o 
 
 486?

 
 bp J)rlen Cboatc prince. 
 
 THE STORY OF CHRISTINE ROCHE- 
 FORT. i6mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents. 
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. i6mo, 
 $1.25. 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC 
 CHATELAINE 
 
 BY 
 
 HELEN CHOATE PRINCE 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 ^be ffiftcrsibc $>ics0, Cambribge 
 
 1897
 
 Copyright, 1897, 
 BY HELEN CHOATE PRINCE. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Muss., U. S. A. 
 Eleetrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton and Company.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SOME people are so persistently and consist 
 ently followed by misfortune that it is difficult 
 for the most tender-hearted to restrain an ex 
 pression of annoyance at each new blow given 
 to the unlucky one. It is hard to believe that 
 the victim has not himself to thank sometimes 
 for his reverses. To this class of unfortunates 
 belonged Gilbert Edwards. Born in the early 
 twenties of this century, the traditional golden 
 spoon shone in his mouth during his youth. 
 His parents were of a solid, wealthy, Boston fam 
 ily, drawing their ample means from the East 
 India trade. He was an only child, gifted with 
 beauty of person and brilliancy of intellect. 
 
 Great things were prophesied of him when he 
 went to Harvard College, and yet he graduated 
 low in his class, outrun by many a tortoise whom 
 he had scorned. His admirers (he had hun 
 dreds) darkly hinted at jealousy of his une- 
 qualed genius which had influenced his judges; 
 
 2137781
 
 L> .-! TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 his friend (he had but one deserving the name, 
 Richard Hunting-ton) bluntly stated that Gil 
 bert was lazy. 
 
 He felt himself too much above the common 
 herd to trouble his mind as to which was the 
 correct view, and announced to his admiring 
 and compassionating father and mother, soon 
 after his graduation, that his ambition was to 
 be an artist, and to attain this end he intended 
 studying art in Paris. His decision was reluct 
 antly agreed to, and before he left his home he 
 fell in love with and married a young woman, 
 an orphan, the child of a clergyman who had 
 left her penniless. 
 
 The passion felt by Gilbert for his young, 
 beautiful wife was an absorbing one. He took 
 her to France, where they lived an enchanted life. 
 It was in that country that their little girl Syl 
 via, their only child and our heroine, was born. 
 Her baby eyes opened on a landscape that Corot 
 might have loved, and perhaps saw, as the great 
 artist did, wreaths of shadowy dancers where 
 the others, with world-worn senses, saw but the 
 mist rising from the river. 
 
 To the young parents, caring only for each 
 other, the baby was somewhat of an interrup 
 tion, and they were eased of a burden of respon 
 sibility by their country doctor, who brought 
 them as a nurse a French woman, of good
 
 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 6 
 
 farmer stock, whose mind had been almost un 
 hinged by the losses of husband and child fol 
 lowing close on each other. She came with a 
 stolid indifference to nurse the little stranger, 
 but gradually her apathy departed. At first 
 she imagined, then she grew to believe, that the 
 soul of her own baby had entered into the small, 
 warm body that she held to her breast, and her 
 solemn, cavernous eyes became bright once more 
 with the light of devotion. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Edwards saw her love for Syl 
 via with a selfish gratitude, and devoted them 
 selves more than ever to each other. Then 
 from the cloudless blue of their skies fell the 
 shadow of Death s hand as he beckoned the wife 
 to follow him, and out of that shadow Gilbert 
 Edwards never came into the sunshine again. 
 
 Sylvia was six at the time of her mother s 
 death, and felt her loss but lightly. If her faith 
 ful Justine had not made the sacrifice of leaving 
 home and fatherland to follow her darling, it 
 would have been a far more grievous sorrow to 
 the child ; for Gilbert, crushed and helpless in 
 his grief, turned his face homewards for com 
 fort, but found none. His mother had died a 
 short time before his wife s last illness ; he ex 
 pected to find his father in great sorrow, but 
 was not prepared for his loss of mind, which 
 blow fell heavy on him.
 
 4 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 Added to these misfortunes his friend Ilun- 
 tington met him with the news of yet another. 
 Old Mr. Edwards had been ruined by a dishon 
 est partner, and his fortune reduced from its 
 former generous proportions to a small sum, 
 which Huntington, himself a successful business 
 man, had been able to rescue from the wreck, 
 and invest prudently. He agreed promptly to 
 Gilbert s request that he keep the management 
 of this sum in his own hands. 
 
 The town house had been sold, but an old- 
 fashioned country house was still theirs, and 
 here Sylvia was taken on her arrival in the new 
 world. Her grandfather died soon after, and 
 her first recollections were of a brisk, sharp- 
 tongued, sharp-nosed woman, with red corkscrew 
 curls, called Deborah ; of Richard Huntington s 
 regular Saturday to Monday visits, and of a 
 brook that ran through the place. 
 
 This impudent, romping little stream was her 
 only playmate ; it was a relief to escape from 
 the hushed house, where papa was always writ 
 ing, and dabble in its clear waters. There was 
 something remarkable about it, that made it 
 unlike other places, and to Sylvia it was the 
 home of a fairy, a being of many moods, who 
 sometimes laughed as the miniature cascades 
 chased each other over the pebbles, and who 
 sometimes told endless stories in a murmuring
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 5 
 
 * 
 
 flow of elfin words ; and there were rare mo 
 ments when she jeered and mocked the little 
 maid, filling her with an elusive terror, only to 
 be banished by feeling Justine s kind arms about 
 her. 
 
 Presently, after the first acute anguish of his 
 grief had been somewhat dulled, Gilbert became 
 interested in renewing his intercourse with the 
 companions of early days. He flung aside his 
 brush, for with his wife his inspiration had dis 
 appeared, and he took up his clever, facile pen 
 in its place ; before long his articles on con 
 temporary art drew notice upon him from the 
 literary world. Men of note sought him out, 
 and Huntington saw with satisfaction that his 
 friend, for whom he cared so truly, might re 
 deem himself yet in the eyes of his townspeople, 
 who had called his career up to that time by 
 unflattering names. 
 
 But, alas, his hopes were dashed to the ground, 
 for Gilbert, in a spirit that deserves admiration 
 rather than blame, threw himself heart and soul 
 into the abolitionist movement, simply from his 
 conviction that it was the only course open to 
 one who felt as he did. In those heated days 
 there was no middle course, no compromise ; 
 the dividing line was sharply drawn, and Gil 
 bert s action cast him adrift from his old associ 
 ates. Sylvia was too young when he first took
 
 6 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 f 
 
 this step to understand it ; she only knew that no 
 longer men drove out from Boston to talk and 
 smoke in the white parlor with him, a room 
 fast losing its right to the name as its wainscoted 
 walls became hidden by books. She noticed, too, 
 that her father stayed at home more and seemed 
 more melancholy, yet busier than ever with his 
 pen. He had never called forth her love by 
 any show of tenderness ; he was a vain man, be 
 lieving in his own genius, and convinced that he 
 was the toy of a fate which delighted in frustrat 
 ing all his efforts. Sylvia was a burden, some 
 thing to be fed and clothed suitably ; as for 
 getting any pleasure from her during the first 
 ten years of her life, that was something which 
 never occurred to him, and she grew up with 
 much more warmth in her heart for " Uncle 
 Dick," as she called Huntington, and Justine 
 than for her father. 
 
 About Deborah, her feelings were doubtful ; 
 she liked her jams and plum cake, she enjoyed 
 the severe cleanliness of her room, which was 
 sometimes made into a nursery on rainy after 
 noons, and a button-box, filled with wonders from 
 bygone days, lent as a plaything ; on the other 
 hand she indignantly resented the old servant s 
 manner of washing her face, to which she was 
 sometimes obliged to submit during a temporary 
 absence of Justine, nor did it reconcile her to
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC GHATELAINE. 7 
 
 be told that her father had undergone the same 
 indignities in his youth. But worse even than 
 having her nose rubbed inexorably the wrong 
 way and her eyes filled with soapsuds, was 
 being taken every Sunday to the village meet 
 ing-house by the brisk and " orthodox " Debo 
 rah. There was a double grief involved in this 
 course : first, it was Uncle Dick s one day in the 
 week with them, and he was always so good and 
 kind to her, bringing a fresh, north-wind sort 
 of atmosphere into the silent house ; his cheery 
 laugh sounding through the hall, the very noise 
 he made with his heavy boots stamping round, 
 and the unconcerned manner in which he 
 slammed doors, causing the little girl to feel 
 that he was n t so very grown-up after all. 
 
 The second grief caused by the churchgoing 
 was a deeper and farther reaching one ; the min 
 ister was a good man and just, according to his 
 lights, but narrow, his world embracing a very 
 small plot of ground. There was no elasticity to 
 his opinions. He believed that he was traveling 
 Zionward with a select band of the chosen, and 
 the only point where he betrayed any imagina 
 tion was the limitless extent of those uncom 
 fortable lower regions, to which he complacently 
 consigned more than ninety-nine hundredths of 
 his fellow beings. 
 
 Sylvia, whose silent, companionless life had
 
 8 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINK. 
 
 developed in her a faculty for vividly seizing 
 hold of ideas generally far in advance of her 
 age, had to listen to his denunciations Sunday 
 after Sunday. Thanks to him her belief in the 
 efficacy of Justine s blue-and-white plaster Vir 
 gin faded away, also the dim, deliciously agitat 
 ing idea of the naiad in the brook ; but although 
 the well-meaning Mr. Andrews drove away these 
 fancies, he did not provide her with any affir 
 mation to fill up the space created by the nega 
 tion. The child swelled with indignation when 
 he prayed pointedly, as he believed it was his 
 duty to do, " for all those who bend the knee 
 to images of wood and stone ; for all those 
 who turn from the Lord s house " (this meant 
 Mr. Andrews s meeting-house) " and spend the 
 Sabbath in vain worldliness ; may they turn 
 from their errors before " and then would fol 
 low a description of the torments being prepared 
 for " papa, Uncle Dick, and Justine," as Sylvia 
 thought, that made her tremble with fury against 
 him. 
 
 Gilbert s active, intellectual life made him 
 absent-minded when with his little girl ; he had 
 no love for puppies or kittens why, then, for 
 other undeveloped animals ? She had felt the 
 sting inflicted by an indifferent answer to some 
 question of vital importance to her, as only a 
 highly strung sensitive child can, and it drove
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 9 
 
 her into herself, forming at that early age the 
 habit of reserve which grew with her growth. 
 Huntington was the one person to whom she 
 spoke freely of her little interests ; he was 
 always ready to listen and never snubbed her, 
 even when he could not quite understand. It 
 was to him that Sylvia owed the first important 
 change in her monotonous Hfe. 
 
 One winter twilight, Gilbert having disap 
 peared for a time, the two friends, the little girl 
 and her dear Uncle Dick, were sitting by the 
 fire while the shadows clustered in the skeleton- 
 like elm without, and the ceiling grew red and 
 glowing within. Sylvia had been chatting about 
 a hundred things, but for a few moments she 
 had been silent, watching her companion s kind, 
 strong face in the dim light ; he puffed away 
 at his cigar, waiting for more confidences, while 
 a gentle melancholy stole over him, regrets for 
 something that had gone out of his life for ever. 
 Suddenly she spoke : 
 
 " Uncle Dick, do you think it very wicked to 
 say the Lord s Prayer in French ? " 
 
 He looked at her with a quizzical yet kindly 
 expression. 
 
 " No ; do you say it in French ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Why is n t English good enough ? " 
 
 " Oh, it is n t that listen let me tell you."
 
 10 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 She came close to him, and he felt that she was 
 shaking with nervous excitement. " It is because 
 for ever and ever, Amen is so very terrible 
 I have to hold on in the dark to keep from whizz 
 ing off. Eternity is so awful. Do you think 
 everything Mr. Andrews says is true? It all 
 frightens me so." 
 
 Then Dick threw- his cigar into the fire, and 
 taking Sylvia on his knee he tried to tell her in 
 halting words of the love enfolding the world. 
 She listened, gradually calmed and soothed ; the 
 main comfort to her was that she need not be 
 lieve in the bad part the rest did not matter 
 so much. 
 
 That night, when she had fallen peacefully 
 asleep, no " eternity feelings " having disturbed 
 her, thanks to Huntington, he had a serious talk 
 about her with Gilbert. He urged a good school, 
 where she would be among other children, but 
 her father would not hear of it. Pie argued, 
 with truth, that for many years to come her life 
 must be apart. " I am too well known now, 
 Dick, to expect that my daughter could meet 
 with any decent treatment. I am obliged to sign 
 an assumed name when I want payment for any 
 article unconnected with my cause as it is. I 
 am a marked man," he ended with a sigh. 
 
 Capricious, intolerant, vain he might have 
 been, but Gilbert Edwards had in him some of
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 11 
 
 the elements that go to make up enthusiasts. In 
 spite of his absorption he yet listened to his 
 friend s account of Sylvia s mental state with 
 some interest, and announced his intention of 
 forbidding any more churchgoing, and of taking 
 her education into his own hands. Huntington 
 shrugged his shoulders a trifle skeptically at the 
 thoroughness with which the new broom swept 
 neglected corners, but as month succeeded month, 
 year followed year, and still father and daughter 
 pursued their studies with eager interest, his in 
 credulity gave way to admiration. 
 
 To Sylvia, her lessons were not unalloyed bliss 
 by any means ; she found in her father a severe, 
 fastidious master, but one who had the power of 
 arousing ambition. He found in her an intelli 
 gent, in some ways a brilliant pupil ; he rarely 
 praised her, showing approval only by absence 
 of blame, so that she felt a glow of pride if she 
 escaped during the lesson-hour one of his sarcas 
 tic sneers, barbed words bearing more poison 
 in their points than he suspected, poison that 
 stung and rankled long after they had been 
 spoken. The very admiration that Sylvia felt 
 for her father s intellect added weight to his 
 opinion. She was in constant fear, not of him, 
 but of what he might say to hurt her. 
 
 As she grew older he treated her more as his 
 equal. He spoke to her of his intense interest in
 
 12 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 the unpopular, nay, detested cause that he had 
 espoused; and she, with the mantle of reserve 
 folded about her from long habit, answered 
 suitably and intelligently to his eloquent bursts. 
 But he never dreamed that the self-contained 
 little maiden often left him trembling with 
 agony at the horror his words had called up to 
 her, and spent hours of vain imaginings of what 
 she fain would do. 
 
 Even Huntington did not suspect the intensity 
 of her feelings on this subject, for she was often 
 a silent listener during long discussions between 
 him and her father, and she knew that with all 
 his humanity, Uncle Dick was not one of them. 
 She noticed, too, that her father met with scanty 
 respect from the villagers, who did not favor the 
 abolition movement in the beginning. Gilbert s 
 tactless enthusiasm drove them to a scarcely- 
 veiled hostility towards him and the cause. As 
 the struggle grew fiercer between the various 
 political factions, certain tradesmen refused to 
 fill his simple orders. Gilbert was secretly 
 proud of this feeble attempt to persecute him, 
 but Sylvia quivered with indignation. 
 
 If we except an occasional call from good Mr. 
 Andrews, who kept up a friendship for the son 
 which he had formerly felt for the father, Hunt 
 ington was now their sole link with the outside 
 world. Although his sisters saw with much
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 13 
 
 loudly expressed concern his intimacy with a 
 man whom they characterized as an " atheist, a 
 Bohemian, and very French in his views," he con 
 tinued to feel the same warm, loyal admiration 
 for his friend, and he never missed his Sunday 
 visit until Sylvia was nearly sixteen ; then some 
 important business called him to England. 
 
 Before going he handed over to Gilbert his 
 own property, which had grown to fairly com 
 fortable proportions during his stewardship, ad 
 vising him to alter none of the existing arrange 
 ments. 
 
 Sylvia hardly knew what a satisfying element 
 dear Uncle Dick had been in her life until the 
 ocean rolled between them, and there was no 
 thing to mark the passing of the weeks, no sound 
 of rapid hoofs on the turnpike-road to listen for, 
 no interesting little package to open, no cosy 
 twilight confidences. Like a child waiting for 
 the holidays she kept a calendar in her room, 
 and each morning marked off a day. During 
 his friend s absence Gilbert went often to Bos 
 ton, pleading business as an excuse ; he fre 
 quently stayed for three or four days at a time, 
 leaving Sylvia to wander at will among his 
 books, a method fraught with some danger for 
 a young girl. 
 
 The hours dragged heavily, but all things 
 come to an end at last, even that dark solitary
 
 14 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 winter of 60 and 61 ; and the March winds blew 
 Huntington back to a land seething and writh 
 ing with internal strife. The Sundays were 
 taken up with long, excited talks between the 
 two men, Richard still holding his more con 
 servative ground, and refusing to believe in the 
 shameful rumors of those agitating times. 
 
 Sylvia listened, her heart beating and her eyes 
 glowing, but all her feelings hidden as she sat in 
 her corner, her hands quietly folded in her lap. 
 Beneath this cool exterior, however, ardent and 
 inspiring thoughts and emotions were seething 
 and bubbling, much as the brown waters of her 
 old playfellow the brook swirled under the thin 
 films of ice, still lingering one April morning in 
 the shadow cast by the little foot-bridge span 
 ning the stream. Sylvia stood looking down at 
 it in the clear sunshine ; it was swollen by the 
 melted snows and rushed on with mimic fury. 
 
 " I used to be afraid of the brook when I was 
 little," she said to herself : " I thought that a 
 fairy lived there who laughed at me sometimes. 
 I wonder if I did hear anything then I ve lost 
 the sound of now ? " 
 
 She walked slowly back to the house, stoop 
 ing now and then to pick a golden crocus for 
 the breakfast-table. Her slender figure was as 
 straight as a river-reed ; her dark-brown rippling 
 hair was brushed away from her low, broad fore-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 15 
 
 head, and fell down her back in a heavy braid, 
 tied with a black ribbon ; her gray woolen dress 
 was made with conventual simplicity, only re 
 lieved by the white collar and cuffs which gave 
 her an air of dainty precision. Her features 
 were delicately chiseled, her color fresh, and 
 her eyes deep gray, edged with black lashes 
 but there are hundreds of other girls who might 
 be described in these words, and yet give no 
 idea of our heroine. The difference lay in a 
 suggestion of latent force, a reserve that belongs 
 by rights to people double the child s age, and 
 in a lack of that careless happiness which we 
 connect with youth, scarcely realizing what a 
 distinctive feature it is until we miss it. 
 
 On this fresh dewy morning the caws from 
 a flock of crows taking their heavy way over 
 the treetops were the only sounds of life in 
 the serene country calm, and yet at that very 
 moment hundreds of thousands of hearts were 
 beating fast with excitement, for north and 
 south, east and west, flashed the news that the 
 flag had been fired on. 
 
 But Sylvia, all unconscious of the tumult, 
 went into the house out of the sunshine to ar 
 range her flowers. She had just set her bowl in 
 the middle of the table, when her father s step 
 was heard in the hall, and as he entered the 
 room, she glanced through the window, exclaim-
 
 16 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 ing, " Why, papa ! look ! there is the station- 
 wagon coming in by the upper gate ! Who can 
 it be ? " 
 
 Forgetful of her usual dignity, she ran to the 
 window. 
 
 "It is Uncle Dick! what can he want?" 
 
 Gilbert s pale face grew a shade paler. 
 
 " You are too old to be such a tomboy, Sylvia," 
 he said testily ; " you are sixteen and Hunting- 
 ton is still a young man. For God s sake don t 
 lose your womanliness." 
 
 The slightly disdainful look habitual to her 
 crept into the girl s face, and she stood still in 
 stead of running out to welcome her friend. He 
 jumped hastily from the flimsy vehicle, and in 
 another moment was in the room. There was 
 an unfamiliar expression of excitement and ex 
 altation on his manly face, and some emotion 
 seemed to be silencing him, for he laid his hand 
 on Gilbert s shoulder, and stood looking at him 
 without a word. Sylvia thought how big and 
 broad he appeared beside the slight boyish figure 
 of her father, whose face had a curious drawn, 
 shrinking look, as he fixed his dark, burning 
 eyes on Richard. 
 
 At last, "Come! " said Dick, almost with a 
 shout, his lips trembling. For a moment his 
 excitement seemed to reach Gilbert, who half 
 rose, and stretched out his hand, while a wave
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 17 
 
 of feeling rushed across his face with the eva 
 nescent rapidity of lightning ; then with a groan 
 he sank back into his chair, covering his eyes 
 with his hand. 
 
 " I cannot," he said ; " God help me, I can 
 not." 
 
 "Gilbert!" 
 
 There was an incredulous protest in the ex 
 clamation, but it was unanswered. Sylvia could 
 remain passive no longer. 
 
 " Where do you want him to go, Uncle Dick ? " 
 she said, coming forward. Huntington looked 
 at her vaguely as if she had been a stranger. 
 
 " I don t understand ; he knew it was coming, 
 a call to arms, and this morning the President s 
 Proclamation is issued. We have talked it over 
 so often, and he was always the eager one ; why, 
 he has laughed at me, and said I was tied to my 
 money-bags, and now he I don t understand," 
 he reiterated in a helpless fashion. 
 
 Gilbert moved impatiently. 
 
 " It is my destiny," he said, his voice sound 
 ing hollow and muffled under his hand which 
 still covered his face. 
 
 " Destiny be hanged, Gilbert," said Hunting- 
 ton roughly ; " this is no time for phrase-mak 
 ing. There are two hours before the train goes 
 back to Boston, and let us have the glory of 
 being among the first of old Massachusetts sons 
 to enlist."
 
 18 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " I cannot go ; I must not leave Sylvia." 
 
 " Your country has more right to you even 
 than your child ; for God s sake don t disappoint 
 me in this ; show yourself a man ! Throw off 
 this shell of indifference and stand to your guns ! 
 Think of all you have said in answer to my 
 lukewarm arguments about law and property. 
 Property ! I thought I cared for mine until I 
 read this morning s paper, and now I feel it is 
 nothing, nothing, compared with my country. 
 Why, Gilbert," he added with a half-embar 
 rassed laugh, " I believe I am crazed with patri 
 otism, and you must catch it from me." 
 
 A stifled groan was the only reply. The glow 
 of enthusiasm died slowly out of Richard s face 
 as he stood looking down on the bowed head, 
 and his voice was cold when he said, " Do you 
 mean to let me go alone, Gilbert ? " 
 
 " Yes I must. Don t you can t you, un 
 derstand me ? I must stay at home." 
 
 Huntingdon was baffled by the repeated re 
 fusals ; he drew his hand over his eyes and 
 choked down an angry rejoinder ; he had con 
 sidered the whole matter deeply and anxiously 
 during the past year, and now, when he had 
 buried doubts and uncertainties, and his heart 
 leapt responsive to his country s call, the friend 
 on whose ardent cooperation he had counted 
 failed him. That there was some grave reason
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 19 
 
 underlying and accounting for Gilbert s attitude, 
 he was sure, and it was a keen disappointment 
 to him, for he had gloried in the prospect of 
 seeing his friend s gallant and chivalrous na 
 ture bring him the commanding position that he 
 felt sure he deserved, and of which only circum 
 stances, according to his belief, had deprived 
 him. Not for a moment did any unworthy doubt 
 creep into his loyal thoughts. 
 
 But Sylvia, standing unnoticed with her eyes 
 flashing scorn, and her breath coming quick and 
 hard, could not endure the sight of Richard giv 
 ing up the struggle ; she came swiftly across the 
 room and shook her father s shoulder. 
 
 " Look up, papa ! I m only a girl, but rather 
 than sit at home and think that no one of our 
 family is fighting to defend my country, /will 
 follow the army! I will be a nurse for the 
 wounded ! I will do my share and yours too ! 
 Let me go with Uncle Dick in your place." 
 
 There was scornful command rather than en 
 treaty in her voice ; her father did not reply 
 with words, but raised his head and looked at 
 her with an expression of such haggard suffer 
 ing, that she exclaimed, " Oh, forgive me ! I did 
 not mean " 
 
 " No, no ! you are both right in thinking me 
 a coward ; I am one, but not in the way you 
 believe. Dick, while you were in England I
 
 20 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATKLMXK. 
 
 speculated and lost every cent of my money, 
 it was not for myself, God knows ; it was to help 
 a little in the cause, but I failed as I do in 
 everything, and now my poor scribblings are all 
 that stand between Sylvia and starvation. Now 
 you know why I must stay at home." 
 
 Huntington felt an impulse of angry impa 
 tience, but Sylvia was overcome by remorse that 
 she had been guilty of thinking him wanting in 
 bravery ; she put her arms about his neck. 
 
 " Poor papa, never mind me ; I can do very 
 well here alone, and I can live on milk and eggs, 
 which cost nothing. Go, dear papa, and when 
 you come home a conqueror, I shall feel I have 
 helped you, and shared a little in your suffer 
 ings." 
 
 " You are a brave girl ; you are like your 
 mother, Sylvia," he said gently ; " but it cannot 
 be. I have sinned, and I must bear my punish 
 ment. They also serve who only stand and 
 wait, you know." 
 
 " No, no ! it is unjust that you should have to 
 give up every chance, only because you lost your 
 money. Uncle Dick, dear Uncle Dick, tell him 
 how nicely I can live on nothing. I will earn 
 money for myself." 
 
 But Huntington was standing at the window 
 staring out into the sunshine, and did not an 
 swer. Gilbert looked at him with a wistful
 
 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 21 
 
 appeal in his eyes that was very pitiful. There 
 was a feeling of suspense in the silence which 
 Sylvia dared not break ; she gave a little start 
 when llichard turned round abruptly and strode 
 across the room to her side. 
 
 He took her hands in his and looked deep into 
 her eyes, his own full of a resolute light. 
 
 " Sylvia," he said, and his voice stirred some 
 chord in her heart that vibrated in response 
 " Sylvia, you are a brave girl, and I am going 
 to ask you to make a great sacrifice for your 
 country and your father. If you were a boy I 
 should not hesitate to ask you to risk your life, 
 and now I do not hesitate to ask you if you will 
 give up all dreams of a young, happy marriage, 
 and take me, battered old fellow that I am, for 
 your husband." 
 
 All sorts of visions of personal bravery and 
 exposure had floated through her mind as he 
 began to speak. Her throat had felt as if a hand 
 clutched at it, so high rose her enthusiasm, and 
 the surprise of the ending came like an anti 
 climax. To her mortification she gave a quick, 
 nervous laugh. " Why, Uncle Dick, I love you 
 dearly ; it is nothing you ask me to do ; give me 
 something hard." 
 
 The determined lines in his face softened a 
 little. 
 
 " You do not know what you say, dear. You
 
 22 A TRANSATLAXTJC CHATELAINE. 
 
 may love me as you would an uncle or a grand 
 father, and I love you as dearly as if you were 
 my own child ; but I lost my heart years ago, 
 and you have never found yours. No, let us be 
 frank ; it is only that I shall be able to provide 
 for you, and in case of my death make you my 
 heir without interference, that I ask you to marry 
 me. And if you accept, it is because you are 
 willing to lay your youth and happiness on your 
 country s altar." 
 
 Gilbert, who had been listening as one in a 
 dream, sprang up. 
 
 " No ! no ! you must not make this sacrifice 
 for me, Dick ! I am not worthy of it ; I will 
 leave Sylvia to starve before accepting it." 
 
 " It is not I who make the sacrifice, it is your 
 daughter. I gain the prospect of a happy home, 
 and a wife whom I love dearly, if I am spared 
 to come back ; she loses all those dreams of love 
 which are sacred to any one who has ever had 
 them. You of all men should appreciate her 
 generosity." 
 
 " Papa Uncle Dick don t talk in this way, 
 please. I am ready to thank God that He has 
 given me a chance to do something noble. All 
 my life I have longed to show how I could die 
 like Marie Antoinette or Jeanne d Arc, and if 
 they asked to burn me, so that the slaves might 
 be free, I would laugh witli joy, and go to the
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 23 
 
 stake singing. I only wish there was something 
 hard, hard for me, instead of marrying my dear 
 old Uncle Dick." 
 
 Gilbert stared at her in surprise. He had 
 never suspected the enthusiastic love of romance 
 and heroism underlying her quiet manner ; but 
 the excitement of the moment stirred her, and 
 self was forgotten. The brilliant color glowed 
 in her cheeks, her deep gray eyes seemed full of 
 violet fire, and her slight, willowy figure assumed 
 an air of dignity. 
 
 " Then it is decided ; you will marry me, and 
 at once?" said Huntington. 
 
 Sylvia smiled proudly as she laid her slender 
 hand in his. " Yes," was all she said, but her 
 voice was full of resolute loyalty. 
 
 " If I come back alive I will be a kind hus 
 band to you, little girl, and try to make you 
 forget all you have given up. But time is 
 short," he added, looking at his watch ; " we 
 ought to be married at once, for I do not know 
 when I shall be free again." 
 
 " Run upstairs, Sylvia, and tell Justine to put 
 some things in my valise for me ; then wait till 
 I call you," said her father, suddenly rousing to 
 energy. 
 
 She gave the bare order to the French woman, 
 neither explaining the reason of his departure, 
 nor telling of the great event in her own life ;
 
 24 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 she was so unused to sympathy, so accustomed 
 to lock her feelings in her own heart, allowing 
 no one to pry at them, that reserve and silence 
 had become a second nature to her. 
 
 She went to her own room and sat by the 
 window waiting. No nun about to take the veil 
 ever had her heart filled with higher, purer 
 thoughts ; no hint of self entered into that sanc 
 tuary. Sylvia was unconscious that her attitude 
 was one of worship, for she thought neither of 
 the avenging Jehovah of whom Mr. Andrews 
 thundered, nor of the blue-and-white Virgin in 
 Justine s room, and these were the only dei 
 ties she knew ; but as man is made to adore, 
 her whole being was prostrate before the ab 
 stract virtues of patriotism, bravery, and self- 
 sacrifice. 
 
 She looked about the room, eloquent in its 
 appointments of Iluntington s tender thoughtful- 
 ness of her, that had followed her ever since 
 she had known him. The engravings on the 
 wall, the knickknacks on her dressing-table, 
 everything she called hers, had been given by 
 him, except the few books in the hanging shelves ; 
 those had been some of her father s infrequent 
 gifts. As she looked, her eye fell on an ivory 
 prayer-book her mother s. She took it from 
 its place and turned to the marriage service. 
 " Till death us do part," she read to herself, and
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 25 
 
 the thought of dear, kind, generous Uncle Dick 
 being taken from her brought tears to her eyes. 
 He was the only person in the world she really 
 loved, and even to him it was a vague, luke 
 warm affection she gave. Never in her life had 
 she known the hot, eager rush of love that 
 chokes with sobs and blinds with tears, called 
 forth by the mother bound to her child by a 
 higher, holier tie than that we speak of as 
 instinct. Sylvia was ignorant of any stronger 
 emotion than that roused in her by the history 
 of a noble deed, or a brave act ; but whatever 
 she had of tenderness to bestow was Richard 
 Huntington s. 
 
 While she sat absorbed in her thoughts she 
 heard wheels, and saw Mr. Andrews driving up 
 in the station wagon, which had been sent for 
 him. Her heart beat faster, but her voice was 
 steady as she answered her father s call, and her 
 step light and calm as she went down the turn 
 ing stairs, a child in years, a woman in high 
 courage and purpose. 
 
 Her father took her by the hand and led her 
 into the white parlor, where Mr. Andrews stood 
 solemnly with bowed head behind a small table. 
 Justine and Deborah were in a corner, each 
 showing her deep feelings characteristically, the 
 French woman telling her beads inaudibly, her 
 streaming eyes lifted to Heaven ; the New Eng-
 
 26 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 lander holding herself rigidly, and scorning to 
 use the handkerchief for which her loud sniffs 
 called. 
 
 Huntington was standing staring into the 
 newly lighted fire, and seemed startled when 
 Gilbert touched him on the shoulder ; he had 
 seen the face of his first and only love in the 
 blue, hurrying smoke as she looked mockingly 
 forth, and he was wondering if things did even 
 up in the end, if he could ever feel his life com 
 plete, full as it had been of all that men prize, 
 and now inspired by the dream of a glorious 
 future ; and as he pondered, he could have found 
 it in him to envy his friend Gilbert, poor in 
 everything except the memory of a few imper 
 ishable years, filled with an ardent, undying 
 love. 
 
 The girl he took by the hand, promising to 
 love and to cherish, had but a small share of his 
 thoughts. 
 
 Mr. Andrews had rather reluctantly agreed 
 to use the Episcopal form of service, urged on 
 him by Gilbert, who pleaded lack of time for 
 a longer ceremony, really dreading an intermi 
 nable prayer. 
 
 Almost before she realized what she was 
 doing, Sylvia felt Richard s warm, hearty kiss 
 on her forehead, and heard his voice say, with 
 a natural ring that in part took off the dream-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 27 
 
 like effect of the scene, " God bless you, my 
 wife." 
 
 There was a touch of amusement, too, in his 
 tone, and his eyes had a friendly twinkle that 
 dried the tears in them. Sylvia put her arms 
 round his neck, and hid her face on his shoulder ; 
 she was not touched, but shy, and wished that 
 stupid old Mr. Andrews would go away. To 
 her delight she heard her father tell him that 
 they would drive him home as they went to the 
 station, bidding him hurry ; then he kissed Syl 
 via with a tenderness she did not recognize, and 
 said that he would try and come to see her again 
 if possible ; if not, he would write, and Dick s 
 lawyer would tell her what arrangements were 
 to be made for her during the coming months. 
 Huntington himself took her in his strong arms, 
 and kissed her as unceremoniously as if she were 
 still the child he had first known, telling her 
 that his sisters should call on her at once, and 
 if she liked she should visit them. But she said, 
 " Oh, no ; don t let them ask me," in such a dis 
 dainful tone that he laughed and said she should 
 not be troubled by any invitation. Then Gil 
 bert called out anxiously that they had only just 
 time, but he had mislaid his watch ; there was a 
 rush to look for it ; Mr. Andrews, already in the 
 carriage, kept urging the need for haste, joined by 
 the driver ; Huntington confounded his friend s
 
 28 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 carelessness, and so with much bustle and some 
 laughter they drove away, softer thoughts ban 
 ished for the time. 
 
 After the first hour, when the house seemed 
 very silent, and she found it hard to settle to her 
 usual routine, Sylvia slipped back into her old 
 habits, and by bedtime had been so engrossed 
 in " Les Trois Mousquetaires " that she started 
 with surprise at Deborah s playful address, 
 " Mis Huntington, it s time to put out the 
 lamp."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE next day the whole affair seemed like a 
 dream to Sylvia ; she had not even a wedding- 
 ring, properly speaking, for Huntington had 
 replaced on her finger one that she habitually 
 wore, and which had belonged to her grand 
 mother. When, according to the promise made, 
 a grave, civil-spoken lawyer called on her, and 
 informed her with much respect of the generous 
 allowance that her husband had ordered to be 
 placed to her credit at his bank, and instructed 
 her in the mystery of drawing a cheque, she 
 had the impression that she was taking part 
 in private theatricals. But she filled her role 
 with a dignity rather pathetic in one so young, 
 and when alone set herself to consider what she 
 should do with this overwhelming wealth. 
 
 She had a strong conviction that it would not 
 be becoming in her to give any of it to aid the 
 cause she and her father had so much at heart, 
 for she knew that Richard was not one of them ; 
 as for herself, what did she want? It would be 
 absurd to get gay, rich clothes ; her own simple, 
 well-made dresses were much more fitting for
 
 30 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 her. Her father being away, she had the use of 
 his saddle-horse, and that was a delight to her, 
 for the pony, a present of long ago from Hunt- 
 ington, had grown too old, and she herself too 
 tall, to make him of much use, except to drag 
 his little cart. 
 
 Some books she did want, and Deborah should 
 have a silk gown and Justine a gold watch. She 
 sent Mr. Andrews a handsome sum for village 
 charities, and after her one trip to Boston, 
 guarded by both her handmaidens, to make her 
 few purchases, she settled back into the old life. 
 
 There came one break in it, the day that her 
 sisters-in-law made the visit that their brother 
 had ordered there is no milder term to use. 
 Sylvia realized that her father s attitude in regard 
 to abolition had made him conspicuous, and she 
 also knew that he had been treated harshly on 
 account of his beliefs, and gloried in picturing 
 him to herself as a martyr ; but she had no idea 
 of the horror he inspired in her conventional, 
 narrow-minded sisters-in-law, or of the indigna 
 tion which they felt at their brother s wickedness 
 in marrying his daughter. Besides the social 
 wrong that he had committed in their eyes, they 
 both felt aggrieved, because, regarding him as a 
 settled old bachelor, they had counted on their 
 children being his heirs, and it was hard to be 
 forced to receive a little chit of sixteen into their
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 31 
 
 family, who would bring with her ideas harmful 
 to all ranks of society. 
 
 The visit, therefore, was not a success ; neither 
 lady would eat a crumb of the cake that Deborah 
 had prepared with fluttering care, nor drink a 
 drop of the old Madeira for which the Edwards 
 family had long been famous. They sat with 
 their eyes fixed on the clock, horribly afraid of 
 losing the return train to town, and explained 
 elaborately why they were unable to invite Sylvia 
 to make them a visit : they were shutting their 
 houses for the summer, preparatory to going to 
 the mountains or the seashore. She listened 
 with her grave air, treating them with all possi 
 ble deference, and no one could have suspected 
 how amused she was at their transparent subter 
 fuges, and clumsy attempts to patronize her. If 
 Sylvia had been older, more versed in the ways 
 of the world, she would have been decidedly de 
 pressed by her new relations ; but in her wise 
 inexperience she took a " short view of life," 
 looked upon the episode as something extremely 
 ludicrous, wished that she had some one to sym 
 pathize with her amusement over the anxiety 
 displayed by the worthy dames to impress on 
 her their grandeur and importance, and forgot 
 the whole affair during a twilight canter. 
 
 Not so Deborah, who had not been above hov 
 ering about the hall while the ladies were there,
 
 32 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 and had gathered enough of the general aspect 
 of things to rouse her wrath. She brought the 
 untouched tray with the heavy cut-glass de 
 canter of an old-fashioned shape, and the jin 
 gling glasses, out to the " clock -room," where 
 Justine sat at her work in the western sunshine. 
 
 " Such as them to scorn Miss Sylvia," she 
 burst out, having carefully set her burden on the 
 table. " / can remember the day when they was 
 only too glad to be asked to sip a drop of that 
 wine when it was a good many years younger, 
 and would nibble any crumbs old Mis Edwards 
 would throw em, and now they feel too fine to 
 break bread in this house ! They was always 
 flattering and coaxing Mis Edwards, and en 
 couraging their brother to be friends with Mr. 
 Gilbert. Their impudence beats me." 
 
 Justine s eyes flashed with a dangerous light. 
 " Did they trouble my lamb ? " she asked, fold 
 ing her arms dramatically. 
 
 " Oh, they ain t worth our bothering over them, 
 Joosteen," returned Deborah, recovering her 
 serenity under the healing effects of sympathy, 
 and having, besides, a wholesome fear of the 
 Frenchwoman s temper, which, joined to mutual 
 respect, produced a peaceful combination. 
 
 " I guess they did n t mean to set my back 
 up the wrong way they did, and Miss Sylvia s 
 worth ten of em anyway."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 33 
 
 " Mademoiselle is fit to be a duchess," said 
 Justine warmly : " I have seen fine ladies in my 
 time, but not one more beautiful, more worthy 
 than my lamb." 
 
 " Yes, you 11 not find a smarter girl under the 
 canopy, assented Deborah, and cairn reigned 
 once more. 
 
 And the calm continued to reign in the soli 
 tary house, the only ripples of excitement being- 
 caused by occasional letters from Edwards and 
 Huntington, who v/ere engrossed in their work of 
 organization, previous to leading their regiments 
 to the seat of war real war now, in grim ear 
 nest. Sylvia read the papers eagerly, and fol 
 lowed every step of the gathering forces. She 
 burned to have her two soldiers begin their work, 
 and chafed at the necessary delay. 
 
 Then one day came a letter, bidding her to go 
 to Boston to look her farewells on husband and 
 father. She obeyed the directions, taking Deb 
 orah with her. A young man sent by Hunting- 
 ton met them in the city and conducted them 
 to a room in a business street, through which 
 the regiment was to march. Every window was 
 crowded with faces, and Sylvia scanned them 
 with interest. Some of the women wept ; others, 
 still more pathetic, talked and laughed ; there 
 were boys chafing at the youth which kept them 
 at home, and old men who regarded sons and 
 grandsons with envy.
 
 34 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 At last, a dry sound, the tramp of feet was 
 heard ; many a wife and mother fluttered her 
 handkerchief gayly as her brave boy in blue 
 marched steadily by, and then, when he had 
 passed and her courage was not needed to cheer 
 him, pressed it to her eyes. 
 
 "Why do they cry?" Sylvia asked herself 
 with a sort of scorn ; " / feel like singing a battle- 
 hymn." 
 
 "Here comes your pa may God bless and 
 keep him," said Deborah in a shrill voice that 
 broke in a sob. Sylvia saw him, the sunlight 
 falling on his face, glad and confident as he 
 looked up at her window. " That s the way he 
 used to look as a boy bless him, bless him! 
 Oh, if his mother could see him now Perhaps 
 she does," said the faithful servant, twisting her 
 fingers together as her emotion burst through 
 the shell of her New England self-consciousness. 
 Sylvia leaned over the sill, and sent him glad look 
 for glad look ; they were both proud and exalted ; 
 they were strung up to an heroic pitch. Then, 
 when Gilbert had disappeared, down the street 
 came Richard, his broad shoulders and manly 
 air giving her a thrill of possessive pride. She 
 leaned out, her fresh lips parted, her cheeks 
 glowing, a brilliant image of enthusiasm, a very 
 goddess spurring him on to victory she seemed, 
 in the dingy frame of the stone window-casing.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 35 
 
 Their eyes met in one long-, farewell look ; the 
 light faded from hers, as she read in his a sim 
 ple courage, and a wistful pity for her in her 
 young ignorance of life. The pomp of war 
 vanished, and in its place remained duty in all 
 its nakedness. She saw the yearning in his 
 face, and her heart went out in a rush of ten 
 derness to him. " I know now why they cry," 
 she thought as she drew back into the room, 
 the tears rolling down her cheeks. 
 
 From that moment he lost his identity with 
 the Uncle Dick of her childhood ; he was a 
 hero, and his life was a solemn drama to her 
 a tragedy moving with inexorable, fatelike 
 steps to the last act, when they brought him, 
 shot through the heart, back to old Massa 
 chusetts. 
 
 His sisters were frigidly kind to her. She 
 went to them for a short visit, and came back to 
 her quiet home bewildered at the views they 
 had given her of human nature, views in 
 which the importance of crepe and bombazine 
 were curiously mingled with texts from Scrip 
 ture appropriate to their affliction, but where a 
 thin although sincere grief reconciled the incon 
 gruous elements of the mass ; the kinder they 
 were to her, however, the more absolutely apart 
 from them did she feel, and she left them with 
 the sensation that she was troinsr back to find
 
 . W A TKAXtATI.AXTlC CHATELAINE. 
 
 Richard, and to mourn undisturbed for his un 
 timely end. 
 
 It was an untimely end, but better his lot than 
 that of poor Gilbert, who had set out in the 
 " glad, confident morning," hope and ambition 
 gilding his attitude of self-sacrifice ; for human 
 ity he was willing, nay, eager, to give all. But 
 sometimes all is simpler to give than half. One 
 gray, rainy evening, when the wind wailed in the 
 chimney, he crept back to his hearth, wounded, 
 broken in body and mind. His career on the 
 battlefield had been but a repetition of his whole 
 life, he had never found an opportunity to 
 distinguish himself ; he had not been a favor 
 ite with his men ; his real gallantry had never 
 been given a chance until the battle where he 
 had been wounded so severely that his life was 
 despaired of at first. 
 
 Disappointed, his only friend gloriously dead, 
 his small fortune melted away, what was left for 
 him ? Nothing but to drag out his remaining 
 years a pensioner on his daughter s charity. He 
 did not face this fact ; he was not a man to face 
 anything disagreeable ; but it was forced on him. 
 
 Sylvia during their three years separation had 
 grown from a child to a woman ; her simple 
 black dress, her grave bearing, the high nobil 
 ity of her thoughts, her best companions, which 
 shone seriously out of her eyes, made her seem
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 37 
 
 older than she really was. At first she cared for 
 her father, humored his whims, bore his caprices 
 with Spartan patience. Nevertheless, the sudden 
 change in her life was a severe test, and she 
 was but a very human creature after all. For 
 these last years she had been as a queen in her 
 tiny realm ; she had given money and energy to 
 organize a Sanitary Commission in the village, 
 where her youth, her generosity, and her solitude 
 made the country-folk forget her father s unpop 
 ularity, and remember only her husband s gal 
 lantry. Never contradicted, her simple material 
 wants supplied by the ever watchful Justine and 
 Deborah, loved and praised by the inferiors sur 
 rounding her, her character had sent out vigor 
 ous shoots in one direction, but there was nothing 
 to stimulate a balancing growth until her father s 
 return. 
 
