like the sobs of an 
 oppressed heart, and at another poured forth in great 
 waves in a wide circle, gushing out like blood from a 
 newly opened wound.
 
 THE NIGHT-TRAIN. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE NIGHT-TRAIN. 
 
 "We leave this evening at eleven o'clock from the 
 Lyons station. Destination unknown, probably Cette, 
 Nice, or Marseilles. Let me hear from you." 
 
 When this note, scribbled in haste by Lebeau, reached 
 the Rue de Messina, the Countess de Spalato had just left 
 the bath, and — fresh, odorous, and supple — was moving 
 busily to and fro from her room to her boudoir, watering 
 and caring for her basket flowers and her plants, and 
 wearing a pair of light Swedish gloves that reached to the 
 elbows for this promenade through her artificial garden. 
 She did not interest herself in any thing else, but sat 
 reflecting a moment in the quiet half-light, the bhnds 
 being down, then made a little decided gesture, and 
 shrugged her shoulders, which signified, " Bah ! who 
 wishes the end?" And she immediately rang for her 
 fe?ttme-de-chambre, that she might be ready when the 
 king should come. 
 
 " What is Madame going to put on? " 
 
 Madame looked into the glass as if to ask it for an 
 idea. 
 
 " Nothing. I shall remain as I am." 
 
 Nothing indeed could make her prettier than her long 
 flannel robe, with its delicate, pale color, and soft, cling- 
 ing folds, and a large fichu fastened like a child's sash at 
 her waist behind ; with her black hair twisted and frizzled.
 
 266 h'lNGS TN EXTLF.. 
 
 and carried up very high on her head, exposing the neck, 
 and the line where the shoulders began, which one could 
 divine were warmer in tone than her face, and of a clear, 
 mellow amber, and very smooth. 
 
 She decided — and she was right — that a finished 
 toilet would not be as becoming as ihis dishabille, which 
 would give her still more the appearance of a simple little 
 girl, which the king liked so much in her, but which 
 obliged her to breakfast in her room ; for she could not 
 go downstairs in such a costume. She kept house in 
 dignified style, and could no longer indulge in the fancies 
 and Bohemian ways of her life at Courbevoie. After 
 breakfast she seated herself in her boudoir, from which 
 a veranda projected over the avenue, and quietly 
 watched for the king in the rosy reflections of the 
 curtains, as she formerly sat at the window in her 
 parent's bourgeois home. Christian never came before 
 two o'clock ; but after that time she was filled with an 
 anxiety that was new to her placid nature, — that of 
 waiting, — at first feeling but slightly agitated, like a rip- 
 ple bubbling on the water; then becoming nervous, 
 excited, and restless. There were but few carriages at 
 this hour in the quiet avenue, which was flooded with 
 sunlight between its double row of plane-trees and new 
 hotels, which extended to the gilded gate of Park Mon- 
 ceaux, the glass of whose lamp-posts glittered in the sun's 
 rays. At the least sound of wheels, Sephora drew aside 
 the curtain to get a better view, and, being disappointed 
 each time that she expected to see him, felt irritated by 
 the calm serenity and the country quiet out of doors. 
 
 What could have happened ? Would he really leave 
 without seeing her ? 
 
 She sought reasons and excuses : but, when one is
 
 THE ALIGHT-TRAIN. 267 
 
 waiting for another, one's whole being is strained in ex- 
 pectation and suspense ; and one's ideas are as fleeting, 
 disconnected, and unfinished, as the stuttering words on 
 one's lips. The countess felt this torture, this numbness 
 at the ends of her fingers, where the nerves become very 
 sensitive. Again she raised the pink awning. A warm 
 wind stirred the foliage of the branches, and a coolness 
 arose from the ground, where the watering-carts had 
 sprinkled the track of carriages, which were now more 
 numerous on their way to the bois for the five-o'clock 
 drive. She began to be seriously frightened at being 
 abandoned by the king, and sent off two letters, — one to 
 Prince d'Axel's house, and the other to the club ; then 
 she dressed herself, not being able to remain until even- 
 ing in the attire of a little girl coming from the bath, 
 and again began her promenade from her chamber to 
 her boudoir, to her dressing-room, and soon all over 
 the hotel, trying, by moving about, to forget that she was 
 waiting. 
 
 It was not a little cocotte cage that the Spalato had 
 bought ; nor was it one of those splendid houses with 
 which the millionnaire traders have encumbered the new 
 localities in the western part of Paris, but an artistic 
 hotel, very worthy of the names of the surrounding 
 streets, — Murillo, Velasquez, Van Dyck, — and which 
 was distinguished in ever)' way from its neighbors, from 
 the crowning of its facade to the knocker of its door. It 
 was built by Count Plotnicld for his mistress, an ugly 
 woman, on whose marble toilet-table he placed every 
 morning a thousand-franc note folded in a square ; and 
 had been sold pell-mell, with all its art-furniture, for two 
 millions, on the death of the wealthy Pole, who left no 
 will ; and Sephora had gained these treasures all at 
 once, jg
 
 268 rcTNT^^ TN pyrrF. 
 
 Down the heavy staircase of carx'ed wood, whose 
 steps would support a carriage and horses, and which 
 makes a dark background to the lady's grave beauty, 
 like that in a Dutch painting, the Countess of Spalato 
 descends to her three salons on the ground-floor, — 
 the salon containing Dresden china, the little Louis 
 XV. room, filled with a ravishing collection of vases, 
 statuettes, and enamels, in the fragile style of the eigh- 
 teenth century, which seem to be moulded by the rosy 
 fingers of favorites, and brightened by the roguishness 
 of their smiles ; the salon of ivory ornaments, which are 
 displayed under glass lined with flame-color, ivories 
 from China, with a quantity of little figures, trees with 
 fruits of precious stones, fishes with eyes of jade, and 
 ivory figures of the middle ages, with a mournful, pas- 
 sionate expression, and on which the blood in red 
 wax on the crucifixes makes a spot as on the deathly 
 pallor of human flesh ; the third room, lighted as a 
 studio, and hung in Cordova leather, is waiting to be 
 furnished by Leemans. Usually the soul of this female 
 bric-a-brac dealer is exalted among these pretty things, 
 beautified to her still more by the bargain she made. 
 To-day she goes in and out of the rooms without looking 
 at any thing, or seeing any thing, her thoughts far away, 
 lost in irritating reasoning. What ! he would leave her 
 thus ? Then he did not love her ; and she had been so 
 certain that she had thoroughly captivated and secured 
 him ! 
 
 The servant returns. No news of the king. They 
 have not seen him anywhere. That was just like Chris- 
 tian ! Feeling himself weak, he fled and concealed him- 
 self. For a second this woman, who has such mastery 
 over herself, is roused from her calmness by intense
 
 THE NIGHT-TRAIN. 269 
 
 anger. She would break and tear every thing to pieces 
 around her, were it not for her long habit of selling 
 articles, which, visibly as it were, sets a value on every 
 object. Lying back in an arm-chair, while the declining 
 day renders all her costly treasures of yesterday invisible, 
 she sees them vanish from her with her dream of a 
 colossal fortune. The door is thrown violently open. 
 
 " Dinner is ready. Countess ! " 
 
 She must seat herself at table all alone in the stately 
 dining-room, on whose eight panels are large portraits by 
 Frantz Hals estimated at eight hundred thousand francs, 
 — stern, dull faces, stiff and solemn in their high ruffs, 
 but less solemn than the steward with a white cravat who 
 is at the buffet carving the dishes, which are served by 
 two droll mutes dressed in nankeen. The irony of this 
 pompous service in contrast with the abandonment which 
 threatens Madame de Spalato contracts her heart with 
 spite ; and one would say that the servants suspect some- 
 thing, the valets' scomfulness so increases as they stand 
 in the most ceremonious attitude while she eats, and 
 wait till she finishes, grave and immovable as a photogra- 
 pher's assistants after they have placed a sitter before the 
 instrument. Gradually, however, the abandoned one 
 takes comfort, and recovers her true nature. No : she 
 will not allow herself to be cast off thus. Not that she 
 cares for the king ; but the business, the great scheme, 
 and her self-love, are at stake before her associates. Well, 
 then, her plan is made. Ascending to her room, she 
 writes a word to Tom. Then, while the servants in the 
 basement are dining, and gossiping about the solitary 
 and troubled day of their mistress, the countess with her 
 little hands, which are not awkward, prepares a travelling- 
 valise, which has often made the journey from the agency
 
 270 K/NGS JN EX I I.E. 
 
 to Courbevoic, tlirows over her shoulders a cloak of 
 woollen beige for the cold night, and with her bag in her 
 hand, like a young lady in a store who has received 
 her wages, stealthily leaves her palace on foot for the 
 nearest carriage-station. 
 
 Christian II., on his part, had passed a no less anxious 
 day. Having remained very late at the ball with the queen, 
 he awoke with his head and heart full of the heroic mur- 
 muring of the guzlas. The preparations for the jour- 
 ney — examining his weapons, as well as the costume of a 
 lieutenant-general, which he had not put on since Ragusa 
 — kept him until eleven o'clock, followed and watched by 
 Lebeau, who was greatly perplexed, and dared not push 
 his insinuating questions too far. At eleven o'clock the 
 little court assembled for a low mass said by Father Al- 
 ph^e in the salon, which was transformed into an oratory, 
 the mantle-piece serving as an altar, and the velvet lam- 
 brequins being covered with an embroidered cloth. The 
 Rosens were absent ; the old man being in bed, and the 
 princess having gone to the station with Herbert, who 
 had left with several young men. Hezeta was to follow 
 them in the next train ; and all the Httle troop slipped 
 away thus in the daytime, not to excite suspicion. 
 
 This private mass, which recalled times of trouble, the 
 exalted face of the monk, and the military energy of his 
 gesture and voice, savored of incense and powder ; the 
 religious ceremony being made solemn by the thought of 
 the approaching battle. 
 
 The breakfast-hour was made oppressive by these 
 mingled emotions, although the king had a certain vanity 
 about leaving only agreeable remembrances : and he 
 affected a respectful, tender manner towards the queen ; 
 but it was defeated by Fr(^d(^rique's rather mistrustful cold-
 
 THE NIGHT-TRATN. 271 
 
 ness. The child's eyes were timidly watching them, for 
 the horrible scene of the other night haunted his youthful 
 memory, and gave him nervous intuitions above his age. 
 The Marchioness de Silvis gave heavy sighs of farewell. 
 Elys^e, whose confidence had entirely returned, could 
 not restrain his joy when thinking of that counter-revolu- 
 tion of the people that he had dreamed of so long, — of 
 the mob forcing the doors of a palace to gain an entrance 
 for a king. According to him success was not doubtful. 
 Christian had not the same confidence ; but beyond the 
 unpleasantness of leave-taking, when it seems that a soli- 
 tude is created all at once by a premature separation from 
 objects or beings who surround you, he felt no gloomy 
 apprehension, but a relief from a very false situation, sur- 
 rounded as he was by threatening due-bills and obliga- 
 tions of honor. In case of victory the civil list would 
 discharge every thing : defeat, on the contrary, would 
 bring about a general ruin. Death, a ball in the forehead, 
 full in the face, he thought of as a final solution of money 
 and heart troubles ; and his light-heartedness was a good 
 medium between the queen's abstraction and Elysde's 
 enthusiasm. But, while they were all three talking in the 
 garden, a servant passed. 
 
 " Tell Sammy to harness up," ordered Christian. 
 
 Fr^d^rique trembled. 
 
 "Are you going out?" 
 
 " Yes, for prudence' sake. Yesterday's ball must have 
 made Paris talk. I must show myself, — must be seen 
 at the club and on the boulevard. Oh, I will return to 
 dine with you ! " 
 
 He ascended the steps with one bound, joyous and free 
 as a boy leaving school. 
 
 " I shall be afraid till the end," said the queen. And
 
 2 72 A'TNGS IN EXILE. 
 
 M(^raut, who, like her, foresaw all, could not find a word 
 to encourage her. 
 
 The king, however, had made strong resolutions. Dur- 
 ing mass he had sworn not to see Sephora again, feeling 
 certain that if she wished to retain him, if she should clasp 
 her arms closely around his neck, he would not have 
 strength to leave her. With the best faith in the world 
 he was driven to his club, and found a few bald-headed 
 men, — some absorbed in silent games of whist, and others 
 in majestic attitudes were sleeping around the great table 
 in the reading-room. Every thing here was more dead 
 and deserted because people had played a great deal the 
 night before. In the morning, as all the party were leav- 
 ing, his Highness the Prince d'Axel at their head, a troop 
 of asses had passed before the club, trotting along and 
 braying. His Highness called the driver. They drank 
 warm milk in champagne-glasses. Then these gentlemen, 
 who were somewhat tipsy, getting astride the poor beasts in 
 spite of their kicking and the shouts of the driver, ran the 
 most amusing steeple-chase all along the Rue de la Paix. 
 You should have heard the thrilling account of the stately 
 M. Bonoeil, the manager of the Royal Club : — 
 
 " Oh, it was so droll ! His Highness on that little ass 
 obliged to draw up his long legs, — for his Highness has 
 fine legs, — and he still kept his imperturbable coolness ! 
 Ah, if your Majesty had been there ! " 
 
 His Majesty regretted very much having missed this 
 pleasant party of fools. Happy Prince d'Axel ! In trou- 
 ble with the king, his uncle, — driven from his country 
 by all kinds of court intrigues, — he would never reign, 
 perhaps, since the old monarch intended to be married 
 again, and to a young woman, and would briniT a lot of 
 little heirs-presumptive into the world. But all this did
 
 THE NIGHT-TRAIN. 273 
 
 not disturb him in the least. To have a jolly time in 
 Paris seemed to him far more interesting than to give 
 himself up to politics in Illyria. And gradually the 
 chaffing, the sceptical sarcasm, gained the ascendency 
 with Christian, who was lying on the lounge where 
 the royal prince had left the impress of his contagious 
 caprices. In the idle atmosphere of the club, every 
 thing — the heroic excitement of the evening before, 
 and the morrow's attempt — seemed to the young king 
 to be devoid of glory or grandeur. Positively he would 
 be demoralized were he to remain there ; and, to escape 
 the torpor which was invading him like a stupefying poi- 
 son in his veins, he arose, and descended into the fresh 
 air among the living. 
 
 It was three o'clock, — the hour that he usually went to 
 Messina Avenue, after having breakfasted at the club or 
 with Mignon. Involuntarily his feet followed the usual 
 road in this summer Paris, which was a little larger and 
 less exciting than the other, but which has charming 
 views and shorter perspectives, with verdure massed 
 against rocks, and leafy shadows playing over the white 
 asphalt road. 
 
 What pretty women glided along there, half concealed 
 by their parasols, with so much grace, so charmingly 
 spirituelle, fascinating, and amiable ! What other women 
 could walk like them, arrange the folds of their drapery 
 with such grace, and talk and dress so well ? Ah, Paris, 
 Paris, city of easy pleasure and short hours ! and to think, 
 that, in order to be surer of leaving it, perhaps he . was 
 going to lose his head ! What delightful moments he had 
 enjoyed, however, full of sensuous and perfect pleasure ! 
 In the fervor of his gratitude, the Slavonian's eyes spar- 
 kled at all these passers-by, who charmed him with some
 
 2 74 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 feature, or motion of the skirt, with a fanlike train 
 trimmed with kxce. There was little resemblance be- 
 tween the chevalier king, who in the morning kneeled 
 between his wife and son in the oratory before setting 
 out to regain his kingdom, and the handsome lady-killer 
 with an eager face, and with the hat of a conqueror on 
 his little, round, frizzly head, and with cheeks flushed by 
 pleasure. Fr(^d^rique was not wrong in detesting the 
 excitement of Paris, and fearing its effect on the unsteady 
 brain, which was nothing but froth, like certain wines 
 that do not keep. 
 
 At the junction of the Boulevard Haussmann and 
 Messina Avenue, Christian stopped, and waited for sev- 
 eral carriages to pass. This was to bring himself to rea- 
 son. How did he come here, and so quickly? The 
 Hotel Potnicki, with its two small spires, like those of a 
 Parisian castle, and its mouchai^abie veiled in an alcove, 
 rose up before him. What a temptation ! Why should 
 he not go there ? why should he not see for the last time 
 the woman who would haunt his life with the memory of 
 unsatisfied longing, the more exciting through disap- 
 pointment ? 
 
 Finally, after a moment's terrible debate, which was 
 perfectly apparent in his weak body, which swayed like a 
 reed, he made an heroic decision, jumped into an uncov- 
 ered carriage which was passing, and gave the address of 
 his club. He would never have had courage to do this, 
 if it had not been for a vow made to God during mass 
 in the morning. To this cowardly soul, which was as 
 devout as that of a Catholic woman, this outweighed 
 every thing. 
 
 At the club he found Sephora's letter, and the mere 
 odor of musk in the paper communicated the fever
 
 THE NIGHT-TRAIN. 275 
 
 which was consuming her. The prince brought him the 
 other missive, — a few, hurried imploring phrases, in a 
 handwriting that Tom's books had never known. But 
 here Christian II., being surrounded, sustained, and 
 looked at, felt himself stronger ; for he was one of those 
 persons whose attitude is influenced by lookers-on in the 
 gallery. He thrust the letters into the bottom of his 
 pocket. The young men from the club appeared, full 
 of the story about the asses, which had been told at 
 length in the morning paper. The sheet circulated from 
 hand to hand ; and, while reading it, they all laughed till 
 they were perfectly exhausted. 
 
 " Is there any thing up for this evening? " asked these 
 young noblemen, swallowing soda-water : the club had 
 a whole storehouse of these alterative waters. Led 
 away by their gay spirits, the king was persuaded to go 
 and dine with them at the Cafe de Londres, and not in 
 one of those salons whose familiar hangings had danced 
 before their eyes a dozen times when intoxicated, and 
 whose mirrors bore their names and writings, interlaced 
 like a wintry frost on the window-panes ; but in a cellar, 
 one of those charming catacombs extending beneath the 
 theatre of the Op^ra Comique, and which is filled with 
 casks and bottles, whose cases are arranged in regular 
 rows with porcelain labels. All the wines of France were 
 buried here. They set the table in the back part, among 
 the sea-green bottles of the Chateau Yquem, which were 
 lying flat, and gleamed softly, sparkling in the reflection 
 of the gas and girandoles of colored glass. It was an 
 idea of Wattelet, who wished to mark the departure of 
 Christian II. with a novel repast, known to him and the 
 prince alone. But the effect was lost through the damp- 
 ness of the walls and ceiUngs, which soon chilled the
 
 276 A'INGS IN EXILE. 
 
 guests, who were wearied with the fatigue of the preced- 
 ing night. Queue de I'uule kept falling asleep, and wak- 
 ing with a start. Rigolo talked but little, and laughed or 
 pretended to, drawing out his watch every five minutes. 
 Perhaps he was thinking of the queen, whom this delay 
 would alarm. 
 
 At dessert a few women who were in the habit of 
 dining at the Caf6 de Londres appeared, and, knowing 
 the princes were below, left their tables, and, guided by 
 the waiters bearing candlesticks, filed into the cellars, 
 with their skirts over their arms, giving little shrieks as if 
 frightened at their frolic. Almost all were decolletees. 
 At the end of five minutes they were coughing, and 
 looked pale, shivering at the side of the gentlemen, who 
 at least were protected by their turned-up collars. " A 
 good joke to give them all a cough," as one of them 
 said, who shivered more, or was less excited, than the 
 others. They decided to go up and take their coffee in 
 the salons ; and, while they were moving. Christian disap- 
 peared. It was not quite nine o'clock. His coupe was 
 waiting for him at the door. 
 
 " Messina Avenue," he said in a low voice through his 
 closed teeth. 
 
 It came over him like a fit of madness. During din- 
 ner, he had thought of her alone. Oh, to clasp her in 
 his arms, and be no longer the dupe of her tears and 
 prayers ! 
 
 " Madame has gone out." 
 
