Mademoisellede 
 Berny
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 to
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny
 
 jMpr 98.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 A Story of Valley Forge 
 
 By 
 
 Pauline Bradford 
 
 Illustrated by 
 Frank T. Merrill 
 
 "In their ragged regimentals 
 Stood the old Continentals, 
 Yielding not" 
 
 VTCRESCIT 
 
 Lamson, Wolffe and Company 
 
 Boston, New York and London 
 
 MDCCCXCVII
 
 Copyright, 1897, 
 By Lamson, Wolffe and Company. 
 
 All rigbtt reserved. 
 
 The Norwood Preit 
 
 J. 5. Cashing & Co. Berwick & Smith 
 Norwood, Mass., U.&.A.
 
 fs 
 
 36~/ 
 
 H i 
 
 ro 
 MOTHER
 
 " It having pleased the Almighty Ruler of the Uni 
 verse to defend the cause of the United American 
 States, and finally, to raise us up a powerful friend 
 among the princes of the earth, to establish our liberty 
 and independence upon a lasting foundation, it becomes 
 us to set apart a day for gratefully acknowledging the 
 Divine goodness and celebrating the important event. 
 . . . Upon a signal given, the whole army will huzza, 
 Long live the King of France ! The artillery then 
 begins again and fires thirteen rounds ; this will be suc 
 ceeded by a second general discharge of the musketry 
 in a running fire, and huzza, Long live the friendly 
 European Powers ! The last discharge of thirteen 
 pieces of artillery will be given, followed by a general 
 running fire, and huzza, The American States ! 
 
 "GEORGE WASHINGTON."
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 Chapter I 
 
 ON an afternoon in early May, in the year 
 1778, four people rode into the court 
 yard of the Green Tree coffee-house in new 
 Philadelphia, and, dismounting, entered the din 
 ing-room. It was a long room poorly lighted 
 by diamond-paned Dutch casements of greenish 
 glass set high in the wall and swung half-open. 
 In the furthest corner from the door lounged 
 a man, evidently a hanger-on of the place. 
 His huge bulk clad in drab Quaker costume 
 was so vaguely defined as to suggest merely a 
 lightening of the shadow at that particular spot. 
 His head was dropped on his breast ; his legs 
 stretched out stiffly suggested imminent danger 
 of his slipping from the bench to the floor. A 
 red glow showed fitfully beneath the ashes of 
 his carelessly held pipe. 
 
 At the opposite end of the room was the 
 fireplace of such great width one might look 
 up the broad-mouthed chimney to the sky. 
 The backlog was a hewn stone ; the blue til 
 ing had been brought from Liverpool. Above
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 the chimney-hood was a carelessly hung paint 
 ing of George III. of England, in a tarnished 
 oval frame. 
 
 Of the newcomers, one, a British officer, 
 rose from the chair in which he had seated 
 himself and, crossing the room, straightened 
 the picture. 
 
 " Such reverence do these knaves pay their 
 king," he said, " tis small wonder they do not 
 turn the portrait clean around and have His 
 Gracious Majesty a-dancing on his head ! " 
 
 The one woman of the party, a young girl, 
 glanced up from the flowers she was arrang 
 ing. 
 
 " Your frown is stupendous, Uncle Henry," 
 she said. " Methinks my words rang true for 
 all your stormy denial." 
 
 Augmented by the mischievous gleaming of 
 her eyes, the sweetness of her voice seemed 
 mocking. 
 
 " Now, by your honest soul, dear uncle, 
 confess the truth. You are troubled that these 
 Provincials prove so well their blood-relation 
 to His Majesty s troops ? But yesterday, I 
 heard that when the back is turned the towns 
 folk whisper tis Philadelphia has captured the 
 British, and not the British Philadelphia." 
 
 The little man, still standing near the por 
 trait, made an irritated gesture. 
 
 " Do ye wonder, Diane ? " he asked ; " io, 
 have I not known how the dolts smile and
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 murmur ? And this Mischianza," he fumed. 
 " Tis well enough for women-folk ! They 
 must have their fol-de-rols. But men, men 
 I say, turned milliners and dancing-masters, 
 wearing uniforms as puppet-soldiers. Was t 
 in this fashion, I ask ye, His Majesty s sol 
 diers were taught to conduct a campaign to 
 lie idle the entire winter, gambling and carous 
 ing, dancing attendance on these American 
 belles, who, I warrant ye, laugh in their sleeves 
 at the young popinjays ! " 
 
 A young Philadelphian, named Heyward, 
 seated beside Mademoiselle de Berny on the 
 bench, which, starting from the fireplace, ran 
 around the room, had been leaning forward, 
 his cheek resting on his hand, as he idly trailed 
 the lash of his riding-whip along the floor. 
 He drew himself up now, leaning against the 
 wainscoting, which formed the back of the 
 seat, shelving out at the top into a ledge for 
 mugs and pipes. 
 
 " Rumor has it that the winter hardships 
 have but served to toughen the rebels at Valley 
 Forge," he said, still toying with the whip. 
 " A hungry dog holds fastest to a bone." 
 
 " I warrant ye," retorted General Stirling, 
 " and a night s march would limber up these 
 young coxcombs quicker than dancing. Bah, 
 I can scarce stomach the sight of their smirk- 
 ings and tip-toeings, and a-picking up the 
 handkerchiefs of these Whig dames ! "
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 He seated himself at the massive oak table 
 in the centre of the room, drumming impa 
 tiently on the board with his fingers. His 
 disturbed feeling passed into contentment as he 
 watched the young girl. To him her hands 
 appeared even more flower-like than the fragile 
 blossoms she lifted stem by stem. In the half- 
 dusk of the room the flowers acquired an in 
 tense and delicate whiteness contrasting with 
 the subdued richness of coloring in her cos 
 tume. Though bright, the afternoon was cool, 
 and she had worn over her riding-habit a 
 cardinal, an article of attire much affected by 
 the women of those days. This garment, of 
 crimson satin and fur-trimmed, she had un 
 clasped and flung back from her shoulders so 
 that it made a luxurious setting for her fair 
 person. Under his bristling brows the sol 
 dier s small, irate eyes softened as he watched 
 her. The fortune of war, he mused, verily, it 
 was strange. What rude and freakish wind 
 had blown this blossom to his protection ? 
 He was a rough soldier, unused to the way of 
 delicate women. A girl s fancy was an un 
 certain thing as a bird s flight. Yet, who 
 could foretell ? Perhaps, when the war was 
 over, and these rebel dogs had been put down 
 with a strong hand, it would content her to 
 return with the lad and him to the quiet Eng 
 lish home, to be as his daughter in his old age. 
 And so amidst thought of the turmoil of war
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 ay, despite the throbbing of an old wound 
 in his shoulder there slipped this day 
 dream. 
 
 "Your posies are drooping soon, Diane," he 
 said, his eyes resting kindly upon her. 
 
 " They are wild flowers," she answered. She 
 looked up through the open casement where a 
 loosened tendril of a vine swayed against the 
 blue sky. A bird flashed by in the sunlight, 
 and with a little circling motion sank upon its 
 nest built in a network of the Virginia creeper 
 which clambered heavily over the opposite wall 
 of the court. Her eyes grew dreamy, her face 
 softening and losing its alert brightness of ex 
 pression. 
 
 " There is an orchard in France," she said 
 softly, "so old that the trees are gnarled and 
 bent and bear little fruit ; yet, where the 
 ground slopes downward, runs a stream, so 
 that the grass all around is long and wet, and 
 the fleur-de-lis is now in bloom. Sometimes 
 there were yellow blossoms among the purple, 
 and some were white, were they not, Armand," 
 she asked, addressing a lad who had perched 
 himself on the further end of the table, one leg 
 doubled under him, his free foot resting lightly 
 on the head of a Danish hound crouched upon 
 the floor. He had been playing on a flute, but 
 so plaintively sweet and delicate was his music 
 that although often continuous, it did not dis 
 turb conversation, having in its quality some-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 thing of the nature of a flower s perfume of 
 which one may be often but half-conscious. 
 
 He turned at his sister s question. 
 
 "I know, Diane," he nodded. " I could find 
 them sooner than you. The scent of white 
 flowers is stronger." 
 
 He slipped down from the table and put his 
 flute away. 
 
 " Stir yourself, Little Brother," he said, shov 
 ing the hound with his foot. " Come, bestir 
 yourself, great Lazybones," he added as the 
 animal stretched itself, yawning ; " will you be 
 forever a-nodding off to sleep like an old dame 
 in a chimney-corner?" 
 
 With his hand resting caressingly on the 
 head of the Great Dane, who walked beside him, 
 the lad strolled with a peculiarly hesitating and 
 yet direct step towards his sister. He was a 
 picturesque and slender figure wearing the garb 
 of a mourner. This sable color was relieved 
 only by his rufHed shirt of cambric and lace, 
 and the massive silver buckles at his knees and 
 on his low shoes. At his side dangled a heavy 
 sword in a worn sheath. His ash-yellow hair, 
 lightly powdered, was worn in a queue. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny rose and with her 
 handkerchief brushed away some of the powder 
 which had drifted upon his coat. 
 
 "Don t, Diane," he cried,jerking away; "you 
 can t make a French dandy out of me. It is 
 not I who take after that side of the family."
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 He drew forth his sword and ran his fingers 
 lightly down the blade, the bright surface of 
 which was spotted as with rust or blood. 
 
 "Ah, Diane," he mocked, " tis I have 
 other blood in me." He stood in the attitude 
 of a listener, his head inclined slightly forward. 
 The merriment in his face did not appear in 
 his eyes, which, large and light gray in color, 
 remained expressionless. In them the diamond- 
 shaped panes of the casement above were re 
 flected as from some glassy surface. He had 
 been blind from birth. His sister not replying, 
 he laughed, and returned the sword to the 
 sheath. The same strong family type was re 
 vealed in both faces, although the two were but 
 half brother and sister. With the exception of 
 the coloring, for the girl s hair and eyes be 
 spoke her French nationality, their features 
 were alike save that the oval of her face ap 
 peared longer in the lad and his eyes were set 
 nearer together. But in each the high head, 
 the handsome profile, and the full and beautiful 
 curves of the mouth were similar. Even the 
 vein which ran like some faint tracing adown 
 Mademoiselle de Berny s left temple and 
 cheek found its prototype in her brother s 
 face. 
 
 " Methinks mine host slower than Father 
 Time," grumbled General Stirling; "a fine 
 country this which chokes one with dust at 
 every step of his horse. Ye have no such vile
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 roads in England. There the dew lies on the 
 green, and good ale flows plenteously." 
 
 But as he spoke, the door opened and a 
 negro entered with the tray. 
 
 " Were I an American," said Mademoiselle 
 de Berny, seating herself at the table, " my 
 fondness for tea would prove me no rebel." 
 
 General Stirling emptied at a draught the 
 mug of ale placed in front of him. 
 
 " Don t trouble your pretty head about the 
 rebels ! " he said, wiping the foam from his 
 lips. " I fear I am a gruff keeper for so 
 dainty a bird. War is a hard mistress. She 
 does not make ladies men of us, lily-fingered. 
 We who have grown old in her service know 
 whereof we speak. I remind me of a surgeon 
 once saying that the constant sight of suffering 
 did not harden him, but on the contrary, made 
 it a sorrier thing for him to witness pain, pain 
 which he necessarily gave. So with war. After 
 the pomp and glory prove hollow and the hey 
 day of youth is past, then comes the realization 
 of war. Desolate homes and a waste country, 
 fatherless children and women weeping " he 
 put his elbow on the table and rested his head 
 on his hand. " I am an old war-horse, my 
 little girl, an old war-horse, who in time of 
 peace is stupid and to be roused only by the 
 scent of battle. Life is a hard lesson. We 
 who fight must not look back over the field, 
 lest our heart sicken."
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny s brother had been 
 leaning on the back of her .chair. 
 
 "No, no, Uncle Henry," he cried, "war is 
 glorious ! Did not my father say, there was 
 fame ? Ah, why could not the good God have 
 let him live ? I should enlist if Diane would 
 let me. She said they would not take a boy. 
 But you can t fool me, Diane. It is because 
 I am blind." 
 
 She put up her hand, covering his as it 
 rested on her shoulder. 
 
 "In what capacity could you serve, dear," 
 she asked. " Certainly not in action on the 
 field, and I know of but one other. You 
 would not be a spy, Armand ? " 
 
 " Why not," said the lad, his face clouding. 
 "What do women know of war? Let go my 
 hand." He slipped into a chair between her 
 and his uncle. 
 
 The young man who had been seated beside 
 Mademoiselle de Berny on the bench had not 
 changed his position, engrossed in untying a 
 knot he had made in the lash of his riding- 
 whip. He looked up smiling at the boy s 
 words, directing his amused glance toward the 
 young girl. He rose leisurely and, drawing a 
 chair up to the table, seated himself beside 
 her and opposite General Stirling and his 
 nephew. 
 
 " I fear your temper is too frank, my lad," 
 he said pleasantly, " for you to win success as
 
 io Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 a spy. It takes a less honest man, I fear, to 
 serve in that position." 
 
 Young Stirling s mouth quivered with piti 
 ful responsiveness, but he did not speak. 
 
 " Trouble not, boy," said his uncle, slapping 
 him on the shoulder ; " your spirit is worth a 
 dozen of these hired Hessian louts. Ye ll be 
 called on in good time to serve your king." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny smiled. " But not 
 as a spy," she said. 
 
 "Tut, tut, Diane," said the soldier; " tis not 
 for a chit of a girl to set up as a judge. Good 
 men and true have entered the secret service. 
 In that particular I hold myself no whit more 
 virtuous than the spy I employ, for do I not 
 benefit by him ? " 
 
 " I have thought differently," she answered 
 gravely; "always have I been taught that a spy 
 is a necessary evil of war, an instrument whose 
 usefulness cannot veneer its hatefulness and 
 which burns the ringers of those who touch it." 
 
 General Stirling shook his head. " Ye 
 show an ungentle heart for a young girl," he 
 frowned. 
 
 " The world does not commiserate traitors," 
 she retorted, "at least " 
 
 "You are mistaken there, Mademoiselle," 
 interrupted Heyward, his pleasant face acquir 
 ing a shade of earnestness ; " a spy is no traitor 
 who betrays his cause. A spy, be he loyal, 
 meeting an ignominious death is a martyr."
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 1 1 
 
 " Perhaps," she said, shrugging her shoul 
 ders slightly as she passed him a plate of bis 
 cuit ; " yet a martyrdom scarcely the choice of 
 a gentleman. You agree with me, Monsieur?" 
 
 "In war, Mademoiselle," he answered, "men 
 use the term patriot in preference to that of 
 gentleman." 
 
 She smiled. In the fashion of the day she 
 held daintily in her fingers the lump of sugar, 
 then accounted a great luxury, with which to 
 sweeten her tea. She took tiny bites of the 
 sugar, sipping the fragrant beverage. Her glance 
 met Heyward s curiously over the cup lifted to 
 her lips. 
 
 " In peace," she said, returning the cup to the 
 saucer, "the term gentleman is permitted but 
 one signification, that of a man of honor, but 
 war licenses much, and the word patriot like 
 the mantle of charity covers a multitude of 
 let us say c gentlemen of divers employment. 
 Do I grasp your meaning, Monsieur ? " 
 
 On the young man s face, habitually grave, 
 with dark eyes over whose intense gaze the lids 
 seldom drooped, dawned a smile. A warm 
 light came into his glance. 
 
 "There are some women, Mademoiselle," he 
 said, " whose perfection is such that to disagree 
 with them seems not only a reflection upon a 
 man s gallantry, but even makes his opinion 
 seem wrong because adverse to theirs. And of 
 this argument what shall I say ? That neither
 
 12 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 of us are, perhaps, in a position to render fair 
 judgment ? Yet, doubtless, we can both con 
 ceive of circumstances in which a patriot would 
 serve his country gladly, in no matter how ig 
 nominious a way, and, although it seems para 
 doxical, yet maintain his honor. After all, why 
 should he be condemned more than the great 
 body of soldiers fighting for the same result? " 
 
 " One is permitted to show preference for 
 individuals," she said. 
 
 His expression rekxed momentarily into a 
 smile, but he leant a little forward with some 
 eagerness. 
 
 " Does not the end sometimes justify the 
 means ? A selfish motive only condemns the 
 spy. Otherwise he may hold himself invulner 
 able. No accusation stings a quiet conscience." 
 His even voice gained a penetrating quality 
 and his eyes burned steadily in an otherwise 
 impassive countenance. 
 
 " Think you it a trivial thing for a man to 
 give his life to his country ? But if he goes 
 further and lays down that counted dearer than 
 life, his reputation as a man of honor among 
 honorable men ? Is it a little thing to forego 
 the glory of a death on the field amongst the 
 foremost, to endure the meanness of a spy s 
 life ? And I have always held it the duty of 
 that man, whosoever he is, to serve where he 
 is most needed, and if it lies with him to best 
 perform a peculiar service necessary to the good
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 13 
 
 of his country, he should do it regardless of 
 rank." 
 
 " Bravo ! sir," cried the soldier, hitting the 
 table with his fist; "you stir my sluggish blood 
 anew. But how falls it ye wear the garb of a 
 citizen ? And, by my faith, ye seem no coward ! 
 Fie on ye, young sir, is it by such passive loy 
 alty ye serve your king ? " 
 
 " I can hold neither party entirely blame 
 less," said Heyward ; " still my sympathies 
 incline " 
 
 "Yet sit not idle sucking your thumbs, 
 man," interrupted the other. " It shows more 
 manhood to strike for the party nearest right 
 in your estimation, e en though it be with the 
 rebels, and I say it as should not, being loyal 
 to King George." 
 
 Young Stirling had been leaning across the 
 table whispering to his sister. He laughed, 
 nodding his head, as she refilled his cup of 
 tea. He raised the cup high, the liquid 
 splashing over. 
 
 " As good Englishmen," he cried, " we will 
 pledge the health of King George and drink to 
 the downfall of the Boston tea-party." 
 
 " Best let the nerve-destroying stuff alone," 
 said General Stirling, gulping down his portion 
 with a wry face. 
 
 " Has every one his tea, now ? " asked the 
 boy. "Pass me the sugar and a spoon, a 
 spoon, Diane."
 
 14 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 "In a moment, Armand," she answered. 
 As she passed a cup of tea to Heyward, it 
 slipped between their extended fingers, and, 
 hitting against the table-edge, fell broken on 
 the floor. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny rose, gathering the 
 train of her riding-habit from the spreading 
 liquid. 
 
 " There is no tea left, now, Monsieur," she 
 said, " so you cannot drink the toast." She 
 smiled slightly. But though her eyes met his 
 indifferently, her face had grown curiously pale. 
 
 General Stirling rose and opened the door, 
 letting a flood of sunlight into the sombre 
 room. He stepped out into the court-yard 
 to order the horses. The kitchen was on the 
 further side of the yard, opposite the dining- 
 room. Thin white-washed pillars ran in a line 
 by house, kitchen, and stable alike, supporting 
 the verandah of the former two and the first 
 floor of the latter. The walls of red and black 
 brick in their checker-board regularity sug 
 gested the staid Quaker. Through the arch 
 way in the low wall opposite the stable could 
 be seen the street and the varying forms of 
 people passing by. A vine climbed over this 
 wall, wreathing the arch heavily in green. The 
 officer sauntered towards the stable, his pom 
 pous little figure in its scarlet uniform brilliant 
 in the mellow sunlight of the latening after 
 noon.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 15 
 
 In the dining-room, Richard Hey ward leant 
 against the table, watching Mademoiselle de 
 Berny as she drew on her gloves. 
 
 Young Stirling at the further end of the 
 room was feeding biscuit to his dog. He 
 moved back against the man sleeping in the 
 corner, who had changed his position but 
 slightly since the party had entered the room, 
 and then only to relapse into seemingly deeper 
 slumber. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said the lad, bow 
 ing with a fine and marked courtesy. 
 
 A heavily drawn breath was his only reply. 
 
 He waited a moment. Then he stretched 
 out his hand and passed it delicately over the 
 great body and the face with its closed lids and 
 open mouth. 
 
 " Your foolish large mouth argues more 
 body than wit, friend," chuckled the lad, 
 slowly withdrawing his hand from the man s 
 cheek. 
 
 The eyes of the sleeper opened and shot 
 a quick glance at the boy. 
 
 Like a flash young Stirling s hand covered 
 the man s eyes and felt the lashes brush his 
 fingers as the lids closed again. He bent his 
 beautiful face down so that his breath stirred 
 the other s hair. 
 
 " A-a-h, my friend," he said, laughing softly 
 and speaking in a whisper, " you were not 
 asleep."
 
 Chapter II 
 
 THE other two occupants of the room 
 were oblivious to the incident, the young 
 man being engrossed in buttoning one of 
 Mademoiselle de Berny s gloves, while she 
 was observing him as he did so with an intent 
 gaze which took in every detail of his costume 
 from his brown hair unpowdered and tied with 
 a ribbon, to the boutonniere she herself had 
 pinned on the lapel of his bottle-green coat, 
 made high-collared and with gilt buttons ; the 
 full lace ruffles at his breast and wrists ; his 
 buff cassimere breeches and high riding-boots. 
 He, growing conscious of her attentive regard, 
 glanced up inquiringly. 
 
 " Monsieur," she said, in answer to his un 
 spoken question, " I cannot help wondering 
 why a man whose sentiments are so fine and 
 patriotic should wear citizen s dress and make 
 no effort to prove his valor as a soldier. Your 
 words sounded curiously in my ears as well as 
 in General Stirling s." 
 
 His head was bent low over her wrist, but 
 she saw the color rise to the roots of his hair. 
 
 " You are very hard on me, Mademoiselle," 
 he said, with a slight protesting laugh ; " have 
 
 16
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 17 
 
 you yet to learn tis man s weakness to profess 
 much that, Spartan-like, you would force him 
 to prove his words by deeds ? Alas, how 
 clumsy a man s fingers ! " he added lightly, 
 " how fine a woman s veriest trifle ! There s 
 another button gone, but have patience a mo 
 ment longer." 
 
 "A man may profess much, intending little," 
 she said, " but I do you no such injustice. 
 You spoke in no half-hearted fashion, but 
 bravely, this afternoon. Yet when a citizen 
 gives to patriotic sentiment such a tone of 
 feeling, one says, ah, a soldier at heart, but on 
 which side?" 
 
 She felt a tremor run through his fingers. 
 He had buttoned her glove, but still held her 
 wrist. 
 
 " Monsieur," she continued, " how was it 
 that when I passed you the cup of tea this 
 afternoon, your fingers slipped and the tea 
 was lost ? You know what people say that 
 no upright loyalist refuses to pledge the health 
 of his king in tea." 
 
 He dropped her wrist, and lifting his head, 
 met her glance. 
 
 " And how does that concern me, Mademoi 
 selle ? " he asked, his mouth settling into hard 
 lines. 
 
 " To this extent, Monsieur," she said, " to 
 this extent." She looked around the room. 
 In his corner the Quaker had taken an atti-
 
 1 8 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 tude of profounder slumber, putting his feet 
 and legs up on the bench and drawing his hat 
 over his eyes. On the further side of the 
 table, her brother sat on the bench, feeding 
 cake to his hound. Then her gaze returned 
 to Hey ward. In their acquaintance he had 
 been puzzled by certain unaccountable changes 
 in her manner from ease and gaiety to coldness 
 and annoyance. Now it seemed as if that feel 
 ing, which had hitherto shown itself in fitful 
 bursts of anger and little sparkles of irritation, 
 had suddenly broken bounds and flamed forth 
 with the force of a burning challenge. 
 
 " Tell me," she said, lowering her tone, 
 " tell me, why I have not the right to refuse 
 to associate with one who " the scornful 
 words trembled unuttered on her lips. 
 
 " Monsieur," she continued after a slight 
 pause, " I spoke of your dress a moment ago. 
 Why ? Because although it is the attire of a 
 gentleman, yet worn by you it signifies some 
 thing less. Do you think that it needed but 
 the spilling of the tea to tell me what your 
 position is ? Ah, Monsieur, I scorn to say it ! 
 It shames me to know that you are here as a 
 spy!" 
 
 Except for the death-like pallor which 
 spread over his face, he showed no emotion. 
 
 " Do you desire to insult me, Mademoiselle 
 de Berny ? " he said coldly. His face was set 
 in a calm which would not be disturbed, but
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 19 
 
 beneath the lids, as he looked down at her, his 
 eyes seemed a line of gleaming light, cold and 
 suspicious. 
 
 As she met his glance, his changed glance, 
 in which hitherto she had read all warmth and 
 trust, her face flamed with passionate anger. 
 
 "Insult you," she echoed stingingly, "insult 
 you! Ah, Monsieur, doubtless your position 
 leads you to forget there are those who are 
 generally considered to have lost the right to 
 resent an affront." 
 
 He turned and walked towards the half-open 
 door, seeking to maintain his composure. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny s eyes followed him 
 wrathfully. Her mouth quivered, and the 
 anger in her eyes gave way to pride deeply 
 wounded. She went towards him to go into 
 the court-yard. He, divining her intention, 
 stepped back, opening wide the door, bowing 
 profoundly as she passed him. She did not 
 vouchsafe him a glance. On the verandah she 
 turned and looked back past him into the room 
 where her brother still remained. He had 
 thrown himself lengthwise wearily on the bench 
 and appeared to be sleeping. As she observed 
 his fair hair, his slender form clothed in the 
 mourning garments he could not be persuaded 
 to discard since his father s death over a year 
 ago, her face softened magically. 
 
 " Armand," she called gently, " Armand," 
 waiting to see that he heard her, " we must go."
 
 2o Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 Then as he sat up, stretching his arms and 
 yawning, she turned and went down the steps as 
 the groom brought up her horse. 
 
 Heyward watched her hungrily, his heart 
 torn by conflicting emotions. Her horse bent 
 its head to a lump of sugar she held in her 
 palm, and which during lunch she had taken 
 from the table and slipped in the pocket of her 
 cardinal for it. The extravagance of the action 
 at that time, when sugar was accounted a luxury 
 even by the very rich, filled him with bitter 
 resentment. The incident, trifling though it 
 was, yet seemed to separate them more surely 
 than the words which had just passed between 
 them. What comprehension had she of the 
 suffering and oppression which drove men to 
 endure famine and cold for liberty she, to 
 whom life signified naught save beauty and 
 pleasant ease ? Long shadows of the departing 
 day lay across the little court, but did not touch 
 her upon whose slender figure the brightness 
 of the afternoon seemed to be concentrated. 
 Her plumed hat shaded her face so that he 
 could see but the rounded chin, the curving 
 lips, as vividly crimson as the cardinal hanging 
 loosely from her shoulders. Against the rich 
 satin the gray fur trimming of the garment 
 acquired an electrical silvery lustre. And as 
 all that was lovely and to be desired centred 
 in her, so also did it seem to him that he stood 
 in the shadow of whatever was ignoble and to
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 21 
 
 be despised in the estimate of men. Now he 
 felt himself under a ban of contumely which 
 not even her hands, although they should be 
 extended to him, might push aside. 
 
 " Hasten, young sir," cried General Stirling, 
 impatiently, " are ye gone o day-dreaming ? 
 What o the lad, Diane ? But here he comes," 
 he added, as his nephew emerged from the inte 
 rior, his hands in his pockets, whistling, the 
 sun shining full in his unwinking, sightless eyes. 
 
 Heyward reentered the room to procure 
 his gloves and hat, which, with his riding-whip, 
 lay on the table near the mass of wild flowers 
 Mademoiselle de Berny had discarded. He 
 looked at the drooping blossoms a moment, 
 but did not offer to touch them. With a 
 heavy sigh he drew forth his handkerchief, a 
 letter slipping unperceived from his pocket to 
 the floor as he did so, and passed it over his 
 forehead, on which appeared the cold beads of 
 perspiration. 
 
 After he had left the room a curious scene 
 was enacted. The Quaker whirled his feet 
 suddenly off the bench, and rose, stretching 
 himself. But he moved, as if unconsciously, 
 toward the letter, until sufficiently near to cover 
 it by his foot at the next step. As this was 
 about to happen, young Stirling s dog picked 
 up the paper. The fellow bent and spoke 
 coaxingly to the hound, patting its head, and 
 pulling gently at the letter held between his
 
 22 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 teeth. The animal growled angrily. His 
 owner heard and called him, and the dog 
 trotted out of the room, retaining the letter. 
 
 In the street outside the archway, Richard 
 Heyward, pleading an engagement, said good- 
 afternoon, and, turning his horse, rode away in 
 the direction opposite to that which was taken 
 by the rest of the party. 
 
 " The young man was not gallant, Diane," 
 observed General Stirling, his eyes twinkling. 
 " What did ye to him that he left us in such 
 hasty fashion ? " 
 
 " I," she answered, " I but asked him a 
 simple question, were the tea I poured too 
 sweet or too bitter that he spilled it, and lo, he 
 frowned as at some sorry jest." 
 
 "Ye jest far," said the soldier; " twas a reflec 
 tion on the man s honor ye made, Diane. Thy 
 idle words are oft-times barbed." 
 
 She laughed. " If the coat fits," she said 
 airily. 
 
 " Hark ye, my girl," he said, his shaggy 
 eyebrows drawn together in a heavy frown 
 and raising one hand in emphasis of his words, 
 " lest such careless hinting breathe dishonor on 
 a man s fair name as a breath dims the bright 
 steel." 
 
 " But you breathe on a blade," she retorted 
 with a certain arch mischievousness which well 
 became her, " and, but a moment, be the steel 
 good, the mist vanishes."
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 23 
 
 The soldier smiled, half-resentful, yet wholly 
 charmed. " Ye make poor excuse for an un 
 gentle heart, Diane," he said, shaking his head. 
 
 "You are a fussy old dame, dear uncle," 
 she rejoined sweetly, " with your preaching and 
 your scoldings, which like so many concoctions 
 of herbs are excellent but not diverting." 
 
 Social life was awakening in Philadelphia 
 after the torpor of the long day. 
 
 The shadows of the houses already stretched 
 across the cobble-stone pavement as the little 
 party walked their horses leisurely down Second 
 Street, but above their heads the sky was still 
 deeply blue, and the steep roofs with their 
 quaint pent-eaves and ponderous cornices were 
 touched by the lingering gold of the last sun- 
 rays. On the low front stoops the belles in 
 brocaded gowns, spread to advantage over 
 enormous hoops, were waiting with stately 
 serenity the coming of the beaux. And there 
 were to be seen many sweet and natural faces 
 despite the coquetry of black patches on rose- 
 tinted cheeks and chins and the heads loaded 
 by immense cushions over which was drawn 
 the powdered hair. Their feet in high-heeled 
 slippers and huge buckles were crossed to dis 
 play the slender ankles. Good loyalists in 
 wigs and smallclothes were meeting in neigh 
 borly converse, exchanging the courtesy of the 
 snuff-box and the last choice scandal, passing 
 the news from the mother-country and indulg-
 
 24 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 ing in many a witticism at the expense of the 
 starving rebels at Valley Forge so many rats 
 driven into a hole, snarling at the prosperity of 
 the sleek loyalists. Ay, but they had had a 
 long winter to cool the white glow of their 
 fervor ! 
 
 Frequent glances were cast upon General 
 Stirling and his companion as they walked 
 their horses abreast, conversing but little. In 
 front of them rode the boy, his hound at his 
 horse s heels. Beside him was an orderly of 
 the general s, mounted and in close attention 
 upon the blind rider. Gay young British offi 
 cers hovering around those stoops where pretty 
 girls held court, drawn as irresistibly to the 
 spot as bees to honey, were discussing the fete 
 to be given in honor of the retiring commander, 
 Lord Howe, who had been recalled to England. 
 Never had the citizens of a captive city passed 
 a winter more gaily social. But the prospec 
 tive instatement of Sir Henry Clinton menaced 
 this gaiety, threatening a speedy end. Now for 
 the first time was attention paid to those 
 veteran soldiers who, like unpleasant birds of 
 warning, had croaked the winter through that 
 the loose discipline of the army was doing more 
 to weaken it than any battles yet experienced. 
 Their chagrin at the follies and inaction of the 
 troops grew greater as certain of the officers 
 treated as a jest a rebuke which should have 
 been the keenest mortification. Of these, one
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 25 
 
 who had most loudly voiced his irritation and 
 waxed most hotly contemptuous was General 
 Stirling. Muttered comments were made and 
 unfriendly looks cast upon the little man as he 
 sat stiffly astride his huge gray horse, glancing 
 seldom either to the left or right, his face set 
 grim, acknowledging surlily the salutes of the 
 young officers. 
 
 " An army of Miss Nancys," he said, snort 
 ing with contempt as he and his companions 
 drew to one side of the narrow street to make 
 way for a coach drawn by four horses, and pre 
 ceded by outriders. The coach-horses, milk- 
 white and gaily caparisoned, trotted briskly 
 down the street. In the coach, which had great 
 bravery of gilding and upholstery, reclined 
 Lord Howe, the retiring commander. With 
 much pleasant bowing did he turn his head 
 from side to side, his horses slackening into a 
 walk. Once did he raise his hat with more 
 than usual elaborate courtesy as he passed the 
 former owner of the coach and four, a wealthy 
 spinster, who had yielded with ill-grace to the 
 forced lending of her property. His urbane 
 bow was returned but sourly by the powdered 
 dame from the faded sedan chair in which she 
 was being carried along the sidewalk by slaves. 
 
 Although quick to perceive the humor of a 
 situation, Mademoiselle de Berny did not smile 
 at this incident, returning Lord Howe s bow 
 but absently, as he turned towards her and
 
 26 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 General Stirling. As the little party continued 
 its way, she drew from her reticule the letter 
 her brother had taken from his dog and given 
 to her to hold for him. The paper, unad- 
 dressed and folded to form the envelope, was 
 fastened by black wax, the seal of which she 
 recognized as Richard Heyward s. Her hand 
 trembled. A variety of emotions showed in 
 her countenance, scorn impelling her to toss 
 the paper away ; anxiety as she glanced at 
 General Stirling, lest he should be curious of 
 the contents, but he seemed absorbed in deep 
 thought ; lastly, a defiant expression which yet 
 revealed an underlying tenderness as she re 
 placed the letter in the reticule. 
 
 " Did you read that, Diane ? " asked her 
 brother, turning in his saddle. 
 
 " No," she answered ; " Mr. Heyward must 
 have dropped it." 
 
 " Give it back to me, then," he said, stretch 
 ing out his hand. His horse veered. He 
 felt for the reins, which he had let go for a 
 moment. The orderly had reached over and 
 taken them. 
 
 " Let my horse alone, sirrah," cried the boy, 
 his face all aflame. " I granted you permission 
 to ride beside me in case of accident or unsafe 
 road, but I will not be put in leading-strings ! 
 My horse obeys me at a word." He gathered 
 the reins in one hand and took his whip in the 
 other.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 27 
 
 " This fellow is all Diane s doing," he mut 
 tered. " I am no child. Some day I shall 
 teach her a lesson for this." Raising his whip, 
 he struck his horse several times. The ani 
 mal reared and plunged violently, but its rider 
 had it in superb control. 
 
 " There, Diane," he called over his shoulder. 
 " There," hitting his horse again and again, 
 " and there." He, laughing and breathless in 
 his excitement forgot, for the time being, the 
 letter. 
 
 Orders were issued in Philadelphia the fol 
 lowing day for the arrest of one Richard Hey- 
 ward, a spy of the Continental Army, hitherto 
 known as a loyalist. Indignation at the ac 
 cusation was loudly expressed by the friends of 
 the young man. But when it was learned that 
 several days previous he had obtained a pass 
 port to go beyond the lines and at nightfall 
 he had not been found, no further proof of 
 his guilt seemed needed. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny heard the news, her 
 mouth quivering with scorn. So at her words 
 he had turned and fled craven-hearted a spy 
 fleeing the wrath of honest men. In a brief mo 
 ment had her whilom lover become an enemy. 
 But a direct question as to his honor, and the 
 cloven hoof had shown. Well, he had escaped. 
 He was in safety, at all events. He had passed 
 out of her life, going without an explanation or 
 a farewell, as a thief in the night. Yet, though
 
 28 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 she puzzled long over the fact as to how his 
 position could have become so quickly known, 
 she could not bring herself to ask any questions, 
 dreading with a sensitiveness almost abnormal 
 to hear any comments made upon his base posi 
 tion and cowardly flight. 
 
 The day following this she was destined to re 
 ceive a still greater shock. The orderly who 
 accompanied her brother when he rode sought 
 her in great distress. He was one of the hired 
 Hessian troops, a faithful, stupid fellow. His 
 yellow hair was matted to his forehead by per 
 spiration ; his round face, red and streaked with 
 dust from rapid riding, was lined with anxiety. 
 Young Stirling s horse, whose reins he had 
 fastened to his own saddle, was riderless. It 
 appeared that the boy, always indulged in his 
 fondness for riding in the country, had received 
 permission from his uncle to go to Frankfort, 
 a small milling centre, five miles from the city. 
 Once there, he had dismounted at the Jolly 
 Post, and bidding the orderly see to the horses, 
 had given him some money with the injunction 
 to spend an hour or so in good company, while 
 he with his dog amused himself sauntering 
 through the village. The fellow finding right 
 hearty cheer and good comrades, waited well 
 content until noon. Then as his young master 
 did not come, he engaged in a vain search for 
 him. Several children reported having seen 
 him and his dog walking rapidly down the
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 29 
 
 forest road, which was in reality a continuation 
 of the one village street. The orderly had fol 
 lowed the road some distance, but his search 
 proving futile, and fearing the approach of 
 night, he returned to Philadelphia for assist 
 ance, having already taken the precaution of 
 sending some country people to look for the 
 missing boy. General Stirling and a guard 
 rode out the Frankfort road, searching high 
 and low in the vicinity of the village, lighting 
 torches as it grew darker, advancing a long dis 
 tance into the wood. To their hallooing there 
 was no response save the lonely baying of a 
 farm dog. That the lad had either wandered 
 far into the forest or been picked up by some 
 passer-by there could be no doubt. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny waited in an agony 
 of suspense at the gateway of the Quaker 
 house where she resided, her strained gaze 
 striving to penetrate the darkness at the bend 
 of the street, from which direction the search 
 ing-party would return. A fitful wind was 
 blowing ; the swayings and sighings of the 
 trees caused her to shiver with apprehension. 
 High in the heavens the moon appeared 
 through swiftly moving clouds. Her fears 
 took the form of wildest imaginings. Now 
 she saw her brother make a misstep and fall 
 into the stream ; now he ran against a tree, 
 bruising himself, or he wandered off the road ; 
 perhaps the far worse fate overtook him of
 
 30 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 falling into the hands of a band of Tory ma 
 rauders, the terror of the country-side. She 
 could hear him sobbing her name as when a 
 little child he had awakened in the night and 
 missed her. So real was his imagined cry that 
 she put her hands over her ears, moaning. As 
 she strove to control herself and think clearly, 
 it seemed to her that his action was not impul 
 sive, but evidently deliberately planned. Her 
 mind travelled slowly over the events of the 
 past few days, striving to find some clue to his 
 conduct. Struck by a sudden thought, she 
 turned and walked swiftly back to the house, 
 and entering ascended the stairs to her room. 
 She opened her desk and touched the spring of 
 a secret compartment known only to herself 
 and her brother. The letter she had concealed 
 there was gone ! 
 
 The wind blew the white curtains at her 
 casement fantastically. The little oil lamp on 
 her dressing-table flared wildly, filling the room 
 with smoke. But the young girl seated at her 
 desk, her chin resting in the palms of her hands, 
 noticed nothing, deep in painful thought, her 
 gaze fixed on the rifled drawer. The solution 
 of her brother s escapade was clear to her now. 
 Armand, in a spirit of adventure, had gone to 
 Valley Forge, whither Richard Heyward had 
 evidently fled, intent upon returning the letter 
 to its rightful owner. Now, as an added pang to 
 her anxiety was the humiliation of knowing that
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 31 
 
 over Armand as well as herself, Richard Hey- 
 ward had exerted an irresistible charm, so that 
 the lad s chief delight had lain in the young 
 man s society. It seemed an exhibition of this 
 man s power, an added insolence on his part, as 
 it were, that her brother should disregard her 
 to go to him. She pictured Armand, frail and 
 blind, trudging a lonely road, his faithful hound 
 at his side, on his errand of loyalty and love to 
 one who, while gratified at the return of the 
 letter, was yet amused at the lad s preference 
 an echo of the sister s heart ! Her powerlessness 
 was the most torturing humiliation to her. 
 Could she by any means have wrested Armand 
 away from Hey ward, with whom he probably was, 
 and have torn the unfortunate letter in pieces 
 her hands clinched in helpless resentment and 
 her eyes rilled with burning tears of anger. 
 There was the trampling of horses hoofs on 
 the cobble-stone pavement, growing steadily 
 louder. She pushed aside the curtains and 
 leant out of the casement. She saw the weary 
 searchers, whose dejected attitude, as they walked 
 their horses up the street, betrayed their failure. 
 General Stirling dismounted in front of the 
 house, bidding the rest of the party wait. He 
 opened the gate into the yard. Mademoiselle 
 de Berny had almost flown down the stairway 
 and met him, ere he had advanced half-way up 
 the flower-bordered walk which led to the 
 house. As the light from the hallway fell
 
 32 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 upon his perturbed and troubled countenance, 
 his scarlet uniform covered with dust and still 
 damp from a light rain which had fallen early 
 in the evening ; the gold lace torn ; above all, his 
 hand lacerated by the broken limb of a tree, 
 she realized how serious and arduous had been 
 his search. All anger and thought of Heyward 
 were swept away in the renewed flood of anxiety 
 for Armand, which made her solution of his 
 disappearance seem for the moment an ab 
 surdity, with a criminal aspect, considering the 
 tragic present. 
 
 "There, there," said General Stirling, smooth 
 ing her hair with awkward tenderness, as she 
 stood sobbing, her face hidden on his shoulder, 
 her slender arms clasping convulsively his stal 
 wart figure ; " we will find him to-morrow. I 
 will prove ye then the truth o my words, that he 
 is in safe keeping. Ye must not weep so, Diane. 
 It hurts me sorely. Diane, ye will break my 
 heart to cry so. My little girl, the boy is safe." 
 