 Then came the rub. 
 
 At first he was too shattered to rouse any sen 
 timent save that of pity ; but as he grew bodily 
 stronger, Sylvia began to realize the fact that 
 she was the possessor of a very quick temper, 
 which was daily severely tried by his bitter, 
 sneering words. It mattered little whether they 
 were directed against her or not ; they invaria 
 bly produced a tempest of indignation, only to 
 be calmed by a long, solitary ride. The various 
 physicians and surgeons whom she called in to
 
 38 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 aid him all agreed in saying that his wound had 
 affected Gilbert s heart, and that any contradic 
 tion or undue excitement might end fatally, so 
 that self-restraint on her part was imperative. 
 His society, too, destroyed for her the uncon 
 scious content she had felt in her quiet life ; 
 his stories of the people he had known and the 
 things he had seen gave her new light, and 
 opened her eyes to the fact that she was young 
 and fair, that the world was vast and filled with 
 allurements. Suddenly she began to long for 
 companionship, for gayeties and amusements, 
 turning with distaste from her books, from the 
 brook s song and the perfume of the flowers. 
 She neglected her work on the Sanitary Com 
 mission, giving as an excuse her anxiety to be 
 with her father, and then spent long hours in 
 vague discontent, none the less poignant that 
 she could give her wishes no name. It was but 
 the natural reaction against the unnatural soli 
 tude and gravity of her upbringing. She begged 
 her father to move to Boston, so that they might 
 break the monotony of their existence by going 
 to concerts and theatres, but he shrank from the 
 ordeal. He dreaded to have the cold eye of the 
 world scan the broken failure of his life. Trav 
 eling was forbidden, and at any rate they were 
 both too much bound up in their country s weal 
 or woe to willingly leave her.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 39 
 
 There were days when Gilbert rallied and 
 grew young again ; once when Lincoln emanci 
 pated the slaves, and again when the decisive 
 news came that the North was victorious. 
 
 That day was a festival ; to please him, Sylvia 
 gave up her heavy black, and sat opposite to him 
 at dinner in fresh white with a bunch of violets 
 at her belt. 
 
 " I think I can make a new start now," he 
 said gayly : " I am no longer a moral leper I 
 will begin my writing again ; I have a thousand 
 plans in my head." 
 
 She sympathized, trying to believe that he 
 was able to keep his word, but the next day he 
 was very ill ; the slight excitement had been too 
 much for him, and Deborah, whom he had called 
 in the night, had thought that he was dying. 
 He rallied, however, and the doctor said that 
 there was no cause for further fear at present, 
 so the old routine began once more. 
 
 It was April again, and one morning, a few 
 days later, Sylvia woke early. The birds were 
 rioting outside, but through their singing came 
 a sullen clang : it was the bell tolling in the vil 
 lage. She could not sleep ; a heavy depression 
 enveloped her ; a loathing for her occupations, 
 her lack of living interests, her powerlessness. 
 
 She dressed and went down into the hall. It 
 was earlier than she had thought, she said to
 
 40 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 herself, for the morning paper had not come ; it 
 was always left on the hall-table, and she took 
 it to her father with his breakfast tray. 
 
 She stepped out into the crisp air. It was four 
 years since her wedding-day, and in that time 
 nothing had changed. The elm-tree was a lit 
 tle fuller, the house had had a fresh coat of 
 paint, the crocuses were more plentiful that 
 was all. 
 
 " Will nothing ever change ? " she thought 
 with a rush of impatience. 
 
 " Is it my fault ? am I wanting in energy, or 
 am I paralyzed ? Oh, that bell, that bell, it will 
 drive me mad." 
 
 She went round to the other side of the house. 
 Deborah was standing in the kitchen porch, look 
 ing after the retreating form of the postman, an 
 expression of horror in her face. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Sylvia; the woman s 
 rigid attitude told her clearly that some blow 
 had fallen. 
 
 " They ve killed the President," answered 
 Deborah, with rapid conciseness. 
 
 " Oh, no it s impossible it can t be true." 
 
 " It is true. Listen." Clang over the tree- 
 tops came the plaint of the persistent bell. 
 " There, that s for Mm." 
 
 As she spoke she flung her apron over her 
 face, and turned away, dumb with sorrow and
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 41 
 
 anger. Sylvia was stunned by the tidings for 
 a moment, and then her thoughts flew to her 
 father. 
 
 " We must keep it from papa. Where is the 
 paper, Deborah?" 
 
 " I left it on the hall-table nearly an hour ago. 
 Sam Morris has been here all this time, just say 
 ing nothing." 
 
 Sylvia went back into the house : no, the paper 
 was not there. With a sudden fear shaking her, 
 she went swiftly to Gilbert s door and knocked : 
 there was no answer. She spoke ; all was still. 
 Then, summoning all her courage, she turned the 
 handle and entered. 
 
 He was sitting beside the table, with his head 
 fallen on to his outstretched arm ; one hand 
 clutched the paper crumpled in its grasp, the 
 other hung heavy by his side. He did not stir 
 when his daughter came to him, nor did he an 
 swer when she called his name. She put her 
 hand gently on his shoulder, and then a solemn 
 awe came upon her, for she knew that he had 
 reached the end of his journey, that no longer 
 would he stumble on his uncongenial way ; that 
 betwixt him and her spread the mystery of 
 mysteries. Through the open window came the 
 measured tolling of the bell and the uncon 
 cerned jubilees of the birds. Fifteen minutes 
 before, she had complained that nothing ever
 
 42 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 changed, and had chafed at her life ; now to 
 her vision, cleared and enlarged by death s pi-es- 
 ence, her murmurs seemed petty and childish. 
 
 Had she loved him more, she would have 
 missed him more, but she would have been 
 spared the anguish of remorse. The memory of 
 a thousand trifles tormented her in the weeks 
 and months following that eventful morning 
 words unspoken, that might have cheered him ; 
 her frequent lack of sympathy expressed by an 
 eloquent silence ; her hidden, but sharply felt 
 impatience at his strictures and criticisms. 
 
 " If I had only known how soon I was to be 
 free, I would have been more patient," she cried 
 in her bitter self-reproach. 
 
 There were very few letters or other memen 
 tos of her parents life together ; in their seven 
 years of bliss they had seldom been parted ; but 
 the rare fragments she found showed Sylvia a 
 new phase of the dead man s nature, which was 
 expressed in tender, self-abnegating words to 
 the woman who had made his life black when 
 she withdrew from him the radiance of her 
 presence. 
 
 In the long summer days Sylvia pondered 
 over this strange passion, this love, sung by 
 poets, deified by men ; and the more she thought 
 of it, the more she grew to regard it as a mad 
 ness. She saw from her own experience how it
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 43 
 
 had ruined her father s life, and deep in her 
 heart she made a promise to herself that she 
 would so mould her life as to avoid its enchant 
 ing poison. 
 
 Richard Huntington s death and burial had 
 taken place but a short time before Gilbert s 
 sad return to his home, and Mr. Belknap, Syl 
 via s lawyer, had duly presented her late hus 
 band s will for probate. According to its terms 
 she was to enjoy the use of the income of the 
 property until she was twenty-one, when the 
 entire fortune, barring a few bequests, was to 
 be put into her hands. It had now become her 
 duty to make her own will, and this, in her 
 isolated condition, was 110 easy task. She could 
 not consult her father, for any kindred subject 
 agitated him sorely, so she must settle all for 
 herself. 
 
 She had decided on nothing in her own mind, 
 except the fact that half of all that came to her 
 was to go back to Richard s family (his sisters 
 were both wealthy women, but she felt that this 
 was only an act of justice), when one after 
 noon Mr. Belknap s card was brought to her as 
 she sat in her father s room reading aloud to 
 him ; it was one of his bad days, and he had 
 not ventured downstairs. She found the lawyer 
 waiting for her in the white parlor ; he was a
 
 44 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 middle-aged man, of rigid integrity, with a pro 
 found reverence for money ; in person he was 
 small, and his manner was dry and cool. He 
 seated himself to his satisfaction, after greeting 
 his client, inquired for her father, expressed his 
 concern at the bad report she gave him, and 
 spoke casually of the weather, before introdu 
 cing the real reason of his visit. 
 
 " I am afraid there is going to be a contest 
 over the will, Mrs. Huntington," he said at 
 length, looking at her with his sharp little eyes 
 to see how she would take his annoimcement. 
 
 " What s the trouble ? was n t it drawn 
 right ? " she returned. 
 
 He was a little stung at her remark. " Drawn 
 right yes ; there s never any trouble about 
 my wills. That is not the point the other side 
 will bring up." 
 
 " Who is the other side ? " 
 
 " Your late husband s sisters, Mrs. Townsend 
 and Mrs. Adams." 
 
 " And what do they want ?" 
 
 " They want everything," he said with a short 
 laugh. " I will explain matters to you. I sup 
 pose I can t see your father about it ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," she answered hastily, " it is out of 
 the question." 
 
 "That s bad that s unfortunate; but we 
 will do our best without him. The other side
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 45 
 
 base their claim on a charge of undue influence 
 brought to bear 011 your husband to induce him 
 to leave his entire fortune to you." 
 
 " Whose undue influence ? " 
 
 Her eyes were so truthful, bearing no trace 
 of suspicion in their limpid depths as she asked 
 this question, that Mr. Belknap hesitated a little. 
 "Well," he said at length, stroking his chin, "I 
 presume they intend to suggest yours and your 
 father s." 
 
 " How wicked of them ! how false ! Why, 
 Richard begged and entreated me to make the 
 sacrifice," she burst out. 
 
 " That s good very good ; now, my dear 
 young lady, tell me all about it." She repeated 
 the events of her wedding-day, simply, and in 
 a manner that told she spoke the truth. At the 
 end of her story Mr. Belknap seemed plunged 
 in thought ; then he said, " Well, well, who 
 would have thought that Huntington could be 
 so romantic. It shows how little we know our 
 clients. Now," he added in a brisker tone, 
 " we 11 prepare for the fight. I d better have 
 Henley on our side ; he s a very clever advocate, 
 and they have a dangerous fellow to represent 
 them. I wish that Huntington had consulted 
 me first there was really no need for so much 
 haste ; but there s no use crying over spilt 
 milk."
 
 46 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " Let me ask you one or two questions now. 
 I may be very dull, but I can t even yet see why 
 they think they can get all this money. Did n t 
 Uncle Mr. Huntington mean me to have it? " 
 
 " Certainly ; that was his wish." 
 
 "And was the money his to do what he 
 pleased with?" 
 
 " Of course it was ; he and his sisters inherited 
 equally from their father ; Richard increased his 
 property by his business talent, they increased 
 theirs by making rich marriages. It is a family 
 where money seems to pour in." 
 
 " Then why do they attack me ? " 
 
 The man of law gave an indulgent chuckle at 
 the display of so much innocence. 
 
 " Because, my dear young lady, they covet 
 still more ; they want to see their cups running 
 over, and their granaries bursting with wealth. 
 Good-afternoon ; you may count on me to keep 
 you informed." 
 
 His last answer had roused Sylvia s indigna 
 tion. What baseness, what hypocrisy was theirs ! 
 So little while ago they had seemed all kind 
 ness and tenderness for her at Richard s funeral, 
 and even then perhaps they had been plotting 
 against her. It was cowardly to strike in that 
 way at a young, unprotected woman, a stab 
 in the back. " If they had asked me, I would 
 have given them half, but now " This mood
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 47 
 
 continued, so that when she received a line from 
 Mr. Belknap, saying that the other side seemed 
 inclined to draw in their horns, and had whis 
 pered the word " compromise," she wrote back, 
 "jVby I will not compromise for a dollar. That 
 would put me in the wrong, and make me feel 
 that I had 110 right to the share left me. I will 
 fight it with your help." 
 
 She might have decided differently had she 
 foreseen the endless trials and complications to 
 which her answer pledged her. There was the 
 necessity of keeping her father in the dark 
 regarding her frequent trips to Boston ; there 
 were tedious hours of waiting in Mr. Belknap s 
 or Mr. Henley s office, for interviews with those 
 busy gentlemen ; there was the humiliation of 
 learning how low the estimate was of human 
 nature, as shown by the carefully prepared ques 
 tions that Mr. Henley put to her. 
 
 He, by the way, was the one bright spot in 
 this dreary time ; he had known her grand 
 parents, had been in love, he assured her, with 
 her grandmother, and showed her a kindly good 
 will that touched and warmed her. He was a 
 man of the world, too, the great outside world, 
 who spent every season in London, and knew 
 everybody ; she felt more at home with him 
 than she did with fussy little Mr. Belknap, and 
 he became interested in his young client.
 
 48 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 At last the clay for the hearing came ; Sylvia 
 had braced herself up for the torture-raci, and 
 after all it seemed rather a tame performance to 
 her. When the testimony that her father was 
 too ill to appear was stated, there was in one 
 or two questions an implied sneer that brought 
 the angry blood to her cheeks, but she controlled 
 herself, and presently, to her relief, it seemed to 
 be all over. Before she could congratulate her 
 self, however, Mr. Henley whispered, " These are 
 but preliminaries, you know ; they are merely 
 feeling their way ; they want to see our strength. 
 The real struggle will come before a jury." 
 
 He rubbed his hands with a pleased look as 
 he said this ; he was great in a jury trial, and 
 he knew it. Her face fell. " When do you 
 suppose that will be ? " she asked in a discour 
 aged manner. 
 
 " You can never tell ; in six months perhaps, 
 or, again, not for a year," he answered. 
 
 So it dragged on uncertainly, and then came 
 her father s death. While she was still feeling 
 the sharp remorse and the new tenderness caused 
 by it, she was summoned, with Deborah and 
 Justine, to Boston for the trial. Mr. Belknap 
 engaged rooms for them in a dreary, respectable 
 hotel, where she had the prospect of a graveyard 
 from one window, and a narrow gray court filled 
 with lawyers offices from another, to amuse her ;
 
 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 49 
 
 there she waited until the day of her trial, as it 
 indeed proved, arrived. 
 
 The opening by the advocate on the other 
 side, " the dangerous fellow," filled her with 
 angry humiliation. lie painted in crude, vulgar 
 colors the innocent, noble friendship which ex 
 isted between Huntington and the inmates of 
 the old white house, the disappointed, strug 
 gling man and his little girl. He portrayed Syl 
 via at the age of ten with all the clever wiles of 
 a Becky Sharp, and no one in history or fiction 
 ever approached Gilbert for cunning duplicity. 
 That opening argument crushed her so that her 
 mind scarcely took in what followed, and she 
 was in a confused state until the time came for 
 her cross-examination. Then she rallied, and an 
 swered the questions put to her with so much 
 clearness and dignity that her womanly per 
 sonality evidently impressed the jury as much 
 as did her fearless, honest eyes, dark with feel 
 ing. She looked very young and pathetic as she 
 stood alone, her black dress and veil accentuating 
 the slender lines of her figure, and the delicate 
 color coming and going in her face. Mr. Hen 
 ley and Mr. Belknap felt that they had won 
 when their practiced eyes noted the favorable 
 impression made by their client, and whispered 
 encouraging words to her as she took her seat 
 onoe more bv her faithful servants. But at
 
 50 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 that time nothing could comfort her ; she was 
 overwhelmed by the horror of it all, and felt 
 that no number of fortunes, piled one upon the 
 other, could repay her for the agony of hearing 
 the judge s voice ring through the court-room 
 in his charge to the jury. The mere naming of 
 such suspicions was an insult to the dead and to 
 the living. She drew her heavy veil across her 
 face ; she could bear no eye to look upon her. 
 
 When the jury left the room, she, too, rose 
 and went to her hotel. Nothing seemed of any 
 Consequence now, not even the appearance of 
 Mr. Henley in an incredibly short time, who 
 bore the tidings that the jury had brought in 
 a verdict in her favor. " And a pretty bill of 
 costs the other side will have to pay," he ended 
 with a chuckle. 
 
 He advised her to stay yet another night in 
 town, as there would be business matters for 
 her to settle the following day, and left her, his 
 kind old face beaming at her gentle thanks, and 
 at the successful issue. When he had gone, she 
 sent Justine and Deborah home, rejoicing, and 
 then sat down alone in her dreary little sitting- 
 room. 
 
 The victory was hers but what a barren 
 triumph. All this humiliation and angry suffer 
 ing merely to keep her own. And now that it 
 had been proved hers beyond all doubt, what
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 51 
 
 pleasure did it bring to any one ? She turned 
 from her own thoughts with a sigh, and glanced 
 at some newspapers left by Mr. Henley on the 
 table. A rough woodcut caught her eye, a 
 bold, ordinary looking woman, with an exag 
 gerated crepe veil hanging in stiff folds from 
 her bonnet ; underneath were the words, " The 
 Widow Huntington fighting for her millions." 
 
 It was so bad, so beyond caricature, that if 
 any friend had been with her, Sylvia would have 
 laughed ; as it was, she cried instead, not merely 
 on account of the picture, but because of her 
 sudden realization of her loneliness. 
 
 " I can never show my face in Boston again," 
 she thought, with a yearning to be at home in 
 her quiet house. She shrank behind the window 
 curtains so as not to be seen by the tired, dusty- 
 looking men, most of them carrying green bags, 
 who came out of the dingy houses across the 
 way, going, bat-like, to their homes in the gray 
 dusk. A hand-organ ground out a dismal tune ; 
 over the graves came the sound of traffic from 
 a busy street on the other side ; a lean cat stole 
 stealthily along the iron fence of the burial- 
 ground. It was all ugly, sordid, and Sylvia felt 
 stifled. " I want to go home," she repeated like 
 a child. 
 
 But the next day, when she had left the dull 
 town behind, she found that home had nothing
 
 52 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATEl.Al+iE. 
 
 to say to her. Deborah and Justine welcomed 
 her with joy ; but she could not tell them of 
 her thoughts. She sat solitary at the little feast 
 that they had prepared to celebrate her victory. 
 The good souls had been busy all day about it, 
 and had been eager to leave the city so as to 
 have plenty of time ; flowers and candles decked 
 the table ; Deborah beamed through the pantry 
 door, watching Justine serve their young mis 
 tress, who sat alone, pretending to be pleased, 
 and forcing herself to smile and taste and praise, 
 but her heart was heavy within her, and it was 
 a relief when Justine left the room, and she was 
 free to go into the white parlor. 
 
 There she found the same sense of loneliness 
 and unnaturalness. It seemed unlike the room 
 she had always lived in, and bore an aspect of 
 frigid, unused cleanliness. Not a stray book 
 lay about, but they all stood in serried lines 
 dusted by careful hands, staring at her from 
 their shelves ; her writing-table was arranged 
 in immaculate order ; her work-basket had been 
 put away ; every chair stood in a formal atti 
 tude and the atmosphere of home was banished. 
 Truth to tell, it had given Deborah untold joy 
 to put the room " to rights," and she had been 
 at work since the first faint glimmer of light to 
 accomplish her task. 
 
 The evening was too warm for a fire, too cool
 
 .1 T-mNSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 53 
 
 to have the windows open ; Sylvia did not know 
 what chair to take, or what book to read. All 
 her old pursuits seemed to have lost their inter 
 est, and she had not even been to the stable since 
 her return to see the pony and her saddle-horse. 
 A sudden panic seized her, a fear of the soli 
 tude ; the brook s babble sounded through the 
 evening quiet, and she felt afraid, as she used 
 to when a child. She rang for Justine. 
 
 The woman entered, her heavy tread falling 
 noiselessly, her square face at first stolid and 
 impassive ; after Sylvia had spoken, however, 
 the stolidity vanished and her deep-set eyes 
 glowed with the intensity of her feelings. 
 
 " I want you to talk to me, Justine dear," 
 Sylvia began. " I don t like being here alone ; 
 sit down, please." 
 
 Justine obeyed. " I know," she said, taking 
 a lowly place on a footstool, "I know how my 
 lamb has suffered. Deborah thinks only of the 
 money, but I think of the cruel words, the in 
 sults. I would like to kill mademoiselle s ene 
 mies ! " 
 
 " Oh, no, Justine, it is not quite as bad as 
 that," said Sylvia with a faint smile. 
 
 " If I had my way I would kill every one who 
 hurt my little mistress. I would carry her in 
 my arms away from this cold, hard land, where 
 gold is the cry ; I would take her to my coun-
 
 54 A TRANSATLANTIC L llATKLAlXK. 
 
 try, where she would be as a queen, where she 
 and not her money would be worshiped." 
 
 " Why, Justine, I have never heard you talk 
 like this ; why have you always been so silent 
 with me ? " 
 
 " There are times for all things, mademoiselle ; 
 I was silent when words were useless." 
 
 " Tell me, my old dear, were you sad when 
 you first came here from France ? " 
 
 A quiver shook the muscles of her square 
 face as Justine replied : " Mademoiselle may 
 well say sad ; my heart was well-nigh broken 
 within me. Many and many a time I was on 
 my way to monsieur to tell him it was stronger 
 than I, the longing for my country, when a caress, 
 a word, a laugh, or a sob from my lamb stopped 
 me. I reflected that it was she who made my 
 sunshine ; of what use is it to have a warm body, 
 if the heart is cold ? so I stayed. Time arranges 
 most things, and I have been content." 
 
 " Oh, Justine, you have always loved me ; my 
 money is nothing to you, I am all. How can I 
 ever pay you for such love ? " 
 
 " Mademoiselle has paid me over and over 
 again. I never would have spoken before, but 
 now she is free. Oh, come to my beautiful 
 France ! Leave this cold land, come to my coun 
 try, where the nobles wait for a king to follow, 
 and hold aloft the white lilies."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 55 
 
 " All, that is past, dear Justine ; the emperor 
 lias brought peace and plenty to France ; per 
 haps that is better for the people than the days 
 of romance, though I would dearly have loved 
 to live in those times." 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I am of a humble family, but 
 we have our traditions as well as the great ones ; 
 my great-grandfather fought with the Vendeens 
 when they mowed down the Blues like so much 
 withered grass ; our seigneur was a powerful 
 noble, and I know what I say. Come away 
 with me ! Come where the sun is more kindly, 
 where the earth is more generous ; where the 
 saints seem close to you in the great cathedrals, 
 and touch you with their blessings as the light 
 streams on you through the colored windows. 
 Leave this cold country, where they would rob 
 you and insult you ! 
 
 The woman had risen, and stood glowing with 
 a still, inward excitement, her hands folded on 
 her broad bosom, which rose and fell with her 
 quick-coming breath. Sylvia seemed to see a 
 new personality in her old nurse, whose enthu 
 siasm caught her in its rush. 
 
 " We will go, Justine, you and I ! We will 
 go back to the land of our birth, to sunny 
 France ! "
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WHEN Sylvia, accompanied by her faithful 
 Justine, began her journey through the Old 
 World, her character was a curious mixture. 
 In certain ways s.he was advanced beyond her 
 years ; in others, more ignorant than many a 
 child. Her wide knowledge of books gave her a 
 singular sense of familiarity with the places she 
 visited, whilst personages of history and fiction 
 produced a fascinating confusion of ideas. At 
 Venice she felt that Shylock had as truly trodden 
 above the springing arch of the liialto, as that 
 the Ten had whispered their deadly secrets in 
 the Doges Palace. In Spain, Don Quixote s 
 adventures were as real to her as the fact that 
 Columbus had set forth from Granada with the 
 queen s promise of aid. Her imagination, al 
 ways vivid, was stimulated by the new scenes 
 about her, and for a year she followed her hero 
 or heroine of the moment, taking unnecessary 
 journeys, retracing many a step, and enjoying 
 her life in a way that she had hitherto thought 
 impossible. All this time she lived in the lives 
 of those shades, who made up to her for friends
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 57 
 
 and family. The chance acquaintance of travel 
 were to her the misty ones, and she herself only 
 a mirror reflecting days and emotions that were 
 past. She took pleasure in buying and wearing 
 dainty apparel, because it seemed to her right 
 to respect herself, and her instinctive good taste 
 was an inheritance from her mother. But at 
 first, beyond this natural love of beautiful sur 
 roundings, she paid very little attention to her 
 self, or the effect she produced on others. The 
 years had brought her many gifts, and she was 
 a woman whose grace and charm impressed 
 themselves on the beholder before he had had 
 time to discover how delicate were the lines of 
 nose and mouth, how classic the shape of the 
 well-poised head ; that the dark thick hair grew 
 just low enough on the broad, fair brow, and 
 over the small ear; and that when one looked 
 closely, the deep-set, gray eyes, fringed with 
 black lashes, had gleams of violet in them that 
 flashed into brilliancy at any excitement. All 
 these observations, however, came gradually ; at 
 the first sight Sylvia s real but unobtrusive 
 beauty was less noticed than her harmonious 
 movements and subtle air of refinement and 
 breeding. 
 
 At first, in her ignorance of the world of to 
 day, with all its seething intensity, she was well 
 content to live dreamily in the past ; but this
 
 58 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 could not last always. There came a time when 
 she looked wistfully at two sisters discussing a 
 painting, and even envied a share in the little 
 quarrels and bickerings she saw going on among 
 families spending their vacation in traveling. 
 She began to want companionship, to need some 
 one who could understand her enthusiasms ; but 
 she knew no one. She always had her private 
 apartment at the hotels, and her evenings were 
 as solitary as in the old days, for she did not 
 care to take Justine with her to the theatre or 
 opera, the servant feeling out of place. This 
 sentiment of loneliness had come upon her 
 strongly at one of the Italian lakes. She had 
 been standing on her balcony, watching a party 
 of English people coming home after a day s 
 excursion. In spite of tumbled hair and dusty 
 dresses, they had looked so amused and inter 
 ested, had laughed so heartily as they entered 
 the hotel, that Sylvia longed to ask them to tell 
 her, and let her laugh too. As they disappeared 
 beneath the portico, two young men came into 
 sight, swinging along with that easy walk which 
 looks like play, but means business. They were 
 talking earnestly ; suddenly one turned, and 
 something in the landscape caught his atten 
 tion ; he pointed, and the other, after looking, 
 gave his companion a glance of sympathy. They 
 walked on more slowly, and in silence, but Syl-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 59 
 
 via felt that they understood each other ; that 
 to them the blue mountains and glittering lake 
 gave a pleasure unknown to her. She turned 
 away with a sigh, and entered the salon where 
 Justine was arranging some flowers. 
 
 " Tell me a little of your country," she said. 
 " We have only seen Paris in France, and I think 
 I want to go back there." The woman stood 
 upright, dropping her flowers on the table. Her 
 square, ordinarily stolid face became animated. 
 " It is long since I have been in my country, but 
 it is always the same, though all my people are 
 dead. We are waiting for the old glories again, 
 madame. It is all very fine now, but we who 
 were born in La Vendee know that it is not the 
 real thing. We want no emperors ; we are wait 
 ing for our king and he will come! Oh, if 
 madame could only see some of the vraie noblesse 
 of my country. They are brave and gallant ; 
 they always pray for the king s return. It is so 
 different from the people we have seen, these 
 pigs of Germans and Italians, English and Span 
 iards. If madame would only go to France, she 
 would see true gentle people." 
 
 Sylvia laughed a little sadly. " I should see 
 the outsides of their chateaux, Justine that s 
 all. I am getting tired of seeing only exteriors ; 
 I would so like to get inside." 
 
 Justine stood looking at her mistress help-
 
 60 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 lessly. It seemed to her that no one in all the 
 world was so beautiful, so noble, as the child 
 she had brought up. She was sure that if once 
 the door could be opened into that life she longed 
 for, all would bow before her ; but in her igno 
 rance she saw no chance. 
 
 " 1 always think madame was meant for a 
 duchess or a princess," she said loyally. 
 
 " Go down, Justine dear, and arrange for a 
 place at table d hote for me. I must speak to 
 some one I must do something different/ 
 
 When she was left alone she sat musing, think 
 ing of herself, a most unusual thing. It came 
 to her that there was no one in the world, with 
 the exception of two servants, who loved her ; 
 and no one whom she loved. Richard had cared 
 for her in a way for her father s sake, but not 
 as he had loved the woman he told her about. 
 Her father had given her a grudging affection, 
 more because she was her mother s child than 
 because she was his. What a strange havoc- 
 working malady was this love of men and women. 
 It never seemed to work well for its victims 
 except in novels ; it was truly a malady. She 
 had given it a good name, and would always 
 avoid it ; she knew its dangers, and would alone 
 be to blame if it was ever allowed to influence 
 her. But companionship was different. What 
 sho longed for was cool, sympathetic, reasonable
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 61 
 
 friendship how could she ever find it ? At 
 this period Sylvia s character was like a half- 
 ripened peach, her hitellect, which had been 
 over developed by her severe training, was like 
 the ruddy, downy hemisphere of the fruit, kissed 
 into perfection by the sun s heat ; but the side 
 towards the wall as hard and untouched as was 
 Sylvia s heart. Her impulses were all kindly, 
 but lacked enthusiasm. Some instinct within 
 urged her to help the distressed, to be gentle 
 and courteous to all in her path ; but there 
 was no comradeship in her rare relations with 
 the outer world ; she went her way like one 
 apart, until a glance, a silence between two men, 
 strangers to her, made her understand what a 
 friend can be. As she sat, wondering in a vague 
 way, how it would feel to have some one near 
 enough to her to praise, to find fault, to criti 
 cise, even to quarrel with her, the door opened, 
 and Justine, her face all aglow with interest, 
 came in. " What is it ? " asked Sylvia, " you 
 look as though something had happened." 
 
 " Madame is right ; something has happened 
 that will please her. Who should I see coming 
 up from the boat but Monsieur Henley, the 
 good, the amiable? I told him we were here, 
 and he is to call for madame, and take her down 
 to dinner with him." 
 
 Sylvia was interested and pleased; it was a
 
 62 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 link with her past, slight enough, but patheti 
 cally important to her. 
 
 When, prompt as the dinner-gong, her old 
 friend made his appearance, she greeted him 
 with a cordiality that flattered him, coming as it 
 did from a young woman of such pronounced 
 distinction of appearance. He took her hand as 
 if he had been her uncle, and patted it gently 
 as he said : " This is a great pleasure a great 
 pleasure and it would have been a surprise to 
 see your good serving-woman, had I not already 
 heard of your being here." 
 
 " How did you know, dear Mr. Henley ? " 
 
 " From an English woman, Mrs. Lee-Blair, an 
 old friend of mine. She is staying in the hotel 
 and had been on a day s excursion, and I met 
 her on the boat. I told her that I hoped the 
 place was not overrun with American tourists, 
 and she said that there was one countrywoman 
 of mine here, who looked charming, but was 
 very exclusive. I asked the name, and she said 
 Huntington ; still I should not have known it 
 was you but for her description." 
 
 " What did she say about me ? " asked Sylvia. 
 
 Mr. Henley chuckled. 
 
 " She said that you held your head so that 
 one looked for the tiara, and had a smile that 
 seemed to say you saw and knew things that no 
 one else did."
 
 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 63 
 
 " Your friend must be a close observer," an 
 swered Sylvia. She was partly amused, and 
 partly annoyed by the description. " Shall we 
 go down now?" she added; "and you will let 
 me prove to your friend that I am not as super 
 cilious as she would make me out. Her descrip 
 tion is like a combination of a race horse and 
 the Mona Lisa." 
 
 " She is a clever woman, nevertheless, and I 
 mean to introduce you ; she will sit by me at 
 dinner." 
 
 So Sylvia found herself suddenly launched 
 into the little world of the hotel. It was chiefly 
 filled with those birds of passage whose sole 
 business in life seems to be to flutter after the 
 best climate. Winter finds them on the Riviera, 
 spring in Paris or Venice, summer at the Italian 
 lakes or French watering-places, and autumn, 
 migrating southward in a leisurely manner to 
 begin the round once more. One wonders if any 
 one of this restless tribe ever longs for a nest of 
 his own ? If they never weary of beating down 
 hotel bills, of trying to become intimate with 
 other birds whose gayer plumage and crested 
 heads proclaim them of a nobler birth, and of 
 pecking spitefully at the meeker, dingier song 
 sters, who are perhaps engaged in that most 
 desolate and despairing game of hide-and-seek 
 with health ; a game where the poor little bird
 
 64 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 is always " it," as the children say, and catches 
 but rare, tantalizing glimpses of health s rosy 
 mocking face as he beckons them on. 
 
 O 
 
 Mr. Henley s friend, Mrs. Lee-Blair, did not 
 strictly belong to any of these of whom I have 
 spoken. She came of a good family, being, as 
 Mr. Henley informed Sylvia, the daughter of a 
 baronet, but with so little money that she was 
 forced to live economically on the continent. Her 
 late husband had left her a bare pittance, and, 
 the old gentleman added, it was extremely cred 
 itable that she managed to make such a good ap 
 pearance. Flora Lee-Blair was no longer young, 
 but she gave no effect of age ; a modern artist 
 would probably have fainted had he heard her 
 figure praised, but in her eyes and in those 
 of her admirers it was her strongest point, with 
 broad shoulders, large bust, and a waist whose 
 size gave striking evidence of a patient martyr 
 dom that would have been called heroism in a 
 better cause. Her rather large, beak-like nose 
 and prominent chin gave her at first sight an 
 eager, rapacious air, which the full-lipped, good- 
 humored mouth, and small, merry black eyes 
 contradicted. Her thick, dark hair was elabo 
 rately dressed, and her toilettes were usually in 
 fairly good taste, with the exception that she 
 rejoiced in an astounding quantity of turquoise 
 which she wore bravely on all occasions. Her
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 65 
 
 voice was rich and low, making the listener feel 
 that it was almost vulgar to sound final g s and 
 pronounce ow as one syllable, so charmingly did 
 her accent strike on the ear. She could write a 
 daintily expressed note in a dashing hand that 
 left the reader unsure as to the exact spelling, 
 so cleverly she made one letter look like another. 
 It is doubtful if she ever read anything but 
 society papers, and her prayer-book ; but her 
 want of education was atoned for by great social 
 knowledge, and a limited amount of tact sup 
 plemented by a really warm heart. There was 
 no pretense about the woman ; she honestly 
 acknowledged her deficiencies in a way that 
 disarmed criticism. Had she been enabled to 
 spend her life in the manner she had been 
 brought up to expect, with no lack of those 
 things we consider necessary until we lose them, 
 she would have been as good, straightforward, 
 kindly a creature as could be found ; but years 
 of trying to make a pound do the work of a 
 guinea, always a little behindhand with her bills, 
 occasionally compelled to submit to rude inso 
 lence from unpaid inferiors, had developed in 
 her a strain of hardness generally characteristic 
 of an adventuress. Gradually she had lost her 
 former rather fine sense, and had come to the 
 point where she congratulated herself gleefully, 
 with no touch of remorse, when she had success-
 
 GO .-1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 fully lowered a just bill by threats of what her 
 influence eould do, or quitted a place a week in 
 advance of the time she had previously named, 
 leaving no trace by which the despoiled and be 
 wildered tradesmen could follow her. She kept 
 these little transactions very quiet, and eased 
 her conscience by ardently recommending her 
 unpaid tailors, milliners and dressmakers to all 
 her rich, aristocratic friends, thus more than 
 making up to them for their losses. Some lin 
 gering habit from her early, methodical days 
 made her keep a strict account of all she owed, 
 and the receipted bills were filed no more care 
 fully than their less fortunate brothers. In 
 spite of this bad streak in her character, which 
 was not natural to it, being caused more or less 
 by her circumstances, she was a lovable wo 
 man, and also an extremely amusing companion. 
 Partly because she found Sylvia attractive, 
 partly because of a judicious hint from Mr. 
 Henley, she was very kind to the young stran 
 ger, and introduced her to all the grandees of 
 the place. 
 
 Sylvia soon became a personage among them ; 
 her dignity, and the air of indifference it gave 
 her, made them credit her with a hauteur that 
 raised her immensely in their opinion ; and 
 a woman young, beautiful, independent, and 
 wealthy is always interesting to her fellow
 
 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 67 
 
 beings. She was delighted with the new at 
 mosphere surrounding her ; the give and take 
 of conversation, although not always clever, 
 amused her ; even the all-day picnics, which 
 brought forth groans and abuse from those most 
 ardent in organizing them, gave her pleasure. 
 She regretted that it could not last ; but Mr. 
 Henley always disposed ahead of all his time, 
 so he could not linger, and Flora Lee-Blair had 
 told her that she must be moving on at the 
 end of another week. She was frankly sorry, 
 and in a talk with Mr. Henley told him so ; he 
 threw out a hint ; Sylvia caught at it eagerly, 
 and before the night closed in she had made 
 an agreement with Mrs. Lee-Blair that the latter 
 should become her companion. 
 
 She liked her, found her kindly and entertain 
 ing, and for the time she was willing to ignore 
 that the older woman was absolutely incapable 
 of sympathizing with the deeper interests of 
 life. Flora was so elated over her prospects that 
 she became emotional, something very rare 
 for her, and refused to dwell on the thought 
 that she had sunk to the level of a governess ; 
 it haunted her a little, but she banished it reso 
 lutely, and went to her room in a mood of sin 
 cere gratitude. Half her first year s income 
 would enable her to pay the more pressing of 
 her debts, and in twelve months she would be a
 
 68 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 free woman, always supposing Mrs. Hunting- 
 ton chose to remain Mrs. Huntington. Well, 
 part of her task would be to discover her charge s 
 tendencies, and a word here, a look there, can 
 work wonders with a woman over twenty girls 
 are the only absolutely unmanageable creatures 
 in the world. 
 
 She sat down at her writing table, and open 
 ing her prayer-book, elaborate in its purple 
 velvet binding, read the General Thanksgiving 
 with enthusiasm. It is probable that she gave 
 to the word " preservation " therein contained the 
 meaning of preservation from unpaid accounts, 
 insolent shopkeepers, and all the ills attendant 
 on a small income, but there is no doubt that 
 her impulses at this time were good, and her 
 intentions praiseworthy. 
 
 Having shut the book, she took from a large 
 brass-bound oaken box two formidable packs 
 of requests for immediate payment. They were 
 neatly arranged in order, and the oldest were 
 dated years before. She began making calcula 
 tions, cheering ones, to judge by her expression 
 at the beginning of her task, but as the lines of 
 figures grew longer, so did her face. She had 
 resolved to pay every penny she owed, make a 
 fresh start, and be economical ; but when she 
 had resolved this she had not realized how ap 
 pallingly large the sum of her debts was. A
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 69 
 
 year s income pay them off? No, nor two, nor 
 three years, generous as the offered salary was. 
 She thought despondingly how unlikely it was 
 that a woman like Sylvia should remain unmar 
 ried do what she might to prevent such a 
 catastrophe. Then it occurred to her that she 
 had not troubled herself much about her indebt 
 edness before ; why should she now ? She took 
 all those prayers for payment over a year old, 
 and sitting by the fireplace began to burn them. 
 
 As they curled and shriveled, sending a pleas 
 ant aromatic odor into the room, she caught 
 sight of the various items. Three hundred 
 francs for that old blue silk ; how ridiculous 
 to think of paying it now, when the dress had 
 been in rags for longer than she could remem 
 ber. That leghorn bonnet with the roses 
 what a price she had paid for it, or no, rather, 
 what a price the milliner had asked it was 
 pure robbery, and the roses had faded, too ; 
 then that turquoise bracelet she had got dirt 
 cheap at Genoa ; but one of the stones had 
 turned green almost immediately. Tradespeo 
 ple were nothing but brigands and cheats, she 
 decided with righteous indignation, as the last 
 paper rose with a dying protest against her judg 
 ment, and fell exhausted on the black, crackling 
 heap. 
 
 " Now, if I am to live with a swell I must 
 have something; decent to wear."
 
 70 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 So saying she wrote an order to her Parisian 
 dressmaker for some new creations, and inclos 
 ing a cheque for her previous bill, she rang and 
 sent it downstairs for the early post. When she 
 laid her head on her pillow, it was with a clear 
 sensation of comfort ; if all her debts were not 
 exactly paid, one of them at least was, and the 
 greater part were burned, therefore forgotten. 
 
 The next morning her maid was made happy 
 and astonished by the payment of her wages to 
 date and the present of a very presentable frock ; 
 so she approved of the new order of things quite 
 as much as her mistress. 
 
 Sylvia had already felt a thrill of pleasure by 
 being able to use the pronoun " we " instead of 
 " I, and the only person who felt a doubt about 
 the suitability of the arrangement was Justine. 
 An instinct, perhaps born of jealousy, made her 
 suspicious of this English woman, with her showy 
 presence. She even wondered if the Mr. lien- 
 ley, whom she had sincerely admired until now, 
 was not in a plot against her darling. 
 
 u You don t look pleased, Justine. said Syl 
 via, a little severely, as she told her news that 
 same evening. 
 
 " Madame will never see France now ; she will 
 go to that cold, foggy England," retorted the 
 servant, her eyes dark with wounded feelings. 
 " Madame will be obliged to have a new maid."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 71 
 
 " Why, Justine, you foolish old sheep ! Part 
 with you, my dear, dear nurse ? Never ! And 
 if you please, my lady, since when have you be 
 come so formal \vith me? For shame, Justine. 
 You have no right to doubt my love and grati 
 tude for you, you, who have been almost a 
 mother to me. What would have become of me 
 when I was little, without you? " 
 
 " You would have had Deborah," mumbled 
 Justine, a little appeased, and allowing her jeal 
 ousy to take another turn. 
 
 " You are too unreasonable to listen to me to 
 night," said her mistress ; " but you must under 
 stand one thing : we are going almost directly 
 to France, to Trouville, where Mrs. Lee-Blair 
 knows many people. Now are you satisfied 
 old grumbler ? " 
 
 " Trouville is not really France, it is only a 
 watering-place for Parisians and strangers ; but 
 it is better than nothing."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TROUVILLE nearly thirty years ago, Trouville 
 under the second empire ! In modern times was 
 there ever such a seething maelstrom of extrava 
 gance, false taste, fierce excitement, and romance, 
 both real and fictitious ? Is it the distance lend 
 ing enchantment that makes us feel that women 
 were more beautiful, men more redoubtable and 
 fascinating in those days ? Did hearts beat with 
 more fervor and less self-control under lace 
 fichus then than they do now under a stiff man 
 nish shirt front ? As comradeship between the 
 two sexes has increased, has sentiment dimin 
 ished ? Perhaps the many interests that have 
 come into the lives of women of later years have 
 made them less susceptible to love ; the great 
 gain has been attended, it may be, by some little 
 loss. To read a novel of that period makes one 
 think so, at all events, and it was into this emo 
 tional whirl, this concentrated imitation of Paris 
 in her heyday of dissipation, that Sylvia made 
 her first acquaintance with the world, the flesh 
 and the devil. They were all very rampant, 
 and some women would have been confused and
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 73 
 
 bouleversee by the novelty of the situation. Syl 
 via, however, kept her head admirably. She was 
 so familiar with the fabulous splendors of his 
 tory, which lost nothing pictured to her by her 
 vivid imagination, that realities fell short of her 
 mind pictures. Who among this showy crowd 
 could boast of a retinue to equal that of Car 
 dinal Wolsey ? What jewels shine like those of 
 Anne of Austria ? It was all very gay and very 
 brilliant, but it seemed thin to her, as thin 
 as the walls of the spacious, luxurious, over- 
 furnished villa that Flora had secured for her. 
 Everything had a transient air ; it was a mush 
 room growth. 
 
 In spite of her unexpressed disappointment 
 she took keen pleasure in her first plunge into 
 the society of the place. Mrs. Lee-Blair was a 
 very pointer in her social nature, and had an 
 unequaled eye for the "best" people, those 
 who would be of use. She was charmed to find 
 that Sylvia bade fair to be a success ; a woman 
 of her nature adores success, and she congratu 
 lated herself twenty times a day on her discern 
 ment. At the end of ten days Sylvia became 
 the fashion. It had taken her very little time to 
 adjust herself to her surroundings. With the 
 facility common to her countrywomen she learnt 
 in a flash the ways of thought and the terms 
 of speech of those about her. Those who were
 
 74 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 not clever enough to perceive her real brilliancy 
 took it for granted from the lips of the more 
 discerning ; and all the Trouville world found 
 it easy to admire, without being told to, her 
 charm and distinction, her good looks and ex 
 quisite clothes, her irreproachable turnouts and 
 excellent dinners. 
 