 This was like cold water on a brazier. Madame had 
 gone out. One could not doubt it on seeing the disor- 
 der of the house, given over to the servants, whose bright 
 ribbons and striped waistcoats Christian saw vanish as he 
 entered. He asked nothing more, and, being suddenly
 
 THE NIGHT-TRAIN. 277 
 
 sobered, measured the bottomless abyss into which he 
 had nearly fallen, — a perjurer before God, and a traitor 
 to the crown ! He held the rosary in his burning fingers, 
 and counted the beads with an ave of thanksgiving, while 
 the carriage rolled to Saint Mand6 through the fantastic 
 shapes and nightly terrors of the wood. 
 
 "The king!" said Elysde, who was watching at the 
 windows, and saw the reflection of two lanterns of the 
 coupe as it entered the court-yard. "The king ! " It was 
 the first word that had been spoken since dinner. As if 
 by magic, every face brightened, and at the same time 
 tongues were loosed. The queen herself, in spite of her 
 apparent calmness and strength of character, could not 
 restrain a cry of joy. She had feared that every thing was 
 lost, — Christian detained at that woman's, abandoning 
 his friends, and dishonoring himself forever. And there 
 was no one around her during these three long hours of 
 waiting to whom this thought had not come, and who 
 was not just as anxious, even to little Zara, whom she had 
 kept up, and who, understanding the anguish and tragic 
 meaning of this silence, without venturing one of those 
 cruel, prophetic questions which children speak out so 
 plainly, had taken refuge behind the leaves of a big 
 album, and, at the announcement of the king's return, 
 suddenly put out his pretty face bathed with the tears 
 that had been silently flowing for an hour. Later, when 
 they questioned him about his great sorrow, he confessed 
 that he was in despair for fear the king would go off" with- 
 out kissing him. Little, loving soul, to whom this young, 
 lively, smiling father seemed like a tall, frolicsome 
 brother, — a charming, big brother, — who worried their 
 mother ! 
 
 They heard Christian's quick, hurried voice giving
 
 278 JiriNGS IN EXILE. 
 
 orders. Then he went up to his room, and five minutes 
 afterwards appeared equipped for the journey in a small 
 hat with a coquettish buckle and blue cord, and with the 
 light, low gaiters of a tourist at the beach, like those in 
 Wattelet's pictures. Under the dandy, however, was seen 
 the monarch, — the authority, the grand air, the ability 
 to appear nobly under all circumstances. He approached 
 the queen, and muttered a few excuses for his delay. 
 Still pale with emotion, she said to him in a very low 
 voice, " If you had not come, I should have gone with 
 Zara to take your place." He knew that she was speak- 
 ing the truth, and for a moment saw her, with her child 
 in her arms, under the fire of balls, as he saw her in the 
 terrible scene on the balcony of his window, with the 
 little one closing his beautiful eyes, and resigned to death. 
 Without making any reply, he carried Fr^d^rique's hand 
 to his lips with fervor ; then, with the impetuous move- 
 ment of youth, drew her towards him, saying, " Pardon ! 
 pardon ! " 
 
 Pardon him ! The queen might still have been capable 
 of doing so, but at the door of the salofi she saw Lebeau, 
 the sly valet, the confidant of his pleasures and treachery, 
 ready to leave with his master ; and suddenly a frightful 
 idea came to her while she gently freed herself : " What 
 if he were lying? If he were not to leave ! " 
 
 Christian divined this, and, turning to M6raut, said, 
 "You will accompany me to the station. Sammy will 
 bring you back." 
 
 Then, as the moments were few, he hurried through his 
 farewells, said a pleasant word to each, — to Boscovich 
 to the marchioness, — and took Zara on his knees, and 
 told him about the expedition he was attempting in order 
 to regain his kingdom, charging him never to give the
 
 THE NIGHT-TRAIN. 279 
 
 queen cause for sorrow, and, if he should never see his 
 father again, to remember that he died for his country 
 while doing his duty as a king. 
 
 A little speech a la Louis XIV., really not badly ex- 
 pressed, which was gravely listened to by the young 
 prince, who was rather disconcerted at the seriousness of 
 these words coming from a mouth about which he had 
 always seen smiles. But Christian was a man of the 
 present moment, excessively changeable and flighty, and 
 was now eager for departure and the chances of the 
 expedition, and more touched than he wished to appear, 
 which made him try to escape very quickly from the 
 emotions of the last moment. He waved a " Farewell ! 
 farewell ! " to every one, with a low bow to the queen, 
 and went out. 
 
 Truly, if Elysee M^raut had not for three years seen 
 the royal home disturbed by Christian's weakness and 
 shameful cowardice, he would not have recognized the 
 Rigolo of the Royal Club in the proud, heroic prince, 
 who, as they rolled rapidly to the Lyons station, ac- 
 quainted him with his plans and projects, and his political 
 views, which were very broad and sensible. 
 
 The tutor, who was always somewhat superstitious in 
 his royalist faith, saw in this a divine intervention, a privi- 
 lege of caste, — the king always coming to himself at 
 the right moment through the grace of his coronation 
 and hereditary descent ; and, without explaining to him- 
 self why, this new moral birth of Christian, preceding 
 and presaging the other that was near, caused him an 
 inexpressibly uncomfortable feeUng, a haughty jealousy, 
 whose cause he did not wish to analyze. While Lebeau 
 was busy buying the tickets and registering the baggage, 
 they walked up and down the large waiting-room ; and,
 
 aSo KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 in the solitude of this departure at night, the king could 
 not help thinking of Scphora, and the tender conversa- 
 tions with her when he escorted her to Saint Lazare. 
 Under the influence of this memory, a woman who was 
 passing attracted his attention ; for she had the same 
 figure, and a trifle of the bold, coquettish step. 
 
 Poor Christian ! poor unwilling king ! 
 
 Here he is at last seated in a car, the door of which 
 Lebeau had just opened, — the public car, in order not 
 to attract suspicion. He throws himself into a corner, in 
 a hurry to have it over, and be off. This slow parting is 
 very painful to him. At the whistle, the train starts, 
 stretches along, and rumbles noisily over the bridges, 
 and passes through the sleeping villages dotted with 
 street-lamps in a row, and rushes out into the broad 
 country. 
 
 Christian H. breathes again. He feels strong, saved, 
 protected : he would almost hum if he were alone in 
 the car. But yonder, at the other window, a little shadow 
 buried in black draws itself down, and shrinks back with 
 the evident desire not to attract attention. It is a wo- 
 man. Young or old, ugly or pretty? The king — a 
 matter of habit — casts a look towards her. Nothing 
 stirs but the two wings on her little hat, which turn back, 
 looking as if they were about to fold themselves up to 
 sleep. 
 
 " She has gone to sleep. Let us do the same." 
 
 He stretches himself out, wraps himself up in a rug, 
 vaguely sees the outlines of trees and bushes mingled 
 together in the shadows thrown by clouds scurrying 
 across a soft sky, and by the signal-posts as the train 
 dashes past them. His heavy eyelids are about to close, 
 when he feels across his face the caress of delicate hair,
 
 THE NIGHT-TRAIN. 28 1 
 
 and lowered eyes near his, and a breath Hke violets from 
 lips which murmur close to his, — 
 
 "Wicked man ! without saying farewell to me ! " 
 Ten hours later Christian II. awoke to the sound of 
 cannon, and to the blinding light of a beautiful country 
 sun flickering through rustling foliage. He had just been 
 dreaming that he was mounting at the head of his troops, 
 under a hail- storm of shot, the hillock which leads from 
 the port of Ragusa to the citadel. But he found him- 
 self lying here motionless, buried in a large bed, hol- 
 lowed out like a battle-field, with ever}' thing confused 
 in his brain and before his eyes, his bones giving way to 
 delicious fatigue. What had happened? Gradually he 
 saw every thing clearly, and he recollected. He w^s at 
 Fontainebleau, at the Hotel du Faisan, opposite the forest 
 whose dense green tops rose up into the blue sky, and the 
 cannon was firing in the artillery exercises ; and the living 
 reality, the visible link between his ideas, — Sephora, — was 
 writing busily with a poor, scratching pen at the eternal 
 secretary which is found only in hotels. She saw the 
 king's admiring, grateful glance in the mirror, and an- 
 swered — without moving, without turning round — with 
 a tender kiss in her eyes, and with one she tossed him 
 from the tip of her pen. Then she began to write quietly, 
 with a smile in the comer of her seraphic mouth. 
 
 " I am sending home a despatch to keep my family 
 from being anxious," she said, rising to give it to the 
 boy. When he had gone, feeling relieved of anxiety, 
 she opened the window to admit the pale sunlight, 
 which streamed in, in floods like water from a mill-dam. 
 " Heavens ! how beautiful it is ! " She then seats herself 
 near her lover, laughing joyously ; for she is wild with 
 pleasure at being in the country, and at the thought of
 
 282 KINGS I A'' EXILE. 
 
 being able to ramble through the woods this charming 
 day. They had time to do this, as the night-train which 
 had brought them would not carry back Christian till the 
 following night ; for Lebeau, continuing his route, was 
 to warn Hezeta and his noblemen that the embarkment 
 was retarded for one day. The enamoured Slavonian 
 would have liked to draw down the curtains on a happi- 
 ness which he would have had continue till the last hour, 
 till the last moment. But women have liigher ideals ; 
 and immediately after breakfast a hired landau carried 
 them through splendid avenues bordered by even lawns, 
 and groves of trees in the form of a square, which make 
 the forest open like a park at Versailles before rocks 
 divide it into wild and superb sites. It was the first 
 time they had been out together, and Christian was 
 tasting this brief joy before the terrible morrow of battle 
 and death. 
 
 They rolled along under wide arches of verdure, 
 whence fell the leaves in light showers from the motion- 
 less beeches, through which shone the distant sun, which 
 with difficulty pierced the heavy mass of foliage where 
 tree towered above tree, and all were of antediluvian 
 growth. 
 
 Under this shelter, without other horizon than the 
 profile of a beloved woman, — without other hope, mem- 
 ory, or desire than her caresses, — the poetic nature of the 
 Slavonian expanded. Oh, to live there, both of them, 
 — no one but themselves, — in a little guard-house, with 
 moss and thatch outside, and fitted up inside as a luxu- 
 rious nest ! 
 
 He wished to know how long she had loved him, and 
 what impression he made on her the first time. He 
 translated verses of his country for her, rhythmed with
 
 THE NIGHT-TRAIN. 283 
 
 light kisses on her throat and eyes ; and she listened, 
 and pretended to understand and answer, her eyelids 
 quivering, heavy from her sleepless night. 
 
 Eternal discord in the duet of love ! Christian de- 
 sired to bury himself in solitary places yet unexplored. 
 Sephora would seek famous spots, — the labelled curi- 
 osities of the forest, where are small pleasure-gardens ; 
 shops with articles in juniper-wood ; exhibitors of stones 
 which tremble, and rocks which weep ; trees shattered 
 by lightning ; and where all the people are sheltered in 
 huts or caves, whence they spring out at the sound of 
 wheels. She hoped to escape by this the wearisome, 
 monotonous song of love ; and Christian admired her 
 touching patience in listening to the interminable 
 speeches of these good country-people who have time 
 and to spare for all they do. 
 
 At Franchart she wished to draw water from the 
 famous well of the ancient monks, which is so deep 
 that the bucket is nearly twenty minutes in coming up. 
 Christian must have enjoyed all this ! Here still another 
 good woman, covered with medals like an old gendarme, 
 showed them the beauties of the site, — the ancient sea, 
 on the borders of which the stag was cured. She had 
 told the same story in the same words for so many years, 
 that she imagined she had belonged to the convent, and 
 three hundred years after had visited the sumptuous coun- 
 try-seats of the first Empire. 
 
 " It is here, su- and madame, that the great emperor 
 sat in the evening with all his court." And she pointed 
 to a sand-stone bench, with three or four seats, in the 
 heather. Then she added loftily, " Opposite was the 
 empress with her ladies of honor." 
 
 This bringing imperial pomp to mind among crumbled 
 19
 
 284 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 rocks, gnarled trees, and dry broom, made Christian feel 
 gloomy. 
 
 "Are you coming, Sephora?" he asked. But Sephora 
 was looking at an esplanade, where, according to the 
 cicerone, they used to bring the little King of Rome, 
 who, led by his governess, would from a distance hold 
 out his arms to his august parents. This picture of a 
 child-king reminded the King of lUyria of his little Zara, 
 who stood before him in this barren landscape, supported 
 by Fr^d^rique, and looking at him with his great sad 
 eyes, as if to ask him what he was doing there. But it 
 was only a vague reminder, quickly effaced ; and they 
 continued their walk under oaks of every size, past 
 hunting rendezvous with glorious names, in the hollows 
 of green valleys, where are cliffs rising above an enclosure 
 of crumbled granite, and sand-pits where pine-trees 
 pushed through the red earth with their strong and pro- 
 jecting roots. 
 
 Now they followed a dark alley in impenetrable 
 shade, with deep, damp borders. On each side were 
 rows of trunks, like pillars of a cathedral, forming silent 
 naves, where was heard the step of a squirrel, or the 
 fall of a leaf fluttering down like a flake of gold. A 
 deep sadness came from overhead, from the branches 
 where rested no birds, and which were as empty and 
 sonorous as deserted houses. Christian, who was still in 
 love, as the day advanced, gave depth to his passion by 
 a mournful, melancholy tone. He stated, that, before 
 leaving, he made his will, and described the emotion 
 caused him by the words from beyond the tomb written 
 in the midst of life. 
 
 " Yes, it was very tiresome," said Sephora, like some 
 one who is thinking of other things. But he thought
 
 THE NIGHT-TRAIN. 285 
 
 himself so much beloved, he was so accustomed to being 
 so, that he did not notice her absent-mindedness. He 
 even consoled her in advance in case of disaster be- 
 falling him, and laid out a plan of life for her : she must 
 sell the hotel, and retire to the country, where she would 
 live with her memories. All this was adorably con- 
 ceited, naive, and sincere ; for he felt a cold weight at 
 his heart in thinking of his farewell, which he took for 
 presentiments of death. With hands clasped he talked 
 to her in a low voice of a future life. He had on his 
 neck a little medallion of the Virgin, which never left 
 him ; and he took it off for lier. You can imagine 
 whether Sephora was happy. Suddenly a camp of 
 artillery, with gray tents standing in a row, light smoke, 
 and unharnessed horses tied up for the night, gave 
 another turn to the king's thoughts. The moving to and 
 fro of men in uniforms on fatigue-duty, all the busy 
 movements in the open air in the glow of sunset, and the 
 inspiring sight of a soldier in camp, awoke the nomadic 
 and warlike instincts of his race. 
 
 The carriage, rolling over the velvety carpet of moss 
 in the broad avenue, caused the soldiers, who were busied 
 in arranging their tents or making soup, to raise their 
 heads. They laughed as they saw the pekin and his 
 pretty sweetheart pass. Christian looked under the 
 hedges to the end of the camp, and felt a great desire to 
 talk to them, and make a speech. A bugle sounded, and 
 others answered from a distance. Before an officer's 
 tent, a little apart on rising ground, the most beautiful 
 Arabian horse was prancing, with distended nostril and 
 flying mane, and neighing at the warlike sound. The 
 Slavonian's eyes sparkled. Ah ! the fine life he would 
 lead in a few days ! the grand deeds he would perform !
 
 '.36 A'/NCS IN EXILE. 
 
 But what a pity that Lebeau, who was on his way to 
 Marseilles, had carried away the baggage ! he would 
 have so liked to have Sephora see him in his lieutenant- 
 general's costume. And, getting excited, he pictured the 
 gates of towns being forced, the republican army routed, 
 and his triumphant entry into Laybach through the 
 streets hung with flags. She should be there. God 
 willing, he would send for her, and establish her in a 
 splendid palace at the gates of the town ; and they would 
 see each other as freely as in Paris. Sephora did not say 
 much in answer to these fine projects. No doubt she 
 would have preferred to keep him wholly to herself; and 
 Christian admired her for this silent self-sacrifice, which 
 truly raised her to her rank of the king's mistress. 
 
 Ah ! how he loved her ! and how quickly passed the 
 evening at the Hotel de Faisan in their room hung with 
 red ! the light curtains shutting out the sounds and sights 
 of a summer evening in a little town, the few scattered 
 lights, and the chatting of promenaders before the doors, 
 who soon dispersed as the sounds of drums and bugles 
 died away. What kisses, foolish words, and passionate 
 vows were added to those already given ! In a tender 
 and languishing mood they pressed close to each othei-'s 
 hearts, which they could hear beat fast ; while the warm 
 breezes, murmuring through the trees, fluttered their cur- 
 tains ; and a fountain plashed softly in the litde garden 
 of the hotel, as in an Arabian court- yard ; and the flicker- 
 ing light of a lamp in the servants' hall was the only one 
 to be seen. 
 
 One o'clock ! He must leave. Christian dreaded the 
 last moment of the parting, believing that he would have 
 to struggle against prayers and caresses ; that he would 
 have to summon all his courage. But Sephora was ready
 
 THE NTGHT-TRAII7. 287 
 
 before him, and wished to accompany him to the station, 
 thinking less of her love than of the honor of her royal 
 lover. 
 
 Poor man ! if he could have heard the " Ouf ! " of relief 
 she sighed — the cruel girl — when she remained alone 
 on the road, and saw the two green eyes of the train wind 
 out of sight \ if he could have known how happy she 
 was to return and spend the night alone at the hotel, 
 while, shaken by the jolts of an empty omnibus over the 
 old pavement at Fontainebleau, she said to herself in a 
 deliberate tone, free from all emotion of love, — 
 
 " I hope Tom has done all that is necessary." 
 
 Most certainly what was necessary had been done ; for, 
 on the arrival of the train at Marseilles, Christian II., 
 stepping out of the car with his small valise in his hand, 
 was very much astonished to see a man in a flat cap with 
 silver braid approach him, and beg him very politely to 
 enter his ofifice a moment. 
 
 " What for ? Who are you ? " asked the king very 
 loftily. 
 
 The man with the flat cap replied, — 
 
 " The commissary of surveillance.^'' 
 
 In the office Christian found the Prefect of Marseilles, 
 a former journalist, with a red beard, and bright, lively 
 face. 
 
 "I regret to inform your Majesty that your journey 
 must end here," said the latter, with exquisite politeness. 
 " My government could not permit a prince, to whom 
 France gives hospitality, to profit by it to conspire and 
 take up arms against a friendly country." 
 
 The king tried to protest ; but the slightest details 
 were known to the prefect. 
 
 " You were to embark at Marseilles ; your companions
 
 288 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 at Cette, on a steamer from Jersey. The place of land- 
 ing was the shore of Gravosa ; the signal, two gun-shots, — 
 one from on board, the other from the land. You see 
 we are well instructed. They are equally so at Ragusa, 
 and I will save you from falling into an ambuscade." 
 
 Christian II., wiio was stunned, wondered who could 
 have given this information, which was known to himself 
 alone, to the queen, Hezeta, and one other whom he 
 certainly was far from suspecting. The prefect smiled in 
 his light beard. 
 
 " Come, your Majesty, you must make up your mind. 
 The affair is a failure ; but you will be more fortunate 
 another time, and more prudent too. Now, I beg your 
 Majesty to accept the shelter I offer at the prefecture. 
 Everywhere else you would be exposed to annojiing 
 curiosity. The affair is known in the town." 
 
 Christian did not answer at once. He looked round 
 at this little government room filled with a green arm- 
 chair, green boxes, a porcelain stove, and large maps 
 with the lines of the trains marked upon them, — a miser- 
 ably bourgeois hole, where his heroic dream and the last 
 echoes of the march of Rodoitza faded away. It was 
 like a traveller in a balloon, who went up higher than 
 the mountain-tops, and came down almost in the same 
 place he started from, near a peasant's hut, while the 
 poor balloon was collapsed, a bundle of oil-cloth in a 
 stable. 
 