 And though the missing lad was his only 
 nephew, and the girl, his niece by courtesy 
 merely, being the step-daughter of his dead 
 brother, yet was he more troubled by her tears 
 than by the boy s absence, and felt an anger 
 which made his kindly face grow stern as he 
 looked at the little mournful head resting on 
 his shoulder. He had no patience of pranks 
 which caused such weeping, having always a 
 great tenderness for the weakness of women.
 
 Chapter III 
 
 VERY early the following morning, while 
 the stars still shone palely, two shadowy 
 figures passed swiftly through the sleep 
 ing city. The shorter and stouter of these two 
 figures wore the gray garb and bonnet of a 
 Quakeress. The other was attired in a long 
 drab garment, the hood of which the wearer 
 had pulled well over her head, giving her a 
 cloister-like appearance. The light growing 
 stronger revealed these two women to be Mad 
 emoiselle de Berny and Rachel Mott, the latter 
 an elder maiden daughter of the family with 
 whom the young girl and her brother made 
 their home while in Philadelphia. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny addressed her com 
 panion. " You are sure we will be able to pass 
 the line, Rachel ? " 
 
 " Yea, if thou wilt but say I am thy maid 
 come to carry the flour," answered the other, 
 who bore an empty sack on one arm. 
 
 "Give me the passport now," said the young 
 girl, " that I may have it in readiness." 
 
 At that time the citizens of Philadelphia 
 were allowed by the British to obtain flour 
 from the Frankfort mills. When, therefore, 
 the previous evening, Rachel Mott, a Quaker- 
 
 D 33
 
 34 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 ess of good standing, had applied at head 
 quarters for license to pass the lines, her re 
 quest to obtain flour for her family had been 
 readily granted, although made at a late hour, 
 it being half after ten o clock. This permission 
 had been asked by the Quakeress at the solici 
 tation of Mademoiselle de Berny, in whose 
 nature it was not consistent that she should 
 long repine when there remained a possibility 
 of action. Even as she had buried her tear- 
 wet face on General Stirling s broad breast the 
 evening preceding, her mind had been busily 
 cogitating a plan by which she should go in 
 search of her brother. She had bidden her 
 guardian good night with an eagerness to have 
 him go, which was not unmingled with an ex 
 cess of affection, the warmth of which had its 
 origin in a secret contrition at the thought of de 
 ceiving him. When he had at last taken his de 
 parture, she ran swiftly up the stairs to the room 
 of Rachel Mott, who was preparing to retire, 
 begging her to dress again and obtain a passport 
 to go to Frankfort in the morning, stating her 
 intention to go to the rebels camp for her 
 brother. She had found herself at some serious 
 difficulty in persuading her timid companion to 
 fall in with her plans, but her stronger will 
 had prevailed. Moreover, her statements, nay, 
 threats, that should any misfortune happen to 
 her brother through her not being at his side 
 to protect him, the Quakeress would also be
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 35 
 
 partly responsible, as those are guilty who leave 
 undone those things which they ought to do, 
 had the effect of terrorizing into obedience the 
 meek Friend, whose gentle heart was in a flutter 
 of trepidation between furthering Mademoi 
 selle s rash venture and her duty, which seemed 
 to consist in doing this very thing for which she 
 would later be condemned by the young girl s 
 guardian. But she was powerless before the 
 imperious mandate of Mademoiselle de Berny, 
 who had assisted her to dress, wrapped her 
 cloak hurriedly around her and almost pushed 
 her down the stairway and out of the house, 
 and then awaited impatiently her return from 
 headquarters with the passport, the ready 
 granting of which at that late hour could be 
 laid only to the looseness of discipline which 
 then marked the condition of the British Army. 
 
 While Mademoiselle de Berny had passed 
 the hours intervening between the settlement 
 upon their plans for the morrow and the time of 
 starting in fitful and troubled sleep, the Quaker 
 ess had spent the greater part of the night 
 fervently praying. For to-morrow was there 
 not to be met General Stirling, when she should 
 return alone from Frankfort, having left Mad 
 emoiselle to continue her unprotected way to 
 the camp of the ungodly rebels ? 
 
 " And whilst he would not speak harshly to 
 his niece," she murmured, " thou knowest, O 
 Lord, that he is not slow to anger and useth a
 
 36 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 violent temper and a profane tongue towards 
 those he loveth not that vex him." 
 
 Now she trudged patiently at Mademoiselle s 
 side, her timorous and maidenly soul still 
 doubting and protesting, but saying naught 
 to her companion who pressed on hurriedly, 
 ever a little in advance in her eagerness and 
 anxiety. 
 
 The young girl took but little into account 
 the peril which a woman surely courted who 
 ventured to travel alone in the present trouble 
 some times. Only the peculiar circumstances 
 of her life allowed her to so ignore the rashness 
 of this errand. From the seclusion of a con 
 vent, she had become one of the gay whirlpool 
 of a licensed and unrestrained court society, 
 which latter condition she had left for the even 
 freer and more changeful environment of army 
 life that her companionship with her step 
 father, and since his death, with General Stirling, 
 had given her. And in common with her 
 brother she possessed a daring spirit and a love 
 of adventure which caused her rather to invite 
 than to shun peril. So, although she had 
 taken the precaution to wear a Friend s cloak, 
 which was an effectual masque, she had dis 
 missed any vague thought of personal danger as a 
 matter of secondary importance where Armand 
 was concerned. Upon him she lavished that 
 tenderness of love, which his dead mother 
 might have given, idolizing him, worshipping
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 37 
 
 his delicacy and beauty, comprehending him 
 through his likeness to her, ashamed of her 
 jealousy of his constant thought of his father, 
 whose death had not made him less to his son, 
 and yet understanding this faithfulness in the 
 boy by the very love which made her desires 
 centre in him. She felt the dauntless self-reli 
 ance women experience when loved ones are in 
 danger. This confidence in their own ability, 
 the desire to take matters into their own hands, 
 which women have at such times, appears to 
 spring from the maternal sense of protection, 
 which ignoring danger to self instinctively feels 
 the heart the surest loadstone. And there 
 were doubtless other motives prompting Mad 
 emoiselle de Berny upon this occasion, motives 
 of which she was unconscious. She had not 
 confided her intention of going to Valley Forge 
 to General Stirling, knowing that he would un 
 compromisingly condemn as unfeasible her proj 
 ect to follow her brother, and would seek to 
 reassure her by stating that the searching-party 
 would again be sent out. Yet, she knew well 
 their search would be in vain had Armand 
 reached the rebel camp. She, a woman and 
 alone, would doubtless be permitted to pass the 
 American lines. A deeper motive actuated 
 this secrecy, a motive which she would not 
 have confessed even to herself, and would have 
 indignantly denied if accused of possessing. 
 Her statements of the reasons which led her
 
 38 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 to believe that Armand had gone to Valley 
 Forge would involve the explaining of the 
 letter, and from this she shrank, recoiling as 
 one from a touch upon an unhealed wound, 
 the mention of Richard Heyward. 
 
 In the east the dawn was whitening. There 
 was heard the twitter of waking birds. The 
 tree-tops swayed in the sharp breeze which is 
 born just before dawn and dies down. The 
 young girl shivered, drawing her cloak closely 
 around her. She looked up. Far above in the 
 heavens a few stars were still shining, but so 
 faintly as to be scarcely luminous. As she 
 lowered her glance she saw that the long line 
 of light in the east was slowly brightening into 
 gold. They were nearing the city limits. 
 Small signs of the day s activities appeared. 
 As they passed the court-house which stood 
 on arches built on brick pillars, they caught 
 glimpses in these arched apertures of venders 
 arranging their vegetables for the morning 
 market. From out the cool dusk glimmered 
 the orange of carrots, the glossy leaves of the 
 wintergreen with its scarlet berries, bundles 
 of sassafras bark, potatoes, the gold of sweet 
 country butter, Indian baskets filled with maple 
 sugar, deliciously fresh. On the further side 
 of the street the hucksters wagons were ar 
 rayed in a long row. An old man climbed 
 painfully the flight of stairs leading to the tiny 
 balcony over the main entrance of the building.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 39 
 
 A moment later and the bell in the little cupola 
 rang out unevenly but sweetly. 
 
 " It is five o the clock," said Rachel 
 Mott. 
 
 A milk wagon loomed up grayly, rattling 
 over the cobble-stone pavement. The driver 
 was whistling cheerily. Mademoiselle de Berny 
 called to him, and he drew up his horses close 
 to the curbstone. He was a fresh-cheeked 
 country lad, shrewd eyed, and with a merry 
 smile. At her request he filled the cover of a 
 can with milk for herself and her companion. 
 He refused payment. 
 
 " Tis enough in these days to be asked civ 
 illy for a draught of milk," he said. " But 
 yesterday those thieving British rogues, the 
 sentry, helped themselves freely enough to my 
 ware. And the cream ! Why, mon, says I to 
 one fellow, do you think it naught but milk, 
 and skimmed at that ! Ye should have seen 
 the likes o them, ma am ! The way that cream, 
 yellow as a buttercup, slipped down their saucy 
 throats ! Small thanks to them, says I, that 
 they didn t spill on the ground what they didn t 
 want." 
 
 "The British rogues," repeated Mademoi 
 selle de Berny ; " are you then a Whig ? " 
 
 " Eh, no, lady," he answered with a hearty 
 laugh and a sly wink over his shoulder at the 
 Quakeress ; " ye ll find me mealy mouthed as 
 any Friend and no such ninny as to answer
 
 40 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 that question unless ye tell me first which side 
 ye be on." 
 
 She smiled. " I have no concern in the 
 matter," she said. " How near the lines are 
 we now ? " 
 
 He pointed backward with his whip. " A 
 ten minutes walk straight ahead o ye." 
 
 She paused to inquire if he had any news of 
 her brother. He replied in the negative. 
 
 As the two women approached the redoubt, 
 beyond which lay the Frankfort road, Madem 
 oiselle de Berny drew her hood further over 
 her head. She knew the place to be garrisoned 
 by the Queen s Rangers, under the command 
 of an officer with whom she had some acquaint 
 ance, and she preferred to pass unrecognized by 
 him, if possible. They saw but the sentry, 
 however, who allowed them to proceed without 
 trouble. A moment later they stepped upon 
 the Frankfort road and received the free sweep 
 of air across the country which was, in general, 
 cleared ground, but intersected by many woods 
 and high fences. From the dark fields rose 
 vaporish mists, winding away like ghosts of 
 the vanished night. The line of gold in the 
 east widened. The tree-tops caught the bright 
 ening reflection. Flocks of small clouds 
 
 O 
 
 became a luminous rose color, moving slowly 
 towards the horizon. The breeze rose briskly, 
 fragrant with the odor of the fresh, damp air 
 and subtly suggestive of country life. Madem-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 41 
 
 oiselle de Berny pushed back the hood of her 
 cloak with a sigh of relief. Her eyes, sombre 
 from a sleepless night, had the strained expres 
 sion of one striving to perceive something as 
 yet beyond the range of vision. She had a 
 curious fancy that but a few steps further, 
 a turn of the road, and she should catch a 
 glimpse of her brother with his dog walking 
 ahead of her. She found herself hastening 
 at every curve of the highway, her lips invol 
 untarily forming his name to call to him. And 
 always when she had passed the turn she 
 dropped back into a slower pace with a sickening 
 pang of disappointment, despite the unreason 
 ableness of the fancy. 
 
 Now country-folk appeared, the goodwife 
 seated on a pillion behind her husband, hold 
 ing a basketful of eggs or a firkin of butter, and 
 always a bright nosegay of hardy garden flowers. 
 Farmers appeared at intervals, a forlorn set 
 of men, as they jogged disconsolately along, 
 their wagons half-empty. In constant danger 
 of seeing their fields robbed or trampled upon 
 by cavalry, and in some instances set afire, 
 they lacked courage to sow anew or to raise 
 more than a few vegetables. 
 
 Of these people Mademoiselle de Berny in 
 quired vainly for news of her brother. On 
 either side of them stretched the woods, high 
 rails fencing it from the road. Where some 
 distance ahead the road made an abrupt turn,
 
 42 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 the two women caught a glimpse of horsemen 
 through the trees and the sparkle and flash of 
 sunlight hitting upon steel. The ground trem 
 bled. There was a thundering and increasing 
 sound of trampling. The Quakeress drew her 
 companion quickly to one side of the road 
 close to the fence. She was none too soon. 
 Down the road came a drove of cattle. Clouds 
 of dust, golden in the sunlight, rose volumi 
 nously as smoke concealing the last of the drove. 
 But through the dust could be seen the glossy 
 hides of black cattle and red and white of 
 another breed. There were about a hundred 
 head, sleek and well fed. When they had 
 passed, and the dust had settled slightly, there 
 appeared some little distance behind a party of 
 British cavalry, laughing and talking in a gale 
 of good spirits. The two women recognized 
 them as belonging to the Queen s Rangers, a 
 corps of native American loyalists drawn from 
 Connecticut. A brave showing they made in 
 the fresh morning, all young and stalwart men, 
 their horses black or roan and their uniforms a 
 clear fine green, in color like unto those worn 
 by Robin Hood and his men in the old forest 
 of Sherwood. These uniforms put on at the 
 close of winter, as the earth took on its 
 spring-like garb of green, would by autumn 
 have nearly faded with the leaves, retaining 
 their most desirable characteristic of being 
 scarcely discernible at a distance. The com-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 43 
 
 manding officer drew rein, inquiring of the 
 Quakeress if he could be of any assistance to 
 her and her companion, glancing sharply as he 
 spoke at Mademoiselle de Berny who stood 
 with averted head, her hood drawn so closely 
 as to well-nigh conceal her countenance. At 
 the Quakeress simple explanation that they 
 were on their way to procure flour at Frank 
 fort, he permitted them to proceed without 
 further question. They had gone but a little 
 way, however, when they heard the galloping 
 of a horse behind them. The officer, leaving 
 his men standing, had ridden back to offer the 
 services of one of his soldiers to carry the bag 
 on his saddle back to Philadelphia, as it would 
 doubtless be heavy. As he spoke his gaze was 
 fixed with undisguised curiosity and almost sus 
 picion upon Mademoiselle s shrouded figure, 
 whose face he could not see, but the distinc 
 tion of whose bearing illy concealed by the 
 Quaker garment convinced him that this was 
 no ordinary personage, but a gentlewoman who 
 wore the cloak as a disguise, and the profession 
 on whose part of such an errand was odd, even 
 calculated to raise suspicion in those Philadel- 
 phian days, when the fine ladies were carried 
 in sedan chairs, and who called a slave to pick 
 up the handkerchiefs they dropped. But his 
 curiosity was baffled as the Quakeress again re 
 plied that she was the maid come to carry the 
 flour and that the sack would be light weight.
 
 44 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 He asked to see their passport, however, and 
 examined it carefully, returning it without com 
 ment and, bidding them good morning, rejoined 
 his party. 
 
 Beyond a rustic bridge spanning a creek, on 
 a wooded height, they could see the village of 
 Frankfort. It was seven o clock when they 
 reached it. 
 
 " Do you know, Rachel," said Mademoiselle 
 de Berny, as they reached the top of the hill, 
 panting from the exertion of climbing, " I 
 feel always as if I were part of a picture when 
 I come here and had none other reality than a 
 figure in the landscape. It makes me think 
 of the German towns across the water. Ah, 
 Rachel, how it saddens me. What joy is there 
 to me in pictures when Armand cannot see ? " 
 
 The little Quakeress, mild eyed and gentle 
 as a dove, her rapid breathing fluttering the 
 white kerchief crossed over her breast, answered 
 with up-raised eyes : " Knowest thou not, 
 Diane, that the Good Book saith that the lust 
 of the flesh and the lust of eyes and the pride 
 of the flesh is not of God, but of the world ? 
 Bethink thee of those who have eyes yet see 
 not. How sad is that. Oft have I heard it 
 said by reverend and elderly people that the 
 afflicted are those favored of the Lord." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny looked down into 
 the honest eyes of her companion the blue 
 and simple eyes which seemed but to mirror
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 45 
 
 holy thoughts. She put her own arm around 
 the gray-clad shoulders, and laid her cheek a 
 moment against the Quakeress . " Rachel," 
 she said, " you are ten years older than I, yet 
 you are as a little child. But I am not so 
 blessed. You are so good that your prayers 
 will avail more than mine. Pray we shall find 
 him soon. No, no, Rachel ; not a word ! 
 Waste no time in speech, nor even pause to 
 think, but pray ; pray as heartily as if twere 
 the salvation of your own soul you sought ; 
 and I," she added laughing, "will look out for 
 the things of this world ; but you cease not 
 to pray, or I shall do you an ill-turn for it, 
 Rachel." 
 
 Along the one street which formed the vil 
 lage were clumps of cherry and plum trees 
 wrapped in the fragrant white mist of their 
 blossoms. Here and there a peach tree blew 
 pink in blossom, like a blush of spring. Grass 
 grew in the street. Business was at a stand 
 still. Now and then they passed fences and 
 rails which had been torn up and made into 
 temporary huts for soldiers, but were now de 
 serted. The houses were low and built of 
 stone. The doors, divided into two parts, 
 were mostly closed, although it was not overly 
 early in the morning. They passed a house 
 in which the upper part of the door was open, 
 the lower half closed to keep the domestic ani 
 mals from running into the house. Appear-
 
 46 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 ing in the upper half, as a picture in a frame, a 
 contemplative German, smoking a pipe, nodded 
 good morning to them. A dog barked at their 
 heels. As they drew near the end of the vil 
 lage they heard the cheery clacking of the 
 wheel and the splashing of the mill-stream. 
 The miller, a stout, florid fellow, his blouse 
 and hair powdered with flour, informed Mad 
 emoiselle de Berny that a boy and a dog, an 
 swering her description, had paused at the mill 
 yester morning, asking the way to the rebels 
 camp up the Schuylkill. He had then crossed 
 the little mill-stream at the ford further down 
 a few steps. Yes, some soldiers had inquired 
 for him. Blind ? He had not noticed. But 
 now that he thought of it, he recollected the 
 strange look o the lad s eyes. Some one, a 
 Quaker, he judged from the broad-brimmed 
 hat and drab clothes, met him away down the 
 road, beyond the stream. The lad had a pleas 
 ant way. He was her brother, perhaps, only 
 his skin was fairer. And his hair he had ob 
 served, because it was the color of his own 
 little daughter s the tint o corn when it was 
 near to ripening. 
 
 The Quakeress seated herself wearily on a 
 bench near the door, but Mademoiselle de 
 Berny stood looking over the stream with 
 troubled eyes. The sunlight fell on her 
 slender figure and her sad face. 
 
 " I shall go after him, Rachel," she said ; " I
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 47 
 
 am confident he has reached the American 
 camp, or we should have heard of him ere 
 this. He probably fell in with some Quaker 
 going that way, I should judge, from what this 
 good man tells us. When you return to 
 Philadelphia explain my absence to General 
 Stirling. Avoid seeing him until late in the 
 afternoon, so he can force no information from 
 you. Then it will not avail him to send for 
 me, as I will be within the rebel lines. Tell 
 him kindly, Rachel, that I thought.it wisest, 
 and give him my most dutiful love." 
 
 " But, my child," interposed the little 
 Quakeress, " thou art rash to run into such 
 danger. Thou art young, and I say not falsely 
 that thou hast the comeliness of the flesh which 
 warreth against the spirit. No one will harm 
 the boy, and it would be wise that thou return 
 with me, would it not ? " glancing appealingly 
 at the miller. 
 
 The joint advice of the two availed nothing. 
 
 " And thou hast not yet broken fast save by 
 a sup of milk," pleaded the Quakeress ; " thou 
 wilt grow faint on the way. Do thou harken, 
 Diane, lest thy ungodly self-will lead thee into 
 wrong paths." 
 
 " The Lord prospers them as begin the day 
 on a full stomach," said the miller. His jovial 
 face beamed with good nature. He pointed to 
 a stone cottage back of the mill, well-nigh hid 
 den by fruit trees. " Go in and have some-
 
 48 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 thing with the goodwife. I but just left the 
 little ones around the table a-blowing of their 
 porridge to cool it. Six sound boys have I 
 and a little daughter, who the old mothers say 
 is the image o her father." He shook with 
 silent merriment. 
 
 But Mademoiselle de Berny would not con 
 sent to tarry longer, being sorely harried by 
 fear lest she should be delayed, her thought 
 reverting to the suspicious attitude taken by 
 the officer they had encountered. 
 
 " Rachel," she said, a smile belying the anx 
 iety in her eyes, " why dwell you so on the 
 bodily pleasures of eating? Have you no 
 shame of your appetite ? Take care," she 
 added, shaking her head, and with droll mim 
 icry of the other s voice, " lest your ungodly 
 desires lead you to lust for the flesh-pots of 
 Egypt, and you sell your birthright for a mess 
 of pottage ! " 
 
 Nodding her head as in solemn prophecy of 
 things unspeakably awful, Rachel Mott watched 
 her companion fording the stream, her dress 
 gathered closely around her slender ankles, 
 the light twinkling on the buckles of her 
 slippered feet, as she stepped daintily from 
 stone to stone with the miller s assistance. 
 On the further side of the stream Mademoiselle 
 de Berny turned. 
 
 " Adieu," she cried, waving her hand, " your 
 solemn face does make me merry, Rachel.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 49 
 
 Faith, I would wager a pair of gloves you 
 think me on the road to a warmer world ; 
 but fear not, I shall be back in time for the 
 ball, and I will wear my butterfly gown. Who 
 knows but the tempter may whisper you to 
 join in the dance for all your pious garb ? " 
 
 " Ah, Diane," murmured the Quakeress, as 
 she awaited the miller s return to procure the 
 flour, " the heathenish name thy parents gave 
 thee suits thee right well, and with good sense 
 didst thou choose thy costume for dancing 
 that invention of the devil s ! Thy frivolous 
 French blood makes thee indeed a butterfly ! 
 Take heed lest thy pretty wings be singed." 
 
 As some dove whose fellows have flown 
 away, leaving it alone, sunning its gentle 
 bosom, so did the little Quakeress seem, seated 
 on the bench, with the distressed tears falling 
 on the white kerchief which crossed her breast. 
 For there was the misery of the thought of 
 Mademoiselle de Berny in danger, and there 
 remained General Stirling, whose wrath she 
 must encounter. 
 
 " And whilst he would not speak harshly to 
 his niece," she murmured, " because of her 
 French airs and graces, which exercise a most 
 ungodly influence, so that her disobedient 
 heart is not to be perceived for the glamour 
 of her way, yet tis known how violent a 
 temper and profane a tongue he useth towards 
 them that cross him."
 
 Chapter IV 
 
 FOUR miles yonder," said the miller, 
 " following the road straight, ye pass 
 the Red Lion Tavern, which is at a 
 cross-roads, and there ye take the path to your 
 left. Or ye can cut across country through the 
 forest, which is a lonesome way, but makes 
 better time. I ll show ye another bit if ye go 
 that way, though tis scarce to my liking to 
 see ye go alone in these rough times. Yet ye 
 tell o the poor lad s blindness, and I marvel 
 not that ye are fearsome for him." He swung 
 open the gate of the fence, which railed in a 
 pasture from the road, flapping his white apron 
 to drive away the curious cows. A footpath 
 led across this meadow to a dense woods. 
 Mademoiselle de Berny walked swiftly, her 
 companion puffing and blowing as he kept 
 pace with her. The flour which had settled 
 upon his blue blouse and his hair rose with 
 every step, making in the sunlight a radiant 
 nimbus around his red face and portly figure. 
 As he was about to leave her on the border of 
 the forest, after pointing out the path, Mad 
 emoiselle de Berny put a tiny blue ring she 
 had been wearing in his broad palm. " Take 
 that to your little daughter," she said, " and 
 
 50
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 51 
 
 when I return, either to-night or to-morrow 
 morning, I shall partake of some porridge with 
 her." 
 
 The miller stood a moment watching her. 
 Beneath the glimmer of the green trees her 
 figure, clad in the long cloak and pointed 
 brown hood, had a quaint, unworldly appear 
 ance, as of a nun, whose convent walls were 
 made by the close forest. But as she turned 
 to wave a last adieu to him, this fancy was 
 dispelled ; for no holy face looked out from 
 beneath the pointed hood, but a countenance 
 brilliant in color, with mischievous gleaming 
 eyes and escaping curls clustering around the 
 delicate forehead, and half-concealing the dainty 
 pink of the ears. 
 
 " Good morning, my friend," she called, 
 " fail not to tell Rachel Mott that with your 
 own eyes you saw me fall into the clutches of 
 the Evil One ! " 
 
 Now, though Mademoiselle de Berny walked 
 on bravely the road the miller pointed out, her 
 steps at last became hesitating. She felt as one 
 who has wandered into an enchanted wood. 
 Trees arose on all sides, their branches inter 
 lacing gloom of verdure the sun-rays could 
 barely penetrate. Branches lay broken on the 
 ground. Now and then she stepped over the 
 great trunk of some fallen forest king covered 
 with fungi and moss. It was still in the cool 
 of the morning. The dew lay white as hoar-
 
 52 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 frost on the ground. A red squirrel ran across 
 her path. Through a far gap in the forest, 
 where the sunshine streamed down broadly, 
 there passed in single file a long line of Indians 
 with feathered head-dress, their supple bodies 
 glistening like copper. She stood still watch 
 ing them stealing away like wood-spirits. Her 
 eyes grew wide and dark, seeming to reflect in 
 their depth the mysteriousness of the forest. 
 There arose the lonely cooing of a dove. It 
 seemed to her that the heart of the woods was 
 voicing its longing. She thought of a picture 
 hanging in the dormitory of a convent she had 
 attended The Enchanted Wood. Again she 
 saw the little painted spring, in which the fairies 
 bathed, bubbling from the moss. Pleasant had 
 it been to imagine herself wandering through 
 those elf-like glades on carpets of rarest moss 
 underneath the arching of great trees. Ah, 
 how this place brought back those fairy-tales 
 all those dreams of her childhood never to be 
 realized ! Yet had one dream, that of being in 
 such a forest, come to pass. Here was the 
 spring and the velvet moss and the gigantic 
 trees. But as the morning brightened into day, 
 she would fain have turned and fled. For so 
 it is with mankind, beauty taking on the color 
 of the mood. For though the supreme desire 
 be fulfilled, it proves an empty shell, turning 
 to ashes and bitterness if those beloved have 
 no part in it.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 53 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny s thought drifting to 
 the quaint saying that souls were oft-times lone 
 liest in Paradise, felt as if the beauty choked 
 her. Beneath her anxiety regarding her brother 
 ran an undercurrent of thought of Richard 
 Heyward. Crossing the ocean to this far 
 country had there not been a sweet and secret 
 hope nestling as some hidden singing-bird in 
 her breast ? And while he had forgotten that 
 brief meeting in far off France, she had remem 
 bered ! She put her hands over her burning 
 face. Since his cowardly flight from Philadel 
 phia, branded shamelessly in public opinion as 
 a spy, her scorn of his base position and her 
 wounded pride that he had left her without a 
 word had kept her thought at a tension which 
 allowed no play of the emotions. But a great 
 rush of sadness now swept away all anger and 
 pride, leaving her powerless against the cry of 
 her heart for him. Certain gestures the car 
 riage of his head, the lighting of his face when 
 he smiled, the warmth which had come into his 
 glance when he looked at her now became 
 torturing remembrances. Within her tender 
 heart, beneath all surface anger, there throbbed 
 the ever ready pardon for him when he should 
 come back to her and be forgiven not for 
 giveness in the common acceptance of the term, 
 but rather the assurance the passionate and gen 
 erous nature would convey to the beloved one 
 that what has passed is as naught. She felt
 
 54 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 the humbleness of the forgiver craving pardon, 
 that he should be right rather than the other. 
 In the quiet forest there was heard the sound 
 of weeping. Mademoiselle de Berny seated on 
 the trunk of a tree, her head bowed upon her 
 knees, was sobbing as if her heart would break. 
 Love she felt had come to her, not as a flame 
 to purify even as it burned, nor yet a sharp 
 pain which might chasten, never an inspiration, 
 but hopeless and a grievous hurt, a sore, slight 
 perhaps, but unhealing, throbbing at the source 
 of being, lying deeper than any trouble she had 
 ever known. With a pang of self-reproach she 
 remembered Armand and rising, continued her 
 way, walking with conscience-stricken haste to 
 make up for lost time. In her hurry she for 
 got the miller s direction to be followed at the 
 cross-roads some distance before the Red Lion 
 Tavern would be reached, and took the wrong 
 path. This way wound circuitously through 
 the forest so that it was nearly noon before she 
 passed from the woods into the open country. 
 The highway lay white and dusty before her, 
 the sun beating down hotly. She had not gone 
 far when she turned, startled at hearing herself 
 greeted by name in the familiar Quaker tongue. 
 Her gaze rested upon a tall, corpulent man, 
 whom she recognized as a secret agent of 
 Lord Howe s. He belonged to a society of 
 Friends, who, while loyal to the king, were pas 
 sive as far as any public observation might de-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 55 
 
 termine. Through General Stirling she had 
 learned of this man s position, he being stationed 
 at one of the city entrances to point out obnox 
 ious persons coming in from the country. 
 Having from the first an instinctive dislike of 
 him, she acknowledged his greeting coldly and 
 continued her way. 
 
 " Didst thou come alone, friend ? " asked the 
 Quaker, falling into step at her side. His 
 unctious voice grated on her. 
 
 " You have eyes," she answered shortly. 
 She remembered passing the entrance where 
 he was stationed several times when she had 
 been riding in the country with Armand. In 
 variably had the lad drawn his horse up to the 
 man s side, engaging in a little chat with him 
 while she had waited, taking no heed of the con 
 versation, although indulgent of her brother s 
 fancy. 
 
 The Quaker kept beside her. Both were 
 silent. 
 
 Suddenly Mademoiselle de Berny, grown 
 suspicious and irritated at the man s insistence, 
 turned and faced him. " Monsieur," she said, 
 standing still, "what is it you desire of me?" 
 Recalling the miller s statement that her brother 
 had been met by a Quaker, her suspicion found 
 vent before he could reply. " Where is my 
 brother ? You were seen with him yesterday." 
 
 " Hast thou missed him ? " he asked urbanely. 
 
 " You know well I have," she retorted hotly.
 
 56 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 "Where should I have seen thy brother?" 
 he asked. 
 
 His large and flabby face with its infantile 
 pinkness of skin was unchangeably bland. As 
 she met the cunning gaze of his small eyes, the 
 white lashes blinking continuously behind the 
 clumsy spectacles he wore, her dislike flamed 
 into anger. 
 
 " You wretched Quaker ! " she cried ; " you 
 wretched hypocrite ! If you know where my 
 brother is, and refuse to tell me, I swear you 
 shall be whipped out of town, if not strung up 
 by the thumbs ! " 
 
 He gave her a malevolent gaze but remained 
 silent. 
 
 She pointed down the road back of her. 
 " Go," she cried, " go, lest you repent it when 
 I return to Philadelphia. But, hark ye, Mon 
 sieur, and you have lied to me, your back shall 
 smart for it." 
 
 She moved on swiftly. When she had gone 
 some distance she glanced back and saw that he 
 was standing still watching her. She turned 
 and went on, fighting a nervous fear which 
 threatened to take possession of her. At last 
 where the road made a slight curve she seated 
 herself on the trunk of a fallen tree and waited. 
 But a little while had elapsed ere she saw from 
 her concealed position the Quaker peering down 
 the road, the light glancing on his spectacles as 
 he came stealthily towards her. A few moments
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 57 
 
 ago her heart had beaten hard with fear. But 
 as the danger one flees is greater than when one 
 turns and faces it, so now her fright faded. And 
 . so like some great gray cat creeping timorously 
 did the fellow seem, that she was seized with a 
 desire well-nigh irresistible to laugh. 
 
 " Many a true word is spoken in jest," she 
 murmured, shaking her pretty head in keen 
 amusement ; " but little did I think, Rachel 
 Mott, when I sent you word by the miller 
 that I was fallen into the clutches of the Evil 
 One, .that he should prove of your sect and wear 
 your colors ! " 
 
 She allowed the Quaker to pass a little way 
 by her before she made known her presence. 
 
 " Methinks you mistook me, Friend Broad 
 brim," she called after him cheerily; "did I not 
 say the other direction?" illustrating her sen 
 tence by an airy wave of her hand. 
 
 She sat laughing at his discomfiture while he 
 strove to maintain his habitual meekness of 
 expression. Where he stood the sides of the 
 road diverged widely, and in the centre of the 
 broad space thus made stood an ancient and 
 gnarled apple tree with low spreading branches. 
 It was late in blossoming, and showed but 
 scant promise of fruit in its tight red buds, as 
 if its sap partook of the quality of the frozen 
 and reluctant blood of old age. One branch 
 stretched out across the road like a menacing 
 arm, held over the Quaker and the young girl.
 
 58 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 Some curious fancy communicated itself to 
 Mademoiselle de Berny, and she moved along 
 the log on which she was seated, out from the 
 shade into the sunlight. 
 
 " Monsieur," she said, pointing upwards, 
 " that branch hangs like a gallows limb above 
 you." 
 
 He shook his forefinger menacingly at her. 
 " The Lord rebuketh them who suspect others 
 of evil. I, beholding thee alone, on a road 
 frequented by ungodly men, did feel that 
 the Lord appointed me a shepherd for one 
 of his lambs and so did follow thee, receiving 
 thy ill-will with meekness, for is it not bidden 
 us that if we are smitten on one cheek to turn 
 the other ?" 
 
 " There are wolves as well as shepherds to 
 be met with," she said ; " and the silly lamb 
 must look well else he might be deceived by 
 the wolf in sheep s clothing " 
 
 " Snares and pitfalls are before the feet of 
 the ungodly," he interrupted. 
 
 " Twere right good wisdom then that you 
 save your soul and follow not in my path," she 
 retorted. " I warned you once, Monsieur. 
 Now you had better turn and go, unless you 
 can tell me aught of my brother." 
 
 " Twas but for a short while that I saw 
 him," he admitted sullenly. 
 
 " Oh," she cried eagerly with an imploring 
 gesture, " you saw him ? "
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 59 
 
 ." Yea, he was on his way to the rebels 
 camp, whither he had a friend he told me," 
 answered the Quaker. 
 
 " Did he reach there ? " she asked. 
 
 " Nay, I cannot answer thy every question. 
 Can I tell thee how every blade of grass bends," 
 he answered, " how should I know thy brother s 
 every step, whether he falleth into the river or 
 reacheth the rebels safely ? " 
 
 " Monsieur," said the girl sternly, " I like 
 not your manner. It savors of an impertinence 
 for which I have no liking. Be careful lest 
 you vex me too far, and your thumbs get 
 stretched for it. Have you aught to eat with 
 
 5 
 
 you r 
 
 Sullenly he drew from his pocket some bread 
 and cheese and laid it in her lap. 
 
 " I would not be of too great fastidiousness," 
 she said, undoing the paper in which the food 
 was wrapped, and turning the bread over 
 lightly with one ringer ; " yet, by my faith, 
 Friend Broadbrim, my conscience is more 
 dainty than my stomach and cannot digest this 
 unblest bread. Yet will I say grace before 
 meat." 
 
 " Thou idolatrous Papist woman," cried the 
 Quaker, recoiling as she made the sign of the 
 cross. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny, beginning to eat the 
 bread and cheese with relish, paused to laugh 
 merrily as he turned and walked back in the
 
 60 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 direction from which he had come. " Hasten," 
 she called, " hasten, good friend Broadbrim, 
 meek servant of the Lord, hasten as if the 
 devil were at thy heels ! " 
 
 He paused a moment and looked back, see 
 ing her not only as she appeared then, but with 
 a vision in his mind of her disdainful airs in 
 Philadelphia. He recalled the crimson cloak 
 she had been in the habit of wearing, and which 
 whenever he had seen it was like unto a banner 
 of the Romish church flaunting in the Quaker 
 city. He shook his finger at her, his hand 
 trembling in his wrath. 
 
 " Yea, so would I quicken my steps, thou 
 idle Papist Frenchwoman," he spoke sourly, 
 " for doth not the Good Book bid us flee the 
 Scarlet Woman ? " 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny finished her lunch 
 eon, putting what remained of the bread in 
 her pocket in case of further need. Her 
 countenance still showed traces of her sobbing 
 in the forest, but her nature, spontaneously 
 hopeful and happy, reasserted itself in strong 
 reaction of past grief. 
 
 For several miles she pressed on resolutely. 
 But the Quaker s words had left their sting in 
 her heart, and at last she no longer felt confi 
 dent that Armand had reached Valley Forge 
 safely. Her anxiety returned, increased ten 
 fold. Where she passed a thick copse, she 
 would stop, and parting the branches look
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 61 
 
 fearfully in, her intense nervousness rilling her 
 with dread lest she should see his dead body. 
 Often pausing, she would call his name over 
 and over again. But in reply there was but 
 the echo of her anguished voice. Utterly ex 
 hausted at last, she seated herself on the 
 ground beneath a tree at some distance off 
 the road. She rested her head against the 
 trunk, her eyes closing wearily. The mur 
 mur of the river sounded dreamily near. Now, 
 it was Armand s voice, his dear voice beseech 
 ing her not to be troubled. Her tired frame 
 relaxed, her lids quivering slightly. She drew 
 a long, sighing breath, her head drooping on 
 her breast. She was asleep. Had the party 
 of Queen s Rangers, headed by General Stir 
 ling and the officer she had encountered that 
 morning, but glanced aside at that particular 
 point as they galloped down the road, they 
 would have discovered the object of their 
 search. But they passed, and returned within 
 an hour, unconscious as she of their nearness. 
 It was well on in the afternoon when Mad 
 emoiselle de Berny awakened, startled as she 
 glanced at the sun which hung low in the west 
 to see how long she had slept. She arose 
 dazedly in her half-roused consciousness, lean 
 ing against the tree with one hand, her brows 
 drawn together frowningly, as she strove to 
 collect her faculties. As she stood thus, a 
 party of light horse swung around a turn of
 
 62 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 the road a flash of blue amidst a cloud of 
 dust. From her position she but caught 
 a glimpse of them, and she hastened forward 
 to intercept the riders, reaching the road at a 
 point but slightly in advance of the horsemen, 
 whose uniforms of buflf and blue proved them 
 to be of the Continental Army. The officer, 
 a young fellow of about twenty, drew up his 
 horse to inquire of the young girl if she had 
 passed a party of British cavalry, who had 
 been reported to have approached the Ameri 
 can line that afternoon. His accent, although 
 he spoke in English, proclaimed him a French 
 man. In removing his cocked hat to address 
 her, he revealed a high receding forehead, from 
 which the red hair was brushed back and 
 braided in a long queue, looped up, and tied 
 with a ribbon. His sharp, bright face, attrac 
 tive despite its insignificant features and pro 
 truding hazel eyes, no less than his French 
 accent in her ears, homesick for the sound of 
 her native language, inspired confidence. In 
 another moment she was relating rapidly to him 
 in French, with many excitable gestures, her 
 brother s disappearance, her subsequent follow 
 ing him, that the British seen had doubtless 
 been a searching party for her. To her great 
 relief she learned that her brother had reached 
 the American encampment safely in the after 
 noon of the preceding day. 
 
 " We will take you to him," said the officer.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 63 
 
 He dismounted, standing a moment and look 
 ing with evident hesitation down the road. 
 " I doubt if it be worth while to follow those 
 fellows further," he said, turning. " If you, 
 Mademoiselle," smiling, " were the object of 
 that expedition which ended in failure, my 
 heart stirs to something of sympathy for my 
 foe." He ordered one of his men to dismount, 
 remove his horse s saddle, and strap on a folded 
 blanket in its stead. He then assisted her to 
 mount. The soldier swung himself on a com 
 rade s horse back of the rider, seated sideways as 
 a woman and carrying the discarded saddle. 
 The road following the river wound through so 
 dense a forest that they seemed to be riding 
 in a green twilight. So low hung the branches 
 that they bowed their heads continually. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny s face regained color 
 and brightness, as a flower after rain, albeit she 
 was so wearied she could scarcely keep her 
 seat on the horse. She and the young officer 
 rode abreast in front of the men. The two 
 chatted gayly in their native language. The 
 young man s personality expressed the intense 
 organism and energy accorded the possessor 
 of like fiery hue of hair. For love of liberty, 
 he told his companion, he left his bride, the 
 gayety of the court ; ay, incurred the dis 
 pleasure of Louis, to go to America there to 
 enter the Continental Army as a volunteer, 
 although he had since been honored by pro-
 
 64 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 motion to the rank of Major General. He was 
 the Marquis de La Fayette. And the name of 
 Mademoiselle ? De Berny ? Ah, yes, he had 
 acquaintance with her uncle the Abbe de Berny. 
 He remembered that he had been one of the 
 few to side with His Majesty, and to pro 
 test against the recognition of America s need. 
 " But we are younger, Mademoiselle," con 
 tinued the young man ; " your uncle belong 
 ing to the old school of our nobility cannot 
 change easily those ideas in which he has been 
 born and bred. Yet, thank God, the younger 
 blood has triumphed, and doubtless my news 
 that Louis has at last acknowledged the inde 
 pendence of the colonies is old to your ears. 
 Twas less than a month ago that the winds 
 of heaven bore La Sensible to Falmouth har 
 bor, and a herald from our fair country stepped 
 upon the land to proclaim the alliance." 
 
 " An imposing alliance," said Mademoiselle 
 de Berny, " making France s policy an inter 
 national jest ! Louis signing a treaty with a 
 handful of a brother-monarch s subjects in 
 insurrection ! " 
 
 " This is no insurrection, Mademoiselle," 
 answered her companion with deep gravity, 
 " but a revolution, the sound of whose cannon 
 will reverberate in all Europe, where arbitrary 
 power weighs heavily on the people. The 
 liberty for which we are fighting inspires me 
 with an ardent enthusiasm. Ah, you smile,
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 65 
 
 Mademoiselle ! Are you unfriendly to the 
 Colonies ? And you a Frenchwoman ? " he 
 added in deep and visibly hurt reproach. 
 "Where is your love of liberty?" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders daintily, laugh 
 ing. " I am not a man," she said airily ; " can 
 I go to war ? Why should I concern myself 
 with these quarrelling English ? Because a 
 handful of Americans are in rebellion against 
 their king, should I concern myself, or weep, 
 perforce, that I, a woman, may not go to war? " 
 
 " I know one woman," he responded with a 
 marked sternness, seeming strange to his youth 
 and gentle manner, " who is, perhaps, even 
 younger than you. But her love of liberty 
 made her give her husband to this revolution, 
 putting in jeopardy that life dearer to her than 
 her own. Ah, but women do go to war! In 
 their husbands and lovers hearts the thought 
 of them abides as one with freedom. She of 
 whom I speak is a Frenchwoman. Were she 
 to hear you, her sister, express such sentiment 
 her cheek would redden with shame." 
 