 At first Sylvia entered into it all with the zest 
 of a child ; the compliments pleased her, her 
 popularity so easily gained delighted her. Then 
 came the trail of the serpent ; the thought that 
 it was her fortune, not herself, that put her 
 where she was. The morning papers that Jus 
 tine, beaming with pride, brought her with her 
 early cup of tea, rubbed in the disagreeable 
 truth. She was called " the witty and wealthy 
 Madame Iluntington," "the beautiful million 
 aire," in the florid accounts of balls and races. 
 She grew to have a sensitive loathing of the mere 
 sound of money ; it began to have a vulgar jingle 
 in her ears. Who would have discovered her 
 wit, her fascination, her beauty, if she had come 
 unheralded among this butterfly throng? Be 
 fore the first three weeks were over, she had be 
 come cynical ; behind the smiles of her flatterers 
 she fancied that she could see greed and avarice 
 barely hidden by an assumed mask. She used 
 to tell herself daily that Justine had been right ; 
 the ideal France must be different, and she would
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. To 
 
 ply her old nurse with questions about her coun 
 try. In spite of the frivolous life about her, the 
 frothy vice, the constant repetitions of scandals 
 that made her soul feel withered and worldly, 
 she kept her belief that somewhere, hidden in 
 the green interior, still existed romantic, gallant 
 hearts, and she resolved to find them for her 
 self, to see the reality. Moving in the midst of 
 frivolity, seeming to an observer merely on the 
 surface, a charming embodiment of worldliness, 
 Sylvia still kept hidden in her heart a store of 
 romantic faith. Most people need imperatively 
 something to worship, an idol of stone, or an 
 abstract virtue, for lack of anything better. She 
 had her belief in heroism and self-sacrifice to 
 dream over. No other belief had been pre 
 sented to her in a manner that appealed to her. 
 The lurid doctrine that she had listened to dur 
 ing her youthful days had only inspired revolt 
 and skepticism ; the unreasoning devotion to 
 signs and symbols taught her by Justine had in 
 their turn led her to a spirit of mockery ; but 
 bravery for and devotion to a noble cause meant 
 God to her, and her dearest, closest wish was to 
 be identified with such a cause. 
 
 Thus she lived her life of gayety and amuse 
 ment, surrounded by all outward signs of success 
 and luxury, simultaneously with an inward, hid 
 den life, the only signs of which were the sudden
 
 76 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 glow of warmth in her serious eyes, and the in 
 explicable, subtle smile on her lips, brought there 
 by some chance word, some vague association of 
 ideas, at the most unexpected moments. 
 
 But she was always searching for some em 
 bodiment of her ideal ; every new presentation 
 might mean that she had found at last the right 
 path ; but one disappointment followed another. 
 
 " Are these the best people ? " she asked 
 Flora one day ; " they all seem so commonplace 
 and banal to me." 
 
 " I don t know what more you could wish," 
 retorted Mrs. Lee-Blair, somewhat offended. 
 " We began with a baronne, and yesterday a 
 duchesse invited you to dinner ; I am sure I can 
 do nothing more." 
 
 kt We are not talking exactly of the same 
 thing," said Sylvia, puzzled to know how to ex 
 press herself ; and then the incongruousness of 
 it all struck her with rather a dismal amuse 
 ment. She caught sight of herself in her mir 
 ror, dressed to perfection, the incarnation of 
 worldly grace and beauty ; her horses were 
 stamping impatiently at the gate, where her 
 victoria waited for her ; her footman stood re 
 spectfully holding her wrap and her card-case, 
 in which was a list of the calls that she and 
 Flora were about to make, a list which seemed 
 to glisten with high-sounding titles ; and she
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 77 
 
 stood dreaming of a chance for heroic deeds, 
 longing 1 for a cause worth dying for. Little 
 wonder that her unconscious smile gave her a 
 sphinx-like touch of mystery. 
 
 Just as she had decided that Trouville bored 
 her, and had begun to wonder if it would be 
 unkind to drag Flora away from its distractions, 
 a newcomer appeared on the scene, and Sylvia 
 found that he made life more interesting ; he 
 was a fresh type, and he stimulated her. Mrs. 
 Lee-Blair, who by dint of confidential talks just 
 before bedtime thought that she had found the 
 key of Sylvia s ambition, namely, a title, for 
 what else did her rare words about nobility and 
 greatness mean ? bent all her energies to the 
 task of blackening the character of any count 
 or baron who was in the least devoted to her 
 charge ; and in passing, be it said, that her task 
 was not a difficult one. But she paid little at 
 tention to the newcomer already mentioned, a 
 young cavalry officer, Captain Maurice Regnier, 
 not even possessing a de before his name. To 
 her mind Sylvia was so cold and immovable 
 that the fact that Regnier was handsome, well 
 built, and brilliant was of no importance. To 
 Sylvia herself, however, this fact did convey 
 something. What this something was she did 
 not analyze ; but she knew that the very first 
 time they met their conversation plunged from
 
 78 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 the conventionalities of an introduction immedi 
 ately into the heart of things ; that almost without 
 realizing it she had permitted him to join her in 
 her morning rides ; that a dinner without him, 
 even with all the table between them, became 
 an intolerable bore. She took it for granted 
 that it was their mutual tastes which brought 
 them together : they both loved horses and rid 
 ing with enthusiasm ; they met on the common 
 ground of literature, for she found to her delight 
 that he knew as much of English authors as she 
 did of French, although he spoke only his own 
 tongue. But it was something deeper and wider 
 than mutual tastes which made her when with 
 him find salt in the world she had called insipid. 
 She did not suspect what the real charm was 
 underlying his beauty of face and form, his boy 
 ishly gay manner, and his high spirits ; she did 
 not feel that Maurice Kegnier s nature had just 
 the tenderness, the enthusiasm, for the soft lov 
 able things of this world that she had missed 
 all her life. lie spoke of his feelings with the 
 unconscious naturalness of a child, and liked to 
 tell this gracious woman about himself, watch 
 ing her grave eyes brighten and glow until the 
 gray turned to violet. He even confided to her 
 the secret of his life, that he wrote poetry, 
 although he confessed that his brother officers 
 would never give him a moment s peace, were
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 79 
 
 they to know that he was the author of a volume 
 of poems which had been praised by the Revues 
 and had become the fashion in Paris. Sylvia 
 found herself feeling young and careless when 
 with him ; there was a breeziness in his atmos 
 phere, a sudden shifting from grave to gay, a 
 possibility of an outbreak of his hot but forgiv 
 ing temper, that gave a variety and fascination 
 to his companionship. Imperceptibly the heat 
 of the sun was turning to pink the hard side of 
 the peach ; little by little Sylvia s temperament 
 was waking from its profound slumber. It is 
 the old fairy story again, the sleeping beauty 
 and the prince. But alas, life is not all a fairy 
 story : heroes and heroines do not always " marry 
 and live happily forever after." 
 
 " How beautiful it all is ; how I love your 
 France ! " exclaimed Sylvia, standing at the open 
 window and drinking in the fresh breeze. The 
 day was drawing to a close, and over the hori 
 zon a soft grayish pink haze had begun to settle ; 
 the low rays of the sun striking the dancing 
 waves were reflected on the ceiling of the gay, 
 over-furnished salon ; from the casino on the 
 beach floated up the music of a waltz, and the 
 confused sounds of laughter and talk. Sylvia 
 had just returned from a drive, and Maurice, 
 being by some strange chance at the gate, had 
 followed her into the house. Turning from the
 
 80 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 window she seated herself in a low chair, and 
 began drawing off her gloves, while her eyes 
 still lingered on the expanse of sea and sky. 
 
 " My France ! " said Maurice, echoing her last 
 words energetically. " This is not France, this 
 hurly-burly, this mushroom growth of villas 
 springing up in a night and insulting the rocks 
 and the ocean. Please do not call it by that 
 name ; it jars on a man who really loves his 
 country, as much as if you thought his mother 
 was one of those painted, bedizened old creations 
 of this second empire, who toss their heads with 
 pride, because the mountebank now in power 
 labels them princesses or duchesses." 
 
 Sylvia listened earnestly. She might learn 
 something of that higher, finer life she felt sure 
 existed out of sight, hidden by the rush and 
 glitter of the world of fashion. " Tell me about 
 your real France, and your real nobility, there," 
 she said. 
 
 " I would give a year of my life to be able to 
 have the right to show you my home and my 
 people," he answered, a little tremble in his 
 voice, showing the sincerity of his words. 
 
 " Tell me about them," again said Sylvia, 
 dreamily resting her head against the back of 
 her chair, and looking at him with half-closed 
 eyes. At her request Regnier started from his 
 chair and took two or three turns up and down 
 the room.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 81 
 
 " I don t know how to begin," he said at last. 
 " I am bound to it by such strong, and at the 
 same time such fragile, ties that I am afraid the 
 spell might disappear if I spoke of it, and yet 
 there is no one in the world I would rather tell 
 all my dearest thoughts to than you." 
 
 "I know that curious flitting- away effect 
 some ideas have," said Sylvia, ignoring his last 
 remark, " You cannot always call them by 
 name, they seem to need different words to ex 
 press them." 
 
 " Yes, that s it they are always just ahead 
 of us. And I suppose that is what genius can 
 do fix them either on canvas, in words, or in 
 marble, and make them permanent. I am no 
 genius, but I want you to see through my eyes 
 for the moment. You may think that I am wild," 
 he went on, blushing in a delightfully youthful 
 way that he had, " but if I may take your emer 
 ald ring and look at it, I believe I can describe 
 better." 
 
 Sylvia did not smile as she handed it to him ; 
 she knew a little what he meant. 
 
 He laid it on the table before him, folded his 
 arms and leant forward, looking at it intently. 
 Sylvia watched him, thinking how handsome he 
 was : how well his crisp brown hair grew behind 
 his ears and on his muscular neck ; how sweet 
 ness and strength were combined in the curves
 
 82 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 of his lips, and how nice it would be to see him 
 in his full uniform ; but not a suspicion of any 
 warmer feeling than friendly admiration made 
 her pulse beat faster, or her eye gleam brighter. 
 Presently he spoke, and his voice sounded as 
 though he were telling a fairy story to a child. 
 "Once upon a time," he began, "nearly nine 
 hundred years ago, there lived in Touraine a man 
 of force and courage, not always used by him 
 for the best causes. His name was Foulques 
 Nerra, and the legend runs that he loved a beau 
 tiful woman, not his wife, and that he built 
 a castle for her which he called La Roche, and 
 gave her the title of Countess de La Roche. 
 There she lived in grandeur, and there he often 
 came, until a feeling of remorse for some of his 
 brutalities prompted him to leave France on a 
 crusade. He rode away, and during his absence 
 she bore him a son ; but the time was long, and 
 before he came back she had died, and was 
 buried in the chapel tunneled into the rock be 
 neath the castle, and there she lies to this day. 
 Her son, who inherited both title and fortune, 
 grew strong and brave, like the roving Foulques, 
 and the time came when he in his turn went 
 to the Holy Land. On his return he had with 
 him the cone of a cedar of Lebanon, which he 
 planted on the terrace, and he had these words 
 cut in old French on a stone shield in the chapel :
 
 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 83 
 
 " When the green turns brown, shall crumble 
 the stone. He gave orders that when his time 
 came he should be buried beneath the carving. 
 The old cedar, or perhaps its offspring, still 
 lives, and it was under its branches I learned 
 to love all things that are beautiful and strong 
 as it is. Your emerald has not its bluish-green 
 color, but it is like the century-old moss on its 
 bark, which shines like a jewel when the sun 
 strikes it." 
 
 Pie paused for a moment, but Sylvia remained 
 silent ; she was touching at last the things of 
 which she had only seen the shadows before. 
 
 " There are only three existing reminders of 
 those days," he went on ; " the old cedar, the 
 square dove-cote tower standing a little apart 
 from the chateau, and the chapel in the rock. 
 The three greatest truths in the world symbol 
 ized : the cedar standing for nature, the dust of 
 the past generation in the chapel for death, 
 and the home of those gentle domestic birds for 
 love." 
 
 " Love, always love," thought Sylvia impa 
 tiently, but she said : " Tell me more ; how does 
 it all look to-day, and who lives there?" 
 
 Maurice leant back in his chair and resumed 
 in a more commonplace tone. " The mother of 
 the present count lives there now. Her hus 
 band, who had all the good, and none of the bad
 
 84 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 qualities of his ancestors, died about six years 
 ago. He was my hero ; brave, loyal to the lilies 
 of France, and ready to die for them ; but when 
 he found that was a hopeless dream he took up 
 his life at home, cheerful, kindly, generous to 
 every one. The only thing that made him lose 
 his temper was to hear the emperor praised, and 
 the only thing that saddened him was one of his 
 rare visits to Paris, where he could not help see 
 ing the changes." 
 
 "But how did you come there, in his cha 
 teau ? " asked Sylvia. 
 
 " My father was not only his agent, but his 
 very dear friend ; he managed the estate for 
 many years, and lived in the old wing ; rny sis 
 ter and I were both born there, and my mother 
 died there when we were children. The young 
 Count Philippe and I are about the same age, 
 and we were educated together for St. Cyr. 
 When his father died he left mine a legacy 
 that made him independent, so the dear old man 
 bought a property that belonged formerly to his 
 grandfather, not far from La Roche, and there 
 he lives among his vines and his books with my 
 sister and her children." 
 
 " Were n t you sorry to go away from your 
 old home ? " asked Sylvia. 
 
 Maurice s lips tightened, as if to suppress a 
 quiver. " Yes," he said ; " I cannot quite under-
 
 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 85 
 
 stand why it was such a terrible wrench for 
 me. Even to-day I am made gloomy for a week 
 after a call on the countess. I felt as though I 
 had been banished, and I still have a sensation 
 of rage that it is not mine. But I never spoke 
 of this to any one else, because I would not 
 trouble my dear old father for the world, and 
 he is a thousand times happier now than he ever 
 was before. He and the countess are very fond 
 of each other ; she consults him on business 
 arrangements, and often conies to see him, but 
 he very rarely goes to the chateau." 
 
 " Describe a little more, please ; I do so love 
 to hear all this," said Sylvia. 
 
 " Stop me if you get tired, won t you?" 
 
 " I am never tired when I am interested it 
 is only when I am bored : so go on you inter 
 est me." 
 
 He looked his happy thanks, and continued. 
 
 " The chateau stands on a slight rise looking 
 down on the Loire, and consists of two wings 
 facing each other ; they are connected on the 
 side farthest from the river by a low line of 
 buildings in the centre of which is the gateway 
 under a stone arch ; you enter the court-yard 
 through this arch, and opposite you, forming 
 the fourth side of a quadrangle, is a wall, from 
 which descends a broad flight of steps leading 
 to the terrace where the cedar stands ; below
 
 80 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 that again are the gardens stretching nearly to 
 the river." 
 
 " I can see it all," exclaimed Sylvia ; " and 
 now, on which side of the entrance was your 
 wing ? " 
 
 " On the right," answered Maurice, pleased and 
 stimulated by her eagerness. " It is supposed 
 to date from the time of Louis XI. In the time 
 of Francois I. it comprised the whole chateau, 
 and in it lived the head of the family. lie was 
 a great favorite with the king, who sometimes 
 visited him, and La Roche is one of the few 
 properties which received its grant immediately 
 from the Crown. The counts have always held 
 themselves above every one but the royal family ; 
 they acknowledge no superior among the nobil 
 ity. In spite, however, of their lofty bearing, 
 this count I am telling you of, the friend of 
 Francois, was very poor. He was a born gam 
 bler, and little by little everything had gone. 
 Ruin stared him in the face, and he became des 
 perate. The legend runs that he played dice 
 with the devil : the stakes, his soul against a 
 fortune. How true the story is I cannot say, 
 but the fact remains that he divorced his wife, 
 and married a lady of great beauty. "With the 
 money she brought him he built the new wing 
 after the fashion of the day. The lady s ances 
 try was never discovered. A portrait destroyed
 
 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 87 
 
 in 1793 pictured her with auburn hair, and very 
 fair skin, if old tales can be believed. Her very 
 name is a mystery, and it is said she never spoke 
 a word of French, which points to her being a 
 foreigner. At first her husband was infatuated 
 with her ; but in a few years he grew tired of 
 her, and, after the fashion set by Henry of Eng 
 land, did his best to shake her off, too. He 
 failed in his attempt. The rest of their lives is 
 unknown ; but it is easy to fancy what it was. 
 Nothing is so unbearable as the ashes of a burnt- 
 out love." 
 
 " And yet," said Sylvia, a little scornfully, 
 " just now you put Love with Nature and Death. 
 Why ? What right has it there ? " 
 
 " What right ? " he echoed vehemently. " Are 
 you in earnest when you ask a question like 
 that?" 
 
 " In earnest, yes, dead, grim earnest. I am 
 afraid of love ; I dread its power, that seems like 
 a poison. My scheme of life shuts it completely 
 out from me." 
 
 " But you are wicked to say such a thing ! you 
 are worse than wicked, you are unnatural ! " 
 
 " No," answered Sylvia, " it is only that I see 
 things as they are. I have seen my father s 
 whole life embittered and brought to an empty 
 end, because he loved my mother so exclusively 
 that when she died he lost interest in every-
 
 88 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 thing. I have been persecuted and nearly beg 
 gared by the very people who should have pro 
 tected me." 
 
 " You have had a hard experience ; but you 
 should not allow it to color your life. Believe 
 me, there are still many, many people in the 
 world full of romance and disinterested feel 
 ings." 
 
 " Perhaps but it is a mercenary age," she 
 said, with a dreary fall to her voice. " I may 
 misjudge it it may be that my education was 
 in fault. Still, in spite of his failures, my 
 father never lost his ideals, and I grew up car 
 ing nothing for money, but building an altar to 
 patriotism and nobility of character, where I 
 worshiped." 
 
 " It is an altar worthy of a hero s devotion ; 
 but for you, a woman, is n t it rather a 
 cold, hard place? Does it satisfy you?" 
 
 " No," she said frankly ; " it does not. No 
 thing has ever satisfied me in all my life, except 
 the feeling I had the day when I saw my hus 
 band and my father marching at the head of 
 their men, all going to risk their lives, some to 
 lose them, for the sake of their flag. I had 
 made my little sacrifice in the same spirit that 
 they were making their large ones. Then, and 
 then only, I felt that I was a part of a whole ; 
 not an insignificant atom, tossed here and there,
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 89 
 
 but of importance, because I had done my share 
 as well as they. I try to remember papa as he 
 looked that day, the sunshine falling on him, 
 his face young and glad and proud. Justine 
 said it was always so when my mother was alive. 
 Her death crushed his vitality, his joy in liv 
 ing, his sense of duty to me, out of him. Only 
 patriotism had the power to bring back his own 
 nature. And without judging him, I have pon 
 dered ever since what a selfish, narrowing force 
 this passion is that we call love : it is a remnant 
 of the dark ages. We should rise above it, and 
 I mean to try in my small way to do so." 
 
 " You can t," said young Regnier ; " it is 
 stronger than you ; it is nature ; it is woman s 
 religion." 
 
 She shook her head. " No ; it is an idol wor 
 ship, adopted more as an excuse than anything 
 else." 
 
 " I wish you would not say such shocking 
 tilings ! I hate to hear you," he said with a 
 flash of temper that amused his hearer, and as 
 he spoke he rose, and stood at the window 
 against the glitter of the sunlit sea. Sylvia 
 could see his well-poised, Greek head, his col 
 umn-like throat, full as an athlete s, and his tall 
 figure ; but his face was in darkness, owing to 
 the dazzle without. 
 
 " Sit down where I can see you," she said
 
 90 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 with a gentle imperiousness. " That is right. 
 Now I can tell just how angry I dare to make 
 
 you." 
 
 In spite of his twenty-seven years Captain 
 Regnier s face showed his feelings like that of a 
 child. Just now his dark brown eyes, set wide 
 apart, were black with momentary heat, and his 
 short upper lip curled with an expression far 
 from peaceful. His was a face full of possibili 
 ties for good or bad. A student of such signs 
 might have foretold that his actions in one direc 
 tion or the other would be guided by his vehe 
 ment, enthusiastic nature, which was a little too 
 credulous perhaps, too prone to jump at conclu 
 sions ; whilst the firm, square chin gave promise 
 of a latent power of self-command, to be roused 
 to action, or not, as circumstances arose. 
 
 " Before you judge me," Sylvia continued, 
 " let me ask you one question, and answer me 
 fairly. Here am I, a young, independent, 
 wealthy woman. Which course is the nobler 
 one for me to follow : to marry a man who tells 
 me he adores me, who may seem to me as being 
 attractive and fascinating, to spend one or two 
 years perhaps a quarter of my life even 
 in a supreme selfishness a deux ; to lose him in 
 the end either because he dies, or is tired of me, 
 or because I die, or am tired of him. No, let me 
 finish," she insisted, as he began an interruption.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 91 
 
 " There is one side ; here is the other : I take 
 my fortune and give it freely, together with my 
 hand, to some nobleman, the last of a great 
 family which is dying out for lack of means. I 
 sink myself in the case, only caring to see an 
 illustrious name shine out again, bringing credit 
 to all connected with it. Which is the more 
 unselfish, the more noble ? " 
 
 Maurice did not answer her question, but 
 turned catechizer in his turn. 
 
 " If you have these high ideals of self-immo 
 lation," he asked severely, " why did you come 
 over the seas ; why did you not stay at home, 
 and marry one of those mercenary relations you 
 just complained of ? " 
 
 " Plow dull men are, even Frenchmen ! " she 
 exclaimed. "That is just it! I don t want 
 to be married for my money, but for what my 
 money can accomplish. Besides," she added with 
 a swift, charmingly illogical twist of her ideas, 
 " I love great names, great families, titles, and 
 if I give up everything, why have n t I a right 
 to please myself in the giving ? " 
 
 She herself saw the weakness of her argument, 
 and smiled at him. He forgot her words for 
 a moment in the joy of looking at her; then 
 he said, recalling himself a little sharply, " Who 
 has put these ideas into your head ? Is it Mrs. 
 Lee-Blair ?
 
 92 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 Sylvia resented his tone. " No, monsieur, I 
 am woman enough to think out my own plan 
 of action. But why do you dislike poor Flora ? 
 you never say anything good of her." 
 
 " I never said anything bad of her," he an 
 swered evasively. 
 
 " Then let us be friends," she returned, quickly 
 dropping the touch of displeasure in her voice, 
 " and don t scold me because I own that I care 
 for some of those things for which half the world 
 is struggling." 
 
 " I have no right to scold you, madame," he 
 answered, a little puzzled at her remark. 
 
 Perhaps one of the reasons why she fasci 
 nated him was her originality ; her careless 
 friendliness of speech was mingled with such 
 gentle dignity of manner, and such purity of 
 mind, that he bowed before her even when he 
 understood her the least. It would have been 
 impossible to be on the same terms with a 
 French woman. 
 
 It may have been this peculiarity that led the 
 people of the gay world at Trouville to regard 
 Mrs. Huntingdon as a new variety of the human 
 race, and led to much discussion of her character ; 
 she was an iceberg she was an intrigante 
 she was unusually stupid she was excessively 
 clever, and so on, according to the bias of mind 
 of those discussing her. In short, she was one
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 93 
 
 of the first American women to rouse French 
 curiosity. Then, as to-day, feminine morality was 
 called frigidity, and ease of manner the flower 
 of coquetry. 
 
 " I am not presuming to find fault," Regnier 
 went on, " but if you had seen as much of these 
 fine sounding families as I have, I think that 
 you would consider very gravely any step such 
 as you propose." 
 
 " Tell me a little about them," she said 
 eagerly. " You seem so different from these 
 people here ; they make me feel that they are 
 hired to go inside the villas, and that they will 
 be stored with the satin furniture when autumn 
 conies." 
 
 He laughed a little, and then returned to his 
 charge. 
 
 " Please tell me that you were in fun just 
 now ; you did not mean what you said about 
 love ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I meant every word ; it is some 
 thing to be avoided, and the mere thought of it 
 frightens me." 
 
 " Then you do not know the true meaning 
 of love, if you are frightened by it. You are 
 talking in ignorance ; some day you will feel 
 differently." 
 
 His words were insignificant, but his manner 
 and the brilliancy of his eyes that seemed to
 
 94 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 imperiously compel hers to meet their glance 
 embarrassed Sylvia. She looked at him for a 
 moment that seemed an hour to her, and then 
 her lids drooped. She could not understand 
 why she felt confused, and why her blood seemed 
 to be racing tumultuously through her veins ; it 
 was a new experience, as it is to every man and 
 woman when first that elemental feeling, un 
 derlying all the refinements and concealments 
 of modern times, makes itself apparent. But to 
 Sylvia it was only a vague trouble that stirred 
 her, roused by the passion ready to spring into 
 force that was swaying Maurice. He knew that 
 it was not yet time for him, and with an effort 
 which drove the color from his face, he walked 
 again to the window and stood there, willing 
 himself to calmness. The silence grew unbear 
 able, and Sylvia broke it. 
 
 " Let us avoid personalities," she said in her 
 coldest tone ; " they only annoy me ; besides, I 
 want to hear more of La Roche ; tell me a little 
 about the present count ; is he like his father ? " 
 
 " In looks, yes," answered Maurice shortly. 
 
 " Do you care for him ? Is he brave as well as 
 handsome ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell ; we are not making history to 
 day ; we have no chance to be heroic." 
 
 Maurice still stood staring out of the window, 
 and his voice told Sylvia that she had hurt him.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 9o 
 
 Collected enough, now that his eyes were not 
 burning deep into her soul, she tried to cure the 
 wound. 
 
 " I found a new road this afternoon," she said 
 tentatively. He made no reply. " It was too 
 rough for the carriage, but it would be delicious 
 to ride through." Still silence. " I hate to ex 
 plore with Jenkins, he grumbles so if the briars 
 scratch his beautiful hat ; but I do want to go 
 down that lane. Shall you be too busy, Mon 
 sieur le Capitaine, to ride with me to-morrow ? " 
 
 One of Sylvia s charms was her voice, 
 rather low pitched, it had at times the effect of 
 a caress, so velvet soft was it. Maurice felt his 
 sensation of injury stealing away, bewitched by 
 her words. He knew that for the time he was 
 as wax in her hands, but he did not resent the 
 knowledge. 
 
 " Too busy ? No ; you know that nothing 
 short of duty would keep me from a ride with 
 you. Of course I will be here at any time that 
 you say." 
 
 " Let us start early then, in the cool of the 
 morning. Is half past seven too soon ? " 
 
 " Not a second too soon for me." 
 
 " Then it is settled," said Sylvia. " And now 
 please tell me a little more, or I shall think that 
 you are angry with me." 
 
 He leant over the table again, looking into the
 
 96 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 emerald s depths. " I can only see the old cedar," 
 he said ; " it is to me the spirit of the whole 
 place. I can remember all my old dreams as I 
 used to lie beneath it, watching the glimpses of 
 deep blue sky with the puffs of clouds drifting 
 over it. The wind tossing among its hundred 
 branches sang songs of the seas it had swept 
 over on its way to its friend, and I used to listen 
 and long to be on some gallant ship, plunging 
 through furrowed waves to far-off lands. I lived 
 in the old crusader s past, and followed him to 
 the holy sepulchre ; I felt it all in me somehow ; 
 I was a part of it. in spite of my being only an 
 outsider, the son of almost the servant of the 
 count. I cared more for it, a hundred times, 
 than Philippe ever did. It is his in name, but 
 it is really mine, by right of the love I have 
 for it. He never stood with his cheek against 
 its bark trying to learn its secrets. lie never 
 felt as though he were in some great dim cathe 
 dral when the sun set behind it, and every cone, 
 every needle, made a tracery against the pulsing, 
 quivering colors in the sky more beautiful than 
 any stained glass window, and listened, straining 
 every nerve to hear but one echo of the choir in 
 visible chanting somewhere." 
 
 " You are a poet," said Sylvia softly. 
 
 After he left her, through the evening and 
 far into the night, she thought of what he had
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 97 
 
 told her ; his words had appealed to her imagi 
 nation, and the picture of the old chateau and 
 the older cedar rose vividly before her. Mingled 
 with all the scenes she painted to herself was 
 the hope that some time she should see and 
 know the owner of this wonderful place, a man 
 with the blood of kings in his veins. Even in 
 sleep she dreamed of him, the unknown, and had 
 scarcely a memory to give to Maurice, who found 
 the hours all too long that kept him from the 
 woman he loved. 
 
 The next morning he was at her gate punc 
 tually at the appointed time, where her English 
 coachman stood holding her horse, while her 
 groom, in all the glory of the last fashion in 
 liver} r , controlled his own mount. He had not 
 long to wait ; a light step on the path, and Sylvia 
 was coming towards him, dawn s rosy touch on 
 her cheek. There are few times when a young 
 and pretty woman looks more entirely charming 
 than in the early morning, and Sylvia had never 
 captivated Maurice more than now. Her color 
 was glowing, her eyes had the dewy look that 
 tells of past child-like sleep, and her whole ap 
 pearance was one of freshness and sweetness. 
 Her habit made her seem slighter and more girl 
 ish than her usual dress, and the simple round 
 hat gave her a very youthful look. 
 
 She greeted Maurice cordially, and after
 
 98 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 stroking her horse s shining neck, and giving 
 a knowing glance at her saddle and stirrup, 
 put her little foot in his hand and rose like a 
 bird to its perch. 
 
 "You need not go this morning, Jenkins," 
 she said to her groom as he prepared to follow. 
 
 " Very good, madam," answered that worthy, 
 and he stood by his superior, watching the 
 riders disappear, and wondering by what trick 
 a " Frenchy " managed to look as though he 
 were a good horseman. It never occurred to 
 either British brain that Monsieur Regnier was 
 really as much at home on a horse as any fox- 
 hunter in the United Kingdom ; indeed, they had 
 once wisely remarked to each other after having 
 seen him win a bet by putting a balky horse 
 over a four-barred gate, mounted on a saddle 
 with neither strap nor stirrup : " T ain t nothin 
 but a bloody balancing trick he s got, any ovv." 
 
 But Sylvia, not sharing her servants race 
 prejudice, admired Maurice s skill and tact with 
 horses, and she spoke of it this morning as they 
 slowly passed the sleepy-looking villas, before 
 they gained the open country. 
 
 " Who taught you to ride ? You have not only 
 ease, but such knowledge. I am always won 
 dering at it." 
 
 " The Count de La Roche put Philippe and 
 me on ponies when our legs were so short that
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 99 
 
 they stuck straight out, and we could not have 
 used stirrups if they had been allowed." 
 
 " Then the young count rides as well as you ? " 
 
 " Exactly," answered Maurice. 
 
 Before long the road led them over one of 
 those wide stretches of plain so characteristic 
 of Normandy. The larks were mounting into 
 the blue sky, leaving a wake of ecstatic melody 
 behind them ; the breeze came brisk and fresh 
 from the sea ; it was a day made by the Lord 
 to rejoice and be glad in. Both Maurice and 
 Sylvia were happy for different reasons, and in 
 different ways. She was spontaneously, uncon 
 sciously merry, because everything was beautiful, 
 her horse suited her, health and strength made 
 mere breathing delightful, and for the time life 
 was a pleasure. He, on the contrary, felt that 
 his present bliss was too lightly held to give 
 more than a tremulous joy that was half pain. 
 He was laying his all at her feet; would she 
 stoop and take it, or spurn it ? 
 
 They had been trotting briskly over an open 
 field, and presently the track they had fol 
 lowed dipped into a sudden lane, and the horses 
 fell into a walk as they descended the slope. 
 "There, isn t this lovely? This is the road I 
 told you of," said Sylvia, looking into Maurice s 
 eyes. 
 
 She was not troubled by them to-day, though
 
 100 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 they had lost none of their intensity. She felt 
 free on horseback, for it would be so easy to cut 
 short an embarrassing remark by a change of 
 gait; she reflected sagely that no one could 
 attempt love-making in the course of a sharp 
 trot. But her very sense of security was her 
 danger, and as they plunged yet deeper into the 
 shady, stony lane she found herself forced to 
 listen to those words of love, strong when sin 
 cere, with a strength almost divine. 
 
 " Sylvia," said Maurice, bending that he 
 might better see her, " do you not know how it 
 is with me ? Surely you have guessed a little of 
 the love I have for you ; but no one can tell it 
 all. I am yours ; take me or leave me, body and 
 soul. To me you mean everything that is holy 
 and beautiful and noble. Tell me, Sylvia, that 
 there is hope for me ! " 
 
 His voice trembled, and his face was white 
 with the power of his passion. Sylvia was 
 touched by its force ; she, too, became pale. 
 For one moment she felt a fleeting regret that 
 love was not for her ; that she had resolved to 
 renounce it ; her voice shook as she answered : 
 
 " Please do not say such things ; we are so 
 happy as we are, why do you spoil it all ? " 
 
 " Heaven knows I don t want to spoil it I 
 want to perfect it. You have no idea what real 
 love means ; let me teach you, Sylvia."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 101 
 
 Her head drooped a little. She would have 
 liked to play with the new sensation sweeping 
 over her, a sensation as of being borne on an 
 irresistible tide ; but she was too innately honor 
 able to deceive even for a second. " I owe you 
 truthfulness," she said ; " and since you have 
 shown me your heart, I will show you mine: 
 love is not for me ; I do not wish it ; I shrink 
 from it. Maurice, I shall never marry any man 
 who cannot put me among the really great of 
 this world ; my ambition is high, and I am cold 
 as ice to everything else. I like you better than 
 any one I have ever known, but even you cannot 
 stir me, for what could you give me in return 
 for the sacrifice I should have to make to marry 
 you? Nothing, nothing." 
 
 " I could give you a stainless name, and 
 a love an empress might envy," he retorted 
 haughtily, " and you call them nothing. You 
 are a child, Sylvia, and you do not know what 
 you have decided to renounce. Is it nothing to 
 know that there is in this cold, careless world 
 one heart that is yours for weal or woe ? one 
 person to whom old age would only draw you 
 closer ? Is it nothing to you, my darling, that I 
 am ready to die for you ? Oh, if I only had the 
 power to make you understand how I worship 
 you. Everything else fades beside you, my 
 pearl among women. I cannot believe you
 
 102 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 will send me from you. Tell me, Sylvia, must 
 I go?" 
 
 His voice had grown soft and pleading. 
 Against her will and judgment she felt herself 
 stirred and uncertain ; nature was beginning to 
 awaken the heart that had slept its cold sleep 
 unstirred until now. Maurice s hand was on 
 her pommel, his face close to hers ; he was 
 strong and beautiful, like a young Greek ; 
 woman-like she temporized. 
 
 " But you must not go away just because I 
 will not love you? " 
 
 t% Yes, by the Lord who made me, I must. 
 Do you think I am not flesh and blood ? Do 
 you suppose I could endure to dangle about you, 
 fetch and carry like your dog, and see some 
 other man win you with his title ? I am not 
 made of the stuff to bear such a strain. Tell 
 me there is no hope for me, and I will never 
 willingly let my eyes rest on you again ; whisper 
 one word to me, and I am your slave." 
 
 Nature was busy at her work ; the sleeping 
 heart stirred and throbbed. Sylvia blushed 
 divinely. 
 
 " Maurice," she murmured, and then stopped. 
 
 "Yes, yes, my darling what is -it?" he 
 answered eagerly. 
 
 " You hurry me so I am confused ; let me 
 have a week, or a month, and then perhaps 
 - there will be something to tell you."
 
 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 103 
 
 " Oh, Sylvia, Sylvia, God bless you for that 
 promise." 
 
 " It is not a promise," she said hastily ; " it 
 is only a suggestion or perhaps a hope of what 
 may never be." 
 
 " I will give you a week, but don t be too 
 cruel, don t make it longer. Shan t I see you 
 all that time ? " he added disconsolately. 
 
 "No," she answered, growing more mistress 
 of herself. 
 
 " But I shall be near you," he broke in ; " I 
 cannot leave Trouville ; even you would not be 
 cruel enough to insist on that." 
 
 " I cannot dictate to you where to go only 
 I must have time to think it all out. I have told 
 you, Maurice, my souFs thoughts this morning. 
 I could not have believed it possible that I could 
 speak to any one of what is almost my religion 
 my desire to be high and noble and powerful ; 
 to lead a winning, or if it must be a lost cause ; 
 but at all events to give myself up to great things. 
 If I abandoned my ambition it is because you 
 have really roused me to love you. Just now I 
 feel that I do, but I do not trust myself. I will 
 take my week for thought, and whichever way I 
 decide, believe me, dear Maurice, it will be done 
 honestly." 
 
 Her lip quivered, and two tears welled up 
 into her eyes ; she had lost her nerve, and she
 
 104 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 did not understand the sensation. Maurice had 
 not gained all he hoped for, but neither was he 
 left hopeless ; his heart was on his face as he 
 leaned closer to her. 
 
 " Just one kiss, my darling, my pearl, before 
 this parting," he pleaded. She swayed towards 
 him, and then drew back. 
 
 " No, Maurice, no," she answered. " It seems 
 like binding myself, and I must be free." 
 
 " Oh, if you knew how mad with love I am, 
 you would pity me," he exclaimed. " It is such 
 a little thing I ask, but it means heaven to 
 me." 
 
 " Listen," she said, " I promise you a kiss the 
 next time we meet after the week. Either it 
 will mean good-by forever, or it will tell you I 
 love you as entirely as you do me." 
 
 As she spoke she gathered up her reins that 
 had been pulled through her unheeding fingers 
 by her horse s efforts to nibble the grass by 
 the roadside, and the animal, feeling her touch, 
 lifted his head and started forward. Maurice 
 followed, but half satisfied, and almost without 
 another word they trotted rapidly back. 
 
 Flora Lee-Blair was in her room, overlooking 
 the entrance, when she heard the beat of the 
 horses hoofs, and leaving her cup of tea, she went 
 towards the window. She was in her most be 
 coming wrapper, and had no intention of spying
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 105 
 
 without being seen, but neither of the two at 
 the gate gave her a glance. She saw Maurice 
 swing himself to the ground, and throwing his 
 bridle reins to the waiting groom, go to Sylvia s 
 side. She saw her turn in her saddle, place her 
 hands on his shoulder, arid let him lift her down. 
 If they spoke she could not have heard, being 
 too far off, but what she saw told her much. 
 Sylvia had never run away from saying good- 
 by before, with her face held down as if she 
 were trying to hide her blushes, leaving her 
 horse without the carrot with which she gener 
 ally rewarded him, and parting from her com 
 panion without a touch of the hand or a word. 
 For a moment Flora hoped it was the result of 
 a quarrel, a refusal perhaps, but one glance at 
 Maurice s face, as he stood gazing towards the 
 house, robbed her of this comforting theory. 
 
 Her life had made it necessary for her to 
 use her wits, and she had become used to study 
 ing faces, manners, and expressions, to see if by 
 some chance gain might come to her through 
 a side door. Her long experience in knocking 
 about the world had taught her much that 
 her own quickness of mind easily assimilated. 
 Among other secrets, it had told her how to 
 know the signs of a true love, signs which 
 had never failed her. She cast her mind back 
 unconsciously, recalling how she had helped an
 
 106 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 influential woman to hoodwink her husband, by 
 boldly taking a prominent part in a family com 
 edy that, but for her, would have turned into a 
 tragedy, her only authority being her reading of 
 the wife s bearing and looks. That would have 
 meant continual patronage for poor Flora, but 
 for the unfortunate event of the blissfully igno 
 rant husband s death, after which his widow had 
 promptly married the man whom she had loved 
 for years, and given a very cold shoulder to her 
 late ally. 
 
 She had never so far been mistaken in her 
 diagnosis of the tender passion, and her heart 
 sank at the memory of the two faces at the gate. 
 She was a woman of action ; she must probe 
 the affair as deep as possible, and at once ; so 
 she stepped on to the landing of the stairs, just 
 in time to meet Sylvia as she ran up to her 
 room. 
 
 " Well, early bird, did you enjoy your ride ? " 
 she asked with fictitious gayety. 
 
 " Yes, thanks," said Sylvia, her hand on her 
 own door-handle. " I adore to be out in the air 
 before all the world is up, and can claim their 
 share in it. Are there any engagements for to 
 day ? I want to know what dress to tell Justine 
 about." 
 
 It was very well done, thought Flora, this in 
 different attitude, this calhi bravado which acted
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 107 
 
 as if there were nothing to hide ; but there was 
 an inward light shining through Sylvia s eyes, 
 as if a pure white flame had been lighted in her 
 heart that no amount of acting could quench. 
 That she was in love was sure ; so Flora decided 
 dolefully, once more in her own room. In a case 
 like this, love meant marriage ; there was no 
 thing to prevent it ; Sylvia could do as she 
 liked ; the young cavalry officer was handsome, 
 clever, and would attract nine women out of ten. 
 He knew every one worth knowing, although 
 he seemed very indifferent regarding the world 
 of society. He was terribly honest too ; he had 
 allowed Mrs. Lee-Blair to see that he did not 
 like her, that her powder, her black curls, her 
 little coquetries were all the reverse of attrac 
 tive to him, and in return she had shown a 
 marked disposition to snub him, and to make 
 him see how little she valued his opinion. She 
 had been deceived in Sylvia ; that was it. She 
 had fancied that the words she at times let fall 
 about nobility, and high-standing, meant the de 
 sire to marry a titled man ; it seemed that it 
 only meant the stupid, abstract qualities, and 
 the girl was fool enough to think that Maurice 
 liegnier represented these things, just because 
 he had a reputation for bravery. If these horri 
 ble suspicions proved true, Flora was hopelessly 
 ruined financially- She cast a frightened glance
 
 108 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 at her toilet-table, which was strewn with her 
 last purchase, a set of apparently numberless 
 brushes and combs and boxes of ivory, with 
 solid gold monograms inlaid on their backs ; a 
 circle of diamonds was on her wrist ; her ward 
 robes were filled to overflowing with expensive 
 dresses ; over the foot of the bed hung a night 
 dress, and the money for the Valenciennes 
 ruffles which trimmed it, and its twenty-three 
 companions, would have formerly dressed her 
 for two years. 
 
 And she owed for almost everything ! 
 
 Her first association with large sums of money 
 had gone to her head ; intoxicated by the novelty 
 of her increased income, she had blindly ordered 
 anything that struck her fancy, rushing into debt 
 on all sides, and soothing any uneasiness by re 
 minding herself how infinitely less she spent than 
 Sylvia. Now a moment s glimpse of two faces 
 had affected her like a cataract of water falling 
 on her; she was stunned and frightened. 
 
 " Something must be done something must 
 be done," she said over and over to herself. But 
 what was this potent something ? 
 
 It was like a nightmare to picture going back 
 to the old life of shifts and shabby economies. 
 She could not, once having known the full ex 
 tent of luxury, and how much it meant to her. 
 Besides, those horrible debts ! Could they im-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 109 
 
 prison her for them ? she wondered. Anything 
 but that ; she would never be able to bear the 
 disgrace of it ; but what could she do ? 
 
 Her hand trembled, her head swam ; she un 
 screwed a silver-mounted flask, poured out a stiff 
 dose of its contents, and swallowed it without 
 winking ; it warmed her and gave her courage. 
 
 " Cheer up," she said to herself. " All s not 
 lost yet. Let s see if for once the British brain 
 cannot accomplish something, in spite of their 
 jeers at our obtuseness."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WHEN Maurice entered the hotel after having 
 left Sylvia, his first idea was to write and beg 
 her to reconsider her decision, which seemed to 
 him at that moment unbearable ; but he was 
 not able to carry out this most undiplomatic plan, 
 for in his salon, waiting to see him, sat the Count 
 de La Roche. 
 
 They had scarcely met for six years, and 
 Maurice felt the glad color rush to his face as 
 he greeted the man whose name meant so much 
 to him. The lapse of time erased the memory 
 of boyish disagreements and uncongenial charac 
 teristics ; he only saw before him the son of his 
 father s benefactor, and of his own hero ; also 
 the head of a house which he revered and loved. 
 Here was the Philippe whom he had envied in his 
 generous way, and looked up to with that respect 
 only given by one boy to another who is a little 
 his senior. Philippe had been the straightest 
 rider, the surest shot, and the champion in all 
 athletic games ; and as Maurice gave him a 
 frank, hearty welcome he still felt the old sen 
 sation of tho other s superiority.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. Ill 
 
 Although only two years younger, Maurice 
 had still at twenty-seven the unrestrained enthu 
 siasm of youth ; he might equal the other now 
 in all outside accomplishments, but Philippe 
 always kept ahead. His manner made Maurice 
 conscious of a certain rawness in himself, as he 
 accepted the welcome so warmly proffered with 
 the greatest ease and charm, but with a slight 
 restraint. 
 