 He accepted the invitation, however, and found a truly 
 Parisian home at the house of the prefect, who had a 
 charming wife, a very good musician, who when dinner 
 was over, after a conversation in which all the subjects 
 of the day were passed in review, seated herself at the 
 piano, and turned over lately published pieces of music.
 
 THE NIGHT-TRAIN. 289 
 
 She had a pretty voice, sang very agreeably ; and gradu- 
 ally Christian approached her, and talked music and 
 opera. " The Echoes of Illyria " were lying on a little 
 table between the " Reine de Saba" and the "Jolie Par- 
 fumeuse." The prefect asked the king to give him the 
 movement and color of the songs of his country, and 
 Christian hummed a few popular airs : — 
 
 " Beaux yeux, bleus comme un del (Fete" and again 
 " Jeunes filles qui nCecoutez en tressant des nattes." 
 
 And while, leaning over the piano, pale and fascinating, 
 he was assuming the tone and melancholy poses of an 
 exile, yonder on the Illyrian sea, of whose snow-capped 
 waves and clusters of cactus the " Echoes " sang, a fine 
 and enthusiastic band of young men, whom Lebeau had 
 neglected to warn, were, with all sails flying, sailing gayly 
 to death, to the cry of " Long Uve the king ! "
 
 290 KINGH IN EXILE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A PRISONER. 
 
 My dear Love. — Monsieur de Hezeta and I have just been 
 brought back to the citadel at Ragusa, after a session of ten hours 
 at the Theatre du Corso, where the council of war intrusted with 
 our sentence were sitting. By a unanimous verdict we have been 
 condemned to death. 
 
 I must tell you that I like this best. At least we know now 
 what to expect, and are no longer in close confinement. I read 
 your dear letters, and 1 can write you. This silence was stifling 
 me, besides knowing nothing about you, and my father, and the 
 king, whom I believed had been killed, the victim of some spy. 
 Fortunately his Majesty has come off with no more than a sad 
 disaster and the loss of a few loyal followers. Worse might have 
 happened to us. 
 
 The papers have informed you, have they not, how things have 
 gone ? Through an incredible fatality, the king's countermand hav- 
 ing failed to reach us, at seven o'clock in the evening we found 
 ourselves sailing to the place of rendezvous in the islands. Hezeta 
 and I were on deck, and the others in the cabin, all armed and 
 equipped, with your pretty little cockade in our hats. We crossed 
 in two or three hours. There was nothing in sight but fishing- 
 barks, or those large feluccas which sail along the coast. Night 
 came on, bringing with it a sea-fog, which was very unfortunate for 
 our meeting with Christian II. After waiting a long while, we 
 finally say to each other, that his Majesty's steamer perhaps 
 passed near us without seeing us, and has landed. And just then, 
 from the shore where they were to await our signal, a rocket goes 
 up. That signifies, " Land." There is no more doubt : the king 
 is there, and we all say, " Let us join him." 
 
 On account of my knowledge of the country, — I have so often 
 hunted young wild duck on this coast, — I commanded the first
 
 A PRISONER. 291 
 
 boat, Hezeta the second, and Monsieur de Miremont the third with 
 the Parisians. We were all Illyrians in our boat, and our hearts 
 beat fast. There before 'Us was our country, the black coast loom- 
 ing up in the fog, and which was terminated by a little red light, — 
 the revolving light of Gravosa. The stillness on the shore aston- 
 ished me, nevertheless. There was no sound save that of the rol- 
 ling surf, a continuous rattling of wet sea-drift, and none of the 
 bustle which the most cautious crowd makes, among which a clat- 
 tering of arms, a quick, suppressed breathing, is always heard. 
 
 " I see our men ! " said San Giorgio, in a low voice, near me. 
 
 We perceived, as we sprang ashore, that what we had taken for 
 the king's volunteers were clusters of cactus, and Barbary fig- 
 trees, standing in a row along the shore. I advance. There is 
 no one, only marks of footsteps and hollows in the sand. I say to 
 the marquis, " It is suspicious. Let us go on board again." Unfor- 
 tunately the Parisians arrived ; and how could we keep them away ? 
 for they were scattered all over the coast, searching the bushes and 
 thickets. Suddenly a line of fire and a rolling of musketry startle 
 us. 
 
 The crj' goes up, " Treachery I treachery ! Away ! " And we 
 hasten to the boats. There was a regular stampede among our 
 men, who huddled together like a herd of frightened cattle, jos- 
 tling each other, splashing the mud about, and losing their bearing. 
 Then came one moment of ugly panic, lighted by the rising moon, 
 which showed us our English seamen escaping to the steamer as 
 fast as their oars could carry them. But it did not last a great 
 while. Hezeta sprang forward the first, with a revolver in his hand : 
 " Onward ! onward I " What a voice ! it made the whole beach 
 resound. We throw ourselves behind him, fifty against an army. 
 There was nothing else to do but to die. It is what all our men 
 did with great courage. Pozzo, De Melida, little De Soris (your 
 lover of last year), and Henri de Trebigne, who shouted to me in 
 the midst of the fray, " Say, Herbert, this needs guzlas ! " and 
 Jean de Veliko, who, while fighting, sang " La Rodoitza " at the top 
 of his voice, — all fell. I saw them on the beach, lying in the sand, 
 with their faces turned to the sky. And there the waves coming in 
 will bury them, the beautiful dancers of our ball. Less fortunate 
 than our comrades, the marquis and myself — who alone survived 
 that hail of bullets — were taken, blindfolded, and bound, and car- 
 ried up to Ragusa on mules ; your Herbert growling with powerless
 
 292 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 rage, while Hezeta, who was very calm, said, " It was fated. I 
 knew it." Strange man ! How could he know that we should be 
 betrayed, given over, and received on landing by pointed guns and 
 quantities of grape-shot ? And, if he knew it, why did he lead us 
 there .> Well, it was a failure, —a game to attempt again with 
 more precautions. 
 
 I can understand now by your dear letters, which I cannot 
 weary of reading again and again, why the orders regarding us 
 were delayed, and the reason for these promenades of black robes 
 in the citadel, this bargaining for our lives, these ups and downs 
 and waitings. The wretches were treating us as hostages, hoping 
 that the king, who did not wish to renounce the throne for hun- 
 dreds of millions, would yield before the sacrifice of two of his fol- 
 lowers. And you are angry, my darling, and astonished, — blinded 
 by your tenderness, — because my father did not say a word in 
 favor of his son. But could a Rosen be guilty of such cowardice ? 
 He does not love me any the less, poor old man ; and my death 
 will be a terrible blow to him. As for our sovereigns, whom you 
 accuse of cruelty, we have not been able to judge them from the 
 high point of view which serves them in governing men. They 
 have duties and rights different from other men. Ah ! what fine 
 things Meraut could say to you about this ! I feel them, but cannot 
 express them. My jaws are too stiff : every thing remains in my 
 mouth, and will not come out. How many times this has annoyed 
 me before you whom I love so much, and to whom I have never 
 been able to tell it! Even here, separated from you by so many 
 leagues and big bars of iron, the thought of your pretty, gray, Pari- 
 sian eyes, and your mischievous mouth underneath your little nose, 
 which you puckered up to tease me, intimidates and paralyzes me. 
 
 And yet, before leaving you forever, I must make you thor- 
 oughly understand for once, that I never loved any one in the 
 world but you ; that my life began only on the day that I knew 
 you. Do you remember, Colette ? It was in the store in the Rue 
 Royale, at that Tom Levis's. We were supposed to be there by 
 chance. You played a piano, and sang something very lively, 
 which all at once, I don't know why, made me feel as if I wanted 
 to weep. I was smitten, eh ? Who would have told us that a 
 marriage in the Parisian style, made by the agency, would become 
 a love-match ? And since, in society, wherever it might be, I have 
 met no woman so fascinating as my Colette. So you may be easy :
 
 A PRISONER. 29.-? 
 
 you are still here with me, though absent. The thought of your 
 ])retty face keeps me in good spirits. I laugh all alone to myself 
 when I think of it. It is true you always inspired me with a desire 
 to laugh, though kindly. Still, at this moment, our situation is ter- 
 rible, especially the manner in which it is put before us. He- 
 zeta and I are in the chapel ; that is to say, they have erected an 
 altar for our last mass in the little cell with rough walls, have 
 placed a coffin before each bed, and have hung up placards with the 
 words, " Death, death 1 " written on them. In spite of all, my room 
 seems lively to me. I escape these funereal threats in thinking 
 of my Colette. And, when I raise myself up to our air-holes, this 
 charming country, — the road which descends from Ragusa to Gra- 
 vosa, and the aloes and cactus against the sky or the blue sea, — all 
 remind me of our wedding-journey, the Corniche road from Monaco 
 to Monte-Carlo, and the bells of the mules which bore us along in 
 our happiness, that rang out as merrily as they. O my little 
 wife ! how pretty you looked, darling traveller with whom I would 
 have journeyed longer ! 
 
 You see that your image remains and triumphs everywhere, even 
 on the threshold of death, — in death itself: for I wish to keep 
 it in a scapulary on my bosom yonder at the seaport, where they 
 are to take us in a few hours; and it will enable me to fall with a 
 smile on my lips. Therefore, dear, do not grieve too much. 
 Think of the little one ; think of our child to be born. Take care 
 of yourself for his sake ; and, when he can understand, tell him 
 that I died like a soldier, upright, with two names on my lips, — 
 that of my wife and. that of my king. 
 
 I would have liked to leave you a souvenir of the last moment ; 
 but they have stripped me of every jewel, — watch, charms, and pin. 
 I have nothing left but a pair of white gloves, which I intended 
 for my entry into Ragusa. I shall put them on presently in honor 
 of the execution ; and the warden of the prison promised me to 
 send them to you when all was over. 
 
 Then farewell, my darling Colette ! Do not weep, I beg of you, 
 although the tears are blinding me. Console my father. Poor 
 man ! he always scolded me because I was late in obeying orders. 
 I shall not come at all now. Farewell! farewell! Yet I had so 
 many things to say to you ! But, no : I must die. What a fate ! 
 Farewell, Colette I 
 
 Herbert de Rosen.
 
 294 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A DiNoOMENT. 
 
 "There is one way left, sire." 
 
 " Speak, my dear M^raut. I am ready for every thing." 
 
 M^raut hesitated to answer. What he was going to 
 say appeared to him too grave, and out of place in this 
 billiard-hall, where the king had brought him for a game 
 after breakfast. But the singular irony which presides 
 over the destiny of dethroned sovereigns willed that it 
 should be before the green cloth over which the balls 
 rolled with a sinister and hollow sound in the silence and 
 mourning in the house at Saint Mand^, that the fate of 
 the royal race of Illyria should be decided. 
 
 "Well?" asked Christian II., leaning forward to reach 
 the ball. 
 
 " Well, your Majesty " — 
 
 He waited till the king had made his carrom, which 
 the councillor Boscovich had devoutly scored, before con- 
 tinuing, with a shade of embarrassment, — 
 
 " The people of Illyria are like all nations, sire. They 
 like success and strength ; and I fear that the fatal result 
 of our last enterprise " — 
 
 The king turned round with a blush on his cheeks. 
 
 " I asked you for the plain truth, my dear fellow ; and 
 it is useless for you to dress it in all these fine phrases." 
 
 " Sire, you must abdicate," said the Gascon roughly. 
 
 Christian looked at him in amazement.
 
 A DENOUMENT. 295 
 
 "Abdicate what? I have nothing. A fine present I 
 should make my son ! I believe he would prefer a new 
 velocipede to this vague promise of a crown in his 
 majority." 
 
 M^raut cited the example of the Queen of Galicia. 
 She, too, abdicated for her son during exile ; and Don 
 Leonce owes his being on the throne to-day to this abdi- 
 cation. 
 
 " Eighteen to twelve," said Christian brusquely. 
 " Councillor, you are not scoring." 
 
 Boscovich leaped up hke a frightened hare, and sprang 
 towards the score ; while the king, with body and mind 
 intent, was absorbed in a marvellous " four-cushion." 
 
 Elys^e looked at him ; and his royalist faith was rudely 
 tried before this type of a used-up dandy, with his slen- 
 der throat very much exposed in his open flannel vest, 
 while his eyes, mouth, and nostrils were still tinged with 
 a jaundice which had kept him in bed nearly a month, 
 and from which he had but just risen. The disaster at 
 Gravosa ; the gloomy end of all those young men ; the 
 terrible scenes to which the trial of Herbert and Hezeta 
 had given rise in the little court at Saint Mand^ ; Co- 
 lette dragging herself on her knees before her former 
 lover to obtain her husband's pardon ; those days of an- 
 guish and waiting, listening intently to the horrible 
 platoon-firing, which he seemed to command himself; 
 and, besides this, anxiety about money, the first Pichery 
 notes coming due ; and that cruelty of an unlucky des- 
 tiny, — though he still preserved the light-heartedness of 
 the Slavonian, — had physically affected him. 
 
 He stopped after his carrom, and, playing the white 
 with the greatest care, asked M^raut, without looking at 
 him,—
 
 296 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 " What does the queen say of this project of abdica- 
 tion? Have you spoken to her about it? " 
 
 "Tlie queen thinks as I do, sire." 
 
 "Ah ! " said he dryly, with a shght start. 
 
 Strangeness of human nature ! This woman, whom he 
 did not love, whose defiant coldness and clear look he 
 feared, — the woman he accused of having treated him too 
 much like a king, whom she bored by constantly remind- 
 ing him of his duties and prerogatives, — made him angry 
 because she no longer believed in him, and abandoned 
 him in favor of the child. He did not feel wounded in 
 his love, as if he had received one of those blows which 
 strike to the heart, and make one cry out, but felt the 
 chill of a friend's treachery, of lost confidence. 
 
 "And you, Boscovich, what do you think of it?" 
 said he quickly, turning to his councillor, whose smooth, 
 anxious face followed convulsively the motions of the 
 master's. 
 
 The botanist made pantomimic Italian movements 
 with outstretched arms and lowered head, uttering a 
 "Who knows?" so timid and non-committal, that the 
 king could not help laughing. 
 
 " On the opinion of our council, of course," he said 
 mockingly through his nose, "we will abdicate when 
 they wish." 
 
 Thereupon his Majesty began to push the balls with 
 ardor to Elys^e's great despair, who longed to go and 
 announce to the queen the success of a negotiation 
 which she would not take charge of herself; for this 
 phantom of a king was still held in awe by her, and it 
 was with trembling that she laid her hand on the crown 
 which he no longer wished. 
 
 The abdication took place some time after this. The
 
 A DENOUMENT. 297 
 
 head of the civil and military service stoically proposed 
 the splendid galleries of the Hotel de Rosen for this cere- 
 mony, to which it is a custom to give as much solemnity 
 and authority as possible. But the disaster at Gravosa was 
 still too recent for the opening of these salons that were 
 filled with the echoes of the last _/?/<?.• it would have been 
 too sad, and a bad omen for the future kingdom. They 
 had to content themselves, therefore, with assembling at 
 Saint Mandt^ a few noble lUyrian or French families 
 whose signature was necessary at the bottom of an act 
 of this importance. 
 
 At two o'clock the carriages began to arrive. The bell 
 rang many times in succession while the guests slowly 
 ascended the steps, over which carpeting was spread 
 from the threshold to the bottom. The Duke de Rosen 
 stood at the door of the salon to receive them, and 
 wore his close-fitting military uniform, and, among the 
 crosses around his neck, the grand order of Illyria, which 
 he had laid aside without saying a word when he learned 
 the scandal of the wig-maker Biscarat displaying the 
 same badges on his Figaro vest. On his arm and in 
 the guard of his sword the general had a long new piece 
 of crape, and, what was more significant than this crape, 
 was a feeble shaking of his head, an unconscious fashion 
 of always saying, " No, no," which he had shown since 
 the terrible debate in his presence on the subject of Her- 
 bert's pardon, — a debate in which he energetically refused 
 to take part, in spite of Colette's prayers and the protest 
 of his fatherly tenderness. It seemed as if his little, shak- 
 ing, weasel's head bore the sorrow of this inhuman refusal, 
 and that he was condemned henceforth to say " No " to 
 every impression, to every sentiment, and to life itself; 
 every thing being over for him, and nothing having power 
 to interest him after his son's tragic end.
 
 298 KINGS TN EXrr.E. 
 
 The Princess Colette was there too. wearing her widow's 
 weeds with charming grace ; and the sorrows of her 
 widowhood were mitigated by a mother's hopes. Even 
 in the midst of her very sincere grief, this Uttle creature, 
 with the soul of a modiste encumbered with trifles, and 
 which a stern fate had not elevated, found enough to 
 satisfy her, thanks to the child ! in a quantity of coquet- 
 tish vanities and furbelows. The ribbons, laces, and the 
 splendid trousseau which she had embroidered with a 
 cipher, an original design, under her princely crown, 
 served as a diversion to her sadness. The baby would 
 be called Wenceslas or Witold, or Wilhelmina if it were 
 a girl ; but the name should certainly begin with a W, 
 because it is an aristocratic letter, pretty to trace on 
 linen. 
 
 She was explaining this to Madame de Silvis, when, after 
 a blow from a halberd, the door was thrown wide open 
 to announce the Prince and Princess de Tr^bigne, De 
 Soris, the Duke de San Giorgio, the Duchess de M^lida, 
 Counts Pozzo, Miremont, and V^liko. One might have 
 called it a list, uttered in a loud voice and echoed back 
 from the shore covered with blood, of all the young vic- 
 tims who fell at Gravosa. And, worst of all, what was to 
 give the ceremony a fatal, funereal aspect in spite of the 
 precautions taken, — the sumptuous livery and the hang- 
 ings put up for the occasion, — the guests were also in 
 deep mourning, with black gloves, and dressed in those 
 stiff woollen stuffs so gloomy to the eye, and which restrain 
 a woman's gestures and movements. It was the mourning 
 of old men, of fathers, and mothers, who assumed it with 
 deeper pain and less resignation than the others. Many 
 of these unfortunates were coming out for the first time 
 since the catastrophe, torn from their solitude and their
 
 g, gentlemen!" Page 299.
 
 A DENOUMENT. igg 
 
 seclusion by their devotion to the dynasty. They drew 
 themselves up on entering, and summoned all their cour- 
 age : but, while looking at one another, they were gloomy 
 mirrors of the same grief; and as they stood with bowed 
 heads, their shoulders contracted and shuddering, they 
 felt rising to their own eyes the tears they saw in others, 
 and on their own lips the sigh that was with difficulty re- 
 pressed on those at their side ; and soon a nervous conta- 
 gion overcame them, and filled the sa/on with a prolonged 
 sob, broken with cries and stifled groans. The old man 
 Rosen was the only one who did not weep ; and, drawing 
 up his tall, inflexible figure, he continued to make the 
 pitiless sign, " No, no : he must die." 
 
 In the evening, at the Caf^ de Londres, H.R.H. the 
 Prince d'Axel, who was invited and agreed to come and 
 sign the abdication, told that it seemed to him that he 
 was at a first-class funeral, with all the family united, wait- 
 ing for the body to be carried out. It is true the prince 
 royal made a sad figure as he entered. He felt chilled 
 and embarrassed by this silence and despair, and looked 
 with terror at all these myths, when he perceived the 
 little Princess de Rosen. He quickly went and took a 
 seat near her, curious to know the heroine of the famous 
 breakfast at Quai d'Orsay ; and while Colette, who was 
 very much flattered at the attention, received his Highness 
 with a mournful, sentimental smile, she little suspected 
 that the veiled and sea-green eyes, as he leaned over her, 
 were taking the exact measure of a baker-boy's costume 
 closely fitting her attractive person. 
 