 His companion made no reply. Silently 
 they rode along. La Fayette s eyes saw not 
 the clayey road, but instead the soft green 
 fields of sunny France, the vineyards sloping 
 to the river, the orchard blowing sweet in 
 blossom, the old gray wall of a chateau against 
 the blue sky. And she was there in that be 
 loved country, her constant thought a prayer
 
 66 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 for him. Could the young wife whose own 
 fair hands had buckled on his sword, bidding 
 his courage prove worthy of her love, have 
 seen him at that moment, doubtless he would 
 have appeared to her more a homesick boy 
 than a young General honored for his valor. 
 
 The party halted at the King of Prussia Tav 
 ern, an inn famous for its good cheer. Its sign 
 emblazoned by the figure of a warrior on horse 
 back, painted by Gilbert Stuart, hung creaking 
 in the breeze. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said La Fayette, his sensi 
 tive face once more serene, " I can permit you 
 to go no further without partaking of some re 
 freshment." He lifted her from the horse and 
 accompanied her inside. 
 
 The inn was typical of those of the period. 
 Along the front ran a verandah. At one end 
 was a bench with shining basins and homespun 
 towels hanging above on the lattice-work to dry, 
 for when a traveller arose in the morning he 
 washed his face not in his room but on the 
 piazza. At La Fayette s command, the inn 
 keeper, an old pipe-smoking German, carried 
 ale to the soldiers waiting outside. 
 
 " We have none such quaint inns in France, 
 Marquis," smiled the young girl, noting the 
 sanded floor, the great tub of water wherein 
 melons and cucumbers, pitchers of milk and 
 bottles of wine were set to cool. A rosy coun 
 try-maid, returning from the spring, paused to
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 67 
 
 jest with the soldiers. One stalwart fellow, he 
 who had resigned his horse to Mademoiselle de 
 Berny s service, leant over to drink from the 
 pitcher held up by a pair of round arms, wet 
 and glowing from the spring water. In his 
 haste to snatch a kiss after drinking, the soldier 
 tipped the pitcher over, to his own confusion 
 and the guffaws of his comrades, while the 
 drenched damsel made her way once more to 
 the spring. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny, sipping a cup of 
 coffee, laughed as she witnessed the scene 
 through the open door. The soldiers were a 
 hardy set of men, unshaven and shabbily 
 clothed. With the exception of the Marquis 
 de La Fayette, she noticed that none of the 
 party possessed complete uniforms. 
 
 " Womanlike you are criticising our dress, 
 Mademoiselle," said her companion, divining 
 her thought. " True, we are in a luckless 
 plight. Tis a joke amongst the officers that 
 when one is invited to dine at headquarters, he 
 must borrow his uniform a hat from this man, 
 a coat and a clean shirt from that, a decent pair 
 of boots from another. But yesterday an 
 officer appeared au grande parole^ attired in a 
 blanket, like an Indian chief," he added, laugh 
 ing heartily and with a boyish infectiousness. 
 " But let us hasten, if you have finished. I 
 fear a storm is rising." 
 
 The sun was setting, dimly obscured by an
 
 68 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 ominous vapor through which it shone like a 
 ball of fire. Heavy clouds were forming slowly 
 at the horizon, casting great purple shadows on 
 the green meadows. Not a leaf moved. The 
 songs of birds were hushed. In one corner of 
 a field some cattle had drawn closely together, 
 standing with lowered heads. The men also 
 became silent, as sharing the oppression of 
 nature before a storm. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny and General La Fay- 
 ette exchanged no words, each absorbed in 
 thought. 
 
 In the young girl s eyes was an expression 
 at once shy and defiant, as if she would fain 
 have turned and gone the other way despite 
 her desire to see her brother.
 
 Chapter V 
 
 ASCENDING a long, steep hill they 
 came suddenly upon Valley Forge. 
 
 Never had Mademoiselle de Berny 
 looked upon so desolate a scene. With the 
 fading of day, a raw and chilly breeze sprang 
 up. It rose cold and damp from the river 
 and blew sharp in their faces a cheerless 
 greeting. Between them and the encampment 
 the Schuylkill flowed, gray and turbulent, be 
 neath the rising storm. In the angle formed 
 by it and a little creek emptying into it from 
 the north lay a village, consisting of row upon 
 row of log huts. A small stone house near 
 the creek was pointed out to Mademoiselle by 
 the Marquis de La Fayette as the headquarters 
 of the army. Beyond the encampment, far as 
 the eye could reach, stretched a great barren 
 plain, sloping to a far hill-line. The ford, 
 which was very wide, was difficult in passing, 
 the river running so high that the water was 
 well above the horses knees. In the swift 
 current on the unsteady stones at the bottom, 
 the animals feet slipped constantly. La Fay 
 ette, guiding his own horse, held firmly with 
 his other hand Mademoiselle de Berny s bridle. 
 As the little party reached the other side, there 
 
 6 9
 
 70 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 was sounded the muffled yet shrill tones of the 
 tattoo for evening prayer. 
 
 " The service will be short," said La Fayette, 
 " and I think we will find it pleasanter to wait 
 until it is over than to attempt to make our 
 way through the ranks now. But let us move 
 nearer." 
 
 Never in her bright life had the young girl 
 imagined there existed such pale, desolate, and 
 ragged men as soldiers issued from the huts, 
 obeying the summons of the tattoo. The 
 chaplain mounted the stump, a meagre, bowed 
 figure in black, with thin white hair. Near 
 him was stationed a body of officers. The 
 entire army had an air of silent expectation. 
 Suddenly her roving glance was attracted toward 
 a man wrapped in a blue military cape advanc 
 ing through the soldiers, who parted with pro 
 found reverence. The newcomer towered head 
 and shoulders above the majority. As he 
 drew nearer, walking swiftly, bearing himself 
 with a dignity which possessed something of 
 an austere grandeur, she saw his countenance 
 plainly. He removed his hat as the chaplain 
 gave the opening prayer, revealing a dome 
 like head, the light brown hair, heavily sprin 
 kled with gray, tied with a black ribbon. The 
 face was massively cut and of unusual pallor, 
 the nose prominent, the mouth compressed, 
 the underlip and chin slightly protruding. 
 His glance dwelt momentarily on the young
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 71 
 
 girl, but she felt he had not even observed her 
 as she met the gaze of those shadowed eyes, 
 which seemed to look inward rather than afar. 
 
 The chaplain, raising his hand, the trem 
 bling and wrinkled hand of an old man, an 
 nounced the text : " They that take the sword 
 shall perish by the sword." 
 
 As a bell, though cracked, tolls none the 
 less surely for death, so the text uttered in the 
 high, quavering voice of old age, shrill above 
 the vague yet vast murmur of the crowd, 
 seemed like an unalterable proclamation of 
 fate. As the cracked bell, whose solemn mes 
 sage none might gainsay, so the feeble penetrat 
 ing voice uttered divine justice : " An eye for an 
 eye, a tooth for a tooth ! " As one would be 
 deaf to the death-knell, so with a like impulse 
 did Mademoiselle de Berny look away shud- 
 deringly from the speaker. Vainly her glance 
 swept the masses for her brother. Yet, re 
 gardless of her anxiety, she was half-fearful 
 lest she should see Richard Heyward. But 
 she saw no familiar face among these gaunt- 
 
 O O 
 
 bearded men, sunken cheeked and hollow 
 eyed. On some of the ragged coats were 
 pinned heart-shaped pieces of red flannel. 
 These bits of cloth were worn on the left 
 breast. This novel detail of the scene excited 
 Mademoiselle de Berny s curiosity, so that she 
 whispered to her companion. He answered 
 in a low tone for the service still continued
 
 72 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 that it was a decoration conferred by Gen 
 eral Washington on those soldiers who dis 
 tinguished themselves by bravery, privileging 
 the wearer to pass the camp guards as if he 
 were a commissioned officer. 
 
 "Ah, Mademoiselle," said the young French 
 man sadly, " there is a pathos in the simple 
 decoration which rends my heart, so humble 
 are the favors His Excellency can bestow. 
 With what repressed emotion have I seen him 
 pin on these badges! His great and generous 
 spirit is offended at the mean, poor token." 
 
 In the ranks nearest to the little party stood 
 a man whose tattered clothing failed to detract 
 from the dignity of his magnificent physique. 
 Suddenly he turned and Mademoiselle de 
 Berny saw the red badge on his breast. But 
 no intelligence was in his face, and she saw 
 that he was quite mad. Fascinated she stared 
 long at him, unmindful of the wild and mourn 
 ful gaze he in his turn bestowed upon her, 
 until at last she became conscious of it, and 
 looked away. This was what war meant, this 
 
 to suffer, to bear nakedness, hunger, and 
 cold, to leave wife and child, to go mad, per 
 haps, beneath the strain wearing as insignia 
 for valor no jewelled cross nor glittering star, 
 but a rude and ragged piece of cloth indicative 
 of the wearer s bravery, and the poverty of that 
 country for which he fought. All thought 
 of self, even her desire to see her brother,
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 73 
 
 faded as the mournfulness of the scene was 
 impressed upon her bright nature. On her 
 were cast the frequent glances of men, little 
 accustomed to the sight of a young and beauti 
 ful woman. One last shaft of light from the 
 departing day pierced the heavy clouds, and 
 fell upon her singling out her figure in the 
 multitude, and lighting up her appalled and 
 wondering face from which the hood of her 
 cloak had fallen back. 
 
 At the conclusion of the service, the officer 
 whom she had noticed came forward and 
 greeted her kindly. It was His Excellency, 
 General Washington. He listened attentively 
 to her explanation of her appearance at Valley 
 Forge. 
 
 " It will not be possible, considering certain 
 movements now on foot, for me to return you 
 and your brother at once to Philadelphia," he 
 said, " without exposing somewhat of my own 
 plans and with probable inconvenience, even 
 danger to you both on the road. But within a 
 few days I am confident I shall be able to do 
 so." In his expression appeared a gleam of 
 that quiet humor, which seldom seen in his 
 face was never forgotten by those who once 
 observed it. " My child," he continued, 
 " any papers found upon your brother s person 
 were delivered to me, and great was my amaze 
 ment to find that the letter your brother so 
 anxiously desired to return to Major Heyward
 
 74 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 proved no treasonable communication, but 
 seemed rather to investigate a field of which I 
 am ignorant, and which is presided over by a 
 much smaller but world-powerful general, who 
 conquers all hearts. My child," he added 
 smilingly and removing his hat with a profound 
 bow, " I beg your pardon inasmuch as I read 
 a letter intended for your eyes only, and think 
 ing that it would reach you most safely through 
 the writer, to him did I return your rightful 
 property." 
 
 But Mademoiselle de Berny made no reply. 
 The silken lashes of her down-cast eyes lay 
 upon her burning cheeks. When at last she 
 looked up His Excellency had departed, and 
 she caught a glimpse of his tall figure moving 
 rapidly through the ranks. She and the 
 Marquis de La Fayette and his orderly were 
 isolated figures. The cavalry which had ac 
 companied the young Frenchman on the after 
 noon s expedition had been dismissed by him, 
 and he now but waited until the troops should 
 have dispersed for supper before escorting his 
 fair country-woman to headquarters, where she 
 would be welcomed by the wife of His Excel 
 lency, who was then in camp. 
 
 " Monsieur," said the young girl, " I have 
 looked in all directions for my brother, but I 
 fail to see him." 
 
 But as she spoke she saw him emerge from 
 a group of soldiers some distance away. He
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 75 
 
 walked slowly in her direction, which was 
 opposite to that in which the encampment lay. 
 She would have spurred her horse to go to 
 meet him, or have dismounted and hastened 
 forward on foot, had not some intangible and 
 jarring impression made by his strange envi 
 ronment communicated itself to her so that the 
 warmth rising in her at their prospective greet 
 ing was suddenly chilled, and the eager words 
 died on her lips as she sat motionless watching 
 him approach her. At his side was the crazed 
 soldier she had observed some moments since, 
 and who had disappeared after a while from her 
 view. Beside his stalwart figure, Armand with 
 his slenderness and length of limb had a fawn- 
 like grace. The lad sauntered easily at his 
 companion s side, one hand resting on the hilt 
 of his father s sword, the other on the head 
 of the Great Dane. His fair head was un 
 covered and turned toward the soldier with 
 whom he was talking. The impression which 
 the first glimpse of her brother had given 
 Mademoiselle de Berny had caused her to feel 
 what seemed merely a physical chill, but now 
 as he drew nearer with his strange companion, 
 who nodded constantly with a foolish smile to 
 what was said, she put her hands against her 
 breast as if the cold had struck down to her 
 heart. Even La Fayette was unconsciously 
 made silent, and awaited developments curi 
 ously. The long grass at the feet of the three,
 
 76 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 the boy and soldier and hound walking abreast, 
 rippled like green waves in the breeze. Where 
 were they going at this hour, with a storm ris 
 ing ? Surely the boy, blind though he was, 
 knew where the encampment lay by the voices 
 of the men, the brisk stir and bustle of sound 
 as they prepared supper. The huts were 
 shrouded in gloom. But here and there newly 
 made fires leaped up redly. Only on the 
 green meadow sloping to the river the light of 
 day still lingered, and brought out the three 
 figures with a soft brilliancy. Behind and 
 above the huts the sky was black, but in the 
 east still remained a patch of blue. Suddenly 
 Armand flung back his head and laughed; the 
 sweet tones of his mirth reverberated faintly. 
 He thrust his arm through his companion s in 
 close comradeship. 
 
 " Monsieur," cried Mademoiselle de Berny 
 sharply to La Fayette, " that man is mad ! He 
 is mad, and do you see my brother does not 
 know it! " 
 
 Recognizing her voice, the Great Dane raised 
 its head barking excitedly. It bounded to her 
 side, leaped upon her, lapping her hands, then 
 left her and ran back to his master, then again 
 to her. The boy put out his hands grop 
 ingly. " What is it ? " he kept repeating. He 
 stood still turning his head from side to side 
 and with extended hands. As if some spell 
 enjoining silence had been broken Mademoi-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 77 
 
 selle de Berny called to him. Her companion, 
 divining her desire to go to him, dismounted 
 and assisted her to the ground, flinging the 
 reins to his orderly. 
 
 " See, Mademoiselle," he said, keeping at 
 her side, " your brother knew your voice. He 
 calls you." 
 
 But she, breaking into a little run in her 
 haste, did not reply. Another moment and 
 her arms were around her brother and she was 
 sobbing and laughing and uttering soft inarticu 
 late sounds of endearment. " Armand," she 
 said at last, " why did you go without telling 
 me?" 
 
 " Because I wished to," he answered crossly, 
 striving to release himself from her embrace. 
 
 As she looked at him in astonishment, she 
 saw there were tears of vexation in his eyes. 
 
 " Why did you come after me ? " he said ; 
 " I am no baby. I can take care of myself. 
 I will not be put in leading-strings. Look, 
 what will these soldiers think to see me with a 
 woman at my heels, as a child with its nurse ? " 
 He made a desperate, impassionated gesture 
 and burst into enraged weeping. " I will not 
 have you forever watching and following me, 
 Diane. My father did as he pleased, and I 
 will do so, too, or I will kill myself! I will kill 
 myself!" 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny s and La Fayette s 
 gaze met in sympathy. In. the mind of each
 
 78 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 was the same thought as the angry sobbing of 
 the lad smote their ears. Alas, that he should 
 be so defiant, who was indeed so very helpless ; 
 who rebelled at protection against the world, at 
 whose mercy he would be were none to guard 
 him ; who sought to command whereas he was 
 fated to inspire but pity ! 
 
 " Armand," said his sister very gently as she 
 comprehended his wounded pride, his vexation 
 and mortification, " I am sorry. I will do 
 whatever you wish, dear, and I will never fol 
 low you again if it vexes you. Shall I leave 
 you and return to Philadelphia ? " 
 
 He raised his head then, his face clear 
 ing and showing some gratification but more 
 obstinacy. 
 
 " Yes, you must go back, Diane," he said 
 importantly. "Then when I return " 
 
 The Marquis de La Fayette interrupted him 
 with some impatience, " Monsieur," he said, 
 " Mademoiselle, your sister, has been refused 
 permission by His Excellency to leave Valley 
 Forge for several days, owing to certain pro 
 spective movements." 
 
 " Very well," said the boy easily. He was 
 entirely pacified by his sister s gentleness. 
 " But you must not tell any one that you 
 came after me, Diane." 
 
 He shook off the hand of the insane soldier 
 who had drawn near and touched his shoulder, 
 seeking to attract his attention. " Go home,
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 79 
 
 fellow," he said, pointing toward the encamp 
 ment, " go home at once." The man compre 
 hended the words and gesture and moved off 
 quickly. 
 
 Great drops of rain were falling. Hurriedly 
 the young Frenchman assisted Mademoiselle 
 de Berny upon her horse and mounted his own 
 steed. Young Stirling swung himself up be 
 hind La Fayette. The three reached head 
 quarters just as the storm commenced in good 
 earnest. It proved one of those violent and 
 electrical tempests which occur in the spring of 
 the year. 
 
 But within the log cabin which General 
 Washington, owing to the smallness of the 
 house, had had built for a dining-room and 
 which adjoined the main building, there was 
 light and warmth, although in one corner of 
 the ceiling the rain forced an ingress and dripped 
 continuously. It was an oblong room with 
 lowering rafters, the cracks in the log walls 
 plastered with clay. Candles shone at intervals 
 down the table, which was of such length as to 
 necessitate being placed diagonally across the 
 floor. A fire burned merrily on the hearth, 
 casting grotesque shadows and reflecting redly 
 upon those seated near by. In the wavering 
 light the grim poverty of the room was strik 
 ingly manifested, and the faces surrounding the 
 board acquired a mysterious mellowness as the 
 faces of an old painting.
 
 8o Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 The food was meagre, the two tin dishes of 
 greens being supplemented by a hot and sub 
 stantial pie of wild pigeons, flocks of which 
 passed over the encampment in vast numbers, 
 flying so near the ground as to be killed with 
 clubs and poles. Massive silver goblets, such 
 as were used by the Marshals of France, re 
 flected the gleaming of the candles. Seated 
 next to Mademoiselle de Berny was her brother, 
 with whom since their meeting she had had no 
 further opportunity to converse. From time 
 to time her gaze rested anxiously upon him. 
 His soft hair was ill cared for, his ruffled shirt 
 was limp and spattered with mud. Between 
 their chairs crouched the Great Dane. Now 
 and then the lad fed the dog a bit of food, but 
 she noted that he himself ate little. 
 
 At the head of the table His Excellency s 
 wife, a portly, middle-aged woman, attired in a 
 russet gown with cap and kerchief of white 
 muslin, exercised a motherly supervision over 
 this military family. Beside her plate lay a 
 half-knit sock and a ball of gray yarn. Of 
 one officer she made inquiry regarding the price 
 of eggs and butter. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny, glancing at her time 
 piece bearing on its back a miniature of Marie 
 Antoinette, smiled. So this was Lady Wash 
 ington this good, unpretentious country 
 woman. Ah, had not she seen at the Little 
 Trianon a queen enact the role of country-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 woman, a royal dairy maid, a coquetry with labor ! 
 She recalled the charming and artificial garden 
 with its conventional designs, its flower-bor 
 dered walks, the tiny lake with its swans. She 
 saw again L Austrichine with her bright blue 
 eyes, her powdered hair dressed with plumes, 
 with patches of black plaster to emphasize the 
 fairness of her skin. The sparkling necklace 
 around the slim neck seemed to detach the 
 queenly head from the undignified figure in 
 shepherdess costume with a milking-stool under 
 one arm and with bits of butter and flour cling 
 ing to the royal fingers. Ah, the glamour of 
 those days when a shepherd s crook was a 
 sceptre, when a gay court betook itself to the 
 country to churn butter as a jest, to skim milk 
 as a diversion, to drive the cows to pasture as 
 the cream of pleasure ! She turned as her 
 neighbor, an elderly officer, Baron Von Steuben, 
 on whose broad breast glittered innumerable 
 medals won in the Prussian Army, addressed 
 her, deploring her lack of appetite and urging 
 another dish upon her. He had been devoting 
 himself to her with unceasing attention, putting 
 upon her plate the choicest bits of pigeon. 
 
 " I fear my plates which were once of tin, 
 Mademoiselle de Berny," said General Wash 
 ington, joining in the conversation, " are now 
 but little better than rusty iron, rather too 
 much worn for delicate stomachs ; still they 
 may yet serve in the busy and active move-
 
 82 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 ments of the campaign. To-morrow, I promise 
 you, you shall be served by something better 
 than this present fare. I have some droves of 
 fat cattle coming from New England which 
 should have been here to-day, but probably " 
 
 " I fear your fat cattle will make high living 
 for your enemy, your Excellency," interrupted 
 his guest. " I was near to being trampled 
 upon by them this morning, as they were driven 
 by the Queen s Rangers along the road to 
 Philadelphia." 
 
 Washington uttered a bitter exclamation. 
 " Did you see more than one drove, Mad 
 emoiselle ? " he asked. 
 
 " But one," she said ; " perhaps fifty or one 
 hundred head." 
 
 His face cleared. " There is still a chance 
 of saving the rest. I shall send a detachment 
 at once to guard the road. Near Frankfort, 
 you said ? " He gave an order to his secre 
 tary, and the officer rose and left the room. 
 
 " You must needs send a goodly number," 
 said Mademoiselle de Berny, remembering the 
 shabby Continental troops. " The British are 
 stout fellows, well uniformed and armed " 
 
 " Ah, my child," interrupted Washington, 
 laughing, " but your British don t fight ! The 
 ragged fellows are the boys for fighting ! " 
 
 " Eh, Mam selle," said Baron Von Steuben, 
 wagging his jovial head confidentially, " dey 
 fight, dese Americaines, for de love of de lib-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 83 
 
 erty ; but mein Gott, vot discipline ! I vork 
 in de field, but ils ne comprendent pas. Den 
 vot say I, mon ami Walker," he asked, turn 
 ing to his interpreter, a young and handsome 
 man, whose glances in Mademoiselle de Berny s 
 direction had been frequent. " I vill tell you 
 vot I call," continued the Baron, " I halt my 
 horse, I wave my hand. Viens, mon ami 
 Walker, I call, viens mon bon ami. Sacrebleu 
 Gott, verdame de gaucherie of dese badants ! 
 Je ne pius plus ! I can curse dem no more ! " 
 Amidst the general laughter and conversa 
 tion following, the dishes and cloth were re 
 moved from the table, with the exception of 
 the silver goblets. These were filled with 
 Madeira wine by Washington s body servant, 
 an old white-haired negro. Plates of hickory 
 nuts and apples were passed down the board. 
 Lady Washington shook her head in refusal 
 of the dessert. Her good and tireless hands 
 were busy knitting. She took little part in 
 the conversation, listening with a placid smile 
 to the sallies of the officers. His Excellency 
 was also silent in general, speaking when he 
 did so, in a low, almost constrained tone, but 
 listening with kindly attention when addressed. 
 His enormous hands, whose long and bony 
 fingers bespoke that love of detail so strongly 
 manifested in his actions, separated the empty 
 shells from those containing the kernels, into 
 two exact little piles. The other women,
 
 84 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 following Lady Washington s example, were 
 knitting. The young and beautiful wife of 
 Alexander Hamilton, Washington s secretary, 
 had placed a skein of the coarse yarn on Baron 
 Von Steuben s hands, and had drawn her chair 
 some distance back, that she might wind the 
 ball more readily. Mademoiselle de Berny, 
 her hand resting on her brother s shoulder, 
 was a stranger to the rude and simple festiv 
 ity. Her mouth quivered with subtle scorn. 
 Richard Heyward s position appeared in a bet 
 ter, if in a meaner and poorer, light as well. 
 Surely, she thought, her alien glance noting 
 the meagre room and shabby fare, his actions 
 must have ensued from some mistaken prin 
 ciple, and not from any glory he might win 
 allied to such poverty. Where was the pomp 
 and ceremony of war ? And his reward ? She 
 looked at Lady Washington. Doubtless this 
 kind and domestic woman presented him at 
 times with those labors of her hands, on which 
 she was so busily engaged at present. As she 
 turned her eyes away she met those of the 
 Marquis de La Fayette. He, guessing the 
 tenor of her thought, felt the blood rush to 
 his face. Then a very young and impulsive 
 man, possessing an ardent love for his own 
 country as well as for the new republic he 
 espoused, he was intensely mortified by the 
 attitude he intuitively felt was taken by his 
 country-woman. To his impetuous nature this
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 attitude on her part was as an insult from one 
 of his own blood to the General he worshipped 
 and to whom he was as a son, and of whose 
 hospitality both Mademoiselle de Berny and 
 himself were then in acceptance. 
 
 But her amusement deepened as she on her 
 part read aright the fiery glance of her awk 
 ward and red-haired young countryman, whose 
 high-flown virtue carried him to ridiculous ex 
 tremes. And a corresponding flash of oppo 
 sition came into her expression, as he arose 
 and proposed her health not only as an hon 
 ored guest at Valley Forge, but as a repre 
 sentative of France, the alliance of which with 
 the United States had been so recently made. 
 
 Young Stirling s voice rang out sharply. 
 " My father was killed in the King s Army." 
 He pushed his goblet away, the liquid splash 
 ing over. 
 
 There was a momentary silence. Then 
 Baron Von Steuben, whose interpreter had re 
 peated the remark to him, roared with laughter, 
 his fat sides shaking with merriment at the 
 lad s spirit. 
 
 " How falls it that this young girl is your 
 sister ? " inquired General Washington. 
 
 " She is my half-sister, your Excellency," an 
 swered young Stirling, turning his sightless 
 gaze upon the speaker. On either cheek 
 burned a spot of color. 
 
 The helpless, sensitive face touched his ques-
 
 86 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 tioner s great heart. " Then your sister only 
 claims our courtesy as hailing from France/ 
 he said ; " you, young sir, we must account a 
 prisoner-of-war." 
 
 " Yes," said the boy, nodding importantly, 
 his face illumined by pride, "yes, your Excel 
 lency, a prisoner-of-war." 
 
 " There are still those of my nation, among 
 whom I am one, your Excellency," said Mad 
 emoiselle de Berny, with a quick, defiant glance 
 at La Fayette, "who remember that these in 
 surgents who accept our aid to-day stood with 
 their present enemy twenty years ago against the 
 French regiments in America. And the leader 
 of those Provincials, General Washington ? " 
 
 A gleam of fire lighted Washington s cold 
 countenance. " You are a nation of good 
 fighters, Mademoiselle." He turned to his 
 wife. " I was a young man then, my dear 
 Patsy," he said, " a young man with warmer 
 blood than I have to-day." A rare smile was 
 on his face as his glance once more rested on 
 the young girl the indulgent smile maturity 
 accords its vanished youth. On memory s 
 wall a picture kept its grace somehow, the 
 bud of beauty which had borne no fruit, the 
 unrequited love of his youth. Had he not in 
 his disappointment and passion expressed his 
 sorrow in a poem ? 
 
 Oh, ye Gods, why should my poor resistless heart 
 Stand to oppose thy might and power,
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 87 
 
 At last surrender to Cupid s feathered dart, 
 And now lays bleeding every hour, 
 For her that s pitiless of my griefs and woes 
 And will not on me pity take ? 
 
 Truly, he thought, smiling, Providence had in 
 all prudence taken the pen from his hand and 
 given in place a sword. 
 
 "Youth is very distant, my dear Patsy," he 
 said, sighing ; " further than any stretch of 
 years, Mademoiselle," he added, turning to his 
 guest, "join us at least in pledging an honored 
 foe which has become a friend. You, a daugh 
 ter of France, we cannot esteem an enemy." 
 
 The Marquis de La Fayette lifted high his 
 silver goblet. " To France," he cried, his face 
 aglow, his eyes dwelling on his fair country 
 woman. " To France we will drink, Madem 
 oiselle, that our country may by the grace of 
 God enjoy all liberty which is compatible with 
 our monarchy, our position, and our customs." 
 
 The nobility in Mademoiselle de Berny s 
 character responded to the generous and kindly 
 spirit of the little company. Her face softened, 
 her eyes were full of a shamed yet half-defiant 
 pride as her slender fingers tightened around 
 the stem of the goblet. 
 
 " Ah, Messieurs," she protested, " you force 
 me to become your friend." 
 
 Amidst the sturdy applause and laughter, 
 she and the young Marquis touched their 
 glasses to the toast.
 
 Chapter VI 
 
 THE heavy storm which had arisen that 
 evening died down toward nine o clock 
 into a slight but stinging rain, blown by 
 a strong wind. At a rude pine table in one of 
 the log huts of the encampment a young man 
 sat writing by the light of a fire blazing on the 
 hearth. With the exception of the table and 
 the chair, there was no other furniture save 
 two beds opposite each other, made of straw 
 on boards and covered by blankets. In the 
 clay, plastering the cracks in the log walls, 
 were driven several pegs ; on one hung 
 an army cape, the scarlet lining of which 
 showed where one corner had been tossed 
 back. On another peg was a cocked hat, the 
 light glinting on the gold cord around its 
 crown. The wind blew open the door made 
 of split oak slabs. The gust of air whirled 
 the sheets of paper off the table in a mad 
 skurry around the room. With an impatient 
 exclamation the lonely inmate rose, and shoved 
 the door to with his foot. The sullen sound 
 of the storm vexed him, and he felt unstrung 
 and nervous as he collected the scattered 
 papers. He rescued a piece from the fire. 
 As he blew out the flame of one burning cor-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 89 
 
 ner, he saw the door again pushed open, this 
 time slowly, as by one whose hands were weak 
 against the heavy oak. A second more and 
 the Great Dane entered, tugging at his chain, 
 almost dragging his slender master in. The 
 boy was wet with rain, his face glowing from 
 buffeting with the storm. 
 
 " Here is Diane," he said, leaning against 
 the door to hold it open. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny, well-nigh blown in, 
 blinded by the sudden light and the loosened 
 tresses of her hair flying across her eyes, did 
 not at first recognize the owner of the hut 
 which she entered. When she did so, she 
 retreated to the door. 
 
 " You did not tell me you were staying with 
 Monsieur Heyward, Armand," she said, and 
 her voice rang sharply. 
 
 Baron Von Steuben, who with his inter 
 preter had accompanied the young girl at her 
 request to see her brother s lodgings, followed 
 young Stirling and the hound over to the fire. 
 He held his hands to the blaze, the steam soon 
 rising from his wet garments. He spoke to 
 Mademoiselle de Berny, advising her to draw 
 nearer the fire. 
 
 But she ignored his solicitous regard. " You 
 did not tell me, Armand," she repeated 
 stormily. 
 
 " In a second, Diane," he called, kneeling at 
 his dog s side and unfastening the chain at-
 
 90 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 tached to its collar. " Be still, you clumsy 
 rascal ! " He attempted to strike the dog, but 
 slipped and fell on his side. "What was it 
 you said, Diane?" he laughed, as the huge 
 animal stood over him, its paws on his breast. 
 He made a sudden grab at the hound s neck, 
 and the two rolled over and over on the floor. 
 
 " Will you not go nearer the fire ? " asked 
 Heyward, addressing Mademoiselle de Berny. 
 His face was pale, and he was visibly embar 
 rassed. But she, struggling to control a cor 
 responding embarrassment in herself, neither 
 replied to nor looked at him, keeping her gaze 
 fixed stormily on her brother as he wrestled 
 with his dog. The rain glistened on the fine 
 curls which had escaped from beneath her 
 hood. Her hands held her cloak together 
 with a nervous tightness. Both she and her host 
 were instinctively conscious of an effort on the 
 part of each other to carry off conventionally, 
 in appearance at least, a position so delicate 
 and at such a tension as to bear not the slight 
 est touch. The unfortunate misunderstanding 
 which had arisen during the period of court 
 ship, and before any confession of their mutual 
 love had been made, left them stranded, hope 
 less to meet each other with the frankness of 
 friendship, and lacking the assurance of ac 
 knowledged lovers. 
 
 Lieutenant Walker, holding his hat, and 
 leaning against the low wall, he himself so tall
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 91 
 
 that his blond head nearly touched the ceiling, 
 was looking admiringly at the young girl. 
 " Mademoiselle de Berny is a veritable water- 
 witch, Heyward," he said ; " her spirits rose 
 high as the wind itself, till I thought she 
 would fly away with it, and she must needs 
 walk with her face set to the teeth of the gale. 
 Yet I verily believe her cloak is not even 
 damp." 
 
 " Ah, but it is," she said quickly, " and you, 
 Monsieur, may hold it to dry, if you please." 
 
 The young man laughed and laid his hat on 
 the table. Then he lifted the garment from her 
 shoulders. So large was the cloak that he 
 could hold up with ease but one portion at a 
 time. He walked toward the fire, limping 
 slightly from a wound in his left leg which 
 had healed badly. 
 
 " See here, Baron Von Steuben," he said, 
 " suppose you take a hand in this and lift 
 the other side." 
 
 Heyward s sombre face lighted momentarily 
 with amusement as he watched the two men 
 blistering before the fire. Then he turned to 
 Mademoiselle de Berny. She had drawn nearer 
 the door. In the great square shadow flung by 
 the cloak her face lost all color. Could he but 
 have known it, her next sentence was the cry of 
 her wounded heart to him. Her world had 
 been suddenly turned around and the founda 
 tion on which she stood was proving unsure.
 
 91 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 For Mademoiselle de Berny had come to Valley 
 Forge with perfect self-assurance, secure in her 
 conviction that as surely as she was in the right 
 so was Richard Heyward in the wrong, lacking 
 not only honor as a soldier, but gallantry as a 
 man in leaving her without an explanation. 
 But this last conclusion was altered by the fact 
 of his having written to her, although the letter 
 had miscarried, and, moreover, it needed merely 
 a glance at his troubled countenance to convince 
 her of his love, and that only the desperate need 
 of escaping arrest had made him leave Philadel 
 phia as he did. Now her vantage ground as 
 the accuser was swept from beneath her feet. 
 She, not looking at him, yet felt that in his 
 gaze was wonder at her appearance at Valley 
 Forge and some reproach that she had not 
 waited to hear from him. Her heart sickened 
 with shame and humiliation as she saw herself 
 in the position of a woman seeking and not 
 contented to be sought. The restless desire to 
 see him again, which had, to a certain extent, 
 actuated tier in going in search of her brother 
 and which she had refused to admit, now forced 
 itself upon her, refusing longer to be ignored. 
 She forgot her brother. Things were reduced 
 to one aspect. She had followed Heyward to 
 the encampment. She forced herself to look 
 at him and saw the perplexed surprise with which 
 he regarded her. Her pale face crimsoned. 
 The brightness of her eyes was very near to tears.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 93 
 
 " So you escaped, Monsieur," she said with 
 ominous softness ; " I perceive you are very 
 wise. The quality you possess is, I have heard, 
 the better part of valor. You have lived, shall 
 I say, to fight another day ? " 
 
 His face, sensitive and impassioned, quivered. 
 She saw that he strove to answer, but the words 
 choked him. She glanced at the other occu 
 pants of the hut. Her brother had flung him 
 self on one of the low beds and lay with his 
 arms around his dog and with the animal s paws 
 around his neck. The two men now held the 
 cloak up by the sleeves, and it looked like some 
 dancing headless figure between them. 
 
 " You left Philadelphia unceremoniously," 
 she continued ; " but your fear as regarded me 
 was unnecessary. I told you I should say 
 naught. Yet twas doubtless natural that your 
 opinion of my integrity should be colored by 
 your knowledge of yourself." 
 
 " To my certain knowledge," he said coldly, 
 turning so as to face her directly, " no one in 
 Philadelphia knew of my position there except 
 yourself. Still within a few hours after our 
 conversation the British were made acquainted 
 with the fact." 
 
 " Doubtless the walls had ears, Monsieur," 
 she retorted icily. 
 
 He looked away. " I beg your pardon," 
 he said dully ; " it was only that I could not 
 understand how they procured information. I
 
 94 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 did not really believe you had betrayed me. 
 I thought of our past friendship. It did not 
 seem possible. It was I men expect much 
 from women not that they have the right, 
 but " 
 
 " Women also have their ideals," she an 
 swered. She raised her voice to address Baron 
 Von Steuben in regard to her cloak. 
 
 "In von second, Mam selle," he replied, 
 turning a red and perspiring face towards her, 
 " but von leettle second more and it vill be dry." 
 
 " But one little second more, Mademoiselle," 
 echoed Lieutenant Walker, " and we shall melt 
 away. Your cloak will be no fit. I swear tis 
 warping with the heat ! " 
 
 Hey ward laughed a mirthless laugh, in which 
 his nervousness, strung to a high tension, found 
 expression. Glancing at his companion, he be 
 came conscious of the fact that she had been 
 standing so near the half-open door that the 
 rain beat in upon her shoulders. 
 
 " Will you not go nearer the fire ? " he said 
 gently, " the hospitality I can offer you is poor, 
 but it is at your service." He reached behind 
 her and closed the door, shutting out the storm. 
 
 She moved slightly further into the interior 
 and leant against the wall. The extreme gentle 
 ness of his tone and manner, his harassed and 
 pained countenance, his total lack of compre 
 hension that her bitter words were in reality 
 wrung from humiliation on her part, caused the
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 95 
 
 tears to rush to her eyes so that she closed 
 them, turning her head away against the wall. 
 Her nature, naturally generous, was outraged 
 by the ungenerous words to which she had given 
 utterance. Each taunt she had levelled at him 
 had rebounded to accentuate her pain. Hu 
 miliated though she was by the fact of her 
 having come to Valley Forge, that feeling was 
 slight compared to the mortification she now 
 experienced when he showed neither resent 
 ment nor anger, but pain and trouble at her 
 scorn. She moved nervously, her lips quiver 
 ing. " I am so tired," she said with deepen 
 ing shame at resorting to the plea of physical 
 weakness, knowing herself to be employing a 
 feminine subterfuge to maintain a lost ground 
 by reliance upon the gallantry of the masculine 
 nature. " I am so tired," she repeated, " I 
 would like to go to my room." 
 
 He saw she was white from exhaustion and 
 there were purple shadows under her eyes. 
 The vein along her cheek and temple, almost 
 imperceptible when she was well, now showed 
 plainly. He crossed the room to the fireplace. 
 " Let me have the cloak now, if you please, 
 Walker," he said ; " Mademoiselle de Berny is 
 very tired, and the sooner she gets out of the 
 rain and cold the better it will be for her, I am 
 sure. Perhaps you will speak to Lady Wash 
 ington and see that she has something hot to 
 drink," he added with anxiety.
 
 96 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 The young lieutenant refused to relinquish 
 the honor of himself wrapping the cloak around 
 Mademoiselle. " Tis as dry as a bone," he 
 said, buttoning it for her and kneeling down to 
 fasten the last buttons, secretly amused at the 
 jealous glance of his host. " I swear I shall mix 
 you the best toddy you ever tasted, Mademoi 
 selle," he said, rising ; " tis out of the Baron s 
 own flask," he laughed, " and mellow as the 
 sunlight on a harvest day." 
 
 She smiled, striving not to yield to an almost 
 overpowering weariness. She crossed the room 
 to her brother, who sat on one of the rude 
 beds stroking the hound s handsome head. " I 
 am going, Armand," she said, bending to kiss 
 him. " Sleep well, dear one," she murmured, 
 " sleep well," lingering a moment with her face 
 against his. He put his arm up around her 
 neck drawing her closely to him. 
 
 " Good night," he said happily ; " ah, Diane, 
 is it not fine to be here ? I m so glad you 
 came. It makes me laugh to think how sur 
 prised my father would be to know we were in 
 the enemy s camp." He released her and 
 bent his face to his dog s ear. " They d better 
 keep a sharp eye on us, Little Brother," he 
 whispered gayly. 
 
 As Mademoiselle de Berny rose, her depres 
 sion and lassitude were no longer apparent, held 
 in subjection by her intense pride. She bade 
 Heyward good night easily, as if he were some
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 97 
 
 chance acquaintance. He watched her as she 
 moved off with a light step, between General 
 Von Steuben and his secretary. Now the three 
 passed into shadow, then into alternate streams 
 of light from the partly open doors of the huts 
 on either side of the road. So she stepped 
 lightly into a future in which he had no part, 
 treading his love under foot as a thing un 
 worthy. How had the right for which he had 
 sacrificed all turned against him, making him 
 appear base in her eyes. Jealously he watched 
 the tall figure of the young secretary, moving 
 with his characteristic limp closely by her side, 
 his head bent in talking to her. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny, glancing back, saw 
 him still standing in the doorway. She felt the 
 desolation of the solitary figure. 
 
 " Major Heyward," called young Stirling 
 petulantly, from his position on the bed, " I 
 am hungry. Can we not have some biscuit 
 and toddy ? " He rose frowning. " I am so 
 hungry," he repeated crossly, " and I m sick. 
 I don t feel well. Go, tell Diane I want her." 
 
 "Yes, my boy," answered Heyward absently, 
 turning from his position with a heavy sigh. 
 He closed the door and bolted it for the night. 
 "You shall have something in a moment," he 
 said kindly, striving to speak cheerily. He 
 stirred the fire briskly, and put on the kettle 
 of water. When it had boiled he filled two 
 pewter mugs with the toddy and put them with
 
 98 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 some biscuits and a little fruit he had purchased 
 for his guest on the table. 
 
 " Draw up, Armand," he said cheerfully, 
 " and see if you will not feel better." 
 
 The boy ate hungrily, feeding his dog also 
 and allowing it to have some of the liquid 
 which the Great Dane swallowed with relish, 
 seated upright at its master s side, its intelligent 
 gaze observing his every motion. Heyward 
 neither ate nor drank anything, but sat with 
 one elbow on the table, his head resting on his 
 hand as he observed his companion. He was 
 alternately attracted and repelled by him. At 
 times he watched him hungrily, waiting until 
 young Stirling took some attitude in which his 
 own personality seemed lost, and he expressed 
 more his sister than himself. His laughter, 
 certain cadences of his voice, the turning of 
 his head, a gesture, recalled Mademoiselle de 
 Berny so vividly that there seemed revealed in 
 a sudden flash of light her own hidden self, as 
 if in some gay mood she had taken on the 
 masque of a boy. He had a curious dislike of 
 the fancy which mocked him by its lack of 
 reality, so that he felt hopeless and baffled as 
 one encountering conditions with which he is 
 powerless to deal. Armand, with the peculiar 
 sensitiveness of the blind, rose and went around 
 the table, standing by the young man s side. 
 He put out his hand. Heyward shivered 
 beneath the touch of those delicate fingers
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 99 
 
 which wandered over his face and hair. They 
 were like ghostly touches of Mademoiselle s 
 hands. 
 