 Without being exactly handsome, Philippe de 
 La Roche was one of those men who attract 
 attention by that harmony of details, that weld 
 ing together of the whole, which bestows the 
 mark of birth upon the possessor. Not as tall as 
 Maurice, although of good height, he was finely 
 proportioned ; his physical condition was perfect, 
 and his powerful muscles were visible, to an eye 
 trained to look for such things, under his light 
 summer suit. His thick, close-cut hair had a 
 rich chestnut tinge, and his heavy moustache was 
 decidedly red ; it overshadowed his well-shaped, 
 full, curving lips, and rendered inconspicuous his 
 large gleaming teeth until he laughed ; then they 
 were easily seen. His forehead was rather low, 
 and square ; his eyes of a brown topaz color, a 
 curious shade, that caught the rays of light and 
 seemed to hold them in restless discontent. In 
 spite of a superabundant look of robustness, the 
 air of race was clearly visible, accentuated by
 
 112 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 the fine lines of his nostrils, and his well-formed 
 hands and feet. With nothing of the exquisite 
 or dandy about him, he was perfectly appointed ; 
 after the observer had perceived his virility and 
 breeding, he noticed the delicate finish of every 
 "detail of his dress. 
 
 He answered all of Maurice s inquiries in a 
 courteous but absent-minded way as if waiting 
 for the right moment to introduce some partic 
 ular subject. His voice, which was one of his 
 chief attractions, rich, low pitched, and with a 
 quality that at times thrilled his listener, seemed 
 veiled ; but the only sign that he gave of any 
 lack of ease was the nervous haste with which he 
 smoked one cigarette after another in rapid suc 
 cession. His movements were as a rule delib 
 erate ; he had none of the vivacity common to 
 his countrymen, his eyes being the only restless 
 thing about him, suggesting that his quiet man 
 ner might be assumed. 
 
 As he tossed away the end of a cigarette, he 
 broke in, almost interrupting a remark of his 
 companion, " Maurice, I am in trouble." 
 
 His voice and manner gave added weight to 
 his words. 
 
 " I have come to you for help if you can 
 give it, for advice at all events." 
 
 " I will do my best for you," said Maurice, sud 
 denly grave. " What is it money ? or honor? "
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 113 
 
 " Both," answered Philippe. " I mean that 
 unless I can get the money I am ruined." 
 
 " How much must you have ? " 
 
 Philippe drew his hand down over his mous 
 tache, and held it there, concealing his mouth ; 
 no one looking at him, however closely, could 
 have seen if the hidden lips quivered ; no one 
 would have divined any deep emotion from hear 
 ing the level tones of his musical voice as he 
 replied, " A hundred thousand francs, and at 
 once." 
 
 " The devil ! " exclaimed Maurice with a long 
 whistle. 
 
 " I know, I know it all," burst out the count 
 with unexpected vehemence. " It is a fearful 
 sum to hold out your hand for like a beggar. 
 But what can I do ? Think of my name. Every 
 generation has added to its age and nobility. 
 Can I bear myself like a de La Roche on my 
 miserable income? What is open to me? I 
 will not serve in the army under a government 
 headed by a canaille. Trade, commerce, every 
 profession is forbidden me. How can I be ex 
 pected to live as my father lived, on half the 
 money ? Forgive me, Maurice," he interrupted 
 himself ; " I am beside myself with anxiety. I 
 should never have alluded to that forget it." 
 
 Maurice flushed ; for the first time his father s 
 inheritance seemed a burden. Until now he had
 
 114 .4 TRANSATLANTIC (JHATKLA1NK. 
 
 gloried in the friendly generosity of the former 
 count, but Philippe s words made him feel like 
 a pensioner, and galled him with a sense of de 
 pendence. 
 
 "You meant nothing, of course," he said a 
 trifle awkwardly. 
 
 Philippe continued : " I would do anything to 
 make money enough to support the old place. I 
 can t give that up my God, Maurice, I can t ! " 
 
 " You must not think of such a possibility." 
 
 "No, rather than that I will go to another 
 country, sink the name, work like a slave, and 
 only come home to die where my father died. 
 How he loved you, Maurice." 
 
 The voice broke now ; he bent his head on his 
 folded arms. 
 
 There was as much fascination about him in 
 this hour of abandonment as in his usual atti 
 tude of superiority ; perhaps even more so to 
 Maurice, whose quick sympathies and lively im 
 agination filled in the lines sketched by the 
 count s words. A picture of Philippe as a little 
 fellow flashed into his mind : he saw r him perched 
 on the back of a pony, his yellow curls bobbing 
 under his wide hat, his chubby, vigorous legs 
 clinging to his charger s sides as it cantered over 
 a broad green field ; he saw the light in the old 
 count s face as he watched him ; he heard the 
 tenderness and pride in his voice as he said to
 
 .-1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 115 
 
 Monsieur Regnier, who stood beside him, " That s 
 a boy worth living for, eh, Armand ? " 
 
 And here sat his son, bowed under the bur 
 den of a threatened disgrace. Maurice drew his 
 hand across his eyes. 
 
 " That must not be even thought of," he said. 
 " Now let us be practical. Have you no one 
 who can help you out ?" 
 
 " No^" returned Philippe, raising his head ; 
 " no one. The only person I might turn to is 
 out of the question." 
 
 " You mean my father ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I will never ask a favor of a man who 
 might feel bound to grant it." 
 
 " Then let me ask it for you." 
 
 " No, no, Maurice, my dear boy, that is too 
 much for you to do." 
 
 " And why ? Don t we owe everything to 
 your father ? are we not bound to your family 
 by a hundred ties ? " 
 
 A strange gleam, almost of amusement, and 
 inexplicable to Maurice, flashed across Philippe s 
 face before he answered. "No, your father 
 would refuse. In his quiet life he cannot real 
 ize my obligations ; he will never do it." 
 
 " He will if I ask him ; he has never refused 
 me anything ! " answered Maurice hotly. 
 
 " He will this." 
 
 " I pledge you my word that he shall not."
 
 110 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 As he spoke he held out his hand : the count 
 took it in his firm clasp. 
 
 " I know what that means. I can sleep to 
 night. You are just what I expected to find 
 you, a true friend," he added simply. 
 
 " You say you must have the money di 
 rectly ? " asked Maurice, his thoughts reverting 
 to Sylvia. Good-by to all the sadly sweet alle 
 viations he had promised himself during this 
 week of banishment from her presence ; good-by 
 to the hours he had dreamed of spending .under 
 her window, rewarded by a gleam of her candle 
 behind the curtains ; good-by to the contraband 
 glimpses he might have caught of her, to the 
 doubtful joy of hearing her spoken of by others : 
 duty, friendship, gratitude, and the honor of the 
 name he loved called him away, and at once. 
 
 " Yes, or it may be too late," answered Phi 
 lippe. " Ah, my boy, it seems a very simple 
 thing at first not to get into money complica 
 tions ; your father will doubtless call me extrav 
 agant and reckless ; but you know, as he in his 
 quiet life cannot, how impossible it is for me to 
 refuse to meet the men of my set at play. Can 
 I allow a fellow like de Sainville to say I dare 
 not give him his revenge ? And if I begin to 
 lose, I can t call the game off. Ah, these days 
 are not like those when he and my father were 
 young ; now a louis does half what it did then,
 
 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 117 
 
 and double is required of a man in my posi 
 tion." 
 
 Maurice, with the sympathy of youth for 
 youth, agreed heartily. Although he kept within 
 the limits of his own ample allowance, having 
 been educated with a horror of debt, he knew 
 that the count would consider this but a bour 
 geois virtue, and he had seen enough of the 
 world to be aware of the large demands on a 
 man in Philippe s set, one of the fastest and 
 most extravagant in that age of dissipation and 
 extravagance. In his eyes this last member of 
 the de La Roche family was most royal. If he 
 had vices, as doubtless he had, were they not 
 the outcome of his inheritance ? It would have 
 seemed ignoble to bind down to dry rules a man 
 in whose lusty veins the blood of the old An 
 gevin counts ran riot. " But," said Maurice, 
 referring to Philippe s last words, " we live to 
 day, and must make the best of it." 
 
 The count rose and moved about the room. 
 
 " How *I hate these modern bonds and 
 shackles ! " he exclaimed. " I was not meant to 
 be tied down to conventionalities. What would 
 my old ancestors have done in my place ? They, 
 lucky dogs, would have attacked a neighboring 
 baron, sacked a monastery, taken a walled town ; 
 and then they would have enjoyed the fruits of 
 a glorious warfare. What am I told to do ?
 
 118 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 Fight, conquer, work even ? and I would, God 
 knows, if I had the chance, no, all these doors 
 are shut, and the only one open is that of mar 
 riage. A rich wife well dowered has grown 
 to be a regular parrot - cry with my mother. 
 Pshaw ! the idea is disgusting." 
 
 To Maurice, in the fresh dawn of his love for 
 Sylvia, it seemed a profanation. " It is degrad 
 ing/ he agreed warmly. " Don t marry a woman 
 you can t love, Philippe." 
 
 " I don t intend to marry at all if I can live 
 without it," said the count dryly. He perceived 
 from Maurice s tone that they were not looking 
 at the question in the same way. 
 
 Maurice took out his watch. " I must be 
 making my arrangements," he said, " for my 
 train leaves at three. I have some notes to 
 write," he added ; for he felt that he must be 
 alone so as to send a message of farewell to 
 Sylvia. 
 
 " Then I will go to my rooms." said Philippe. 
 "You will breakfast with me, of course?" 
 
 " Thanks." 
 
 De La Roche put his hands on Maurice s 
 shoulder, and for a second his roving eyes set 
 tled on the other s face. 
 
 " You have done for me more than I can 
 acknowledge," he began. 
 
 Maurice interrupted him. " Please leave all
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 119 
 
 that alone. I understand you, and, Philippe, I 
 thank you for your frankness and friendliness 
 to me." 
 
 The count s heavy lids drooped under Regnier s 
 warm, open glance, and he turned abruptly away. 
 
 When he reached his own apartment, he 
 called for his valet, " Marcel ! " almost before 
 he had closed the door. There was no answer. 
 He looked into his bedroom and dressing-room, 
 finding them empty. There came into his face 
 a shade of worry, quickly replaced by a look of 
 triumph. He went to the fireplace, and, leaning 
 his elbows on the mantelpiece, gazed fixedly at 
 himself in the glass. He smiled as if in con 
 gratulation at his image, and there was a foxy 
 expression of cunning as his lips raised slightly 
 at the corners. 
 
 " I don t look like a man who has been up 
 all night," he thought, marking the clearness of 
 his eyes, and the fresh glow of health on his 
 cheek. " Still, I am not quite as I used to be. 
 I don t sleep as well ; I am getting nervous. 
 This sort of thing must stop, by Jove ! It s 
 growing monotonous, and it will end by making 
 me old." 
 
 He left the mirror, and sat down at his 
 writing-table, carefully arranged by the absent 
 Marcel with regard to comfort. Philippe loved 
 thoroughness, and paid minute attention to de-
 
 120 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 tail. It was a pleasure to him to write a letter 
 in his bold, clear hand, on suitable paper ; to 
 fold it accurately, and to seal the envelope with 
 nicety. * He used his well-shaped hands dex 
 terously, with no hesitation, no fumbling. He 
 always knew what he wanted and where to find 
 it, with the one exception of money he did not 
 always know where that \vas to be found. With 
 a different education this man might have made 
 a mark in the world ; he had more than the 
 average quantity and quality of brains ; he pos 
 sessed a determined will. Had he been taught 
 to exercise this will in conquering these impulses 
 of his lower nature, he would have built up a 
 strong character, dominant for good ; but all the 
 influences brought to bear on him had been of 
 a kind to stimulate a love of false excitement, 
 and an aptitude for cunning. Like the mass of 
 French boys he was never permitted the least 
 freedom, always being accompanied by his pa 
 rents, his tutor or an abbe, and his impetuosity 
 resenting the restraint, he began at an early age 
 to circumvent those in authority over him. Thus 
 sinning, not only in obtaining his liberty through 
 deceit, but in misusing it, at a time when the 
 conscience is most tender, he eagerly caught at 
 the doctrine of confession and absolution. The 
 imposed penances were not severe, and what 
 could be more delightful for a young fellow than
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 121 
 
 to have all the excitement and amusement of 
 eating forbidden fruit, sure of a mild panacea 
 against the pangs usually caused by this pursuit ? 
 He thought, at that time, that this belief in his 
 church was sincere, but as he became less of a 
 sentient, and more of a reasoning creature, his 
 restless intellect pushed him into a course of 
 serious reading, during which he wandered far 
 afield among unorthodox writers. With his 
 mind already ripe for revolt, he confessed his 
 forbidden researches, and received a severe rep 
 rimand besides a heavy penance ; when he re 
 monstrated, citing his former mild punishments 
 for what seemed to him graver offenses, his 
 father confessor replied, " My son, your sins 
 until now were against the flesh, therefore lighter 
 than this, which is against the spirit." 
 
 Then and there Philippe shook off all religious 
 shackles ; the spirit of skepticism pervaded him, 
 and when, at his father s death, he became his 
 own master, he revered neither God nor man. 
 From that day, nearly six years before we first 
 see him, his course had been a brilliant, rapid 
 downward rush ; and at the moment he applied 
 for help to Maurice he realized that the speed 
 was getting too breathless ; he must put on a 
 brake. The question as to where this brake was 
 to be found absorbed him after he had written 
 his letter. He sat almost motionless, only his
 
 122 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 eyes showing him to be awake in their constant 
 restlessness, revolving plans for the future. He 
 was sure of the hundred thousand francs now ; 
 but what were they ? a mere stop-gap for the 
 moment. He must have money, and he did not 
 see his way clear. " What on earth is there for 
 me to do ? " he asked himself. " My mother 
 would say marry a fortune, but neither she 
 nor I can discover this fortune in the right 
 hands. All the legitimists I know are poor. I 
 have not sunk low enough, thank God, to take 
 a wife from the Imperialists. No, I would 
 rather marry a. bourgeoise than that. But I 
 don t want to marry at all, and what else is 
 there for me in France ? " 
 
 As he pondered, his hands plunged deep in 
 his trousers pockets, his legs thrust out in front 
 of him, a dark cloud on his low brow, the door 
 opened, and Marcel came noiselessly in. 
 
 " Well," said Philippe, and there was a sharp 
 note of anxiety in the word. 
 
 " It is all right, Monsieur le comte, for the 
 moment," answered the man ; " I have put the 
 Jew off the track for two days at least. Has 
 Monsieur le comte got the money?" 
 
 " Yes, Marcel," said Philippe ; " I landed my 
 fish so easily that there was not much fun in 
 the game." 
 
 " Thank God," responded the servant. He
 
 .[ TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 123 
 
 was an ignoble copy of his master when out of 
 his presence, trying to imitate the air of supe 
 riority which in him became insolent swagger ; 
 but he was invaluable as a valet, and did not 
 confine his usefulness to his legitimate duties. 
 
 " I should have been here sooner, but I 
 thought it would take Monsieur le comte longer 
 to attend to his business. I tricked the Jew 
 finely," he chuckled. 
 
 " How did you do it ? " 
 
 " I saw him from the window of the hotel, 
 watching. I knew his game, so I looked up 
 the rapide for Paris ; it left at 10.40. I took 
 the valise, umbrella, and one or two things of 
 my own in my hand, and went out ; the minute 
 I appeared Master Jew slipped round the cor 
 ner out of sight. It was then only half past 
 nine, and I went straight to a restaurant I know, 
 where there are little partitions round the tables, 
 with curtains to draw when people want to be 
 private. I know the lady in charge there, and 
 at an hour like that she was n t very busy. I 
 stood chaffing her, with my eyes on a mirror 
 behind her, and pretty soon I saw my man s 
 ugly nose come round the outside door. Then 
 I invited her to keep me company while I took 
 a snap to stay my stomach. I ordered a good 
 breakfast for me, and a syrup for her, and we 
 sat down in one of the pens, with the curtains
 
 124 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 drawn. I was no sooner settled than I heard 
 the door open and shut, and some one ordered a 
 bock ; then a chair scraped in the pen next 
 mine." 
 
 " Give me an absinthe before you go on," 
 said Philippe. 
 
 The man obeyed, and then continued. He 
 looked very tired, and rested first on one dusty 
 foot, then on the other ; but the count was not a 
 master to encourage familiarity, although inti 
 mate enough with him, and never would have 
 dreamt of bidding Marcel sit down, while he 
 told how well he had served him. Strangely 
 enough, this very mark of a brutal superiority 
 made him more fascinating to his inferiors. 
 
 " I saw," said the valet, "that the beggar had 
 fallen into my net ; so says I, Well, now, I 
 suppose you think it s odd, madame, to see me 
 eating at this hour, and all ready for a journey 
 when I have just arrived. Indeed I do, says 
 she. What game are you up to now ? It s 
 not my game, says I ; It s my master s, bad 
 luck to him, whose mind changes with every 
 turn of the wind. Just here, when something 
 scares him, so we are off to Paris by the 10.40 
 rapide." 1 After that \ve only had some joking, 
 and pretty soon I heard old jewsharp go out 
 mighty quiet, so I jumped up, paid my reck 
 oning, loaded up and started for the station. I
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 125 
 
 kept my man in sight, and saw him go into the 
 post, to telegraph, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, without doubt," said Philippe. "Well, 
 go on." 
 
 " I kept on steady but slow to the station, 
 never looking round. There was a crowd at 
 the ticket office, and I stood a little sideways to 
 watch. Sure enough ; there came my beauty, 
 his hat down low. I never seemed to see him at 
 all, but when my turn came I sang out, One 
 first, one second to Paris, paid down the money, 
 and came away. He was pretty close behind 
 me, and 1 knew he was on my heels when I 
 went to the train. I put your valise in a first- 
 class carriage, and my own duds in a second. I 
 saw him go ahead, and get into a second, near 
 the engine. Then I went out as if to meet Mon 
 sieur. I waited until the last moment. Then I 
 came running down the station, and held open 
 Monsieur s carriage door. I saw the Jew s beak 
 out of his window, but, the door of our carriage 
 being open, he could not see beyond it. I made 
 as if Monsieur had entered, shut and locked the 
 door ; and when I looked again, the beak had 
 gone. Then I came down the platform and had 
 a good laugh when I saw the train take Mon 
 sieur Heins to Paris, where he and the officer 
 he telegraphed for will find an empty valise and 
 an umbrella."
 
 126 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 Philippe threw back his head, and burst into 
 a laugh, which showed all his strong glistening 
 teeth. In no way did he differ more from Mau 
 rice than in his laugh. Even if you had failed 
 to see the joke, the young captain s fresh conta 
 gious peals constrained you to join in his mirth, 
 so honest and hearty was it. The count s had a 
 wolfish sound ; few laughed with him. 
 
 " Well done, Marcel," he exclaimed. " You 
 are the very pearl of valets ; now that he is dis 
 posed of for twenty-four hours at least, we will 
 try to make it longer. I don t believe Captain 
 Maurice can raise the money for five or six days, 
 so to keep my good friend Heins away, do you 
 send word to three or four Paris society papers 
 the important fact that the Count de La Roche 
 is at Trouville. Then buy the papers, mark the 
 paragraphs and send them to Heins. He will 
 then go anywhere but here to look me up. Do 
 you understand ? " 
 
 " Perfectly, Monsieur le comte." 
 
 " Now, then, where have you been since your 
 train went, Marcel ? It is nearly twelve ? " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur le comte, I know, but I have 
 been to see my aunt Justine, who has turned up 
 after twenty years. She is the maid of a very 
 rich American widow. I was extremely glad to 
 see her again especially since my losses at the 
 Grand Prix," he added thoughtfully.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 127 
 
 " You are a dutiful nephew, Marcel. Well, 
 did the old lady help you out when you told her 
 of your reverses ? " 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur le comte, I did not mention 
 such a thing to her. I saw at once that she was 
 devote, so I gave her a few holy sentiments, and 
 she gave me ten louis d or." 
 
 He chinked the coin in his pocket, and 
 grinned. 
 
 " She is a veritable gold mine," he continued, 
 " or her mistress is, which is the same thing. 
 Oh, if Monsieur had but a tenth of her money 
 all this weary work would be over." 
 
 The man sighed. He was worn out with his 
 morning s exertions after a sleepless night. The 
 excitement of his escape was gone, only the 
 fatigue remaining. 
 
 " Did you see the mistress ? " asked Philippe. 
 
 " No, Monsieur le comte, but I hear that she 
 is young and pretty. My aunt told me that she 
 stood as high in her country as Monsieur stands 
 here. And what an old woman for family my 
 aunt is ! Holy Virgin, she nearly went on her 
 knees when she heard whose servant I was. She 
 has all the old names of France at the tip of her 
 tongue." 
 
 " And you say her mistress is rich ? " 
 
 " Enormously. I understand that she is going 
 to marry Monsieur le Capitaine Regnier."
 
 128 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " Who told you that, Marcel ? No hints, no 
 gossip now. What do you know ? " 
 
 " To tell the simple truth, Monsieur le comte, 
 I know nothing ; but with the little I got out 
 of the captain s man, that dumb dog Jean, and 
 my aunt s anxiety to know what I could tell 
 her about him, I put two and two together." 
 
 " What did you tell her ? " 
 
 " Only this, Monsieur le comte." 
 
 Marcel raised his shoulders, spread his hands, 
 and thrust out his under lip ; his appearance was 
 a whole family history. Philippe laughed again. 
 
 " You are discreet, as always, Marcel ; here is 
 another louis to go with your aunt s gift. Now 
 you may go." 
 
 Alone, Philippe s mind began again its task 
 of solving the problem of his future. Marcel s 
 adroitness had amused him in the telling, but 
 stripped of its outside cleverness, it showed a 
 contemptible condition of affairs. lie who should 
 be able to hold his head as high as any noble in 
 France, saved from open disgrace by the cunning 
 of a servant! It was degrading. He felt that 
 something must be done, and done quickly. Out 
 wardly as sound as ever, he alone was conscious 
 of internal tremors and commotions, and recog 
 nized that his self control was less iron in its 
 firmness. Once more his mind reverted to a rich 
 marriage. " Maurice going to marry millions ?
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 129 
 
 I don t believe it ; he would n t have gone away 
 for me so willingly if it were true. A foreign wife 
 would be better than one either from the bour 
 geoisie or the Imperialists. My mother could 
 not make much of a row, for I have a precedent 
 to go by, my sainted ancestor who sold his 
 soul for a rich wife. Probably the story about 
 the devil grew because he got a divorce. That 
 is priestlore. I will take a look at this Yankee 
 widow at all events, and, by Jove, if she is like 
 my ancestress in not being able to talk French, 
 I 11 marry her with her consent or without it. 
 A wife whose scolding you could n t understand 
 would be the mare for my money."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PHILIPPE ^ first idea, after having said good- 
 by to Maurice, was to find out more about this 
 tempting American widow of whom Marcel spoke 
 with such enthusiasm. For this purpose he went 
 to the club, and there found the very man who 
 could give him all the information he wanted. 
 Monsieur de Belfort, small, dark, Parisian to 
 the tips of his long supple fingers, was so elated 
 at being singled out by the famous de La Roche 
 for a tete-a-tete, that he would have assumed 
 much knowledge on the subject the count ques 
 tioned him about, even if he had not possessed 
 it ; but being by nature and habit a tuft-hunter, 
 he had by heart all the private affairs of all the 
 frequenters of Trouville, and eagerly set himself 
 to satisfy his questioner. 
 
 Putting on an air of vast importance, he led 
 Philippe to a corner of the room, ostentatiously 
 placing himself in an attitude that implied much 
 intimacy. 
 
 " You ask me what I can tell about the rich, 
 the charming Madame Iluntington, the belle 
 of this season ? Much. First, that she is un-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 131 
 
 doubtedly the possessor of a large fortune ; ten 
 million francs." 
 
 " And that is certain ? " 
 
 " Certain. De Beaucorps wanted to marry 
 her ; he made her an offer, which she refused, 
 by the way, and before doing so he found out 
 about her property. It is well invested, in her 
 own right, and she is quite alone in the world, 
 with neither children nor parents to interfere. 
 Oh, my dear friend, I assure you that she is 
 a rare prize. I have regretted my state often 
 and often this summer. If I had no wife, who 
 knows? " 
 
 The little man waved his hand with a conquer 
 ing air as he spoke, giving the impression that 
 it was alone his unfortunate wife who had pre 
 vented Sylvia from succumbing to his charms. 
 
 Philippe leant forward, and put his hand on 
 his companion s arm ; he knew very well that 
 this touch of familiarity would do much for him ; 
 few things done by him were unstudied when he 
 had an object in view. 
 
 " My dear fellow, I am making you my con 
 fidant ; you must keep my secret, for you are 
 the only one I trust with it." 
 
 " The grave is less safe than I, when friend 
 ship is involved." 
 
 " Well, then, I am not at all disinclined to run 
 for this prize myself. Now can you give me any
 
 132 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 pointers, as to her likes and dislikes, her char 
 acter, and above all if there is any one who has 
 an influence over her ? " 
 
 " She is rather exclusive ; that will work well 
 for you. She is fond of horses ; Regnier can 
 tell you about that. By the way, he is a great 
 deal with her ; did you know it ? " 
 
 " No, I know nothing ; Regnier left Trouville 
 an hour ago, so I have seen him only for a few 
 minutes. Go on." 
 
 " As for influence, there I am in the dark. 
 They say that her companion, an Englishwoman, 
 Madame Lee -Blair, has an enormous deal of 
 tact, and can persuade her to a good many 
 things ; but of that I can assert but little." 
 
 " Thank you, my dear boy, for what you have 
 told me. Now we ll go to the casino, and see 
 if my beauty shows up." 
 
 How de Belfort longed for stilts as he strolled 
 along by Philippe s side, his eyebrows raised, 
 his manner expressing confidential importance ! 
 He talked steadily to his companion, who swayed 
 insolently along, quite aware of de Belfort s flut 
 ter of excitement, and secretly amused by it. 
 
 Suddenly the little Parisian grasped his arm, 
 and exclaimed, " There she is ! " at the same 
 time raising his hat with an exaggerated polite 
 ness to two ladies, flashing by in a victoria. 
 Philippe only caught sight of a fresh summer
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 133 
 
 toilet, and the graceful bend of a slender figure ; 
 but his quick eye, accustomed to note such details, 
 had taken in the quiet elegance of the turnout, 
 the good taste of the liveries, the perfect groom 
 ing of the horses. 
 
 " Your widow knows a horse, if she picked 
 out those cobs," he said carelessly. 
 
 u Yes, she s a great horse-woman. As I said 
 before, you have only to ask Regnier about his 
 rides with her," said de Belfort with a chuckle. 
 
 Philippe disliked these allusions to Maurice ; 
 he preferred to know nothing of his affairs at 
 the present moment. So he made no answer, 
 and they walked on in silence. Some people 
 require tangible proofs before they realize any 
 thing forcibly, and the mere sight of Sylvia s 
 horses and carriage had made Philippe believe 
 in her fortune more than any amount of figures 
 could have done. 
 
 "Shall I introduce you?" asked de Belfort 
 as they stood near the entrance of the casino. 
 
 " To Madame Lee-Blair, if you please." 
 
 " Ah, diplomat ! You look ahead," exclaimed 
 de Belfort, leading the way through the groups 
 of gayly dressed women and well-appointed men, 
 wishing that all the world were seeing him. 
 
 Flora was sitting listening to the music of 
 the orchestra with a worried expression ; for the 
 moment she was alone, an unusual thing for her,
 
 134 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 as she was a general favorite, and all her anx 
 ieties were very present to her. Sylvia the wife 
 of llegnier, a man who disliked her, as she felt 
 instinctively, what would become of her ? The 
 figures of the money she owed danced before her 
 like spectres at the feast. She was idly wonder 
 ing if it sounded more alarming in francs, or in 
 pounds, shillings, and pence, when a voice mur 
 mured a request in her ear, and in another mo 
 ment Philippe was bowing before her. 
 
 What is the subtle aroma called by us fasci 
 nation ? It is apart from beauty, it seems to 
 have little or nothing to do with intellect ; but 
 that it is as positive a force as gravitation, or 
 capillary attraction, is certain. Some of these 
 days a new kind of X-ray will be turned on it, 
 and the scientists will give us a formula of its 
 component parts, but they will not alter its mys 
 terious powers. I have seen a man enter a room 
 filled with women, most of them young, pretty, 
 and attractive ; if one of those beings possessing 
 fascination is present, he knows it as soon as if 
 she wore a placard on her breast announcing the 
 fact. Often she has none of the exterior charms 
 of her companions, but in nine cases out of ten 
 the man will say to his hostess, " I should like 
 to know the little woman in gray." 
 
 And what is true of one sex is equally true 
 of the other.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 135 
 
 Philippe de La Roche was the owner of this 
 quality; he would have possessed a power over 
 his fellow beings had he been in the most hum 
 ble position, but his name and high standing 
 added their weight. Flora had not spoken a 
 dozen words to him before she felt his charm. 
 He had begun the conversation with the ease of 
 an old friend, and the stimulating interest of a 
 new acquaintance. 
 
 Sylvia, surrounded as usual by a little court 
 of admirers, saw Flora and the count laughing 
 and talking with much animation ; she had heard 
 his name spoken when he entered as if his ad 
 vent was an event of some importance, and she 
 was interested to see the man of whose home and 
 surroundings she knew so much. She had al 
 ready invested him with a halo of romance, and 
 she was not disappointed when she saw the ori 
 ginal of the portrait painted for her by Maurice. 
 His easy bearing, his air of superiority, his manly 
 physique were as she had imagined them; and 
 the attitude of the leaders of the Trouville world 
 towards him, yielding him at once the most im 
 portant place, had its effect on her. 
 
 She had noticed how quietly, and yet how 
 decidedly, he withdrew himself from those who 
 had tried to attract him on his entrance ; she 
 noted that the very people whom Flora pro 
 nounced most worthy to be courted paid him
 
 130 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 marked deference. The wish flashed into her 
 mind that Maurice might command a kindred 
 position, and she sighed involuntarily. 
 
 Meantime Philippe was making headway with 
 Flora. " I am a great reader of character," he 
 said, smiling ; " I can tell you much about your 
 self." 
 
 " If it s complimentary, I should like to hear 
 it ; if not, we 11 change the subject." 
 
 " It s true, I think ; therefore it must be 
 pleasant for you to hear. You have, I should 
 judge, a most self-denying nature." 
 
 This did not strike Flora as a piquant remark ; 
 she would have preferred something more flat 
 tering, but she smiled nevertheless, and asked 
 why he thought so. 
 
 " Because you have chosen glare and distance 
 from the music. You can t find your seat an 
 agreeable one, and yet you sit there content- 
 edly." 
 
 " Now that you speak of it, the glare is dis 
 agreeable, but I fancy that you are a late comer 
 if you imagine any one listens to the band here. 
 No, we only use our ears in this Garden of Eden 
 to find out what the serpent really said, and what 
 Eve told Adam he said." 
 
 " How delightfully refreshing to come to a 
 place where there are such natural objects as 
 serpents. We don t allow them in Paris. But
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 137 
 
 is your place so beguiling that you won t take a 
 stroll with me ? You don t give ine your undi 
 vided attention, and as I am a monopolist of all 
 good things, I dislike to see you bowing to this 
 one, and smiling at that one." 
 
 He rose as he spoke, and she followed his 
 example with alacrity ; it was a good adver 
 tisement to be seen engrossing the attention of 
 a man like de La Roche, who seldom wasted his 
 time with women of the whole world. So she 
 sauntered along the sands, wondering how soon 
 he would tell why he wanted her society so much, 
 for Flora was shrewd enough to know that he 
 had some motive. It soon appeared, just as she 
 had expected. 
 
 " Your friend Madame Huntington looks very 
 charming," he said, throwing a side glance at 
 Sylvia, as they passed the group of which she 
 was the centre. 
 
 " Yes, she is charming, charming," answered 
 Flora. 
 
 " Of course you have had innumerable offers 
 for her?" 
 
 " Oh, of course ; one does not find an heiress 
 who is so presentable every day in the week." 
 
 " You must be very clever to have kept her to 
 yourself so long." 
 
 He looked full at his companion when he 
 made this advance. He was feeling his. way,
 
 138 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 and he must not make a false step in the be 
 ginning. 
 
 Flora drew herself up a little. " Your remark 
 might be taken in a bad sense, Monsieur," she 
 replied with some hauteur. 
 
 " It might," he answered composedly, " by a 
 woman who did not belong to the world of which 
 you and I are conspicuous inmates." 
 
 It was not unpleasing to Flora to be tacitly 
 received by the count as one of his own sort ; 
 her voice was more genial when she said : 
 
 " Well, take it for granted that I have been 
 clever. I call it lucky, but the result is the 
 same." 
 
 " And it is not hard to foretell that the result 
 will continue to be the same, until you choose to 
 pull the other set of wires, and your puppet nods 
 her head, instead of shaking it." 
 
 Who does not enjoy the reputation of power ? 
 The inference that she was influential in guiding 
 Sylvia flattered Flora extremely, although she 
 knew how untrue it was. 
 
 " What sort of a person is Madame Hunting- 
 ton ? Is she easily handled ? " 
 
 " Mon elicit, no ! It requires the utmost tact 
 to make her see things with your eyes." 
 
 " A positive nature, then ?" 
 
 " Very positive, for all she looks so soft and 
 yielding."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 139 
 
 Flora thought with a pang of Maurice as she 
 spoke ; was Sylvia going to prove obstinate 
 about him ? The count continued his catechism. 
 
 " Is she generous ? " 
 
 " With her money, no one could be more so, 
 but with her affection she is a perfect miser." 
 
 " Ah, cold. I inferred as much when I heard 
 that she was from New England ; those women 
 are all icebergs. Then it is probably untrue 
 what I was told at the club, that she is dead in 
 love with Captain Regnier." 
 
 Flora s heart gave a quick, agitating leap ; 
 others had noticed the affair, then, as well as 
 she. " I don t know," she said, in a depressed 
 tone. " It has been troubling me dreadfully. 
 Do you know Regnier ? " 
 
 " Know him ? I should think so ! He was 
 brought up in my chateau ; he has just gone 
 down to Touraine to do an errand for me. He s 
 a a Well, if you know his position, you 
 will understand me when I say that he is a sort 
 of hanger-on of our house." 
 
 Flora did not know what the position was to 
 which de La Roche alluded, and his expression , 
 did not seem to fit the dashing, rather haughty 
 young officer ; she could not somehow fancy 
 Maurice being sent on an errand, but the phrase 
 gave her a gleam of hope. 
 
 While the -words faltered on his tongue, Phi-
 
 140 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 .lippe had been assailed by a fierce temptation. 
 Up to that moment he had had no intention of 
 playing Maurice false, more than was implied 
 in trying to take his place with the young widow. 
 But suddenly his active mind saw a move to be 
 made, so simple that a whisper could accomplish 
 it, and which, once successful, would give him 
 an undoubted advantage. They turned uncon 
 sciously, and moved nearer the crowd and the 
 music again. Mephistopheles was busy at his 
 old game of temptation, making suggestions with 
 infernal ingenuity, and as he generally busies 
 himself about a soul of which he is almost sure 
 in advance, his work received a final touch when 
 he brought in his Marguerite to play her part. 
 Sylvia was listening to the men surrounding 
 her with an air of attention and interest that 
 was one of her chief charms. At first her air of 
 distinction eclipsed even her grace and beauty. 
 Perfectly at her ease, she turned her flower- 
 like head first to one, then to another. There 
 was an unusual beauty in her face to-day 
 perhaps caused by a softened expression and 
 a luminoiis glow in her eyes. With her world 
 at her feet, courted, flattered by all, she would 
 have been the first to smile in derision at the 
 idea that she was pathetic, infinitely pathetic, in 
 her young ignorance. She thought at that mo 
 ment that life was a very simple affair : she
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 141 
 
 fancied that she knew all the baseness of the 
 world, and was prepared to meet it, because 
 some of the more conspicuous scandals had been 
 repeated to her ; she felt herself as wise in her 
 new experience as if she knew it all. And if 
 she had been told that she was but a quarry, to 
 be hunted down and claimed by the most skillful 
 huntsman, she would have mocked her informer, 
 and said that her future was in her own hands, 
 and she could make it what she chose. What 
 could she know or guess, in her New World 
 guilelessness, of the atmosphere of diplomacy 
 and finesse which is native air to the people of 
 the oldest European civilization ? 
 
 As Philippe gave a swift glance that took in 
 each detail, an animal light flashed into his 
 eyes. 
 
 " She is very pretty," he said, in an indifferent 
 tone, turning to Flora, "a little unripe for 
 my taste ; she will be improved by a year or 
 two more." 
 
 Mrs. Lee-Blair felt the implied compliment ; 
 it was very soothing to her racked nerves to be 
 with the count. 
 
 Once again they strolled over the sands. 
 Flora had not taken so much exercise for years, 
 but it did not seem to fatigue her. Philippe 
 kept up a perfunctory conversation, having ab 
 ruptly changed the subject, and all the time his
 
 142 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 brain was working, working. It was absurd 
 to think of Maurice with all that money ; what 
 could he do with it ? lie had no estate to keep 
 up, like La Roche ; he was not a gambler ; his 
 tastes were not expensive. It was wicked to 
 think of him weighed down by what would only 
 be to him a responsibility, whilst to Philippe 
 it meant restored honor, delight for his mother, 
 comfort for all those dependent on him. Was 
 it not his duty to think of the greatest good 
 for the greatest number ? A young follow like 
 Maurice had no right to wish to monopolize so 
 large a fortune. The thought was preposterous. 
 Besides, he deserved some punishment for being 
 so confoundedly secretive ; had not Philippe told 
 him of all his troubles ? Why, then, had he been 
 hiding his own affairs ? 
 
 Philippe and Flora were again at the point 
 farthest from the casino, the very spot where 
 Philippe had before alluded to Maurice s posi 
 tion. Her mind took up the remark there, just 
 as they had dropped it ; she was thirsting to 
 know what he meant, and wondered if she might 
 introduce the subject again. She must find out ; 
 it was her duty to Sylvia. So she said with a 
 little sigh : 
 
 " You mentioned young Regnier s position 
 just now. It is an anomalous one for him to be 
 in ; so young, too."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 143 
 
 She prided herself immensely on the word 
 " anomalous." She was n t quite sure what it 
 meant, and so considered it delightfully non 
 committal. Philippe was amused in a grim way 
 to see how the bait had attracted his fish. He 
 knew that she had not the least idea to what he 
 had alluded, as indeed how could she ? But this 
 attitude of hers was just what he wanted, so he 
 replied, 
 
 " Of course it s hard for him ; he s a good 
 fellow, and I m fond of him. But I come in 
 for my share of pity too. You can understand 
 that it s not any too pleasant for me." 
 
 Flora was on pins and needles, as the saying 
 is. What was this extraordinary complication, 
 of which she, she who prided herself on her 
 general knowledge of family affairs, knew no 
 thing ? Should she be honest, and confess her 
 ignorance ? or should she grope her way, thus 
 perhaps learning more in the end ? She de 
 cided on the latter course, and with another sigh 
 said, " Oh, no, of course not. In what way do 
 you feel it most? " 
 
 " Why, to be honest, I think that being de 
 prived of, at the least, half my income is the 
 shoe that pinches in the oiost disagreeable way ; 
 but added to that is the feeling that Maurice s 
 mere existence is an insult tb my poor mother, 
 the best of women ; and she worries continually
 
 144 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 to think that I, who have the name to keep up, 
 and the estate to maintain, should be hampered 
 by my insufficient means." 
 
 " That must be fearful for you." Flora made 
 this remark with true sympathy. That was a 
 subject of which she knew much by experience. 
 
 " It is hard," he rejoined frankly. " For with 
 about the same fortune, I am a poor, while Reg- 
 nier is a rich man. You see before you, madame, 
 a living illustration of the saying, The sins of 
 the fathers shall be visited on the children. 
 
 He smiled as he spoke ; but it was a sad smile, 
 which she felt to be very touching. Her mind 
 had enough to keep it busy for a moment. She 
 could see but one solution to his remarks : what 
 else could he mean ? So she took another exper 
 imental step along her path of discovery, quite 
 ignorant of the force behind her, impelling her 
 on her way. 
 
 " You look on these affairs so differently in 
 France to what we do. Now in England young 
 Regnier would be placed in a haberdasher s 
 shop, and that would be the end of him as far 
 as the family were concerned. Here, on the 
 contrary, I fancy he could marry, with his 
 money, about as he pleased." 
 
 " Oh, no ; oh, no ! " said Philippe with empha 
 sis. " His one chance will be to find some for 
 eigner, either ignorant or careless of his origin.
 
 .-1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 145 
 
 Unless a wife of that sort turns up for him, he 
 will have to marry into the bourgeoisie. From 
 the gossip I have heard, I imagine that Madame 
 Huntington is willing to overlook any small 
 irregularity in his family matters, eh ? " 
 
 " And /imagine that she is quite ignorant of 
 any such irregularity." 
 
 Philippe stopped, and fixed her with a severe 
 look. 
 
 " You will pardon me if I seem to be inter 
 fering with you, but as a gentleman I think it 
 my duty to tell you that you should be careful 
 regarding the antecedents of a man who has 
 made your charge as conspicuous as Maurice 
 has Madame Huntington." 
 
 " I see now how careless I have been. But 
 everybody nice seemed to receive him." 
 
 " The position of the de La Roche family is 
 high enough to give any one connected with 
 them a place of respectability in the world. I 
 wonder that you have heard nothing of this 
 matter, and my advice to you is to conceal your 
 ignorance about it. To speak frankly, I think 
 that you would be rather severely blamed for 
 letting things drift." 
 
 " But I must tell Sylvia Madame Hunting- 
 ton what you have said," she replied. She 
 was beginning to feel jubilant: all was not hope 
 less. If she could gain time, only a year, she
 
 146 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 would retrieve the past, pay her debts, and turn 
 over a new leaf. The count s intelligence gave 
 her courage. 
 
 " Remember, I don t ask you to take any 
 thing on my authority. I am too new a may 
 I say friend ? to take the liberty of dictating 
 to you. All that I dare venture on is a little 
 advice. Don t let things go any farther without 
 demanding Maurice Regnier s family papers. 
 As to telling Madame Huntington, perhaps she 
 would not care about his birth. Those Amer 
 icans have rather crude ideas." 
 
 " Ah, but not Sylvia ! No, no ; she is full of 
 all kinds of notions about nobility, descent, and 
 that sort of thing. It has surprised me that 
 she encouraged this Regnier, even not knowing 
 the stain on his birth, because he holds no high 
 station." 
 
 " How strangely things turn out," he said 
 in another tone, as if that subject were ended. 
 " Here I asked you to walk on the beach with 
 me, simply because I thought you would prove 
 a delightful companion, and we have at once 
 plunged into the heart of things." 
 
 " Life is full of such surprises. I came with 
 you for the same reason that you say you asked 
 me, and here am I indebted to you for a very 
 great service." 
 
 " Let us hope that it is but the beginning of
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 147 
 
 many mutual good turns," he replied with his 
 quick smile. " Here we are at the casino once 
 more. Will you introduce me to your charge?" 
 
 He had time but for a few words with Sylvia, 
 for the sun was sinking, and the hour conse 
 crated to the toilet was at hand. So he was 
 compelled to cut short his conversation. After 
 helping her into her carriage, and standing with 
 lifted hat as she was driven away, he went back 
 to his hotel, evading the intrusive de Belfort, 
 who had served his brief turn, and fell again 
 into his position of a bore. 
 
 As Philippe walked swiftly along, his head 
 bent, his brows gathered in a thoughtful frown, 
 he was congratulating himself on having done 
 a clever stroke of work, and at the same time 
 laying plans for the future. 
 
 " I told no lie, strictly speaking. I told her 
 how to get proofs, that s all. Now Marcel must 
 be posted in regard to his aunt, the maid. And 
 as for the English woman, I must find her price. 
 Maurice is such a fool that I doubt if it occurred 
 to him to buy her services. She s not too stu 
 pid, and she 11 never give up her fat place with 
 the rich widow without a fight. If a fellow 
 has the prospect of the income from ten million 
 francs, he can make some tempting offers." 
 
 When Flora had introduced the Count de La 
 Roche to Sylvia, the mere mention of his name
 
 148 .-1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 brought to her suggestions of romance, chivalry, 
 and beauty. She was frankly interested in the 
 owner of the castle by the river, with its Old 
 World histories. He seemed to belong to an 
 older, more enduring class than the habitues of 
 Trouville, who fluttered in and out of their villas 
 with the evanescent air of butterflies. She had 
 scarcely spoken a dozen words to him, and yet he 
 had impressed his personality strongly upon her. 
 