 " The king, gentlemen ! " 
 
 Christian II., who was very pale and visibly anxious, 
 entered first, holding his son by the hand. The little 
 prince showed a power of command which became him 
 20
 
 300 AVyaS IN EXILE. 
 
 well, and was increased by the black jacket and the pan- 
 taloons which he wore for the first time with a certain 
 pride, a serious grace of adolescence. The queen canae 
 afterwards, very beautiful in an elegant mauve dress cov- 
 ered with laces, too sincere to conceal her joy, which 
 shone as bright in the midst of the surrounding gloom as 
 her light dress by tlie side of the mourning garments. She 
 was so happy, so sclfislily happy, that she did not come 
 down a moment to the sublime distress which surrounded 
 her any more than she saw the chilly garden, the mist on 
 the window-panes, and the dark, lowering clouds of All 
 Saints' week scurrying across a sky heavy with fog. The 
 day seemed bright and warm to her ; so true is it that all 
 is in ourselves, and that the outside world is transformed 
 and colored with the thousand shades of our passions. 
 
 Christian II. placed himself before the mantle-piece in 
 the middle of the salon, having the Count of Zara at his 
 right, and the queen at his left. A little farther on, Bos- 
 covich, in the ermine of his Aulic councillor's robe, sat 
 at a little writing-table. Every one being seated, the 
 king spoke very low, to say that he was ready to sign his 
 abdication, and to let his subjects know the motive. 
 Then Boscovich rose, and with his little, sharp, stuttering 
 voice, read Christian's manifesto to the nation, — the 
 rapid history, with brilliant passages, of the early hopes 
 of the kingdom, the disappointments and misunderstand- 
 ings that followed, and, finally, the king's resolution to 
 withdraw from public affairs, and to trust his son to the 
 generosity of the Illyrian people. This short letter, in 
 which Elys^e's pen kft its mark, was so poorly read, 
 like a wearisome nomenclature in botany, that it allowed 
 one to reflect and to seize all there was that was vain 
 and open to derision in tliis abdication of an exiled
 
 A DENOUMENT. 2,0\ 
 
 sovereign, this transmission of power which did not exist, 
 and rights denied and unrecognized. The act itself, read 
 afterwards by the king, was framed thus : — 
 
 "I, Christian II., King of Illyria and Dalmatia, Grand Duke 
 of Bosnia and Herzegovinia, &c., declare, that of my own free will, 
 and without yielding to any foreign pressure, T bequeath and con- 
 vey to my son Charles Alexis Leopold, Count of Goetz and Zara, 
 all my political rights ; reserving only my civil rights over him as 
 a father and guardian." 
 
 Immediately, at a sign from the Duke de Rosen, all 
 the by-standers approached the table to sign. For 
 some moments there was a commotion, a rustling 
 of dresses, with long waits and pauses caused by the 
 ceremony, during which one heard a scratching of 
 guided and trembling pens. Then the hand-kissing 
 began. 
 
 Christian II. led off the march, and, acquitting himself 
 of that difficult duty, the homage of a father to his 
 child, kissed the end of his delicate fingers with more 
 airy grace than respect. The queen, on the contrary, 
 kissed with a passionate, almost religious, outburst : the 
 protectress and mother became the humble subject. 
 After this, it was Prince d'Axel's turn ; then came all the 
 great lords, who filed by in order of rank, which the little 
 king began to think very tedious, notwithstanding the 
 charming dignity revealed in his honest eyes and ex- 
 tended hand, which was small and white, and strongly 
 veined, with the square nails of a child who still keeps at 
 play, with wrists rather strong and out of proportion, be- 
 cause of his quick growth. These noblemen, although 
 gloomily absorbed in their sorrow, considered the occa- 
 sion of so much moment, that they were not inclined to 
 lose their turn, which was reserved for them according to
 
 302 AV^VGS IN EXILE. 
 
 their title and the number of jewels in their crown : 
 therefore, as Mdraut was hastening to his pupil, he sud- 
 denly stopped on hearing a '^Monsieur, s'il vous plait,'' 
 which made him draw back, and brought him face to 
 face with the indignant Prince de Tre'bigne, a terribly 
 asthmatic old man, who could hardly breathe ; and whose 
 eyes were dilated, and as round as a ball, as if he breathed 
 only through them. Elysde, who worshipped tradition, 
 moved aside respectfully to allow this wreck of the tomb 
 to pass, and was the last to take part in the hand-kissing. 
 As he was withdrawing, Frt^d^rique, who was standing 
 near her son, as one sees the mothers of brides standing 
 in the vestry to receive the last words of homage and 
 the last smiles, said to him in a low voice, and exultant, 
 nervous manner, as he passed, — 
 
 " It is done ! " 
 
 She said this in a tone of indescribable relief, and a 
 fulness of joy that was almost wild. 
 
 " It is done ! " that is, the diadem was saved from 
 trade and disgrace. She could now sleep, breathe, and 
 live, relieved of the continual anxiety which forewarned 
 her of catastrophes, and which might have enabled her 
 to say, as Hezeta said at every fatal denoiiment, " I knew 
 it ! " Her son would not be dethroned : he would be a 
 king. A king ! He was a king already in his majestic 
 bearing, and his cordial but haughty kindness. 
 
 But, when the ceremony was concluded, the child- 
 nature gained the ascendency, and Leopold V. sprang 
 joyously towards the elder Jean de V^liko to tell him the 
 great news. 
 
 " Do you know, godfather, I have a pony — a pretty 
 little pony — all to myself? The general, and mamma 
 too, will teach me to mount."
 
 A DENOOmENT. 303 
 
 People gathered eagerly around him, bowing with looks 
 of adoration ; while Christian, who was somewhat alone, 
 had a strange, indefinable feeUng, like a light, chilly 
 sensation about his head, where the crown had rested. 
 Positively he was becoming giddy. Yet he had longed 
 for this hour, and cursed the responsibilities of his situa- 
 tion more than another would have done. Then why was 
 he so uncomfortable and sad, now that he saw the shore 
 recede from him, and the road open into new perspec- 
 tives ? 
 
 " Ah, well, my poor Christian ! I think they must have 
 given you your ouistiti,^'' said Prince d'Axel, who, in a 
 low voice, was consoling him in his own way. " You are 
 in luck. How happy I should be if as much came to 
 me, — if I were spared the necessity of leaving this 
 beautiful Paris to go and reign over my people of seals 
 with white bellies." 
 
 He continued in the same strain for a moment : then, 
 profiting by the confusion and inattention of the com- 
 pany, both disappeared. The queen saw them go out, 
 and heard the phaeton, whose light wheels once never 
 went by without passing over her heart, roll through the 
 court-yard. 
 
 But what mattered it to her now ? It was no longer 
 the King of lUyria whom those Parisian women were 
 taking from her. 
 
 The day after the affair at Gravosa, Christian, in the 
 first moment of his shame, swore not to see Sephora 
 again. While he was in bed, and afraid of sickness, as a 
 Southerner always is, he only thought of his mistress to 
 curse her, and to blame her morally for his faults. But 
 when convalescent, and his blood was livelier, complete 
 idleness, in which memory mingled with fancies has so
 
 304 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 much power, changed his mood. He excused the 
 woman, though timidly at first, and saw only a fatality 
 in what had happened, — one of the thousand designs of 
 Providence, on whom Catholics lay every responsibility 
 that wearies them. One day he ventured at last to ask 
 Lebeau if any news had been received from the coun- 
 tess. For answer the valet brought a quantity of notes 
 which had come during his sickness, — tender, ardent, 
 timid hilh'ts-ihiix, — a flock of white turtle-doves cooing 
 her love to him. Christian's ardor was kindled by them ; 
 and he immediately answered them in his bed, impatient 
 to resume, as soon as he was weU, the romance inter- 
 rupted at Fontainebleau. 
 
 Meanwhile, J. Tom Levis and his wife were spending 
 a pleasant vacation in their hotel in Messina Avenue. 
 The foreigners' agent could not longer endure the ennui 
 of his retirement at Courbevoie. He missed a business- 
 life and trade, and especially Sephora's admiration. In 
 short, he was afflicted with jealousy, — a ferocious, sting- 
 ing, persistent jealousy, — like a stoppage in the throat 
 which one believes has gone, but which all at once gives 
 one a sharp prick. And he had not the privilege of com- 
 plaining, and saying to some one, whoever it might be, 
 "Just look, and see what is in my throat." 
 
 Unfortunately Tom Levis was caught in his own trap, 
 and was the victim, as well as the inventor, of the great 
 scheme. Sephora's journey to Fontainebleau disturbed 
 him more than all. He tried several times to return to the 
 subject ; but she checked him with a most natural laugh. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, my poor Tom ? What 
 a face ! " 
 
 Then he was obliged to laugh also, understanding that 
 there could be nothing between them but fun and hoax-
 
 A DENOUMENT. 305 
 
 ing, and that Sephora's fancy, which was that of a girl 
 for a queue-rouge, would quickly die out if she beheved 
 him jealous, sentimental, or " canulant" like the rest ; 
 but at heart he suffered, and became weary of living 
 away from her, and even wrote verses about her. Yes, 
 the man in the cab, the imaginative Narcissus, found this 
 relief from his anxiety, — a poem to Sephora, one of those 
 odd efforts of pretentious ignorance, such as they confis- 
 cate at Mazas from the table of those confined there. 
 Positively, if Cliiistian 11. had not fallen ill, J. Tom Levis 
 would have become so. 
 
 I leave you to think of the joy that the buffoon and 
 his dear one felt on meeting again, and living together a 
 few weeks. Tom danced the maddest jigs, cut the 
 queerest figures on the carpet. One would have taken 
 him for a monkey in a happy mood, an Auriol set free 
 to gambol about the house. Sephora was convulsed with 
 laughter, though rather embarrassed on account of the 
 servants, with whom " Madame's husband " was in ex- 
 treme disfavor. The steward declared, that, if " Mad- 
 ame's husband" were to eat at table, he would never con- 
 sent to serve him ; and as he was an exceptional steward, 
 obtained and chosen by the king, she did not insist, but 
 had her meals sent up to her boudoir by the femme- 
 de-chambre. And, when there was a call from Wattelet 
 or Prince d'Axel, J. Tom disappeared in a dressing- 
 room. A husband was never seen at such a time ; but 
 he adored his wife, and had her all alone to himself 
 amid surroundings that made her appear infinitely pret- 
 tier. He was, in short, the happiest of the party, whom 
 the delays and backward payments began to fill with 
 some anxiety. They felt that there was a difficulty, a 
 drawback to the affair which started so well. The king
 
 3o6 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 paid none of the notes that were due, and constantly 
 made new ones, to the great horror of Pichery and father 
 Leemans. Lebeau tried to encourage them : " Patience, 
 patience. He will come to it : it is predestined." But 
 he furnished nothing, and the rest piled reams of Illyrian 
 paper into their portfolios. The poor " father," who no 
 longer had his immovable assurance, went to the Rue 
 de Messina every morning to see his daughter and son- 
 in-law, and to strengthen his courage. 
 
 "Then you think that we shall succeed? "he asked, 
 and resigned himself to pay out more money, and to 
 keep paying it out ; since the only way to keep track of 
 his money was to send more after it. 
 
 One afternoon the countess, while dressing to go to 
 the Bois, flitted to and fro from her chamber to her 
 dressing-room under the paternal eye of J. Tom, who, 
 with a cigar between his teeth, was lolling in an easy 
 chair, enjoying the pleasing sight of a woman making 
 her toilet, putting on her gloves before the Psyche, and 
 trying her carriage poses. She was charming with her 
 hat on, and her veil coming just to her eyes, and dressed 
 in an autumn suit, which was rather heavy and wintry 
 looking ; and the clinking of her bracelets, the jingling of 
 jet on her mantle, responded to the luxurious sounds 
 from the carriage waiting beneath her windows, — the 
 clattering of the harness, the stamping of the horses, all 
 belonging to the establishment and bearing the arms of 
 Illyria. She was to take Tom with her, and drive around 
 the lake, in the first Parisian day of the season, under the 
 low sky, which sets off new fashions so finely, and faces 
 that look rested after a long stay out of town. Tom, 
 who was gotten up in very elegant style, like a real Eng- 
 lish swell, was delighted with the idea of having a little
 
 A D^NOfjMENT. 307 
 
 pleasure on the sly in this drive in the coup6, screened 
 from view, by the side of his pretty countess. 
 
 Madame is ready, and they are about to start. She 
 gives a last look in the mirror. Let us go. But suddenly 
 the lower-hall door opens, and the bell is rung hurriedly. 
 " The king ! " While the husband runs into the dress- 
 ing-room, with his eyes revolving in a terrible manner, 
 Sephora hastens to the window just in time to see Chris- 
 tian II. spring up the steps with the air of a conqueror. 
 He soars as though borne along on wings. " How 
 happy she will be ! " he says to himself as he ascends. 
 
 The lovely woman understands that something new 
 has happened, and prepares herself. As a beginning, 
 she gives a cry of surprise and joyous emotion when she 
 sees him, falls into his arms, and allows him to support 
 her to a caiiseuse, before which he kneels. 
 
 "Yes : I ! it is I, and forever." 
 
 She looks at him with eyes dilated, and excited with 
 love and hope ; and he, immersed, absorbed, in this 
 look : — 
 
 " It is done. There is no longer a king of lUyria, only 
 a man who wishes to pass his life in loving you." 
 
 " It is too beautiful. I don't dare believe it." 
 
 " There ! read that." 
 
 She took the parchment, and unfolded it slowly. 
 
 " Then, it is true, my Christian, you have renounced ? " 
 
 " Better than that." 
 
 And, while she ran over the wording of the act of re- 
 nunciation, he stood twirling his mustache, looking at 
 Sephora with a triumphant expression. Then, finding 
 that she was slow to understand, he explained to her 
 the difference between renouncing and abdicating ; and 
 that he would be quite as free, relieved from duties and
 
 308 A'JA'GS IN EXILE. 
 
 responsibilities, without in any way pledging his son's 
 future. Only the money — But they did not need so 
 many millions to be happy. 
 
 She read no more, and listened to him with a bitter 
 smile, showing her pretty teeth ; for she opened her mouth 
 wide, as if the better to seize what he was saying. She 
 understood, however, — oh, yes ! saw very plainly the 
 crumbling away of all their ambition, and the piles of 
 louis already put in the affair ; Leemans's and Pichery's 
 anger, and that of the party cheated by the false dealing 
 of this simpleton. She thought of the many useless 
 sacrifices she had made, of her dreadful Hfe the past six 
 months, when she was heart-sick of dissimulation and 
 inanity ; of her poor Tom holding his breath in the 
 dressing-room, while the other opposite her was awaiting 
 an outburst of tenderness, sure of being loved, a con- 
 queror, irresistible and crushing. It was so droll, and 
 the irony so real and fierce, that she rose, bursting into 
 uncontrollable laughter, — insulting, mocking laughter, — 
 which sent a rapid flush to her face, the dregs of her 
 gross nature being stirred ; and passing before Christian, 
 who was stunned, she cried, "Fool, begone ! " then ran, 
 and locked herself in her room. 
 
 Without a sou, crown, wife, or mistress, Christian made 
 a singular figure as he descended the stairs.
 
 THE LITTLE ICING. 369 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE UTTLE KING. 
 
 O MAGIC of words ! As if there were cabalistic power 
 in the four letters of the word "king," M^raut's pupil 
 was transformed as soon as he was no longer called Count 
 Zara, but Leopold V. The child, who was industrious 
 and happy in well-doing, and as pliable as a piece of 
 soft wax, but without any superiority of intelligence, was 
 developing gradually, roused by a singular excitement, 
 while his body was strengthened by inward fire. His 
 natural idleness and desire to recline in an arm-chair 
 while they read to him or told him stories, his need to 
 listen and live on the thoughts of others, was changed 
 into an activity which the games of his age no longer 
 satisfied. Old General de Rosen, who was crippled and 
 bent, had to recover strength enough to give him lessons 
 in fencing, shooting, and horsemanship ; and nothing 
 was more touching than to see every morning at nine 
 o'clock, in a clearing in the park, which was enlarged 
 into an arena, the quondam pandour, in a blue coat and 
 with a whip in his hand, fulfiUing the functions of a rider 
 with the air of an old Franconi, always respectful to the 
 king while correcting the blunders of the pupil. 
 
 The little Leopold trotted and galloped, looking seri- 
 ous and proud, paying attention to the shghtest orders ; 
 while the queen looked on from the steps, uttering a 
 remark now and then, or a word of advice. " Sit up
 
 3IO A'/A'CS IN EXILE. 
 
 Straight, sire," " Give him his rein ; " and sometimes, to 
 make herself better understood, she would mount her- 
 self, and add example to her words. How happy she 
 was on the day when, her mare keeping step with the 
 prince's pony, both ventured into the neighboring wood, 
 the figure of the horsewoman rising above that of the 
 child ! and, far from feeling a mother's fear, she pointed 
 out the road to her son, and, spurring the beasts into a 
 vigorous bound, raced with him as far as Joinville. 
 
 There was a change in her, too, since the abdication. 
 With her superstitious faith in divine right, she believed 
 that henceforth the title of king would protect the child 
 and defend him. Her tenderness, which was still as 
 strong and deep, was no longer manifested in maternal 
 ways in caresses ; and, although she still went into his 
 chamber at night, it was no longer to see Zara put to 
 bed, and to tuck up his bedclothes. A valet-de-chambre 
 had charge of all this now, as if Fr^d^rique feared to 
 make her son effeminate, and to dwarf his power as a 
 man by keeping him in her too tender hands. She 
 came only to hear him say that beautiful prayer from the 
 " Book for Kings " which Father Alph^e taught him : — 
 
 " O Lord, who art my God ! you have placed your servant on the 
 throne ; but I am a child that does not know how to guide himself, 
 yet has charge of the people you have chosen. Give me, therefore, 
 wisdom and intelligence." 
 
 The little voice of the prince rang out firm and clear 
 with a tone of authority and conviction, that was touch- 
 ing when one thought of his exile in this wretched 
 suburb, and the hypothetical throne far beyond the seas. 
 But her Leopold already reigned in Fr^d^rique's belief; 
 and in her evening kiss there was such devout pride, 
 and indefinable adoration and respect, that Elyst^e, sur-
 
 THE LITTLE KING. 311 
 
 prised at these mingled maternal sentiments, was re- 
 minded of former Christmas days in his country, where 
 the Virgin sings, while rocking Jesus in the stable, " I am 
 your servant, and you are my God." 
 
 Several months passed thus, — an entire winter season, 
 — during which the queen found but one shadow over 
 her joy, — in her heaven which at last was serene. And 
 M^raut unconsciously was the cause. Both having had 
 the same dream, their eyes and souls meeting, and having 
 walked close by each other's side to the same goal, they 
 had established between themselves a common thought 
 and life, which all at once embarrassed Fr^derique, 
 without her being able to define the reason. When 
 alone with him, she no longer abandoned herself as 
 formerly, and was frightened at the place which this 
 stranger held in her most private resolves. Did she 
 divine the sentiments which agitated him, the ardor 
 growing so near her, increasing and becoming more 
 dangerous day by day? A woman does not mistake. 
 She would have liked to shield and recover herself; but 
 how? In her trouble she had recourse to the guide and 
 council to whom every Catholic wife appeals, — her con- 
 fessor. 
 
 Father Alph^e always guided the queen when he was 
 not running round the country to promulgate royahst 
 principles. One would know the man by looking at him. 
 In this Illyrian priest with a corsair face there was the 
 blood, the bearing, the facial lines, of one of those Usco- 
 ques, — birds of rapine and tempests, the rovers of the 
 Latin seas. A son of a fisherman in the port of Zara, 
 brought up as a sailor, surrounded by nets and tar, he was 
 taken up by the Franciscans for his pretty voice ; and 
 from a sailor-boy he became a chorister, grew up at the
 
 312 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 convent, and was one of the leaders of the congregation. 
 But there remained a sailor's ardor with the sea-tan, 
 which the coolness of the cloistral stones had never been 
 able to bleach. But this monk was neither a bigot nor 
 over- scrupulous, and could do his part with a knife ; and, 
 when politics made him short of time, would despatch 
 in one lump at morning the prayers for the day, and 
 even those for the next day, " to get ahead," he would 
 say seriously. Devoted in his affections as in his hatred, 
 he vowed an unlimited admiration for the tutor intro- 
 duced by him into the house. Therefore at the first 
 avowal of the queen about her troubles and scruples, he 
 feigned not to understand ; then, seeing that she insisted, 
 he was carried beside himself, and spoke severely to her, 
 as to an ordinary penitent, — to a wealthy lace-maker of 
 Ragusa. 
 