 " Dear friend," said the lad pitifully, " what 
 troubles you ? " 
 
 The hound, catching the sad intonation of 
 his master s voice, raised his head and howled 
 mournfully. 
 
 Heyward laughed in grim amusement at this 
 last expression of sympathy with his gloomy 
 mood. " My dear little fellow," he said, catch 
 ing the lad to him, " my dear boy, it s time for 
 us to go to bed." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny had retired imme 
 diately to her room upon reaching headquar 
 ters. A colored woman brought her two lighted 
 candles, and a cup of hot tea Lady Washing 
 ton had prepared for her at the suggestion of 
 Lieutenant Walker. On almost any other 
 occasion the primitive simplicity of her room 
 could not have failed to delight the young girl. 
 But now her depression was so great that she 
 scarcely observed her surroundings, taking no 
 note of the white sanded floor, the high nar 
 row bed pushed up primly in one corner, and 
 draped with curtains of coarse linen, sweet and 
 clean and smelling of lavender, the pewter bowl 
 and pitcher on a shelf below a tiny cracked 
 mirror, the quaint motto and the samplers, 
 worked in varicolored yarns and framed. The 
 spotless neatness of the room, which alone
 
 ioo Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 seemed cold and bare, now became the pure 
 setting for her jewel-like presence. The place 
 lost its simplicity by the very richness of her 
 lace fichu flung on the end of the wash-stand, 
 the rosary of silver beads with its crucifix of 
 carved ivory, which she laid on the bed, to put 
 later under her pillow. Near the lace fichu on 
 the stand she laid her timepiece, her little heap 
 of rings, and her chatelaine. Over the chair 
 was her dress of shimmering brocaded silk, the 
 color of a primrose. The edge of the skirt 
 was stained and wet, the bodice retained the 
 gracious lines of her figure, as outer petals 
 fallen from a rose still hold the curve of the 
 bud they clothed. She snuffed out one of 
 the candles, and lay in bed watching the other 
 one burn, with mournful eyes. She had pushed 
 back the bed-curtains in order that the air 
 might be freer. Physically, she was so weary 
 that after her frame had once relaxed she could 
 scarcely move or lift her hands from the cov 
 erlid. Despite her desire to think over the 
 events of the long day, her eyelids closed 
 wearily in profound slumber. 
 
 Several hours later she awakened uneasily. 
 As she opened her eyes, the candle burning 
 low sputtered into a blue flame and went out. 
 She had the sensation of one striving to breathe 
 freely and throw off the suffocating impression 
 of an evil dream. Raising herself in bed she 
 looked around her fearfully. The darkness
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 101 
 
 developed into a real and threatening terror. 
 The cold sweat broke out over her. Instinc 
 tively, unconscious of any motive prompting 
 the motion, she rose with slow and deliberate 
 movements as if in a trance, and crossed to 
 the one casement in her room and swung it 
 open. It had ceased raining and grown warmer. 
 A soft, sweet air was blowing. Through the 
 breaking clouds the full moon appeared high 
 in the heavens. In the misty silver light the 
 form of a sentinel pacing the hill-line seemed 
 of unnatural height. The chain of watch-fires 
 burned redly. The air blew her hair around 
 her face, which in her indefinable dread had 
 acquired that pallor of the flesh more intensely 
 colorless than the whiteness any inanimate ob 
 ject might possess. With one hand she held 
 her night-robe together at her throat. The 
 garment lent her by the Quaker housekeeper 
 fell in straight, voluminous folds. Her other 
 hand and arm were stretched forth to keep 
 open the casement, which swung to and fro 
 easily at the slightest wind. Her pained and 
 abstracted gaze was fixed in one direction. 
 She was dimly conscious that an instinct 
 stronger than reason bade her wait. Her 
 heart, which at first had beaten violently and 
 irregularly, relapsed into slow throbbing. At 
 last that for which she waited came to pass. 
 A moan escaped her as she saw emerge from 
 the black shadow of some distant woods a
 
 IO2 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 figure which moved swiftly across the moonlit 
 field, beyond the rows of huts, but inside the 
 line of the sentinel. She opened her lips to 
 call, but no sound came. The moon was 
 momentarily obscured by a cloud. When the 
 darkness lifted, the figure had disappeared. 
 That slender shadow-like form, led by the 
 semblance of a huge dog could it have 
 been her brother ? No, no ; twas but the 
 fancy of her restless mind, this ghostlike 
 vision. She leant far out of the window, strain 
 ing her eyes to see once more those shadowy 
 forms. But only the dark figure of the 
 sentinel regularly pacing his beat met her 
 gaze. 
 
 A premonition of evil weighed suffocatingly 
 upon her. She knelt by the little bed in 
 which she had lain down contentedly but a 
 few short hours ago. She clasped the rosary 
 tightly to her breast, the sharp corners of the 
 cross bruising her tender flesh. 
 
 " Dear Mother of God," she whispered, 
 " Our Blessed Lady, intercede with thy dear 
 Son for me, that He may remember my 
 brother s blindness, and let him not meet mis 
 fortune nor trouble." Sobbingly, she repeated 
 one of the convent prayers. " I compassion 
 ate thee, Sorrowing Mary, for the terrors felt 
 by thy anxious heart when thou didst lose 
 thy dear son Jesus. Dear Mother, by thy 
 heart, then so agitated, intercede for me.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 103 
 
 Obtain for me the virtue of patience and the 
 gift of fortitude. Amen." 
 
 Even as Mademoiselle de Berny knelt weep 
 ing, Heyward, in his hut not far distant, was 
 awakened sharply from the uneasy sleep into 
 which he had fallen after much troubled 
 thought by the knocking over of the table, 
 which fell against his bed. He sprang to his 
 feet and grasped the intruder. By the light 
 of the dying fire, despite the moonlit air 
 of the bright night, pouring in the open 
 door, he recognized Armand. As in his as 
 tonishment his grasp relaxed, the boy drew 
 away and flung himself heavily on his bed. 
 Heyward closed the door and prodded the 
 fire, piling on some light wood, which blazed 
 merrily, reflecting its dancing lights in the 
 stream of water which was drippiag from the 
 boy s clothing. He was fully dressed, and 
 must have been out a long time, for the rain 
 had not ceased less than an hour ago. He 
 seemed to be in a somnambulistic condition, 
 as he lay on the bed with closed eyes, breathing 
 rapidly, one arm flung above his head, the other 
 outstretched with upturned palm, as beseech 
 ing something. But wherever he had been the 
 thing of the moment consisted not in question 
 ing him, but in removing his damp clothing. 
 
 " Armand," said Heyward, shaking him gen 
 tly, " wake up." 
 
 But the sleeper seemed insensible to sound
 
 IO4 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 or touch. Having now no doubt that the lad 
 was in a somnambulistic state, Heyward re 
 moved his wet clothing as speedily as possible, 
 gashing his left hand on the sword which hung 
 unsheathed at the sleeper s side. He wrapped 
 the boy in a dry blanket taken from his own 
 bed, and, raising the fragile form, forced some 
 brandy between the lips purple with cold. 
 Young Stirling half awakened, choking and 
 sputtering, then as he was allowed to lie down 
 again he turned over on his side and slept. 
 
 The young man, partially dressing, seated 
 himself on the bed beside the sleeper, moisten 
 ing the forehead and lips with brandy, chafing 
 the slender wrists and hands until they grew 
 warm again. Again he felt the old and un 
 conquerable jealousy of the lad s resemblance 
 to his sister. The hands he held so like hers, 
 yet not hers, the semblance lacking the spirit, 
 filled him with a repugnance curiously at war 
 with the genuine affection he had for the boy. 
 But her hands ! Ah, had he not thought to 
 lay his burning face against her cool and gen 
 tle hands, as one might kneel at the shrine 
 of his saint, with fevered brow and smarting 
 eyes pressed against the cold stone ! With an 
 effort he continued to rub the helpless hands, 
 now grown quite warm, looking steadfastly at 
 the beautiful face half-turned from him, leaving 
 most prominent the long, oval sweep of the 
 cheek and chin. The hound crouched near
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 105 
 
 his master s head, its bright and intelligent 
 eyes following the young man s movements. 
 Now and then it licked the sleeper s face and 
 hands. At last Heyward put the hands under 
 the blankets, which he drew well up over the 
 boy, and then sought his own bed and sat down 
 at its foot, gazing long into the fire with 
 troubled face. He was roused from his reverie 
 by his companion, who had risen, and, with his 
 hound at his heels, was moving around the 
 room as if in search of something. The blind 
 eyes were open, reflecting the firelight, as 
 Armand felt the clothes Heyward had spread 
 over the chair to dry. He knelt and examined 
 the floor. At last he hit against one of the 
 table legs, and rising passed his hand across the 
 top on which lay his sword. Satisfied, he 
 picked it up and sought his bed again. 
 
 Heyward s interest in his companion s move 
 ments subsided, absorbed in his deeper thought 
 and painful conjecture as by what means Mad 
 emoiselle de Berny had learned of his position 
 in Philadelphia. The fire cast its last flicker 
 ing lights upon his intent colorless face ; the 
 last log of wood sunk into ashes, the flames 
 dying and the crimson embers blackening 
 slowly. But the watcher remained heedless 
 of the dark as well as of the chill air coming 
 in by the door he had forgotten to fasten, and 
 which had blown open.
 
 Chapter VII 
 
 F I ^HE day following Heyward saw nothing 
 X whatever of Mademoiselle de Berny, 
 and almost as little of her brother, who 
 took his meals at headquarters, returning only 
 to spend the night in the cabin. The young 
 man deemed it wisest to refrain from mention 
 ing his guest s somnambulistic wanderings, as it 
 might serve no better purpose than to terrify 
 him and his sister. But he very prudently 
 fastened the door so securely that it would be 
 almost impossible for young Stirling to open 
 it without awakening him. Neither did Mad 
 emoiselle de Berny, on her part, mention the 
 circumstance which lingered hauntingly in her 
 thought, although she strove to put the ghostly 
 vision she had seen aside, as the disordered 
 fancy of a person but half-awake. On the 
 other hand, it might have been some new 
 escapade on Armand s part, which he would 
 make known to her in good time. Delicacy 
 held her from forcing his confidence. At least 
 he was safe and with her. She preferred to 
 put aside the disturbing element, with the in 
 stinctive desire to ignore that which seems 
 intangible and a vague prescience of evil when 
 no explanation offers itself. 
 
 106
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 107 
 
 But the question, other than the lad s mid 
 night wanderings, over which Hey ward brooded 
 constantly, trying to find some clue to Mad 
 emoiselle de Berny s recognition of his official 
 capacity in Philadelphia, was destined to be 
 solved for him by one of those curious and 
 unaccountable flashes of memory, which, sug 
 gested by a trifle, as a spark sets a train of 
 powder ablaze, will illumine what has hitherto 
 been impenetrably dark. Late in the after 
 noon of Mademoiselle de Berny s second day 
 in camp, he was returning from a visit to a 
 brother officer who lay ill in a nearby farm 
 house. He had come into camp again by a 
 roundabout way. Intending to make a short 
 cut through a belt of the forest which ran for 
 some distance along the creek back of head 
 quarters, he entered the bridle-path, walking 
 slowly with bent head, idly swinging his sword. 
 The shade of the woods was grateful to him, 
 for the brightness of the sun served but to 
 intensify the depression which weighed heavily 
 upon him. The beauty of the spring day, con 
 trasting with his sad thought of the sick man 
 he had just left, the keen joyousness of the 
 earth, heedless of one of her suffering children, 
 filled him with a profound melancholy. He 
 sighed heavily. As if in mockery of that sigh, 
 there came a faint strain of sprightly music. 
 He paused and listened. The greenness of 
 the woods was impenetrable, but the music
 
 io8 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 continued, elusive, gay, sometimes seeming 
 close, then distant unsympathetic, as in 
 laughing derision of pain it stung him as a 
 mocking word, rousing him irritably from his 
 apathetic and melancholy mood. With some 
 curiosity he turned, and parting the branches, 
 pressed forward in the direction of the sound. 
 He had proceeded but a few steps, however, 
 when the trees became scantier, and he caught 
 a flash of delicate old rose color. At last, 
 some distance away, the trees formed an arch 
 way, making a natural frame for the picture 
 which presented itself to his gaze. On the 
 further side of the interlacing branches, arching 
 green against the blue sky, there was a circle 
 of unbroken ground. Beyond this the woods 
 closed in again, but not so thickly, for glimpses 
 of the gray stone of the headquarters could be 
 seen. In the open space several people were 
 moving lightly in time to the music. The 
 golden sunlight, checkered in places by the 
 shadows of the leaves, cast its glorifying lustre 
 upon the careless and merry dancers. He recog 
 nized Mademoiselle de Berny in her primrose- 
 colored gown, her brother, General Von Steu- 
 ben and his secretary, Lieutenant Walker. 
 Also there were two young French officers, 
 who, learning that a country-woman of theirs 
 was in camp, had hastened to call. Evidently, 
 they had not found her at headquarters, and 
 had followed her whither she had gone for a
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 109 
 
 stroll. Their horses were tied to nearby trees. 
 An old negro, seated on the stump with his 
 fiddle, furnished the music. There was one 
 person needed to complete the set, but the 
 dancers made shift to change positions at the 
 proper time, and were no whit disconcerted. 
 Young Stirling and his dog formed one side 
 of the minuet. The great hound had been 
 carefully taught, and it threaded its way in 
 telligently among the dancers. His master 
 moved with an ease so remarkable that his 
 dancing seemed rather a spiritual than a mate 
 rial expression of the body. He had a fawn- 
 like grace, a joyousness of movement which 
 seemed a reflection of the buoyant spring sea 
 son. While Mademoiselle s face was essen 
 tially intellectual in its type of loveliness, his 
 possessed rather a wild-woods intelligence, the 
 alertness of a young forest creature ready to 
 spring away at human approach. He cast an 
 intoxicating spell over the solitary spectator, so 
 that he found it almost impossible to turn his 
 gaze upon her toward whom his thoughts ever 
 tended. Now, as Mademoiselle de Berny 
 passed alternately from beneath the flickering 
 shade of the trees into the open sunlight, she 
 too was not less a part of spring than any 
 flower, in her primrose gown the yellow 
 lace kerchief crossed over her breast and 
 tied around her slender waist, the miniature 
 pendent from a chain around her throat,
 
 no Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 her dark curls caught in a high knot on her 
 head. Like the jingle of tiny bells the femi 
 nine trifles hanging on silver chains from the 
 chatelaine she wore swung against each other, 
 a small, sweet, silvery sound, distinct when 
 the tones of the fiddle softened. Her partner 
 was Baron Von Steuben. Although the little 
 Prussian was skilled in the ceremonials of the 
 court as in the manreuvring of an army, yet 
 his grace was less apparent than his corpulency, 
 and his good, perspiring face more convincing 
 of his kindly heart than the gallant attentions 
 he showered upon the young girl attentions 
 which she accepted with so open and arch a 
 coquetry that, despite his disapproval, her 
 pretty airs brought a smile to her lover s face, 
 a smile infinitely tender in its amusement. 
 How little she realized the suffering and priva 
 tion and the bitterness which the great body of 
 soldiers in the encampment yonder bore un 
 complainingly. In France a queen played at 
 being shepherdess and dairymaid in the Little 
 Trianon, while a starving populace grew riot 
 ous outside her garden. Now a breath from 
 that same garden mingled with the free air of 
 this young country. 
 
 On the moss-covered ground the figures of 
 the dancers swayed and bowed to the minuet. 
 Absorbed in the rhythmic movements, they 
 did not observe the solitary spectator leaning 
 against a nearby tree, until one of the buckles
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny in 
 
 of Mademoiselle de Berny s shoes snapped and 
 flew some distance, falling at the young man s 
 feet. He picked it up and returned it to her 
 silently, bowing with profound gravity. But 
 despite his unmoved countenance, his heart 
 was throbbing tumultuously. For as Mademoi 
 selle de Berny received the buckle from him, 
 her attitude as she stood with one hand out 
 stretched, the other holding her gown, the design 
 of the trinket which he recognized and his 
 own action in returning it, all revealed to him 
 in an almost overwhelming flash of memory 
 the fact that he had met her previous to that 
 time which he had hitherto deemed his first 
 acquaintance with her. 
 
 The incident, interrupting the, dance, ended 
 it, bringing a sharp realization of the time of 
 day to Baron Von Steuben, who, bidding a 
 courtly if hasty adieu to his fair companion, 
 until he should rejoin her at the supper table, 
 hurried away to drill a regiment, his stout, 
 active figure ever a little in advance of his long- 
 legged secretary, who dragged his lame foot 
 lazily, and turned with a last wave of his hat to 
 Mademoiselle who had seated herself on a log. 
 One of the young Frenchmen knelt to fasten 
 her buckle again on her shoe. The other 
 officer brought her cloak, which she had re 
 moved during the dance, and put it around her. 
 Then bidding her farewell, he had gone to 
 untie the horses of himself and his companion.
 
 112 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny glanced at Heyward 
 who stood near. His eyes were fixed upon 
 her in a gaze that startled and embarrassed 
 her. She bent her head, directing her entire 
 attention to the young officer kneeling at 
 her feet. But Heyward had lost conscious 
 ness .of her presence. Once more he was in 
 France in the glittering ball-room at Versailles. 
 Again he saw the gay figure and blue eyes of 
 Marie Antoinette, the heavy face of Louis 
 Quinze, whose cold eyes reflected none of the 
 merriment around him, as they rested upon the 
 figure which was ever the centre of the brilliant 
 throng, a quaint and simply clad figure in black 
 velvet, with scant, gray locks, unpowdered, fall 
 ing to the shoulders around a spectacled and 
 benevolent countenance. 
 
 This printer of seventy, exchanging the quaint 
 gallantries of poor Richard with the court 
 beauties, was the idol of Paris. The face of 
 the hour vying in popularity with that of the 
 Queen, and which was to be seen on all snuff 
 boxes and trinkets, was that of the American 
 ambassador, Benjamin Franklin. Louis dull 
 eyes alone rested unfavorably upon this unpre 
 tentious person, as if there were dawning in his 
 slow mind the fact that for a king to assist the 
 subjects of another sovereign who were in 
 open rebellion, was setting a dangerous example 
 which might in time be turned against himself. 
 This envoy, representative of revolutionary
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 113 
 
 and republican sentiment in the New World, 
 was firing the young French nobility with 
 those ideas, leaving him, the sovereign, alone 
 in his resolution to maintain peace with Eng 
 land. 
 
 The young man recalling the intense anxiety 
 as to the strength of the King s opposition 
 which weighed upon the hearts of the patri 
 ots in Paris at that time, was not amazed that 
 the faces around him had made but dim impres 
 sion that night when the feeling toward the 
 Insurgents was nearing a crisis and the King s 
 disfavor became apparent even toward the 
 Queen consort who was foremost in feting 
 Franklin. But now did he recall an abbe, 
 thin, wrinkled, and of great height, with the 
 sharp glance of a wit and the manner of a 
 courtier. On his arm was his niece. Heyward 
 could recall her even less distinctly, retaining a 
 vague impression of having watched her dan 
 cing the minuet near him, as he leant against 
 the wall, engaged in conversation with her 
 uncle, striving not to let his anxiety as a patriot 
 become apparent to the subtle abbe, who 
 strongly advocated Louis policy to maintain 
 amicable relations with Great Britain. The 
 buckle of the young French girl s slipper had 
 snapped and fallen at the American s feet, who 
 had picked it up, and borrowing a knife had 
 tightened the spring, which was slightly sprung. 
 As he held it for her until she should have
 
 114 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 finished the dance, he had noted almost me 
 chanically the design of the trinket, which, 
 curiously, remained his most distinct impres 
 sion of the ball. One thing he recalled posi 
 tively the name of the abbe. Ah, fool that 
 he had been not to have recognized Madem 
 oiselle as the niece of the Abbe de Berny. 
 She, meeting him a year later in Philadelphia, 
 whither she had accompanied her step-father 
 and his son, must have recognized him as a 
 young Virginian who that winter had been 
 closely, although not openly, allied with Frank 
 lin at Versailles in the American cause. His 
 mission there had been a secret one under the 
 guise of travelling for study and recreation. 
 Protected by his family and friends, all stanch 
 loyalists and ignorant of his position, he had 
 been enabled, upon his return from abroad, to 
 spend the winter in Philadelphia engaged in 
 the secret service of Washington. 
 
 " Major Heyward," said the French officer, 
 " I regret that I must resign to you the honor 
 of fastening Mademoiselle s buckle. My fin 
 gers have proven all thumbs. You will par 
 don me, Mademoiselle," he continued, rising, 
 " if I leave you so unceremoniously, but my 
 division must appear at once au grande -parole. 
 I fear even now I am late." He bent and 
 kissed her hand. " Adieu, then, until this 
 evening, when I shall claim a dance at head 
 quarters should His Excellency s mood favor
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 115 
 
 any social diversion." He rejoined his com 
 panion who had already mounted. 
 
 Heyward watched them silently until their 
 horses, moving at a brisk canter, disappeared 
 from sight. Then he turned to Mademoiselle. 
 The two seemed alone, despite the fact of 
 young Stirling s presence. He had possessed 
 himself of the negro s fiddle and stood some 
 distance from them trying the strings. 
 
 " Listen, Diane," he cried, placing the fiddle 
 under his chin and drawing the bow across. 
 " Now, fellow," he added, addressing the old 
 negro, and seating himself on the ground, 
 " you may dance if you will, although it avails 
 me nothing, for I cannot see. Yet, wait ; you 
 may teach me a song of your people. Sit 
 down there, that I may feel you facing 
 me." 
 
 The glances of the two overhearing his 
 command met in a smile of mutual sympathy, 
 which, in its unconsciousness of self for the 
 moment, was full of spontaneity and under 
 standing. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said Heyward, seating him 
 self beside her on the log, " in Paris once I 
 had the pleasure of fixing this same buckle for 
 you." His dark eyes were full of warmth. 
 He drew forth his pocket-knife, and opening 
 it, proceeded to mend the trinket. " Just so 
 had the spring sprung before," he continued. 
 " I saw you then, yet such v/as the anxiety of
 
 n6 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 my mind at the time, that it was not until I 
 recognized the design that I remembered." 
 
 " To forget was not gallant, Monsieur," she 
 rejoined softly. She could control her voice 
 and expression so that they betrayed nothing 
 of the surprise his words were to her. But 
 she could not control the quickened heart 
 throb which sent the blood surging over her 
 face, and she turned her head from him. 
 
 For some time neither spoke. In the mind 
 of each was the same wonder, marvelling at 
 the quietude fallen upon them. In secret had 
 each held long and imaginary conversations 
 with the other ; in secret had each rehearsed 
 the explaining of bitter words had each for 
 given and been forgiven. And both had felt 
 a deep despair lest they might never have the 
 opportunity to right themselves. At last they 
 were together, alone and undisturbed. Yet 
 now they felt no need of words. Beyond the 
 little stream rippling freshly near them, the 
 meadow rose in long level stretches to a hill- 
 line merging purple and indistinct into the 
 paling sky. Along this hill-line passed a flock 
 of sheep and lambs driven by a boy and a 
 dog. In the yet further distance an orchard 
 in bloom made a soft and hazy mass of color. 
 It was a strangely peaceful and pastoral scene, 
 seemingly far remote, as of a different age in 
 a different land from the encampment, where 
 all was desolate ; where even the tender touch
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 117 
 
 of the spring might not heal the desolate 
 stumps, and where the bruised grass died be 
 neath the trampling of many feet on the hard 
 earth worn bare and red. The plaintive negro 
 melody Armand was singing sounded dreamily 
 afar. Heyward, forgetting to mend the buckle, 
 held it idly in his palm ; never should he for 
 get the design the medallion of a little weep 
 ing cupid set around with gold. But a sudden 
 dread of this strange quietude seized upon 
 Mademoiselle de Berny. 
 
 " It is cold," she said, shivering and moving 
 along the log to where the sunlight fell. " Has 
 not the breeze grown chilly ? " 
 
 Remembrance had blown like a cold breath 
 upon her love. She drew her cloak closely 
 around her. As if an entranced spell had 
 been broken, her companion s face lost the 
 dreamy and happy expression which had come 
 to it, and grew harassed. He felt the deep 
 and natural anxiety of a young man, confident 
 that his actions are guided by right principle; 
 yet knowing that the woman he worships con 
 demns him, is desirous of her good opinion 
 almost to the temptation of sacrificing his 
 integrity. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Berny," he said in a low 
 and troubled voice, " only a very urgent mes 
 sage which it was necessary for me to convey 
 at once to General Washington kept me from 
 bidding you farewell in person, but I had writ-
 
 n8 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 ten to you in explanation. It was not your 
 accusation at the coffee-house which caused 
 my flight," his face flushing darkly. "It was 
 necessary that I should go that afternoon, 
 even earlier would have benefited me, but I 
 could not miss that last opportunity of seeing 
 you. The letter I should have handed you 
 at parting would have explained much ; but 
 in my alarm lest your knowledge of my posi 
 tion might be general, and full of anxiety to 
 fulfil the commission intrusted to me, the let 
 ter was forgotten. Later I discovered my loss. 
 The letter was returned to me by your brother, 
 or rather, by General Washington, and I de 
 stroyed it. It may be for the best that you 
 never saw it, Mademoiselle, yet I do not be 
 lieve you would have judged me so harshly 
 had you seen it." 
 
 " Can t you understand," she cried, " how 
 I felt ? From the first of my meeting you 
 again in Philadelphia, I suspected your posi 
 tion. Yet I scarcely dared admit it to myself. 
 But that day, that day in the coffee-house! 
 To hear General Stirling answering you so 
 honestly, so sincerely, with no suspicion that 
 you did not meet him fairly. Was it nothing 
 to see you appear less manly than he ? But 
 it was not that which angered me so that I 
 betrayed my knowledge to you afterwards. It 
 was my horror to see Armand echo what you 
 said. He, too, to express such sentiments.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 119 
 
 The disgrace of it was torturing me. And my 
 uncle nodding to what you said, believing you 
 from the bottom of his heart, his heart inno 
 cent as a little child s in its lack of suspicion. 
 But it was above all Armand, Armand in his 
 ignorance and his ambition for fame, seeming 
 to echo only your words and drawing no dis 
 tinction between his father s brave death in an 
 open fight and the ignoble mission of a spy. 
 Monsieur, I felt I should die of my anger 
 with you, and when you let fall the cup of 
 tea ah, had you drank that toast, I should 
 never have forgiven you ! " She was silent 
 for a moment, exhausted by the intensity with 
 which she had spoken. Then suddenly she 
 put out both her hands to him. Her eyes 
 were wet with tears. " Ah, Monsieur," she 
 cried, " how should a soldier meet his enemy 
 save openly and with unsheathed sword and 
 with fair notice that he approached ! " 
 
 The appeal went to her listener s heart. 
 Any defence he could make would seem a 
 subterfuge. He bent and kissed her little 
 hands which he had taken in his. " Ah, dear 
 Mademoiselle," he said brokenly, "women 
 cannot understand war." 
 
 The softness of the previous moment left 
 her face. She drew her hands from his. 
 "No," she said bitterly, "I cannot under 
 stand. An honorable man may not win by 
 base means. Can one touch pitch ? I am not
 
 I2O Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 unjust, Monsieur, nay, to an extent I respect 
 your attitude, even have I found excuse, say 
 ing that in your veins ran a commoner blood, 
 better perhaps and more unselfish than in 
 mine, yet lacking that quality of pride which 
 would make some men refuse to profit by the 
 license of war." 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said patiently, betray 
 ing no hurt at her words, only a great anxiety 
 lest she should misunderstand him, " it is 
 doubtless a very fine thing to be cosmopolitan 
 and independent to the extent you admire. 
 But in time of war every man feels his depend 
 ence and also the dependence of others upon 
 him. Then is not the time for fine speeches 
 nor for fine gentlemen. Then a man s duty 
 is clearly and simply defined for him. He 
 must stand by the side he has chosen. No 
 longer is he an individual with individual 
 rights. He is but part of a great whole. His 
 sole obligation to society is to remain loyal to 
 his party. It is better then to have a com 
 moner blood than that of so fine a strain as 
 to render a gentleman of no more use than a 
 priest or a woman when his country demands 
 soldiers. Dear Mademoiselle," he added 
 gently, " sometime you will learn that com 
 mon-sense often proves to be more virtuous 
 than the selfish and obstinate holding to an 
 ideal." 
 
 He paused and awaited her reply. But she
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 121 
 
 made none, turning her head from him so that 
 he saw but the lustrous coils of her hair shad 
 owing one delicate ear and the outline of her 
 cheek and chin. She was, he felt, remote and 
 far from him. The only realities in life were 
 his sick friend, the movements on foot for the 
 next day, the dreary encampment, love was 
 failing him, but for comfort, his hand sought 
 the hilt of his sword and rested there. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny met his abstracted 
 glance in which he showed no consciousness of 
 her presence. 
 
 "Monsieur," she said, "Monsieur " and 
 when she had said that much she paused 
 dumbly, unwitting what to say. 
 
 He looked at her inquiringly. 
 
 " It was nothing," she said ; " I was think 
 ing of something else. I I scarcely knew 
 what I was saying." She looked away from 
 him. " I wish you would go away," she said. 
 " Why do you trouble me so ? I want you to 
 go away." Ashamed of her weakness, unable 
 to control the trembling of her lips, she would 
 not look at him nor say farewell when he rose 
 and left her. 
 
 The wind had grown chilly and the sunlight 
 had lost its gold. The stream ran dully at her 
 feet. Nervously she opened and shut the fan 
 which, with other feminine trinkets, hung from 
 the chatelaine around her waist, a Louis 
 Quatorze fan mounted on mother-of-pearl
 
 122 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 sticks, with a painting by Boucher of shepherd 
 esses blowing kisses to languishing swains 
 fit sceptre of a mincing and effeminate court 
 wielded by hands of favorites swaying the wills 
 of kings. This fragile creation, its perfume 
 breathing of court intrigue and unlicensed 
 amours, had no place in this young country, 
 on which was dawning the new republic. In 
 France, this same fan had been a thing of 
 power. Here it was a toy, to be used per 
 haps and cast aside ; to be blown away lightly 
 as a fallen leaf by the new sentiment which, 
 like the winds of heaven, swept across the 
 country, bringing new vigor and life. There 
 was no place for it in this New World, even the 
 best which it represented. The old-time ideal 
 of honor befitting a gentleman was scorned, 
 thought the girl, bitterly recalling Heyward s 
 words. What was she, save a light and fickle 
 scion of that Old World whose sentiments he 
 despised, whose society he flouted. He had 
 met her at Versailles, and forgotten. But she 
 had remembered. In her face burned a color 
 the fan might not cool. She rose and went 
 over to her brother. 
 
 "Come, Armand, it is growing late." She 
 put her arm around him. " Oh, let us go away, 
 my dear, my dear ; we will leave this America 
 and go back to France, Armand, our beauti 
 ful France ! " 
 
 But he pushed her away with the arm which
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 123 
 
 held the bow. " Listen, Diane! I have caught 
 the tune. And I shall never go back to 
 France. When you go there, I shall not be 
 with you."
 
 Chapter VIII 
 
 THE 1 8th of May is marked in the his 
 tory of Philadelphia, at the Revolution 
 ary period, as the date of the Mischianza. 
 At Valley Forge the day passed quietly in prep 
 aration for an expedition on the morrow to 
 Barren Hill. Through Major Hey ward, Gen 
 eral Washington had learned of the intention of 
 the British to shortly evacuate Philadelphia. 
 So uncertain, however, was the information 
 which the young man was able to give, as to the 
 near time of this movement, that Washington, 
 to be more exact, ordered the Marquis de La 
 Fayette, with two thousand strong, to cross 
 the Schuylkill and take a position near the city. 
 In Philadelphia, at the same time, the folly of 
 the British was hourly reaching its extreme. 
 Veterans of the army, mortified by the inaction 
 of Howe during the past winter, were doubly 
 chagrined by this exhibition of unlicensed vanity 
 and folly on the part of their commander and 
 those young officers whom his defeat should 
 have most humiliated. Had they not prophe 
 sied grimly that the loose discipline of the army 
 was doing more to weaken its power than any 
 battle yet, or to be, experienced? And among 
 these veterans whose choler had been most 
 
 1*4
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 125 
 
 apparent was General Stirling. His natural 
 irritation as a soldier at the condition of mili 
 tary affairs acquired an intensity of feeling from 
 the fact of his private and personal anxiety as 
 regarded the welfare of his nephew and Mad 
 emoiselle de Berny. True, he had news of 
 them which was, in its way, ample assurance of 
 their safety. But secretly he fretted much 
 lonely and irritable in their absence. A note, 
 written by Mademoiselle de Berny and duly 
 inspected by Washington, had been given to 
 a young lieutenant about to set out with his 
 men on a foraging expedition. As instructed, 
 the officer gave the letter to a farmer going 
 into town, and the countryman conveyed the 
 missive to General Stirling. The old soldier 
 re-read the note many times, shaking his head 
 dubiously as Mademoiselle de Berny explained 
 briefly her following Armand to Valley Forge, 
 taking much complacent and pleasant credit to 
 herself for the intuition which had guided her 
 so wisely, and speaking naught of any motive 
 which had inspired Armand to go to the 
 rebels camp beyond a spirit of adventure. 
 Richard Hey ward s name was not mentioned. 
 And with a last assurance that General Wash 
 ington, who was a kindly host, would return 
 herself and her brother to Philadelphia as soon 
 as it was expedient, and the journey could be 
 taken safely, she enclosed her very dutiful re 
 spect and love.
 
 126 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 "Ah, Diane," said the soldier, placing the 
 non-committal little note in his breast pocket, 
 " ye harry up my feelings sorely. Fain would 
 I be to clip your pretty wings, and send ye 
 back to France to stay until this war is over. 
 Though ye would naught confess it, my girl, 
 I fear me that that young rebel who served 
 us so neat a trick in slipping away has some 
 what to do with this journey. Back to France 
 ye go for this trick, Diane, though it tear my 
 heart-strings. But with one eye on the war, 
 the other of mine orbs is not enough to keep 
 guard o er ye, lest ye marry some worthless 
 scalawag who betrayeth his king." 
 
 At the great ball in the evening, General 
 Stirling was one of the few officers who ap 
 peared in full-dress uniform, wandering dis 
 consolately from corner to corner, satisfied only 
 in finding some old comrade who would listen 
 sympathetically to his contemptuous comments 
 on the fair ladies and knights swaying to the 
 stately measure of the minuet, with gay aban 
 donment to the pleasure of the moment and 
 scornful of any adverse criticism. The only 
 thing which had made the thought of the enter 
 tainment endurable to him was the pleasurable 
 anticipation it had afforded Mademoiselle de 
 Berny. He recalled the delight with which she 
 had shown him the gown to be worn upon this 
 occasion. Had she not refused to have any 
 knight but him ? In his secret heart the old
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 127 
 
 soldier had pictured himself with the lovely 
 and girlish figure at his side, slowly prome 
 nading the ball-room ; he, who was childless, 
 lavishing on her the pride and affection he 
 would bestow on a daughter, vain of her 
 accomplishments and beauty, whereas he would 
 have blushed at pra ise of his own valor and 
 prowess. It was this disappointment to his 
 loving pride, when like an over-foolish parent 
 he would have seen her first among those 
 Philistines he flouted, which hurt him sorely. 
 Curiously enough he had no feeling regarding 
 the fact of her leaving him, heedless of the 
 anxiety which would be his. A lonely and 
 middle-aged man, never having had wife or 
 
 O o 
 
 child, he had cherished in his heart a secret 
 ideal of his daughter the daughter who had 
 been his only in fancy until Mademoiselle de 
 Berny came to fill that sacred place, and re 
 ceive the tenderness of a pathetic love which 
 had heretofore found no outlet. He left the 
 ball-room at an early hour and went to his 
 quarters, veiling his loneliness under a masque 
 of surliness, which made his presence more to 
 be shunned than desired. Had not Diane s 
 absence made the day and evening doubly a 
 mockery and doubly distasteful to him ? 
 
 But the ball went on merrily, despite the 
 prediction of the gloomy old general and his 
 especial cronies seated smoking their pipes 
 under the starlit sky on the upper balcony
 
 128 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 of a stately Philadelphia!! home, while to their 
 unwilling ears came the sound of dance music. 
 The revellers laughter filled the soft spring 
 air, blowing sweet across what had once been 
 " Penn s faire greene countrie town," but was 
 now a captive city, filled by swaggering red 
 coats, with its stateliest hornes made the army 
 quarters, with Old World follies and vices run 
 ning riot, while gambling and drinking halls 
 flourished, and officers fought duels in this 
 city of the peace-loving Quakers. And as he 
 sat smoking his pipe grimly, General Stirling 
 fell to dreaming waking dreams. Soft as the 
 touch of a baby s hand on his warrior face his 
 hope of a home in old England with his 
 adopted children soothed his troubled mind. 
 Diane should have her heart s desire. Did 
 she want her lilies ? He would find her fields 
 of them wherein she might gather all she 
 would, he told himself, calling the lilies by 
 their sweet old English name of flower-de- 
 luce. 
 
 Since early morning had this day s fete con 
 tinued. Entitled the Mischianza^ an Italian 
 word signifying medley , it was without doubt 
 the most magnificent display of folly ever held 
 in America. Given in honor of the retiring 
 commander, Lord Howe, it seemed a proper 
 finish to the frivolities and sensualities of the 
 British in Philadelphia. During the day a re 
 gatta and mock tournament had been enacted,
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 129 
 
 and the participants continued to wear the cos 
 tumes of the tournament, appearing thus dressed 
 at the ball in the evening. But few uniforms 
 were to be seen, and they appeared strangely 
 incongruous in this assemblage. The knights 
 of the Blended Rose were dressed in white 
 and pink satin, with hats of pink silk and 
 white feathers. The knights of the Burning 
 Mountain were attired in black and orange. 
 Each knight had his squire bearing a shield 
 and spear. Of the women, all gayly attired in 
 the colors of their respective knights, none 
 were wives or sisters of the British officers. 
 They were American women, resident in Phil 
 adelphia, whose appearance at this ball drew 
 forth bitter condemnation from the Conti 
 nental Army and its sympathizers. So high 
 did this sentiment run that when the Ameri 
 cans regained possession of the city there was 
 a heated discussion as to whether these same 
 young women should be invited to attend the 
 Whig ball; but the gallantry of General Ar 
 nold, so soon to marry into a Tory family, 
 and, alas, to turn traitor, prevailed, and these 
 same fickle dames appeared in full force at 
 the later ball. For this memorable evening 
 of the Mischianza, the ball-room had long been 
 in preparation. The walls and ceilings, which 
 were blue panelled with gold, were adorned 
 with festoons of pink, crimson, and yellow 
 roses, which some young officers, under the
 
 130 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 direction of Major John Andre, had passed 
 hours in painting. Half-way up the walls 
 from the floor, sixty large mirrors reflected 
 the gay scene. Great branches of wax-lights 
 added a wonderful brilliancy. As some reck 
 less masque an abandonment of folly and 
 magnificence did this dance seem. Had the 
 officers lost all self-respect, that in time of war 
 and great distress they cast aside their uni 
 forms to attire themselves foppishly in satins 
 and feathers, forgetting their own wives and 
 sweethearts in the mother-country for these 
 pleasure -loving Whig ladies, passing over 
 lightly the grave rebuke implied by their 
 commander s recall to England ? Early in 
 the evening before ten o clock a young 
 Whig lieutenant, with a company of Dra 
 goons, sought to break up the party by firing 
 the abatis at the north of the city, which 
 connected the line of the British redoubts. 
 Out on the great verandah of the building in 
 which they were crowded came the knights 
 and ladies, like some fairy pageant in the 
 moonshine and the light streaming out from 
 the casements of the ball-room. The breeze 
 blew the silver and gold gauze veils, stream 
 ing from the powdered hair of the fair Dul- 
 cineas, as they leant forward, watching the 
 flames masses of orange light against the 
 deep blue sky. The roll-call sounded along 
 the line, and the guns of the redoubts thun-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 131 
 
 dered forth ominously. Little recked the 
 ladies that the hearts of their knights were 
 perturbed beneath the white satin waistcoats 
 the while their gallantry caused them to ap 
 plaud with their companions, lest the latter 
 suspect that the brilliant illumination and the 
 firing were not at all a part of the celebration. 
 And as the flames died down and they re 
 turned once more to the dance, all unaware 
 were they of a merry canter, when horse flew 
 by horse from out Philadelphia in pursuit of 
 the incendiaries. And on these horses were 
 mounted many of the veterans of the British 
 Army, General Stirling leading in the mad 
 chase. Overhead was the sky glittering with 
 the stars and moon ; their horses feet seemed 
 but to touch the springy earth. Far afield 
 the unbroken moonlit stretch of country across 
 which they rode, a moving shadow indicated 
 the fleeing Whigs. Now and then came back 
 a faint, far call of defiance, which was caught 
 up by the lusty British and sent pealing back 
 again. 
 
 Little thought General Stirling that among 
 those whom he pursued was his nephew. The 
 adventure was not a perilous one ; the wonder 
 ful clear beauty of the night and the entreaties 
 of Armand, as he passionately begged permis 
 sion to accompany the expedition, had caused 
 Heyward, who was one of the leaders, to 
 mount the lad on his own horse, while he,
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 securing another mount, guided his own and 
 his companion s horse. Glancing back, he saw 
 the British had dropped behind and evidently 
 ceased pursuit ; he looked at his companion 
 and was glad he had brought him, so exultantly 
 joyous was the lad. His fair hair had be 
 come unloosened, and hung waving to his 
 shoulders with a sheen of silver on it from 
 the moonlight. In his white delicate face, 
 his eyes seemed large and black, revealing no 
 lack of intelligence. His slender figure was 
 seated erectly. The Great Dane kept close 
 at the horse s side. It was as if the height of 
 the boy s ambition had been reached. Never 
 before in his life had he been so joyous, never 
 again should he be so ! 
 