 She left Flora as soon as she entered the 
 house, and ran to her own room murmuring 
 something about being late for dinner. She 
 wanted to be alone for a while, for she did not 
 trust herself since the morning, and feared that 
 she might say something to betray her secret. 
 As she closed her door she noticed an odor of 
 roses, and there, on her dressing - table, lay a 
 mass of long-stemmed, white, half-opened buds. 
 She took them up, and an envelope fell from 
 them. In it was Maurice s card with these 
 words : " Farewell. I obey you, and shall bo gone 
 for an eternity, a whole week, but I love 
 you, I love you. Until you see me again let 
 every breeze that blows, every star that shines, 
 tell you of my love. M. R." 
 
 She read his message twice, and then she 
 buried her face in the roses. Even with herself 
 she was shy to acknowledge that her lifelong 
 enemy was vanquishing her. She stood with
 
 .1 THAN SAT LAN TIC CHATELAINE. 149 
 
 her eyes fixed on the sea, and wondered at her 
 own state of mind. Did she really love Maurice ? 
 It was impossible for her to decide. She tried 
 honestly and fairly to picture a whole life with 
 him, and only him, but it was difficult to realize 
 such a state of things. She knew that she felt 
 a new excitement and interest, that she seemed 
 to have grown years younger since the morning ; 
 but she did not know that the cause of this was 
 not so much in Maurice as in herself. The 
 inevitable hour had come when the love for 
 which she had inherited a marked capacity as 
 serted its power. She was swayed by the attri 
 bute, but not by the individual as yet, and after 
 all, what was there in the young cavalry officer 
 besides his manly presence, and the flattery 
 caused by his love of her, to make her renounce 
 the dominating determination of her life? Other 
 men were as good horsemen, as clever poets, as 
 bold wooers as he ; but then the other men were 
 not by her side who would have had an equal 
 chance on these grounds, and Sylvia had still to 
 learn the loyalty and strength of his nature. 
 
 As she thought over the events of the day she 
 wanted to believe she loved Maurice, and yet 
 she shrunk from having the belief confirmed ; 
 she liked to feel her heart beat more quickly 
 as she pictured his eyes plunging their burning 
 glances into hers ; she delighted in the blushes
 
 150 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 that ran over her face as she recalled the pres 
 sure of his arms when he lifted her from her 
 horse. And yet and yet she did not know 
 him. She had told herself for years that love 
 made slaves. She had never wanted to come to 
 this pass and here she was. 
 
 For the first time in her life she longed for 
 her mother, who in this crisis would have helped 
 and advised her. A little water-color sketch 
 that Gilbert had made of his bride hung in its 
 simple frame by Sylvia s bed, and she stood 
 looking at it entreatingly, and invoked the spirit 
 of motherhood to help her in her confusion of 
 mind. All in vain. No light broke in on her 
 darkness. When she joined Flora at their tete- 
 a-tete dinner, the older woman felt that there 
 was something new at work. Sylvia talked 
 rather more gayly and easily than usual, but 
 there was an aloofness about her, too delicate to 
 be described. It was as if she spoke and lis 
 tened without understanding. As they went 
 into the drawing-room, however, the little mist 
 was dispelled by a word. 
 
 " Young Regnier was not at the casino this 
 afternoon," observed Flora, pluming herself be 
 fore a mirror. 
 
 " No, he has gone away for a week," returned 
 Sylvia. There was no lack of vividness now in 
 her tone.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 151 
 
 " I am not sorry, dear," said Flora gravely, 
 seating herself so that she could see Sylvia s 
 face. " People have begun to talk about you 
 and this young bourgeois. You know that even 
 your nationality cannot excuse everything. And 
 these morning rides " 
 
 " They mean nothing," interrupted Sylvia. 
 " What a backbiting, scandalous world this is ! 
 Has it already begun to gossip about you and 
 your new acquaintance, Monsieur de La Roche ? 
 Tell rne if you really found him as engrossing 
 as you seemed to." 
 
 She bent her face so that the fragrance of 
 the rose in her berthe reached her. It was 
 one of Maurice s roses, and as she breathed in 
 its perfume she listened to Flora s enthusiastic 
 praises of the young count. After a while she 
 went out on to the terrace, into the moist, starlit 
 air. The far-off hum of the town reached her ; 
 the roll of carriages mingled with the regular 
 cadence of the waves. She tried to call up 
 Maurice s image. She wondered where he had 
 gone, and if he would disobey her and write to 
 her during this week. She must make up her 
 mind, for he was not a man to be played with. 
 She loved his impetuosity. Then she began to 
 resolutely turn her mind to the future ; did she 
 love him enough to give up all her dreams for 
 him ? He had told her he could offer a stainless
 
 152 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 name, but that was not quite enough for her ambi 
 tion. A famous name, even with a stain of some 
 tragic sin, some glorious failure, seemed less 
 insipid to her. Flora had spoken of him as a 
 bourgeois. Why was the term so utterly crush 
 ing? Could she be contented as a bouryeoise? 
 Then her thoughts slipped away to the chateau 
 by the river ; she pictured the spreading cedar, 
 the storied building ; but the most vivid impres 
 sion on her mind was the memory of the few 
 unimportant words spoken by Philippe de La 
 Roche as he had put her into her carriage ; the 
 strange sensation she had felt of his authority ; 
 she could not account for it. Maurice, all un 
 knowing, had painted a background with such 
 magic that it made the figure to which it be 
 longed that of a hero. 
 
 When she went to her room for the night she 
 found Justine in a flutter of excitement. 
 
 " I trust Madame did not miss me when she 
 dressed for dinner. I had to go away and pray ; 
 I owed it to the saints. After all these years, 
 Madame, I have found one of my own family, 
 my brother s son. Oh, he is almost a gentle 
 man ; and how could he help being, placed, as 
 he is, in one of our noblest families ? He is valet 
 to Monsieur le Comte de La Roche." 
 
 " Why, Justine, you chatter like a girl. 1 am 
 glad you are pleased."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 153 
 
 " It is enough to make any one pleased ; I 
 would rather have my nephew a servant at La 
 Roche than secretary to the emperor." 
 
 " Plow the name haunts me," thought Sylvia, 
 looking at her image, soft in the light of the 
 candles by the mirror. Her eyes had an expec 
 tant look. From one of the white roses, more 
 fully blown than the others, a petal dropped 
 softly. She looked at it tenderly. Justine, 
 standing just behind her, spoke in a muffled 
 voice. 
 
 " Madame knows how I love her that in 
 spite of her grandeur and beauty, she is always 
 to me my baby that I followed over the ocean. 
 She will not be angry if I say something that 
 lies heavy 011 my heart ? " 
 
 "No, dear Justine, never angry with you. 
 What is it ? " 
 
 Sylvia turned to face her, suddenly pale with 
 a vague fear. 
 
 " You will promise your old nurse not to 
 marry this Captain Regnier until you know 
 all about him ? The Count de La Roche could 
 tell you everything. Marcel could tell me if I 
 pressed him." 
 
 " I cannot see why you think of such a thing, 
 Justine. I certainly will marry no one in igno 
 rance of his position. That is all I need. Good 
 night."
 
 154 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 The woman crept sullenly away, all her joy 
 in her nephew s appearance spoiled by the dis 
 pleasure in her mistress s tone. And the sweet 
 elusive melody that had sung in Sylvia s heart 
 was jarred into discord by the suspicions aroused 
 by Justine. She asked herself, why had Mau 
 rice suddenly left Trouville after swearing in 
 the morning that nothing should take him away 
 from her ? Had it anything to do with the 
 arrival of the count, who, as Justine said, knew 
 all about him ?
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE next three days were filled, for Sylvia, 
 with, a strange glamour, bringing new sensa 
 tions, reviving old ambitions. Nothing seemed 
 real. The savage, treacherous ocean stretched 
 itself out like a stage background ; the sun set 
 in scenic magnificence, and she was like an ac 
 tress in the midst, who had to wait for her cue 
 before recalling her part. Each morning a clus 
 ter of fresh roses, nowhere sweeter, more regal 
 than at Trouville, brought to her the memory of 
 Maurice ; but he was absent, and Philippe was 
 always near her, and roses fade. 
 
 There was a succession of dainty, luxurious 
 breakfasts and dinners, to which she was invited 
 by the leaders of the " swim," almost on their 
 knees, for the lion of the moment, the irresist 
 ible de La Roche, refused to go anywhere with 
 out the promise of meeting the lovely American. 
 She was the queen of these entertainments, and 
 felt the stimulus that comes with adulation. 
 Hour by hour she grew more interested in the 
 count. He spoke to her of France and his hopes 
 and fears. He was graver, more restrained in his
 
 156 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 language than Maurice, and Sylvia, imbued with 
 the true Anglo - Saxon distrust of enthusiasm, 
 deemed him more sincere, and invested him with 
 depths of patriotism and devotion. lie paid her 
 the compliment of remembering opinions ex 
 pressed by her, and discussing them afterwards 
 with wit and skill. 
 
 At this time Sylvia s self was like a fair for 
 tress : two opposing forces were battling for it. 
 On Maurice s side were those qualities, barely 
 awake after their long sleep, of whose over 
 whelming power she was ignorant, those qual 
 ities which give the ardent love of a pure woman 
 a force closely allied to the divine. On Phi 
 lippe s side were ranged her lifelong idols, fame 
 and honor ; and also the strength of her temper 
 ament, which stirred her tumultuously. The in 
 tellectual and the physical fighting the spiritual, 
 and no voice to teach which was the path for 
 her to take. 
 
 She was not unhappy, but restless and excited 
 during these days. At night her dreams were 
 agitating, and she never lost in slumber the 
 monotonous sound of the waves. She felt that 
 a crisis was approaching, and she longed for 
 Maurice to come back and help her to a deci 
 sion. She was free as air, and yet she saw his 
 brown eyes everywhere, heavy with reproach. 
 Where was he? What had Justine meant bv
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 157 
 
 her hints ? Why, why was she so weak as to 
 be haunted by Flora s derisive term bourgeois ? 
 Her old nurse spoke continually of the count ; 
 her nephew was often with her and his stories 
 of his master s gallantry and importance lost 
 nothing in the telling. 
 
 One afternoon Sylvia felt that she must give 
 herself an hour for thought, for decision, and 
 she refused to go to the casino with Flora. 
 Alone on a balcony outside of her own room, she 
 set herself resolutely to think ; but her eyes wan 
 dered to the beach, and she found herself idly 
 watching some nursery-maids and their charges 
 digging in the sands. The gay world was hid 
 den from her by the roofs of neighboring villas ; 
 but the wearying, never ending strains of the 
 strident music floated above these obstacles. 
 
 Suddenly two figures, a man and a woman, 
 came within the field of her vision, from behind 
 some rocks at the end farthest away from the 
 casino. Even at this distance she noticed their 
 absorption of manner, their heads bent towards 
 each other as they moved slowly along. As she 
 watched with awakening interest she saw them 
 stop abruptly, and strike their hands together as 
 two men might in concluding a bargain ; then 
 they resumed their walk, more rapidly, and were 
 soon lost from sight behind the villas. Maurice 
 was forgotten in the wonder as to what Flora
 
 158 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 and the count were plotting together. She was 
 alive with curiosity, and determined to ask her 
 friend ; but when Mrs. Lee-Blair arrived, shortly 
 after, her first words banished all former thoughts. 
 She came directly to Sylvia s room, and joined 
 her on the balcony ; her eyes were sparkling, her 
 whole manner breathed triumph. 
 
 " Sylvia, my darling, darling child," she said 
 effusively, and then sat down close beside her, 
 kissed her, patted her hand, all the time casting 
 significant glances. 
 
 " You have something to tell me, Flora? " asked 
 Sylvia, roused to a sudden determination by these 
 demonstrations. 
 
 " Yes, my sweetest child ; the best thing in 
 the whole world has come to you, and I am happy 
 and grateful to be the bearer of the good tidings. 
 Sylvia, dearest, the Count de La Roche wishes 
 to marry you." 
 
 It was here, this crisis towards which the play 
 had been moving, and still with a sense of un 
 reality, Sylvia found the words of her part as if 
 already learned. 
 
 " I am profoundly grateful, but, Flora dear, 
 don t be disappointed ; I cannot marry Monsieur 
 de La Roche." 
 
 Mrs. Lee - Blair s face blanched suddenly. 
 " You cannot mean that ; you know nothing 
 against him ?"
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 159 
 
 " Oh, no, nothing, nothing ; that is not the 
 reason." 
 
 " Tell me then, Sylvia, your real reason. I 
 am older than yon, dear ; I am in a way respon 
 sible for you. Tell me why you refuse one of 
 the highest titles in France ? " 
 
 All the effect of a woman of the world slipped 
 from Sylvia ; the outside dignity fell from her 
 like a discarded garment, leaving her shining 
 with the innate dignity of youth and love ; her 
 face flushed divinely, and her eyes glowed in 
 their violet depths. Her head drooped a little 
 as she said, " Because, Flora dear, I am begin 
 ning to know what love means, and to believe 
 that I owe it to the man I marry. I don t love 
 Monsieur de La Roche." 
 
 " Is that all ? " 
 
 " Not quite all." 
 
 " Is there any serious obstacle, Sylvia ? Do 
 not speak without thought ; this is a graver mat 
 ter than you think." 
 
 There was a pause. Sylvia found herself with 
 no words. " What is a serious obstacle ? " she 
 pondered, and her position became undefined in 
 her estimation as she tried to see it clearly. At 
 last she said in a doubtful tone, " No, I cannot 
 say that there is anything really settled." 
 
 " Thank God," breathed Flora, leaning back 
 in her chair. The moment had come for her to
 
 160 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 strike. She shrank from giving pain, and had 
 hoped that the count s offer would be accepted 
 without delay, and that she might thus avoid a 
 duty that seemed very hard to her ; but it was 
 not to be ; she must speak. " Thank God," 
 she repeated still more fervently ; " I had hoped, 
 my dear, that I should not be forced to tell you 
 something exceedingly disagreeable, but which 
 would have been absolute agony if you were 
 bound to young Regnier." 
 
 The same distrust, but sharper, now came to 
 Sylvia as when Justine had first spoken. 
 
 " What is it you have against him ? Tell me 
 at once quick ! " 
 
 " He is not in a position to ask you to marry 
 him ; he has been most culpable in making you 
 conspicuous, in almost compromising you by his 
 attentions. De La Roche is so in love with you 
 that he is willing to overlook it. Besides, he 
 knows Regnier well enough to see how things 
 were managed by him/ 
 
 " Tell me what there is against him," inter 
 rupted Sylvia, maddened by the delay. 
 
 " He is the count s illegitimate brother." 
 
 As she spoke, Flora experienced a horrible 
 sense of guilt. She felt that Sylvia was entitled 
 to know what Philippe had told her ; but the 
 fact that she herself would benefit by her words, 
 gave her a feeling that she was doing some-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 161 
 
 thing shabby. It seemed brutal to put things 
 so plainly, and yet it was her duty. 
 
 It appeared a long time to her before Sylvia 
 answered, and when she spoke her voice was 
 muffled. 
 
 " I do not believe it," she said slowly. 
 
 " It is dreadful, but it is true, my dear child. 
 The former count went so far as to divide the 
 property between the two sons. La Roche is 
 very nice speaking of it, but he can t help feel 
 ing it." 
 
 Sylvia rose and entered her room through the 
 long window. She spoke over her shoulder, so 
 that Flora did not see her face. 
 
 " We dine at home to-night, don t we ? Do 
 give a look at the table and see if all is right." 
 Mrs. Lee-Blair rose at once, accepting her dis 
 missal. She could not judge how Sylvia was 
 affected by her communication ; she only knew 
 that the count s offer was refused, and the stain 
 on Ilegnier s birth denied. As she went down 
 stairs a panic seized her regarding her future. 
 If Sylvia really loved the young captain, and 
 persisted in marrying him, her case was worse 
 than ever. Vague fears of being thrown into 
 prison for debt shook her ; she had cut herself 
 off entirely from her charge, by her endeavors 
 to help her. She knew that no woman ever for 
 gives interference such as hers, if it is ineffec 
 tual.
 
 102 A T RAX* ATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 She entered the dining-room half dazed, and 
 saw Justine through the open door in the passage 
 beyond. She called and beckoned her to follow 
 to the drawing-room. Justine obeyed with her 
 heavy, noiseless tread, and stood respectfully on 
 the threshold. 
 
 " Come here, come closer," said Mrs. Lee- 
 Blair half hysterically, sinking into a chair. 
 
 " Justine, oh, Justine," she murmured. " you 
 must go at once to your mistress, and tell her 
 what Marcel, the count s valet, has told you 
 about Captain Kegnier. I am afraid she will 
 marry him in spite of all I can do." 
 
 Justine s square face and stolid features did 
 not change, but her deep-sunk eyes gave a sud 
 den wild gleam. 
 
 " She shall not," she said, her voice low and 
 guttural. " She was not made to marry such as 
 he ; and when she knows all, she will not want 
 to." 
 
 Sylvia had not moved since Flora had left 
 her. She stood, one hand resting on the back 
 of a chair, her head bent, her eyes fixed, think 
 ing, thinking. After the first shock a great sor 
 row had come into her heart for Maurice. She 
 pitied him, for a spirit like his must be terribly 
 galled by his position. Then the thought came 
 unbidden, " And yet he has tried to bring me 
 into it too."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 Fast on the heels of this first doubt crowded 
 others, and then the memory of his words, " I 
 can offer you a stainless name," flashed across 
 her. 
 
 " I do not want to believe him false, I will 
 not," she moaned ; "I could love him if he were 
 true." 
 
 There was a faint sound, and the door opened. 
 
 " I do not need you yet, Justine," said Sylvia, 
 very gently. She did not wish any eye to rest 
 on her in this hour of doubt and grief ; but the 
 old woman came steadily towards her. 
 
 " You may turn me away to starve," she be 
 gan abruptly, " but I did not bring you up from 
 your cradle to see you throw yourself away now. 
 You, fit to be a duchess, a queen, you must not 
 marry this captain." 
 
 There was a tone of assurance about her that 
 impressed Sylvia ; she did not silence her as 
 before. 
 
 " Then you, too, believe that this story is true 
 about Monsieur Regnier s birth ? " she asked. 
 
 " I know it is true. The moment I heard the 
 name of the Comte de La Roche I remembered 
 something I had known long ago. I have been 
 so much away that I forget things sometimes. 
 I confused it at first with something else, but 
 my nephew Marcel knew all, and he told me. 
 He said "
 
 164 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " Stop," said Sylvia imperiously. " I will 
 hear no more. Leave me." 
 
 Her head drooped no more ; her eyes were no 
 longer soft with sorrow, but a dry, angry light 
 burned in them. She heard Justine creep out, 
 and then she went across the room towards her 
 dressing - table with almost a tigerish sweep ; 
 there stood the roses, Maurice s gift, fresh that 
 morning, innocent of offense. She caught them 
 up, and with a swift, fierce movement threw 
 them from the window. The action seemed to 
 calm her a little. " I can breathe now," she 
 said. 
 
 It seemed to her impossible to remain still. 
 Up and down the room she went, still with the 
 suggestion of the tiger in her quick, gliding steps, 
 her head turning restlessly from side to side. 
 Thoughts, memories, fancies thronged her brain. 
 He had made her conspicuous, almost compro 
 mised her. He had lied to her. If his love 
 had been real, how could he have sought to tie 
 her to him ? No, it was her money, not she, 
 that had attracted him, and he had been will 
 ing to put her in such a position that the very 
 servants had felt justified in gossiping about 
 her. This mortification maddened her. Oh, if 
 she were a man she would punish him, but what 
 could a poor, helpless woman do ? Suddenly she 
 stopped in her frantic, aimless walk ; she could
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 165 
 
 do something, and she would. She would be 
 Countess de La Roche. That was to be Mau 
 rice s punishment. 
 
 The count dined with them that night, and 
 neither he nor the other guests had ever seen 
 la belle Americaine so beautiful or so gay. 
 Flora, too, was in high spirits, for a few words 
 from Sylvia just before dinner had raised her 
 from her despondent mood, and colored her 
 future once more with golden tints. Oh, yes, 
 it was all very brilliant, no doubt. The table, 
 gleaming with its burden of fruit, flowers, and 
 sparkling glass under the rose-shaded candles ; 
 the women with their snowy shoulders and shin 
 ing jewels, the soft silks shimmering in billows 
 about them. The sound of laughter, the easy 
 ripple of talk, and underneath the warning dash 
 of the waves on the beach below, which seemed 
 intrusive with its daring intimation of nature. 
 
 To Sylvia it brought the memory of some play 
 she had seen long ago, where the music and 
 merriment of a feast are heard behind the scenes, 
 while the tragedy of a life unfolds before the 
 spectator s eyes ; only here it was the tragedy 
 which was hidden. 
 
 She did not realize that any decisive steps had 
 been taken until the guests rose to say good 
 night, when, as Philippe bent low over her 
 hand, he raised his eyes to hers, and whispered,
 
 166 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 "Thank you/ Then she knew that Flora had 
 found time to speak, and that her freedom was 
 gone. 
 
 She kept her air of gayety until she was alone 
 once more, but she had not been able to speak 
 of her future even to Justine, although she knew 
 the ecstasy in store for the faithful creature. 
 When at last her door closed, and she was again 
 face to face with her bitter anger, the light died 
 from her eyes, and her lips met tight in a rigid 
 line. She could not sleep, and throwing open 
 her blinds she lay staring at the square of sky. 
 There was the Great Bear, slanting across the 
 northern heavens. She well remembered stand 
 ing with Dick, her childhood s friend, on the 
 piazza, as he taught her how to find it. The 
 square white house still stood tenantless save for 
 the careful Deborah, and she had spoken the 
 words which pledged her to make her home in a 
 new land, on new soil. Her country was hers 
 no more ; the hour had passed, never to return, 
 when she had owned the right to suffer for it. 
 Had happy, tender memories played about her 
 youth, her regrets now had been of a softer 
 nature, but there was only a severe renuncia 
 tion in her heart as she recalled the years be 
 hind her. She had always been unconsciously 
 searching for some object on which to lavish her 
 love and enthusiasm. Her father had repressed
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 167 
 
 any demonstration of affection, although so little 
 tenderness on his part would have repaid her 
 doubly. The only time she had ever felt a rea 
 son for the thrill of feeling was when her eyes 
 met those of Richard Huntington, as he raised 
 them to hers for the last time, on his steady, 
 resolute way, to die for his flag. In a few hours 
 those stars would be shining on the summer 
 fields about her old home, as unconcerned and 
 indifferent there as here. What did they care 
 for human agitations and distractions ? 
 
 Under their cold light Sylvia became more 
 passive. Happiness, after all, was more a ques 
 tion of temperament than surroundings, she re 
 flected, and resolved to give to the country of 
 her choice all the ardent enthusiasm she had felt 
 formerly for her own fatherland. 
 
 She would find her ideal in her future hus 
 band ; he was brave, noble, and loyal. Their 
 mutual aims should not be merely a selfish grati 
 fication of love ; they would look higher. She 
 resolutely put Maurice out of her mind. One 
 more meeting, and then that episode belonged 
 to the dead past. The stars grew pale, and a 
 breeze came with the dawn, blowing the muslin 
 curtains into the room. Sylvia turned her face 
 to the wall, closed her hot eyes, and slept at last.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IT is not often given to one of us poor feeble 
 mortals to feel the serene satisfaction in the 
 result of our well-doing which made Flora Lee- 
 Blair walk as if on air during the days fol 
 lowing Sylvia s acceptance of Philippe. He too 
 was glowing with gratification at his own good 
 luck, although his spirits were a trifle subdued 
 by a condition his future bride had insisted on 
 making; namely, that when she had been rec 
 ognized as such, and suitably welcomed by his 
 mother, she would telegraph for her man of busi 
 ness and consider herself formally engaged, but 
 not before. He had a clear idea of the difficulties 
 before him. Not only would Sylvia s nationality 
 be an awkward obstacle, but her religion might 
 prove an impassable barrier with the countess. 
 Very carefully, with infinite skill and tact, he 
 opened the latter subject, treating it with all the 
 delicacy which he had imbibed from the priests 
 in his conversations with them. Sylvia learned 
 that behind the music and incense, the shrines 
 and saints, lay a beautiful belief of which they 
 were the symbols ; she reverenced Philippe for
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 169 
 
 the reverence he showed in speaking of them, 
 and felt stirred by his well-chosen words. He 
 spoke always dispassionately to her, as if subdu 
 ing his deeper feelings for her sake. She told 
 him frankly that he was influencing her, but 
 would promise nothing as yet. An unsuspected 
 loyalty to the faith of her fathers stirred within 
 her. Was it not enough to renounce everything 
 else ? She would cling to that until convinced 
 of something better. 
 
 Philippe saw the strength beneath the yielding 
 exterior, and concluded not to press matters. 
 After all, there were many ai-guments he could 
 bring up against those of his mother ; and if 
 Maurice succeeded in getting the money from 
 his father things might be delayed a little with 
 out danger. The more he saw of Sylvia in the 
 few days following her conditional surrender the 
 surer he felt of her, especially as Mrs. Lee-Blair 
 was no half-hearted ally. 
 
 " Oh, my child," she would exclaim, " you 
 are very, very fortunate ! Philippe is a prize. 
 Fancy having a husband like him, so noble, so 
 good-looking. I can quite imagine him going to 
 the guillotine, like Marie Antoinette and that 
 resurrection and the life man in Tale of Two 
 Cities, he is so cairn and strong. Then think of 
 being able to have coronets embroidered on all 
 your linen. A count s coronet may not be quite
 
 170 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 as distinguished as a marquis s, but then it has 
 seven points, and one in diamonds with the points 
 tipped with rubies would be too awfully lovely. 
 Oh, Sylvia, God has been very, very good to 
 you." 
 
 Then the kindly, frivolous creature would wipe 
 away a genuine tear very carefully, so that it 
 might not interfere with her complexion, and 
 flutter off, grateful for the part that she had been 
 allowed to play in this great scheme. 
 
 Justine received the news of her mistress s 
 future plans with a joy almost unnatural in its 
 quiet ecstasy. 
 
 " I have prayed for everything good for my 
 child, and the saints hear ; praise be to Mary. 
 I felt that she would be great and noble when I 
 first took her in my arms, only a baby, but with 
 the seal on her forehead. Now I know why it 
 was that I was sent to those desolate shores to 
 watch over her, to bring her here for great 
 things." 
 
 Three days more slipped by, no definite step 
 being taken. Philippe intended to wait for 
 Maurice s return before going to see his mother, 
 and excused himself to Sylvia for his delay by 
 pleading the distress it caused him to think of 
 leaving her. She accepted his flattering apology 
 with her usual graciousness, which had always a 
 touch of aloofness in it. She felt that until she
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 171 
 
 saw Maurice it would be impossible for her to 
 adjust her mind to her future life ; that dreaded 
 interview with him must be behind her ere she 
 could feel settled and content. Regarding Phi 
 lippe she was satisfied that her choice was a pru 
 dent one. Pie suited her taste from every point 
 of view. He never jarred on her, never showed 
 himself as opposed to her in any way, making 
 even the delicate question of their religions easy. 
 She did not reflect that when he was absent it was 
 of his name, bis castle, and his position that she 
 dreamed, not of him ; for when they were together 
 his dominant virility exercised a strong influence, 
 and she mistook for symptoms of love what were 
 in fact but natural impulses. His relations with 
 Flora puzzled her a little. When they were all 
 three together he and Mrs. Lee-Blair preserved 
 a cold formality of manner which was contra 
 dicted by the familiar attitude into which they 
 seemed to fall naturally when alone, and in which 
 Sylvia had once or twice surprised them. But 
 she was not apt to be suspicious, and did not 
 dwell on this subject. 
 
 One evening he announced his intention of leav 
 ing Trouville the following day, for Touraine ; 
 he said that he felt like a coward in having post 
 poned it for so long, but did not add that he had 
 received a telegram from Maurice announcing 
 his return that same nijjht.
 
 172 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 Yet this arrival meant an important moment 
 in three lives. 
 
 For the first time Maurice had chafed at being: 
 
 O 
 
 under his father s roof, and had found the hours 
 drag heavily. He had determined to keep his 
 own counsel regarding his hopes and fears, but 
 the last night at home, a fleeting look of disap 
 pointment or wounded feelings on the face he 
 loved and honored so deeply broke down his re 
 serve, and, withholding her name and nationality, 
 he told his father of his passionate love for Syl 
 via, and how it hung in the balance. The older 
 man was deeply moved, and seemed shaken by the 
 communication, but he gave his sympathy and 
 good wishes generously. When they parted the 
 next morning he only asked wistfully that Mau 
 rice would telegraph him his success, " for I 
 am sure no one can resist you, my boy," he said 
 with rather a trenmlous laugh. 
 
 Not twenty-four hours later came the message, 
 " Have failed ; shall try to get exchanged into 
 African regiment. M." That was all, and the 
 sender, blinded by his own grief and disappoint 
 ment, gave little heed to the pain the words 
 bore. Perhaps it is as well that children are 
 selfish sometimes ; if they knew the pain their 
 sorrows cause, it would double them, and like 
 two mirrors reflecting one another, woes would 
 continue multiplying until the whole world be 
 came one vast moan.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 173 
 
 Maurice, cheered by his father s confidence in 
 his success with Sylvia, came back to Trouville 
 full of exultant hopes, so overflowing with them 
 that there was no room for fear or aoubt to creep 
 in. His love for Sylvia was so intense, so vital, 
 that it seemed an impossibility it should not 
 have an overpowering effect on her. She must 
 return it ! It was too clearly heaven-sent not to 
 be irresistible. To - morrow, to - morrow ! sang 
 the wheels of the train that bore him back to 
 her. To-morrow! to-morrow! whispered the 
 night wind creeping in from the sea, as he stood, 
 late as it was, before her villa, so as to slip under 
 the door with his own hand a note to tell her 
 of his return, and of his wish to see her in the 
 morning. He stood in the dark gazing up at 
 her window ; behind the closed blinds perhaps 
 she slept and dreamt of him. Or better still, 
 she woke, and thought of him. Ah, it is good 
 to be young and love with passion ; it broadens 
 and ennobles, even if Sorrow follows, blotting 
 out the rapturous memories with her tears. 
 
 But there was no hint that anything but joy 
 was in store for him to disturb Maurice as he at 
 last turned away from the rnagic spot, and went 
 back to his hotel. He thought over every de 
 tail of her appearance as he had last seen her. 
 How young and approachable she had seemed in 
 her riding-habit and round hat ; how freshly the
 
 174 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 color came and went in her cheeks ; what a soft 
 sheen was on her dark hair, closely coiled in her 
 neck. 
 
 He had forgotten Philippe, his errand, every 
 thing but Sylvia for the moment, when the sight 
 of the sleepy night-clerk, handing him his candle, 
 woke him up from his visions. " No," the man 
 replied to his question, " Monsieur le Comte de 
 La Roche was not yet in ; did Monsieur le Capi- 
 taine desire to leave any message for him ? " 80 
 Maurice left word that he had returned, and 
 would be with him in the morning, and went to 
 sleep, breathing the one name in all the world 
 to him. 
 
 He had been moderately successful in his 
 quest, for his father had advanced Philippe about 
 half the sum he had called for ; but he had made 
 it plain to his son that although this was not the 
 first drain that the young count had made on his 
 purse, it should be the last. 
 
 " I have already given him back, franc for 
 franc, nearly the entire sum left me by his father, 
 which helped me to build up my fortune. His 
 mother knows that he has applied to me for help, 
 and I have promised her that I would give him 
 nothing more. I should be firm now, had you 
 not pledged your word, my boy ; but if either 
 break faith, I prefer to be the one." 
 
 He followed up these words with a short ao-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 175 
 
 count of Philippe s life of reckless self-indul 
 gence, softening nothing 1 , for he wished to im 
 press Maurice with his own disgust that the 
 name which should stand so high was thus dab 
 bled in the mud of the gutter. 
 
 Any tales of ordinary extravagance and excess 
 would have found excuses in Maurice s heart ; 
 youth generally obeys the esprit de corps which 
 bids it take the part opposed to age. But Mau 
 rice had a nature which recoiled from degrading 
 details, and the deliberate statements made by 
 his father destroyed once and for all the hero- 
 worship he had felt for Philippe. 
 
 It was with the feeling that he was the su 
 perior, not the count, that he followed Marcel 
 the next morning to his master s room. His 
 mind was too much occupied in thinking of his 
 coming interview with Sylvia to notice the change 
 of attitude assumed by Philippe : a week ago he 
 had come humbly for him, to ask a favor ; to-day 
 he sent as to a tradesman to know the result. 
 Perhaps Maurice would not have been struck by 
 this at any other time, for he was only suspicious 
 on rare and obvious occasions ; but his eyes hav 
 ing been opened by his father, he could not help 
 shrugging his shoulders slightly when he entered 
 the count s bedroom, at the luxurious surround 
 ings of a man half ruined financially. 
 
 Philippe was still in bed. On a table by his
 
 176 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 side was a silver tray on which stood his early 
 cup of coffee : every detail of the service was in 
 Louis XVI. silver, delicately wrought with gar 
 lands and bow-knots. lie himself was gorgeous 
 in pale blue silk, and his toilet articles, just ar 
 ranged by Marcel, were in ebony and gold. His 
 morning s mail was scattered about the bed, and 
 he kept his eyes on a letter he held, even while 
 he said : " Ah, Maurice, glad that you are back 
 at last. You may go, Marcel. Open the other 
 window first ; it is infernally hot to-day." 
 
 As he finished, he read the last word of the 
 letter, returned it to its envelope, and waited 
 until Marcel had left the room ; then his tone 
 took on a touch more of eagerness as he said, 
 "Well, any luck?" 
 
 " More than I expected, less than you hoped 
 for." 
 
 " How much ? " 
 
 " Forty thousand." 
 
 Philippe gave a low whistle. " I suppose I 
 can worry along with that ; it s deuced little, 
 though." 
 
 His words implied disappointment, but he took 
 it very coolly. Maurice looked at him keenly 
 for a moment ; he wondered if he meant to 
 accept the loan, made by his father at some in 
 convenience, without a word of gratitude to the 
 old man.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 177 
 
 Philippe resumed : " Have you the money 
 here ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " In notes or a cheque ? " 
 
 " In notes ; I cashed my father s cheque in 
 Paris yesterday. You will have the kindness to 
 sign a receipt for them." 
 
 " Oh, of course ; hand me that writing-case 
 there, will you ? thanks. Have you a form 
 made out ? " 
 
 " No," answered Maurice, irritated by the 
 other s manner and marked callousness. " You 
 ought to know how to word it well enough." 
 
 "Yes," drawled Philippe, as his pen flew over 
 the paper, " I ve had plenty of experience in 
 this sort of thing. There, it s signed and dated. 
 Does it suit you? " 
 
 " Yes," returned Maurice as shortly as before, 
 when he had read what Philippe had written. 
 " Now be good enough to count these bills." 
 
 He flung a heavy roll on to the bed ; the count 
 went through them once methodically, then a 
 second time. " They re all right." 
 
 " Good-morning, then." 
 
 " Are you going ? Can t you stop a little ? " 
 
 " No, I m in a hurry," answered Maurice, his 
 hand on the door-handle. 
 
 " Good-by, then ; and oh, I say, wait a bit. 
 Present my most respectful thanks to your father
 
 178 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 when you write, and tell him how grateful I 
 am," called Philippe, but he received no answer, 
 and was doubtful if his tardy thanks were ever 
 heard. 
 
 Chafing at the insolence and ingratitude with 
 which he had been met, Maurice left the hotel 
 as rapidly as possible, and going on to the sands, 
 deserted at this hour, lounged there until it would 
 not be too unconventionally early to seek Sylvia. 
 The morning was very hot ; already the heated 
 air rose from the rocks, making the objects be 
 hind it glimmer and shimmer ; the ocean lay 
 heaving slightly, untouched by a breath of wind, 
 and seemed too exhausted to do more than break 
 in languid little waves on the sand. 
 
 For the twentieth time Maurice looked at his 
 watch, and at last decided that he might climb 
 the cliff and enter the villa at which he had been 
 staring. There was a slight land breeze higher 
 up, and the interior of the house felt cool and 
 refreshing as the butler ushered him through 
 the hall and, throwing open the salon door, an 
 nounced him. 
 
 The room was darkened, and at first lie was 
 conscious only of a scent of flowers and a faint 
 light in one corner. Then as his dazzled eyes 
 grew used to the obscurity, he saw that the light 
 came from Sylvia s white dress, and that she 
 was looking at him intently.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 179 
 
 " I did not see you at first : I was blinded ! " 
 he exclaimed, going towards her. As he drew 
 near, her long dark lashes drooped on her 
 cheeks, and when he raised her hand to his 
 lips, she murmured a scarcely audible word of 
 greeting. lie sat for a while without speaking, 
 looking at her ardently, hungrily, and withal 
 humbly. lie wondered at his own fortitude in 
 deliberately banishing himself for a week. She 
 sat impassive under his gaze, her eyes still 
 veiled. He saw now every detail of her delicate 
 beauty, and noticed the ivory-like gleam of her 
 rounded arms showing through the loose drapery 
 of her muslin dress ; the arch of her instep in 
 its openwork stocking ; the beautiful lines in 
 which the hair grew on her temples and just 
 over her dainty ear. He was mad with longing 
 and doubt, while she sat as motionless as a statue, 
 a bunch of white carnations on her bosom barely 
 stirring with her breath. How was he to know 
 the passion of resentment and anger under this 
 cool exterior ? The only movement that betrayed 
 agitation was the tremulous action of her hands 
 as she opened and shut a tortoise-shell fan. 
 
 She had steeled herself for this interview, and 
 until she saw Maurice had thought that she could 
 control all signs of emotion. She had decided 
 to give no explanation of the reasons which had 
 led her to refuse him ; she would be cold and
 
 180 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 firm. But when she saw him all her soul was 
 in a tumult ; she dreaded the mere sound of his 
 voice. She did not wish to be shaken, to be 
 tempted. She believed him false, and any ten 
 der feeling coming now into her heart would 
 make her false to herself. He should not have 
 that power at least. But she hated him, to think 
 that in spite of all resolves some power was 
 his ; that she dared not fully meet his glance ; 
 that merely his presence shook her before he 
 had spoken ; and that his voice, in speaking the 
 simple words of greeting, had made her shiver. 
 This man, who might have meant so much to 
 her, had deceived her, had humbled her in her 
 own eyes and had almost succeeded in making 
 her a jest for the world. 
 
 Maurice spoke at last. How should he know 
 that this reserve meant hidden fury ? He 
 thought that it expressed her readiness to hear 
 him tell his love, if not to respond to it. 
 
 " Sylvia," he said, " have you no welcome for 
 me, no word ? Do you know what this week has 
 meant to me ? a very purgatory, and now I come 
 to you to tell me if heaven or hell lies beyond." 
 
 " I consented to see you, Monsieur, because 
 your letters made me think that you attach more 
 importance to a few words I spoke last week 
 than they deserve. I was carried away by the 
 beauty of the morning, the quick ride, how
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 181 
 
 can I tell what ? and perhaps a little infected 
 by your enthusiasm. But really that is an epi 
 sode that is passed, and should leave no trace." 
 
 She paused, and clattered the sticks of her 
 fan against each other. 
 
 Maurice sat silent for a moment, a look of 
 incredulity and wounded feeling in his eyes. 
 
 "Then, Sylvia," he said, "you are ungenerous 
 to play with me like this. If you could know 
 what you are to me how I adore you what 
 you mean in my life you would be merciful, 
 and drop this trifling. It is unworthy of you." 
 
 " How shall I express myself, then ? " she 
 asked, always looking down. " In plain words, 
 I find that I do not care for you that I am 
 incapable of loving you." 
 
 For the first time he began to feel the fear of 
 losing her. 
 
 " For God s sake don t say that. You could 
 love me you could not resist my love if you 
 would only try." 
 
 " Perhaps. But why should I try ? " 
 
 There was almost a sneer in her voice now. 
 
 " Why ! you ask me why ? Are my feelings 
 nothing to you ? is my love nothing 1 ? " he de 
 manded. 
 
 "Nothing," she answered composedly. 
 
 " What has changed you in this short time ? 
 A week ago you were nearly yielding you did
 
 182 A T R AX X ATLANTIC CH AT KLAJXF.. 
 
 love me last Thursday, by Heaven you did ! 
 Give me some reason for this alteration. I de 
 mand it ! " 
 
 " You are not entitled to demand anything, 
 Monsieur Regnier. If I was foolish enough to 
 give way last week to the influence of a delight 
 ful morning, and a most eloquent companion, I 
 should be blamed for what I did then, not for 
 what I am doing to-day when I am trying to 
 repair my fault." 
 
 He drew a deep breath, and leaning his elbow 
 on a table near him, covered his eyes with his 
 hand. Under all her anger, Sylvia s womanly 
 heart could not repress a throb of sympathy at 
 this sound of suffering. She raised her eyes 
 and looked at him furtively, ready to avert her 
 gaze at his least movement. How forlorn he 
 looked, and how young, poor boy. 
 
 Impulsively she spoke again. " Don t feel so 
 badly, Maurice ; I m not worth it. I am not 
 even ice, for that can be melted. I am granite, 
 like my native hills. Now go away, forget me, 
 and some day you will thank Heaven I saved 
 you from myself." 
 
 As he listened his heart beat high with hope. 
 She had spoken in gentler accents, she had 
 called him by his name. liaising his head he 
 made one final effort, and he believed that it 
 would be successful.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 188 
 
 " Hear me a moment, Sylvia," he began ; 
 " think before you sacrifice my love for your 
 ambition. It is true that I cannot give you 
 high position ; but my name is honorable, and 
 oh, my darling, I love you so truly, so deeply, 
 that no woman on earth ever had such devotion 
 laid at her feet before." 
 
 The old feelings, but intensified, returned as 
 she heard his words. He dared try again to 
 deceive her. She shivered internally, endeavor 
 ing to maintain the calm dignity she had as 
 sumed, so as not to betray her crushed, bleeding- 
 pride. Maurice saw her grow a shade paler, 
 and the long lashes quiver on her cheek. He 
 thought she hesitated, and his courage grew. 
 
 " Listen to me a moment. Do not send me 
 away until I have given you a little glimpse of 
 what love, true, Heaven-sent love love like 
 mine for you means. It is many sided : I have 
 had this long week to look at it in all its phases. 
 I love you with the ardor of a lover, and with the 
 purity of a worshiper. I give you the admira 
 tion your beauty, your daintiness, call forth ; but 
 no dull detail of every-day life could dim your 
 radiance in my eyes. My love is strong ; loss of 
 youth, of grace, cannot weaken it. Sylvia, I am 
 not offering you only the passion of a few years, 
 I am laying at your feet the devotion of a lifetime. 
 Before you say no to me, think what it is to know
 
 184 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 that for one person in the world you can do 
 no wrong, can never lose your charm, will stand 
 first in his heart through time and eternity." 
 
 She was sorely shaken. Her intellect, her 
 pride, and her god ambition drew her from him. 
 Her heart pleaded for him ; it beat tumulttiously 
 while she spoke ; it told her that his words rang 
 true. But the ugly fact remained that he had 
 been false in one respect why not in all ? 
 Should she give up all her lifelong dreams of 
 greatness for a reality more unsubstantial than 
 a dream ? And under these dominant thoughts 
 lay a fear of the capabilities in herself. 
 
 " I have listened to you patiently, Monsieur ; 
 you must now listen to me. Love is a myth, 
 very pretty, but not for me. You are wasting 
 your time here, as I have just said, I am 
 hard. For a moment your words stirred my 
 superficial emotions ; but I am immovable. You 
 must understand my life plan before you can go 
 away satisfied : my heart is with the high ones 
 in this world. I want to be identified with a 
 cause, and if I ever marry, it will be some one 
 who can give me a great name, and can open 
 great possibilities to me. Love and I have no 
 thing in common." 
 
 " You would sell yourself for a title, then ? " 
 said Maurice bitterly. 
 
 " Yes ; I always fancied that a handkerchief
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 185 
 
 with a coronet on it would dry my tears before 
 they could fall." 
 
 She spoke lightly, hoping to bring the inter 
 view to a calm ending. She thought she might 
 turn him off ; but she was mistaken. He felt 
 that this would be his only opportunity, and de* 
 termined to leave no stone unturned. So, con 
 trolling himself with difficulty, he spoke in a 
 more commonplace manner. 
 