 Was she not ashamed to mix up such childishness 
 with so noble a cause? Of what did she complain? 
 Had she ever been treated with lack of respect ? You 
 see, for such foolish religious notions, or the coquetry of 
 a woman who thinks herself irresistible, she would de- 
 prive herself of this man, whom God had certainly placed 
 in their way to make the cause of royalty triumph. And 
 in his seaman's language — his Italian emphasis, which 
 was softened by a sly, priestly smile — he added that one 
 does not find fault with a good wind sent by heaven : 
 one spreads sail, and speeds along. 
 
 The most upright woman will always be weak before 
 such specious reasoning. Conquered by the monk's 
 casuistr}', Fr^d^rique said to herself that she could not 
 deprive -herself of such an auxiliary in the cause of her 
 son. It was her place to guard herself, and keep strong. 
 What did she risk? She even succeeded in persuading
 
 THE LITTLE KING. 313 
 
 herself that she was mistaken in Elys^e's devotion and 
 enthusiastic friendship. But the truth was, he loved her 
 passionately, with a love that was singular and deep, 
 which he banished many a time, but which came slowly 
 back through by-paths, and at last settled down upon 
 him with the invading despotism of a victory. Till now 
 Elys^e M^raut believed himself incapable of a tender 
 sentiment. Sometimes, while making royalist speeches 
 in the quarter, some Bohemian girl, without understand- 
 ing a word of his discourse, would fall madly in love with 
 him for the music of his voice, and for the light in his 
 flashing eyes, and his intellectual brow, — the magnetic 
 attraction of a Magdalen for the apostles. He would 
 lean over smihng, receive what was offered, concealing 
 with gentleness and light affability the ineradicable con- 
 tempt for women which is at the bottom of every 
 Southerner's nature. Love would have to pass through 
 his strong head to reach his heart ; and it was thus that 
 his admiration for Fr^d^rique's haughty type, and proud 
 endurance of patrician adversity, had become after a 
 while — by living in the same house in the narrow life of 
 exile, and being brought together every hour and mo- 
 ment through so much trouble shared together — a real 
 passion, but a humble, discreet one, utterly hopeless, 
 content to burn at a distance, like a poor man's candle 
 on the lower step of the altar. 
 
 Life went on, however, indifferent to these silent 
 dramas ; and the first days of September drew near. The 
 queen took her usual after-breakfast walk in the beauti- 
 ful sunlight, which was in harmony with her happy state 
 of mind. She was followed by the. duke, Elys^e, and 
 Madame de Silvis, who filled the place of maid of honor, 
 as the little princess had been dismissed. All her court
 
 314 KTl^GS IN EXTLE. 
 
 Ibllowcd her through the shady paths bordered with iv)' 
 like a Uttle EngHsh park. She would turn round to 
 speak a word or sentence with that marked grace which 
 did not detract from her feminine charms. This day she 
 v.as particularly lively and gay. In the morning she had 
 received news from Illyria, telling of the excellent effect 
 produced by the abdication, and the name of Leopold V., 
 which was already popular in country-places. 
 
 Elys^e M^raut triumphed. 
 
 " As I told you, Duke, they are raving over their little 
 king. Childhood, you see, regenerates every one's ten- 
 derness. It is like a new religion we have infused in 
 them, — a religion full oi ndiveie and fervor." 
 
 And, tossing his long hair with both hands with a vio- 
 lent gesture peculiar to himself, he went into one of those 
 eloquent improvisations which transfigured him, as the 
 dejected Arab, crouching in rags on the ground, be- 
 comes unrecognizable as soon as he is on a horse. 
 
 " Here we are," said the marchioness, in a low voice, 
 with a wearied air ; while the queen, in order to hear bet- 
 ter, seated herself on the border of a path in the shade 
 of a weeping-ash. The others stood respectfully round 
 her ; but gradually the audience thinned. Madame de 
 Silvis withdrew first, ostensibly to protest, as she never 
 failed to do ; then they came for the duke, who was 
 called away by some duty. The queen was left alone 
 with Elys^e, who did not perceive it, but continued his 
 discourse standing in the sunshine, which fell softly on his 
 noble, exalted face, as on the flat surface of a hard rock. 
 He was handsome thus, with the beauty of intelligence 
 and an irresistible power, which struck Fr^d^rique too 
 suddenly for her to be able to conceal her admiration. 
 Did he see this in her green eyes ? Did he receive the
 
 Begone! begone! May 1 never see thee again!" Page 318.
 
 THE LITTLE KING. 315 
 
 shock which we feel when too lively a sentiment is 
 brought near to us? At tirst he stammered, then 
 stopped short, all in a tremble, and let fall on the queen's 
 head, which was bowed, and on her golden hair flecked 
 with flickering sunlight, a lingering look that was ardent 
 as a declaration. 
 
 Fr^derique felt the fire from his eyes sweep over her 
 more blinding and scorching than the sun itself; but she 
 had not strength to turn from it. And when, frightened 
 at what was rising to his lips, Elys^e rushed from her sud- 
 denly, she was so filled with his magnetic power, that it 
 seemed to her as if life were going from her ; and she 
 had a kind of moral swoon, and remained on the bench 
 fainting and overpowered. Purple shadows floated over 
 the winding paths. The water rippled from the fountain 
 with a refreshing sound this beautiful summer afternoon. 
 In the garden, which was all in bloom, only the murmur 
 of fluttering wings of tiny insects was heard above the 
 fragrant flower-b?,skets, and the sharp sound of the little 
 prince's rifle, who was firing at the end of the park, near 
 the wood. 
 
 The queen came to herself in this calmness, at first 
 feeling angry and rebellious ; for she felt hurt and insulted 
 by that look. Was it possible ? Was she not dreaming ? 
 She, the proud Fr^d^rique, who in the intoxication of 
 co\\x\. fetes formerly disdained the homage laid at her feet, 
 though by the most noble and most illustrious, — she who 
 kept her proud heart above it, to abandon it to a nobody, 
 a son of the people ! Tears of pride burned in her eyes. 
 And through her confused thoughts a prophetic word of 
 the elder Rosen rang in her ears : " The Bohemia of 
 exile." Yes ! only exile, with its demoralizing, free inter- 
 course, could have made this subaltern dare. But, as she 
 21
 
 3i6 /CINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 poured out her scorn upon him, the remembrance of the 
 services he rendered her came back to her mind. What 
 would have become of them without him ? She remem- 
 bered the emotion of their first meeting, and how his 
 words revived her. Then, while the king was away seek- 
 ing his pleasure, who had taken the guidance of their 
 destiny, and repaired their blunders and crimes? And 
 his indefatigable, daily devotion, so much talent and 
 spirit and fine genius applied to a self-sacrificing task, 
 without profit or glory ! The result was this little king, — 
 a real king, and the future ruler of Illyria, of whom she 
 felt so proud. Then, overcome with an unconquerable 
 feeling of tenderness and gratitude, and recollecting that 
 moment in the past when at the fete at Vincennes she 
 leaned on Elys^e's strong shoulder, she closed her eyes as 
 on that day, and gave herself up to the blissful thought of 
 the great, devoted heart which she seemed to feel beat- 
 ing near her. 
 
 Suddenly, after a gun-shot which sent the birds flying 
 through the foliage, she heard a loud cry, — a child's cry, 
 — such as mothers hear in their dreams during troubled 
 nights of anxiety, — a terrible call of distress, which 
 darkened the whole sky, enlarging and changing the gar- 
 den into an immense scene of sorrow. Hurried steps 
 were heard in the paths. The voice of the tutor, hoarse 
 and changed, was heard calling beyond, near the firing. 
 Fr^d^rique reached the place with one bound. 
 
 It was in the cool shade of the hedge, in a part of 
 the park that was covered with hops and climbing vines, 
 and the rank growth of the rich earth. Sheets of paste- 
 board, pierced with small, regular, and cruel holes, hung 
 from the trellis. Fr^d^rique saw her child lying mo- 
 tionless on his back on the ground, his face white, with
 
 THE LITTLE KING. 317 
 
 a red spot near the right eye, which was closed and 
 wounded, and from which a few drops of blood were 
 trickling like tears. Elys^e was on his knees near him, 
 calling, and wringing his hands. " It was I ! it was I ! " 
 He was passing. His Highness wished him to try his 
 arms ; and, through a frightful fatality, the ball, rebound- 
 ing from the iron-work on the trellis — 
 
 But the queen would not listen to him. Without utter- 
 ing a cry or complaint, filled only with the protecting 
 instinct of a mother, she seized the child, and carried 
 him in her arms to the pond. Then, motioning away the 
 servants of the house who gathered around to help her, 
 she leaned her knee on the stone brink on which the 
 little king's inert body was lying, held the beloved pale 
 face to which the fair hair was clinging — a gloomy sight 
 — under the basin ; and there was a trickling stream 
 reaching to the bluish eyelid, and a dark red spot where 
 it had been bathed with water, and from between the lids 
 a very small stream was issuing redder still. 
 
 The queen did not speak : she did not even think. In 
 her cambric dress, which was crumpled and wet, and 
 which clung to her beautiful form as to a marble naiad, 
 she leaned over her little one, watching him closely. 
 What a moment of agonized waiting ! Gradually reviv- 
 ing by the immersion, the wounded boy started, stretched 
 his limbs as one does in waking, and immediately began 
 to groan. 
 
 " He lives ! " cried the mother with delirious joy. 
 
 Then, raising her head, she saw opposite her M^raut, 
 whose paleness and dejection seemed to ask pardon. 
 
 The recollection of what had passed on the bench re- 
 curred to her, mingled with the terrible surprise of the 
 catastrophe ; and she recalled her weakness so quickly
 
 3i8 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 visited on the head of tlie child, and was filled with rage 
 against this man and herself. 
 
 "Begone! begone! May I never see thee again!" 
 she cried, with a terrible look. It was her love she was 
 confessing before every one to punish herself, and to 
 cure herself, — her love, which she flung in his face like 
 an insult in the insolence of that word " thee."
 
 THE DARKENED ROOM. 319 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE DARKENED ROOM. 
 
 " Once upon a time, in the duchy of Oldenburg, there 
 was a Countess of Ponikau, to whom the dwarfs on her 
 wedding-day gave three little golden loaves." 
 
 Madame de Silvis was repeating this in a darkened 
 room, where the windows were tightly closed, and the 
 curtains drawn over them, and hanging to the floor. 
 The little king was lying on his bed ; and the queen sat 
 near him like a white phantom, applying ice to the fore- 
 head covered with a bandage, which she had renewed 
 every few minutes night and day for a whole week. How 
 has she lived without sleeping, and almost without eating, 
 seated on the narrow edge of the bed, her hands holding 
 those of her son in the intervals between the bandaging, 
 and passing from the coldness of the ice to the fever she 
 is watching, and which she dreads as she feels it in the 
 sick boy's feeble pulse ? 
 
 The little king wishes his mother to remain there 
 always. The darkness of this great room is peopled to 
 him with gloomy shadows and terrifying visions. Then 
 the impossibility of reading or touching a plaything 
 keeps him in a stupor, which makes Fred^rique anxious. 
 
 "Are you suffering?" she asks ever)' moment. 
 
 " No : I am weary," answers the child in a weak voice. 
 And to drive away this weariness, to people the sad at- 
 mosphere of the room with brilliant visions, Madame
 
 320 A'/NGS IN EXILE. 
 
 de Silvis has begun to draw from her stock of fanciful 
 tales, full of old German castles, and goblins dancing at 
 the foot of the tower where the princess is waiting for 
 the bluebird and twirling her glass distaff. 
 
 While listening to these endless stories, the queen 
 despairs. It seems to her that they are undoing the work 
 she has done with so much pains ; that she is witnessing 
 the crumbling away, stone by stone, of an upright, tri- 
 umphant column. It is that which she sees in the dark- 
 ness before her, in the long hours of seclusion, when she 
 is much more disturbed at having her boy fall into a 
 woman's hands again, and once more becoming the 
 feeble little Zara, than at the wound itself, whose dan- 
 gerous character she does not yet know to its full extent. 
 When the doctor, with a lamp in his hand, for a moment 
 disperses the accumulated veils of shade, raises the 
 bandage, and with a drop of atropia tries to awaken 
 the sensibility of the injured eye, the mother is re-assured 
 on seeing that the little one does not give a cry, or hold 
 out his arms to protect himself. No one dares tell her, 
 that, on the contrary, this insensibility and stillness of all 
 the nerves is the death of the organ. The ball in re- 
 bounding, although its force was spent, could still injure 
 and loosen the retina. The right eye is irrevocably 
 destroyed. Every precaution that they may take can 
 only tend to preserve the other, which is threatened by 
 that sympathy of parts which makes sight a single organ 
 with double branches. Ah ! if the extent of her misfor- 
 tune was known by the queen, who so firmly believes, that, 
 thanks to her care and vigilant tenderness, the accident 
 will leave no trace, and who already talks to the child 
 about the first time they will go out ! 
 
 " Leopold, shall you be glad to take a fine walk in the 
 forest?"
 
 THE DARKENED ROOM. 321 
 
 Yes : Leopold will be very happy to. He wishes they 
 would take him to that fete he went to once with his 
 mother and the tutor. And, suddenly interrupting him- 
 self, he asked, — 
 
 " Where is Monsieur Elys^e ? Why does he never come 
 to see me?" 
 
 They answer that his teacher has gone on a long jour- 
 ney. This explanation sufifices. Thinking fatigues him, 
 and talking also ; and he falls back into his silent indif- 
 ference, returns to the land of visions which sick people 
 evoke while blending their surroundings with their dreams 
 and the motionless aspect of things, for they fear motion 
 and sound for him. 
 
 People come in and go out treading cautiously, and 
 answer in whispers. The queen hears nothing, and pays 
 attention only to the bandaging. Sometimes Christian 
 pushes open the door, which is always ajar on account of 
 the heat of this seclusion, and, in a. voice which he tries 
 to make joyous and careless, comes to say some amiable 
 nonsense to his son to make him laugh or talk. But his 
 voice has a false ring since the recent catastrophe, and 
 the father frightens the child. His little memory, which 
 the gun-shot filled with the confusion of its smoke, retains 
 some dominant feature of the late scenes, — the despairing 
 attempts of the queen, the shock he felt when she came 
 near falling with him down three stories. He answers in 
 a low voice, through closed teeth. Then Christian ad- 
 dresses his wife : — 
 
 " You should rest a little, Fr^d^rique : it is for the 
 child's interest for you to do so ; for you are killing your- 
 self." 
 
 But the hand of the prince presses, that of his mother 
 in an imploring grasp, and she re-assures him with the 
 same mute eloquence : —
 
 32 2 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 " No, no : do not be afraid. I will not leave you." 
 She coldly exchanges a few words with her husband ; 
 then leaves him to his dismal reflections. 
 
 The accident to his son completes a gloomy series for 
 Christian. He feels himself alone in the world, in despair 
 and subdued. Ah, if his wife would take him back again ! 
 He feels the need of the weak, — to draw close to some 
 one in misfortune, to place his head on a friendly bosom, 
 to find relief in tears and confessions, and then to return 
 to new amusements and new treachery. But Fr^d^rique's 
 heart is forever lost to him ; and now the child, in his 
 turn, avoids his caresses. He tells himself this as he 
 stands at the foot of the bed in the dark room ; while the 
 queen, watching the minutes, takes the ice in a cup, and 
 places it on the wet bandage, and raises and kisses the 
 little sick brow to see if it is warm ; while Madame de Sil- 
 vis gravely relates the story of the three little golden loaves 
 to the legitimate sovereign of the kingdoms of Illyria and 
 Dalmatia. Christian leaves the room, his exit being 
 unobserved as his entrance, and wanders in a melancholy 
 mood through the silent house, which is kept in the same 
 order and ceremonious style as usual by the Duke de 
 Rosen, who is seen going and coming from the hotel to 
 the servants' quarters and intendant's house holding him- 
 self erect, and shaking his head. The hot-house and 
 garden continue to bloom ; and the ouistitis, enlivened by 
 the heat, fill their cage with little cries and gambols. The 
 prince's pony, led by the groom, takes a hundred steps 
 in the court-yard, which is deadened with a layer of 
 straw, stops at the steps, and turns his little hazel eyes 
 sadly towards the place where the little king used to come 
 down. The hotel still has an elegant, comfortable appear- 
 ance j but it seems as if one were waiting and hoping for
 
 THE DARKENED ROOM. 323 
 
 something, and there is a feeling of suspense in the 
 air, a silence like that which follows a storm. The most 
 impressive sight is the three blinds above, which are 
 closely fastened even when every thing is thrown open to 
 admit the air and light, and which shut in the mystery of 
 pain and sickness. 
 
 Meraut, driven from the royal house, takes lodgings 
 quite near, and constantly wanders around it, and looks 
 in despair at the closed windows. It is his torment and 
 punishment. He returns every day with the fear of find- 
 ing them all open some morning letting out the smoke 
 from an extinguished candle. The habitues of this part 
 of Saint Mand^ know him well. The woman selling 
 pastry-cakes, sounding her castanets when this tall, un- 
 happy-looking fellow passes, the man tossing balls, and 
 the employe in the railroad-station shut up in his little 
 wooden building, all consider him a little crazy ; and truly 
 his despair is turning to a mania. But it is not the lover 
 who suffers. The queen did well to drive him away : he 
 deserved it ; and his passion vanished before the great 
 disaster to his hopes. To have dreamed of making a 
 king, having given himself that superb task, and then to 
 crush and destroy every thing with his own hands ! The 
 father and mother, whose affection had received the 
 heaviest blow, were in no greater despair than he. He 
 had not even the consolation of giving his care and show- 
 ing his soHcitude every hour, and could hardly obtain 
 news, the servants owing him a grudge on account of the 
 accident. However, a brigadier of the forest, having 
 access to the house, told him the rumors among the ser- 
 vants, enlarged upon by that love of the horrible which 
 the common people possess. Sometimes they declared 
 the little king was blind, and sometimes he was delirious ;
 
 324 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 and they said the queen had decided to let him die 
 of hunger. And the sad Elysde Uved a whole day on 
 these discouraging reports ; and wandered through the 
 woods as long as his limbs would bear him, then returned 
 and watched at the outskirts in the tall, flowery grass, 
 which was trodden down on Sundays by promcnaders, — 
 a real rural spot, but deserted during the week. 
 
 Once at nightfall he threw himself down in the cool 
 meadow, with his eyes towards the house, where the lights 
 were screened by the interlaced branches. The jugglers 
 were going away, and the guards were beginning their 
 evening rounds, and the swallows were flying around in a 
 large circle above the tallest grass in the pursuit of gnats 
 which came down at sunset. It was a melancholy hour. 
 Elysee was influenced by it. Weary in mind and body, he 
 listened to his memory and anxieties, as it happens in the 
 silence of nature, where our inward struggles try to make 
 themselves heard. Suddenly his eyes, which were look- 
 ing at nothing, saw before him the uneven step, Quaker 
 hat, white waistcoat, and gaiters of Boscovich. The 
 councillor was moving rapidly away with mincing steps, 
 like a woman, looking very much agitated, and holding 
 carefully in his hand an object wrapped up in his hand- 
 kerchief. He did not seem surprised on seeing Elys^e, 
 and accosted him in the most natural tone and manner, 
 as if nothing had happened : — 
 
 " My dear M^raut, you see a very happy man." 
 