 It was nearly twelve o clock when they 
 reached Valley Forge. Mademoiselle de Berny 
 had retired hours ago and was sleeping sweetly, 
 unwitting of the merry adventure of her brother. 
 And in Philadelphia the dance went on mer 
 rily, the officers since the interruption aban 
 doning themselves recklessly to the pleasure of 
 those rose-wreathed hours. 
 
 Between four and five o clock in the morn 
 ing doors, hitherto artfully concealed by flow 
 ers, were opened, disclosing a dining-room of 
 magnificent proportions. As the gay company 
 entered this room, headed by Lord Howe and 
 his lady, the barbaric splendor of the scene 
 gained its completing touch as the dancers
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 133 
 
 passed between eighty black slaves in Oriental 
 dress, with silver collars and bracelets, arranged 
 in two lines and bowing to the ground. In 
 this room were two tables reaching from one 
 end to the other and loaded with pyramids of 
 jellies, sillabub, cakes, and sweetmeats. At 
 the conclusion of the supper the herald of the 
 Blended Rose, whose side had won in the 
 tournament, entered in his habit of ceremony, 
 of rose-red satin and silver lace, and proclaimed 
 the King s health, the Queen s, and those of the 
 royal family, and of Lord Howe and his lady, 
 the army and navy and their respective -com 
 manders, the knights and their ladies. Each 
 of these toasts was followed by a flourish of 
 music. And at the last the company rose and, 
 amid the clinking of wine glasses, sang " God 
 Save the King," while the wax candles burned 
 low and the rose of pleasure faded beneath the 
 disillusionizing light of day. The sober reality 
 of war was to end this gorgeous pageantry for 
 the British officers, and the pricking of their 
 consciences make the remembrance of the fes 
 tivities a sore spot in the memories of the Whig 
 damsels. 
 
 At the same time, but twenty miles distant, 
 two thousand men in ragged uniforms stood 
 with bowed heads receiving the benediction of 
 their chaplain. The gray light of dawn fell 
 harshly on the grim faces marked by privation 
 and irking care, the hollow cheeks mostly dark
 
 134 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 with a heavy beard. Their gaunt features wore 
 an expression of stoicism, neither elation nor 
 despair. But the eager piercing eyes were full 
 of dauntless fire. For these men there was 
 nothing left to fear. They had known the 
 worst. The past terrible winter they had been 
 called upon to endure all that seemed unendur 
 able. Their bare feet had left bloody prints 
 upon the snow. They had known nakedness 
 and starvation ; they had been stricken by dis 
 ease and had seen their comrades dying from 
 exposure. Their beloved commander had been 
 reviled. More than possible failure ever stared 
 them in the face. The liberty for which they 
 endured, as well as fought, seemed ever to fly 
 from them, eluding their eager grasp which 
 closed upon air. Over their heads, as the 
 sword suspended by a single hair, hung the 
 threat of abject slavery in case of failure. But 
 grimly, without a sigh for their dark lot, as 
 the bleak winter world cherished the eternal 
 promise of spring, so did the stern blood of 
 the Puritan fathers flowing in their veins 
 remind them that the Lord did not leave his 
 righteous ones to perish. Their constant 
 prayer of endurance had arisen : " Oh, Lord, 
 how long wilt thou look on ! Deliver my 
 soul from the sword ; my darling from the 
 power of the dog ; save me from the lion s 
 mouth ; from the wicked that oppress me ; 
 from my deadly enemies who compass me
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 135 
 
 about. Keep me as the apple of the eye, 
 hide me under the shadow of thy wing." 
 
 And so, with the melting of the snows and 
 the budding of the trees, spring had returned ; 
 and as its warm, sunny smile caused the break 
 ing up of the ice-bound rivers, so had the 
 flood-gates of bitterness and stoicism in these 
 men s hearts opened to the on-rushing tide of 
 hope which reflooded and inspired them. As 
 the troops formed, there was to be seen none 
 of the pomp and circumstance of war, but good 
 muscle and vigorous action and the swinging 
 stride of hardened men. Under a cluster 
 of trees stood a little group of women, com 
 posed of Lady Washington and the wives of 
 some of the officers. Mademoiselle de Berny 
 was also one of the group. Her brother had 
 wandered nearer the troops. He sat, a sightless, 
 eager listener, at the foot of a giant oak, his 
 arm around the neck of his hound, the two 
 faces pressed together. The lad s hair, with 
 its peculiar ash-yellow tint, seemed the color 
 of a flower. He had had but a few hours 
 sleep, and his pallor showed him to be ex 
 hausted from the hard ride of the night just 
 drawing to a close. The imposing figure of 
 His Excellency, on his white horse, was seen, 
 first here and then there, as he surveyed the 
 soldiers. The first sun-rays struck sharply 
 through the trees. But there were no brilliant 
 uniforms to glitter in the light. There was
 
 136 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 heard no martial music to quicken the cours 
 ing of the blood. But there was a flash of 
 color as a regiment of Indian warriors stepped 
 into line, their painted bodies glistening, their 
 heads gayly adorned with nodding feathers. 
 From amidst a body of mounted officers, there 
 moved out one soldier, bearing aloft a white 
 standard with the gold fleur-de-lis. A pro 
 longed huzza arose. 
 
 They were the French lilies. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny s hands were in 
 voluntarily pressed against her throbbing heart. 
 Did she not recognize the manly figure in its 
 uniform of buff and blue, the impetuous back 
 ward fling of the handsome powdered head as 
 the soldier removed his hat ? It was Major 
 Heyward. The horse, with its satiny head, 
 its quivering nostrils, and slender legs, seemed 
 a part of the youth and grace embodied in the 
 rider. Across the intervening troops the 
 young man s gaze fell upon a girl s figure in 
 a brown Quaker cloak. Beneath her proud 
 gaze he saw shining a deep and shy regard. 
 With instinctive humbleness, an answering shy 
 ness springing up within himself, he looked 
 away. The huzzas rose again, swelling louder 
 on the fresh morning air to the cry of the 
 French officers caught up by the Americans, 
 "Vive la France!" 
 
 But there was one soldier who heard the 
 triumphal shouting only as a din above which
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 137 
 
 he listened to the whisper of an unspoken love. 
 Where others saw the gleaming of white satin, 
 he was reminded of the immaculate honor and 
 purity shining in worshipped eyes ; where the 
 embroidered lilies glittered like gold to the 
 gaze of the soldiers, he saw forming the match 
 less hues of a fairer flower of France. 
 
 Far down the road, as the troops moved on, 
 Mademoiselle de Berny watched the waving 
 banner with dreaming eyes, unconscious that 
 the rest of the women with whom she had 
 been standing had moved away, leaving her 
 alone. She saw her brother approaching, his 
 hand resting on the hound s head, who was 
 leading him toward her. 
 
 " Diane," said the boy, passing his hand 
 over her face to assure himself that it was she, 
 " I m so hungry. Let us go in now to break 
 fast. Then afterward we will go back to the 
 tree over there, where we will spend the day. 
 The moss is like velvet, is it not, Little 
 Brother ? " he added, stroking the hound s 
 head ; " and you will like it as well as I, old 
 lazy-bones, to cushion yourself on. Diane, 
 I get so tired, and I ache so from the bed 
 I have here. Tis naught but straw on boards, 
 although Major Heyward lets me have all the 
 blankets." 
 
 He put his arm around his sister s neck, 
 and rubbed his cheek against hers, laughing. 
 
 " I should not tell my father that if he were
 
 138 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 here, Diane. He would say, c Fie, fie, a fine 
 soldier you would make, my lad, if you can t 
 stand camp life, and complain about a hard 
 bed. Suppose you had to sleep on the frozen 
 ground, as many have to do ! That s what 
 he d say, Diane." 
 
 They spent the greater part of the day out 
 of doors beneath the tree of which Armand 
 had spoken. He amused himself by making 
 excursions into the neighboring woods and 
 gathering wild flowers, which he would arrange 
 with marvellous grace and dexterity, as if their 
 subtle fragrance and form guided his fingers 
 more surely than the sight of the blossoms 
 could have done. 
 
 The camp was quiet. The languor of the 
 soft spring day rested on all. There was the 
 air of relaxed discipline to be seen in an army 
 prepared to break camp, and move on at once 
 in obedience to orders, but waiting idly day 
 after day for summons. But little signs of 
 activity were to be seen. From the chimneys 
 rose the thin bluish puffs of smoke of the fires 
 by which the soldiers prepared dinner. Now 
 and then parties of men, yoked together to 
 carts of their own contrivance, were to be seen 
 dragging wood and provisions from the store 
 house to their huts. In the fields detachments 
 were being drilled by General Von Steuben. 
 Young Stirling, becoming tired, lay down upon 
 the moss, his head pillowed on the Great
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 139 
 
 Dane s back. The checkered sunlight lay 
 upon him in flecks of gold and shone brightly 
 in his open eyes. In those sightless eyes so 
 blank and glassy Mademoiselle de Berny saw 
 as in a mirror the shifting reflections of the 
 leaves overhead against the blue sky, her own 
 fair and wistful face in miniature. The remem 
 brance of the shadowy figure she had seen 
 crossing the field the first night of her stay at 
 Valley Forge came back hauntingly to her, 
 with a prescience of evil. Yet she lacked 
 the courage to mention the circumstance to 
 her brother. As a child, delicate, reserved 
 and haughty, he seldom took any one into 
 his confidence, sometimes doing things in a 
 strangely secretive way, most pitifully apparent 
 to the great seeing world, but of this latter fact 
 he was unconscious. Early in life Mademoi 
 selle de Berny had recognized this trait as the 
 instinctive and pathetically suspicious attitude 
 of the blind. But there were times when not 
 even her perfect comprehension of this could 
 render her impassive to the hurt done her 
 tender love by his lack of trust. Ah, how 
 many times had her own eloquent gaze rested 
 upon his blind eyes with the burning desire 
 that once, once only if no more, they might 
 meet hers with understanding and she see his 
 soul shining in them ! Ah, to draw aside the 
 curtain of his blindness and look down into his 
 heart ! But his affliction separated them as a
 
 140 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 screen, so slight that through it might be heard 
 the beating of their hearts, but so impenetrable 
 that they could not see each other. When, as 
 a little boy he had fallen asleep, content only if 
 she were beside him, then he had seemed most 
 hers. Then the shut white lids veiled the 
 sightless eyes and he was like other children, 
 tangible and human in slumber. So she 
 would watch him with the fancy in her heart 
 that the lids would open and reveal bright and 
 intelligent eyes. Her anxiety to know the 
 truth of the incident of the other night deep 
 ened. In the hound s honest gaze she seemed 
 to see an intelligence struggling for expression. 
 They were strangely mated, these two, thought 
 the girl sadly, Armand and the dog he termed 
 Little Brother, the one who could speak but 
 might not see, the other, the dumb friend 
 whose eyes served for two. 
 
 At her brother s request she began to tell 
 him her oft-repeated stories of legendary 
 heroes, and of actual men who had lived or 
 died bravely. Always after she had read or 
 talked to him for a little while, he would 
 interrupt, commanding her to speak of his 
 father. 
 
 " He was very brave, Armand," she would 
 begin. 
 
 " I know," the lad would rejoin eagerly. 
 
 " And he loved a good joke." 
 
 " I remember," he would laugh, " and the
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 141 
 
 time he and I sewed the sleeves of your dress 
 up. How it rained that afternoon, and I was 
 sick. I do not like the storm, Diane. It is 
 so lonely. I can tell every time it is going to 
 thunder. It makes me shake all over. How 
 I cried that afternoon, and my father would 
 make me laugh. You were cross because of 
 the joke. But my father made you laugh, 
 too." 
 
 " Yes, dear," she would rejoin, " and I tore 
 my dress trying to get into it. What broad 
 shoulders your father had. He used to carry 
 you around perched up on one when you were 
 a little fellow." 
 
 But this afternoon, although she waited for 
 him to continue the familiar conversation, he 
 remained silent. 
 
 " Diane," he said at last, " my father was 
 sad because I was blind. I heard him say 
 once it would not have mattered had I been a 
 girl, but I was his only son." 
 
 " Yes, dear," she said cheerily, although the 
 tears rushed to her eyes, " that was why your 
 father loved you so because you were his 
 only son." 
 
 " Do you suppose it hurt him to die, 
 Diane ? " 
 
 " He died like a soldier, Armand." 
 
 " Diane," he said, fingering his sword lov 
 ingly, " do you think he knows that I am a 
 prisoner of war ? Perhaps, Diane," he said
 
 142 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 very softly, reaching for her hand, "it is not 
 necessary that one should fight to serve one s 
 king." 
 
 He lay smiling, and at last laughed outright 
 from the delight of his secret thoughts. 
 
 " Ah, Diane," he joked, " what do women 
 know of war ? "
 
 Chapter IX 
 
 THE night fell calm and beautiful. There 
 was no moon, but the starlight was brill 
 iant, filling the air with a white radi 
 ance. At Barren Hill the Continental troops 
 slept, some few of the soldiers wrapped in 
 blankets, but the majority lying on the bare 
 ground. The air was warm and soft as that 
 of summer. The murmur of the Schuylkill 
 River was softened by distance. The gray 
 stone walls of the two or three houses, the 
 school building, the old church of St. Peter s, 
 which buildings alone composed the settle 
 ment, were softly defined in the starlight. Far 
 away as red sparks showed the watch-fires 
 of Valley Forge. An equal distance to the 
 south lay Philadelphia. In the shadow of the 
 wall of the old church lay the graveyard. On 
 and about the headstones several young offi 
 cers had spread their blankets, and sat smoking 
 and conversing in low tones. Major Heyward 
 was of the party. He had stretched his blanket 
 on the long soft grass, and leant back against 
 the church wall, but half-listening to the con 
 versation of his companions, as he smoked 
 leisurely with careful attention given to the 
 red glow in the bowl of his pipe. He found 
 
 143
 
 144 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 himself endeavoring to spell out an inscrip 
 tion on a headstone of white marble almost 
 sunken in the ground and half-covered by 
 moss. With idle interest he leant forward to 
 see the words plainly, which as he read them 
 breathed a pathos that stirred his heart with 
 pity: 
 
 Here lyes Buried ye Body 
 
 of Anne, wife to one William Chew, 
 
 Who Departed this Life, Dec^ry loth, Anno Domini 
 
 1705 in ye zoth year of her age 
 
 leaving to mourn her, her Husband 
 
 and her Two Lyttel Children. 
 
 He read the inscription musingly, picturing 
 the life of this woman long faded to dust, who 
 in her short years had lived much of life. He 
 had a curious fancy that near the boundary of 
 the spirit land her soul must hover, as one not 
 content with what death had wrought, beseech 
 ing once more entrance to the world as having 
 therein all claim to earthly happiness. To 
 have been cut down in the flower of her youth 
 yet she had known somewhat of the fulness 
 of life. 
 
 Through his mind ran the undercurrent of 
 his thought regarding Mademoiselle de Berny. 
 She was older by two years than the dead 
 woman ; but the one was wife, mother, and 
 dead, while the other was a girl, young, joyous, 
 with life untried, further removed by lack 
 of experience from the poor young mother
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 145 
 
 so long dead than by any stretch of years. 
 He looked up at the serene sky. The night 
 kindly to lovers filled his heart with hope, 
 bringing him conviction that the day would 
 dawn when she should understand fully all 
 that which now seemed so unforgivable and 
 beyond the pale of honor to her. 
 
 A great tenderness swept over him. The 
 life of this buried woman was such as his 
 mother might have led a stern hard life, bat 
 tling with crushing realities. That this dead 
 woman, that his own ancestors had borne such 
 hardships, seemed in no wise a pitiable thing 
 save for the slight pathos the inscription had 
 awakened in him. The stern blood of the 
 Puritan fathers ran purely in him. To endure 
 for principle, to sacrifice all to the right, seemed 
 but the natural mode of living. From these 
 women Mademoiselle de Berny was remote as 
 some rare flower plucked in a foreign land. 
 The passionate tenderness of his love for her 
 knew but one desire that she might never 
 know pain nor sorrow. Truly, had these other 
 women proven themselves "as gold which is 
 tried." But she was not of that quality ; not 
 one made to be enduring and strong, but lovely, 
 fair, and to be protected. For her was to be 
 no fiery ordeal ; of no heroic metal was she 
 made ; but she was most perfect in herself 
 a flower which would droop beneath the 
 blazing sun ; her exquisite charm, like the sun-
 
 146 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 lit dust of the butterfly s wing or the purple 
 bloom of the grape, would vanish at the rude 
 touch. 
 
 From his breast pocket he drew the buckle 
 of her shoe, which he had unconsciously re 
 tained the other day on leaving her. The 
 gold glittered palely in the starlight ; the de 
 sign of the medallion he could see but faintly, 
 a mere suggestion of the little weeping cupid. 
 He turned the trinket over in his palm to 
 where her name and the date were engraved 
 on the back. 
 
 " Ah, my beautiful Diane," he murmured, 
 " I wish there existed neither tyranny nor 
 oppression in the world, and that my country 
 were at peace ! Then might I live quietly with 
 you ; then might I teach you, that courage 
 which risks the lives of others to further per 
 sonal glory is but vanity ; that pride in virtue 
 is too often self-righteous, grasping the sub 
 stance and losing the spirit." 
 
 Very early in the morning, as the mists 
 lifted from the river, scarlet coats could be 
 seen advancing through the trees in the distant 
 forest. It was then that the Marquis de La 
 Fayette made the serious mistake which threat 
 ened to involve the entire Continental troops. 
 What was really the British advance, he be 
 lieved to be a troop of American Dragoons, 
 who wore scarlet uniforms. It was not until 
 he perceived, on the extreme left, more red-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 147 
 
 coats that his danger became apparent to him ; 
 and, to the right, another column was seen 
 advancing. The enemy, marching at night, 
 moving rapidly and quietly, had approached 
 within a mile of Barren Hill. 
 
 Upon the peaceful air thundered the alarum 
 guns of Valley Forge, warning La Fayette, 
 hoarse, booming, menacing. From his post 
 of watching, eight miles away, on the hilltop 
 at Valley Forge, Washington was observing, 
 through a field-glass, the distant operations. 
 Motionless as a silhouette against the sky, His 
 Excellency s massive form, on his white horse, 
 was to be distinguished some way apart from 
 his officers, who conversed in low tones and 
 with perturbed glances cast upon the majestic 
 figure of their commander, whose face was 
 frozen into a silence none dared disturb. The 
 dignity of his bearing was such that those of 
 his staff who were American officers and had 
 seen La Fayette given promotions to which 
 they were most justly entitled, grew ashamed, 
 and their jealous murmurings that some one 
 else than this French boy should have been 
 sent out, died away. Perhaps it was then that 
 Washington suffered the last and most bitter 
 trial of the past winter, and a black despair 
 filled his heart. For this had his men dragged 
 through those mournful months, to have the 
 flower of his army in great danger, threatening 
 an absolute collapse of the remaining troops,
 
 148 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 now in that weak condition which the least thing 
 would shatter. 
 
 Now he caught glimpses of the buff and 
 blue uniforms of the Continental soldiers ad 
 vancing towards the enemy. The intention of 
 the young Marquis to meet an enemy vastly 
 superior in force was suicidal. Battle seemed 
 imminent. In another moment the command 
 was given for the remainder of the army at 
 Valley Forge to form in marching order. His 
 Excellency intended to send out reinforce 
 ments. 
 
 But suddenly, from under cover of the 
 forest on the northern side of Barren Hill, 
 Washington saw through his field-glass the 
 Continental troops step forth, moving briskly 
 up the river road towards Valley Forge. 
 
 The Marquis de La Fayette s manoeuvre 
 became apparent to his anxious commander. 
 The buff and blue uniforms seen in the woods 
 belonged to small parties ordered to present 
 themselves as the head of the attacking col 
 umns, thus deceiving the antagonist while the 
 main troops beat a hasty retreat and were 
 nearing the ford as the enemy, pausing, pre 
 pared to give battle. 
 
 Up to this time the British had remained 
 silent, but now there burst upon the fresh 
 morning air strains of martial music reso 
 nant, triumphant. Silently, swiftly, the Amer 
 ican troops had moved along the river road
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 149 
 
 until they reached the ford and had crossed to 
 the other side. Then they swung off their 
 hats, and raising their heads, wet though they 
 were, hungry, defeated in their original plan of 
 action, yet glorying in their escape, they gave 
 vent to a prolonged huzza., which well-nigh 
 split their throats an huzza, clear, defiant, 
 exultant, drowning and ending at once the 
 British music. 
 
 From Valley Forge the guns pealed forth 
 again, no longer in ominous warning, but 
 thundering defiance. 
 
 His Excellency s compressed lips opened to 
 an inarticulate sound between a groan of relief 
 and a choking sound of triumph. 
 
 " It is the ragged fellows," he cried, hand 
 ing his field-glass to an officer; "the ragged 
 fellows who carry the day ! " 
 
 A young officer of the Continental troops, 
 making his way cautiously along a bridle path, 
 threading the woods at Barren Hill, paused to 
 listen a grim smile on his face as he com 
 prehended the triumphal shouting. Then he 
 moved on, with careful outlook for any enemy, 
 conscious of the rashness of the venture which 
 imperilled his freedom for the sake of a 
 woman s trinket. Wakened suddenly from 
 deep slumber that morning, Heyward had 
 forgotten the buckle of Mademoiselle de 
 Berny s shoe, not discovering his loss until 
 later. He was confident that it had slipped
 
 150 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 from his pocket during sleep, and probably 
 lay on the ground where he had been. A 
 member of one of the patrols which had ridden 
 out to deceive the antagonists, his party had 
 engaged in a bloodless skirmish with some 
 British Dragoons encountered at a cross-roads. 
 In the skirmish he was separated from his com 
 panions, who had been able to follow closely 
 upon the heels of La Fayette, and had made 
 the retreat in safety. 
 
 Thus, thrown as it were upon his own re 
 sources, and with only himself for whom to be 
 responsible, he determined to make an effort 
 to recover the buckle. He had passed along a 
 path seldom used and in the densest part of 
 the woods, which sheltered him from the ob 
 servation of the red-coats. At last, reaching 
 the hill, he had led his horse half-way up the 
 slope and tied him to a tree. He deemed it 
 wiser to make the rest of the way alone. But 
 a dash into the church-yard, where it was 
 doubtless safe, for the enemy had not as yet 
 ascended the hill, a moment in which to search 
 for the buckle, and then a run for his horse. 
 True, the British might sight and pursue him. 
 But with his sword and Mademoiselle s buckle 
 in his breast pocket as a talisman against harm, 
 and his good horse given loose rein, he could 
 well afford to fling defiance in the very teeth 
 of his enemy. And the adventure was a right 
 merry one. Above the hilltop as he climbed
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 151 
 
 he could see the tall church steeple with its 
 gilt cross glittering against the blue sky. The 
 cross, emblem of papacy to him, reminded him 
 of Mademoiselle de Berny, Mademoiselle wear 
 ing the rosary, which stood for her religion, 
 living purely, clinging with dauntless and child 
 like faith to her ideals, and bidding him also 
 reach her supreme height serene and aloof from 
 the struggle and tear of worldly life he must 
 lead among men, as this cross was. It pointed 
 to the peace of heaven, as if beneath it existed 
 not the violent passions of men pitted against 
 one another in deadly struggle. 
 
 Around him on all sides was the dense wood 
 of the steep hillside, the undergrowth making 
 the greenness impenetrable, so that he could see 
 but a few feet ahead of him. Wood flowers 
 wild, frail children of the forest waxed pale 
 and delicate in the shade. They, too, made 
 him think of Mademoiselle, as indeed every 
 thing beautiful did, or, he reflected pushing 
 apart the undergrowth where it grew high on 
 the unfrequented path, as also everything 
 which was not so recalled her by reason of 
 the contrast it afforded to her perfection. 
 His thought was none the less tender for his 
 amusement as he reflected how all things 
 centred around her events in his past life, 
 once important, now acquiring significance 
 only as they served to date back from the time 
 when he had met her. He pushed aside a
 
 152 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 heavy bough hanging low and concealing the 
 path in front of him. 
 
 " < My lovely maid, I ve often thought, " 
 he hummed, stopping abruptly a second later 
 and raising his musket quickly to his shoulder. 
 Where another path crossed the one by which 
 he had come, stood a Quaker with his back 
 turned to him. He had not heard Heyward 
 approach, being absorbed in watching some 
 thing visible to him alone at the foot of the 
 hill through a gap in the trees. 
 
 The recognition of the unwieldy huge figure, 
 of the profile half-turned from him, and expres 
 sive only of coarseness and cunning aroused in 
 Heyward a revulsion of feeling so intense that 
 he paled from emotion. The man he knew to 
 be a paid spy of the British, a nature of the 
 utmost malignity masking its mission beneath 
 the meek garb of the Friends. The fellow 
 leant forward, his expression of interest inten 
 sifying. 
 
 It was impossible for the young man to 
 retreat. Neither did he desire to do so. 
 Taking a swift step forward, he covered the 
 Quaker with his musket. A twig snapped 
 beneath his foot. The man turned, startled, 
 and retreated a foot or two as he perceived the 
 hostile attitude of the young man whom he 
 recognized. The threat of the musket served 
 for words between the two men, whose enmity 
 had flamed up at the encounter. The Quaker,
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 153 
 
 endeavoring to speak, opened and shut his 
 mouth dumbly several times. The cold sweat 
 came out in drops on his countenance, and his 
 breathing could be heard as if drawn in pain. 
 His pink, sleek countenance became white and 
 flabby, his weak eyes blinking continuously 
 behind his spectacles. 
 
 As Heyward commenced speaking, his voice 
 was drowned by a sudden burst of noise, mad 
 calls and yells, a medley of shrieks, the guttural 
 voices of Indians mingling with calls for re 
 inforcement from the British. A reconnoi 
 tring party of red-coats were moving stealthily 
 around the hill, while the regiment of Indians 
 of the Continental Army, which had been cut 
 off by some British Dragoons from accompany 
 ing La Fayette, were endeavoring to follow his 
 retreat. Creeping on their hands and knees to 
 avoid being seen, the Indians had suddenly met 
 the enemy face to face, to the dire confusion of 
 both parties. This prospective skirmish was 
 that which the Quaker had been absorbed 
 in watching when Heyward came upon him. 
 The young man, catching a glimpse of the 
 Indians, rightly guessed the cause of the con 
 fusion. Realizing his imminent danger, should 
 any of the red-coats seek to escape by rushing 
 up the hill, he ascended to the top hastily, 
 keeping the Quaker ahead of him, with his 
 musket pressed against the prisoner s back. 
 Fortunately the path led to the rear of the old
 
 154 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 church, the stone wall of which was greatly 
 sunken; the back door was torn off its hinges. 
 Heyward, hearing the guns for the recall of 
 the reconnoitring parties being fired repeatedly 
 and imperatively, signifying the return march 
 of the enemy, was confident that the red-coats, 
 while they might pass through the settlement, 
 were not likely to pause for close investigation 
 of any building. Another chance also remained 
 to him, that of making a dash for his horse, 
 mounting and running the risk of being pur 
 sued. But to seize this opportunity was to 
 abandon his original purpose, and also set at 
 liberty a dangerous enemy to the American 
 cause. 
 
 The interior of the building, being like some 
 great empty barn, had nothing churchly about 
 it, save where above the dismantled altar the 
 sunshine fell through the broken stained glass 
 window in a glory of rose and purple and green 
 light. Near the main entrance, opening on the 
 street, stood the baptismal font, its marble 
 nicked and broken, and its bowl long turned 
 into a drinking trough for horses. One of the 
 front doors had been torn from its hinges and 
 lay on the floor of the church. Long ago the 
 pews had been taken away. In one corner a 
 pile of straw showed that some one had lately 
 occupied the building. Doubtless some of the 
 Continental soldiers had slept there the night 
 just past. Great cobwebs hung in the corners
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 155 
 
 and stretched across the shuttered casements 
 through which pierced fine rays of dusty golden 
 light. The brick floor had sunken in places, 
 and in these spots puddles of water appeared 
 and moss spread out greenly. 
 
 Heyward marched his prisoner into the least 
 conspicuous corner, and awaited further develop 
 ments. But as none came after what seemed 
 an interminable period of inaction on his part, 
 but which was in reality less than twenty 
 minutes, he ventured to go to the front door, 
 keeping a vigilant survey of his prisoner. 
 As he expected, the tiny street was deserted. 
 The one or two families inhabiting the place 
 \vere Friends, and had barricaded themselves 
 in their houses. Across the road walked a 
 dog, carrying a hen it had just killed. Hey 
 ward spoke sharply, and the animal, dropping 
 its prey, slunk off, its tail between its legs. 
 Not daring to reveal himself uniformed as he 
 was, at the risk of being seen by some chance 
 observer, the young man ordered his compan 
 ion to step half-way outside the doorway and 
 pick up the fowl. As the Quaker, obeying, 
 drew back, several British who had climbed 
 the hill appeared at the end of the road. 
 Heyward caught a bare glimpse of them and 
 realized that they in their turn must have had 
 full view of the Quaker. Without a moment s 
 hesitation, he ordered the fellow to stand half 
 within the doorway, so that he himself, con-
 
 156 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 cealed from the street behind the closed half 
 of the entrance, was still enabled to keep his 
 prisoner under cover of his musket. He will 
 ingly ran the risk of discovery with Madem 
 oiselle s buckle at stake and with an avenue of 
 escape left open through the rear door of the 
 church. The voices of the soldiers became 
 distinct. 
 
 " Tis a fine place for a May-day picnic," 
 one man said jovially ; " but, beshrew me, com 
 rades, if tis not the rebels picnic this time. 
 Twould not be to my liking to be near His 
 Lordship Howe in his present tantrum." 
 
 " An did ye hear o the supper he is to 
 give to-night ? " chuckled another. " Ha, tis 
 poor relish he will have ! Eh, men, did ye 
 not hear o his inviting the fine ladies to sup 
 with the French stripling who s to be shipped 
 to England ? " 
 
 His words were greeted with a loud guffaw. 
 
 " Ho, ho, my pious friend," continued the 
 last speaker, who brought up the rear of the 
 party and who glanced sharply at the Quaker. 
 "Ye sent your news a little tardy. We should 
 have arrived here before the break o day, that 
 we might be on the rebels before they sighted 
 us." 
 
 He burst into hearty laughter. 
 
 " Look ye, men, at the sly dog. While we 
 went for the rebels, he made his capture at the 
 chicken-coop. Ha, ha, the sly dog ! Give me
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 157 
 
 a Quaker, I say, comrades, for preferring a full 
 stomach and a lengthy prayer to glory." 
 
 The Quaker essayed to answer, stuttering 
 in his fear, the sweat running down his flabby 
 face, his hand clutching convulsively the neck 
 of the chicken. He felt the threat conveyed 
 by the musket pressed against his side. Did 
 he convey by word or sign the presence of 
 his captor, he would be a dead man. Yet 
 there was a fair chance, should he drop sud 
 denly to the ground or draw quickly aside 
 and run. His captor, engrossed in his own 
 escape, would not have time to deal ven 
 geance. But his will was paralyzed by terror. 
 Cowardice bound him to the spot as securely 
 as iron chains while his one opportunity van 
 ished. 
 
 " Ye missed a rare sight, Friend Broadbrim," 
 said anoLlier man. "We chased some Indians 
 to the river, and had a chance o picking off 
 a dozen or more as they swam across, their 
 heads bobbing up and down like corks." 
 
 Heyward swore softly under his breath as 
 he heard the news. 
 
 One of the soldiers made a grab at the hen. 
 But the Quaker clutched it desperately, as if 
 on it hung his salvation. How far the mat 
 ter would have gone was not determined. A 
 mounted officer, appearing from the opposite 
 direction, called sharply to the laggards. He 
 glanced at the Quaker and, recognizing him,
 
 158 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 nodded briefly, and, wheeling his horse around 
 in front of the soldiers, ordered them to hasten. 
 
 Some time elapsed before Heyward dared 
 venture out into the street and go around the 
 church corner into the grave-yard. In all the 
 settlement there was no sign of human being, 
 with the exception of himself and his prisoner. 
 At the extreme further end of the little street, 
 the dog they had seen sat in the middle of the 
 dusty road observing their motions. 
 
 As the young man had supposed, the buckle 
 was found near the tombstone, bearing the 
 inscription he had read during the previous 
 night. He did not risk relaxing his vigilance 
 of the Quaker by bending to pick up the 
 buckle, but ordered him to do so, annoyed, 
 however, at the necessity of having the trinket 
 touched by profane hands. Then, keeping the 
 man in front of him and keenly on the alert 
 for any sign of the enemy, he descended the 
 hill to where he had left his horse, leading 
 the animal along the bridle path which wound 
 circuitously through the thick copse to the 
 river road. There he mounted and walked his 
 horse briskly behind his prisoner. Within 
 half an hour, he had reached the ford, where 
 a sad sight met his eyes. There had been a 
 skirmish at this point between some British and 
 La Fayette s rear guard. Two of the British, 
 several of the Continental soldiers, and three 
 horses lay dead.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 159 
 
 On the further side of the river, when the 
 two had crossed, the Quaker, who had slipped 
 and fallen into the ford, stopped abruptly, re 
 fusing to advance further. He was dripping 
 wet, and shaking as from fever.
 
 Chapter X 
 
 HEYWARD perceived that the man was 
 strung to the highest pitch of nervous 
 excitement. His fear had become so 
 great that a reaction ensued, making him well- 
 nigh fearless in his desperation, and in a con 
 dition in which it was doubtful if he would 
 hesitate at anything to regain his freedom. 
 The young man armed and mounted though 
 he was, felt that he stood in some personal 
 danger unless he took advantage of his supe 
 rior position, and he had no desire to kill or 
 injure the man. To murder a prisoner was 
 one thing ; to deliver that prisoner safely over 
 to honorable judgment, although death was as 
 certain in the former as in the latter case, bore 
 an entirely different aspect. 
 
 " Roberts," he said, leaning forward in his 
 intense earnestness, his finger on the trigger 
 of his musket, "unless you go quietly, I will 
 put a bullet through your leg and let you lie 
 here until I can ride to camp for assistance 
 to convey you there." 
 
 For a moment it seemed as if the prisoner 
 might fling himself at the speaker and drag 
 him from his horse, defiant of the musket. 
 In his mad and perhaps dying passion, should 
 
 1 60
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 161 
 
 the young man fire, he would without doubt 
 possess the almost superhuman strength of a 
 last burst of frenzied rage, and struggle to kill 
 his captor. But the fearless, compelling gaze, 
 the unwavering threat of the musket cowed 
 him. His muscles relaxed ; his figure lost the 
 intensity of its pose ; his defiant expression 
 gave way to a look of the utmost cunning and 
 malignity. He laughed harshly and discord 
 antly, raising one huge hand from which the 
 water still dripped, and which trembled in his 
 helpless rage. 
 
 " So thou wouldst drive me like cattle be 
 fore thee," he cried, " with thy musket at my 
 back and the lash of thy whip curling around 
 my ears. Ho, ho, thou wouldst have me 
 to hang like a gallows dog ! How of the lad 
 that will hang with me the girl-faced brother 
 of thy sharp-tongued Papist love ? " 
 
 A startled and appalled expression passed 
 over Heyward s face, an expression quickly 
 controlled, but not before the Quaker had 
 observed it. 
 
 " Yea, thou wouldst see me swinging as a 
 spy," he mocked, " that thou and the rest of 
 thy God-forsaken rebels might throw stones 
 at me a-dangling with my feet off the ground. 
 Thou and I have met before, so thou knowest 
 I would put on no mask of hypocrisy with 
 thee. But of the blind boy ? There wouldst 
 thou have a pretty neck to snap. Pouf! a
 
 1 62 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 twist o the fingers, let alone the rope. A girl s 
 neck slim and white as the Papist woman s. 
 Thinkest thou her tongue will not bite thee 
 like vinegar for this morning s work ? " 
 
 Heyward passed his hand mechanically 
 across his eyes. He scarcely heard the man s 
 words ; his face had grown careworn, and he 
 looked white and exhausted ; the purple circles 
 beneath his eyes where the blood had settled 
 showed plainly. 
 
 " Go on," he said briefly. 
 
 In his tone was the weariness and resigna 
 tion of one who has before heard the telling 
 of a painful thing to which he is again forced 
 to listen. In the Quaker s first reference to 
 young Stirling, Heyward had divined the 
 worst. There had been revealed to him at 
 once the reason for the eccentric actions he had 
 observed lately in Armand, and also came the 
 solution of his wandering out into the rain a 
 few nights back, and which he, his host, had 
 laid to somnambulism. Whatever Roberts 
 should say now he knew would be but tort 
 uring repetition of that which his thought had 
 so instantly anticipated. 
 
 " Tis a short tale," said the Quaker, " but 
 one, I reckon, which will not be o er sweet to 
 thy ears. Dost thou remember thy last day in 
 Philadelphia, when thou wast in the Green Tree 
 coffee-house with the Papist Frenchwoman ? 
 There was I a-slumber in the corner, with an
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 163 
 
 eye half-cocked when I saw it was thou that 
 entered, for I suspicioned thee, friend. Dost 
 thou recall the letter thou lost ? Yea, verily, 
 it was given me to see it slip from thy pocket. 
 Ho, ho, thou findest this not to thy liking ! 
 Thy face grows red as a school-boy s. Yet 
 twas a right sweet letter with thy cooings and 
 thy avowals and thy entreaties. One would 
 think thy soul s salvation " 
 
 " Well," interrupted Heyward sharply. 
 
 " The blind boy s dog carried the letter to 
 him. Then, after thy escape from Philadel 
 phia for twas I reported thee to Lord 
 Howe, gathering a hint of thy position from 
 a word I overheard now and then when thou 
 wast talking with thy fine lady twas not 
 my fault, friend, thou didst not swing that 
 time ! I bethought myself of the letter and 
 sought the boy. Eh, he can be seen through 
 as glass with his pratings of his father and of 
 war, and he bites at a line as a silly fish." 
 
 The sneer passed without comment. His 
 listener found it impossible to speak, so out 
 raged was his sense of decency. Deep as his 
 contempt had been for the Quaker, it hereto 
 fore possessed no personal element. But now 
 the man s baneful influence cast a shadow over 
 that most sacred to him. The profound con 
 tempt before apparent in the young man s 
 glance changed to an expression of shrinking 
 abhorrence and active personal dislike. No
 
 164 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 longer was he invulnerable to the maliciousness 
 of this creature he despised. Now was the 
 position of captor and prisoner an ironical 
 paradox, for each was at the mercy of the other. 
 Their eyes met understandingly for some 
 seconds. Then the shifty eyes of the Quaker 
 drooped to conceal the cunning triumph which 
 had flashed into them, but as he next spoke 
 his voice had gained a confident ring. 
 
 "Thou canst not deny the truth," he cried, 
 " although thou regardest me as a cur to be 
 spurned by thy foot. Thou seest how simple 
 the trick. To reseal the letter and send the 
 boy to return it to thee. Yea, thou eatest 
 thine own words, friend, and I hope the dish 
 relisheth thee. Thus saith the lad to me, 
 chuckling, c Heyward meant not his words for 
 me that afternoon. But he will learn I am no 
 child that he talketh over my head ! Thou 
 seest how simple the plan. A blind boy, 
 one of the Lord s afflicted, what man sus- 
 picioneth him, hey ? Thou shouldst know of 
 thine own experience how easy a thing oft falls 
 which seemeth difficult. Twas but the hoot 
 ing of an owl at night. This signal the lad 
 would hear and follow. My bones ache yet, so 
 cramped was I a-waiting in the night dew, lying 
 low against the ground." 
 
 " How could he pass the sentry to you?" 
 asked Heyward, with a singular quietness of 
 voice that was quite distinct from the trouble
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 165 
 
 of his pale set face. He recalled an errand 
 which had caused him to return unexpectedly 
 to his quarters, to find his self-invited guest 
 seated writing at the table. It was the morn 
 ing of the day on which Mademoiselle de 
 Berny arrived at the encampment. Again he 
 saw the fair yellow head, bright in the gloom 
 of the hut, moving unconsciously in unison 
 with the stiff painful movements of the hand 
 guiding the pen. He remembered that the 
 lad had laid down his pen and waited until 
 his host left the hut, the Great Dane rising 
 and following him to the door and then turn 
 ing and going back to his master. Heyward 
 raised his hand imperatively, checking the an 
 swer to his question. 
 
 " I think I understand," he said slowly, 
 " the message was written on a piece of paper 
 and given to the dog who conveyed it to you. 
 Such a messenger the sentry would not suspect." 
 
 " Yea," said the Quaker, " the animal com 
 prehends its master s wish as a human soul." 
 Something akin to admiration was in his cun 
 ning gaze as he perceived the quick compre 
 hension of the plot Heyward showed, and an 
 added shade of insolence came into his man 
 ner, seeming to assert that it was he, and not 
 his captor, who had the superior position. 
 
 " How feelest thou, now, friend," he asked, 
 " wouldst thou now drive me into the rebels 
 camp? What would thy high and mighty
 
 1 66 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 Papist love say to thee ? The boy is the 
 apple of her eye, around which all her vanities 
 centre, seeing not the Lord in her love of 
 what is mortal." 
 
 There was a momentary silence. Heyward 
 was looking at the man with eyes which saw 
 him not ; but Mademoiselle s face, her beau 
 tiful face, pale, agonized, formed itself in the 
 air before him with the gaze of one mortally 
 wounded. He heard her voice, grief-stricken, 
 reproachful, its tone cutting his heart as a 
 knife. He groaned, so sharp, so real was the 
 pain. 
 
 " Thinkest thou she would speak to thee 
 gently ? " said the Quaker. 
 
 The sneer aroused the young man, recall 
 ing him to the present. He straightened 
 himself stiffly in the saddle as one who, hav 
 ing had a blow, holds himself rigidly against 
 the shock of a second. His will indomitable 
 showed in the set lines of his face. 
 
 " Roberts," he said, in a tone absolutely 
 unrelenting, " we will have no more words. 
 Walk ahead of me now at a brisk pace, for 
 we are losing time. If you refuse to do so, 
 or attempt to escape, I will put a bullet through 
 you." 
 
 The answering words died on the prisoner s 
 lips, as he realized the futility of any appeal to 
 the inexorable will which commanded him to 
 proceed. Yet he hesitated, still defiant, al-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 167 
 
 though once more, half-paralyzed by dread, 
 mumbling threats mingled with entreaties, pro 
 testing his innocence, showing himself an abject, 
 miserable creature, whining his late repentance 
 in one breath, with the next indulging in 
 foolish threats. 
 