 " I should be less urgent if I thought that you 
 had the least idea of what you are talking about. 
 What are the great names in France to-day, and 
 what do they mean ? Almost nothing. Your 
 own country has taught us a lesson." 
 
 " If the great names mean nothing," inter 
 rupted Sylvia, " I suppose the little names mean 
 less." She wished that he would leave her. She 
 had forced herself to speak gently to him, but 
 he would not take her dismissal, and was driving 
 her wild with his persistency, backed as it was by 
 the voice of her deepest nature, crying to her in 
 words she could not, or would not, understand. 
 
 " No," said Maurice to her last remark, 
 " no ; to-day our country gives us all a chance 
 to make a name, even if we have not inherited 
 one. Oh, Sylvia, think what I could do with 
 your help. Would you not feel proud to hear 
 me spoken of as one of the poets of France, if I 
 were your husband ? I have no coronet to offer
 
 18G ,-1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 you ; but if I were crowned with the bays of the 
 Immortals " 
 
 " This is folly, and worse," she broke in. " I 
 have been patient ; but you have no pity on 
 me. Is it so impossible for you to understand 
 that my mind is fixed ? " 
 
 She rose as she spoke, and faced him for the 
 first time. She felt that her emotions were get 
 ting the upper hand. She was losing her self- 
 control, and the interview must come to an end. 
 Maurice looked at her, the mad longing in his 
 heart growing stronger. There was a haughty 
 poise to her head that seemed the refinement of 
 provocation. He was desperate now : it was lose 
 all or gain all. He had a dim idea that if once 
 he could hold her in his arms, once cover her face 
 with kisses, crush it savagely almost, against his 
 own, that his love would win. She could not 
 resist its contagion. He stood before her, the 
 memory of her words in the sunken lane ringing 
 in his ears : " I promise you a kiss the next time 
 we meet either it will be one of good-by for 
 ever, or it will tell you that I love you as entirely 
 as you do me." Would she remember her prom 
 ise, too ? There was a sense of compelling her 
 to do so as he stood there silent and grim in his 
 uncertainty. 
 
 The echo of that promise came to her also. 
 She had remembered it in fear all through the
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 187 
 
 interview, hoping, almost praying, that he would 
 not recall it. But now his waiting attitude told 
 her plainly that it was as vivid to him as to her. 
 She had been pale, but now the blood rushed to 
 her cheek, crimsoning it, her eyelids quivered 
 and fell, and her hand tightened about her fan. 
 
 " Ungenerous," she whispered, but he did not 
 hear her. He only saw signs of relenting in her 
 confusion, and in another moment his arms were 
 round her. 
 
 She shrank from him, a look in her face that 
 he could not read. If she had blushed a moment 
 ago she was white now, the color leaving even 
 her lips, which scarcely opened to let the word 
 " Coward ! " slip through, while, hardly know 
 ing what she did, driven to a frenzy, she struck 
 his face with her fan. Maurice dropped his 
 arms to his side, drew himself up, and before she 
 turned swiftly away, she saw him whiten under 
 his brown skin, only a pale red streak showing 
 where her blow had fallen. She swept down 
 the room, but as she reached the door she heard 
 his voice : " Stop, Madame ! there is one word 
 you must take back before we part. Call me 
 anything you like, but not coward." 
 
 " The word is spoken," she retorted, looking 
 over her shoulder. 
 
 " If you will not recall it now, by Heaven 
 you shall before cither of us dies," said Maurice,
 
 188 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 and as he spoke he pushed open the long blind 
 opening on to the terrace, and stepped out into 
 the dazzling heat of the sun. 
 
 Sylvia moved vaguely forward, and then sank 
 on to the nearest chair. All her self-control 
 had been but surface deep. She could subdue 
 her voice, choose her words, veil the anger of 
 her eyes, but she was powerless over the turbu 
 lent riot of her heart. She hated Maurice with 
 an intensity which frightened her. She could 
 have killed him in her excitement. Her whole 
 body felt alive with physical suffering ; tremors 
 attacked each nerve, and she could hear the 
 quick beats of her heart, throbbing in her ears. 
 For a time she remained very still outwardly, 
 but as her agitation abated she became more 
 conscious of her surroundings, and noticed that 
 her hand was grasping something so tightly that 
 it hurt her. Looking down she saw the fan. 
 A wave of shame, of fear, swept over her. The 
 thought that if it had been a dagger she would 
 have killed him overpowered her ; she threw it 
 from her, and sat trembling and cold at the 
 reaction. Maurice dead, and by her hand 
 yet in her heart she had willed his death. She 
 felt weak and faint. Dreading interruption, she 
 yet managed to stumble to her former seat, her 
 back to the open blind, and to speak intelligibly 
 to Flora, who came bustling in.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PHILIPPE DE LA ROCHE reached his home the 
 following day. The sun was pouring its soft 
 ened radiance on the lovely and lovable Touraine 
 landscape. The influence of autumn was appar 
 ent, enveloping even the near distance in a haze. 
 The double row of tall poplars on the main 
 road were shedding their golden leaves, which 
 fluttered slowly through the blue radiance. The 
 "stately Loire," as Wordsworth calls it, kept 
 ever on its way with a placid, dignified indiffer 
 ence to all that is hurried, unclean, unbeautiful 
 on its shores, reflecting only the clear heavens 
 and the white clouds. It was the vintage sea 
 son, and among the reddish purple vines cover 
 ing the hillsides the peasants were busy at their 
 work, filling with the ripe grapes the baskets 
 slung on their backs. 
 
 As the carriage turned aside from the main 
 route, the gray, weather-beaten towers of the 
 chateau were visible for a moment through an 
 opening in the trees ; they were then hidden 
 again as the horses trotted up the gentle incline 
 of the avenue, and were next seen from the
 
 190 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 other side, where the moat had to be crossed 
 before entering under the fine, old archway into 
 the court of honor. La Roche was in reality 
 two building s facing each other, and connected 
 by a low towerless wing with the arch in the 
 centre. The side opposite this was bounded by 
 a low, ivy-covered wall, and was open to the 
 broad expanse of green meadows with the river 
 flowing through them ; stately trees clustered 
 there in groups, and in the foreground on the 
 terrace, close beneath the wall, stood a noble 
 cedar of Lebanon. The east wing was clearly 
 older than its opposite neighbor, the absence 
 of carvings and embellishments proclaiming its 
 origin in the grim times when dwellings were 
 built not only for purposes of living, but re 
 quired strength for defense against enemies. 
 The west wing had evidently been built in hap 
 pier days, and was richly decorated with carved 
 stone in the forms of grotesque beasts and dis 
 torted gargoyles. The upper row of windows, 
 finished with a wreath of intricate openwork 
 stone tracery, looked like lace against the bril 
 liant sky. Both wings ended in round towers, 
 and the iron weathercocks, with their strangely 
 fashioned standards cut like an animal s head, 
 turned as the wind blew, just as they had turned 
 when the massive cedar, or even the cedar s an 
 cestor, was but a slip whose slender trunk could
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 191 
 
 have been clasped by the strong, rude hand of 
 Foulques Nerra s descendant. 
 
 It was a home to be proud of ; to make a 
 man s heart beat high with the resolve that he 
 would leave it richer in its annals of noble deeds 
 for his life ; to bring unconsciously a wish for 
 children, to whom he could hand down an un 
 stained name and a love for the old place. But 
 Philippe was not a man given to thoughts of 
 this sort. When he recalled his ancestry, which 
 was seldom, it was to laugh with a touch of 
 scorn at the unsanctioned loves of the old cru 
 sader who had founded the family, and to speak 
 of the doubtful transactions which had brought 
 wealth to it. When his mother would do her 
 best to urge him to other ambitions, another 
 train of life, he would jestingly turn the matter 
 aside and ask her what she could expect of a 
 descendant of an unholy alliance. If his lazy, 
 disused conscience awoke after some ruder shock 
 than usual, he could always soothe it by remind 
 ing himself that his faults at any rate had the 
 quality of kingliness. And so this delicious, 
 golden, mellow September afternoon, his only 
 feeling was one of impatience as he entered the 
 west wing, having told the coachman that his 
 horses were a disgrace to a gentleman s stable, 
 and asking him if he had ever been taught the 
 use of a currycomb. As the old man, who had
 
 192 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 served his father many years, turned away, hurt 
 and angry, the count entered the door held open 
 by another lifelong servant, the butler. 
 
 " Madame la comtesse will receive Monsieur 
 le comte in the oak salon," he said, his eager, 
 wistful expression showing plainly how he longed 
 for a word of greeting from the master whom 
 he had seen christened ; but beyond a care 
 less "Thanks," as he handed him his hat and 
 cane, Philippe said nothing. He was glad his 
 mother had noticed the last time he was there 
 how much he disliked having her at the station 
 or even at the door to meet him. It was much 
 better form to keep family scenes quiet. As he 
 followed the butler across the enormous hall he 
 shivered. 
 
 " Why the deuce don t you have a fire here ? " 
 he asked abruptly ; " this is like stepping into 
 a tomb after the outside air." The room where 
 he found his mother was a trifle warmer, for the 
 hot sun had been trying to work its way through 
 the narrow, sinall-paned windows sunk four feet 
 in the thick walls ; but even here there was a 
 touch of chill. The walls were hung with Flan 
 ders tapestries of great age, and brilliant colors 
 that made one think of Chinese embroideries. 
 The ceiling gave its name to the room, being of 
 oak, and unlike the majority of old ceilings the 
 beams were not painted, but the natural wood
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 193 
 
 was elaborately carved. Although this was one 
 of the smallest apartments the chateau boasted, 
 it was large enough to make an enormous stone 
 fireplace seem in exact proportion. The furni 
 ture was old and heavy, and the few unavoidable 
 modern touches were lost sight of in the general 
 aspect of ripened age. 
 
 The Countess de La Roche was sitting in a 
 high gothic armchair, her face turned towards 
 the window looking beyond the cedar to the 
 river. For the last hour she had sat in the same 
 attitude, her hands folded on her lap, only the 
 quick changes of expression sweeping across her 
 face showing she was in truth a living being, 
 and not a phantom chased from the gay tapestry 
 behind her, for that her sombre garb struck too 
 discordant a note in their bright symphony of 
 color. She was a woman who had been hand 
 some. The gray-streaked hair was brushed sim 
 ply away from a low beautiful brow ; the finely 
 cut features were still perfect in outline ; but the 
 eyes were sunken and dimmed, with heavy lines 
 about them ; and the mouth when in repose had 
 almost a cruel look, so rigidly it closed. She 
 wore her usual heavy mourning, although it was 
 nearly six years since her husband had died, and 
 the thin golden thread of her wedding ring was 
 her only ornament. Quiet and unassuming in 
 her manners, she yet impressed every one with
 
 194 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 whom she came in contact as a woman to be 
 respected and revered. Every one ? Hardly ; 
 for her son was the exception to be found to 
 every rule. 
 
 As he entered the low carved oak door she 
 rose, and a look of apprehension came to her 
 eyes ; Philippe saw it, and his vanity was touched 
 by it. Had it come to this, that she only con 
 nected bad news with his appearance ? She 
 should find out her mistake. He raised her hand 
 to his lips with an exaggerated formality, and 
 then submitted to her kisses on each cheek, 
 long, tremulous kisses, as of one hardly daring 
 to hope. 
 
 " Are you tired, my dear ? Shall I ring for 
 wine, or something to refresh you?" 
 
 " No, thank you, mamma. I stopped over a 
 train in Tours and breakfasted there, knowing 
 your tyrants do not care to be disturbed by extra 
 meals." 
 
 " You know they would do anything for you." 
 This was said in a reproachful tone, and he moved 
 uneasily ; he loathed reproaches, and he had had 
 so many in his life. 
 
 " Do you know that the house is beastly cold ? 
 You ought to have fires even if it is against all 
 the canons of the church. I will light this one 
 now, and you can ask the cure to absolve you 
 for over-luxuriousness after I am warm."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 195 
 
 He drew an enameled match-box from his 
 pocket, and touched a taper to the well-laid logs ; 
 the flames went roaring up the great chimney, 
 and after giving it a careful look, he turned 
 his back to it, set his feet wide apart, and said 
 genially, - 
 
 " You should have me down here once in a 
 while to show you how to be comfortable. I 
 really believe women like to make martyrs of 
 themselves ; there is no other way to account for 
 a lot of things in this world." As his mother 
 made no answer he hummed softly an opera 
 bouffe air, and let his gaze wander over the well- 
 known room. Although affecting ease he dreaded 
 what was coming, and longed to have it over. As 
 he thought of it he heartily wished that he were 
 twenty-four hours older, and the coming inter 
 view a thing of the past; but, realizing that 
 wishes are very inadequate aids, he brought his 
 tune carefully to a finish, and twisting his mous 
 tache plunged in. 
 
 " I suppose you know Maurice came to see his 
 father last week ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered the countess shortly. 
 
 " And you know why he came ? " 
 
 " I fancy I know, though I could not make 
 him tell me. Oh, Philippe, Philippe why do 
 you bring such shame to me ? " 
 
 " Well, don t worry, mamma, dear ; I think I
 
 196 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 see my way out of all my troubles if you will 
 help me." 
 
 " I suppose you mean that you are going to 
 marry." 
 
 " That is just it what a clever creature you 
 are. Yes, I have met a charming well-bred 
 woman, an American with an enormous fortune 
 in her own right, and and Why, what s 
 the matter now ? Why do you look at me so ? " 
 
 " An American ! you, a de La Roche, mar 
 rying a creature of yesterday ! Have you no 
 pride? Do you never think of your duty to 
 your house?" 
 
 " My pride takes another form, you know ; and 
 I prefer a mesalliance to any other that offers." 
 
 " Is there no other way ? Must we fall to 
 this ? " 
 
 He fixed his eyes on her working, agitated face. 
 There was something oppressive in his steady 
 gaze, for it seemed as if he were making an effort 
 to control his habitual restlessness, and that this 
 effort cost him dear. 
 
 " Yes, there is another way ; but as you have 
 told me never to ask you again to do that we 
 may as well ignore it." 
 
 " Philippe, you insult me when you ask me to 
 sell an acre of the property your father left me 
 to hold for you. Never never will I do it. 
 Besides, of what use would it be ? No sum that
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 197 
 
 I can raise for you will ever keep you out of 
 debt. You come here complaining of this, that, 
 and the other thing. Do you know why the 
 chateau is cold ? It is because I have sold every 
 available bit of timber to have money enough 
 to live through another year. I anticipated my 
 income when you last came to me with one of 
 your shameful stories, begging for more money. 
 I have now only four house servants, for I can 
 not afford more, I, with an income so large it 
 could easily pay for three establishments like 
 this. Will you never grow old? Will you 
 never cease to be a thoughtless, careless boy? 
 At twenty actions like yours are excusable ; at 
 thirty they are revolting." 
 
 " Can you give me seventy-five thousand francs 
 in a week?" 
 
 " You know I cannot." 
 
 " Then will you consent to my marriage with 
 the lady I have spoken of ? " 
 
 " My consent ? What need is there for such 
 a farce ? You are of age ; marry whom you 
 will, and ignore me." 
 
 " But Madame Huntington, that is her 
 name, makes it a condition that she shall be 
 made welcome by my family." 
 
 " A widow, too, is she ? oh, no, even you 
 would have stopped at that She is not a 
 Protestant? "
 
 198 A TRAXSATLAXTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " Dear mamma, the world to-day is not the 
 same place you left thirty odd years ago when 
 my father brought you here to rusticate ; if a 
 woman is well-bred, rich, and virtuous, her reli 
 gion is taken for granted." 
 
 Madame de La lioche covered her face with her 
 hands. She did not speak ; she could not. All 
 her soul was in revolt at the prospect before her. 
 As she looked at the matter, the family she had 
 belonged to for so long, of which she was so 
 passionately proud, would be disgraced by her 
 son s proposed marriage. 
 
 " A rich American widow, a Protestant." The 
 words seemed to glow in scarlet letters before 
 her closed eyes. To her, Americans were well 
 enough in their way, but, oh, how far Upart that 
 way had always been from hers ! and Protestant 
 ism meant to her not only a backsliding from 
 the true faith, but something connected with 
 vulgarity, hypocrisy, and obtrusiveness. Both 
 her religious and social susceptibilities were 
 hurt by the thought. If any personal sacrifice 
 could save not her son, but the name from 
 this loss of position she would make it ; but, 
 short of selling some of her land, she saw no 
 way ; and that she had solemnly promised her 
 husband should never be done. 
 
 " Starve first," he had said jestingly ; ami she 
 repeated, "Yes, starve first."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 199 
 
 One of the blazing- logs parted in the middle 
 with a crash. Philippe rearranged the fire, and 
 then, said in a would-be cheerful tone, " Well, 
 will you give your consent ? " 
 
 " You mean, will I accept my martyrdom ? 
 I must." 
 
 " Don t be too sure this is a bad thing. Sylvia 
 is a very presentable woman. She is handsome 
 too, and young, only about twenty-five, I think. 
 Her husband left her at the church door to join 
 his regiment, and was shot in their civil war. 
 He left her ten million francs in her own right. 
 There is not a breath of suspicion against her 
 character, and barring her nationality, which 
 she can t help, she is about all I could expect. 
 As for her religion, she is not very firmly rooted. 
 Anyway, the queen of England has the same 
 faith as Sylvia, so at all events she travels in 
 good company towards the promised land. Be 
 sides, what a chance for you to convert her, eh, 
 mamma ? " 
 
 He had seated himself beside her, taken one 
 of her hands in his, and was playing with it ; 
 she drew it quietly away. While he had been 
 speaking, a great pity for this unknown, dreaded 
 daughter-in-law had crept into her mind so 
 young, of perfect reputation, and what was be 
 fore her.? A marriage with a man already old 
 in dissipation, caring only for the doubtful ex-
 
 200 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 citeinents that gambling and the demi-monde 
 could give him, who had captured his prey sim 
 ply for her fortune. 
 
 " Oh, another thing in her favor I forgot 
 she is an orphan with absolutely no near rela 
 tions." 
 
 " Poor child, may God help her." 
 
 " Well, you are hardly complimentary to me. 
 If that remark means she 11 need such extraor 
 dinary help on account of her being my wife 
 But I 11 forgive your plain speaking if it means 
 you are still, what you always have been, the 
 very dearest, most adorable mother in the world 
 and will smooth my way for me." 
 
 " What do you want me to do ? " 
 
 Her voice was level and expressionless and 
 she did not look at him. 
 
 " Write her a nice letter, such as you are 
 famous for, and ask her to make you a visit. You 
 need n t say a word about our being engaged, for 
 she made it a condition that she should not be 
 bound ; and you had better tell her to bring 
 along an English woman, her companion or 
 something, a Mrs. Lee - Blair hold on, I 11 
 spell it for you." 
 
 Thankful for something to do, he bustled 
 about looking for a bit of paper. lie opened the 
 countess s desk, took a sheet of her note-paper, 
 and unfastening a heavy gold pencil crusted with
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 201 
 
 rubies from his watch-chain, scrawled the name 
 over it. She looked on, with the bitter memory 
 in her mind of all the sordid little economies she 
 had practiced for his sake ; all the self-denials 
 that he had made useless, and her heart swelled 
 within her as she thought, " Rather that a thou 
 sand times, than that he should sell his birth 
 right." 
 
 They parted when the dressing-bell rang, and 
 when they met again she handed him an unsealed 
 envelope. 
 
 " If that does not suit you, perhaps you will 
 tell me where it can be improved." 
 
 He pulled the letter out and ran his eye down 
 the sheet. 
 
 " Perfect, absolutely perfect. Mamma, no 
 one knows better than you how to do a thing of 
 this sort gracefully." 
 
 All through the elaborately served dinner he 
 showed his gratitude by his rattling good nature, 
 ignoring many small omissions in the butler s 
 service that he mentally noticed and resolved 
 to change before Sylvia s arrival. He discussed 
 witli his mother what rooms should be made 
 ready for their guests, showed himself a master 
 of all the details of modern luxury, and even 
 volunteered to procure an extra number of ser 
 vants for the time of the visit. Madame de La 
 Roche listened with cold attention, assenting to
 
 202 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 all his plans with no pretense at enthusiasm. 
 Although his spirits were high in proportion to 
 the dread with which he had looked forward to 
 this evening, he was relieved when she rose and 
 bade him good-night. He closed the door be 
 hind her, put some fresh logs on the smouldering 
 fire, lighted a cigarette, and throwing himself 
 into an armchair, gave himself up to self-con 
 gratulations and a few calculations of a cheering 
 nature. 
 
 His mother went slowly to her room. She 
 soon dismissed her maid, and then wrapping a 
 heavy fur cloak about her, opened a door hidden 
 beneath the tapestry on the wall. Her glass- 
 shaded candle showed a small turning staircase 
 built in the stonework of the chateau. Cau 
 tiously, and yet with the tread of one accustomed 
 to the difficult descent, down, down she went. 
 When the last step was reached she took a 
 heavy key from her chatelaine and opened a 
 door, closing it behind her. Her candle threw 
 its feeble gleam about her, showing glimpses of 
 a chapel hewn out of the side of the rock upon 
 which the chateau was built, and from which it 
 took its name. This was not only a chapel, but 
 the burial-place of the family, and the floor 
 was inlaid with slabs of stone or marble with 
 the names of the dead and gone cut into them. 
 Against the walls were ranged carved effigies,
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 203 
 
 most of them gray with age, and touched roiighly 
 by the hand of time, but among them one shone 
 white and fresh : a recumbent figure, with dra 
 peries flowing in majestic folds, and a faithful 
 hound at its feet. Here the countess paused for 
 a moment, the thought coming to her, " Was it 
 because I loved you more than my child, more 
 than my country, more than my God, that this 
 burden is so heavy upon me ? Must I expiate 
 by a life of woe the years of golden happiness 
 I spent with you, my love, my husband ? So be 
 it ; I am ready. I have had all that life can 
 give of joy. Now let me bear what it has in 
 store for me." 
 
 She moved forward through the gloom to 
 wards a glimmer of light coming from a taper 
 that burned day and night before an altar of 
 the Virgin ; and there at the feet of the divine 
 mother the mortal mother knelt. At first only 
 black, despairing bitterness filled her heart ; 
 then the quiet, the associations of the place also, 
 perhaps a blessed human inability to bear more 
 than a certain amount of suffering, touched her 
 hcalingly, and she found herself praying. 
 
 " O Holy Virgin, help me to bear my cross ; 
 send me thy comfort. Have mercy on me. Take 
 from me the sense of shame and guilt I sink be 
 neath. Thou Blessed Mother, have pity on me 
 who have drunk of a bitterer cup of sorrow than
 
 204 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 fell to thy lot, for I can only blush for my son, 
 I can only feel the bitter agony of shame for 
 him. Forgive me, forgive, if I am bringing a 
 young, pure life under the shadow of my grief. 
 Help me to do what is right ; but, O Holy Mary, 
 Mother Mary, hear my prayers, and save my 
 son ; save him from worse than death. Redeem 
 him before it is too late. For the sake of thy 
 blessed son, to whom nothing is impossible, save 
 my wayward, erring child ! " 
 
 Prostrate before the altar, the faint light 
 touching her long black garments, the countess 
 stayed until her low-burning candle warned her 
 to depart. And so Philippe won his first move 
 in the new game, and his mother lost.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SYLVIA received the cordial invitation from 
 Madame de La Roche with a feeling of approval, 
 but hardly of surprise. It had occurred to her 
 that there, might be some coldness in her wel 
 come into Philippe s family, and for that reason 
 she had insisted on a proper reception assured 
 beforehand ; but the extent of prejudice felt 
 against her by his mother had never entered her 
 head. She answered graciously and gracefully, 
 naming a date the following week for her arri 
 val at La Roche, but limiting the length of her 
 visit to three days. Flora was much excited at 
 being included in the invitation, although she 
 did her best to hide her exaltation. 
 
 " You know it is very seldom a foreigner gets 
 a chance to see one of the regular, swell old 
 families at home, Sylvia. We must not be too 
 fine in our clothes ; you can see by the seal that 
 she is in mourning, so there won t be much gay- 
 ety, I fancy ; one large trunk apiece ought to 
 be enough, don t you think ? " 
 
 Sylvia did think, and showed herself a true 
 woman in the discussion of frocks that followed ;
 
 206 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 it was a relief to turn to every-day details, for 
 just now there was a feeling of unreality in her 
 life that was almost painful. 
 
 This sensation was by no means dispelled when 
 she reached the little railway station about five 
 miles from La Roche, and was met by the family 
 carriage. She and Mrs. Lee-Blair left their 
 maids to follow with the luggage, and drove al 
 most in silence along the river-road. As they 
 came to an opening in the trees the coachman 
 turned, and pointing with his whip, said proudly, 
 " The chateau ! " 
 
 Sylvia caught a glimpse of her future home. 
 She felt frightened vaguely as though she would 
 like to jump from the carriage and run away ; 
 she put out her hand and took Flora s, clasping 
 it convulsively. 
 
 " Poor girl, I know just how you feel ; but 
 don t be scared. You will be welcomed with 
 open arms, see if you re not ; and if they do snub 
 you, all you have to do is to turn your back on 
 them." 
 
 Sylvia smiled faintly and took her hand away ; 
 sometimes it is rather comforting to be misunder 
 stood in a nice, commonplace way, and she felt 
 that she was silly to let the ghost of the future 
 shake her nerves. 
 
 The skies were overcast, and seemed to accord 
 with the east wing in its feudal severity, making 
 a fitting background for the sn im buildinjr.
 
 -I TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 207 
 
 Philippe stood at the open door, and nothing 
 could have been more appropriate than his warm, 
 respectful greeting. 
 
 " I will take you at once to my mother," he 
 said, showing them across the vast hall, through 
 the stone corridor, and at last reaching the oak 
 salon. 
 
 There was no chill in the air to-day ; great 
 flames rushed roaring upwards in every chimney, 
 and made one forget the lack of sunshine. 
 
 The countess rose as the door opened, and 
 holding out both hands came towards Sylvia. 
 The two women looked each other full in the 
 face ; each felt that this was no time for empty 
 compliment ; there was a look of inquiry in their 
 eyes as they met ; they seemed to be asking 
 mutely, " Do we meet in peace or war ? " 
 
 " You are welcome at La Roche, madame." 
 
 " I am very happy to be here," answered 
 Sylvia simply. 
 
 They were both strangely agitated, and Phi 
 lippe and Mrs. Lee-Blair worked valiantly during 
 the next ten minutes to give the interview an 
 every-day aspect. 
 
 At last it was suggested that if Sylvia were 
 not too tired she might like to see a part of the 
 chateau, saving the gardens for a sunny day, and 
 all were relieved to be able to move and speak 
 naturally.
 
 208 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 They walked through the rooms rich with 
 memory and legend. Philippe knew all the ro 
 mances of the place, and told them well, giving 
 vivid touches that made the past live. Flora 
 was deeply impressed by all that she saw and 
 heard, and took the burden of conversation on 
 herself, to Sylvia s relief, for she felt unable to 
 do more than walk in dreamland, her eyes seek 
 ing those of Madame de La Roche in a wistful 
 fashion. The older woman appealed to some 
 unsuspected chord in her nature ; her voice, her 
 walk, her deeply sad expression, touched her 
 sympathy. 
 
 To the countess it was a trying ordeal. To see 
 this young, fresh woman, moving in an atmos 
 phere of gay prosperity, yet with a subtle indi 
 cation of something deeper, of capacities for joy 
 or suffering as yet unwakened, was to feel two 
 distinct sets of emotions. Her well - appointed 
 beauty, her dainty feet treading over the stone 
 floors where crusaders feet had trod, the rich 
 silk of her dress rustling where formerly the 
 clang of mailed armor had rung all these signs 
 of a new race, new wealth coming to these mel 
 lowed old walls, stirred something like indignation 
 in the countess s heart. "Would this product of 
 a new, raw civilization be able to feel the least 
 stir of the veneration which to her made the 
 chateau sacred ?
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 209 
 
 Then a look from Sylvia s deep eyes, the sound 
 of her soft voice, turned her to a new view of the 
 matter. Did this girl know what was before her ? 
 Did she know the man she was going to marry ? 
 If not, then God help her. 
 
 The two women were a little behind the others, 
 when Madame de La Roche said, " I will take 
 you to the chapel ; I prefer to be alone there 
 with you ; my son may show it later to your 
 friend." 
 
 She led Sylvia down the narrow stairs in the 
 wall, and through the heavy door. The pale 
 afternoon light crept reluctantly in at the narrow 
 stained-glass windows set in the side of the rock, 
 and for a moment it was difficult to distinguish 
 the carved statues ; but gradually their eyes grew 
 accustomed to the twilight, and Sylvia followed 
 her guide, deeply moved as she listened to her 
 level, unemphatic voice repeating the names and 
 deeds of the dead beneath their feet. At last 
 they came to the white statue, and the countess 
 stood there without speaking for a moment s 
 space ; then she said, " This is where my hus 
 band, Philippe s father, lies. Pie was worthy of 
 his race ; he was brave and true as every de La 
 Roche has been ; up to the present no man bear 
 ing the name has dimmed it. Look to it that you 
 are ready to bear a great responsibility in mar 
 rying into this family. Xew ways have arisen,
 
 210 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 new manners, new morals. If my son is not what 
 his father was, may I bear all the blame. Think 
 well, my child, before you take this step." 
 
 Her voice broke, and she turned her head 
 aside, covering her eyes with a gesture at once 
 mournful and dignified. 
 
 " I have thought well," answered Sylvia ; " my 
 courage is equal to what lies before me ; far from 
 thinking lightly of the noble name your son 
 bears, it is from my admiration of it that I have 
 consented to marry him. I tell you this frankly. 
 I am not a young romantic girl whose fancy is 
 easily gained ; but I am a woman with a pas 
 sionate love for all that is great and honorable, 
 and I can promise you that you will find in me 
 a loyalty to this house equal to yours. 
 
 " Then you will find in me a true mother." 
 
 They clasped hands as two men might have 
 done, and standing before the tomb each prayed 
 silently. The countess felt a burden lifted from 
 her heart. 
 
 " I have warned the child ; I have done my 
 best ; now in Thy hands I leave the future." 
 
 Sylvia for the first time in her life longed for 
 a clear faith ; the words in her heart were sin 
 cere, but they seemed to echo drearily back, meet 
 ing with no response. " Help me to live worthily ; 
 to do faithfully my part ; to fail in nothing that 
 I have undertaken."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 211 
 
 As they stood there a loud laugh sounded out 
 side the door. The countess closed her eyes with 
 a look of pain as if it jarred upon her, but she 
 assumed her calm dignity of manner when Phi 
 lippe showed Mrs. Lee-Blair in ; he subdued his 
 voice when he saw his mother, and the tour was 
 made almost in silence. 
 
 The following days were full of intense inter 
 est to Sylvia ; she was seeing with her own eyes 
 the home she had chosen for her future ; she 
 was learning to know and reverence her future 
 mother-in-law as she had never reverenced any 
 woman in her life. The simple austerity sur 
 rounding the countess, her business capacity as 
 shown in her directing her farms and vineyards, 
 her unceasing efforts to help the peasants in the 
 small village clustered at her gates all this 
 opened the younger woman s eyes to a new type 
 of existence, and in her present state of exalta 
 tion she found it admirable and enviable. To 
 her friend Flora, however, time dragged heavily. 
 There were no gayeties. As Madame de La 
 Roche explained, she did not entertain generally, 
 and the relations whom she would have liked to 
 invite to meet Mrs. Huntington lived too far 
 away to come at such short notice, whilst her 
 dear friend and neighbor Monsieur Regnier was 
 unfortunately away from home at this moment. 
 
 They were sauntering through the garden to-
 
 212 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 wards the house when this explanation was given, 
 and Sylvia felt an angry blush rise to her face 
 at the sound of Regnier s name. Then she won 
 dered a little at his being Madame de La Roche s 
 friend, considering what she knew about Maurice ; 
 and then the whole subject distressed and puz 
 zled her so that she dismissed it from her mind. 
 On reaching the court she said that she had let 
 ters to write, and left the others talking together : 
 but she had not been long in her own room when 
 Flora entered, and stretching herself on a sofa 
 yawned dismally. 
 
 " Can t you speak to me, Sylvia ? Won t you 
 be kind enough to say some English words ? I 
 don t care what they are anything in a row, 
 just to hear the dear sound. Say hog if you 
 will ; they tell me it is not a pretty word, but oh, 
 the good, broad open sound it has, hog ! hog ! 
 I love it. My lips are worn out squeezing them 
 selves up to fit these detestable French prunes 
 and prisms. Stop laughing, child talk." 
 
 " You don t share the fastidiousness of your 
 countrywomen, the Cranford ladies, who were 
 so dreadfully distressed because the village doc 
 tor s name was Hoggins, and used to wonder if 
 it would do to ask him to change it to Piggins," 
 said Sylvia, pushing her writing-desk away and 
 leaning back in her chair. 
 
 " Cranford ? No, I was never there ; how 
 silly of them."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 213 
 
 tk I am afraid, dear Flora, you are not amused 
 here." 
 
 " Amused ? I have grown ten years older 
 since day before yesterday, and we don t leave 
 here until to-morrow at half past one ; that 
 makes let me see four o clock now thir 
 teen, fourteen " 
 
 " Oh, for Heaven s sake do your sums in your 
 head," interrupted Sylvia. " I am happy here, 
 and I do not want to be reminded how soon it 
 is to end." 
 
 " Twenty-one hours and a half," exclaimed 
 Flora, who had continued her count. " Can I 
 stand it ? Two more meals of seventeen courses, 
 a mouthful to a course ; all this evening to keep 
 up such an inane conversation as is possible, 
 with you expressing heart-felt interest in the 
 new vintage, and looking quite mad with grief 
 when you hear the noble hens of La Roche don t 
 lay more than one egg apiece a day. Can t you 
 think of some game of cards for this evening to 
 keep me from losing my senses ? Heavens, can 
 this be I, actually craving a merry round game, 
 a thing I have always avoided? " 
 
 " Poor Flora, I am glad you are showing me 
 yourself in your true colors ; now I shall know 
 enough never to invite you here unless every 
 room is filled with the nobility of France." 
 
 " Well, your eyes are opened to the advan-
 
 214 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 tages and disadvantages of such a marriage. 
 This is certainly a very distinguished family, 
 and the most beautiful estate I ever saw ; but 
 they are evidently as poor as church mice. Still 
 to you that makes no difference." 
 
 She paused, sighed, and looked pensively into 
 the fire ; then, with a sudden change of tone, she 
 began again : " What rooms shall you take for 
 your own? and shall you make any changes?" 
 
 " I do not know, I can make no plans. The 
 minute I begin to arrange details I lose all my 
 identity and feel powerless. Now go and dress 
 for dinner, and I will suggest a merry round 
 game for your evening s amusement." 
 
 But in spite of her promise Sylvia forgot all 
 about her friend s amusement, for after dinner, 
 on their way to the salon, Philippe contrived to 
 get her alone with him in the billiard-room. He 
 looked very determined, and handsome in his 
 robust way, as he stood facing her, and she felt 
 a new, not unpleasing excitement gain posses 
 sion of her. lie began abruptly : 
 
 " I am no phrase-maker, and I have only two 
 words to say : first, I love you more than ever, 
 and it has been a torment not to tell you so 
 these last days ; second, are you still of the same 
 mind? Will you let my mother speak seriously 
 with you to-morrow morning about our mar 
 riage ? "
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 215 
 
 " You never seem to care whether I love you ; 
 all you ask is that you may love me and marry 
 me. Are you really as indifferent to my feel 
 ings as you seem ? " 
 
 He let his eyes wander over the room, and 
 then settle for a moment on her face before he 
 answered. 
 
 " Nine men out of ten would lie to you, but I 
 am going to begin at any rate by telling you the 
 brutal truth. I have been brought up to regard 
 marriage as a business transaction, and to look 
 out for a wife with money or birth, or both if 
 possible ; and it was in that state of mind I 
 began to try and win you. But, by Heavens! 
 Sylvia, you have made me forget your fortune, 
 everything but yourself ; for you are a sorceress, 
 and have used your power to such an end that I 
 am in that condition I have always said made a 
 man look like an ass, in love with the woman 
 he wants to marry. Still, a fellow can t learn 
 everything all over again at my age, and I am 
 so sure you will love me when we are once mar 
 ried that as long as you consent to that I am 
 contented enough as it is." 
 
 She gave a little laugh, that stopped short 
 half way. 
 
 " You are far from being an ideal lover, Mon 
 sieur lo comte, but then I am far, I am afraid, 
 from being the ideal wife you imagine ; so, as
 
 216 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 long as we start fair, we may surely hope that 
 life will not be so very bad." 
 
 " And you will see my mother to-morrow and 
 talk it all over?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," he exclaimed, put 
 ting one arm round her waist, and kissing her. 
 She blushed and left the room. 
 
 Philippe de La lloche had spoken a momen 
 tary truth when he told Sylvia that he was in 
 love with her, for he had a habit of being in 
 love with the nearest available woman as long as 
 she continued a novelty ; indeed this softness of 
 heart was one of the reasons he was always in 
 money difficulties. His susceptibilities had re 
 sponded easily to encouragement, and it had not 
 been difficult for him to get up a genuine pas 
 sion for the charming woman he hoped to marry ; 
 even that prosaic consideration failed to cool his 
 ardor, and be congratulated himself on the fact 
 that Sylvia s figure, walk, voice and face were 
 quite as alluring for the time being as those of 
 any of the facile ladies who had hitherto shared 
 the honor of his admiration and gifts. 
 
 lie was a very Jack Ilorner. His plum was 
 big, and his virtue in being in love with his 
 future wife undoubted. As he strolled across 
 the hall to the oak salon it even occurred to him 
 that he might shut down on a certain small but
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 217 
 
 expensive apartment in Paris, whose occupant 
 had a fatal way of emptying his purse ; but he 
 considered that it was never wise to burn one s 
 bridges behind one, and that was a painful duty 
 which could easily wait a little. 
 
 The next morning, according to agreement, 
 Madame de La Roche and Sylvia had their busi 
 ness talk. Sylvia insisted on settling her entire 
 income on her husband, in spite of his mother s 
 advice to the contrary, for she said that she be 
 lieved it would be an impossible relation for him 
 to ask her for money, and quite natural and easy 
 for her to ask him. The countess, however, car 
 ried her point in making Sylvia promise to keep 
 the control of the principal in her own hands. It 
 was agreed that any children that might be born 
 to them should be brought up in the religion of 
 the family. This was acceded to readily by the 
 younger woman, who felt her own faith too frail 
 and insufficient to induce her to do battle for it. 
 
 Madame de La Roche undertook to obtain the 
 necessary dispensation for the marriage cere 
 mony. 
 
 During the whole conversation there had been 
 no appearance of excitement, embarrassment, or 
 any emotion. Both women made it as much a 
 matter of business as possible, and it was only 
 after consulting a slip of paper she held in her 
 hand and assuring herself that every point had
 
 218 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 been covered, that the countess leaned across the 
 small table which separated them, and, taking 
 Sylvia s hand, said, 
 
 " My child, it is time for me to take a per 
 sonal part in this matter, and I promise you 
 from this day on a loyal friendship that shall 
 never waver. You will have trials, God help 
 you, we all do. But while I live you may come 
 to me in sorrow or in joy, and you will always 
 find true sympathy." 
 
 Sylvia s eyes filled with tears. She was touched 
 deeply, and for a moment her voice failed her ; 
 then she said : 
 
 " I know myself too little to promise much ; 
 but you have made me love and admire you 
 more than I ever loved or admired any one be 
 fore. My life has been a very barren affair as 
 far as affection goes ; and if I make anything 
 out of the years before me, it will be because 
 you will be my help and inspiration."
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 LOVE (?) affairs move rapidly in France, 
 and even with the necessary delays caused by 
 the waiting for Sylvia s man of business, who 
 brought innumerable papers to be signed, and 
 the dispensation from Home, the marriage took 
 place early in January. The months that went 
 before had been so filled with a hundred and 
 one things that Sylvia had seen Philippe but at 
 long intervals. Had she been the most design 
 ing of women, she could not have found a better 
 way to increase the love he thought he felt for 
 her. It piqued him to have her put him off 
 from day to day, to say that she had no time to 
 receive him, and to seem absorbed in a multi 
 tude of interests, so that the dawn of his wed 
 ding-day really found him an impatient lover. 
 
 Sylvia, in this interval, set herself to learn the 
 lesson of forgetfulness, with such determination 
 that at times the past, that past connected with 
 Maurice Kegiiier, grew dim. But again there 
 were hours, sleepless hours, perhaps at night, 
 when he seemed to stand before her, with spec 
 tral, reproachful eyes, his stern lips repeating
 
 220 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 the word "Coward! " Had she been mistaken ? 
 Had she been cruel ? That she had yielded to 
 a burst of passion amounting to frenzy she had 
 acknowledged ; but she could find excuses for 
 an emotion which had swept her along, taking 
 all powers of self-determination from her. She 
 was shocked, ashamed, when she thought of her 
 violence ; but her deepest self-reproach was caused 
 by the questions that she put over and over to 
 herself : had she been hasty in believing the ac 
 count of his birth ? Had her underlying, selfish 
 ambition pushed her to accept what she was told 
 without sufficient investigation ? Would she 
 jump at a conclusion regarding Philippe with the 
 same impetuosity ? Her feelings were too subtle 
 for her to analyze them with precision. The idea 
 that Philippe could deceive her brought no mad 
 dening contraction of the heart, such as she felt 
 when she recalled Maurice s attempts to blind 
 her to his position. Often she would lie awake 
 the long night, in her apartment in Paris, and 
 know that morning had come by the muffled 
 sounds without, telling of a new day. And the 
 reflection that no matter what she felt, or what 
 she thought, Time was always moving on with 
 his measured tread, gave her a fatalistic philoso 
 phy, and she would sleep, soothed by the inevi 
 tability of events, as by a melancholy slumber 
 song.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 221 
 
 These dread hours of self - revelation made 
 deep impresses on her character ; but they were 
 overlaid by the events and excitements that lay 
 uppermost, and during the days, filled with a 
 fresh charm, she could ignore them. She was 
 elated by the thought that at last she was to be 
 some one. It was not what she owned that 
 brought her the new respect in the voices ad 
 dressing her : it was what she was. No thought 
 of her loneliness, her lack of friends and family, 
 dimmed the glitter of her triumph. It was 
 with a proud heart that she became Philippe s 
 wife, the Countess de La Roche. 
 
 The first weeks of her married life passed in 
 a turbulent joy. She had not considered love as 
 an important element in the bargain she had 
 made, and, lo ! love, or its counterfeit present 
 ment, was hers. 
 
 In her ignorance of life beneath the surface, 
 she took Philippe s passion for genuine affection, 
 and her strong, ardent temperament responded 
 to it. 
 
 They went to a villa near Nice, within a drive 
 of Monte Carlo, and at first the days seemed too 
 short for the enjoyment of all the pleasure of 
 fered to her. Philippe was a man who had read 
 much, and could talk well and brilliantly of his 
 own thoughts, and the thoughts of others. His 
 experience of life was extended, and he showed
 
 222 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 Sylvia a new existence : one which repelled even 
 while it fascinated her. Vice in itself is revolt 
 ing- to a pure mind. Vice described in an allur 
 ing way, with subtle reticence, may be made 
 attractive. Sylvia felt that all her former con 
 victions and theories were useless in this new 
 adjustment of life. She had played like a child 
 on the brink of hell, never seeing 1 the abyss by 
 which she had danced. Now that her eyes were 
 opened, it lay with her to accept the inevitable, 
 or to shrink away and deny its existence. It is 
 so much easier to shrug one s shoulders, and say 
 that you don t believe half the bad things that 
 you hear, than to investigate, know the grievous 
 truth, and then take your stand according to your 
 convictions. At the very first, while under the 
 power of her husband s strong charm, Sylvia 
 temporized. But her nature was too fine to 
 allow her to pretend to be led blindfold, when 
 she saw the way before her. As long as they 
 could be by themselves, it was a simple matter 
 to let things drift ; but when the neighboring 
 villas began to be filled by friends and connec 
 tions of Philippe s, she saw that she must strug 
 gle, either with her new environment, or her own 
 convictions. 
 
 Philippe had often amused himself by telling 
 her what he knew or had been told about the 
 various occupants of the country - places about
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 223 
 
 them ; so that she knew by name almost all her 
 new neighbors, and had a clear idea of whom 
 she was to meet when the necessary round of 
 visits came to be made. Philippe was making 
 a list of names on a sheet of paper, while she 
 looked over his shoulder, showing her good 
 memory by her remarks as he wrote one after 
 another. At one she put her hand down on 
 his, 
 
 " Philippe ! Not that woman ? You are not 
 going to take me ix> see her ? " 
 
 He looked up at her with surprise. 
 