 " Ah, my God ! what is it ? Is his Highness's condi- 
 tion " — 
 
 The botanist assumed a look for the occasion to say 
 that his Highness was getting on just the same, always 
 quiet, the room still darkened, and the same sad uncer- 
 tainty ; oh ! very sad. Then he said suddenly, —
 
 THE DARKENED ROOM. 325 
 
 " Guess what I have here. Take care ! It is fragile : 
 you will loosen the earth. A foot of clematis, — not the 
 common clematis of your garden, but Clematis Dahnat- 
 ica, — a particular dwarf-species, which is only found with 
 us. I doubted at first, feeling uncertain. I have 
 watched it since spring. But see the stem and the 
 corolla, and this perfume like crushed almonds ! " 
 
 And, unfolding his handkerchief with endless precau- 
 tions, he released a frail, ungraceful plant, with a milky- 
 white flower, growing paler as it approached the green 
 leaves, and being almost confounded with them. M^raut 
 tried to question him, and get more news from him ; but 
 the monomaniac was absorbed in his mania and discovery. 
 It was indeed a very strange chance that this little plant 
 should have pushed forth, alone of its species, six hun- 
 dred leagues from his country. Flowers have their his- 
 tory, and they also have their romance ; and it was this 
 probable romance that the good man repeated to him- 
 self, while thinking he was telling M^raut : — 
 
 " By what peculiarity of ground, what geological mys- 
 tery, has this little travelling seed been able to germinate at 
 the foot of an oak at Saint Mand6 ? Such instances occur 
 sometimes. A friend of mine — a botanist — found a 
 flower from Laponia among the Pyrenees. It is brought 
 in currents of air, and particles of earth that are carried 
 to certain places. But the miracle here is that this bit of 
 plant has grown up exactly in the neighborhood of its 
 compatriots, exiles also. And see how well it is doing : 
 it is a little pale from exile, but its tendrils are ready to 
 climb." 
 
 He stood there in the waning daylight, with his clema- 
 tis in his hand, motionless in happy contemplation, and 
 said suddenly, —
 
 326 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 " The devil ! It is late ! I must go in ! Good-by ! " 
 
 " I will go with you," said Elys6e. 
 
 Boscovich was stunned. He was present at the fatal 
 scene, and knew how the tutor left, attributing his being 
 sent off to the accident only. What would they think ? 
 What would the queen say ? 
 
 " No one will see me. Councillor. You will let me in 
 through the avenue, and I will steal quietly in as far as 
 the room." 
 
 " What ! you mean " — 
 
 " To go near his Highness, and to hear him speak a 
 moment, without his suspecting that I am there." 
 
 The weak Boscovich exclaimed and protested : but he 
 walked ahead all the same, urged on by the desire of 
 Elys^e, who followed him without heeding his objections. 
 
 Oh ! what was M^raut's emotion, when the little gate, 
 in the avenue among the ivy, opened, and he found him- 
 self in that part of the garden where his life was crushed ? 
 
 "Wait for me," said the councillor, trembling : " I will 
 come and let you know when the servants are at table. 
 In that way you will meet no one on the stairs." 
 
 No one had been to the spot where the firing took 
 place since that fatal day. Traces of hurried footsteps 
 on the trodden borders and gravelled paths brought the 
 scene vividly before Elysee. The same riddled boards 
 hung on the fence ; the water flowed from the basin like a 
 spring of gushing tears, looking gray in the sad twilight 
 hour ; and it seemed to Elys6e as if he heard the queen's 
 voice sobbing, and the " Begone ! begone ! " which as 
 he seemed to hear it in memory gave him the sensation 
 of a stab and a caress. When Boscovich returned, they 
 glided past the clusters of trees till they reached the 
 house. In the gallery covered with glass, which opened
 
 THE DARKENED ROOM. 327 
 
 on the garden, and served as a study-room, the books 
 were ranged on the table, and the chairs of the teacher 
 and pupil stood near, ready for the next lesson, having 
 the cruel, inert appearance of material things. 
 
 It was as painful as the silence in the places where the 
 child, laughing and singing and running about, going 
 through his narrow orbit ten times a day, was now miss- 
 ing. 
 
 From the staircase, which was fully lighted, Boscovich, 
 who was walking ahead, led him into the room in front 
 of the king's, which was also dark, and where the faintest 
 ray of light was shut out. A night-lamp was burning in 
 a retired alcove, surrounded by bottles and potions. 
 
 The queen and Madame de Silvis are near him. 
 
 " Be sure and do not speak, and return quickly." 
 
 Elys^e heard no more, his foot was already on the 
 threshold, and his heart was beating fast and nerved to 
 the sight. His unpractised eyes could not penetrate the 
 dense darkness. He could distinguish nothing ; but in the 
 distance he heard a child's voice repeating and intoning 
 the evening prayers, and it was very difficult to recognize 
 it as that of the little king, it was so weary and dull. 
 When he reached one of the many "Amens," the child 
 paused. 
 
 " Mother, must I also say the king's prayer? " 
 
 "Why, yes, my darling," said the beautiful, CTave voice, 
 whose tone had also changed, and was quivering and 
 thin on the edges, as a metal worn out by the constant 
 dropping of water. 
 
 The prince hesitated in his answer : — 
 
 " Because I thought — It seemed to me that now it 
 was not worth while." 
 
 The queen asked quickly, —
 
 328 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Oh ! " said the child-king precociously and wisely, " I 
 was thinking that I should have many other things to ask 
 God tlian what are in that prayer." 
 
 But recovering liimself, from a sudden impulse of his 
 kindly little nature, he added, — 
 
 " I will say it at once, Mamma, — at once, — since 
 you wish it." 
 
 And he began slowly, in a resigned but tremulous 
 voice : — 
 
 " O Lord, who art my God ! thou hast placed thy ser- 
 vant on the throne ; but I am a child who does not know 
 how to guide himself, and who has been encharged with 
 the people whom thou hast chosen." 
 
 At the end of the room a stifled sob was heard. The 
 queen started. 
 
 " Who is there ? Is it you, Christian ? " she asked, at 
 the sound of a closing door. 
 
 At the end of the week the physician declared that 
 they could no longer condemn the little invalid to the 
 torture of the dark room ; that it was time to admit a 
 little light. 
 
 " Already? " said Fr^d^rique. "They assured me that 
 it would last more than a month." 
 
 The physician could not answer, that the eye being 
 dead, wholly dead, without hope of restoration, this se- 
 clusion was useless. He got off by one of those vague 
 phrases, of which doctors in their pity have the secret. 
 The queen did not understand, and no one near her had 
 strength enough to tell her the truth. They waited for 
 Father Alphee, religion having the privilege to soothe 
 every wound, even those which it cannot heal. With his 
 roughness and rude accent, the monk, who used the
 
 THE DARKENED ROOM 329 
 
 word of God as a club, directed the terrible blow under 
 which Fr^d^rique's pride must give way. The mother 
 suffered on the day of the accident, thrilled in her most 
 tender fibres by the cries, swoon, and the blood which 
 streamed from the wound of her poor little boy. This 
 second grief fell more directly on the queen. Her son 
 deformed, disfigured ! She wished to have him so hand- 
 some in the day of triumph ; and must she take this 
 infirni king to the Illyrians? She would not pardon the 
 physician for having deceived her. Thus, even in exile, 
 kings are always the victim of their own grandeur and 
 human cowardice. 
 
 In order to avoid too abrupt a change from darkness 
 to light, they hung green curtains over the casement ; 
 then the windows were opened freely ; and, when the 
 actors in this sad drama could look at each other in the 
 broad daylight, they became aware of the change that 
 had taken place in them during their seclusion. Fr6- 
 d^rique had grown old, and was obliged to change the 
 style of dressing her hair, and wear it smooth near the 
 temples to conceal the white locks. The little prince 
 was very pale, and his right eye was shaded by a band- 
 age ; and his whole face, slightly marked with little 
 puckers and precocious wrinkles, seemed to feel the 
 weight of this bandage. What a new life this invalid 
 existence was for him ! At table he had to learn again 
 how to eat ; and, not being able to guide his spoon and 
 fork, they hit him in the forehead or ear, through the 
 awkwardness which affects all the senses when one is 
 destroyed. At this he gave his little childish laugh, and 
 the queen turned aside to hide her tears. As soon as he 
 could go down into the garden, other trials awaited him. 
 He hesitated and stumbled at every step, went sideways
 
 instead of straight ahead, and even fell, or timidly re- 
 coiled at the slightest obstacle ; clinging hold of his 
 mother's hands and skirts, and turning the comers of 
 the park as if there were so many ambushes behind 
 them. The queen tried to rouse his spirit at least, but 
 the shock had been too great, no doubt : with the visual 
 ray it seemed to have extinguished a ray of intelligence. 
 He understood perfectly, poor little fellow ! the trouble 
 that his condition caused his mother ; and, while speak- 
 ing to her, raised his head with an effort, and gave her a 
 timid, awkward look, as if to ask pardon for his weakness 
 and infirmity. But he could not conquer certain unrea- 
 sonable physical terrors. The sound of firing at the 
 edge of the wood — the first he had heard since the acci- 
 dent — almost threw him into convulsions ; and, the first 
 time they spoke to him about mounting the pony, he 
 began to tremble all over. 
 
 " No, no, I beg you ! " said he, pressing up against 
 Fr^d^rique. " Take me in the landau with you : I am 
 afraid." 
 
 "Afraid of what?" 
 
 " I am afraid, — terribly afraid." 
 
 Neither reasoning nor entreaties availed. 
 
 "Well, then," said the queen, with silent anger, "let 
 the landau be harnessed." 
 
 It was a beautiful Sunday at the end of autumn, re- 
 minding one of the Sunday in May when they went to 
 Vincennes. But, unhke that day, Fr^d^rique was tired 
 of the common crowd in the paths and on the lawns. 
 This open-air gayety and smell of food made her ill. 
 Now she saw only poverty and sorrow among them, in 
 spite of their laughter and holiday dress. The child, 
 trying to smooth the beautiful face, whose disenchanted
 
 THE DARKENED ROOM. 331 
 
 expression he attributed to liimself, lavished timid and 
 passionate caresses on his mother. 
 
 " Are you angry with me, Mamma, for not having taken 
 the pony ? " 
 
 No : she was not angry with him. But what would he 
 do on the day of his coronation, when his subjects would 
 recall him ? A king ought to know how to ride. 
 
 He turned his little old face round to look at the 
 queen with his only eye, and asked, — 
 
 " Do you really think they would want me now, as I 
 am?" 
 
 He looked very sickly, and very old ; but Fr^d^rique 
 was indignant at the doubt, and mentioned the King of 
 Westphalia, who was also blind. 
 
 " Oh ! a king they made fun of. They sent him 
 away." 
 
 She then told the history of Jean of Bohemia, at the 
 battle of Crecy, requesting his knights to lead him far 
 enough in front for him to give a blow with his sword ; 
 and they led him so far in front, that the next day they 
 all were found dead, their bodies lying on the ground, 
 and their horses tied together. 
 
 " It is terrible ! terrible ! " said Leopold. 
 
 And he shuddered, as he pondered dreamily over this 
 heroic tale, as though it were one of Madame de Silvis' 
 fairy-stories ; for he was so small, so weak, and so little 
 of a king. Just then the carriage left the borders of the 
 lake, and entered a narrow path, where there was hardly 
 room enough for the carriage-wheels. Some one stepped 
 quickly into the road whom the child could not see, his 
 bandage obstructing his sight ; but the queen recognized 
 him. With a grave, hard look, she made a motion of her 
 head towards the poor infirm boy, who was buried in her 
 22
 
 332 KINGS J A EXILE. 
 
 skirts, their chef-cT xuvre in ruins, the debris and \vreck of 
 a great race. It was their last meeting, and M6raut left 
 Saint Mand6 forever.
 
 FTDES, SPES, 333 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 FIDES, SPES. 
 
 The Duke de Rosen entered first. 
 
 " It is rather damp," he said gravely. " It has not 
 been opened since my son's death." 
 
 Indeed, a chill and dampness like that of a sepulchral 
 cave pervaded this splendid suite of apartments on the 
 first floor, where the guzlas had played so proudly, and 
 where every thing was in the same place as on the night 
 of the ball. The two carved chairs of the king and 
 queen, which stood near the musicians' stand, were still 
 there, but were surpassed by magnificent desks of 
 wrought iron ; and near them arm-chairs in a row 
 formed an aristocratic reserved circle. The floors were 
 strewn with ribbons, debris of flowers, and light faded 
 gauze, and covered with the dust of dancing. One saw 
 that the decorators had hastily taken down the hangings 
 and the garlands of vines, and had hurriedly closed doors 
 and windows in these salons, which spoke of a fete in a 
 house of mourning. The same neglect was seen in the 
 garden, which was covered with dead leaves, and over 
 which winter, then spring, had passed, without its hav- 
 ing been cultivated ; for it was overgrown with weeds. 
 Through one of those odd moods of sorrow, which makes 
 one wish that every thing should suffer and wither near it, 
 the duke would not permit it to be touched, any more than 
 he would consent to live in his magnificent apartments.
 
 334 KTyC"; TN RXTLB. 
 
 Since the affair at Gravosa, and after Colette had 
 gone to Nice with her little W to recover from her ill- 
 ness, he gave up his solitary visits to the Quai d'Anjou, 
 and had a bed placed in the intendant's house. Evi- 
 dently he was going to sell the hotel some day or other, 
 and do without the elegant curiosities which surrounded 
 him. That is why the Venetian mirrors, no longer re- 
 flecting the loving couples in the Hungarian mazurkas, 
 and sparkling eyes and chandeliers, mirrored to-day in 
 the gray, cold light of a Parisian sky, the ludicrous faces, 
 greedy eyes, and feverish lips of father Leemans and 
 the before-mentioned Pichery, his acolyte, who looked 
 very wan, with his curly locks and mustache stiff with 
 cosmetic. 
 
 Truly, it required all the habitual self-control of the 
 bric-d-brac dealer, and his practice in trading and acting 
 those comedies which bring into play all the grimaces of 
 the human mask, for the good man to restrain a cry of 
 joy and admiration when the general's servant, who 
 was as old and straight as his master, had opened the 
 Persian blinds, which were as high as the room. They 
 noisily rattled against the walls on the northern side ; 
 and the light, falling through them softly, brought out the 
 shades and superb tones of the wood, bronze, and ivory 
 of all the precious treasures of a collection which were 
 not labelled and cared for like that of Madame de Spa- 
 lato, but were newer, more rare and foreign, and more 
 numerous and costly, while not one was imperfect, or an 
 imitation. 
 
 The Duke de Rosen had not pillaged at random in 
 the fashion of those generals who pass through a summer 
 palace like a bombshell, which, in its devastating track, 
 carries away bell-towers and wisps of straw alike. There
 
 FIDES, SFES. 335 
 
 were nothing but carefully selected wonders ; and it was 
 a curious sight to see the bric-a-brac dealer stop with 
 his head thrust forward, holding up his magnifying-glass, 
 lightly scratching the enamels and sounding the bronzes 
 indifferently, even scornfully, while from his feet to his 
 head, and from the end of his nails to the point of his 
 flat beard, his whole body vibrated and twitched as if 
 he had been put in communication with an electric bat- 
 tery. It was no less amusing to observe Pichery, who, 
 having no idea of art or any taste of his own, modelled 
 his ideas on those of his companion, made the same 
 disdainful face, which quickly changed into amazement 
 when Leemans said to him in a low voice, while he 
 leaned over his note-book in which he did not cease to 
 take notes, — 
 
 " That is worth a hundred thousand francs, if it's 
 worth a sou." Here was their sole chance to make up 
 for the " big scheme " in which they had been so largely 
 involved. But they had to keep watch over themselves ; 
 for the old general of pandours, who was as mistrustful 
 and impenetrable as all the dealers put together, followed 
 them step by step, and planted himself behind them 
 without once being their dupe. 
 
 They thus reached the end of the reception-rooms, 
 and came to a small room which was raised the height 
 of two steps, and exquisitely furnished in the Moorish 
 style with low divans, carpets, and genuine cabinets. 
 
 " Is this one of them too? " asked Leemans. 
 
 The general hesitated imperceptibly before answering. 
 It was Colette's retreat in the immense hotel, — her chosen 
 boudoir, where she took refuge in her rare leisure, and 
 attended to her correspondence. The thought passed 
 through his mind that he should save this littie oriental
 
 35(> KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 piece of furniture, which she was so fond of. But he did 
 not hesitate : he must sell it. 
 
 " This is to go too," he said coldly. 
 
 Leemans, who was immediately attracted by the rarity 
 of a piece of Arabian furniture, which was carved and 
 gilded, with arcades and galleries in miniature, began to 
 examine the various secret drawers opening one into the 
 other by hidden springs, — fresh and delicate drawers, 
 exhaling a fragrance of orange and sandal wood in their 
 satin linings. But, in plunging his hand into one of 
 them, something rustled. 
 
 " There are papers here," he said. 
 
 When the inventory was finished, and the duke es- 
 corted the two bric-d-brac dealers to the door, he 
 thought of the papers that had been left in the little 
 piece of furniture, — a package of letters tied with a 
 crumpled ribbon, and impregnated with the delicate fra- 
 grance of the drawer. He glanced at them mechanically, 
 and recognized the handwriting. It was Christian's 
 coarse, peculiar, and uneven hand, which for several 
 months had only spoken to him of money in the way 
 of notes and drafts. No doubt they were letters from 
 the king to Herbert. Why, no ! " Colette, my dear 
 sweetheart." He gave the bell a violent pull, and tossed 
 the pile on a lounge, — about thirty notes, appointments 
 for rendezvous, notes of thanks and rejoicing, and all the 
 guilty correspondence in its sad commonplaceness, end- 
 ing with excuses for broken appointments, the missives 
 becoming colder and colder, and shorter like the little 
 papers at the end of a kite. In almost all there 
 was some reference to a tiresome, persecuting person- 
 age, whom Christian mockingly called " The unfortunate 
 Courtier," or simply '' Unfortunate C," and to whom
 
 FIDES, SPES. 337 
 
 the duke tried to give a name ; when, at the end of one 
 of the sneering pages, which were more in the language 
 of a Hbertine than of one in love, he saw his own carica- 
 ture, his little pointed face on the long claws of a wad- 
 ing-bird. It was he, his wrinkles and eagle's beak and 
 twinkling eyes ; and underneath, to leave no doubt on 
 the subject, was written, — 
 
 " Unfortunate Courtier mounting guard at Quai 
 (fOrsay." 
 
 When he recovered from his first surprise, and under- 
 stood the outrage in all its baseness, the old man ex- 
 claimed, " Oh ! " and remained there nonplussed and 
 ashamed. 
 
 That his son had been deceived was not what sur- 
 prised him ; but to be deceived by this Christian for 
 whom they had sacrificed every thing, and for whom 
 Herbert died at twenty-eight, — for whom he himself was 
 about to ruin himself, and sell even the trophies of his 
 victory, that the royal signature might not be protested ! 
 Ah ! if he could avenge himself, — take down fi-om that 
 armor two weapons, no matter what kind of ones ! But 
 it was the king ! One did not expect right conduct of a 
 king. And, the magic of the sacred word suddenly 
 appeasing his anger, he said to himself, that, after all, his 
 Majesty, in trifling with one of his servants, had not been 
 as guilty as he, the Duke de Rosen, in making a mesal- 
 liance between his son and this Sauvadon. He was 
 suffering the penalty of his cupidity. All these reflec- 
 tions did not last a minute. Locking up the letters, he 
 went out, and returned to Saint Mand^ to take his place 
 at the desk in the intendant's house, where a quantity of 
 notes and papers awaited him, among which he recog- 
 nized more than once the coarse, wavering handwriting
 
 ^^o A'/jVGS IN EXILE. 
 
 of the love-letters ; and Christian would not have dreamed 
 that he knew any thing about them, when, passing througii 
 the court-yard after this, he saw the long outline of ihc 
 " Unfortunate Courtier " behind the window as erect, 
 devoted, and vigilant as ever. 
 