 At last Heyward s self-control gave way 
 before the wave of passionate contempt and 
 loathing which surged up in his heart. 
 
 " You dog ! " he cried, " do you think I 
 have forgotten the innocent country people 
 cast into prison at your bare suggestion when 
 you guarded the city entrances ? What of our 
 suffering prisoners in Philadelphia, of the day 
 you kicked the bowl of food from a starving 
 soldier, of the money wrung with promise of 
 food a promise you broke ! And of the 
 boy, the boy flogged to death between you 
 and that devil, Cunningham ! Have you for 
 gotten " he paused. 
 
 As swiftly as the fierce swirl of wind which 
 rises and dies down before the brooding storm, 
 so did his anger vanish almost as quickly as it 
 appeared. Behind his sudden gust of passion 
 was the mournful thought of Mademoiselle. 
 Well he knew that his last words were but the 
 cry of his conscience against the temptation to 
 let the Quaker go free. 
 
 " Roberts," he said, in a voice lifeless in 
 tone, " will you go on ? " He waited with 
 a curious patience, as the prisoner again gave
 
 1 68 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 way to another ebullition of feeling. The 
 man, exhausting himself at last in his rage, and 
 realizing his powerlessness to influence his 
 captor, turned with a desperate fling of his 
 body in the direction he was ordered to take, 
 and walked on. His religious training betrayed 
 itself now in his stress of emotion, and he 
 muttered broken snatches of psalms, his voice 
 rising at times to a monotonous sing-song. 
 In his fear, his reasoning power and his keener 
 consciousness of suffering were passive, lost 
 in the absorption of a fanatical condition of 
 mind. 
 
 That awful and desolate journey left a never- 
 to-be-forgotten impression on Hey ward s mind. 
 There were less than six miles to be travelled 
 before Valley Forge could be reached, but to 
 him those miles stretched on endlessly. The 
 greater part of the road lay through meadows 
 or along the river. There was no shade to 
 protect them from the burning rays of the 
 sun. The day had developed into one of 
 those insufferably warm spring days which 
 seem more like August than May weather. 
 
 Once the Quaker, who had unconsciously 
 retained the chicken in his grasp, dropped 
 it. Heyward halted, and required him to 
 pick it up, taking it from him and placing 
 it across his saddle. The action as well as 
 the thought prompting it was mechanical. In 
 an army which had well-nigh reached starva-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 169 
 
 tion, economy had become instinctive among 
 the soldiers. 
 
 The beauty of the landscape seemed a mock 
 ery to the young man : the sunny blue sky, 
 the green meadows, the singing of the river, 
 filled him with a kind of horror. In the 
 Quaker s heavy drab figure plodding on 
 doggedly before him, and becoming confused 
 dizzily at times in his sight with the white 
 dusty road, he saw only the embodiment of 
 sorrow and shame he was driving into the 
 presence of the woman he loved. He lost 
 sight of the personality of the man who, to 
 his tortured gaze, took on the semblance of 
 some huge, evil thing, which he, by a relent 
 less fate, was driven to pursue, and for whose 
 appearance he was responsible. He felt him 
 self in the grasp of a temptation to resist which 
 was a mortal struggle. The Quaker s evil 
 machinations had come to naught the army 
 he sought to destroy had escaped. To retain 
 him meant that Armand, also, would be ar 
 rested as a spy. And Mademoiselle, what 
 justice in her suffering ? Yet he remembered 
 the innocent country people cast into prison 
 at the mere suggestion of the man who was 
 now his prisoner. He could not banish the 
 thought of the suffering of the American 
 prisoners. Again he saw the emaciated bodies 
 of the ragged Continental soldiers, lying dead 
 at the ford he had just passed. Their blood
 
 170 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 called for vengeance. And as for Mademoi 
 selle bitterly, bitterly was he proving to her 
 that the soldier ranked before the lover, that 
 his country was more than she. But, how 
 ever his heart cried out against his reso 
 lution, it was typical of the man that he 
 should not falter in carrying out what he be 
 lieved to be his duty. With the exception of 
 when he had taken the chicken from the 
 Quaker, he had not checked his horse in its 
 steady gait, nor in any wise had he hesitated. 
 He had put his hand to the plough, and he 
 would not turn back, although it passed over 
 his happiness and that of the woman he loved. 
 Word by word, in torturing reminiscence, did 
 that eventful conversation in the coffee-house 
 return to him. The principles of honor and 
 right he had so earnestly espoused brought 
 forth fruit of deceit and shame. The instinct 
 of fear in Mademoiselle de Berny s heart, 
 when her brother had echoed Heyward s sen 
 timents, had been a true one. Intuitively had 
 she surmised danger to the lad. In a new 
 light Heyward viewed his position. Not for 
 himself, as far as he was personally concerned, 
 nor for others strong enough to live by the 
 individual conscience, was the iron law of right 
 and wrong governing the masses to be kept. 
 But it must be kept for the sake of those 
 weaker human children whose feet would 
 stumble in following the dangerous path which
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 171 
 
 their stronger brethren passed in safety. For 
 Armand s actions was he largely responsible, 
 and Mademoiselle de Berny would most justly 
 consider him so. Yet now he felt that he 
 could see neither right nor wrong clearly, nor 
 did he feel that he should hesitate again, were 
 it necessary for him once more to enact the 
 role which his country had demanded of him 
 in Philadelphia. But for Diane s sake, for her 
 sake, his heart cried out to let the Quaker 
 
 go- 
 As he neared Valley Forge his feeling of 
 
 loathing and self-disgust strengthened. In his 
 position as it must show to Mademoiselle de 
 Berny there was nothing of dignity nor heroism. 
 Even his suffering seemed mean and ignoble, 
 so petty was his duty. First had she seen him 
 a spy, had known of his flight from Phila 
 delphia. In thought he suffered anew from 
 her scorn. And now, not only must he en 
 counter her contempt again, but he must carry 
 suffering and shame to her. He closed his 
 eyes involuntarily for a moment, his heart 
 sickening at the sight of the encampment 
 lying desolate and exposed to the glaring sun- 
 rays. The insignificant village of huts lay like 
 a blot on the smiling landscape. Squads of 
 men were being drilled in the surrounding 
 fields. On all sides were to be seen disfigur 
 ing stumps of trees which had been cut down 
 for firewood.
 
 172 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 He passed inside the picket line with his 
 prisoner, and took a road leading directly to 
 the guard-house, in the hope or avoiding a 
 chance meeting and consequent questioning of 
 any officer until he had imprisoned the Quaker 
 and had seen General Washington in reference 
 to young Stirling, whose unfortunate ambition 
 had placed him in such dangerous circumstances. 
 He hoped that the lad, owing to his youth and 
 infirmity, might be returned to Philadelphia 
 before any accusation could be made against 
 him. 
 
 But he was not permitted to convey his 
 prisoner quietly to the guard-house. As he 
 proceeded, he saw that it would be necessary 
 to pass a group of soldiers who were off duty 
 and in whose midst he saw the fair head and 
 slender form of Armand. Dreading above all 
 a meeting between his prisoner and his accom 
 plice, he ordered the man to halt, while he 
 glanced around him preparatory to turning off 
 abruptly from the road and crossing through 
 a belt of scant woods. But several of the 
 group had recognized the Quaker and hastened 
 forward. Two of these, who were among the 
 first to advance, were men who had been pris 
 oners at Philadelphia and had been exchanged. 
 The rest of the men followed leisurely, idly 
 curious as to the cause of the curses and bitter 
 taunts which their two comrades showered upon 
 the Quaker.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 173 
 
 Heyward silenced them, however, by a sharp 
 command. The last to approach was young 
 Stirling, his hand on his hound s head, his face 
 turned toward the man with whom he was 
 walking. 
 
 He was talking and laughing gayly. His 
 companion was the tall soldier with the vacant 
 and foolish expression Mademoiselle de Berny 
 had noticed the evening of her arrival at Valley 
 Forge. This man followed the boy around 
 with a dog-like fidelity. The two were some 
 little way behind the rest, walking slowly down 
 the road. The breeze blew the tattered uniform 
 and unkempt hair of the soldier. The sun 
 light fell on the red heart pinned upon his 
 broad breast. He was nodding his head as 
 if striving to assent intelligently to the boy s 
 words, and this effort in connection with his 
 gentle, foolish smile was pitiable. As the two 
 approached, the Quaker, who was surrounded 
 by a jeering crowd, burst into a torrent of 
 angry imprecations, his maliciousness directed 
 toward Heyward rather than the boy whose 
 appearance had been the touchstone to his 
 wrath. 
 
 " Thou wouldst see another spy, hey ? Seest 
 thou his girl-face ? And the dog ? Yea, thou 
 shouldst string up the animal also. Verily, it 
 was he that fetched and carried. Another gal- 
 
 O 
 
 lows-dog ! " he cried with a discordant laugh, 
 " another gallows-dog, I say ! "
 
 174 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 Young Stirling did not recognize the voice, 
 so distorted was it by passion. He made his 
 way swiftly through the little group with 
 troubled face. On reaching Roberts he put 
 out his hand and passed it over his face. 
 Infuriated beyond reason, goaded past control 
 by the soft and delicate touch, to a condition 
 more animal than human, the Quaker seized the 
 gentle hand and bit it. 
 
 His face deathly pale, Heyward, who was 
 still mounted, brought his whip down on the 
 fellow s head and shoulders, who put up his 
 arms in a vain effort to ward off the blows, but 
 was too thoroughly cowed to make any great 
 resistance. 
 
 From the surrounding soldiers rose an angry 
 murmur. One man, he who had been a pris 
 oner in Philadelphia, kicked the prisoner, curs 
 ing him as he did so. Heyward seized the 
 man by his shoulder and pushed him vigor 
 ously aside. Then he swung himself down 
 from his horse and handed the reins to the 
 soldier he had just reprimanded. Following 
 the Quaker s attack young Stirling had been 
 silent for several minutes. Suddenly he raised 
 his wounded hand and pointed at the prisoner. 
 
 " I know you ! " he cried shrilly, " I know 
 you ! I know your voice ! " 
 
 Heyward commanded the men to take the 
 reins of his horse and bind the prisoner s 
 hands. With the exception of the quick burst
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 175 
 
 of aneer the moment before, he remained the 
 
 O 
 
 only composed member of the group. 
 
 " Why dost thou let him go free ? " cried 
 Roberts, as he was roughly bound. "Was t 
 not he that sent word to the British by me ? 
 Is it for his girl-face and slim neck thou lettest 
 him alone ? " 
 
 " I have no wish to go free," cried the boy 
 haughtily. " I am no liar to deny my act, you 
 dog ! Neither have I a girl s face ! Did you 
 think to force me into telling lest I should 
 creep out ? His Excellency shall have you 
 whipped for your presumption, fellow," threat 
 ened the boy, with his face burning. 
 
 Dumbfounded, loath to believe his self- 
 accusation, doubting not that he had been 
 suddenly struck with madness, the soldiers ex 
 changed astonished and pitying glances. 
 
 Heyward sought to silence the boy s shrill 
 talking, in the vain hope that he might protect 
 him from arrest for the present were he able 
 to get the Quaker away quietly. But Roberts 
 was still in a frenzy of rage and terror. 
 
 " Thou darest not let him go," he cried ; 
 "he, too, is a spy, a spy by his own confession." 
 
 The young officer now saw no escape from 
 his enforced duty of putting the boy under 
 arrest. Still he made one last effort. Did 
 Armand deny the accusation, he was confident 
 that the Quaker s words would be counted but 
 malicious lies by the surrounding men. Yet
 
 176 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 his heart sank as he saw the suspicious glances, 
 cast upon the boy. There was little mercy to 
 be hoped for from these hard, stern men once 
 they learned they had been betrayed. 
 
 He commanded silence by an imperative 
 gesture. His eyes challenged any disturbance 
 as his gaze swept the lowering, suspicious faces. 
 Then he turned and placed his hand on the 
 boy s shoulder. 
 
 " Armand," he said, in his singularly quiet 
 voice, " is the accusation made against you by 
 Roberts false ? " 
 
 " No," he answered sullenly, " it was I I 
 who sent a message to the British by this fel 
 low that the rebels were going to Barren Hill." 
 
 " Then," continued Heyward, his cold glance 
 silencing the angry imprecations of the soldiers, 
 " I place you under arrest to await your trial." 
 
 The boy stood quietly while his hands were 
 bound. The crazed soldier moved closely to 
 him. The foolish, gentle smile was troubled. 
 The Great Dane, growling angrily, watched the 
 man tying his master s wrists, and it required 
 but a signal for him to spring at his throat. 
 
 "Armand," said Heyward very gently, "you 
 must be patient and we will try to get you out 
 of this. Hand me his sword," he said, raising 
 his voice to address the soldier who, in com 
 pliance with military discipline, had removed 
 all weapons from the prisoners. Taking it, 
 the young officer buckled it around the owner.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 177 
 
 The lad s heart was throbbing violently, as 
 some prisoned bird beating itself to death 
 against the bars ; his thought was not of his 
 being made a prisoner ; he accepted the fact 
 naturally with no comprehension of his danger. 
 But the wound in his hand was torturing him 
 with anger and humiliation. Until now he 
 had never received harsh word nor blow. He 
 felt that the shame of his injured hand was 
 killing him. It was unspeakable degradation 
 to him. In his agony it seemed to him that 
 he must burst asunder the thongs confining 
 his wrists, and throw himself on the ground. 
 Yet he felt the hilt of his sword press against 
 his side, and the touch comforted him. He 
 raised his head, a light of exaltation transfigured 
 his blind face, and his lips moved in a whisper. 
 His expression was that of addressing some 
 one. A great pity and gentleness came into 
 Heyward s face. 
 
 " My dear lad," he commenced, and then 
 turned abruptly and remounted his horse, for 
 between his and Armand s face had risen a 
 vision of Mademoiselle de Berny. As he was 
 about to give the command to move on, an 
 aide-de-camp of General Washington s rode 
 up and handed him a message, requesting his 
 immediate presence at headquarters. The com 
 mand could not be disregarded. He knew it 
 referred to certain knowledge he had obtained 
 of the British tactics while in Philadelphia.
 
 178 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 Reluctantly, he consigned the prisoners to 
 a subordinate, with a stern injunction to per 
 mit no rudeness to be passed upon them. 
 Then, with a last word to Armand, he wheeled 
 his horse around and rode towards headquar 
 ters.
 
 Chapter XI 
 
 A LITTLE later in the morning, Mad 
 emoiselle de Berny returned with Lady 
 Washington from a round of visits to 
 sick soldiers. But before she ascended the 
 stairs to her room, she went around the house 
 to the kitchen to leave there a basket of 
 eggs which her companion had purchased of a 
 farmer s boy who had come into camp with 
 eggs and fresh vegetables. As she left Lady 
 Washington at the front entrance and turned 
 the corner of the house, she saw Richard 
 Hey ward dismount from his horse and give 
 it in charge of a negro attendant at the side 
 door which opened into His Excellency s pri 
 vate office. She paused, half-smiling, em 
 barrassed to advance, yet reluctant to turn 
 back without a word from him. The young 
 officer s eyes dwelt miserably on the charming 
 figure in the shadow of the vine-clad wall, 
 with its pretty affectation of domesticity, the 
 brocaded skirt of her gown turned up from 
 her petticoat and pinned around her waist to 
 protect the rich material ; the great basket of 
 eggs heavy for the girlish arms. Of the wife 
 of the Quaker preacher whose home had been 
 made the headquarters, Mademoiselle de Berny 
 179
 
 180 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 had borrowed a poke bonnet of gray shirred 
 cloth. Like a picture in a frame seemed her 
 face with the ribbons tied in a bow under the 
 chin. In her growing embarrassment beneath 
 the young man s gaze, her face was suffused 
 with color. 
 
 " Monsieur," she said softly, her eyes bright 
 with laughter, despite an underlying shyness, 
 "my basket is very heavy." 
 
 Heyward, comprehending that she had ad 
 dressed him, yet in his agony of mind not 
 taking in the sense of her words, raised his 
 hat with a profound and abstracted bow, his 
 only thought one of bitterness at the contrast 
 between the bright face and the crushing blow 
 ready to fall upon her. He opened the door 
 of General Washington s office and went in. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny finished her errand 
 to the kitchen, and ascended the stairs to her 
 room greatly perplexed and worried. She had 
 instinctively divined that Heyward s curious 
 and restrained manner had not sprung from 
 indifference nor anger towards herself, but was 
 rather the result of some deep trouble from 
 which he saw no hope of extricating himself. 
 She felt that his anxious glance concerned her 
 self, and her thought flashed to Armand with 
 an unaccountable prescience of evil. Her 
 heart throbbed suffocatingly. As if drawn by 
 some curious fatality she moved restlessly to 
 the casement of her apartment, forgetting to
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 181 
 
 remove her bonnet or unpin her gown. Down 
 the road which passed the house, she saw a 
 crowd of some thirty men, negroes and sol 
 diers, and a mounted officer. The sight was 
 not uncommon and she turned away. She sat 
 down on the little bed and began untying the 
 strings of her bonnet, struggling against a 
 desire to go in search of her brother. The 
 tears came to her eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Armand," she murmured, " why will 
 you not stay with me ? Why will you not ? " 
 
 Obeying an unconscious impulse, she rose 
 and went again to the casement. The crowd 
 she had discerned a few moments since had 
 now drawn sufficiently near for her to distin 
 guish the faces, the recognition of some of 
 which overcame her with a deadly sickness, so 
 that she fell on her knees by the casement, her 
 hands clutching the sill. 
 
 She saw her brother under a guard of 
 soldiers, who hurried him along roughly. His 
 hands were tied behind him and he was bare 
 headed. At his heels the Great Dane followed 
 growling. Striving to make his way to the 
 boy through the intervening men was the 
 crazed soldier, his tall frame overtowering 
 the rest. The foolish smile was gone, and in his 
 wild and mournful face some last intelligence 
 struggled for the mastery. His face was un- 
 dyingly stamped on Mademoiselle de Berny s 
 memory, as her appalled gaze passed on from
 
 1 82 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 him to the huge figure at her brother s side, 
 and she saw the Quaker Roberts she had met 
 on her way to Valley Forge. 
 
 He was crying like a woman, his spectacles 
 all blurred with tears, so that for lack of seeing 
 he stumbled constantly. But young Stirling 
 stepped proudly, his head held high, his face 
 white, save for a burning spot of color on either 
 cheek. So exalted was his expression that he 
 seemed to be smiling. The sunlight shone 
 brightly on his fair disordered hair. On all 
 sides arose taunts and curses. Owing to the 
 intense excitement of the early morning when 
 La Fayette had so narrowly escaped being 
 taken by the enemy at Valley Forge, an air of 
 restlessness still pervaded the encampment, and 
 a general reaction had ensued, admitting of a 
 certain relaxation for a time from the usual 
 severe military discipline. 
 
 Under these circumstances only could the 
 crowd have grown to be the considerable size 
 it now presented. Several negroes and some 
 camp idlers as well as one mounted officer and 
 a number of other men off duty had joined the 
 original group of soldiers. 
 
 The guard conducting the prisoners had 
 turned into the very road which Heyward had 
 sought to avoid taking, but unfortunately, in 
 the young man s troubled state of mind, he 
 had forgotten to order otherwise. The bitter 
 ness dormant in the hearts of the half-starved
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 183 
 
 patriots had awakened to fierce life when the 
 cause of the failure of the expedition to Valley 
 Forge became known. They had been betrayed 
 by spies in camp. Young Stirling turned his 
 head neither to the left nor to the right, as if 
 he heard not the jeering cries of " Spy ! " nor 
 the curses of men whose hospitality he had 
 betrayed. Over the rough road he was hur 
 ried, and he slipped and fell when still several 
 rods from headquarters. As he half rose, his 
 clothing spattered with mud, a great bruise 
 appearing on his face, helpless to see or to use 
 his hands, one of the guard prodded him 
 with his bayonet, and a stone flung at the 
 Quaker missed the intended aim and struck 
 his shoulder, knocking him down again. Then 
 it was that Mademoiselle de Berny s anguish 
 found vent in a long and bitter cry a cry so 
 exceeding bitter coming from such an unex 
 pected direction that the guard involuntarily 
 turned to look for its origin. 
 
 A moment later Mademoiselle de Berny 
 had rushed down the stairs, out of the door, 
 and into the street, making her way imperi 
 ously to her brother s side. 
 
 "Armand! Armand! I am here," she cried, 
 assisting him to rise. The Quaker, taking ad 
 vantage of the momentary pause during which 
 attention was directed toward his fellow-pris 
 oner and his sister, slipped the leathern bonds 
 confining his wrists. In another instant he
 
 184 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 was struggling for his life with the guard. His 
 expression was one to appall the stoutest heart. 
 If the sight of her brother falling a moment 
 since had fired Mademoiselle s heart, the scene 
 she now witnessed froze her blood. For, al 
 though the tears were rolling down the Quaker s 
 face, his complexion had taken on a greenish 
 hue, and his upper lip curling back from his 
 teeth revealed no human passion, but the 
 ferocity of the tiger. Adding to the horror of 
 the scene was the attitude taken by the crazed 
 soldier, who, roused to an insane frenzy by the 
 excitement, was engaging in the combat on the 
 Quaker s side. 
 
 The guard, not daring to fire on account 
 of the crowd, had resource to their bayonets. 
 Then ensued a tragic incident. The insane 
 soldier, his arms outstretched as if he would 
 embrace death, flung himself violently against 
 one bayonet, which pierced his breast. The 
 second s hesitation of horror following the act 
 was the Quaker s salvation. His escape, as 
 he wrenched himself free, was so unexpected, 
 that for a stupefied moment all were silent, 
 watching him as he ran across the green field 
 toward the woods like the huge, gray shadow 
 of some evil thing fleeing the bright sun 
 light. 
 
 Then the crowd broke and ran, the guard 
 leading, shouting and firing as they moved. 
 The officer on horseback quickly distanced
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 185 
 
 the other pursuers, and nearing the prisoner, 
 checked his horse and commanded him to halt. 
 But before the officer had time to fire, the 
 Quaker had turned desperately and flung at him, 
 dragged him from his horse by an almost super 
 human strength, and then mounted in his place, 
 ducking to escape the rain of bullets. Another 
 moment and he entered the cover of the woods. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny knelt at the side 
 of the dead soldier, pitifully staunching the 
 blood flowing from the wound in his breast 
 with her handkerchief, heedless of the fact 
 that the glazing eyes and the silent heart re 
 vealed the futility of her effort. She closed 
 the eyes and crossed the helpless hands over 
 the gaunt chest. At that moment her thought 
 was not of herself nor of her brother, but of 
 the mystery of life and death. Of the troops 
 who had returned that day, all were unscathed 
 with some few exceptions. This soldier, re 
 maining in camp, had met a terrible death 
 had been stricken down in the twinkling of 
 an eye. Verily, the one shall be taken and 
 the other left. 
 
 She became conscious of her brother calling 
 her name over and over again, and, rising, 
 she went to him and drew his shamed head 
 down on her breast, standing with both arms 
 around him as the soldiers closed in upon them. 
 
 How the remainder of that day and the 
 ensuing night passed, she scarcely knew. Her
 
 1 86 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 consciousness was dazed, and she felt as one 
 striving to awaken from a ghastly dream 
 a nightmare in which the will, powerless in 
 the chains of sleep, cannot control the tort 
 ured imagination. She realized dimly the con 
 sideration and sympathy accorded her by 
 General and Lady Washington and those 
 other officers and their wives whom she had 
 met at Valley Forge. Richard Heyward she 
 had not seen, save the glimpse she caught of 
 him in the great crowd which had gathered, 
 following the Quaker s escape. By the next 
 morning she had recovered from the lethargic 
 condition into which the shock had thrown her. 
 She had risen early and dressed, and, not wait 
 ing to partake of any breakfast, had gone to her 
 brother. Military discipline did not permit her 
 to enter the building, nor to hold any communi 
 cation with a spy. She was allowed, however, 
 to seat herself near the entrance of the guard 
 house in which her brother was imprisoned. 
 He was sleeping on a bed of straw, the straw 
 partly concealed by a blanket thrown over it. 
 He had laid down without undressing, and his 
 body had the relaxed and motionless posture 
 of one sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion. 
 One of the soldiers guarding him carried in 
 his breakfast, which consisted of corn bread 
 and coffee sweetened with molasses. He laid 
 it on the floor beside the prisoner, whose 
 heavy sleep was not to be disturbed, although
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 187 
 
 the guard spoke in rough kindness, bidding 
 him awaken and eat. 
 
 At Mademoiselle de Berny s request the 
 soldier took her cloak and spread it over the 
 sleeper, who had no covering. The sober, 
 brown hue of the garment seemed to add a 
 tone of sadness and depression to the cheer 
 less interior. A square of golden sunlight fell 
 through the open doorway and cast Mademoi 
 selle de Berny s shadow on the hard earth 
 floor. The Great Dane lay beside his mas 
 ter, his head on his paws, his intelligent eyes 
 ever watchful. Once he rose and walked over 
 to the young girl and licked her hand with a 
 low whine. Then he went back and lay down 
 in his former position, raising his head to 
 whine again as one who would proclaim that 
 there he stationed himself a faithful watch. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny turned her face 
 away and looked down the forest road, be 
 yond the encampment to where she could see 
 the purple sweep of far-off hills. To her wistful 
 eyes that dreamy outline seemed to mark a fair 
 country, where the future smiled elusively and 
 faintly beyond the present reality. 
 
 Inside the hut the sleeper turned restlessly, 
 drawing a long, quivering breath. After a mo 
 ment he raised himself on his elbow and drew 
 his sword from its sheath. 
 
 " Diane," he called sharply, half-awake and 
 frowning, " what was that ? "
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 " You are dreaming, Armand," she said. 
 
 Assured by the sound of her voice, he lay 
 down again. She felt bitter resentment at 
 the sight of the bruise upon his face. But 
 for the slight movement of his chest in breath 
 ing, he seemed as one dead. His lids were 
 transparently blue and not quite closed, as 
 in the case of people dangerously ill. On 
 his left cheek and temple the veins showed 
 distinctly as some purple tracery drawn by the 
 finger of Death. He lay now on his back, one 
 arm outstretched stiffly, with the hand grasp 
 ing his father s sword. The blade rested on 
 the hound s back and made a line of silver 
 light. There was an odd pathos in his atti 
 tude, as if he had dreamed of assassination and 
 drawn his sword in fear. It was nearly an hour 
 before he again awakened. Then he sat up on 
 the bed and leant against the wall, flinging the 
 cloak laid over him on the floor. He was 
 smiling. 
 
 "Diane," he said. The habit of taking her 
 presence for granted had become instinctive. 
 
 " Yes, dear," she said. 
 
 He turned his amused face towards her. 
 
 "We British didn t make much out of it, 
 after all, Diane, although word was sent in 
 time, I know. As Uncle Henry says, these 
 rebel dogs are shrewd. Nevertheless, we 
 served that young Frenchman a rare trick. 
 Twas up the hill and down again for him."
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 189 
 
 He rose and returned his sword to its sheath, 
 and as he did so she saw that his left hand was 
 bound up in his handkerchief. 
 
 "Ah, Diane," he cried, with a triumphant 
 toss of his head, " you will not laugh at me 
 again for a little boy. It was I I who sent 
 word to the British. You said we were naught 
 but bickering English, and I thought you d be 
 sorry for it some day." 
 
 She looked at him in dumb amazement. 
 
 He, pausing a moment for her reply, con 
 tinued as she did not speak. 
 
 " I heard what you and Major Heyward said 
 at the Green Tree coffee-house that day. You 
 forget how I always hear things. But where 
 are you ? " he said impatiently, groping for her. 
 
 " I am here outside the doorway," she re 
 plied sadly. " They will not allow me to 
 come in to you, Armand." 
 
 He frowned. "They ll remember this some 
 day," he said haughtily. " But as I was say 
 ing," he continued, his face clearing as he 
 seated himself again on his bed, and drew his 
 hound s head against him, " as I was saying, 
 you forgot my sharp ears that day. My father 
 said the good God gave me my sense of hear 
 ing in place of sight." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny cried out bitterly, 
 " Oh, Armand, God has punished you, inas 
 much as you have used his good gift to your 
 dishonor and mine ! "
 
 190 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 "You don t understand," he said crossly, 
 "war is not as women think. Do you think 
 I did not know that day when they were hunt 
 ing Major Heyward that you were wondering 
 who had told on him ? I tried not to laugh 
 when you spoke as if I knew nothing. But 
 you can never fool me, Diane, although I am 
 blind ! " 
 
 With a cry, his listener put her hands over 
 her face. One of the guard, his attention at 
 tracted by the sound, came over and looked in 
 the hut, glancing sharply at Mademoiselle de 
 Berny. But he saw nothing to confirm his 
 suspicions, and rejoined his companions, who 
 lounged smoking and jesting on the ground 
 within earshot of any conversation passing be 
 tween the prisoner and his sister. Mademoi 
 selle de Berny, her face buried in her hands, 
 had not observed the incident. Her very soul 
 was shamed and sickened by her brother s 
 words. 
 
 Young Stirling discovered his breakfast and 
 commenced eating hungrily. Now and then 
 he fed his hound pieces of the corn bread. 
 He continued chatting to his sister. She, in 
 her painful thought, heard his words vaguely, 
 comprehending but dimly their significance. 
 As she looked at him again she was startled by 
 the impression his face conveyed to her. His 
 profile was turned towards her, and the re 
 markable resemblance between them was for
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 191 
 
 the moment so great that she seemed to be 
 looking at herself, and not at the brother she 
 worshipped. Curiously enough she had no 
 consciousness of Armand s personality as seen 
 in that subtle and self-assured profile. It bore 
 no reference to him whatever, but expressed 
 her own arrogance and selfishness. It recalled 
 to her instantly her attitude of mind during 
 her last ride with General Stirling on the event 
 ful afternoon when Hey ward had betrayed his 
 position to her in the Green Tree coffee-house, 
 and she saw herself scornful of him in her own 
 righteousness, uttering things the reverse of 
 generous in her wounded love and vanity. In 
 contrast there rose in memory the good, hon 
 est face of her adopted uncle ; she heard his 
 gruff but kindly voice, uttering words which 
 made no impression then on her complacent 
 self-esteem. Now those sentences returned to 
 pierce her heart with shame, and she shrank 
 from recalling his gruff rebuke for light, vain 
 words, which damned ; his honest scorn of her 
 hinting at another s dishonor. For the first 
 time since her departure from Philadelphia she 
 thought of the anxiety General Stirling must 
 experience, of her lack of consideration of his 
 double worry in the absence of both herself 
 and her brother. With humiliation she re 
 membered her outspoken desire to go in search 
 of her brother, her secret wish to see once more 
 Richard Heyward. Frank and generous was
 
 192 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 her action on the surface, but beneath had lurked 
 self-gratification. 
 
 Armand s voice suddenly took a pitiful, com 
 plaining tone which roused her from her reverie. 
 He came to the doorway and held out his left 
 hand, as if calling attention to the handkerchief 
 which concealed a wound. Ah, how his atti 
 tude recalled those days when a little child he 
 had turned to her when hurt, holding up his 
 face or his tiny hand to be kissed ! 
 
 " Oh, Armand," she cried, " he escaped ! 
 But you you " 
 
 " They will not hang me, Diane," he said 
 quickly, comprehending her unuttered thought. 
 
 She only moaned in reply. 
 
 "They will not dare hang me," he cried, 
 frightened and defiant. " General Washington 
 will exchange me for one of his own men whom 
 the British have imprisoned. Go, tell His Ex 
 cellency that my father was a soldier, a soldier 
 of the King, and that his son must not be 
 hanged. It was not fair for Hey ward to arrest 
 me. He might have pretended he did not 
 know. He found out from Roberts what I 
 was doing here and he arrested me. Diane, 
 you go and tell him to take it back. He could 
 get me away at night without any one knowing, 
 if His Excellency will not exchange me. I 
 could wear his uniform, and he could give me 
 the password." 
 
 She rose. He, hearing the rustle of her
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 193 
 
 gown, thought she was about to leave him. 
 He stepped quickly outside the hut and flung 
 his arms around her neck. 
 
 " Diane," he sobbed, " don t leave me. I 
 am afraid." 
 
 One of the guards came forward and was 
 about to separate them, but the expression of 
 Mademoiselle s face checked him. Full of 
 pain, there was an imperious entreaty in her 
 glance which silenced the man, so that he drew 
 back among his fellows with an involuntary 
 half-spoken apology. 
 
 " Diane," said the boy in a whisper, " send 
 these men away. Don t let them hang me. 
 Tell them that I am blind." 
 
 "Yes, yes, sweetheart," she whispered, "they 
 shall not hurt you. No one shall hurt you." 
 
 He pressed his cheek closer to hers, tighten 
 ing his arm around her neck ; his fear was 
 quieted immediately at her assurances. 
 
 " You will go and tell His Excellency, 
 Diane ? " he murmured coaxingly ; " yes, you 
 will go now, won t you ? Tell him I am 
 blind." 
 
 She could not speak, only drawing him 
 closer to her. He raised his head from her 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Hark ! " he said. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny and the soldiers, fol 
 lowing the gaze of his sightless eyes as he 
 turned his head in the direction from which
 
 194 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 the sound proceeded, saw several French sol 
 diers lounging in front of their quarters some 
 distance down the road. The sound of their idle 
 singing arose cheerily. The words and music 
 were those of an old and famous chansonnette. 
 
 "Essuyez vos beaux yeux. 
 Madame de Longueville, 
 Essuyez vos beaux yeux, 
 Coligny se porte mieux " 
 
 " Hark, Diane ! " whispered the boy. 
 
 "Si l demande la vie 
 Ne 1 en blamez nullement 
 Car c est pour etre votre amant 
 Qu il veut vivre eternellement." 
 
 The boy s head was nodding in time to the 
 music. His voice rippled spontaneously into 
 the chorus. 
 
 " Essuyez vos beaux yeux, 
 Madame de Longueville. " 
 
 One of the French soldiers made the sign 
 of the cross, as the language of his country 
 voiced in the piercingly sweet, and, for the 
 moment, mysterious tones came to the hear 
 ing of himself and his fellows. 
 
 " It is a voice from heaven," he said. Higher 
 and sweeter rang out the silvery voice. 
 
 "Car c est pour votre amant 
 Qu il veut vivre eternellement 
 Essuyez vos beaux yeux ! 
 Essuyez vos beaux yeux !
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 195 
 
 Young Stirling had dropped his arm from 
 his sister s shoulder, and with his head flung 
 back was singing as one who would sing his 
 heart away. But Mademoiselle de Berny was 
 sobbing bitterly.
 
 Chapter XII 
 
 SOME hours later she went to General 
 Washington, whom she found at his 
 breakfast, served in the room which was 
 his office. Although it was then nearly eleven 
 o clock, he had just risen. A glance sufficed 
 to show that he was ill. His throat was bound 
 by a woollen compress, and his blue military 
 cape was wrapped closely around him, regard 
 less of the increasing heat of the day. Doubt 
 less it was then that the throat and lung 
 trouble from which he died had its origin. 
 He was studying a map which lay beside his 
 plate. As Mademoiselle de Berny entered, 
 he rose and, greeting her formally, handed 
 her to a chair. Reseating himself, he pushed 
 aside his breakfast, which she noticed was un- 
 tasted with the exception of the coffee. His 
 face was colorless. She noticed the spareness 
 of his enormous hands, and his eyes of so 
 colorless a gray tone as to prove his vitality to 
 be at a very low ebb. Troubled by many 
 thoughts, not knowing what to say first, her 
 nature rebelling against tormenting a sick man, 
 although the matter was one which pressed so 
 closely upon her heart, she remained silent. 
 Unconsciously her companion s eyes sought 
 196
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 197 
 
 the map before him, and he made a correction 
 with his pencil, adding a foot-note. Then he 
 turned inquiringly again to his visitor. She 
 read in his thoughtful and attentive gaze 
 neither hardness to repel, nor warmth which 
 might give rise to hope within the breast of 
 a supplicant. That austere yet strangely mild 
 and open countenance appeared insensible to 
 the sway of emotions. 
 
 " Your Excellency," she said, " my brother 
 he has been " Her voice faltered. 
 
 He nodded, comprehending her unspoken 
 thought. 
 
 She looked away from him. Mechanically 
 her gaze took in every detail of the room, 
 with its low dark ceiling of polished rafters ; 
 the snowy curtains fluttering at the open case 
 ments ; the array of blue and white Delft ware 
 on the shelf above the chimney-hood ; the 
 long oval table occupying nearly the whole 
 of the apartment, with chairs pushed in closely 
 together around it, now all empty and in readi 
 ness to be drawn out and occupied by Wash 
 ington and his staff, meeting in consultation of 
 war, or when a court-martial was to be held. 
 So would these chairs soon be rilled by men 
 called to pass judgment upon her brother ! 
 It seemed to her that she had been silent a 
 long time. In reality, there was but a mo 
 mentary pause between her first faltering words 
 and her next sentence.
 
 198 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 " I do not ask justice for him, but clem 
 ency," she continued, the shamed color burn 
 ing in her face. " I do not seek to excuse 
 him, but he is my only brother." 
 
 " He is guilty of treason, my child," said 
 Washington. 
 
 " Your Excellency, he is but a boy ! " 
 
 " In my army are many lads," he answered, 
 " who are scarcely more than children. They 
 have suffered during the war continual priva 
 tion, woe, and discouragement. Yet were one 
 to run away and be recaptured, my painful duty 
 would be, regardless of his youth, to have him 
 shot as a deserter. Mademoiselle, with all my 
 heart I should wish to be only merciful, but 
 justice is more to be desired than kindness. 
 My officers, as well as the common soldiers, 
 in face of the imminent peril in which a great 
 part of our troops stood at Barren Hill, nay, 
 more, the peril which threatened our entire 
 army, are hardened to clemency, and protest 
 their right of protection against the treachery 
 of spies. On all sides are we beset by mis 
 fortune. Not only must we struggle under 
 an exhausting burden of debt and a worthless 
 currency, but we must fight the foes of our 
 own household. Mademoiselle, when we en 
 tered Boston two years ago last March, one 
 thousand men who should have been patriots 
 followed upon the heels of the retreating Brit 
 ish, flying the righteous anger of their coun-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 199 
 
 trynien, openly declaring that if the most 
 abject submission to us would have secured 
 their peace, they never would have fled." 
 
 " Your Excellency," she said, with a faint 
 and pitiful smile, " my brother was not one 
 of those." 
 
 He did not hear her, absorbed in thought. 
 He sat with his elbow resting on the table, 
 his hand supporting his head. His body- 
 servant entered and laid at his plate a small, 
 worn journal to which there was a pencil 
 attached by a string. 
 
 Washington did not raise his head nor seem 
 ingly observe the man as he carried away the 
 breakfast things. Mademoiselle de Berny not 
 ing that his face was gray with pain, and that 
 his hand was pressed against his side, half rose 
 to go for assistance. He motioned her to re 
 main seated. 
 
 " In one moment I can attend to you, 
 Mademoiselle, if you will bear with my indis 
 position. From my youth up I have been 
 subject more or less to pleurisy." He drew 
 the journal towards him, his large hand trem 
 bling as he jotted down with an accurate 
 minutia of detail the private daily expenses of 
 himself and Lady Washington. " It is aston 
 ishing that more fresh vegetables cannot be 
 procured," he said, looking at her with a 
 troubled and abstracted gaze, " and I am now 
 paying as high as a shilling and a half for eggs."
 
 2oo Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny s hands gripped the 
 arms of her chair. She felt that from nervous 
 ness she should shriek. To speak of eggs, 
 the price of eggs, when her brother was in dan 
 ger. His Excellency s face showed behind a 
 mist of horror to her. Involuntarily she closed 
 her eyes. 
 
 General Washington closed the journal and 
 drew the map towards him and rolled it up. 
 At his request his servant brought him a glass 
 of hot toddy, and he swallowed the beverage 
 hastily. Then he gave the map to the man 
 with directions as to its delivery. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny, who had opened 
 her eyes directly after that involuntary closing, 
 forgot herself for the moment as she noted the 
 ashen pallor of this great man whose supreme 
 thought even in intensest pain was not of him 
 self, but of his country, that country to which 
 he freely gave his services, accepting neither 
 salary nor recompense. 
 
 He turned to her again, and curiously enough 
 his next words were in answer to the tenor of 
 her thought. 
 
 " My situation, Mademoiselle, is so irksome 
 to me at times, that if I did not consult the 
 public good more than my own tranquillity, I 
 should long ere this have put everything on 
 the cast of a die. In short, my condition is 
 such that I have been obliged not only to use 
 the strictest discipline, but to employ art to
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 201 
 
 conceal the condition of affairs from my officers. 
 The spirit of resigning commissions increases 
 daily. Did I abate the severity of my disci 
 pline one jot, the soldiers would be in rebellion. 
 I cannot afford to let them see me show mercy 
 to one who has betrayed us." 
 
 " Your Excellency," she interposed, heart- 
 breakingly, " he is blind ! " 
 
 " Blind as he was, he worked mischief," he 
 replied. " Mademoiselle, some of my soldiers 
 have starved to death this winter ; others will 
 be crippled the remainder of their lives from 
 exposure, yet would no physical infirmity par 
 don desertion, nor treachery on their part." 
 
 " He is all I have in the world," she said. 
 
 " Throughout the land goes up the cry of 
 bereaved and widowed women," he rejoined. 
 
 There was a short silence. Then Madem 
 oiselle de Berny rose as if to leave, but re 
 mained standing, her hand resting on the back 
 of her chair. She spoke bravely, but with 
 sinking heart. 
 
 " Once I was told, your Excellency, that 
 your soldiers called you ( Father ; that once 
 during a period of black despair, they crowded 
 cheering around you. And it is repeated that 
 you, laying your hand on the head of a drum 
 mer-boy, said : f We may be beaten by the 
 English, that is the chance of war, but here 
 is the army they will never conquer. 
 