 " Why not ? She is a cousin of my mother s, 
 and no one is better known." 
 
 " But is n t she the one you told me that story 
 about ? that disgraceful affair ? You know 
 what I mean." 
 
 " Yes ; but what has that to do with your 
 calling on her?" 
 
 " Everything. I don t care to know a person 
 of that sort, and I refuse to call on her." 
 
 " Well, upon my word, you 11 find it hard to 
 know many people at that rate ; you were n t so 
 particular about your dear Madame Lee-Blair." 
 
 " Flora is not in the least like this creature. 
 According to you, there is n t a good woman in 
 the world." 
 
 " Oh, yes, there is : and she s not only good, 
 but fascinating and beautiful. I love her so
 
 224 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 much that she won t refuse me this first favor 
 that I ask of her. It would hurt my mother, 
 too." 
 
 Sylvia was puzzled and troubled by this. She 
 was no prude, but her standards were high, and 
 it hurt her to lower them an inch ; but she re 
 flected that after all she was bound to do as Phi 
 lippe bid her ; that she was very ignorant of the 
 social code of the world she had entered, and in 
 the end she reluctantly yielded to his entreaties. 
 
 From that day their continual tete-a-tete was 
 over. Invitation followed invitation, and Sylvia 
 found herself in the midst of people whose mere 
 names suggested all that she had cared most for. 
 The small coterie into whose midst she was ad 
 mitted were the descendants of men who had 
 made the history of Europe. For the first time 
 in her life she was treated as an equal by the 
 people about her ; she received neither the ex 
 aggerated adulation that had been hers at Trou- 
 ville, nor the snubs and slights which had 
 belonged to her girlhood. Here she took her 
 place naturally ; she was no more lovely to look 
 upon than some of the women ; her fortune did 
 not seem colossal beside those belonging to some 
 of the men. She was thrown upon her own 
 resources to hold her own among them, and began 
 to regard herself with humility. She lost the 
 tinge of self-assertiveness that had been hers, re-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 225 
 
 suiting perhaps naturally from her former life, 
 and accepting the lesson with much sweetness, 
 and not a trace of bitterness, her native charm 
 became more vivid than ever. 
 
 But in spite of the varied amusements of her 
 days, she was beginning to be uneasy. She 
 began to mentally criticise her husband s atti 
 tude regarding her. If he would only shield her 
 more from contact with people whom he did not 
 respect ! If he would only look at things from 
 a more dignified standpoint ! But once having 
 decided that her duty was to obey him in matters 
 about which he was supposed to know vastly 
 more than she, it made all simple. After all, 
 contact with imperfections would do her no 
 harm personally ; she must try the more strenu 
 ously to keep her own mind high and pure, and 
 look on life with a larger vision. 
 
 With some characters this regime would have 
 failed, but with Sylvia it succeeded ; she gained 
 in force and depth, while apparently living in a 
 giddy round of pleasure ; she was unaware of 
 having any influence on those about her, and 
 doubtless they were also ignorant of any such 
 unlikely occurrence. But it is certain that a 
 subtle air of discretion pervaded the conversa 
 tion when she was present, and a delicate note as 
 of higher, cleaner motives changed in a slight 
 degree the atmosphere.
 
 226 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 As for Philippe s state of mind, that too had 
 undergone some variations since his wedding- 
 day. At first Sylvia s very innocence had for 
 him a certain piquancy, and her views of the 
 life about them, although he considered them 
 narrow and puritanical, seemed to fit her with 
 a bewitching precision. The sensation that the 
 more pressing of his debts were paid, and that 
 he still had money in his pocket, gave him for a 
 time supreme satisfaction ; but we are unfortu 
 nately so constructed that we grow accustomed 
 to agreeable sensations, and they lose the power 
 to stimulate us ; so it happened that gradually 
 the feeling grew on him that he was caged, a 
 prisoner ; the very respectability of his surround 
 ings smothered him ; he longed fiercely for an 
 hour of the old liberty. But the conventions of 
 his present life hemmed him in, and he had only 
 a round of engagements among his neighbors 
 to divert his mind. Not an hour s drive away 
 glittered Monte Carlo, that meretricious jewel in 
 the midst of the pure gems bordering the Medi 
 terranean, and his thoughts recurred to it again 
 and again. It represented at that time all that 
 he most cared for, all that had formerly filled 
 his life with change and excitement. He had 
 taken Sylvia there soon after their arrival, and 
 she had enjoyed the drive along that most per 
 fect shore ; she had been amused at the gay sur-
 
 .-1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 227 
 
 roundings in the cafe, where they had break 
 fasted ; but the gaming-rooms had filled her 
 with a dreary sadness. The air oppressed her, 
 and the people depressed her. She was thankful 
 to be rolling towards home, violet mountains on 
 her right, a violet sea on her left. Since then 
 they had been too much occupied to think of 
 going again, and Philippe found himself plan 
 ning how to break away, if only for a day, and 
 forget that his debts had been paid, that his life 
 had been changed, and that he, in short, had be 
 come respectable ! 
 
 He was thinking of this one evening as they 
 returned from an unusually long ride, just in 
 time to dress for a dinner at a chateau some 
 miles away. As they entered the hall, the but 
 ler handed a note to Sylvia, which she read with 
 a little exclamation of annoyance, and then ex 
 plained to her husband that it was from their 
 hostess, asking them to postpone the dinner on 
 account of illness in the family. 
 
 His chance had come ! 
 
 " It may be just as well, Sylvia ; you must be 
 tired to death after such a ride, and you can put 
 your feet up by the fire, and rest." 
 
 " And you ? " she asked with a little playful 
 nod ; it was pleasant to have him so thoughtful 
 of her comfort. 
 
 " Oh, I will take the carriage, and drive over
 
 228 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 to Monte Carlo ; they couldn t get me anything 
 fit to eat at such short notice at home. It s a 
 pity that you are too tired to go with me." 
 
 " But I m not tired at all ! I d love to go. 
 We 11 have the victoria, it is such a delicious 
 night, and I will fly to dress." 
 
 In less than an hour they were bowling over 
 the hard road behind a pair of fresh horses ; 
 the salt, pleasantly chill air blew fresh in their 
 faces, making Sylvia nestle among her furs, 
 as she gave herself up to the pleasure of the 
 moment. She was unaware that Philippe had 
 not spoken since they started ; she had no idea 
 of the angry tempest gathering force in his 
 breast, as he sat so quietly by her side. lie 
 had been childishly disappointed when she had 
 offered to accompany him, but it had been im 
 possible for him to tell her that he did not want 
 her. They were still in the honeymoon, and she 
 was young and fair, even if she were his wife. 
 But at the moment of starting, she had uncon 
 sciously given him an excuse to show her his 
 displeasure ; and he resolved to benefit by it. 
 The coachman had respectfully suggested that 
 it would be safer to start for home fairly early, 
 as the moon set at eleven, and he did not like 
 to drive on that road in the dark. 
 
 Before Philippe could answer, Sylvia, accus 
 tomed for many years to give her orders without
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 reference to any one but herself, assured the 
 man that they would be ready to leave Monte 
 Carlo by nine ; as soon, in fact, as they had 
 finished their dinner. 
 
 It was tactless on her part, but after all it 
 was a trifle, and her husband s silence gave her 
 no hint of his indignation. The real essence of 
 love was so utterly wanting between them that 
 they had never had one of those intimate dis 
 putes which an indifferent person seldom pro 
 vokes ; their views on almost all deep subjects 
 varied widely, but they never discussed them 
 with any warmth, only with a good-tempered 
 tolerance which proved how little either valued 
 the opinion of the other ; therefore like a growl 
 of thunder from a cloudless sky came to Sylvia s 
 ears her husband s angry voice, saying : 
 
 " Is it too much to demand that I shall be 
 treated, at least in the presence of the servants, 
 as though I were a person of some small conse 
 quence? " 
 
 She turned quickly towards him, half-suspect 
 ing a hidden joke in his words, but even in the 
 dim light she saw his expression. Her voice was 
 geiminely concerned as she said : 
 
 " Why, Philippe, I do not know what you 
 mean, but if I have offended you I am very 
 sorry." 
 
 " It is not a question of being offended," he
 
 230 ,4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 returned in a surly growl ; u it is a question of 
 teaching you not to answer my servant when he 
 speaks to me, and giving him orders that I shall 
 countermand/ 
 
 Sylvia was far from being a meek woman ; 
 although her father s training had not subdued 
 her spirit, it had taught her self-control, there 
 fore her voice was if anything sweeter and softer 
 than usual when she said slowly : " I hardly 
 think you see how brutal and ungentlemanly a 
 remark that is. I have never been spoken to so 
 before, and I am willing for this time to forget 
 that you have insulted me." 
 
 " Well, if you call it an insult I am sorry for 
 you, for it is a method of treatment most women 
 put up with, and I fancy you are no more an 
 exception than I am. What people do in your 
 country I don t know or care, but let me tell you 
 that here the husband is master." 
 
 She was dumb with fury ; and trying to keep 
 from bursting into a storm of angry tears, leant 
 back in her corner without a word. 
 
 At first her silence stirred Philippe to further 
 surliness, but as it continued unbroken, and the 
 gray night settled round them, he felt that he 
 had had his blow-out, and began to wonder why 
 he had been so infernally out of temper. There 
 was also a feeling of relief that he had said his 
 say, for up to this time he had had a lurking fear
 
 -1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 281 
 
 of what his wife might really be ; he had never 
 seen the depths troubled, and he had dreaded 
 the first experiment ; now, thank Heaven, he had 
 made the plunge, and to his comfortable sur 
 prise he found, as he imagined, no depths, only 
 shallows. Hugging his new knowledge of her 
 character he thought : " By Jove, I am lucky. 
 Most women would have stormed back or cried ; 
 but she s been well trained, and takes it like a 
 man." 
 
 So consoling had his reflection been that his 
 voice had regained its usual affability when he 
 said : 
 
 " That effect of the moon rising is pretty over 
 there, Sylvia, no, on your right, dear ; you 
 don t see." 
 
 She neither answered nor turned her head ; 
 her anger had not abated, but only cooled from 
 the red-hot molten state into the hardness of 
 iron. He peered at her through the soft gray 
 light, but could only see the fine lines of her 
 profile dark against the pale sky ; her silence 
 surprised him, although it did not daunt him ; 
 tears or a fierce outburst of temper would have 
 annoyed him, but he would have known how to 
 deal with them ; this attitude puzzled him. 
 
 He put out his hand and drew one of hers 
 from her muff, pressing it affectionately : his 
 pressure was not returned, and for a few mo-
 
 232 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 ments it lay passively in his ; then it was with 
 drawn gently. 
 
 " Would you mind my smoking a cigarette, 
 darling ? " 
 
 " Not at all." 
 
 " Oh, you have spoken at last ; why would n t 
 you answer me before ? " 
 
 He laughed as he said this, and put his arm 
 round her shoulders ; her voice was still low and 
 unshaken as she replied : 
 
 " I did not notice you had asked me any ques 
 tion." 
 
 " But you are angry with me because I blew 
 out at you ? " 
 
 " Oh, no hardly that ; I have not the right 
 to be angry." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " 
 
 " I fancy you would not understand if I told 
 you. I hope you will not think me rude if I do 
 not speak any more ; the air is too fresh for my 
 throat." 
 
 He drew his arm sulkily away, and she settled 
 herself again among her furs ; he began to be 
 sorry that he had been pleasant so soon. It 
 never did any good to let a woman see that you 
 were too ready to kiss and be friends again. 
 Not another word was spoken until they arrived 
 at the cafe where they intended dining, and then 
 as Philippe carefully helped his wife out of the 
 carriage he said to the coachman :
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 233 
 
 " Be here at eleven, and be sure the hot-water 
 tin is filled for Madame la comtesse." 
 The man looked puzzled and said, 
 "Monsieur le comte said eleven?" 
 " Yes," returned Philippe sharply ; and offer 
 ing his arm to Sylvia, added, " You see how you 
 have already given the impression that you are 
 the one to take orders from, and, by the Lord, I 
 won t stand it." 
 
 As they sat in the brightly lighted room, rilled 
 with groups of gay people, the women in their 
 prettiest frocks, the men well groomed and full 
 of animation, Sylvia felt as if she were in a jail. 
 She played with the food placed before her, and 
 answered her husband s remarks mechanically, 
 "yes," "no," hardly," she could have re 
 peated every word he said to her, but the mean 
 ing did not penetrate, only the sound reached 
 her ; and all the time her mind was working. 
 
 " I have no right to complain ; I married him, 
 not for himself, but for what he represented ; I 
 told Maurice I wanted a coronet on my handker 
 chief well, I have more coronets than I can 
 count. I am beginning to hate the sight of them. 
 Are there no men, then, in the world to be 
 trusted? I don t say love, that means so little, 
 and goes so soon ; a word kills it. These people 
 do not know they are sitting in the room with 
 a murderer, but if love can be all poets tell us
 
 234 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 it is, it is more real than anything in the world, 
 and mine has just been killed." 
 
 " Drink some champagne, Sylvia, you look 
 pale ; you were too tired to come after such a 
 deuce of a ride as we took." 
 
 She obediently lifted her glass to her lips, but 
 set it down again without tasting it ; her throat 
 seemed to be closed, and it was impossible to 
 swallow. 
 
 Philippe felt her change of manner, but it was 
 difficult to challenge, so impalpable was it ; he 
 relapsed into an offended silence, and began to 
 mentally justify his conduct. He most unchar 
 acteristically growled at the bill when the garcon 
 brought it, but the man was used to daily re 
 marks of a like nature, and would have felt a 
 sense of something being wrong if he had missed 
 them. 
 
 In the same sullen manner he offered Sylvia 
 his arm and they crossed the brilliant little place 
 and entered the casino ; her quiet passiveness 
 annoyed him more by this time than any out 
 break could have done. He found her a seat at 
 a table, and gave her a handful of gold ; then he 
 watched his chance, and at last secured a place 
 at the same table nearly opposite her, and settled 
 to play with almost a ferocious eagerness. 
 
 The air was heavy, bringing the hot blood to 
 Sylvia s cheeks, and making her temples throb
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 235 
 
 with pain ; she knew that she could not sit long 
 where she was unless she played, so at intervals 
 she pushed a napoleon on to some place ; once 
 or twice she gained, but generally the gold piece 
 was raked away from her. It was nine when 
 they entered, and every now and then she looked 
 at the jeweled watch hanging from her chate 
 laine ; slowly, slowly the hands moved round 
 to ten. Could she bear it another hour? She 
 glanced at Philippe : he was playing steadily with 
 apparent indifference, but she noticed, in spite 
 of his careless manner, that his nostrils were 
 dilated, and that there was a glitter of ex 
 citement in his roving, restless eyes. Heavier 
 and denser grew the air ; the women in their 
 gems and paint and meretricious clothing moved 
 quietly through the rooms, their real business 
 hidden beneath the cloak of an occasional stake 
 won or lost. As Sylvia looked at them, and de 
 tected the greed and lust lurking in their faces, 
 she shuddered ; then she grew cold and tense as 
 she thought : " Can I blame them ? Did I not 
 sell myself for a price as surely as they are sell 
 ing themselves ? I am more to blame than the 
 worst creature in this place ; no want drove me 
 -^- only a caprice." The memory of Ethel New- 
 come s words about the advisability of ticketing 
 the engaged young ladies with the word SOLD 
 in large letters came to her, and with a bitter
 
 236 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 self -scorn she thought, " How trite I am ; only a 
 repetition of a species without end. I have not 
 even the consolation of being original. I have 
 not even the excuse of ignorance." 
 
 She felt stifled morally as well as physically ; 
 there was a fierce revolt going on in her. The 
 reaction to her short-lived excitement and satis 
 faction had come, and with it all loss of common 
 sense, of the proportion of things for the time 
 being. 
 
 Dore has painted a picture called The Novice. 
 Among a group of old, time-benumbed monks 
 who sit mumbling over their beads, a young 
 man has just realized that he is hopelessly, irre 
 trievably bound ; either he must become like 
 his companions, or go mad, and one can see the 
 dawn of insanity in his agonized eyes that look 
 out from the white face, his whole attitude re 
 minding one of a dog straining dumbly at his 
 leash. It is a picture that haunts and sickens 
 you, that you cannot forget. Years afterwards 
 Sylvia saw it, and she said, " He must have seen 
 my soul that night at the gaming-table, and then 
 painted this." 
 
 It did her no good to remember that she had 
 been warned, or to reflect on her own courage 
 and determination to shape her future to her 
 own ends ; she had lost both courage and re 
 solve ; she felt frightened for the first time in
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 237 
 
 her life, for she had seen a glimpse of a brutality 
 that had descended through countless genera 
 tions, hidden by modern refinements, forgotten, 
 perhaps, during whole lifetimes, but always there, 
 ingrained in the very nature of a race which had 
 acknowledged one master only, the lawful King 
 of France. 
 
 For the time mental distress had made her 
 forget her physical discomfort ; then some one 
 jarred her chair, the chain of thought was 
 broken, and she realized that her head was 
 aching violently, and that the room was swim 
 ming and swaying about her ; she moved away 
 from the table, and steadying herself by hold 
 ing on to the backs of the players chairs, for 
 the hour was late, and few people were standing 
 about, she reached Philippe. 
 
 As she stood behind him she looked once 
 more at her watch, and saw that it was five min 
 utes of eleven. 
 
 " It is time to leave," she said. He shook 
 his head impatiently, but did not answer ; for a 
 moment she waited, until she saw the heap of 
 gold before him raked away, and as he placed 
 another on a square she said : " I am going 
 now ; if you do not care to drive home with me 
 you can probably find some way of following." 
 
 Her anger had given her strength, and she 
 walked steadily towards the entrance hall, but
 
 238 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 before she had reached the outer lobby her hus 
 band was by her side. 
 
 He did not swear ; well-bred Frenchmen sel 
 dom do, but his expression and the tone of his 
 voice were oaths in themselves. 
 
 " You changed the luck ; it is the last time 
 you shall come to Monte Carlo with me." 
 
 " Yes, it is the last time," she acquiesced, hold 
 ing her head high, but white to the very lips. 
 
 When a woman bears an insult in silence and 
 stifles her fury, she is more to be feared, also 
 more to be pitied, than one who is able to rave 
 and cry, and lose sight of the mental in the 
 physical. 
 
 During the long, dark drive towards their villa 
 there was time for thought, and the hopeless 
 questions, " But what can I do ? how can I 
 help it?" again and again asked themselves, al 
 ways answered by, " Nothing I cannot help 
 it." 
 
 They entered the house in silence, and with 
 out a word Sylvia went upstairs. Justine was 
 in her room, and began to help her mistress as 
 usual to undress ; she had taken the fur cloak 
 from her shoulders and was laying it over a chair 
 when Philippe walked in without knocking. 
 
 " You may go, Justine, good-night," he said 
 abruptly, and stood looking at her until she left 
 the room ; then he went close up to Sylvia, who
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 239 
 
 had seated herself in a low chair by the fire. 
 She was bitterly cold, and felt stunned ; his 
 words roused her. 
 
 " Now, then, what is it ? answer me ; are you 
 going to make a scene every time I find fault ? " 
 
 " I did not think I had made any scene," she 
 answered slowly. 
 
 " I don t care what you think, Sylvia, but you 
 have made me very uncomfortable and miser 
 able to-night ; you know I love you, my darling, 
 you know that anything that disturbed our hap 
 piness together would be unbearable." 
 
 He had seated himself on the broad arm of 
 her chair, had put his arm over her shoulder 
 and drawn her, almost crushed her, against him ; 
 his familiarity, his appropriation of her, revolted 
 her ; but she did not draw away, she remained 
 passive. 
 
 "Why don t you speak to me, cherie?" he 
 said tenderly, bending and kissing her on the 
 smooth nape of her neck ; a thrill of horror ran 
 through her, but still gently she rose and stood 
 facing him. 
 
 " I am very tired to-night, and hardly able 
 to talk ; I may look at things to-morrow in a 
 different light, but now I would like to be alone," 
 she said. 
 
 He eyed her narrowly for a moment, half in 
 clined to push matters further ; then he saw her
 
 240 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 marble whiteness and decided to believe her 
 words ; it was more politic. 
 
 " Very well then, mignonne, have your own 
 way ; kiss me good-night, and let Justine give 
 you something to drink and take care of you/ 
 
 She submitted to his embrace, -and then stood 
 as he had left her until he went through the door 
 between their rooms ; very quietly she moved to 
 wards it, closed it, and turned the key. As she 
 did this a look of momentary relief swept over 
 her face. 
 
 " There are always keys," she said ; then for 
 one moment her self - control gave way. She 
 flung herself on her bed, and sobbed with the 
 outspoken grief of solitude. 
 
 " O my God, to be free again, only to be free," 
 she said over and over. 
 
 Without the door, her square face pressed 
 against it, stood the old servant, hearing every 
 moan, every bitter word. She did not move ; 
 she scarcely breathed, but her eyes gleamed with 
 the savage light of a wild beast whose cubs are 
 killed before her. A hatred against Philippe 
 leaped into life in her undisciplined breast, and 
 from that hour on became a part of her very 
 being. At length the sobs within the room 
 ceased, silence fell on the darkness, and hoping 
 that her idol slept, Justine stole away. 
 
 But Sylvia had only worn out the wrappings
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 241 
 
 of her grief ; when she became calm again she 
 rose, drew her furs about her, put some fresh logs 
 on the fire, and spread out her hands in the 
 warmth ; she knew that this was a crisis in her 
 life, and felt that she must use all her powers 
 to reason with her anger and disappointment ; 
 nothing must be done hurriedly or without re 
 flection. 
 
 At first her only thought was how to escape 
 open scandal, and yet never, never live the life 
 again of the past five weeks. Wild plans of dis 
 gusting her husband with her, of making him 
 fall in love with some other woman, came to her, 
 and absorbed her in a sort of story - book way 
 for a moment, but she dismissed these fancies, 
 and tried to lay out a definite and defensible 
 course of action. Suddenly she saw as in a 
 vision the chapel at La Roche, the recumbent 
 figures, the tempered light ; she remembered her 
 promise to Philippe s mother. 
 
 Was she planning to keep it ? Had she fore 
 seen any love in her married life ? 
 
 "Oh," she moaned, "the make-believe love I 
 have thought real has made it so much harder 
 to bear." 
 
 Then the thought faced her, stern, relentless : 
 " I am no longer free to live for myself alone. 
 I have, with open eyes and warnings in my ears, 
 bound myself to an important family : I have
 
 24L A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 no right to think of my own pleasures or sor 
 rows ; I have knowingly assumed a great respon 
 sibility. Am I to allow the name of La Itoche 
 to die out because I have fallen out of love 
 with my husband ? I may not ; I must do my 
 duty fairly, I must accept the life I have 
 chosen, God helping me." But though she 
 spoke the words, it was with a dreary conscious 
 ness that God s help was not for her, that she 
 did not believe in it when it was needed, and a 
 terror fell upon her at the utter helplessness of 
 her condition. She repeated over and over to 
 herself mechanically : " I have a husband who 
 is brave and faithful, true to his Church and his 
 country. I must not ask for more." 
 
 The flame of the lamp sputtered, flared up 
 and then died down, leaving the reddened, 
 smoking wick ; the gray morning light showed 
 between the drawn curtains. There is the u jo 
 cund day that stands tiptoe on the misty moun 
 tain-tops," gilding the fair world bathed in the 
 dew of night, and bringing light and joy in its 
 train. There also is the cold dawn that shows 
 life as it is. 
 
 Sylvia looked about her with hot, aching eyes ; 
 her crumpled gloves were on the sofa, where she 
 had tossed them the night before ; the roses she 
 had worn at her breast lay drooping and faded 
 on a table ; the wood was burned out, and the
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 243 
 
 ashes were heaped soulless on the hearth ; the 
 smoking lamp had filled the room with its odor, 
 and as she opened .the window to let in some 
 fresh air she shivered ; a light fog hid the sea ; 
 a half-used cigarette lay on the unraked path ; 
 over everything was an exaggerated aspect of 
 the commonplace, the unbeautif ul. 
 
 "It is like life without love," Sylvia thought, 
 as she moved towards her bed, stiff with fatigue, 
 unconscious that as the last red spark of passion 
 faded out, the faint, glimmering belief in love 
 as love was kindled.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WE all know how easy it is to form plans, 
 and how difficult it is to carry them out ; and 
 Sylvia found herself much tried at first in her 
 new relations to her husband. 
 
 He had slept off his anger and his headache. 
 The many gold pieces he had won served to 
 make him forget the few lost at the end of the 
 evening, and he generously, as he thought, de 
 cided to overlook Sylvia s outburst of temper ; 
 consequently he met her with his usual affec 
 tionate manner, and she found herself wavering 
 during the following week between a feeling of 
 aversion and a stinging self-reproach at her own 
 revolt against him. She had, however, a stub 
 born will, and she forced herself to play ade 
 quately her new part. She was always digni 
 fied, acquiescent, and cold, receiving but never 
 returning: his caresses. If this had been the 
 
 O 
 
 state of things immediately after their marriage, 
 the chances are that Philippe would have been 
 piqued, and would have set himself resolutely 
 to win her love ; but now it was a little late in 
 the day for that. He had done all the wooing
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 1^45 
 
 he intended to. For the future he proposed to 
 please himself. If his wife did not care for 
 him, then there were those who did, and he 
 smiled insolently as he thought of the little Par 
 isian apartment still occupied. 
 
 At this juncture Sylvia sent for Flora, who 
 gladly obeyed the summons. She arrived one 
 blue, dazzling afternoon towards the end of Feb 
 ruary, and was an animated question mark for 
 an hour afterwards. 
 
 " Dearest Sylvia, are you well ? you look pale, 
 but very handsome. Who made you that gray 
 poplin ? Who are your neighbors ? Do you 
 find this enchanting house comfortable? Are 
 your servants satisfactory ? Is your husband 
 well is he " 
 
 " Is he satisfactory, too ? don t hesitate to 
 use the same expression for him and the ser 
 vants, dear. They say that brides always boast 
 that their husbands are perfect, and illustrate 
 it by saying they button up their boots. Don t 
 be shocked if I tell you that Philippe has never 
 even offered to button mine." 
 
 Sylvia s voice betrayed nothing to her friend s 
 quick ears, but there was a new look about her 
 eyes that would have struck even a less observant 
 person than Flora Lee-Blair. She had never 
 been so lovely or so womanly. The slight touch 
 of self-assertion of former days had gone, and
 
 240 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 her low, thrilling voice was seldom heard now 
 saying sharp things. Always graceful and rather 
 quick in her movements, in repose she gave an 
 effect of absolute quiet, and impressed one as a 
 person who required a luxurious setting. Flora 
 looked at her admiringly, as she leaned back 
 in her low chair, the fire touching with rosy re 
 flections the silver gray of her dress, one small 
 slipper resting on the white fur rug. 
 
 " You always make a picture, whatever you 
 do, and I don t understand it," she said almost 
 complainingly. 
 
 " Oh, how nice it is to hear you say kind 
 things to me again, you dear old Flora," said 
 Sylvia, with a little break in her voice. She 
 had not known how she longed for a bit of love 
 until now. 
 
 Mrs. Lee-Blair was as affectionate as her 
 rather hard life allowed her to be, but it was 
 seldom that she showed it. Now for some 
 strange reason the memory of her little girl, the 
 only child she had ever had, who died when she 
 was eight, came to her, and the tears rushed to 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Sylvia, dear, I have no child and you have 
 no mother, and well, let s be awfully good 
 to each other," she ended rather lamely, rubbing 
 her face violently with her handkerchief. 
 
 " Thank you, Flora. Everyone must live his
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 247 
 
 own life, but a little love goes a long way to 
 wards making it bearable." 
 
 When Mrs. Lee-Blair was alone in her own 
 room she dabbed a little powder round her eyes, 
 and over her nose, wondering at her sudden 
 emotion. 
 
 " Yes, my black satin," she said over her 
 shoulder to her maid ; and then went on to her 
 self, " It was the look in her eyes, poor girl. It 
 is enough to make any one cry ; and a bride of 
 six weeks to speak of life being bearable. Dear, 
 my eyes are all red again, and that tear has 
 made a paste with the powder. What a fool I 
 am : yesterday I should have said I did n t care 
 a tuppenny for her except as a convenience, and 
 to-day I feel fond of her. Ah, but you see it is 
 not the same person." 
 
 That Flora had been largely instrumental in 
 making this marriage ; that the power over Syl 
 via, flatteringly suggested as belonging to her 
 by Philippe, had become hers in reality, thanks 
 to the poisoned dagger with which he had armed 
 her ; that she had benefited by the affair from a 
 mercenary point of view, all these pi-opositions 
 were true. It was in vain that she told herself 
 it was the best thing possible for Sylvia, a little 
 nobody, to have become the wife of one of the 
 best known nobles in France. It was in vain 
 that she repeated over and over that she had
 
 248 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 done only what hundreds of other people did, 
 in accepting a handsome commission from the 
 count, or at least the promise of it. Up to the 
 present moment her bank account was very 
 agreeable reading ; but if Philippe kept his 
 word it would become an every-day affair to have 
 money enough to supply her wants. He had 
 told her that she should own enough to live com 
 fortably on the income. But in spite of these 
 complacent musings, the first sight of Sylvia as 
 a bride had been very distressing to her. She 
 could not shake off the impression that if the 
 young wife were unhappy, it was owing to her 
 meddling. Justine, too, had an exasperating 
 habit of looking at her with reproachful eyes, 
 never speaking, but conveying a mute accusa 
 tion. 
 
 There were days when she was tempted to 
 take herself off, she was so uneasy ; but calm 
 reflection restrained her. Sylvia knew an ex 
 tremely smart set of people, and Flora liked 
 going to dinners and breakfasts with them. She 
 enjoyed the soft delights of the daily life ; be 
 sides, as she argued honestly enough, she could 
 make things happier, more cheerful for Sylvia 
 if she stayed. So the days went on, and she 
 grew used to the want of spontaneous happi 
 ness in the household. There were no disputes, 
 no sharp words, and in time she began to tell
 
 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 249 
 
 herself that she had been over-sensitive in the 
 beginning . 
 
 Philippe found it a great convenience to have 
 some one to whom Sylvia thought it necessary 
 to devote herself, and when she was with her 
 friend it was easy enough for him to reach 
 Monte Carlo. His old passion for gaming, 
 which seems ingrained in the French nature, 
 shook itself after its short rest, and showed re 
 newed vigor. There were other things, too, that 
 were attractive in the small kingdom between 
 the sea and the mountains, and friends running 
 down from Paris for a day or two of change 
 found him quite as ready to join them as before 
 his marriage. 
 
 Mrs. Lee-Blair used to sigh and lift her eye 
 brows at him when they met after one of his 
 absences, during which she and Sylvia had dined 
 tete-a-tete, and spent a long evening alone to 
 gether. Sometimes he would laugh sheepishly 
 and look quite ready for a flattering, playful 
 scolding ; sometimes he would pay no attention 
 to her little efforts to reform him. March was 
 drawing towards its close, and the three months 
 lease of the villa was nearly exhausted. People 
 were beginning to go to Paris for Easter, and 
 one day Philippe announced that he thought they 
 had better be starting- for La Roche. 
 
 For weeks Sylvia had been longing for this.
 
 250 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 She felt that she could learn her life s lesson 
 more easily if she were in her future home, 
 could harden herself to its rigors, and shape 
 herself to its needs. Therefore she acceded will 
 ingly enough to her husband s wish, and gladly 
 left the blue Mediterranean behind her. Their 
 way took them through Paris, and there they 
 lingered for Easter, for summer outfits, and also 
 to leave Sylvia s apartment, as Flora was going 
 with them to Touraine for a while. She had 
 made the best use of her wits and time at Nice, 
 and was rewarded by numerous invitations to 
 the country places of her new friends, which 
 quite filled up her summer and" autumn. 
 
 These delays made it well into May before 
 Sylvia and Philippe started for La Roche, leav 
 ing Flora to follow them in a few days. They 
 took an afternoon train, and reached the sta 
 tion late in the evening. The primrose sunset 
 light still lingered in the west, and a full moon 
 poured its silver wealth over the warm, resting 
 earth. Every fresh leaf glittered in the bril 
 liancy as they drove along, the river shone with 
 reflected splendor, and the tall poplars threw 
 black shadows on the broad peaceful meadows. 
 It was a night almost oppressive in its beauty. 
 Sylvia felt unequal to it, her body hampered her ; 
 she remembered having told Maurice Regnier 
 once that all her enthusiasm was for things.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 2ol 
 
 not people ; but to-night she could not rise to 
 enjoyment. A sadness that had nothing to do 
 with the difficulties of her life possessed her. 
 There was a sense of something just beyond her 
 grasp which was escaping her forever, and with 
 it all a feeling of familiarity, as if in some other 
 life she had been bathed in a glory akin to this. 
 Under the massive horse-chestnuts that bor 
 dered the avenue in a double row, holding their 
 rose and white pyramids to be kissed by the 
 moonbeams, it was dark ; but -when they had 
 driven through the archway into the court, a 
 brilliancy was over all. The main tower was 
 covered with a wistaria vine, and the delicate 
 violet of the blossoms, hanging in masses, was 
 plainly seen. This tower, which contained the 
 principal staircase, was pierced at unequal dis 
 tances by narrow, quaintly leaded windows, 
 through which the yellow welcoming lamp light 
 shone, contrasting strangely with the frosty, 
 gleaming decoration of the vine. The soft, 
 warm air was filled with the perfume of honey 
 suckle, and lilies of the valley, and syringa. 
 Against the tender, indefinite sky the great 
 cedar stood, not sharply outlined, but melting 
 into its background at its edges, and massing 
 its dark strength in the centre. It seemed to 
 be the presiding genius of the stately chateau, 
 and as Sylvia looked she remembered Maurice s
 
 252 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 voice telling her of his boyish dreams beneath 
 its shade. " Will his words always haunt me ? " 
 she asked herself impatiently, turning to follow 
 Philippe, who was just inside the door, giving 
 some orders to his servant. But as she moved, 
 a nightingale in the thieket below burst into 
 song, and like one in a dream she went to the 
 low, ivy-covered wall running along this side 
 of the court, and leaning over it, drank in the 
 beauty eagerly, ecstatically. 
 
 " I will enjoy .it," she said to herself. " Ah, 
 people do not know France who have only seen 
 Paris and les bains de mer ; he was right when 
 he said so." 
 
 She was still hearing the echoes of Maurice s 
 voice, and this time she let them pass unchal 
 lenged. 
 
 A little, fleecy cloud blew across the moon, 
 and the shadows lost their intensity ; the night 
 ingale ended his song. 
 
 " Where the deuce are you hiding, Sylvia ? 
 My mother is waiting for you," called her hus 
 band impatiently. And recognizing the fact 
 that he w r as her husband, therefore her master, 
 she followed. 
 
 Philippe was in high spirits at this home-com 
 ing. For the first time he felt himself master of 
 the situation, and able to come and go with 
 out the dread of reproachful questions from his
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 253 
 
 mother. The supper that was prepared for them 
 was eaten amidst much gay laughter, and the 
 talk still went on in a merry strain as they 
 seated themselves in the oak salon. 
 
 Philippe genially smoked his cigarette, as he 
 stood with his back to the flameless fireplace, 
 his feet firmly planted, and wide apart, one well- 
 shaped hand stroking down his moustache. A 
 faint color had come into his mother s face, as 
 she listened to his account of Sylvia s triumphs 
 among people whose names were familiar to her, 
 and brought memories of her own happy youth. 
 Sylvia smiled and listened ; but at her heart she 
 felt a quick shock, as she realized how her opin 
 ion of Philippe had changed since they were 
 last together in this room. The physical attrac 
 tion was gone ; God grant that repulsion shall 
 not take its place ! She felt rebellious towards 
 him. This was what she had married him for : 
 to be his countess, to be the chatelaine of his 
 chateau ; to take her place in his family. Well, 
 all this was just what she had planned, and yet 
 she was not content. 
 
 Her eyes wandered over the room. All the 
 beauty of tapestry and carving that she had so 
 admired before took on a different look, now 
 that she had her right to them. She thought 
 with a passionate wave of loyalty of the white 
 parlor at home. It was so humble compared to
 
 254 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 this lordly dwelling, and yet she recognized that 
 in the small room there were treasures that the 
 chateau could not boast. Those simple, white- 
 paneled walls were bounded neither by space 
 nor time. . The books that covered them, and 
 the intellectual stimulus given there, made its 
 own enduring architecture. 
 
 As yet Sylvia had seen no books worth men 
 tioning in the chateau. There was a magnifi 
 cent hall called the library, but literature played 
 an insignificant part in its furnishing. She 
 wondered what the countess did with herself in 
 her many leisure hours. Sylvia was beginning 
 to feel dimly the rigidity of French country life ; 
 to recognize how deep the line of tradition is 
 cut, stretching back to the dim past, deep but 
 narrow, and going always on its beaten track, 
 straight as an arrow, swerving neither to left 
 nor right. 
 
 Her thoughts were recalled by Philippe s voice, 
 more animated than usual as he told his mother 
 his plans for improving the property. 
 
 " We should have that mill to bring water to 
 the farms more easily ; and I mean to get it. 
 Then the coverts must be enlarged. There s 
 nothing now worth shooting." 
 
 The countess listened, her face all aglow ; it 
 seemed to her that it was a bewildering, happy 
 vision. The old place, that she had struggled
 
 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 255 
 
 so hard to keep intact, was almost sacred to her, 
 and now her past efforts were being rewarded; 
 the one who used to threaten it was now planning 
 to add to its importance. She listened eagerly, 
 suggesting ideas of her own, ideas *that had 
 been idle day-dreams with her in the past, now 
 by the stroke of a fairy wand coming true. 
 
 Sylvia felt left out of this conversation ; she 
 did not know the names of the farms of which 
 they spoke, and she did not feel impressed by 
 the importance of having good shooting. It 
 suddenly occurred to her that it was owing to 
 her that all these plans could be made, and yet 
 that she was neither consulted nor noticed. 
 
 Some subtle thought-transference must have 
 suggested to the countess the trend of the 
 younger woman s sensations, for she put her 
 hand out with a kind gesture and said : 
 
 " All this must seem very dry and stupid to 
 you, my dear ; but you need not trouble yourself 
 about details. 1 know that the old place is a 
 sombre home for you, but you must remember 
 that it is your home, to come to when you want 
 quiet. There will always be a welcome here for 
 you." 
 
 Sylvia restrained the little start of surprise ; 
 she to be made welcome to La Roche ! She had 
 understood that it was hers ! She had planned 
 to make her mother-in-law feel that she must
 
 256 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 stay there, keeping her old place, as long as she 
 lived ; she had intended to usurp no authority, 
 to give way in everything ; and here were the 
 tables turned with a vengeance. 
 
 She made a formal little bow to the countess, 
 and murmured some words about her kindness. 
 Philippe was watching his wife anxiously ; he 
 had not set her right when she had spoken casu 
 ally to him of what they should do when she was 
 mistress of the chateati ; he had not felt called 
 upon to explain his father s will to her. His 
 wish was that the two women should live pleas 
 antly together, and he did not want any mis 
 understanding between them this first evening. 
 He broke in. 
 
 " You are like a couple of snow-capped moun 
 tains making pretty speeches to one another. 
 Sylvia, the madame goes from this minute ; do 
 you understand ? You are mother and daughter, 
 eh? Is n t it better so ?" 
 
 He laughed as he spoke, and pulling a lily of 
 the valley from a bowl on the table he tossed it 
 at his wife. lie meant to be pleasant, and was 
 doing his best to end rather an awkward situa 
 tion, but Sylvia was not in the mood for pleas 
 antries ; the flower hit her on the neck with its 
 wet stem, and she felt an angry flush mount to 
 her cheeks ; she knew it was childish to take it 
 seriously, and said :
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 257 
 
 " A good beginning, buried in flowers." 
 
 She tried to speak naturally, but her laugh 
 was forced, and her voice trembled. 
 
 A sudden unreasonable antipathy towards her 
 husband overwhelmed her ; just as the love be 
 tween man and woman is more intense, more 
 savagely natural than any other affection, so is 
 the hatred between them, and as Sylvia glanced 
 up she met her husband s cold scrutiny ; their 
 eyes flashed hatred for a second, then he turned 
 away and rolled a cigarette. Almost any strong 
 emotion is contagious, and just then he detested 
 the graceful, lovely woman before him. 
 
 Sometimes it is enough to make one blush and 
 cringe for shame to think how we are padded and 
 enveloped by education, civilization, Christianity, 
 and yet how the old Adam still lives in us, al 
 ways ready to awake and drive us to the extremes 
 of brutality. The spirit of their own unsub 
 dued, untamed souls flashed, and shocked against 
 each other in that look, and both the husband 
 and the wife quailed at the lifting of the veil. 
 Sylvia s disappointment was none the less keen 
 that there was no one to blame for it, and no 
 one to whom she could mention it ; she was sure 
 that Philippe had given her the impression that 
 she was to be the future mistress of La Roche, 
 and yet she could remember no definite promise. 
 
 There are always compensations, however, in
 
 258 A TRANS ATL ANT 1C CHATELAINE. 
 
 every trial, and the love and friendship shown 
 by Madame de La Roche to her daughter-in-law 
 proved a bright spot. 
 
 During the days following Sylvia s arrival, 
 she showed herself in her truest, sweetest light. 
 All through the dark winter she had prayed fer 
 vently to forget herself, to bury her doubts and 
 fears, and to open her heart to her son s wife. 
 
 The prayers were answered, and she found 
 it almost easy to admit this young woman with 
 the smiling mouth and wistful eyes to her confi 
 dence. 
 
 They were walking in the garden with its 
 exuberance of bloom one morning, when she 
 said : 
 
 " I want to drive you over to La Source this 
 afternoon if you have nothing better to do. It 
 is Monsieur Regnier s place, and you will love 
 him when you know him, as I do ; and I hope 
 that you will find him as good and true a friend 
 as I have." 
 
 " Who is Monsieur Regnier ? " asked Sylvia 
 abruptly. She longed yet dreaded to hear the 
 version that Madame de La Roche would give 
 of Maurice s reputed father. 
 
 " Has not Philippe told you ? Ah, it is a sad 
 story, but it is a thing of the past. Let us sit 
 under the cedar, and I will tell you." 
 
 So leaning back in a low chair, looking up
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 259 
 
 through the gray-green branches of the old tree, 
 and hearing them murmur faint tales of the 
 ocean, Sylvia listened, every word sinking in 
 and scoring deep the man she had married. 
 
 " My father-in-law," began the countess, "was 
 only nineteen at the beginning of the revolu 
 tion ; he was a headstrong boy, and had insisted 
 on becoming engaged to a young girl of great 
 beauty, the daughter of a gentleman who owned 
 La Source. Her father was wealthy, but his 
 family was of no consequence, and at first the 
 match was bitterly opposed, but the young count 
 was very fascinating, and won over his mother 
 to his side ; she could do anything with her hus 
 band, and just before the outbreak consent was 
 given. Both families were intensely loyal, and 
 their names were well known in Paris, so it was 
 no great surprise when La Source was attacked 
 by some of the fiends possessing power, and 
 Amelie (that was the girl s name) alone escaped 
 imprisonment by her mother s ingenuity and 
 devotion. She came at once to La Roche, and 
 the countess received her kindly, soothing her 
 fears about her parents, and promising that she 
 should be married as soon as possible. But in 
 those days a marriage \vas not easily managed, 
 as the priests were in such terror that they 
 hid, and were hard to find for anything but to 
 administer extreme unction. While they were
 
 260 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 waiting and hoping the young people forgot all 
 the terrors of the time in the joy of being to 
 gether in unrestrained liberty, for the countess 
 felt that it was not an occasion to insist on eti 
 quette, and they were allowed to wander at will 
 in the park and gardens. One day they were 
 together by the hill, at the other side of the 
 meadow there you see where I mean it is 
 tunneled with caves." 
 
 Sylvia looked, and nodded. 
 