 Only kings, to whose persons national and superstitious 
 traditions are attached, can inspire such devotion, even 
 when they are completely unworthy of it. This one, now 
 that his child was out of danger, enjoyed himself more 
 than ever. He at first tried to return to Sephora. Yes, 
 after having been rudely and cynically driven away, — after 
 having proof, every proof, of her treachery, — he still loved 
 her enough to throw himself at her feet at a sign. The 
 fair one at this moment was full of the joy of a renewed 
 honeymoon. Cured of her ambition, and becoming 
 tranquil again, as it was her nature to be, and firom which 
 state she was drawn by her greed for millions, she would 
 have liked to sell her hotel, realize from it, and go and 
 live at Courbevoie with J. Tom, and crush the Sprichts 
 with their wealth. J. Tom Levis, on the contrary, dreamed 
 of trying new schemes ; and the high circles in which his 
 wife now moved gave him gradually the idea of another 
 agency in a more luxurious, more fashionable form, — 
 trade in elegant guise, transacted amid the flowers and 
 music of a festival, around the lake, along the race-course, 
 — and replacing the old cab, now consigned to the com- 
 pany who kept small vehicles, with a solid caVeche in livery 
 with the countess's crest on it. 
 
 He had no trouble in convincing Sephora, with whom 
 he came to live permanently ; and the salons in Messina 
 Avenue were lighted for a series of dinners and balls, the 
 invitations for which were given out in the name of the 
 Count and Countess de Spalato. They were rather thinly
 
 FIDES, SPES. 339 
 
 attended at first ; then the feminine element, which was 
 at first rebellious, ended by treating J. Tom and his wife 
 as one of those rich foreign families who had come from 
 abroad, and whose wealth excused their foreign ways. 
 All the young swells hovered around Sephora, who became 
 the fashion through her adventures ; and the count had 
 a fine business in the very beginning of winter. 
 
 They could not refuse Christian admission to the salons 
 which had cost him so much, and then the title of king 
 distinguished and recommended the house. He came 
 there in a cowardly way, in the vain hope of again reach- 
 ing the countess's heart, — not by the main staircase, but 
 by the small entrances, by the way of the back-stairs. 
 After having played some time this rdle of dupe or victim, 
 and having appeared every week with his face as white as 
 his linen in a gilded embrasure of a window to which 
 Tom Levis's watchful, revolving eyes riveted him, he be- 
 came discouraged, returned no more, and ran after other 
 women to drown his sorrow. Like all men who seek a 
 type they have lost, he wandered every^vhere, and de- 
 scended low, very low, led on by Lebeau, an habitue in 
 Parisian vice, who often in the morning carried his mas- 
 ter's valise into strange filth. 
 
 It was a complete downfall, which every day became 
 easier to this weak, voluptuous soul, and from which his 
 sad, quiet home was not likely to save him, there was 
 so little to amuse one in the Rue Herbillon now that 
 neither M^raut nor the princess was there. Leopold V. 
 was recovering slowly, and was confided to Madame de 
 Silvis's instruction during his convalescence, who could 
 now apply the precepts of the Abb^ Diguet about the six 
 ways of knowing men and the seven ways of sending off 
 flatterers. They were sad lessons, made -awkward by the
 
 340 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 bandage, which obliged the httle patient to keep his head 
 on one side. The queen presided over them as formerly, 
 looking sorrowfully at the Clematis Dabnatica, the little 
 flower of exile about to bloom against the window-pane. 
 For some time the Franciscans had been searching for a 
 tutor ; but they could not easily find an Klys^e M^raut 
 among the young men of the day. Father Alphee also 
 had his idea about the matter, which he was careful ncA 
 to give ; for the queen would noL allow any one to speak 
 the former governor's name in hti' presence. Once, how- 
 ever, under grave circumstances, the monk ventured to 
 speak of his friend. 
 
 " Madame, Elys^e M^raut is dying," said he, as he left 
 the table after saying grace. 
 
 During his stay at Saint Mand6, through a kind of 
 superstition, as one keeps in the top of a wardrobe an old- 
 fashioned garment one will never put on again, M^raut 
 had kept his room in the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince. He 
 never went there, and left the dust of time and neglect 
 to settle on papers and books in the mysterious silence 
 of this retreat, which was always kept closed and shut out 
 from the noisy life of the hotel. One day he came there, 
 aged and fatigued, with his hair almost white. The stout 
 hostess, roused from her torpor at hearing him fumbling 
 among the keys hung on their nails, hardly recognized 
 her boarder. 
 
 "What kind of life have you led. Monsieur M^raut, 
 to allow yourself to shatter your constitution in this 
 way?" 
 
 " It is true I am rather winnowed," said Elys^e, smil- 
 ing; and he mounted his five stories, bent over and 
 dejected. The room was just the same, with its melan- 
 choly view through the dim glass of roofs and square
 
 FIDES, SPES. 341 
 
 monastic towers, the school of medicine, and the amphi- 
 theatre, — cheerless buildings revealing the sadness of 
 their destiny \ and on the right, towards the Rue Racine, 
 the two great sheets of water belonging to the city, shin- 
 ing in their stone reservoirs, mirrored the dull sky and 
 smoky chimneys. All was unchanged ; but he no longer 
 had the ardor of youth, which gives color and warmth 
 to every thing around, and which elevates even troubles 
 and difficulties. He tried to sit down at his table and 
 read, and shook the dust from his unfinished works ; but 
 the queen's reproachful look came between his thoughts 
 and the page, and it seemed to him as if his pupil, seated 
 at the other end of the table, were waiting for his lesson 
 and listening to him. He felt too sad at heart and too 
 solitary, and descended hastily and put his key on its nail ; 
 and henceforth his tall, ungainly figure was seen, as for- 
 merly, with his hat on the back of his head and a package 
 of books and reviews under his arm, wandering by the 
 quarter, under the galleries of the Odeon, to the Quai 
 Voltaire ; leaning over, and getting the odor of new prints 
 and the huge cases of castaway literature ; reading in the 
 streets, in the paths at Luxembourg, or gesticulating as he 
 leaned, in terribly cold weather, against a statue in the 
 garden opposite a frozen pond. In this atmosphere of 
 study and intelligent youth, which destroying hands have 
 not been able to reach nor quite drive away, he again 
 found his spirit and ardor. Only he did not have the 
 same audience, for the tide of students ebbs and flows in 
 this changing locality. 
 
 The meetings were held in different places also ; and 
 the poHtical cafes were deserted for the beer-shops, draped 
 with gaudy banners by some fashionable decorator. 
 Their attendants are Swiss, Italian, and Swedish girls in
 
 342 AVA'GS IN EXILE. 
 
 costume. Of Elysf^e's former rivals, of the fine orators 
 of his day, and the Pesquidoux of Voltaire, and the Lar- 
 minat of the Procope, there remained only a vague mem- 
 ory in the minds of young men, as of actors disappeared 
 from the stage. A few had risen very high in power, in 
 public life; and at times when Elysde, with hair flying, went 
 along the shops reading, some illustrious man from the 
 Chamber or Senate would call out from a carriage, " MǤ- 
 raut, M^raut ! " Then they would stop and talk. " What 
 are you doing? what are you writing now?" they asked 
 M^raut, who, with a wrinkled forehead, talked vaguely 
 about a great enterprise "which had not turned out 
 well." Not a word more would he say. They wished to 
 get him away from there, and utilize his wasted powers ; 
 but he remained faithful to his monarchical ideas and 
 his hatred against the revolution. He asked for nothing, 
 and had no need of any one. Nearly all the money he 
 earned from teaching having been saved, he did not even 
 seek pupils. He shut himself up in disdainful sorrow, 
 which was too great and too deep to be understood ; and 
 had no other diversion than a few visits to the convent 
 of the Franciscans, where he went not only to get news 
 of Saint Mande, but because he liked that odd chapel, 
 its Jerusalem cellar, and the painted and bleeding Jesus. 
 This naive mythology, and these almost pagan represen- 
 tations, charmed the Christian of the early centuries, who 
 sometimes said, " The philosophers place God too high : 
 one no longer sees him." 
 
 But Elys^e saw him in the darkness of the crypt ; and, 
 among all those images of barbarous torture, by the side 
 of Margaret d'Ossuna flagellating her marble shoulders, 
 he fancied he saw that vision of Christmas Eve, — the 
 Queen of Illyria, with outstretched arms, imploring and
 
 FIDES, SPSS. 343 
 
 protecting at the same time, and with hands clasped 
 around her son as she knelt before the manger. 
 
 One night Elys^e awoke with a singular burning sensa- 
 tion, which rose from his chest like a wave, giving him a 
 feeling of final annihilation, and filling his mouth with 
 blood. It was mysterious and horrible ; the attack com- 
 ing like an assassin in the dark, opening doors without a 
 sound. He was not frightened, and consulted some 
 medical students at his table (Thote. They told him that 
 he was very ill. 
 
 "What is the matter with me?" he asked. "Every 
 thing," was the answer. He had reached a critical age, 
 having lived forty years of a Bohemian life, in which in- 
 firmity lies in ambush watching for a man, and makes 
 him pay dearly for the excesses or privations of his 
 youth. It is a terrible age, especially when the moral 
 spring is broken, and the dc;sire to live no longer exists. 
 
 Elys^e still led his usual life, always out in the rain 
 and wind ; passing from overheated halls, where the air 
 was exhausted by gas, to the cold streets in midwinter ; 
 and, when the lights were extinguished there, he con- 
 tinued to talk on the edge of the sidewalks, walking half 
 the night. He spit blood more frequently, and a fright- 
 ful lassitude followed. That he might not be forced to 
 take to his bed, — for the melancholy of his deserted 
 room weighed on him. — he went to the Rialto, a beer- 
 shop next to the hotel, and read his papers and dreamed. 
 The place was quiet till evening, and bright with its light 
 oak furniture, and walls daubed with frescoes representing 
 Venice, bridges, and cupolas against a very watery rain- 
 bow, — a most deceptive painting of still life. 
 
 The Venetian girls themselves — who were so lively in 
 the evening when they flew round between the benches
 
 344 KTNGS IN EXILE. 
 
 rattling their leather money-plates, while their red neck- 
 laces were reflected in the beer-mugs — were sleeping 
 with their heads on the table, crumpling the tower of 
 laces and the douffanks batiste sleeves ; or sat around the 
 stove working on some piece of sewing, which they only 
 left to drink with a student. One of them — a tall, strong 
 girl, with heavy tawny braids wound round her head, and 
 whose gestures were slow and grave — would suspend 
 them a moment over her embroidery to listen. 
 
 M^raut looked at her for hours until she spoke, when 
 her coarse, shrill voice woke him from his dream. But 
 soon the strength failed him even to take up his station 
 in a beer-shop behind a curtain, which he slipped along 
 on the rod to screen him. At last he could no longer 
 go downstairs, and was obliged to remain in bed, sur- 
 rounded with books and papers, leaving his door partly 
 open, that the life and sounds of the hotel might reach 
 him. He was forbidden to talk, and resigned himself to 
 write ; and resumed his book, — his famous book on mon- 
 archy, — and continued it in feverish excitement and with 
 a trembling hand, shaken by a cough which scattered 
 the papers over the bed. Now he feared only one thing, 
 — that he might die before the end, and go as he had 
 lived, his powers lying dormant, unknown, and unex- 
 pressed. 
 
 Sauvadon, the uncle from Bercy, whose coarse, irre- 
 pressible vanity suffered from seeing his teacher in this 
 state, came to visit him often. Immediately after the 
 catastrophe, he hastened with open purse to ask him, as 
 formerly, for " ideas about things." 
 
 " Uncle, I have none now," Mdraut answered, discour- 
 aged. And, to draw him from his apathy, the uncle 
 would talk about sending him south, to Nice, to share 
 the sumptuous home of Colette and her little W.
 
 FIDES, SPES. 345 
 
 ''It would not cost me any more," he said naively, 
 "and it would cure you." 
 
 But Elys^e did not expect to be cured, and wished to 
 finish his book in the place where it germinated, — in the 
 noise of Parisian streets, — where every one can listen to 
 the sounds he likes best. While he wrote, Sauvadon, 
 seated at the foot of the bed, was talking incessantly 
 about his pretty niece, feeling irritated against the old 
 crazy-headed general, who was about to sell his hotel in 
 Isle Saint Louis. 
 
 " I would like to ask you what he can do with all that 
 money ! He must hide it away in holes, in little piles. 
 But, after all, it's his affair. Colette is rich enough to 
 get along without him." 
 
 And the wine-merchant tapped himself in the region 
 of the watch-pocket, where his figure resembled a well- 
 filled money-bag. 
 
 Another time, while throwing on the bed the papers 
 he brought Elys^e, he said, — 
 
 "It seems they are bestirring themselves in Illyria. 
 They have just sent a royalist majority to the diet at 
 Laybach. Ah ! if there had been a man there. But 
 that little Leopold is still very young, and Christian is 
 becoming more brutalized every day. Now he keeps 
 company with his valet-de-chambre in visiting inns and 
 low places." 
 
 Elys^e shuddered all over as he listened. Poor queen ! 
 Sauvadon continued, without perceiving the pain he 
 caused : — 
 
 " Our exiles are getting on finely. There is the 
 Prince d'Axel compromised in that affair in the Avenue 
 d'Antin, you know, — the Family Hotel, which, with its 
 patriarchal etiquette, served as a refuge for emancipated
 
 346 KINGS TN EXILE. 
 
 minors. What a scandal for a prince, an heir to the 
 crown ! Yet one thing astonishes me : at the very mo- 
 ment this story about the Family Hotel was going the 
 rounds, Colette wrote me that his Highness was at Nice, 
 and that she was present at the regattas in a yacht which 
 he had hired for her. Certainly there must be some mis- 
 take. I should be very glad of it ; for between us, my 
 dear M^raut " — 
 
 Here the good man confided to his friend very myste- 
 riously, that the royal prince was very attentive to 
 Colette ; and as she was not a woman to — You can 
 think — There might be before long " — 
 
 The parvenu's broad, rough face lighted with a smile. 
 
 "Do you see it? Colette the Queen of Finland, and 
 Sauvadon de Bercy, * my uncle,' becoming the uncle of 
 the king. But I weary you." 
 
 " Yes : I wish to sleep," said Elys^e, who had closed his 
 eyes a moment, — a polite way of getting rid of this vain, 
 talkative old man. 
 
 When the uncle had gone, he picked up his papers, but 
 was not able to write a line, overcome by disinclination 
 and extreme lassitude. All these hideous stories sickened 
 him. On looking at the papers scattered over his bed, 
 — the plea for royalty in which he had consumed the little 
 blood that was left him, — and thinking of himself in this 
 wretched room, an old gray-haired student, having wasted 
 so much strength and passion, he wondered for the first 
 time if he had not been a dupe all his life. A defender 
 and apostle of these kings, who, degraded by pleasure, 
 had deserted their own cause ! And, while his eyes 
 wandered sadly over the bare walls on which the sun- 
 set fell only from the reflection from windows opposite 
 the hotel, he beheld in its dusty frame the old relic, with
 
 FIDES, SPES. 347 
 
 a red seal, "Fides, Spes," which he look from his 
 father's bedside, whose handsome Bourbon face at o^ice 
 rose before him, as when he saw it rigid in death, and 
 even in his last sleep marked by his sublime trust and 
 fidelity ; while around him the looms were motionless, 
 and the crumbling windmills on the barren, rocky hill- 
 side were outlined against the deep blue sky of the south. 
 It was a brief hallucination, the Enclos de Rey and all his 
 youth floating before his memory, which was already 
 fading. 
 
 The door was pardy opened of a sudden, and the rus- 
 tling of a dress and voices were heard. M^raut thinks it 
 is a neighbor — some good girl from the Rialto — who is 
 bringing a cooling drink to assuage his feverish thirst. 
 He quickly closed his eyes, feigning sleep as usual when 
 he wished to send away importunate visitors ; but little 
 steps hesitatingly cross the cold, tiled floor, and a sweet 
 voice murmurs, "How do you do. Monsieur Elys^e?" 
 His pupil stands before him. . He has grown somewhat, 
 but is timid, and looks with the shy, awkward glance 
 which his infirmity has made habitual, at his teacher, who 
 has so changed, and looks so pale as he lies there in his 
 wretched bed. Yonder a veiled lady stands proud and 
 erect against the door. She has come here, and even 
 mounted these five stories ; and her immaculate dress has 
 brushed by the doors on which are the signs " Alice," 
 " Clemence." She did not wish that he should die with- 
 out seeing his little Zara ; and, without entering herself, 
 she sends her pardon by the little hand of the child, and 
 this hand Elysee Meraut takes and presses to his lips. 
 Then, turning to the august figure which he divined was 
 at the threshold, he said for the last time, in a very low 
 voice, with his last breath, struggling for life and speech, 
 " Long live the king ! " 
 
 23
 
 34* A'/JVGS IN EXILE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE EXTINCTION OF A RACE. 
 
 There was a rough game this morning at the tennis- 
 club. Around the immense field, on the ground which 
 was trodden smooth like that of an arena, a large netting 
 with close meshes enclosed six players, who in white 
 jackets and shoes, such as are worn in armories, were 
 leaping and shouting, and waving their heavy battledores. 
 The light streaming in through the high windows above, 
 as in a hippodrome, the netting, hoarse shouts, and leap- 
 ing, the white coats thrown back, and the quiet tones of 
 the boys in the hall who are correcting, — all of whom 
 are English, walking with regular paces around the 
 gallery, — would make one fancy himself in a riding- 
 school during a rehearsal of gymnasts and clowns. 
 Among these clowns his Highness the Prince d'Axel, 
 who had been ordered to take the noble exercise of ten- 
 nis as a hygienic remedy for his coma, might be consid- 
 ered one of the noisiest. Having arrived the evening 
 before from Nice, where he had passed a month at the 
 feet of Colette, he was celebrating his return to Parisian 
 life by this game, and was tossing his ball with a " Han J " 
 like a butcher-boy, and throwing out his arms in a man- 
 ner that would have excited admiration in an abattoir, 
 when an attendant stepped up to him in the most critical 
 point of the game, and informed him that some one had 
 come to see him.
 
 THE EXTINCTION OF A RACE. 349 
 
 " Tut ! " answered the heir-presumptive, without even 
 turning his head. 
 
 Tlic servant was urgent, and uttered a name in his 
 Highness's ear which calmed and astonished him. 
 
 " Very well ! Pray wait. I will come as soon as the 
 round is finished." 
 
 He entered one of the rooms for cold baths which 
 extend around the galler}', furnished with bamboo, and 
 fancifully hung with Japanese matting, and found his 
 friend Rigolo sitting on a lounge, with his head bowed 
 down on his breast. 
 
 " O Prince ! such an adventure as I have had ! " said 
 the ex-king of Illyria, raising a disturbed face. 
 
 He stopped, as a boy appeared with towels, woollen 
 gloves, and crash, to sponge and rub his Highness, who 
 was smoking and steaming like a Mecklenburger who 
 has just ascended a hill. When the operation was over, 
 Christian continued, with pale, trembling lips : — 
 
 "This is what happened to me. You have heard 
 about the affair of the Family Hotel / " 
 
 His Highness turned his dull eyes towards him. 
 
 "Caught?" 
 
 The king nodded affirmatively, turning away his pretty, 
 restless eyes. Then, after a short pause, he said, — 
 
 " Just imagine the scene ! The police coming in 
 the middle of the night ; the little girl weeping, rolling 
 about, abusing the poUce, and clinging to my knees. 
 'Your Majesty, your Majesty, save me ! ' I try to make 
 her hold her tongue ; but it's too late. When I try to 
 give some name, the comniissaire begins to laugh. ' It 
 is useless : my men recognized you,' he said. 'You are 
 the Prince d'Axel.' " 
 
 "That is very fine ! " growled the prince, with his head 
 in the wash-basin. " And then " —
 
 350 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 " Upon my faith, my dear fellow, I was very much 
 taken aback ; and there are other reasons, too, that I will 
 mention. In short, I let the man think that I was you, 
 being perfectly convinced that nothing would come of it. 
 But, no : people are now talking of the affair ; and, as 
 you might be summoned to appear before the examining 
 magistrate, I have come to beg you " — 
 
 " To go to prison in your jilace ? " 
 
 " Oh, matters would not reach that point ! Only the 
 papers will speak of it, and names will be given ; and 
 just now, with what is preparing in Illyria, — the royalist 
 movement and our approaching restoration, — this scan- 
 dal would have the most disastrous effect." 
 