 " My child," said Washington, glancing up
 
 202 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 at her visibly softened, " what is it you would 
 have me do ? " 
 
 " General Washington," she said, " these men 
 who call you Father would not criticise you 
 inasmuch as you showed mercy to the fatherless. 
 You say no physical infirmity can pardon 
 moral wrong. But these men who have be 
 come physically infirm through this war were 
 once well and strong. My brother has been 
 blind from birth. He knows not the blue sky, 
 nor the green earth, nor the faces of those who 
 love him. I do not seek to excuse his betrayal 
 of the friendship shown him. But to your 
 clemency I commend him as one unprotected 
 and blind. I am told, Monsieur, that you 
 have no children. Yet a country calls you 
 Father. But I have no one in the world save 
 him. He is but a little lad, a child in experi 
 ence, too delicate to bear the weight of the 
 punishment his deed warrants." 
 
 Washington was looking up at her, and his 
 countenance showed him to be profoundly 
 moved. But ere he could reply, she spoke 
 again, no longer in a tone of entreaty nor per 
 suasion, but with confidence and decision. 
 
 " Your Excellency," she said, " I wonder 
 that I came to you ; I wonder that I even fear 
 your judgment, for I know absolutely that 
 you are a humane man, and as such you could 
 not hang him. To do so would stamp you 
 not as a just man, but as one inhuman. Why,
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 203 
 
 Monsieur," she said, "you would not dare to 
 do so, even if your inclination pointed that 
 way, which you have confessed to me it did 
 not. However the license or the discipline 
 of military rule might sanction the deed, hu 
 manity would protest against it. Your Excel 
 lency, you dare not invoke the curse of God." 
 
 " My child," said Washington, with great 
 gentleness, "rest assured that " 
 
 " General Washington," she interrupted, 
 " not only as his sister, but in the name of 
 those of my country-women who have so gen 
 erously given their sons to your cause, I ask 
 that you be equally generous and give me the 
 life of my brother whose mother was a French 
 woman ! " 
 
 "Mademoiselle de Berny," he said, "believe 
 me that your appeal touches my heart ; but, 
 until I have given the matter further thought, 
 I cannot reply to you. Rest assured, however, 
 that not only is your brother in my hands, but 
 he is in the hands of God. There is one 
 question now which it is my painful duty to 
 ask you. I beg you will be seated." 
 
 She sat down in the chair from which she 
 had risen, leaning forward in her anxiety as 
 to what he would have to say. Washington 
 glanced away from the intent and question 
 ing gaze of those eyes, so clear and open that 
 one seemed to look down into the honorable 
 and proud heart of the owner, with the reluc-
 
 204 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 tance of meeting the look of pain which he was 
 aware his next words would bring. But he 
 forced himself to meet her gaze, speaking 
 deliberately and coldly. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Berny, since your broth 
 er s arrest it has been suggested to me by my 
 own thought, as well as by several of my offi 
 cers, that the question would arise, nay more, 
 it has arisen, whether or not you had anything 
 to do or any previous knowledge of your 
 brother s actions. It becomes my painful duty 
 to inform you, that since his arrest you have 
 had, as far as appearances went, perfect free 
 dom. On the contrary, you have been under 
 the constant secret surveillance of a guard, who 
 are instructed to permit you such liberty as is 
 compatible with your being kept a prisoner here 
 at Valley Forge." 
 
 As a bird, fascinated, powerless to remove 
 its gaze from the enemy, Mademoiselle de 
 Berny was staring helplessly at him. 
 
 " I have stated this," continued Washington, 
 "in order that I might ask one question of 
 you, which, if answered to my satisfaction, will 
 remove suspicion from you, and I will take 
 upon myself the responsibility of your future 
 bearing here. Were you aware until his arrest 
 of any of your brother s plans or desire to 
 betray us to the British ? " 
 
 But the girl in front of him could not speak. 
 As the Quaker s attack upon her brother had
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 205 
 
 well-nigh crushed the boy, so now the sister s 
 bright nature was broken. She had been sur 
 rounded and under guard as a common spy ! 
 She strove to speak, but no sound issued from 
 her parched lips. Again and again her lips 
 moved in a vain effort, until at last her half- 
 paralyzed will asserted itself, and she voiced in a 
 whisper her denial. But as that half-truth 
 faintly whispered left her pale lips, something 
 else passed from Mademoiselle de Berny s life. 
 Never again would she have the same lightness 
 and same free-heartedness and buoyant self- 
 confidence. With that supreme effort at denial, 
 something which was vital in her nature was 
 killed. Tenderer for this experience she would 
 always be, but her pride was gone. Perhaps 
 something of this made itself felt to Washing 
 ton, and that in her gaze he read something of 
 that look which it is said the dying deer turns 
 upon the hunter who has slain it. He bent 
 to catch her whispered words which he could 
 scarcely distinguish. Only now, as in his first 
 interview with Mademoiselle de Berny, he saw 
 again a fleeting resemblance in her face to that 
 of a long-past love of his, " the Lowland 
 Beauty," the unrequited love of his youth. 
 The quivering of this French girl s sweet 
 mouth, with its full and girlish curves, brought 
 to him again the memory of one unkissed 
 mouth; the slender hands pressed together 
 were like that pair of hands which had slipped
 
 206 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 from his eager grasp ; hair as soft and shining 
 had shadowed other eyes, eyes which had 
 turned from him. Oh, the distant and en 
 chanting glory of youth ! He covered his 
 eyes with his hand. He was not a military 
 genius, but he was a great soldier ; but before 
 that he was a peace-loving man, and his 
 thought turned wearily from the smoke and 
 din of battle to the quiet and beauty of the 
 country. This young girl had spoken of the 
 fact that he had no children, but that a coun 
 try termed him Father. Yet there was the 
 personal part of his nature, which cried out 
 For a child of his own flesh and blood. In 
 his expression was an elusive sadness, a pro 
 found melancholy indicative of a nature whose 
 generous sentiments had been misunderstood. 
 The jealousy and treachery of some of his 
 officers, the lack of sympathy shown him by 
 Congress, had chilled a nature naturally re 
 served and self-contained. His face, showing 
 much patience and power of endurance, never 
 theless bespoke a weariness verging upon ex 
 haustion, as one who had received ingratitude 
 from those he served and had found glory a 
 vanity. He removed his hand from his eyes 
 and addressed his companion. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Berny," he said, " I am 
 convinced of your innocence in this matter. I 
 trust you will do me the justice to believe that, 
 painful as the question I asked must have been
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 207 
 
 to you, it was equally painful to me to put a 
 seeming affront upon one who is not only my 
 guest and of the French people, but one who 
 is a woman as well and doubly entitled to con 
 sideration." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny rose, but remained 
 standing a moment. 
 
 " Your Excellency," she said bravely, "what 
 of my brother ? " 
 
 A coldness and austerity which appalled her 
 made itself felt in Washington s manner. His 
 stern glance frightened her, making her grow 
 faint from dread, lest in her last question she 
 had overstepped the bounds of his patience, 
 and had undone all that she had just accom 
 plished. He rose and laid his heavy hand 
 upon her shoulder. His figure more impos 
 ing by reason of the military cape, his majestic, 
 dome-like head made him an overpowering 
 personality in the small room, which was a 
 dwarfed and meagre setting for this great man. 
 
 " My child," he said, " you have had what 
 assurance I am able to give you, until a proper 
 consultation with my officers is held." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny made no reply. 
 The hand laid upon her shoulder was to her 
 tortured heart a cruel weight with power to 
 crush. Near her was the door leading into 
 the hall. 
 
 " Remember," said His Excellency kindly, 
 " that aside from this Lady Washington and I
 
 208 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 will be honored to grant you any favor within 
 our power." 
 
 She did not speak, her eyes were fixed upon 
 the hall door, which opened a blessed avenue 
 of escape when that heavy hand should be 
 lifted from her shoulder. 
 
 With an irrepressible sigh, as he divined her 
 feelings, Washington s hand dropped to his 
 side. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Berny," he said, " I am 
 about to review the troops, and I shall leave 
 this room at your disposal, where, if you desire, 
 you may rest until you feel better able to 
 return to your brother. I would urge my 
 advice in this instance as you appear to be 
 physically exhausted." 
 
 He opened the drawer of the table and 
 placed within the papers and maps he had been 
 correcting and locked the drawer, putting the 
 key in his pocket. His great exactness showed 
 itself in the careful placing of these papers ; in 
 the particular unvarying position of the ink 
 well, quill-pen, and blank paper in the centre of 
 the table. From the chimney-shelf he took 
 his hat and riding-whip, which he uniformly 
 laid there. Then, without further word to the 
 young girl, who had again seated herself, he 
 opened the door and went out, closing it behind 
 him. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny shivered at the 
 sound, and her hands clasped convulsively.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 209 
 
 At last she was alone ! Her bosom rose and 
 fell quickly from her tumultuous breathing. 
 She was like a bird which had escaped from 
 the snare of the fowler a bird uncaptured, but 
 fluttering with a broken wing. With the clos 
 ing of the door between herself and Washing 
 ton had come a blessed relief release from 
 pain. All that ideal sentiment she had held 
 sacred had been violated, and the last blow had 
 come from Washington. As a rough touch 
 leaves an ineffaceable mark upon the petals of a 
 flower, so his statement, that she had been 
 virtually a prisoner under suspicion as a com 
 mon spy, had bruised a nature so highly strung 
 and of such delicacy that a false accusation cast 
 upon it fell as a wound and not as an insult, 
 rendering the receiver incapable of resentment. 
 For a little while His Excellency ceased to 
 signify a great and humane man to Mademoi 
 selle de Berny. His words had invested him 
 with a kind of horror, so that she shrank from 
 the memory of him as one loathing the instru 
 ment which had dealt a wound. With closed 
 eyes she prayed she might never look upon 
 his face again. She thought of Richard 
 Heyward, and somewhat of relief came into 
 her expression. She opened her eyes and 
 the room was magically changed. True, there 
 were the same snowy curtains fluttering at 
 the casement ; as brightly blue as before was 
 the array of blue and white china on the
 
 2io Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 chimney-shelf; there was the long table with 
 the empty chairs pushed in around it ; above 
 her head there still remained the low, dark 
 ceiling with its polished rafters. But the hor 
 ror of the room was gone, gone with that 
 colossal figure which had made it a small, mean 
 place. 
 
 With the absence of that sad, austere, and 
 yet benevolent countenance the room lost its 
 air of a justice court, and recovered a certain 
 sweet simplicity, as of a domestic life passed 
 within its walls, breathing peace and comfort. 
 As a golden sunlight penetrating a gray and 
 melancholy mist, so now the atmosphere of the 
 room lately thick with horror and shame so 
 that she felt as if every breath of air suffocated 
 her steadily brightened beneath the beneficent 
 thought of her lover. He it had been who 
 had first violated those Old World sentiments 
 of honor, becoming gentle people among 
 whom she had been born and bred, but now 
 at the last it was he who restored serenity to 
 her troubled soul. It consoled her deeply to 
 remember he had abided, to the bitter end, 
 by the principles in which he believed. With 
 the unerring instinct of love she comprehended 
 what remorse his must have been when he 
 arrested her brother. Although her own heart 
 were sacrificed in the struggle, it counted as 
 nothing beside the fact that he had stood loyal. 
 Now, amid her shattered ideals and outraged
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 211 
 
 sentiments, her brother s shame and the blight 
 ing suspicion cast upon herself, the thought of 
 Heyward was as an oasis in the desolate wastes 
 of her happiness. The little room was dim 
 behind a mist of tears.
 
 Chapter XIII 
 
 YOUNG Stirling, recommended to the 
 mercy of the court, did not receive the 
 penalty his crime warranted, but was sen 
 tenced to imprisonment as an unsafe parson until 
 such time as he could be returned to his guardian, 
 General Stirling, of His Majesty s Army. Al 
 though he had been openly convicted as a spy, 
 he was treated indulgently by the officers and 
 soldiers over whom he exercised an irresistible 
 charm. His gay humor, his haughty and self- 
 consequential bearing, his fragile beauty and his 
 incurable blindness, the devotion of the great 
 hound to him and, above all, perhaps, his 
 mourning attire and the sword of his soldier- 
 father, which he wore with such importance, 
 touched that which was best and tenderest in the 
 roughest as well as the most discouraged men. 
 But of all this consideration shown him, 
 which would have so gratified her loving pride, 
 had she known it, Mademoiselle de Berny was 
 unconscious. The day following her interview 
 with General Washington she had spent with 
 her brother in the guard-house, and late in the 
 afternoon, feeling utterly wearied, she had re 
 turned to headquarters to rest for a short while. 
 She climbed the narrow, little stairway leading to
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 213 
 
 her room and lay down on her bed ; that bed 
 from which she did not rise for nearly three 
 weeks, and which it appeared for a time she 
 never would leave again, worn out by the 
 anxious strain and exposure to which she had 
 been subjected. 
 
 During those days when her illness seemed 
 liable to terminate fatally, her brother, granted 
 permission by Washington, stationed himself 
 in a corner of the bedroom with his faithful 
 hound beside him. And often in the watches 
 of the night, when the girl tossed and moaned 
 in delirium, he would play gently on his flute, 
 sometimes singing little folk-songs in his 
 mother s tongue, which were like airs of sunny 
 France blowing softly in the sick-room, so that 
 at last the patient grew quiet and soothed. 
 But he refused with strange and even angry 
 insistence to leave his corner and move nearer 
 the bed. Not once did he approach his sister. 
 Only the Great Dane, standing as high as the 
 small bed, would draw near and lick the little 
 fevered hands, whining pitifully until spoken 
 to reassuringly by the nurse, a colored woman 
 belonging to Lady Washington. 
 
 As Mademoiselle de Berny grew better, her 
 brother spent less and less of his time with her, 
 slipping out of the room at the first opportunity 
 and back to the guard-house, where he was 
 virtually imprisoned, there to pass long idle 
 hours talking and jesting with the soldiers ;
 
 214 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 practising with his sword, fencing with remark 
 able skill, blind as he was, as though possessed 
 by a sixth sense to locate his opponent and 
 gauge his movements. His chief delight, how 
 ever, was to seat himself upon the great stump 
 of an old oak tree, which had been hewn down 
 just outside the guard-house door, and there 
 lead the men in song. 
 
 He played a riddle he had purchased of a 
 negro, giving in exchange one of his jewelled 
 knee-buckles. 
 
 Several days prior to the breaking up of 
 camp, General Washington, passing by the 
 guard-house on his return from a review of his 
 troops, checked his horse to listen to the music. 
 Lulled by the languor of the warm June day, a 
 number of soldiers lounged on the ground in the 
 shade of the trees, smoking and jesting or join 
 ing in the singing. As Washington drew up 
 his horse, the jingle of " Yankee Doodle " rose 
 lustily. His Excellency motioned the men to 
 continue, and remained listening, his white horse 
 pawing the ground ; his gaunt face was pleased, 
 although unsmiling, as his gaze rested benignly 
 on his men. As the song ended and he was 
 about to ride on, the riddle continued playing 
 without a break in the time. The tune was 
 the same, but Armand s voice rose to different 
 words, which were at once recognized by his 
 companions. The song now was a parody 
 made by some British wag upon the Continent::!!
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 215 
 
 air of "Yankee Doodle," and greatly in vogue 
 the past winter in Philadelphia. 
 
 " When Congress sent great Washington, 
 All clothed in power and breeches, 
 To meet old Britain s war -like sons, 
 And make some rebel speeches," 
 
 There was a murmur from the men. Their 
 eyes sought the impassive countenance of their 
 commander. He raised his hand, enjoining 
 silence on their part. In his deep eyes lurked 
 a still humor. The prisoner sat perched upon 
 the stump, one leg doubled under him, his 
 foot tapping his hound s back. His fair hair 
 gleamed pale gold in the sunlight ; his face 
 was afire with daring and laughter. Only his 
 eyes were blank and staring. 
 
 " Twas then he took his gloomy way, 
 Astride his dappled donkey s, 
 And travelled fast both day and night, 
 Until he reached the Yankees. 
 
 "Full many a child came into camp, 
 All clad in homespun kersey, 
 To see the greatest rebel scamp, 
 That ever crossed o er Jersey," 
 
 Sang the laughter-thrilling voice, ringing out 
 with mocking sweetness. The effect was irre 
 sistible. From sheer spontaneity the men broke 
 into a murmur of the tune.
 
 216 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 "The rebel clowns ! Oh, what a sight ! 
 Too awkward was their figure. 
 Twas yonder stood a pious wight, 
 And here and there a nigger ! 
 
 " The patriot brave, the patriot fair, 
 From fervor had grown thinner, 
 So off they marched with patriot zeal 
 And took a patriot dinner." 
 
 On His Excellency s face was a rare smile. 
 There is the responsibility of the individual 
 soldier ; there is a greater responsibility of the 
 commander. And sometimes it happens to 
 one in authority that he is made to feel the 
 burden of his liability as something greater 
 than can be borne, so that his own personality 
 becomes an irksome thing to him, inasmuch as 
 he can no longer regard himself lightly nor 
 inconsequentially. A mere song had accom 
 plished much, so that for a little while Wash 
 ington lost his seriousness in his own eyes, and 
 the heavy cloak of tormenting care seemed to 
 have slipped from his shoulders. So often 
 times does a jest cheer the heart and invite 
 hope. But there was something of the peda 
 gogue in Washington which would not permit 
 him to let the prisoner s action pass unre- 
 proved. He guided his horse nearer the 
 group, raising his hand to enjoin silence among 
 the men. He perceived that the boy was 
 about to speak, and he awaited his words with 
 some curiosity and amusement.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 217 
 
 Young Stirling, having finished singing, laid 
 the fiddle down on the ground beside him. 
 Then with the manner of a man having a good 
 story to tell, a manner so evidently imitative 
 and confident as to be absurd in one so boyish, 
 he crossed one leg indolently over the other 
 and clasped his hands around his knee. He 
 turned his head from side to side, listening a 
 moment. Then he laughed mischievously. 
 
 " Methinks you fail to find that jingle ring 
 sweetly, friends. Yet the tune was the same 
 as your own c Yankee Doodle/ Perhaps you 
 liked not the reference to your * patriot din 
 ner. I wonder not that continual fare of hasty 
 puddin and molasses has made you a trifle 
 thin-skinned and sensitive to the mention of 
 it. Even during my short stay here my 
 stomach has grown aweary of it," he paused, 
 laughing, but resumed talking in another mo 
 ment. 
 
 " I was about to tell you a tale a rare 
 good tale, my father used to say. Many a 
 time has he brought his hand down smartly 
 on his leg so and taken his pipe from 
 his mouth to laugh at the thought of it. 
 By the Lord Harry, he would say, shaking 
 his head, c like music ! and he would fall to 
 chuckling again over it." 
 
 The speaker grew silent, leaning a little 
 forward, his face lit by a dreamy smile. 
 
 " He loved a good joke so," he said softly,
 
 2i 8 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 speaking to himself with a musing nod. Sud 
 denly recollecting the present, he drew himself 
 up again and continued his story. 
 
 " Twas in the Seven Years War, and His 
 Excellency, General Washington, was then a 
 good Tory. It seems, so my father said, that 
 His Excellency wrote an account of a skirmish 
 with the French at Great Meadows, in which 
 he beat them because of his English blood, 
 and sent the tale to England where it was 
 printed. And in the account he wrote that 
 the f whistling of bullets was like music ! 
 Tis said King George s face was worth run 
 ning for to see when he read it. For, said 
 His Majesty, shaking with merriment, if he 
 
 had heard more, he would not have thought 
 
 i " 
 so ! 
 
 Washington s mouth twitched. 
 
 " If I did use that phrase, sir," he said in 
 a low and amused tone, " it must have been 
 when I was very young." 
 
 The prisoner, confounded by the unexpected 
 retort, started to his feet. 
 
 " Your Excellency ! " he cried. 
 
 " I must ask you, young sir," continued 
 Washington, in his peculiarly low and con 
 strained yet penetrating voice, " if you con 
 sider it becoming a gentleman that in your 
 present circumstances you sing unseemly songs, 
 and indulge in jesting at the expense of one 
 who has befriended you ? "
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 219 
 
 The boy s bright face grew sullen and 
 the eyelids, dropped over the sightless eyes, 
 quivered. 
 
 It was characteristic of Washington that, 
 following a just reprimand, the great benevo 
 lence of his nature warmed his austere manner 
 as sunlight a wintry landscape. He looked 
 down at the desolate, boyish figure in its black 
 garments, and saw the sullen, defiant pride in 
 the set face. 
 
 " My lad," he said kindly, " I am told that 
 your father met a brave death on the field, and 
 was a man of excellent parts. Think you that 
 he would consider his son had shown either 
 courage or the well-breeding of a gentleman 
 could he see him now ? I have no doubt that 
 you hoped to benefit your King, but you must 
 remember, young sir, that, although your de 
 sire was honest, in fulfilling it you betrayed 
 the hospitality shown you by your enemy, and 
 also acted without military authority from the 
 side you hoped to benefit." 
 
 The prisoner made no reply. In the silence 
 that followed, His Excellency turned his horse 
 and rode away. Young Stirling remained stand 
 ing until he no longer heard the hoof-beats of 
 Washington s horse. Then, with white face 
 and without a word, he turned and entered 
 the guard-house. He seated himself on his 
 bed, speaking seldom to any one, refusing 
 food brought him, arrogantly. But in the
 
 220 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 darkness and silence of the night, his pride 
 vanished and he lay weeping, choking back 
 his sobs that the sleeping soldiers might not 
 hear him, his restless, wakeful head buried 
 in his straw pillow, his face hot and wet with 
 tears, with one arm outstretched and clasped 
 convulsively around the neck of his dog. 
 
 When morning came, he would neither rise 
 nor lift his head from the pillow, lying motion 
 less and silent, and ignoring the food laid be 
 side him. All day he lay so. But towards 
 six o clock he rose and availed himself of the 
 permission which had been accorded him to 
 visit his sister. He called to his hound, and 
 passed the guards without a word, his manner 
 haughty and repellent. One of the guard fol 
 lowed him, but turned back satisfied when he 
 saw the boy enter headquarters. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny s room was empty 
 of any attendant. Young Stirling passed in 
 noiselessly and seated himself in his customary 
 corner. The mellow light of the early even 
 ing came in through the single open casement 
 of the primitive room with its spotless sanded 
 floor and its homely furniture. On the case 
 ment-sill a broken-mouthed pitcher held a 
 branch of the thorny wild yellow rose; the 
 air was filled with the fragrance of the blos 
 soms. At one end of the room was a row of 
 nails for clothing, and there the young girl s 
 dress was hung a mass of soft primrose
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 221 
 
 color in the delicate light. In the narrow 
 little bed, whose white draperies had been 
 removed, and which had been drawn out 
 into the centre of the room, Mademoiselle 
 de Berny was sleeping sweetly. She lay on 
 one side of the bed, the braid of her hair 
 and one arm hanging over the edge, the 
 slender fingers a little pink with returning 
 health nearly touching the floor. Shortly 
 after her brother s entrance she awakened. 
 
 " Armand," she said, not seeing him but con 
 scious of his presence. 
 
 " I am here," he answered. 
 
 They were the first words exchanged be 
 tween them since her illness. 
 
 " Come here, dear," she said. 
 
 He remained motionless. She raised herself 
 up in bed. In the fading light she saw him 
 in the further corner of her room, the massive 
 head of the Great Dane clasped closely to his 
 breast. His face was turned towards her, and 
 she saw it wan and of an almost transparent 
 whiteness, and his eyes were wide open and 
 staring. As in the eyes of the hound she had 
 often perceived an intelligence which seemed 
 struggling for expression, so now in the lad s 
 sightless eyes Mademoiselle de Berny felt the 
 mind behind striving to shine through the 
 blankness to pierce the light of day. 
 
 " My darling," she cried, putting out her 
 arms to him, " what is it ? "
 
 222 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 The miserable set look of his countenance 
 underwent no change as he answered her. 
 
 " He spoke as if I were a child," he said 
 dully, " and he told me my father would be 
 ashamed of me." 
 
 " Oh, Armand," she interrupted pitifully, 
 " who has been talking to you ? " 
 
 " Last night I heard two of the soldiers 
 talking about it too," he continued in the same 
 listless tone. " They said I did not know any 
 better that I was only a boy and a tool of 
 Roberts. They said that, Diane, when it was 
 I, I who sent word to the British that the 
 Marquis de La Fayette was going to Barren 
 Hill," his voice rose shrilly, "yet these rebels 
 might have been ruined through me had the 
 Quaker made better time with the message. 
 They lied! They lied, Diane, when they said 
 I did not know any better." 
 
 " Armand," pleaded Mademoiselle de Berny, 
 deeply troubled, "won t you tell me who has 
 been talking to you ? " 
 
 "It was General Washington," he answered. 
 " He said I had no right to be a spy. Yet he 
 sent Major Heyward to Philadelphia, Diane, 
 to find out things for him. Then why should 
 he say I did wrong and not his own soldier ? " 
 
 " Because," she answered gravely, " Major 
 Heyward was sent there by his commander, 
 and you acted without military authority. 
 Moreover, while he was not thinking of
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 223 
 
 himself, but only of serving his country in be 
 coming a spy, you thought of your own glory. 
 Wasn t it so, Armand ? " 
 
 " Yes," he whispered. After a little he began 
 to cry, his face pressed against his dog s head. 
 
 " I wanted my father to know," he said ; "I 
 wanted him to know." 
 
 " Won t you come to me, dear," said Mad 
 emoiselle de Berny, her own eyes wet with tears, 
 her loving arms extended. 
 
 " I am coming," he said brokenly, and rose. 
 Half-way across the room to her he paused and 
 then went on. That momentary hesitation was 
 the last resistance his pride made against the hu 
 miliation fallen upon him. Mortification at his 
 sister s reproval and condemnation of his action, 
 when he was first imprisoned, had filled him 
 with resentment so bitter that he would not ap 
 proach her during her illness. Now a keener 
 mortification drove him to hide his shamed face 
 upon that tender breast from which in his 
 wounded self-love he had turned. 
 
 He seated himself on the bed beside her, and 
 she drew his head down on her shoulder as she 
 sat propped up by her pillows. 
 
 " I wish my father were here," he whispered ; 
 " we always got along together. We were such 
 good fellows together." 
 
 " I know," she answered tenderly, holding 
 him closer. 
 
 He moved restlessly and lifted his head. His
 
 224 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 expression had changed magically and was full 
 of eagerness and excitement. His voice rang 
 confident and strong. 
 
 " We used to talk about it," he cried, " when 
 I should go to camp with him. And if there 
 were a battle, I was to ride close beside him with 
 a musket and a sword." 
 
 He flung his arms out wildly. 
 
 " There would be the smoke thick around 
 us, and the music and the shouting and firing. 
 And we two would know we were there together, 
 fighting side by side and and," his voice trem 
 bled and died down, and his head sought its 
 resting-place once more on her shoulder. His 
 thin arms went round her neck in a tight 
 embrace, his cheek was pressed against hers. 
 Ill as Mademoiselle de Berny had been, the fire 
 of life burned faintly in her cheeks and mouth 
 and shone in her eyes which were brooding and 
 tender as a mother s. But the lad s eyes were 
 closed and his lips were pale. Seen thus in the 
 twilight one face might have been taken for the 
 
 O O 
 
 death masque of the living, so marvellous was 
 the resemblance. 
 
 Though Mademoiselle de Berny compre 
 hended her brother s loneliness for his father, 
 and wondered at the circumstances which had 
 recently arisen to grieve him, her thought was 
 mostly passive in these moments of blissful 
 nearness. That love which possesses the 
 maternal element asks little and questions not
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 225 
 
 if only the one beloved is near. And Madem 
 oiselle s affection for her brother was satisfied 
 to hold him safely in her arms, supremely con 
 fident that there neither sorrow nor harm might 
 touch him. When the colored nurse entered 
 the room with a tray on which was placed her 
 patient s supper and two lighted candles, 
 Mademoiselle de Berny raised her free hand 
 warningly. 
 
 " Hush," she whispered, " he is asleep." 
 At the further side of the bed the Great 
 Dane s head appeared as he raised himself up 
 from his position on the floor to growl at the 
 intruder.
 
 Chapter XIV 
 
 A WEEK later, on the sixteenth of June, 
 at the break of day, a messenger rode 
 post-haste into the camp at Valley Forge 
 with the information that the British had evacu 
 ated Philadelphia the preceding day and crossed 
 the Delaware. So quietly did they leave that 
 many of the citizens became aware of their de 
 parture only by the absence of the red-coats in 
 the street. 
 
 " They did not go away," wrote a resident, 
 " they vanished." 
 
 And this same messenger brought rarely good 
 tales of the action of those loyalists left in the 
 city, how they besieged the British with entrea 
 ties to leave a guard in Philadelphia to protect 
 them from the rebels ; how neither money nor 
 entreaties had had effect with the red-coats, who 
 roughly retorted that the frightened peace 
 lovers should have thought of the future be 
 fore ; how over three thousand miserable loyal 
 ists had fled into the country or crossed the 
 Delaware, following upon the heels of the 
 British Army. 
 
 With the exception of the wife and daughter 
 of the Quaker preacher, whose home had been 
 made the headquarters, Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 2Z6
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 227 
 
 was the only woman in camp. Lady Washing 
 ton and other of the wives of the officers had 
 left for their homes fully a week ago, their de 
 parture being deemed expedient even then, for 
 it was not known what day the army might 
 break camp. 
 
 From her casement Mademoiselle de Berny 
 watched the activity and bustle going on in the 
 camp ; heard the ringing commands of the offi 
 cers ; saw the prompt obedience of the soldiers, 
 for both officers and men were cheered and 
 quickened into new life at the prospect of action 
 after the long and weary waiting. But to 
 Mademoiselle de Berny, as yet not sufficiently 
 recovered to bear much change, the sight was 
 stamped with melancholy. She leaned a little 
 out of the casement, looking down on the busy 
 scene with its masses of moving men and horses ; 
 of troops forming in the fields ; from the chim 
 neys of the huts rose the blue smoke curling in 
 the sunlight, as the men hastily prepared a 
 dinner before starting ; groups of soldiers were 
 washing at the river brink and filling their can 
 teens. 
 
 Beyond the river on the long hill slope slept 
 the dead ! There they lay at rest. Their 
 weary march was over, their bowed and bur 
 dened heads resting on the bosom of the earth, 
 as their souls rested in God. Defeated in the 
 struggle with famine and cold, they had lain 
 down in uncertainty as to whether their cause
 
 228 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 would win or not. Between them and their 
 comrades the grass grew soft and green. Did 
 they know, slumbering sweetly, that soon they 
 would be left alone, lying buried row on row, 
 adown the hill slope, their faces turned to the 
 east whence the sun should rise ? Perchance 
 their good right hands still clasped their mus 
 kets, as if at the word of command they would 
 arise a mystic host, to defend the deserted 
 encampment at Valley Forge. In the young 
 girl s heart was an indefinable yearning which 
 sprang from her physical exhaustion and the 
 trials she had undergone, to drop behind from 
 the quick on-marching ranks of the living and 
 slip away from them back to the quiet resting- 
 place of the dead. And she knew not that 
 this desire was a homesickness, a longing for 
 the happy past which was forever put away 
 from her. Against her future as she then con 
 ceived it to be, she rebelled as a sick and 
 lonely little child, fighting the terror of dark 
 ness in the night. She turned her head away 
 from the casement and closed her eyes. She 
 had shared the common fate of those who 
 had entered Valley Forge. She had reached 
 the encampment with the color of the rose in 
 her face and with a light heart. She would 
 leave it in a few hours tried to the soul, and 
 with a face wan and pale as the waxen snow 
 drops which pushed their frail way through the 
 dead leaves of the past fall.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 229 
 
 By the late afternoon the main body of the 
 army had formed in marching order, and was 
 moving rapidly toward the Delaware in pursuit 
 of the British. It was sometime later before 
 the detachment Washington left in charge of 
 General Benedict Arnold, whose arm recently 
 injured rendered him unfit for active duty, to 
 proceed to Philadelphia and hold the city, was 
 able to start. This division numbered all the 
 infirm and disabled. 
 
 It had been decided that Mademoiselle de 
 Berny should not go unaccompanied by any 
 woman, as the ride was a long one and to be 
 taken at night. So the wife of the preacher, 
 Isaac Potts, a good and motherly Quakeress, 
 who had conceived a very kindly liking for her 
 guest, had been requested by His Excellency, 
 General Washington, to see that Mademoiselle 
 reached Philadelphia safely, where she would 
 doubtless find friends, although her guardian, 
 General Stirling, had, in all probability, departed 
 from the city with the British Army. 
 
 Moreover the good woman was glad of the 
 opportunity thus afforded her to make a visit, 
 long deferred by the war, to some relatives in 
 Philadelphia, and it was with great bustling and 
 chatter that she prepared for the journey, which 
 she was to take on horseback, seated on a pillion 
 behind a soldier. Mademoiselle de Berny, 
 wrapped in the long brown cloak in which she 
 had come to Valley Forge, was lifted by Isaac
 
 230 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 Potts in front of Major Heyward upon his 
 horse. She was still very weak, and it being 
 neither safe to permit her to ride alone nor on 
 a pillion, the offer of the young man to take 
 charge of her on the ride had been accepted by 
 the shrewd and kindly Quakeress, who had 
 guessed at the condition of affairs between the 
 two young people, and whose heart had warmed 
 toward the young officer during the period of 
 Mademoiselle s illness. Many mornings had 
 his tall figure darkened her kitchen door, and 
 his spurred boots left muddy tracks upon the 
 dazzling whiteness of her floor as he entered 
 and seated himself near the table at which she 
 was cooking, his sombre face brightening be 
 neath the magic of her cheerful presence and 
 her assured and hopeful statement that the 
 health of Mademoiselle was improving. 
 
 The young girl was amazed and disconcerted 
 by the position in which she found herself. She 
 had believed Richard Heyward to have left with 
 the main troops earlier in the day, and had not 
 the least suspicion that the officer who was to 
 be her escort would prove to be he. She 
 greeted him with shaken composure, too greatly 
 embarrassed to trust herself to speak. She 
 turned her head aside, leaning slightly forward, 
 her hands fastened for support in the horse s 
 mane. 
 
 The troops were already started and had been 
 gone some few moments. Young Stirling had
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 231 
 
 gone with them ; in his eagerness to keep with 
 the men he had not waited for his sister. The 
 Quakeress, who had caused the slight delay in 
 the little party, was hastily assisted by her hus 
 band to the pillion behind the soldier who was 
 mounted and waiting impatiently for her. As 
 soon as she was safely settled, he chirruped to 
 his horse, passing on some distance ahead of 
 Major Heyward, who had dismounted to tighten 
 the girth of the animal he rode. The comfort 
 able, amply proportioned figure of the Quaker 
 ess shook with every jolt. Her bonnet, shaped 
 like a scoop, was tied securely under her chin, 
 framing a face wholesome and fair, although 
 much wrinkled, as a winter apple is still red and 
 sound and sweet, despite its withered skin. Her 
 feet shod in low, broad-toed shoes, her substan 
 tial ankles betraying white hosiery, swung against 
 the horse s side. On her lap she held a basket 
 of eggs and berries and a bouquet of homely 
 garden flowers, a gay and fresh bit of color. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny glanced from the 
 Quakeress vanishing figure back to the house 
 they were leaving that house but a few hours 
 since the headquarters of an army. Now it 
 seemed to have regained magically the serene 
 atmosphere of a Quaker preacher s home. The 
 green sweeping boughs of the trees overshad 
 owed its low stone walls. The honeysuckle 
 and roses were in bloom around the tiny veran 
 dah. In the back yard a negress was hang-
 
 23 2 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 ing out the wash and singing. She saw the 
 casement swinging in the breeze and the flut 
 tering of the white curtain in the little room 
 which had been hers. Nevermore would she 
 be there ! Isaac Potts waved his hand in fare 
 well, and although she smiled in response, the 
 little black figure of the preacher standing in 
 his doorway was obscured by a mist of tears. 
 She was conscious that Major Heyward mounted 
 behind her and started the horse, but she kept 
 her face turned from him, remaining silent in 
 her deep embarrassment an embarrassment 
 which was reflected in her companion. He 
 had offered his services to the Quakeress as 
 an escort to the young girl left in her care, 
 knowing that Mademoiselle de Berny knew 
 none of the other officers in the division en 
 route to Philadelphia, and having also a natu 
 ral desire that she should not be put in charge 
 of a common soldier. Now he doubted if his 
 solicitude had been wise, as he noticed the 
 nervous color fluttering in her pale cheek 
 turned from him ; the rigid lines of the slen 
 der figure held as far forward and away from 
 him as possible. He felt the violent protest 
 of her whole nature against the position in 
 which she was placed, and realized sadly how 
 very ill she must have been, how weak she 
 still was that this protest was passive and took 
 no active form. Her high spirits, her old dar 
 ing and laughter, were gone.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 233 
 
 Now she shrank from him, showing plainly 
 that the memory of their misunderstanding still 
 rankled in her breast. He bitterly regretted 
 that she had not been put in a stranger s care 
 rather than in his, as in her present nervous 
 condition he served only to terrify her. His 
 lack of forethought acquired a criminal aspect 
 to him as he observed the tense grasp of 
 the little hands fastened for support in the 
 horse s mane ; the frail figure holding itself in 
 such proud reserve, a reserve which must soon 
 give way at the demands of exhausted nature 
 and force her to claim his arm that arm from 
 which she shrank as a support. His right 
 arm hung free at his side, ready to catch her 
 should she slip. With his left hand he held 
 the reins. 
 
 The air was filled with the ineffable bright 
 ness and mellowness of a spring day drawing 
 serenely to its close. The river, reflecting the 
 sunset, ran smoothly save where its glassy sur 
 face broke into a myriad of golden ripples as 
 the horses crossed the ford. The breeze, soon 
 to become chilly when no longer warmed by 
 the sun, was already freshening, imparting new 
 life to the troops, which numbered many sick 
 and half-invalid members to whom the day had 
 been almost insufferably warm. The golden 
 rays were withdrawn first from the woods so cool 
 and green that as the men passed within its shade 
 twilight seemed to have closed in upon them.
 
 234 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 Through the slight delay at starting, Major 
 Heyward and his companion were in the rear 
 of even the last stragglers of the troops who 
 marched pretty much as they pleased upon this 
 occasion. Even the soldier behind whom was 
 mounted the Quakeress kept well ahead of the 
 two. Now and then, for the highway had 
 many curves, they caught a glimpse at a turn of 
 the road of the Quakeress solid drab figure, 
 little disturbed by the jolting of the horse. The 
 gay tints of the nosegay she carried appeared 
 like some great variegated flower against the sur 
 rounding greenness. But there were times in 
 which even the good woman s figure disap 
 peared beyond a curve for so great a length of 
 time that Mademoiselle de Berny and her 
 escort seemed entirely alone in the forest with 
 the exception of several Indians, followers of 
 the camp, walking behind. 
 
 There had been but little conversation be 
 tween the two, and then the few remarks made 
 had been desultory and impersonal. Both felt 
 as if they were moving in a dream, and had 
 little consciousness of time beyond a bitter 
 anticipation of the parting moments drawing 
 steadily nearer as they approached Philadelphia, 
 where they would separate in uncertainty as to 
 whether they would ever meet again. The girl s 
 heart was filled with jealous pain, and before 
 her mental gaze the possible future unfolded. 
 There would be one brief moment of farewell,
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 235 
 
 a slight clasping of the hands, and then they 
 would go their separate ways she back to 
 France and he ah, he would remain in this 
 young country to forget his one-time love for 
 her, for a woman who had been reared to the 
 same ideals as he, until even his memory of his 
 former fancy grew confused and her personality 
 became merged into that Old World society 
 whose sentiment he despised, whose honor was 
 strained in his estimation, and whose customs 
 he scorned. Ah, well, she had learned her 
 lesson. Those weeks at Valley Forge had re 
 vealed a moral breadth and noble simplicity of 
 life, which, although she longed for it, she felt 
 was not for her. It was too high an altitude. 
 More freely could she breathe in the vitiated 
 and artificial air of the court; there were the 
 surroundings most suitable to her development. 
 A scion of old France, she would be drawn 
 back again to her own people as Heyward 
 would be to his. But had it been different ! 
 Little could Mademoiselle de Berny foresee the 
 revolution impending in her country, a revolu 
 tion so terrible that it could have been born only 
 of the two extremes, a pampered and effete 
 nobility and a starving people. She would es 
 cape no more in France than America those 
 questions which were troubling her now, and 
 had perplexed her sorely at Valley Forge. 
 
 Richard Heyward looked down anxiously at 
 her, wondering at her prolonged silence which
 
 236 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 chilled him, depriving him of courage to speak. 
 In the western sky, seen faintly rose-colored 
 through the trees, the evening star brightened 
 silverly. Mademoiselle de Berny s hair escap 
 ing from the confinement of her hood was 
 blown softly about her face. Against his coat 
 lay one tress like finely spun silk. His thought 
 reverted to his old comparison of her hair to 
 the reddish bronze of oak leaves in sunshine. 
 Only now in the dimness there was no gleam 
 in her hair, but it was the color of a dead leaf, 
 brown and curling, blown against his breast. 
 His gaze dwelt hungrily on her leaning forward 
 as far as possible from him, her head turned so 
 that he could see but her profile, subtle, re 
 served, beautiful, shadowed by the brown hood 
 of her cloak and the softly moving curls of her 
 hair. At times her loveliness aroused a curious 
 emotion in him, affecting him painfully, so little 
 candor it revealed, so little to be possessed did 
 it seem. A certain hopelessness would arise 
 within him so that in her presence was he 
 most lonely, most remote from her. 
 
 She, striving to push the rebellious locks 
 back beneath her hood and being still very 
 weak, commenced trembling in her embarrass 
 ment. Fearing she was chilled he checked the 
 horse and removed his coat, placing it around 
 her shoulders, at which action she protested, 
 striving ineffectually to put the garment from 
 her. In removing his coat he appeared in his
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 237 
 
 ruffled shirt, the whiteness of which made more 
 distinct the darkness of his face. Her glance 
 fell upon his hand. In his anxiety lest she 
 should fall he had passed this arm lightly 
 around her. It rested against her cloak, its 
 strength refined by the overhanging ruffle 
 a hand delicate and finely formed, ex 
 pressing a nervous intensity indicative of the 
 man. Now, in Mademoiselle de Berny there 
 grew a great humbleness, so that had it been 
 possible she would fain have bent and laid her 
 face against his hand, quite content if life, which 
 had grown so bitter, might slip from her, 
 remaining thus very quietly with hidden face. 
 
 " Monsieur," she said, her voice cold and 
 grave from rigid self-control, " there is one 
 thing of which I would speak to you, lest I 
 might not have an opportunity when we reach 
 Philadelphia. Monsieur," turning so she might 
 face him, a slight tremor now perceptible in 
 her tone, " I want you to know that I under 
 stood quite perfectly, quite perfectly what it 
 must have meant to you to arrest Armand, 
 and and appreciate that it was the right 
 thing for you to do. I never felt that he would 
 be made to suffer the penalty of his crime, 
 and perhaps that made a difference. But had 
 my brother been punished, I think I should 
 have tried even then to have understood how 
 you were right in your way. And I think had 
 they killed Armand, I should have been sorry
 
 238 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 for you too. I should have been sorry for you 
 too, Monsieur." 
 
 He saw her face lifted like a white flower in 
 the dusk to his, and then he turned his glance 
 away, greatly touched by her sweet words, but 
 inexpressibly depressed as he felt that they be 
 trayed no love, only the impulse of a just and 
 generous nature. And once he had thought to 
 win her love ! He looked down at her again, 
 at the clear eyes so full of child-like honesty 
 and pleading, as if she craved his pardon for 
 any injustice done him, while it was he who 
 had brought suffering upon her, that he smiled 
 grimly in the excess of emotion which surged 
 up in his heart. But the smile which had 
 arisen from the tenderness she invariably 
 aroused in him was colored by the infinite sad 
 ness of the hopelessness of that affection. 
 
 " Dear Mademoiselle," he said gently, " I 
 should feel that you would always understand; 
 that always you would be pitiful of the unfort 
 unate. And I doubt not that you would 
 bestow your sympathy on me, too, for I am less 
 happy than I seem. Perhaps when you return 
 to France you will think of me, sometimes, as 
 a friend of yours, here in this distant land, and 
 and it would comfort me to think that you 
 did." 
 
 " Yes," she repeated dully, " when I return 
 to France a friend in a distant land I shall 
 not forget, Monsieur."
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 239 
 
 The pause in which he had taken off his 
 coat and his slow riding had left them a good 
 distance behind the troops. Long since the 
 Quakeress and her escort had disappeared from 
 sight in the dusk, the soldier, much to the 
 good dame s anxiety lest she should lose all 
 track of her charge, insisting upon keeping up 
 with his comrades, avowing it was discipline 
 which demanded that he do so, although the 
 simple soul behind him wondered if he did 
 not also enjoy the conversation and joking of 
 the men whose company he would not forego. 
 The violet light of the evening had deepened 
 into the purple night. The men stepped 
 briskly, although the road was muddy and 
 shadowed blackly by the forest on either side. 
 But a full moon shone in a clear sky, and de 
 spite their physical weariness and the poor 
 roads, they were singing, for hope springing 
 lightly in the human breast finds only an 
 incentive in opposition.
 
 Chapter XV 
 
 WHERE the road diverged widely, a 
 solitary apple tree stood in the centre 
 of the highway. Here the moonlight 
 streamed down broadly, lying whitely on the 
 earth, silvering the dark green leaves of the tree 
 and casting its shadow sharply down the road 
 
 an ominous and blighting shadow whispering 
 of an evil reality. Since Mademoiselle de 
 Berny passed beneath the spreading branches 
 of this apple tree, the tight red buds had blown 
 and fluttered in petals pink and white to the 
 ground. Now the tree bore fruit prematurely 
 
 the bitter fruit of treason and revenge. 
 Like an avenging arm one great branch 
 stretched across the roadway. From it dangled 
 a terrible burden, grayish in the moonlight, 
 dragging down the heavy limb. 
 
 The troops grew silent ; some of the men 
 shuddered ; others passed on hardened to such 
 sights. One soldier, whose hatred burned as a 
 fire which death might not quench, stooped 
 and picked up a stone and flung it with a 
 curse at the burden hanging from the tree, and 
 then, still cursing, he walked on. Young Stir 
 ling was among the first to pass. He rode, 
 mounted behind one of the soldiers, seated 
 
 240
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 241 
 
 sideways as a woman. As it is whispered by 
 old grand-dames that one has a prescience of 
 death when that plot of earth which is to be 
 his grave is trodden upon, so perhaps this boy, 
 blind though he was, became aware of his prox 
 imity to that hanging figure, for he shivered 
 and grew pale, as if he had drawn shudderingly 
 back from the brink of a precipice over which 
 he had nearly slipped, and fascinated by horror 
 had watched a stone, dislodged by his foot, go 
 whirling down the great abyss. He grew silent, 
 singing no longer. The immense hound ran 
 whining and snuffing around the tree seeking 
 to attract his young master s attention, but the 
 boy recalled him sharply and imperatively to 
 his side, bidding him be still, after which he 
 turned and put his arm around the stalwart 
 figure of the soldier in front of him. 
 
 " Cannot your horse step more briskly, good 
 friend?" he asked. "I think we are passing 
 a long marsh, for this damp raw air chills me. 
 And hear how my dog is complaining." 
 
 His companion glanced back pityingly over 
 his shoulder at the boy, and then complying 
 with his request touched the horse they rode 
 lightly with the whip. 
 
 Reaching the place sometime later, Major 
 Heyward s horse reared, snorting in affright. 
 The young man spoke kindly to it, patting the 
 animal s head and forcing it to proceed. But 
 when they had passed the tree, he glancing
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 down at his companion saw that her eyes were 
 staring and terror stricken, and that one of her 
 hands clutched his sleeve fearfully. 
 
 "What was that?" she asked. So great 
 was her terror that her voice sank to a whisper. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing but a shadow, Madem 
 oiselle," he said, striving to speak lightly; "my 
 horse is so restive that he jumps at the falling 
 of a leaf." 
 
 But she, looking around, whispered again 
 and again, and he saw that she was almost 
 paralyzed with fear. 
 
 He took her hands in his, slipping the reins 
 over his arm. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said gently, in the tone 
 of voice one uses to a little child, " such things 
 are not uncommon in war, and there must be 
 examples made." 
 
 " Was it he ? " she whispered, after a long 
 silence. 
 
 He, divining that she meant the Quaker 
 Roberts, answered in the affirmative. 
 
 She moved restlessly. 
 
 " And when the sun rises to-morrow he will 
 still be there. Why did they leave him hang 
 ing so ? " 
 
 "But yesterday was he hung, Mademoiselle," 
 answered her companion. " He had been 
 wounded when making his escape, and found 
 refuge in a farm-house after wandering in the 
 woods for nearly two days. See, Mademoi-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 243 
 
 selle." He checked his horse momentarily to 
 point out to her the low dark roof of a farm 
 house some distance away at the edge of the 
 woods. " There he lay carefully nursed, and 
 when he was quite recovered and about to 
 make his way to Philadelphia, those who had 
 nursed him betrayed him, in revenge for the 
 wrongs he had perpetrated upon a son of their 
 family who was a rebel prisoner in the city. It 
 is a bitter tale, Mademoiselle, for so surely as a 
 man soweth malice shall he reap malice, and 
 those he treads under his foot shall turn even 
 *s the worm turns. The atrocious cruelties 
 Roberts inflicted upon innocent country people 
 and upon our prisoners are not to be lightly 
 passed over. It is a righteous judgment that 
 he should be left to hang, an example to 
 traitors." 
 
 " But after he is dead," she whispered, 
 " after he is dead ! To hang like that without 
 rest or peace. Could they not have cut him 
 down and laid him on the ground ? All my 
 life I shall think of him like that, when the sky 
 is blue, or when it is storming, he will still be 
 hanging there. It is so cruel," she said piti 
 fully ; " they did all they could to him. Why 
 need they leave him there ? " 
 
 Her voice was that of a person tormented 
 beyond endurance, and she moved nervously. 
 
 " I shall never forget it," she said, " I shall 
 never forget it." Her illness had left her
 
 244 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 highly strung and unable to bear patiently any 
 shock. 
 
 The young man felt the cold trembling 
 clasp of her hands upon his wrist. Her trou 
 bled voice went to his heart, and her weight as 
 she leant against his arm was so light that the 
 realization of that fact was inexpressibly pain 
 ful to him. A great wave of passionate tender 
 ness swept over him so that he was seized with 
 a desire almost irresistible to clasp the fragile 
 form to his breast, to hold her safe from death, 
 from trouble, from all the world to kiss the 
 helpless and lovely face until the pale cheek 
 brightened beneath his burning kiss. With a 
 sigh he recalled his thought to the present and 
 looked searchingly around him. From the 
 road in front came the muffled sound of the 
 steady tramping of the soldiers and the broken 
 echo of their singing. The road was unsafe. 
 A solitary traveller was exempt neither from 
 marauding Tories nor Indians. As for the 
 Quaker, he well deserved his fate. A woman s 
 heart was tender and easily wounded, yet 
 He looked down at the little figure in his arms. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said, " would it make 
 you happier were we to return and cut the 
 body down ? " 
 
 " Yes," she whispered. 
 
 He turned his horse and rode back. As 
 they neared the place again his steed grew 
 restive, so that he had great trouble in con-
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 245 
 
 trolling it, but succeeded at last in quieting 
 it and forcing it to stand still within a short 
 distance of the tree. Then he dismounted. 
 
 " You will not fall, Mademoiselle ? " he 
 questioned anxiously. He drew his cloak 
 more closely around her and gave her the 
 reins to hold. 
 
 It was a strange and weird sight. The 
 moonlight fell in white shaft-like lines on the 
 broad expanse of road, making it seem smooth 
 and bare. The sharply defined figures of the 
 two young people and the horse were distinct 
 as a silhouette. On either side of the high 
 way rose the dark, almost impenetrable forest. 
 There, a little off the road, within the shadows 
 of its tall trees, the forest would guard the 
 secret of a dishonored grave. Hey ward fell 
 directly to work. Now and then he glanced 
 up at Mademoiselle s muffled little form on 
 the horse, her trembling hand patting the ani 
 mal s head to keep it quiet. Not a word was 
 spoken. No sound was heard save the mourn 
 ful cry of some night-bird, the dropping of a 
 twig or leaf. 
 
 The young man worked rapidly. He had 
 removed his hat, revealing his powdered hair, 
 white as/ his ruffled shirt. The earth was soft 
 and lightly packed. In a short time he had 
 half dug a shallow grave by the aid of his 
 broad sword and a tin plate from his knap 
 sack. Looking up again at his companion to
 
 246 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 assure himself of her safety, he observed two 
 Indian warriors, stragglers of the army, who 
 had paused on their way by and remained 
 motionless, spectators of the scene, strange 
 figures wrapped in blankets with feathered 
 head-gear and with dark aquiline profiles dis 
 tinct in the soft brilliancy of the night. Hey- 
 ward bade them assist him, and the three 
 working together soon completed the task, 
 the Indians throwing up the earth with their 
 hands. When the grave was finished Hey- 
 ward and his two fellow-workers cut down 
 the huge and sad burden from the limb to 
 which it hung and which sprang up again 
 joyously. 
 
 " Put this over his face," said Mademoiselle 
 de Berny, and the young officer went and took 
 the handkerchief she extended. But as he 
 knelt at the dead man s side a moment later, 
 and saw the face distorted by helpless rage and 
 agony of pain, the evil face to which death 
 brought no peace, he slipped the little hand 
 kerchief in his pocket, and drawing out his 
 own laid it instead over the lifeless face, and 
 then rising he and the Indians heaped the 
 earth quickly over the unshriven dead and 
 piled on leaves to quite conceal the grave. 
 
 At the completion of the task, Hey ward 
 gave some coins to the Indians. He picked 
 up his hat and drew his sword over the grass 
 to remove the earth clinging to it. The tin
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 247 
 
 plate he flung away. As he turned around he 
 saw that he and Mademoiselle de Berny were 
 once more alone together. The two Indians 
 had stolen mysteriously away. He ran his 
 sword into its sheath and returned to Mad 
 emoiselle. 
 
 " It is done," he said briefly. 
 
 But she did not hear him. Her uplifted 
 face, spirit-like in the moonlight, her lips mov 
 ing, her hands holding her rosary, proved to 
 him that she was praying. Silently he bowed 
 his head and waited until she had finished, then 
 mounted behind her, and turning his horse 
 once more rode rapidly. 
 
 Suddenly her head sank wearily against him. 
 But at the touch the bitterness in his heart 
 sprang into new life. For one moment thus, 
 then she would leave him forever. In little less 
 than an hour they would be in Philadelphia. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Berny," he said, " I 
 must ask your pardon for the position in which 
 I have placed you. But at the time and also 
 now it seemed the only thing I could do under 
 the circumstances. You were so unprotected, 
 that I allowed the good woman ahead of us 
 to believe me your betrothed husband lest 
 some rough soldier should be made your escort, 
 as the other officers beside myself whom you 
 knew in camp are with His Excellency. But 
 in a little while you will be rid of me, and I 
 shall never trouble you further."
 
 248 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 Bitterly he awaited her reply, but she did 
 not speak. 
 
 Suddenly there broke forth a sob, followed 
 by others, heart-breaking and uncontrol 
 lable. 
 
 For one second it seemed to him as if the 
 agony in his own heart had found voice. 
 
 There was a pause, then the pitiful sobs 
 broke forth again. He caught her to his 
 breast, understanding at last. His voice broke 
 with pain and longing. 
 
 " Diane," he said, " oh, Diane ! " 
 
 In the desperate need of each for the other s 
 sympathy after the trials they had passed 
 through, they remained silent in a close em 
 brace a silence stirred only by Mademoi 
 selle s low sobbing. Her cheek was pressed to 
 his, her tears were on his lips. In his arms she 
 was trembling as a bird which had flown far and 
 found rest. And at last she grew quiet and 
 soothed ; her grief had sobbed itself out upon 
 his breast, and her tears had ceased to flow. 
 He drew her arm around his neck. On his he 
 felt the touch of her sweet mouth and the 
 words between them remaining unspoken were 
 yet understood. And so through the moonlit 
 night they rode, her head upon his shoulder 
 and his arm around her, two young lovers in 
 the midst of war, yet for whom life just then 
 held naught but peace. The vague perfumes, 
 the murmurings and the soft breezes of the
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 249 
 
 spring night, surrounded them, and above their 
 heads were the unclouded heavens. 
 
 And after a while words came, whispered 
 words upon his shoulder, until at last her eyes 
 met his, shyly, but revealing a love unspeak 
 able. He looked down at her lying against his 
 breast, blushing with love in the moonshine, 
 smiling as one whose supreme desire is fulfilled. 
 She stirred a little in his arms. 
 
 " Where is Armand ? " she said, and raised 
 herself to search the road in front of them 
 with anxious gaze. 
 
 " The troops are well in advance," he an 
 swered ; " but he is safe with them, and I, 
 myself, put him in charge of a worthy fellow." 
 
 But he could not quiet her suddenly awak 
 ened anxiety. 
 
 " There is no one," she said, " no one who 
 is always in my heart as he is." 
 
 "And I, sweetheart," he asked smiling, 
 "what of me?" 
 
 " You," she said, " ah, Richard, that is dif 
 ferent, you are mine, you belong to me, as I 
 to you. But since his father died, he has been 
 alone in the world. Once I thought that I 
 could be all to him, but that was before I 
 came to Valley Forge. Now," she added 
 sadly, " I know it will never be so, for I have 
 learned to know him better, and he is lonely 
 for his father. Ah, Richard, Richard, death 
 could not separate us ! "
 
 250 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 He spoke assuring words to her, until once 
 more she smiled entirely comforted. 
 
 " Richard," she said at last, with grave re 
 proach, " there is one thing I shall not forgive 
 you that you destroyed the only love-letter 
 you ever wrote me. A woman would not have 
 been so stupid ! " 
 
 They had reached a long low hill-line, from 
 the ridge of which could be seen the lights of 
 Philadelphia. On the moonlit road below, 
 between them and the city, they could see the 
 black moving mass of the Continental troops. 
 
 Heyward checked the horse for a moment. 
 Mademoiselle de Berny leant forward, her gaze 
 sweeping the landscape. 
 
 " What a great country is this, Richard," she 
 said. " See how the city lies like a little cluster 
 of village lights nestling near the river. How 
 the land stretches away on all sides of us, 
 seeming vast and limitless as the sky above us, 
 did we not know that beyond lay the ocean." 
 
 " And will you be content to stay here, 
 Diane?" he asked. " We have none such great 
 cities as you are accustomed to in the Old 
 World, but on the other hand we hear not the 
 wailing of the poor which rises from the streets 
 of those cities. We have no brilliant court 
 society, yet neither do we hear the murmur- 
 ings of an oppressed people who are powerless 
 to throw off the chains which hold them slaves 
 to the will of a despot. And when this war is
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 251 
 
 over, Diane, and victory is ours, then you and 
 I will take long journeys together, and you will 
 learn the grandeur of this new republic, with 
 its great mountains and rivers ; a land which is 
 divided into no petty kingdoms, and whose 
 limitations are marked only by the hand of 
 God in His great oceans on either side." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny smiled a little wist 
 fully. She rested her head against him once 
 more, and her hand slipped into his. 
 
 " Richard," she said, " the greatness of your 
 country frightens me, I who have stepped 
 but little beyond the convent walls and the gay 
 society of the French court. You must not 
 reproach me if sometimes in the future I have 
 a homesickness for my sunny France ; for 
 the love of it runs in my blood. Yet I shall 
 have no regret at remaining here with you ; for 
 has it not always been so that the woman 
 gives up her country to make her home where 
 the man she loves makes his ? " 
 
 " Sweetheart," he said, " love knows no 
 country." 
 
 She laughed. "Yet, Richard," she mur 
 mured mischievously, " you would not go 
 back with me and live in France." 
 
 " My country needs me here, Diane," he 
 answered gravely. 
 
 " If it needs you, then it needs me also," she 
 said ; " for love makes us one, Richard." 
 
 " Diane," he said, holding her closer in his
 
 252 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 arms, " we can find the lilies that you love 
 here. We call them not the Fleur-de-lis as 
 you do in France, nor do we give them the 
 old English name of Flower-de-luce ; but in 
 this country we call them the Sweet Flag, and 
 I will take you to the great marshes where you 
 may see them blowing white and purple, mile 
 on mile." 
 
 " Yes," she whispered, " we will go there to 
 gether, you and I, when the war is over. And 
 Armand, Richard ? He, too, will gather the 
 lilies with us." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " When the war is over," he repeated happily., 
 and kissed her. This night seemed the reason 
 why he had lived, for him, he thought ; what 
 ever the future held, it was worthy that his 
 future life should exist that he might remember 
 it. He bent his head to lay his face against 
 hers. 
 
 "Ah, dear Mademoiselle," he whispered 
 chokingly; "ah, dear Mademoiselle!"
 
 Chapter XVI 
 
 IN the fall of that year, on a golden morning 
 in late October, there rode out from the city 
 of New York three persons, one of the 
 riders being accompanied by a hound. Two 
 of these people were Mademoiselle de Berny 
 and her brother, and the third member of the 
 party was a priest mounted on a white mule. 
 The journey had interfered with the latter s 
 routine service, and he strove to soothe his 
 conscience by chanting the service of the hour 
 in Latin. 
 
 The sun, bright in a clear sky, shone warmly 
 on their backs and cast their shadows ahead of 
 them down the forest road. The purple haze 
 of Indian summer filled the air, which had the 
 balminess of spring. Here the breeze had 
 swept the road bare, but there the horses 
 stepped knee deep in drifts of rustling leaves. 
 Some few yellow leaves still hung trembling 
 on the naked branches. Now and again there 
 flamed a late scarlet maple. 
 
 One month ago Mademoiselle de Berny had 
 received a letter from her uncle, the Abbe de 
 Berny, in which he stated his wish to have her 
 return to France that fall. When the message 
 reached her she was in New York, where the 
 
 153
 
 254 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 British held possession of the city. General 
 Stirling had, within a few days after her return 
 to Philadelphia from Valley Forge, sent for 
 her and his nephew, and placed them in the 
 care of Tory friends in New York. With the 
 exception of those few days in Philadelphia, she 
 and Richard Heyward had not seen each other, 
 although the two had been able to maintain 
 a desultory correspondence by means of an 
 Indian. Since receiving word from her uncle, 
 Mademoiselle de Berny had written in greatest 
 anxiety to her lover, desiring that she might 
 return to France as his wife, thus protected from 
 all plans her uncle doubtless intended regarding 
 her marriage. The letter sent by the Indian 
 was received and immediately answered by 
 Heyward. 
 
 The first lull in the activities of war was 
 seized by the lovers, and the time and place of 
 the marriage settled upon. General Stirling 
 was away on a campaign, and his absence fur 
 thered the plan ; while the Tories, in whose care 
 Mademoiselle had been placed, were a gay and 
 pleasure-loving company who allowed her great 
 freedom. Heyward, obtaining a furlough for 
 two days, journeyed on horseback to an inn some 
 eight miles distant from New York. Nearer 
 the enemy s lines at that particular time it was 
 not expedient to approach. He reached the 
 tavern the night preceding his wedding day, 
 and found the Indian awaiting him there, a
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 255 
 
 courier sent in advance by Mademoiselle de 
 Berny to inform him that she would arrive in 
 the middle of the following morning. 
 
 He was awake early the next morning, await 
 ing impatiently the coming of his bride. Two 
 ancient roads, now seldom used, led from New 
 York to the inn, and not knowing which one 
 would be taken by Mademoiselle de Berny he 
 did not ride forward to meet her, but remained 
 at the tavern, strolling a little way down one 
 road and back again and then down the other. 
 
 And not far distant Mademoiselle de Berny 
 also waxed impatient of the intervening miles. 
 
 " Oh, do let us hasten, Armand ! " she said, 
 "the road runs straight." She touched her horse 
 with her whip and young Stirling followed suit. 
 
 Another moment and their horses were 
 flying side by side ; the fresh air blowing in 
 their faces ; the road and the priest vanishing 
 behind them. At last they turned, exhilarated 
 by the brisk canter, and rode slowly back to 
 meet their companion, whose mule ambled 
 contentedly along and was not to be hurried. 
 
 " Armand," said Mademoiselle de Berny, 
 " you are to give away the bride." 
 
 " Thus would my father have done had he 
 lived," he answered. " Bethink yourself, Diane, 
 tis not yet too late to withdraw. Do you not 
 know it would grieve my father that you should 
 marry a rebel, rather than a loyal subject of the 
 King or a man of our mother s nationality ? "
 
 256 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 " Oh, love, love ! " laughed Mademoiselle de 
 Berny, turning her horse around by the side of 
 the priest as the two reached him, " it is more 
 than religion, is it not, Father Da Gamo, in 
 asmuch as it knows neither party nor country ? 
 See," dropping the reins of her horse and 
 extending both her pretty hands, " held I one 
 hour of love in this palm and all eternity in 
 that, pouf so, even so could I blow eternity 
 away, of such light weight would it be compared 
 to that one hour. Ah, Father, e en beneath 
 your cassock does not your heart acknowledge 
 tis a right good thing to love ? " 
 
 " Fain art thou to speak lightly of things 
 holy, my child," answered the little priest ; 
 "sorely against my will didst thou persuade 
 me to come with thee to-day ; notwithstanding 
 our most reverend Father hath sanctioned this 
 alliance with a Protestant. But women prevail 
 upon us by their sweet voices. Yet if marriage 
 thou wilt have, better one sanctified by love, 
 although thou art disobedient unto those in 
 authority and breakest a lesser commandment." 
 
 " But you do not answer my question," she 
 pursued. " Now tell me did you never love ? 
 Does your cassock not hide a wounded heart, 
 Father ? " 
 
 The little priest crossed himself. 
 
 " Heaven hath been merciful unto me. Fain 
 would I repeat to you the words of St. Paul, 
 who desired that all men were even as himself,
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 257 
 
 saying that every man hath his proper gift of 
 God, one after this manner and another after 
 that, he that is unmarried careth for things 
 that belongeth to the Lord ; but he that is 
 married careth for the things that are of the 
 world, how he may please his wife." 
 
 " Oh, why will you be so doleful on my mar 
 riage morning ? " she cried. " Think you of 
 naught which is cheerful to say ? " 
 
 She glanced from the priest to her brother 
 and back again impatiently. 
 
 " If you were going to my funeral, and you 
 should show e en there not less sorry counte 
 nances, my ghost should play a few pranks to 
 make you merry. Armand, dear heart, you 
 oppress me so that my eyes are full of tears. 
 You would not have a bride weep on her wed 
 ding morn ? " 
 
 He smiled brightly. 
 
 " I would have you never weep, Diane. 
 Guide my horse," he added, handing her the 
 reins, " and I will play for you." 
 
 Through the forest glades rang the music of 
 his flute, soaring lightly as a bird s song, falling 
 deeply, mournfully as human woe. But after 
 a little he changed the tune and a more joyous 
 melody filled the air. 
 
 Thus did Mademoiselle de Berny hear her 
 wedding march. 
 
 On her brother s saddle was fastened the 
 bridal bouquet which he had gathered in the gar-
 
 258 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 den of their New York residence and arranged 
 with infinite care. He was dressed as a wedding 
 guest, perfumed and bejewelled. For the first 
 time since his father s death had he consented 
 to remove his mourning attire. This change in 
 his attire he had himself suggested. 
 
 " For I would also be gayly decked on thy 
 bridal morn, Diane, lest my sober garb should 
 sadden you," he had said with deep gravity. 
 Now he wore a coat of dark gray satin with 
 high collar and broad lapels ; at his breast and 
 wrists were full ruffles; his double-breasted 
 waistcoat was of white silk embroidered in pink 
 rosebuds; his knee breeches and silken hose 
 were of a lighter shade of gray than his coat. 
 His fair hair was powdered and worn in a queue, 
 tied with a black velvet ribbon. He wore a 
 boutonniere of rosebuds with their green leaves. 
 On the collar of the Great Dane he had fastened 
 a similar cluster of flowers, with loving insistence 
 that the hound was also a wedding guest. Since 
 his experience at Valley Forge a subtle change 
 had made itself felt in young Stirling. He had 
 matured, growing graver and more composed 
 than hitherto. His face seemed to have become 
 longer and more delicate, and so great was the 
 contrast now between the waxen immobility of 
 his countenance and the rich and glowing ani 
 mation of Mademoiselle s face, that the great 
 family resemblance between them was barely 
 noticeable.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 259 
 
 Of Mademoiselle de Berny s dress naught 
 could be seen. Her plumed hat shadowed her 
 face. Her crimson cardinal, lined with fur, was 
 clasped together. But now and then beneath 
 the fur edge a slender foot revealed itself, clad 
 in a white satin shoe with a broad buckle 
 a-twinkle in the sunshine. 
 
 The wild sweet music of the flute was the 
 first intimation of her approach to her lover. 
 
 As the little party neared the tavern, and 
 Mademoiselle de Berny beheld the tall figure 
 of the young officer in full-dress uniform of 
 blue and bufi^ his head bared and turned impa 
 tiently in her direction, a great shyness seized 
 upon her so that she could not meet his glance. 
 He, lifting her from her horse, saw the little 
 shoe, and, divining the hidden bridal gown, held 
 her closely, as if he would never release her; 
 and her face upon his shoulder was the color 
 of a rose. 
 
 The marriage service was very simple. It 
 took place in the principal room of the tavern, 
 with the aged host and his wife and their maid 
 servant as witnesses. The two women had 
 made such decoration as they might upon so 
 short a notice and with only the most primi 
 tive means at their command. The floor was 
 white and sanded and the corners decorated 
 with branches of fir and scarlet maple, while 
 pale forest flowers and ferns and the purple 
 sumach were arranged in pitchers and bowls.
 
 260 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 At one side of the room was a table loaded 
 with viands and fruit. After the ceremony 
 this table was drawn out to the centre of the 
 room. And the bride would have mine host 
 and his wife seated at the table, and the maid 
 servant only to wait upon the company. Even 
 the Indian guide she insisted should be seated. 
 The little priest waxed jovial, pledging the 
 health of all present in the mellow wine, speak 
 ing thickly at last so that the bride s eyes 
 danced with merriment. The Indian alone 
 seemed unmoved, his inscrutable dark face 
 expressionless, his eyes fastened on his plate. 
 Amidst the jest and merriment, young Stirling 
 startled them by affirming that he heard a dis 
 tant tramping of horses. The hound, crouched 
 at his master s feet, raised his head growling. 
 After a moment s anxious silence, which re 
 vealed no sound, the merriment waxed louder, 
 the hound being sharply ordered to be silent. 
 To this little and obscure tavern at the cross 
 ing of two roads seldom used, a belated traveller 
 sometimes made his way. Otherwise the guests 
 were few. 
 
 The eyes of the newly made wife grew wist 
 ful. Already the shadow of parting was upon 
 her. Across the table her eyes met those of 
 her young husband. 
 
 " See, sweetheart," he said, " I bring you a 
 philopena." In his hand he held a nut with 
 twin kernels. As he rose and went towards
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 261 
 
 her, he passed the open casement and saw 
 several mounted Tories as they swung around 
 a curve of the road some rods away. 
 
 In an all embracing glance around the room, 
 he saw no chance of concealment in the primi 
 tive building. His glance fell last upon the 
 Indian who had half risen from the table. His 
 attitude had the alert pose of a wild thing about 
 to spring. The plot was revealed to Heyward 
 in a flash. The Indian had sold him to the 
 Tories. His face white with passion, the young 
 man made one stride towards the fellow and 
 seized him by the back of the neck. 
 
 " You dog ! " he cried, " you miserable cur! " 
 shaking the writhing creature in his powerful 
 grasp. With contempt too deep for vengeance 
 he flung him into a corner of the room. 
 
 " Watch him ! " he commanded the hound. 
 In another second he had run the bar of the 
 door to and was pushing the table in front of 
 it to gain time. He looked at his companions 
 stricken with terror and staring questioningly 
 at him ; the sudden pallor on the priest s face ; 
 the blind boy talking wildly, his face tragic in 
 its baffled eagerness. At one side of the room 
 the miserable maid-servant, who had caught a 
 glimpse of the Tories, crouched screaming, with 
 her hands over her ears. In the further corner 
 the hound, growling, with his teeth fastened in 
 the dark throat of the Indian, was worrying his 
 victim to death. The situation was hopeless.
 
 262 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 There was no one to whom he could look for 
 help. 
 
 There was heard the sound of the new arrivals 
 as they drew up their horses and dismounted. 
 But there was none to receive them nor bid 
 them welcome. The barred door met them 
 inhospitably and inimically. Behind it shivered 
 the old innkeeper and his wife. 
 
 Heavy steps ascended the verandah, followed 
 by a loud knocking with the handle of a whip 
 upon the door. 
 
 Hey ward glanced at his bride and put her 
 behind him. 
 
 " Diane," he said, " for God s sake stay 
 behind me." 
 
 He drew his sword and listened intently at 
 the door. Suddenly he turned and caught his 
 wife in his arms and kissed her. 
 
 " God forgive me, Diane," he said hoarsely, 
 "for having brought this upon you." 
 
 There was repeated the knocking, followed 
 by a violent kicking. Were it this door alone 
 to guard, no entrance could be made save over 
 his dead body. He realized afresh the hope 
 lessness of his position with the casements 
 unguarded as well as the back entrance. Like 
 infuriated beasts would these Tories, clamoring 
 for admittance, burst into the room upon the 
 unprotected women, the helpless boy and priest 
 better to meet them outside, to run the risk 
 of being made a prisoner and chance his escape.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 263 
 
 But he would sell his freedom as dearly as 
 possible. As he was about to draw the bolt, 
 he found at his side an unexpected ally. The 
 little priest stood resolutely near him, his fat 
 face white and flabby from fear, but a dauntless 
 light in his eyes. 
 
 " I will go first," he said. " Stand away," 
 he called loudly, " and I will open the door 
 unto you." 
 
 There was a muttered curse and a gruff 
 assent. 
 
 Father Da Gamo opened the door and stepped 
 outside, his round black figure with outstretched 
 arms barring the way. 
 
 There were four men crowded on the little 
 verandah. Their ruffianly and swaggering air, 
 their faces red and bloated from carousals, 
 proved them to be of the worst class of Tories, 
 native Americans whose outrages and atroci 
 ties made them more bitterly feared and hated 
 than the Indians. They were licensed outlaws, 
 armed and uniformed at the expense of the 
 King, but dependent upon their own resources 
 for provision and money. They were not 
 only permitted but encouraged to enrich them 
 selves by the plunder of the rebels. They 
 were far more mischievous and malignant ene 
 mies of their country than its foreign invaders. 
 
 The foremost of the men who had ascended 
 the verandah fell back, hesitating to lay sacri 
 legious hands on a priest. But catching a
 
 264 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 glimpse of the buff and blue uniform of the 
 officer a second later, he flung the priest aside 
 with an oath. Ere he obtained entrance Hey- 
 ward sprang at him with upraised chair, bring 
 ing the implement crashing down on the fellow s 
 head and shoulders, so that he reeled and 
 tumbled back among his comrades, who also 
 fell back, but rallied and made a heavy on 
 slaught at the doorway. The body of their 
 injured leader writhing at their feet was pushed 
 half over the threshold, one of the men stum 
 bling over him, but regaining his balance before 
 he fell. 
 
 Heyward, fighting desperately with his sword, 
 managed to make his way out upon the veran 
 dah, from whence he was driven backwards down 
 the steps. He retreated to a tree whose huge 
 trunk protected his back, while he strove to 
 keep the enemy at bay. With two only against 
 whom to contend he might have won, but the 
 odds were against him with three. It was now 
 but a question of moments before he would be 
 made a prisoner. 
 
 Suddenly the little priest, bending over the 
 Tory who lay groaning loudly on the threshold, 
 straightened himself and pointed toward a gap 
 in the forest. 
 
 " A-a-ah !" he cried loudly and triumphantly, 
 still pointing, " thou hast lost the rarest bird, 
 my friends ! " 
 
 The ruse succeeded.
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 265 
 
 One of the Tories turned, cursing, dropping 
 his sword to his side. " Keep an eye on the 
 dog," he nodded to the other two. He strode 
 toward the tavern muttering, hurling maledic 
 tions at the priest whom he believed to have 
 assisted another if not more of the Continental 
 rebels to escape. 
 
 The priest had dragged the wounded Tory 
 into the room and was succoring the man as 
 best he could. At the entrance there appeared 
 suddenly the slender figure of young Stirling. 
 The ruffian made an unsuccessful pass at him 
 with his sword, tearing his satin coat, but not 
 grazing his flesh. Before Mademoiselle de 
 Berny could follow her impulse to thrust her 
 self between her brother and his assailant, the 
 boy had put her aside, and raising his sword 
 bore down upon his opponent. 
 
 The next few moments witnessed a strange 
 and unprecedented encounter. For the boy 
 drove the Tory into a corner of the verandah. 
 No movement of his foe escaped him. He 
 parried every thrust, locating the man with 
 unfaltering accuracy. To this mysterious en 
 counter, between the seeing and the blind, there 
 was but one witness. Heyward, his entire 
 energy bent upon escaping from the two men 
 who only guarded him now, saw nothing of the 
 scene upon the verandah, which was screened by 
 vines. The priest in the interior of the tavern 
 still ministered to the wounded Tory. But
 
 266 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny in her white bridal 
 gown, her hands pressed to her breast, leant 
 against the wall paralyzed by fear, unable 
 to speak or move. The green wavering 
 shadows of the vine fell on the two. Once 
 young Stirling pushed back the lace ruffle hang 
 ing over his hand. It seemed as if some super 
 human power were invested in him and he 
 were playing with his enemy, so light and 
 graceful was his erect and slender form in 
 the wedding garb of pink and gray. The 
 silence which up to this time had barely been 
 disturbed by the light movements of the two 
 opponents was now broken by the stentorian 
 breathing of the Tory growing louder and more 
 labored, until it was like the panting of an 
 animal. His full face grew purple, his hair 
 was matted to his forehead with perspiration. 
 Desperately he made a lunge at his opponent 
 which, had it proven successful, would have 
 ended the duel. But his hand faltered and his 
 glance swerved as the Great Dane, growling, 
 emerged from the doorway. Another second 
 and the animal sprang past his master at the 
 Tory s throat. With scarcely an effort the 
 man flung the hound off and leaped over 
 the railing of the verandah, running terror- 
 stricken towards his horse. The blood was 
 flowing from a wound in his left arm made by 
 young Stirling s blade. 
 
 The Great Dane, still growling ominously,
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 267 
 
 lay huddled in a heap on the floor of the veran 
 dah. The reason of his inability to hold the 
 Tory, and the ease with which the man had flung 
 him off, was made apparent by a wound in his 
 side from the knife of the Indian he had been 
 guarding. 
 
 Young Stirling s voice rose shrilly, crying 
 triumphantly after his foe : " Run, run, cow 
 ard ! Coward ! " 
 
 Of the two Tories guarding Heyward, one 
 turned. The occupants of the verandah were 
 screened by the close green vine ; but hearing 
 the moaning of the hound he mistook the 
 sound for the groans of his comrade whom he 
 had seen go up the steps of the porch, and 
 whom he still supposed to be there, not having 
 witnessed his escape. He ran toward the inn, 
 shouting his coming to the companion he in 
 ferred was there and in need of his assistance. 
 
 Heyward, horrified by those sounds which 
 revealed to him that either his bride or her 
 brother were in danger, made a desperate effort, 
 and thrust aside the one man left guarding him. 
 
 Young Stirling, hearing the approach of the 
 Tory, turned toward the steps of the verandah. 
 As he passed his sister he put out his left arm 
 and drew her toward him. As the man came 
 up the steps, Heyward following closely, 
 the boy bore down upon him, descending as 
 the fellow retreated. And he had but one 
 arm free, for the other encircled his sister. He
 
 268 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 raised his sword and brought it swinging down. 
 It grazed the fellow s shoulder. With an oath 
 the man turned, eluded Heyward, and fled 
 to his horse, and mounting rode away as one 
 pursued by devils, and perceiving for the first 
 time the comrade whom he would have assisted 
 galloping madly down the road a good distance 
 ahead of him. The last Tory, who had once 
 more assailed Heyward, had his sword struck 
 from his hand and fled also for dear life. 
 
 Young Stirling stepped down upon the 
 ground and advanced a little way. Then, his 
 progress deterred by the weight of his sister 
 whom he still held, and who had lost con 
 sciousness, he stood still, listening. Upon his 
 shoulder drooped her head with closed eyes. 
 Their natural relation seemed inverted. He 
 now protected her. As he heard the galloping 
 of the Tories horses, and the groans of the 
 dying man from the interior of the inn, he 
 laughed softly. 
 
 " Diane, you will not again say " 
 
 He paused suddenly, and the smile on his 
 face died. The lace ruffles above his heart 
 were moved by the violent throbbing. He 
 raised his sword, shining wet and scarlet, 
 straight above his head, his face lifted in the 
 dazzling sunlight. 
 
 " My father," he cried in a loud voice of 
 piercing sweetness, " my father, thou beholdest 
 me!"
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 269 
 
 A moment longer he stood erect, then drop- 
 ing his sword, fell backward. Hey ward caught 
 his wife away just in time to save her from fall 
 ing also. 
 
 The little priest had come out upon the 
 verandah. 
 
 " Merciful God," he mumbled in a weak 
 voice like a woman s. " Merciful God, with 
 mine eyes have I beheld a miracle. Thou 
 hast given sight unto the blind ! " 
 
 Heyward was holding the senseless form of 
 his bride, murmuring mad and incoherent words 
 in his frenzy of grief lest she were dead. 
 
 Young Stirling lay stretched upon the ground 
 as one forgotten. Yet not quite alone, for the 
 Great Dane, hearing that last exultant cry, came 
 from the tavern but barely able to drag it 
 self along. The blood was flowing from the 
 wound made by the Indian s knife. The hound 
 came lurching heavily down the steps, and had 
 dragged itself almost to its master s feet when 
 it fell down. But still it managed to work its 
 way, bleeding along the dusty road, until with 
 a dying effort it licked the lifeless hand.
 
 Chapter XVII 
 
 MADEMOISELLE de Berny s bridal 
 dress was stained by blood flowing 
 
 from a wound in her shoulder, which 
 she had received during her brother s brief 
 encounter with the last Tory he had driven 
 away. 
 
 But Armand was unscathed. He lay as he 
 had fallen, the arm which had encircled her still 
 retaining the curve of that last embrace ; his 
 other arm and hand outstretched stiffly held 
 his sword. He was smiling strangely, but the 
 wonderful light which the priest had beheld in 
 his sightless eyes was quenched in death. 
 
 With Mademoiselle remained the grief of 
 the living. 
 
 The news of her marriage came as a great 
 blow to her uncle, the Abbe de Berny. This 
 last flower of his family, possessing his entire 
 love, had wedded an obscure soldier in an 
 almost unknown country. For her had he 
 arranged a brilliant alliance, and the proposed 
 husband was to take the bride s name and thus 
 perpetuate the honored and dying family of 
 de Berny. 
 
 But within a few years the bitter regret 
 softened into resignation and later became 
 
 270
 
 Mademoiselle de Berny 271 
 
 thankfulness that she was spared the horrors 
 of the French Revolution. The man to whom 
 he would have married her died on the guillo 
 tine. He saw his high estate and his vast 
 fortune swept from him. Waiting in his prison 
 for the blessed relief of death, longing for peace, 
 he thought of her as of one in a now serene 
 and untroubled country, and thanked God that 
 she was happy. 
 
 General Stirling returned to England after 
 the war, but within a year came back to 
 America. 
 
 " Diane," he said huskily, " I am an old 
 man. Let me have my home with you." 
 
 And Diane. She saw peace and honor come 
 to her adopted country, beheld her husband 
 governor of his state. 
 
 In the spring and fall of every year Governor 
 and Lady Heyward made a journey north to a 
 grave lying near a deserted tavern in a forest. 
 And sometimes it seemed to Diane that the 
 sweetest love she ever gave, that which was 
 maternal in her nature, lay buried there. For 
 she had no children. All the infinite and tender 
 yearning of an unfulfilled motherhood centred 
 in that little grave, whereon the grass grew soft 
 and green between her and Armand. 
 
 And amidst the petty realities and the heavy 
 responsibilities that life brings, the thought of 
 that dim forest was ever with her. Her heart 
 was divided between the living and the dead.
 
 272 Mademoiselle de Berny 
 
 In her thought the silent wild woods where 
 her brother slept became a garden to her 
 a garden of Paradise where her dead would 
 come back to her, and once more she would 
 kiss those lips so many days unkissed. Again 
 she would feel him so long bereft of her em 
 brace, resting at last within her arms now aching 
 with loneliness ; and again she would hear the 
 exultant boyish voice. 
 
 THE END
 
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