 The unfortunate Rigolo wore a most pitiful look while 
 awaiting the decision of his cousin Axel, who stood 
 silently before the mirror, brushing back his few yellow 
 locks. Finally the royal prince said, — 
 
 " Then you think the papers will publish it." And he 
 suddenly added, in his weak, sleepy voice, which had the 
 far-away sound of that of a ventriloquist, " Chic, ires chic. 
 It will enrage my uncle." 
 
 He was dressed, took his cane, and drew his hat down 
 over one ear, saying, " Let us go to breakfast." And 
 arm in arm they went away, by the terrace of the Feuil- 
 lants, till they reached the Tuileries, where Christian's 
 phaeton was waiting for them. They both got in and 
 drew up their furs, for it was a bright, cold winter day ; 
 and the light vehicle flew like the wind, bearing our in- 
 separables to the Caf6 de Londres. Rigolo was relieved 
 and exuberant, and Queue de Poule was less sleepy than 
 usual, being excited by his game of tennis and the thought 
 of the affair, of which all Paris would believe him the hero. 
 As they were crossing the Place Vendome, which was
 
 THE EXTINCTION OF A RACE. 351 
 
 almost deserted at this hour, a young, elegantly dressed 
 woman, holding a child by the hand, stopped on^ the 
 edge of the sidewalk and looked at the nruTibers. His 
 Highness, who had been looking down from his seat on 
 all the pretty faces with the eagerness of a boulevard 
 promcnadcr who had been fasting for three weeks, per- 
 ceived her, and started. " Look, Christian ! one would 
 say " — But Christian did not hear : he was busy watch- 
 ing his horse, which this morning was excited, like his 
 master ; and, when they turned round in the narrow 
 vehicle to look at the beautiful pedestrian, she and her 
 child had just entered under the arch of one of the 
 neighboring houses of the ministry of justice. 
 
 She walked quickly, with her veil down, and had a 
 hesitating, embarrassed appearance, as for a first rendez- 
 vous ; but, though her dark and very rich dress and 
 mysterious appearance might for a moment make this 
 woman suspected, the name which she asked of the por- 
 ter, and the tone of deep sadness with which this name, 
 that of the most famous in the profession of medicine, 
 was spoken by her, was a strong refutal of any idea that 
 she might be of questionable position. 
 
 " Is Doctor Bouchereau in ? " 
 
 " On the first floor, — the door opposite you. If you 
 have not a card with a number, it is of no use to go up." 
 
 She made no reply, but ran up the stairs, drawing the 
 child after her, as if she were afraid that some one might 
 call her back. On the first floor they told her the same 
 thing : " If Madame had not had her name down the 
 evening before " — 
 
 " I will wait," she said. 
 
 The sen'ant, saying no more, escorted her through 
 the first anteroom, where people were seated on wooden
 
 352 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 benches, ami Ihrougli another that was even more crowded ; 
 then solemnly opened the door of the great salon, which, 
 when the mother and child had entered, he immediately 
 closed with an air which seemed to say, "You wished 
 to wait, — wait, then ! " 
 
 It was a spacious room, and very high studded, hke all 
 those in the first story in the Place Vendome, and sump- 
 tuously decorated on the ceiling, wood-work, and panels. 
 The furniture of garnet velvet, with chairs and cushions 
 worked by hand, stood far apart, and was incongruous 
 and provincial in form : the drapery and portieres were 
 alike. Beneath the chandelier, in the style of Louis 
 XVI., stood a small table in that of the lunpire. The 
 simple clock between two candelabra, and the absence 
 of every ol)ject of art, revealed the modest physician, 
 a worker, who had unexpectedly become the fashion, 
 without taking pains to obtain it. He was as much the 
 fashion as one can only be when Paris has any thing 
 to do with him. His fame extended throughout the 
 world, from the top to the bottom of society, reach- 
 ing the provinces and abroad, all over Europe ; and 
 that within ten years, without decreasing, and with the 
 unanimous approbation of the profession, who confessed 
 that this time success had come to a true savant, and 
 not to a quack in disguise. What gives Bouchereau 
 his fame and extraordinary popularity is not so much 
 his wonderful manipulation as an operator, his admir- 
 able lessons in anatomy, and his knowledge of the 
 human frame, as the intelligence and insight which 
 guide him, and which are clearer and more solid than 
 the steel of his tools ; while he has the genial eye of 
 great thinkers and poets, which acts like magic with 
 science, and sees to its depths and beyond. They con-
 
 THE EXTINCTION OF A RACE. 353 
 
 suit him as a jiythoness with bUnd, unreasoning faith. 
 When he says, " It is nothing," the lame walk, and those 
 given up to die are cured : hence his popularity, which, 
 creating a tyrannical demand, drives him around in 
 breathless haste ; for it leaves the man neither time to live 
 nor to breathe. The medical head of a great hospital, 
 he makes a long and careful round of visits every morn- 
 ing, followed by attentive students, who look up to the 
 teacher as to a god, wait upon him, and hand him his 
 instruments ; for llouchcrcau has no case, but boirows 
 the instrument he needs from some one near him, 
 and regularly forgets to return it. He makes a few 
 visits when he goes out, then (luickly returns to his 
 office, and, often without taking time to eat, begins his 
 consultations, which are prolonged very late into the 
 evening. On this day, though it was hardly later than 
 noon, the salon was already full of gloomy, anxious faces 
 of people sitting round in a row, or grouped near the 
 stand, poring over books and illustrated papers, hardly 
 turning round to look at those who entered ; each being 
 absorbed in himself and his own malady, and full of 
 anxiety as to what the prophet would say. The atmos- 
 phere seemed gloomy through the silence of these in- 
 valids, whose features were sunken and seamed with pain, 
 and whose dull eyes sometimes brightened with an un- 
 pleasant light. The women still preserved their coquetry, 
 some concealing their suffering with a mask of haughti- 
 ness ; while the men, being taken from their work and the 
 physical activity of life, seemed more overcome and 
 more forlorn. In the midst of this selfish distress, the 
 mother and her little child formed a touching group. He 
 was very delicate and pale, with expressionless features 
 and dull complexion, and but one living eye; and she
 
 354 A'/A'GS IN F.XfLK. 
 
 was motionless as if paralyzed by frighlful anxiety. Once, 
 when tired of waiting, the child rose to go and look at 
 some images on the stand, moving awkwardly and timidly, 
 like one that is infirm ; and as he held out his arm he 
 hit an invalid, and received such a cross, frowning look, 
 that he returned to his place emjjty-handed, and remained 
 motionless, with his head on one side, in that anxious 
 attitude of a bird perched on a branch wliich one sees 
 in blind children. 
 
 There is a true suspension of life in this waiting at the 
 door of the great physician, — a stupor broken only by 
 some sigh or cough, or the rustle of a skirt drawn aside, 
 a stifled complaint, or the constant ringing of the bell 
 announcing a new patient. Sometimes the latter, open- 
 ing the iloor and seeing the room filled, quickly closes 
 it again in horror ; then, after a colloquy and short de- 
 bate, he returns at last, resigned to wait, for at Bouche- 
 reau's there are no favors granted. He only makes an 
 exception for those of his profession from Paris or from 
 the provinces who bring him a patient : they alone have 
 a right to pass in their card, and be introduced before 
 their turn. They are distinguished by a familiar, author- 
 itative air, walking nervously about the salon, drawing 
 out their watch, astonished to see that it is past noon, 
 and that there is no movement yet in the consulting- 
 office. People of every description still pour in, from 
 tlie heavy, obese banker, who has had his two chairs kept 
 since morning by his servant, to the little clerk who says, 
 " Cost what it will, let us consult Bouchereau." There is 
 every kind of toilet and style, dress-hats and linen caps, 
 and scant black dresses by the side of brilliant satins; 
 but equality remains in eyes reddened by tears, and 
 anxious brows, and the suspense and sadness which per- 
 vade the salon of a great consulting-physician at Paris.
 
 THE EXTINCTION OF A RACE. 355 
 
 Among the last comers is a light-haired, sunburnt 
 peasant, with a broad face and shoulders, accompanied 
 by a little sickly creature, supported by him on one side 
 and by a crutch on the other. The father takes touch- 
 ing precautions, bows, under his new blouse, his round 
 shoulders bent by labor, and separates his big fingers to 
 seat the child. 
 
 "Are you comfortable? Sit down now. A\^iit till I 
 put a cushion under you." 
 
 He speaks in a loud voice, without embarrassment, and 
 disturbs every one to get chairs and a cricket. The 
 child, who is made timid and refined by suffering, re- 
 mains silent, with his body bent over, and holds his 
 crutches between his knees. When they are finally set- 
 tled, tlie peasant begins to laugh, with tears in his eyes. 
 " //(•/// / here we are ! He is a famous man. Come, he 
 will cure you soon." 
 
 Then he casts a smile on those present, — a smile 
 which meets with no response from the cold, hard faces. 
 Only the lady in black, accompanied also by a child, 
 looks at him kindly ; and, although she seems a little 
 proud, he speaks to her, and tells her his history. His 
 name is Raizou, a gardener at Valenton ; his wife is 
 almost always sick, and unfortunately their children take 
 more after her than himself, who is so brave and strong. 
 The three oldest sons died of an affection of the bones. 
 The last promised to grow up well, but for some months 
 he had had a trouble in the hip like the others. Then 
 they placed a mattress on the seats in the wagon, and 
 came to see Bouchereau. 
 
 He said all this in a deliberate manner, in the drawling 
 tone of country-people ; and, while his neighbor listens to 
 him sympathizingly, the two little invalids examine each
 
 356 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 (jlhcr curiously, drawn together by the malady which gives 
 l)Oth — the little one in the blouse and muffler, and the 
 child covered with furs — a melancholy resemblance. 
 
 !5ut there is a brief stir in the room. Pale f:ices flush; 
 and all heads turn to a high door, behind which is heard 
 a sound of steps, and seats being moved. He is there ; 
 he has just arrived. The steps come nearer. In the 
 opening of the door, which is suddenly thrown back, 
 appears a man of medium height, thick-set, with square 
 shoulders, bald forehead, and hard features. With one 
 look, which meets the anxious gaze of all, he has made 
 the tour of the room, and examined old or new troubles. 
 Some one passes in, and the folding-door closes behind 
 him. 
 
 " It does not look favorable for us," said Raizou in a 
 low voice ; and, to assure himself, he looks at all the 
 people who will pass in before him for a consultation. 
 
 There was a large crowd, and many hours to wait, 
 marked by the slow, loud ticking of the old provincial 
 clock surmounted by a Polymnia, and the occasional ap- 
 pearance of the doctor. Each time a place is gained, 
 there is a movement, a little life in the saloji ; then all be- 
 comes dead and still again. 
 
 Since she has entered, the mother has not said a word, 
 — not even raised her veil ; and from her silence, per- 
 haps mental prayer, there is something so imposing about 
 her, that the peasant no longer dares to speak to her, 
 and he also remains silent, uttering deep sighs. At one 
 moment they see him draw from his pocket — from a 
 number of pockets — a litUe bottle, a goblet, and a bis- 
 cuit in a paper, which he slowly and carefully unwraps, 
 to dip in water for his boy. The child moistens his 
 lips, then pushes away the glass and biscuit. " No, no !
 
 THE EXTINCTION OF A RACE. 357 
 
 I am not hungry." And before this poor, pinched, weary 
 face, Raizou thinks of his three older boys, who also wtre 
 never hungry. His eyes fill, and his cheeks tremble at 
 the thought ; and suddenly he says, — 
 
 " Don't stir, dear : I am going down to see if the 
 wagon is there all safe." 
 
 This is one of many times that he has gone down to 
 see if the wagon is standing close to the sidewalk in the 
 place ; and, when he comes up smiling and talkative, he 
 fancies they do not see his red eyes, nor purple cheeks, 
 which are so from having been rubbed and mopped with 
 his big fist to keep back the tears. 
 
 The hours pass slowly and sadly. In the salon, which 
 is growing dark, faces appear paler and more nervous, 
 and turn supplicatingly to the impassive Bouchereau, who 
 makes his regular appearance. The man from Valenton 
 is troubled to think that they will return after dark, that 
 his wife will be anxious, and the little one be cold. His 
 chagrin is so great, and is expressed aloud with so touch- 
 ing a naivete, that when, after five mortal hours, the 
 mother and child see their turn come, they yield their 
 place to the worthy Raizou. 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Madame ! " 
 
 He has not time to be embarrassing in his demonstra- 
 tions ; for the door has just opened, and he quickly takes 
 his child, raises him, gives him his crutch, so disturbed 
 and overcome with feeling that he does not see what the 
 lady slips into the poor lame child's hand. 
 
 " For yourself, — yourself," she whispers. 
 
 Oh, how long the mother and child found this last 
 waiting, increased by the night coming on, and the dread 
 which chills them ! Finally their turn arrives. They en- 
 ter a very large office, long and narrow, and lighted from
 
 358 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 a high, broad window, which opens on the place, and 
 admits a little light in spite of the late hour. 
 
 l^ouchereau's table stands there before them, and is 
 the very simple desk of a country physician or a re- 
 corder. He is seated, his back turned to the light, whic h 
 fiiUs on the new-comers. The woman, whose veil is 
 raised, shows a young, energetic face, with a brilliant 
 complexion, and eyes weary with sad watching ; and the 
 little one holds down his head as if the daylight in his 
 face pained him. 
 
 "What is the matter with him?" said Bouchereau 
 kindly, drawing liim to himself with a fotherly move- 
 ment ; for under his hard face was concealed an exquisite 
 sensibility, which forty years' practice had not yet dulled. 
 The mother, before answering, motioned to the child to 
 move away. Then in a sweet, grave voice, with a foreign 
 accent, she relates, that last year her son, by accident, 
 lost his right eye. Now there was trouble in the left, — 
 a mist and blur, and evident loss of sight. I'o avoid 
 complete blindness, they advise having the dead eye 
 extracted. Is it possible ? is the child in a condition to 
 endure it? 
 
 Bouchereau listens attentively, leans over the arm of his 
 chair, his two lively little Tourangeau eyes fixed on the 
 scornful mouth, and the lips that are red with i)ure blood, 
 and which range has never touched. Then, when the 
 mother has done, he says, — 
 
 "The operation they advise, Madame, is performed 
 every day, and without danger, unless in exceptional 
 cases. Once — the only time in twenty years — I had a 
 poor fellow at Lariboisiere, who could not endure it. 
 He was an old man, it is true, — a poor ragpicker, full of 
 alcohol, and badly fed. Here the case is not the same.
 
 THE EXTINCTION OF A RACE. 359 
 
 Your son does not seem strong ; but he has a fine, strong 
 mamma. We will see about it, however." 
 
 He calls the child, takes him between his knees, and, 
 to divert him during his examination, he asks with a 
 pleasant smile, — 
 
 " What is your name ? " 
 
 " Leopold, sir." 
 
 " Leopold what ? " 
 
 The child looks at his mother without answering. 
 
 " Well, Leopold ! you must take off your jacket and 
 waistcoat ; for I must examine and listen eveiywhere." 
 
 The child undresses slowly and awkwardly, aided by his 
 mother, whose hands tremble, and the good Father Bou- 
 chereau, who is more skilful than either of them. Oh ! 
 the poor little, thin, sicldy body, with shoulders drawn in 
 towards the narrow chest^ like the wings of a bird folded 
 before flight, and the f :,sh so pale that the scapulary and 
 medals stand out in the dull light as on the cast of an 
 ex voto! 
 
 The mother hangs down her head, almost ashamed of 
 her work ; while the physician hstens and taps him, inter- 
 rupting himself to ask a few questions : — 
 
 " The father is old : is he not? " 
 
 " Why, no, sir ! hardly thirty years." 
 
 "Often sick?" 
 
 " No : very seldom." 
 
 " That is well. Now, dress yourself, my little man." 
 
 He sinks back in his large arm-chair, and is lost in 
 thought ; while the child, after having put on his blue vel- 
 vet garment and his furs, takes his place again at the end 
 of the room without being told to do so. For a year he 
 has been so accustomed to these mysteries and whisper- 
 ings about his malady, that he no longer feels uneasy, and
 
 360 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 does not try to understand, but trusts to others. With 
 what an expression of anguish the mother looks at the 
 physician ! 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Madame," said Bouchereau in a low voice, weighing 
 eacli word, " your child is indeed threatened with loss of 
 sight ; and yet, if he were my son, I would not operate 
 upon him. Without thoroughly understanding this little 
 nature, I find strange disorders. The whole system is 
 shattered ; and, above all, tliere is the most vicious, most 
 exhausted, and poorest blood." 
 
 "The blood of kings !" mutters Fr(^'d6rique, suddenly 
 rising from a rebellious impulse ; for before her memory 
 arises the pale face of her first-born in her little coffin 
 covered with roses. Boucncieau, who has also risen, 
 being suddenly enlightened by these few words, recog- 
 nizes the Queen of Illyria, whom he has never seen, since 
 she goes nowhere, though her portraits are every- 
 where. 
 
 " O Madame ! if I had known " — 
 
 " Do not apologize," said Fr^derique, who was already 
 calmer. " I have come here to learn the truth, that 
 truth which kings and queens, even in exile, never hear. 
 Ah, Monsieur Bouchereau ! how unhappy are queens ! 
 And to think they have all been persecuting me to have 
 this operation performed on my child, and yet they knew 
 that it would cost him his life ! But state reasons ! In a 
 month or fortnight, or perhaps sooner, the Diet of Illyria 
 will send for us. They wish to have a king to show them. 
 Such as he is, he would do ; but blind, — no one would 
 want him. Then, at the risk of killing him, they would 
 perform this operation. Reign or die ! And I was going 
 to make myself an accomplice to this crime ! Poor little
 
 THE EXTINCTION OF A RACE. 361 
 
 Zara ! What matters it whether he reign, my God ? Let 
 him live, let him Uve ! " 
 
 It is five o'clock, and nightfall. In the Rue de Rivoli, 
 which is filled by people returning fi-om the bois on their 
 way home to dinner, the carriages passing slowly by the 
 Tuileries are striped with long bars fi-om the reflection of 
 the fence on which linger the last rays of the fading sun- 
 set. The whole of one side of the Arc de Triomphe is still 
 bathed with reflections of rosy light, streaming athwart 
 the sky like the aurora borealis ; while that opposite is 
 already of sad violet, of sombre hue where the shadows 
 are densest on the edges. The heavy carriage with the 
 Illyrian arms rolls past. At the turn of the Rue de Cas- 
 tiglione, the queen suddenly arrives at the balcony of the 
 Hotel des Pyramides. There, rising before her, are the 
 illusions of her arrival at Paris, light and joyful as the 
 music from the brass band which echoed through the 
 mass of foHage on that day. How many disappoint- 
 ments and struggles since then ! Now it is over. The 
 race is extinct. A chill like death falls on her shoulders, 
 while the landau advances into the shadow, still farther 
 into the shadow. 
 
 And she does not see the tender, timid, imploring look 
 which the child turns towards her. 
 
 " Mamma, if I am no longer a king, will you love me 
 just the same ? " 
 
 " Oh, my darling ! " 
 
 She presses the little hand held out to her with pas- 
 sionate warmth. Well, the sacrifice is made ! With a 
 heart warmed and comforted by this clasp, Frederique is 
 no longer the ambitious queen, only a mother ; and when 
 the Tuileries, whose solid ruins are gilded with a last, fad- 
 ing sunbeam, rise suddenly before her, as she gazes at
 
 362 KINGS IN EXILE. 
 
 them, ihcy awaken neither memory nor emotion. They 
 seem to her like some ancient ruin of Assyria or Egypt, 
 — a witness of an extinct civilization and people, a grand 
 thing of the past — dead.
 
 uc 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBR'iRj, ^ (^S 
 
 AA 000 932 423 7
 
 i;>