 " They were just outside one of them when a 
 peasant thrust them violently in, his face white 
 with fear, and pointing to a heap of brushwood, 
 said, Hide they are in the chateau but I 
 will save you stay here until I come again. 
 The wretches who had been sent down to arrest 
 the family failed through clumsiness, for the 
 count and countess had just time to escape, 
 almost wild with grief at leaving their son be 
 hind, but there was no help for it. Their pur 
 suers, however, liked the comforts of the chateau, 
 and stayed here nearly a week, defacing many 
 of the portraits and carvings. When they left 
 they lighted a fire round the east wing, but the 
 lurking peasants put it out. All this time my 
 father-in-law and Amelie had been in the cave, 
 fed by the devoted man who had warned them, 
 and it would take a harder heart than mine to 
 blame the poor children for after events, although
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 261 
 
 they brought much suffering to them and others. 
 When it was considered safe they went back 
 to the chateau, but some one betrayed them, 
 and in less than two months they were arrested 
 and separated. The young count was taken to 
 Paris and thrown into the Bastile, whence he 
 was liberated by some unexpected turn. His 
 iirst thought was to find Anielie ; he dared not 
 search openly, but all he could do was useless. 
 The poor boy was nearly wild with grief and 
 anxiety, for he knew that she had more than 
 herself to save, and the thought of their child 
 being born, and dying, perhaps, in a jail, mad 
 dened him. There was no stone left unturned 
 by him, and his reason was despaired of, so terri 
 ble was his suffering. But time brings healing, 
 and after nearly ten years of waiting he con 
 sented to marry a distant cousin, who was in 
 every way a suitable wife. My husband, the 
 oldest child, was five, when a tradesman ap 
 peared, bringing with him letters and undoubted 
 proofs that the missing child was under his 
 roof." 
 
 u And the child was " - interrupted Sylvia. 
 lk Who ? - what is he called now ? " 
 
 " He is my dear friend Monsieur Regnier," 
 answered the countess. 
 
 " And his son Maurice ? " 
 
 " Oh, Maurice s mother was a pretty, but
 
 262 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 rather insignificant little woman, who died soon 
 after his birth. She was never the equal of her 
 husband." 
 
 " Her husband ?" 
 
 " Why, yes," answered Madame de La Roche, 
 rather impatiently ; "don t you understand ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, go on." 
 
 " There is no more to tell. Poor little Amelie 
 had been confined after a long imprisonment in 
 a country jail, and, weakened by hardships and 
 suffering, died. She had become friendly with 
 her jailer s wife, and confided to her care letters 
 explaining her child s position. The woman, a 
 kindly soul, apparently, would have brought the 
 baby directly to La Roche, but her husband was 
 suspected of helping aristocrats, and their only 
 safety was to sail directly for America, taking 
 the baby with them. When he was brought 
 back he was a big boy of fifteen. My poor 
 father-in-law could not make him legitimate on 
 account of his son, but he brought him up in 
 the chateau, and there was no one in the world 
 my husband loved better than his half-brother. 
 He left him as much money as he could, and dur 
 ing his lifetime made him nominally his agent, 
 really his other self. They lived always in the 
 old wing until my husband died, and then Mon 
 sieur Regnier bought La Source, formerly his 
 mother s home."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 263 
 
 " Is he made bitter by his life ? " asked Sylvia. 
 
 " Ah, no, his nature is too sweet ; he has been 
 saddened by it, nothing more. His only betrayal 
 of how he has felt it was shown by his command 
 that his children should never know his story." 
 
 " So Maurice knows nothing ? " 
 
 " Absolutely nothing. Have you ever met 
 Maurice, Sylvia ? " 
 
 " Yes, I knew him very well once ; but it was 
 a lifetime ago." 
 
 She sat still for a moment not quite realizing 
 what she felt, then seeing that the countess was 
 waiting for some comment on her story, she said : 
 "It was sad ; I feel as though La Roche must 
 be haunted, so many things have happened here." 
 
 " I hope it will only be haunted by good and 
 true spirits, dear, as long as you live here." 
 
 As she spoke she rested her hand lingeringly 
 on Sylvia s shoulder, and then walked away to 
 wards the broad, moss-covered stone steps lead 
 ing up to the court. 
 
 Alone, Sylvia covered her eyes with her hand. 
 She was frightened by the tumult of her feelings. 
 Was it anger, or grief, or an exultant joy she felt? 
 It was joy ; she still had the right to believe in 
 the man she had wholly trusted, almost loved ; 
 life could not be the treadmill she had lately 
 fancied it if Maurice were still true ; the world 
 was not all bad while there were men while
 
 264 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 there was one man who dared to be noble and 
 chivalrous, and who believed in great deeds still 
 to be done. She threw a thought of scorn and 
 anger to Philippe, and she shrank coweringly 
 before the memory of the wrongs and insults she 
 had heaped upon Maurice ; then she gave her 
 self up to happy, improbable dreams. She was 
 to be free once more, and she would make him 
 forget the past in the joy and rapture of her 
 love. 
 
 The midday hush fell upon the garden ; the 
 birds were silent, and even the bees seemed ab 
 sent ; still leaning back and looking up to the 
 brilliant sky, Sylvia thought of Maurice as he 
 had told her of his boyhood, seeing visions of 
 loyalty and bravery and love under the shade of 
 this cedar.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " OH, how charming how English ! " ex 
 claimed Sylvia, as they drove through the billowy 
 park of La Source, which was cut in two by a 
 merry brawling baby river, or grown-up brook, 
 and the house came in sight ; it was square and 
 low, only one broad step leading to the hospit 
 ably opened door, and a wealth of ivy hid the 
 material of which it was built. The windows 
 cut in this wall of living green were daintily cur 
 tained, and there were many gayly striped awn 
 ings giving touches of color. 
 
 Under a tree near the house was a table, and 
 by it sat a gentleman holding a child on his knee, 
 and showing him pictures. When he heard the 
 carriage he put the boy on his fat, sturdy bare 
 legs, planted well apart, and came towards his 
 giiests, both hands held out in welcome. Madame 
 de La Roche was nearest him, and as he lifted 
 her hand to his lips she said: 
 
 " This is my daughter, Armand ; you must 
 promise to be to her what you always have been 
 to all of us, a true friend." 
 
 Sylvia put her hand into his, and at once felt
 
 266 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 that mysterious bond of sympathy, rare but un 
 mistakable to any one who has ever experienced 
 it. Monsieur Regnier was very tall, as tall as his 
 son, but so well proportioned that it was only 
 noticeable when he stood by some other man. 
 His skin was colored a deep rich hue by ex 
 posure to sun and wind ; his finely cut features 
 and dignified bearing gave him a reputation for 
 being a handsome man, but his brown, deep- 
 set eyes were his greatest charm. Although at 
 times they were lighted into twinkling brilliancy 
 by some jest, or softened to a happy glow as they 
 rested on his grandchildren, they had generally 
 a mystical, far-away expression that suggested a 
 victory won, a struggle past and over. He said 
 nothing in answer to the countess s words, but 
 he smiled as Sylvia looked into his face, and the 
 smile told more than words. 
 
 Out of the open door rustled a young woman, 
 who greeted Madame de La Roche with over 
 done enthusiasm, and was then introduced as 
 monsieur s daughter, Madame Lefevre. The 
 solid little boy was called to take his share in the 
 general presentations, and obeyed unwillingly 
 enough, kicking the gravel as he drew near the 
 group. 
 
 " Don t scuff, Maurice," said his mother, jerk 
 ing him to her. " Do you think he looks like 
 me ? " she asked, turning her head artlessly, as a 
 bird does.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 267 
 
 Sylvia took his broad dimpled hand in hers, 
 and said : " Maurice, perhaps your mamma will 
 bring you to see me some day, and when we are 
 great friends I can tell better whom you look 
 like." 
 
 " Thank madame, Maurice, and tell her you 
 would love to come." 
 
 He worked his small, stubby shoe into the 
 walk for a moment ; then in a low, awed tone 
 he said : 
 
 " Have you got a donkey at your place ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then I 11 come, for I think you look all 
 right, not as if you were really a savage like " 
 
 " Maurice," said his mother desperately, " run 
 in and ring the bell as you go. We are going 
 to have something to eat out here," she went on 
 hurriedly, to Sylvia s great amusement. 
 
 " My father is never happy under a roof when 
 the sun shines, so we Oh, there is the butler. 
 Here, Jacques, on this table," she rattled on, 
 bustling about to move a chair here, or a foot 
 stool there, for her guests. 
 
 " Where is Maurice ? " asked Monsieur Reg- 
 nier, as his daughter began to hand round a 
 galette. Sylvia s heart beat violently, and she 
 unconsciously kept her hostess waiting, so in 
 tently did she listen. 
 
 " Oh, I sent him into the house, papa. You
 
 268 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 know I never allow him to eat sweets at this 
 hour." 
 
 Sylvia took the proffered dainty. It was only 
 the little boy they meant. 
 
 Madame Lefevre drew a basket-chair close 
 beside her, and began to talk volubly. 
 
 " You know I am here all alone the greater 
 part of the year with papa, for my husband is 
 with his regiment in Algiers, and my brother is 
 with his at Fontainebleau, so we see very little 
 of them." 
 
 " Is little Maurice your only child ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear me, no." Here the little woman 
 leaned back in her chair and laughed heartily at 
 such a show of ignorance. " I have three boys 
 at Notre Dame in Blois, and two girls at the 
 convent in Tours." 
 
 " How can you send them away from you ? " 
 asked Sylvia, thinking how she would treasure 
 and watch over a life confided to her care. 
 Madame Lefevre assumed an expression of ob 
 stinacy such as only a weak, insignificant per 
 son is capable of, and said, 
 
 " I feel it my duty to bring them up undor 
 the influence of the Holy Church. Louis, my 
 husband, and papa would like them always 
 here ; but I say, * Louis, my father is doubtless 
 a good man, and you do well to speak highly of 
 his influence, but can any man or woman of the
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 269 
 
 world pretend to come anywhere near those who 
 are dedicated to lives of sanctity ? Of course 
 there is nothing to answer to that," she ended 
 complacently. 
 
 " It must be a great trial to you," observed 
 Sylvia. 
 
 " Oh, it is ; but I have help to bear it. My 
 second little girl is dedicated to the Virgin: 
 when she was three months old she was very 
 ill, so I made a vow that she should be a child 
 of Mary if she recovered. She got better from 
 that day, and now she only wears white and 
 blue, and I feel that it is a mark of heavenly 
 favor that she has a high color like me, so blue 
 is becoming to her, for my oldest child is sallow, 
 and would have looked a fright." 
 
 Sylvia did not know whether she ought to 
 laugh at this remark ; but as Madame Lefevre s 
 face was serious, she only said very gravely, 
 " How extremely fortunate." 
 
 Madame de La Roche smiled across the table 
 from her seat, where she had been talking with 
 unwonted animation to her friend. " Monsieur 
 Regnier wants to show you the place, Sylvia, 
 and I am sure Berthe and I can amuse our 
 selves very well while you two are away." 
 
 Sylvia rose, glad to think that she was at last 
 to know Maurice s father. His sister was so un 
 like him in every way that she could not re-
 
 270 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 member the relationship, but the likeness was 
 strong to his son in the handsome, courtly old 
 man. 
 
 They sauntered together over the dry, smooth 
 shaven lawn, towards the stables and farm yards, 
 and as they went they fell into talk strangely in 
 timate for such new acquaintance. 
 
 " My books are my chief interest now," Mon 
 sieur Regnier said to her, when she asked him 
 how he occupied himself. " My boy Maurice, 
 who will soon be going to Algiers, with his regi 
 ment, filled every crevice in my life until his 
 profession took him from me. Now I seldom 
 see him," he ended with a sigh. 
 
 She looked at him sympathetically. " I should 
 so like you to show me your books," she said 
 gently. " All my young days they were my 
 companions, and it would be delightful to find 
 we had some mutual friends." 
 
 Pie smiled at her with the peculiar soul-touch 
 ing expression some rare individuals possess. 
 Whether it is caused by past sorrows, or innate 
 humaneness, one cannot tell ; but one may see it, 
 and never in the face of him who has not battled 
 nobly with life, and come out the braver and 
 kinder from the struggle. 
 
 " It is possible we may have many," he an 
 swered ; " although I have lost the pronunciation, 
 I still read English as easily as I do French ;
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 271 
 
 and I love the literature although not the people 
 of that self-sufficient little island." 
 
 He had led her back to the house while speak 
 ing, and she found herself in a long, rather 
 low-studded room, fairly lined with books. It 
 took her at a bound back to the white parlor ; 
 she was at home again. 
 
 Delightedly she gazed at the titles. 
 
 " Ah, I know that edition of Thackeray 
 ours is like it. And here is dear, funny old 
 Pepys ; how lovely the binding is ! Why, you 
 have everything, down to Browning." 
 
 " Ah, but he is too hard for me. I like a word 
 here, and a word there, but I am too dull to quite 
 get at him." 
 
 " Many feel as you do," answered Sylvia, and 
 as she spoke she reached for the volume of 
 "Paracelsus," and opened it. A touch of ro- 
 guishness, not often seen there, came into her 
 face, as she found the line she wanted. 
 
 " I think you must be a magician, Monsieur," 
 she said half shyly, " for I never paid a compli 
 ment in my life before that I can remember. 
 But this is the way you look to me," and she 
 handed him the book. Pie read the words, 
 " That look ! as if where er you gazed there 
 stood a star," and a pleased light came into 
 his eyes. 
 
 " Keep your compliments for old fellows like
 
 272 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 me and they 11 do no harm, " he said " but 
 you will pardon me for giving yon a little ad 
 vice." He paused, until she had assented. 
 
 "You are young, and a foreigner," he went 
 on. " It is unreasonable to expect you to even 
 guess at many complications in our life, that come 
 to us as natural things, but which will strike 
 you, when you find them out, as strange. You 
 may be frightened when you get below the sur 
 face, for we are radically unlike you Americans ; 
 there is something simple, wholesome, and truth 
 ful about you that we miss, qualities that many 
 of us do not even suspect. I am always deeply 
 interested in all that concerns my dear friend 
 the countess ; and since I have seen you I am 
 interested in you personally. Now let me ask 
 you a favor : if you are worried and troubled by 
 any incidents in your new life, come to me, and 
 tell me frankly of them. Will you promise ? " 
 
 Sylvia thought of the trouble at her heart that 
 very moment, of the deceit that had doubly 
 cheated her ; of her inability to ever breathe one 
 word that would throw such blame on her hus 
 band. 
 
 " I do not think I can promise," she said re 
 gretfully. " I should like to, the idea tempts 
 me, for I could trust you. But I am afraid 
 I must bear in silence." 
 
 She grew white to her lips as she spoke, and
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 273 
 
 he looked at her. Had it come so soon ? he 
 asked himself, and then, tenderly, tactfully he 
 led her thoughts from her own life to those of 
 others. He spoke of what his books taught him, 
 and his words grew eloquent. She listened, ex 
 hilarated to be in touch with some one really 
 sympathetic again. 
 
 " Sometimes," she said, half in jest and half 
 in earnest, " I long to die so as to see the authors 
 who have meant so much to me, and thank them." 
 
 Monsieur Regnier threw back his head with a 
 gesture which recalled Maurice. 
 
 " And do you ever think," he asked, " of the 
 terrible responsibility those men have assumed ? 
 If we could meet our ancestors in the flesh you 
 can easily imagine how one would say, He has 
 my eyes, and another, He takes his coloring 
 from me, and these intellectual progenitors 
 would see the effect their written words have 
 had on the minds and souls they have helped to 
 form.. Think of the enormous influence Goethe 
 and Byron have had in this century. It is over 
 whelming." 
 
 " Everything is overwhelming," replied Syl 
 via. " Until lately I never knew that I had a 
 New England conscience. Now that I do realize 
 it everything I do frightens me, for no act seems 
 final, the results go on and on ; it is terrible." 
 
 He smiled serenely. You are young," he
 
 274 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 said ; " all those feelings right themselves with 
 aire." Then he told her how he had found his 
 
 O 
 
 powers of happiness increase with his years. 
 " Never be afraid of old age," he said impres 
 sively. " One of the few things I do care for in 
 Browning are these words." 
 
 He opened a book on his table, and she saw 
 that it was filled with writing. 
 
 " I copy everything here I particularly care 
 for," he explained, running over the leaves. 
 " Here it is ; read those words to me in Eng 
 lish," he concluded, handing her the book. 
 
 Her voice trembled a little as she began ; she 
 knew the lines well. They had been favorites of 
 her father, but had never appealed to her until 
 to-day. Now, the unbidden, vain, wrong thought 
 came to her, " What if it were Maurice listening 
 to me ? Oh, if it were not too late, too late." 
 Monsieur Kegnier watched her as he heard the 
 words, familiar in sense, strange with the new 
 accent. 
 
 " Grow old along 1 with me, 
 
 The best is yet to be, 
 The hist of life, for which the first was made. 
 
 Our times are in His hand, 
 
 Who saitli, A whole I planned ; 
 Youth shows but half ; trust God ; see all ; nor be afraid. " 
 
 There is a great lesson there," he said when 
 she had ended. " It has taken me nearly seventy
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 275 
 
 years to learn it. Please Heaven it will come 
 to you sooner. The last is the best : we are 
 nearer Him. All the small worries that seem 
 too hard to be borne when the blood runs fast 
 and the heart beats quick, grow insignificant. 
 Old people learn true sympathy or, at least, 
 they should learn it. Don t dread old age, 
 Madame. It will pay you double for all your 
 losses if you accept your experiences as lessons, 
 and do not try to get rid of them by considering 
 yourself peculiarly ill used when things go wrong. 
 But here am I," he broke off with a laugh, 
 " boasting of my slowly earned sympathy, and 
 keeping you here chained by my prosing." 
 
 Sylvia looked at him gravely. " You have 
 helped me. Will you come and see me, and talk 
 to me some more?" she asked. 
 
 He shook his head a little sadly. " I am 
 always here, and often alone. The chateau has 
 too many memories for me to be able to go there 
 readily. Come to me, my dear, and you will 
 always find a welcome." 
 
 As she moved towards the door he stopped 
 her. " One more treasure to show you," he said, 
 and then led her to his writing table. There, 
 in a velvet case, lay a miniature of Maurice. 
 
 " It is my boy," he told her as he put it in 
 her hand, an expression of pride mingled with 
 a wistful appeal for her admiration in his eyes.
 
 276 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 Sylvia took it, and looked into the ardent young 
 face. The artist had caught the Greek touch of 
 beauty, as well as the true likeness of character : 
 there were the eyes, full of enthusiasm and 
 truth she had doubted them ; there was the 
 generous curve of the lips she had believed 
 they lied basely ; and there on the cheek had a 
 blow fallen from her hand. She dared not re 
 member. She must speak and drown memory. 
 
 " I have met your son. He is handsomer even 
 than his portrait, and as delightful as he is 
 handsome," she said, still holding the miniature, 
 although she no longer looked at it. 
 
 Her words were complimentaiy ; but they 
 carried no conviction, and the father was dimly 
 disappointed. They joined the others on the 
 lawn, and Sylvia found her mother-in-law more 
 than ready to start for home. An hour s talk 
 with Berthe Lefevre was generally enough to 
 make most mortals long for any change from 
 her trivialities, and the countess was no excep 
 tion. The little woman talked and fussed until 
 they were in the carriage, and even after the 
 horses had started, she ran over the lawn to 
 intercept them, and called out, " I shall surely 
 remember the reposoir, and will pray for good 
 weather ! " 
 
 Madame de La Roche smiled and waved her 
 hand, then settled back with a sigh. " This is
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 277 
 
 the eighth time she has told me that," she said. 
 " She is a good little creature, but not at all 
 like her father. Maurice is more like him. 
 Berthe was in a convent until she married, 
 while her brother was brought up with Philippe. 
 I suppose it is partly the home training which 
 makes him so much her superior and yet I 
 don t know," she added, her voice falling drear 
 ily. Perhaps she thought of her own son, and 
 the result of his education. 
 
 " What did she mean by reposoir ? " asked 
 Sylvia. 
 
 " Oh, don t you know ? It is the feast of 
 Corpus Christi, and before many houses altars 
 are erected in the open air. The cure marches 
 through the village at the head of a little pro 
 cession, and holds a service at each altar. It is 
 very pretty, and we always have one in the court 
 of honor." 
 
 Sylvia promised to lend her aid in arranging 
 the next reposoir, and was thankful to have 
 some subject for conversation on their drive 
 home. Once there, she found that it was time 
 to dress for dinner, and not until the family 
 had parted for the night was she free to think 
 over the events of the day. Justine dismissed, 
 she lay down on her sofa drawn before the fire, 
 for the nights were chilly, and then her 
 mind ran riot. Under all, over all, through all,
 
 278 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 rang the triumphant refrain, " Maurice was 
 true, God is good." In some way she joined 
 the two thoughts. Then came the blasting 
 knowledge that the man who was true must be 
 nothing to her, and the man who was false was 
 
 O 
 
 her husband. At this idea she clenched her 
 hands and moaned ; then she walked up and 
 down restlessly. At last she went to her win 
 dow, and opening it, leant out. Philippe s room 
 was next to hers, and she could see the light 
 in it shining across the vivid green of the young 
 leaves. For a moment she thought of going 
 to him and confronting him with his deception. 
 It seemed to her that she should suffocate if 
 she did not let him know how she scorned and 
 despised him. Then the impulse died away, its 
 angry impetuosity quieted by the memory of a 
 vague sweet hope, a hope too tremulous and 
 unformed even to dwell on, for a breath might 
 blow it away. So faint was it that Sylvia 
 pressed both hands on her heart to still its 
 quickened throbs for fear of too much joy. And 
 yet, feeble as it was, it had the strength to give 
 her power to keep silence. If it were as she 
 hoped, Philippe had found an innocent defen 
 der : as her child s father, he was secured from 
 any outbreak on her part. " lie is faithful to 
 his church, and brave for his country. Let me 
 only remember that."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 279 
 
 That same night Monsieur Regnier wrote to 
 his son about the new countess : " She struck 
 me at first as very beautiful and exquisitely 
 high-bred in appearance. I say at first, because 
 when I had talked with her, and learnt a little 
 of the real woman, I lost sight of the dainty ex 
 terior, and thought only of the soul beneath it. 
 She is not happy, I am sure. Who could be, as 
 the wife of Philippe ? No one ; that is, no one 
 of any fineness or delicacy of character, and I 
 think she has both. She said she knew you ; 
 but either you never told me of her, or the cir 
 cumstance slipped my memory. Poor child, my 
 heart goes out to her. If I had the power I 
 would forbid international marriages. 
 
 " I can hear you laugh, you rogue, at your 
 old father when you read these words. That 
 time -honored hobby-horse trotted out again, 
 you say. I know all the arguments in favor of 
 them by heart : new blood improves the race, 
 etc. Yes, yes, you are right, no doubt, scientifi 
 cally ; but I don t care for science at all, and 
 not much for the race, compared with the indi 
 vidual who is sacrificed. It is a sacrifice to give 
 up family, home, and country for a foreigner. 
 And all these sweet, gentle young girls who 
 come so freely to strange lands what do they 
 suspect of the nature of the men they marry ? 
 
 " Nothing, absolutely nothing, I tell you ; it
 
 280 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 is their ancestors who are vinlearnable, and who 
 look through ordinary eyes with untranslatable 
 looks. Take the new countess, who looks, by the 
 way, as nobly born as any daughter of kings, 
 well, why not ? She has as many grandfathers 
 as a duchess, I suppose, only one of them hap 
 pened to sail the ocean ; the land is new, but the 
 blood is ancient, take her for an example ; she 
 is like the cedar of Lebanon when it was first 
 brought here from the Holy Land ; atmosphere, 
 past, background, all stripped from her. Im 
 agine yourself among people to whom you could 
 never say, Do you remember ? 
 
 " Half life s charm has gone. Well, well, it 
 is after midnight, so I will have mercy on you 
 and stop. Madame Philippe has gone to my 
 head like strong tea, if I were forty years 
 younger it would have been heart instead of 
 head. My dear old friend seems very happy 
 with her daughter-in-law ; God grant she may 
 live out the rest of her life in peace. Ah, my 
 boy, it is good to be able to make a friend of 
 your son ; let us be tender towards those who 
 have not this comfort. I live for your letters. 
 Good night. Thy loving FATHER. 
 
 " P. S. Berthe has already begun to plan how 
 best to convert the newcomer." 
 
 This letter brought to Maurice a renewal of 
 the restless feelings that he had believed stifled
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 281 
 
 since he had heard of Sylvia s marriage. For 
 months he had been in bitter revolt against fate, 
 a revolt that would have led many a man into 
 a life of reckless rebellion ; but he had a strong 
 anchor in his father s love, and under the first 
 adverse circumstances of his life he learned with 
 pain and faltering to curb the enthusiastic vio 
 lence of his character, and to come, through suf 
 fering, to strength. One may doubt if even he 
 realized how much the encouraging, admiring 
 words written by the old man helped him in his 
 struggle. 
 
 What is more beautiful than the trusting, 
 blind, heartfelt adoration given by parents to 
 their children. The tender, indulgent apprecia 
 tion never injures, for even the weakest, most 
 shallow natures can see the affection prompting 
 it. What boy has not been helped and cheered 
 on to his first scholastic efforts by the memory of 
 his mother s wonder at his cleverness in Latin, 
 and his father s encouraging praise of his mathe 
 matics ? What girl has not had the triumph of 
 her first ball heightened, or perhaps, alas, the 
 mortification of an evening among the wallflow 
 ers softened, by the knowledge that at home she 
 was considered to be without a rival for grace 
 and beauty ? Happy, thrice happy, are those who 
 have received and appreciated this home love 
 and admiration before it is too late ; and let us
 
 282 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 who have had the ideal stimulus to spur us to 
 our best, be very lenient to those who have never 
 known it. 
 
 Maurice not only realized what he was to his 
 father, but he felt a warm glow of gratitude for 
 it. Sylvia had never stood securely, confidently 
 sure in any heart but the one she had rejected.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SYLVIA threw herself into the preparations for 
 the reposoir with almost an exaggerated enthu 
 siasm, so thankful was she to occupy her mind 
 with outside interests. Over arid over again she 
 repeated to herself that Philippe s religion was 
 deep and real to him, and forced herself to a 
 sympathy with the symbols of it. She delighted 
 the countess by her help and taste, and under the 
 directions of the two chatelaines, the altar was 
 erected in the court. The Sunday dawned clear 
 and fresh, and by afternoon the last touches were 
 put to the decorations, and the family assembled 
 to greet the curd and villagers. Philippe and 
 his wife stood by the entering arch to give the 
 welcomes. This was the first time that Madame 
 de La Roche had openly given precedence to 
 her daughter-in-law, and she felt it a fitting time 
 to step aside and let the little world clustered 
 at her gates see that a new queen was to reign. 
 There was no feeling of bitterness in her heart ; 
 only the natural melancholy which comes to us 
 all when we realize the inevitability of years. 
 
 As Sylvia looked along the straggling street
 
 284 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 of the little village which ran at right angles to 
 the avenue, ending abruptly at a gate in the high 
 walls, she saw the procession advancing : first 
 the women, tidy in their Llack dresses and snowy 
 caps, some of them with babies in their arms ; 
 then the men, awkward and slouching in the 
 unaccustomed finery of best clothes, and miss 
 ing their ordinary garb of blouse and sabots ; 
 after them scudded a host of children, their 
 faces shining with recently administered soap 
 and water, their hair plastered to the sides of 
 their heads. As they reached the archway, the 
 sounds of the village fanfare burst forth, herald 
 ing the approach of the cure. 
 
 Before him came a group of young girls clus 
 tered about one who carried a banner ; their 
 white dresses and floating blue ribbons became 
 their sweet serious faces : they were still near 
 enough to childhood to feel the touch of Heaven 
 upon them. Then, walking slowly and with dig 
 nity under a canopy surmounted by white plumes, 
 the cure advanced. The sun glittered on his 
 gold-embroidered robes, and touched with silver 
 his white hair. As he passed under the arch he 
 paused a moment, stretched out his hand in a 
 silent blessing, and then proceeded to the altar. 
 It stood facing him as he entered, towering up 
 until the gilded dome sheltering a statue of the 
 Virgin seemed almost to touch the piled -up
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 285 
 
 masses of snow - gleaming clouds, that sailed 
 slowly through the deep blue sky, casting a radi 
 ance of reflected glory. The priest mounted the 
 steps leading to the altar, on either side of 
 him stood heavy silver candelabra, their lighted 
 candles giving a steady but ineffectual light in 
 the brilliant summer atmosphere ; rare embroid 
 eries were flung down as if unworthy that the 
 man of God should tread on them ; and every 
 where, above, below, was a wealth of flowers, 
 massed so as to give broad effects of color, and 
 casting their fragrance on the air. The music 
 resounded through the court. The peasants 
 crowded nearer the reposoir, their sighs telling 
 of their satisfaction in its beauty. Then the 
 cure turned and extended his hands ; the strains 
 sank into silence ; every one knelt, and as the 
 service began, only a little, unconscious bird in 
 terrupted the sonorous Latin, as it perched on 
 the cedar and sang with throbbing throat of that 
 love which was from the beginning, and shall be 
 to the end. At the foot of the altar steps stood 
 two children, dressed and wreathed in white ; at 
 the solemn moment of the elevation of the Host, 
 when every head was bowed almost to the ground, 
 they alone stood erect, scattering rose-petals, well 
 pleased with the importance of their task. 
 
 The short service ended with a prayer in their 
 own tongue, asking a blessing on the chateau, and
 
 286 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 then the cure came down, nearer to his people. 
 This was the signal for the mothers to bring 
 their babies to be blessed ; one after another 
 they gathered about his feet for him to rest the 
 Host lightly on the little heads, and murmur 
 the words of the benediction. Something in the 
 faith and simplicity displayed by the women, or 
 the look on the cure s face as he started the feeble 
 feet along the path he had trodden so long and 
 so patiently, moved Sylvia. If everything else 
 were denied to her, could not she draw nearer 
 to her husband through the influence of his reli 
 gion ? A strong desire to prove her sympathy 
 with him on one point at least took possession 
 of her ; it was only honorable to try and do her 
 best. Touched and softened as she, an outsider, 
 was, surely he would feel this moment to be a 
 sacred one. She invested him with all the rev 
 erence and sincerity he had taught her to think 
 he possessed, and for a moment she hesitated to 
 break in on the sanctity of his thoughts ; then 
 she reflected that it was her duty to let no op 
 portunity slip which might bring them ever so 
 little more into accord. 
 
 She turned slightly towards him, and looked 
 at him ; he was absorbed in the contemplation of 
 something which brought an eager light to his 
 tawny eyes, and a sensual expression to his glis 
 tening lips. Sylvia felt a cold shock at his
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 287 
 
 appearance, and then her gaze involuntarily fol 
 lowed his, and rested on a fresh-colored, well- 
 made peasant woman, who was returning his 
 glances with an air of intelligent familiarity. 
 The young chatelaine grew sick and faint with 
 disgust. Standing by her side, before the altar 
 to his God, her husband could carry on a vulgar 
 intrigue with a peasant. That there was nothing 
 but the impulse of the moment in it made no 
 difference to her ; she did not go beyond the 
 glances exchanged, the expression on his face 
 that was enough. 
 
 She slipped away unobserved to her own 
 room, and lay there on her couch shivering with 
 the loathsomeness of it all. What was there 
 for her to complain of? Intangible ideas, no 
 thing more, and yet she felt that some noisome 
 influence had crept near her. In spite of her 
 contempt and scorn, she whispered : " Still, he 
 is brave ; let me think of that." 
 
 As she lay there a sudden knock at her 
 door aroused her, and Philippe entered abruptly. 
 There was an angry look now in his eyes, and 
 Sylvia found it more wholesome than the one it 
 had blotted out. 
 
 " Are you tired, my dear ? " he asked with 
 perfunctory politeness. 
 
 " Yes, very tired," answered Sylvia. 
 
 " No wonder, with all the nonsense out there.
 
 288 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 It seems to me that the cure adds something 
 every year to make the whole thing more intol 
 erable. If he only chose some pretty girls for 
 the banner bearers, it would not be so bad." 
 
 "Or he might organize a ballet to amuse 
 you," said Sylvia bitterly. 
 
 Philippe raised his eyebrows, and laughed. 
 " Don t let my mother hear you say that sort 
 of thing," he advised. " It does not matter 
 with me, of course, for I have graduated from 
 all these superstitious ideas ; but they are very 
 real to her. And let me say," he added, growing 
 grave, " that it is always becoming to a woman 
 of position to assume a soupcon of devotion." 
 
 Sylvia made no answer, and after a short 
 pause he resumed : " I did not come here, 
 however, to preach to you, but to tell you that 
 something decided must be done about Justine. 
 She is making a devil of a row with Marcel, 
 and it must stop." 
 
 Sylvia sat upright on her sofa, a flush rising 
 in her cheeks. " Very well, then, dismiss Mar 
 cel ; it is simple enough," she said quickly. 
 
 The angry look had come again to Philippe s 
 face, but his voice was calm, and he spoke 
 slowly. " It would be still more simple to dis 
 miss Justine," he said. 
 
 " That is out of the question," retorted Sylvia 
 hotly.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 289 
 
 He smiled. " You go a little too far, my 
 dear ; nothing is out of the question that I 
 desire. Don t get excited, but try to take a 
 reasonable view. Justine has made trouble." 
 
 " I will hear nothing against her nothing, 
 nothing," protested Sylvia. " She is all I have 
 left of my very own, and no earthly power shall 
 separate us." 
 
 Philippe grew white with anger. 
 
 " I have had enough of your American inde 
 pendence, you are my wife, and, by Heaven, 
 you shall obey me." 
 
 Sylvia hated him less at this minute than 
 she had for weeks. She liked his authority, 
 although it enraged her ; but as he lost his self- 
 control she regained hers. 
 
 "Philippe," she said very gently, "I never 
 meant to annoy you, and I beg your pardon if 
 I have been careless of your feelings, but I do 
 ask you to let me keep the woman by me who 
 has been a mother to me all my life. It is not 
 much at this time for me to have a wish that she 
 may stay with me through the autumn surely, 
 it is a little thing for me to ask." 
 
 Philippe rose and went towards the door. 
 " Of course you are like every other woman, 
 and make a good use of your weakness ; but 
 understand this : I will have no more interfer 
 ence with my household from that old spy. She
 
 290 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 is always trying to find out things that are no 
 business of hers. The next time she makes 
 trouble will be the last under this roof." 
 
 Almost before he angrily slammed the door 
 behind him Sylvia heard a long, shivering sob, 
 and Justine came slowly from the dressing-room. 
 She stood halfway across the room, her face 
 covered with her hands. 
 
 " Let me go away, Madame ; let me leave 
 you, my lamb, before I bring more trouble on 
 you. I heard what he said how he spoke to 
 you you. Oh, my God, I cannot bear it! " 
 
 " Come here, Justine, come here, my poor 
 old dear. There, don t cry so hard, it hurts 
 me to hear you. Listen to me. You and I are 
 together for life, until death takes one of us. 
 Who is there who loves me like you, Justine ? 
 No one." 
 
 " If you had been my own child, I could 
 not have loved you more, my precious one. 
 When I heard that you were to be the countess 
 here I thought my heart would burst with joy. 
 I had prayed for it, and see what my prayers 
 have brought you to." 
 
 " No, Justine, be honest, and don t blame 
 yourself, my poor dear. I chose my life with 
 my eyes open." 
 
 She paused, for as she spoke she realized that 
 the words were a lie. Justine broke in :
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 291 
 
 " No, no, neither your eyes nor mine were 
 open. There has been falsehood everywhere. 
 To think that my own nephew could have lied 
 to me, the " 
 
 " Hush, hush the past is past ; let us leave 
 it behind us, and see what we can do with the 
 future." 
 
 After all, Philippe was her husband. She 
 could not hear him accused either directly or by 
 inference, however stern her own judgment of 
 him might be. 
 
 " Good may come to us, my Justine. One 
 thing, too, is sure and certain ; you and I are 
 to be together always. Nothing, nothing shall 
 part us." 
 
 " And you do not think me a spy, Madame ? " 
 
 " You old silly soul, no, of course not. Do I 
 act as if I did ? " 
 
 It was a new position for Sylvia, to have some 
 one leaning on her for comfort, and even in her 
 own sorrow it warmed her cold heart. She sent 
 Justine for tea, and demanded much petting 
 from her, thus calming the poor creature by let 
 ting her see how necessary she was to her mis 
 tress s comfort. But though the heavy groaning 
 sobs ceased, and her dark eyes became dry, a 
 deeper hatred of the count scarred Justine s faith 
 ful, narrow, fanatical nature from that hour on. 
 
 In the long summer days which opened like
 
 292 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 roses, and faded in the ashes of burnt-out sun 
 sets, clays of beauty, luxuriance, and poetry, 
 Sylvia might have yielded to the monotony 
 and helplessness of her life but for two things : 
 the hours spent with her mother-in-law making 
 dainty preparations with loving fingers, talking 
 and hoping as women do with such a hope 
 ahead, and her occasional calls at La Source, 
 where she grew to feel like a child of the house. 
 Her friendship with Monsieur Kegnier grew and 
 waxed strong. There was a bond between them 
 of which he was ignorant, but which was made 
 apparent to her by certain tones of his voice, 
 and flashes of his eye which called Maurice 
 vividly before her. She soon found that his 
 studies had made him unlike the people who 
 surrounded her. He was broader, more daring 
 in the views he took on all subjects, especially 
 on religious matters. Neither a fanatic nor a 
 scoffer, he looked at his relation to his Maker as 
 a matter which was solely his own affair. He did 
 not interfere with those beliefs which brought 
 comfort to others, and he demanded the same 
 treatment for himself. lie was always a kind 
 and friendly host to the priests with whom his 
 daughter loved to surround herself, but he 
 sternly repelled any advances on their part 
 when it affected his position towards religion. 
 It is easy to imagine what a breeze of interest
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 293 
 
 Sylvia created in his lonely mental life. She 
 came fresh and unprejudiced to give just the 
 stimulus he needed. The benefit was mutual, 
 for from his lips Sylvia heard those views of 
 life and its duties which appealed most strongly 
 to her. They would spend whole afternoons 
 pacing up and down under the fragrant lindens, 
 talking of the message that had come to the 
 world from the Cross on Calvary, and what its 
 meaning was. For the first time Sylvia began 
 to think of Christ as an influence, a power of 
 to-day, not as a dim vision of pain and renun 
 ciation. There are some natures who find and 
 love Him. first, pouring out their best and finest 
 adoration at his feet, and because of Him lov 
 ing those made in his image. There are others 
 who must work up to the highest, purest love, 
 because their teaching begins at the other end ; 
 they first love the things and creatures He made 
 and through this love they find Him. The Al 
 pha of the one is the Omega of the other ; and 
 step by step, beginning humbly and ignorantly, 
 Sylvia found herself finding life not less difficult, 
 but herself more capable of bearing it. 
 
 Monsieur Regnier was not in his right place. 
 He recognized that other surroundings would 
 have opened up new lines of action to him, and 
 he might have been a power in the world ; but, 
 with that dignified acquiescence to the inevit-
 
 294 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 able which was one of his strongest character 
 istics, he had accepted his lot from the start 
 without rebellion if without enthusiasm. There 
 was much quaint humor in his make-up, a cer 
 tain faculty for seeing the possibility of a smile 
 where another would have found but tears. 
 Some ancestor, a devoted follower, perhaps, of 
 Henry IV., had transmitted to this remote de 
 scendant a drop of Huguenot blood, and it was 
 enough to turn him from the church of his fam 
 ily, although it had not had strength to darken 
 his natural cheerfulness with the austerity and 
 rigor that seem inseparable to our minds from 
 French Protestants. He would doubtless have 
 died for his faith had he lived in the days of 
 Catherine de Medicis and the Guises ; he would 
 have died singing, like the brave Huguenots who 
 perished at Amboise, their voices ceasing, as one 
 by one ended his song here only to resume it 
 above, but Armand Regnier would have lived 
 as they died, with music on his lips, and light 
 in his eyes. His religion gave him joy ; he felt 
 that grief and discontent were wrongs done to 
 the infinite wisdom that has placed us for a time 
 in this world of sharp contrasts. To one looking 
 on from the outside, as, for instance, Madame 
 de La Roche did, there was a deep pathos in the 
 thought that from an accident merely this man 
 of intellect, with a capacity for action and lead-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 295 
 
 ership, had been condemned to a life of obscur 
 ity and monotony ; but he saw only the guiding 
 hand that had led him through a childhood and 
 youth of peril to his native land, and that had 
 given him a kindly asylum under the roof where 
 by rights he should have been master. 
 
 During the many years he spent there he had 
 never by word or deed shown any envy of his 
 younger half-brother, or any sign of bitterness. 
 The only way in which he had ever hurt them 
 was by his resolute adherence to his form of 
 faith. In vain had his father, then old and 
 feeble, tried to convince him by setting the 
 cleverest and most subtle of churchmen to argue 
 with him. He never denied any of their state 
 ments, or let them see that he found their 
 answers to his questions unsatisfactory ; but he 
 set his course for himself, and, steering by the 
 steady light of the Star of Bethlehem, he sailed 
 straight on. 
 
 The old count used to shake his head patheti 
 cally. " I should not mind it if you were an 
 atheist, my boy, but a Protestant it is too 
 bourgeois, I cannot understand it," he would 
 say. 
 
 It may have been that no sect could have 
 claimed Regnier : he worshiped at no temple ; 
 he had his own theories and beliefs ; he lived 
 up to them, but he never tried to convert an-
 
 296 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 other to his manner of thinking. His idea was 
 that from the very beginning God had revealed 
 himself to man in the way most appealing to 
 his acre and surroundings. If He covdd do this 
 
 o o 
 
 with nations, why not with individuals? 
 
 But this was the only flaw in the love and 
 trust his family had for Arm and. In all other 
 ways he was, if anything, too submissive to their 
 wishes. This was shown when he accepted the 
 wife his half-brother chose for him in the happy 
 glow of a young husband who has found unex 
 pected happiness in marriage. 
 
 At that time Armand was forty, and had 
 settled himself cheerfully into his lifework as 
 steward of the count s property. He had his 
 suite of rooms, already the beginning of a noble 
 library, and marriage was the last thing he 
 wanted. But his tender heart had ached many 
 times as he remembered how his religious atti 
 tude had troubled his father. Here was a case 
 that involved personal inclination merely, and 
 he gave in. The six years he spent with his wife 
 were the only ones he ever looked back on with 
 regret. She had been a small-minded person, 
 had hurt him daily in a hundred different ways, 
 had made peace of mind impossible in her com 
 pany ; but he remembered only that he had 
 not loved her, had not done his best to try to 
 broaden and stimulate her mind, never reflect-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 297 
 
 ing that not one harsh word had ever been 
 uttered by him, and that she had not for one 
 moment suspected his lack of love for her. 
 
 " She gave me Maurice, too," he used to say 
 sometimes to himself in a reproachful mood ; 
 "but, dame! she gave me Berthe as well, so 
 perhaps we are quits." 
 
 His daughter was not the trial to him that his 
 wife had been, although it was hardly her fault 
 that she was not ; she had all the capacity for it. 
 She ruled his household, his expenditures, and 
 flattered herself that she ruled him, but that was 
 his little secret, and he chuckled quietly over it ; 
 he was free. He had established certain laws 
 when she first came to live nine months of the 
 year with him, and as he had cunningly allowed 
 her to suggest them herself after some clever 
 leading up to the subject on his part, she ad 
 hered to them with the tenacity of her shallow 
 nature. 
 
 In this way he was absolutely free from any 
 interruption when in his library, or out of it, 
 during certain hours, and thus he maintained his 
 liberty, for he almost lived among his books, 
 when he was not busy in his vineyards. There 
 she did not care to follow him, but her sturdy, 
 fat -legged children always escaped from re 
 straining hands to follow grandpa, and when he 
 gathered them about him at a safe distance from
 
 298 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 the house, he felt that he could forgive Berthe 
 everything in return for this pleasure. He loved 
 to tell them old-time tales, and watch their solemn 
 faces, and the slow laughter rippling over them 
 when the joke had had time to sink in. He could 
 always find something in the day s work to bring 
 a smile, for he had a keen sense of humor, and 
 this was one of his qualities that appealed most 
 strongly to Sylvia, who felt the need of laughter 
 in these sombre days. 
 
 At the chateau no one saw a joke, and some 
 times she felt that she must either laugh, or cry 
 her heart out. 
 
 Flora had gone early in the summer ; she felt 
 uneasy and troubled whenever she looked at the 
 new countess. At times she almost wished that 
 she had never meddled with her affairs at all, 
 but the wish was not a hearty one, for she could 
 not honestly bring herself to despise the tidy 
 little sum at her banker s, especially when she 
 remembered that, if Philippe were a man of his 
 word, it was only the beginning of prosperous 
 days. Still she was glad to get away among the 
 outside world. She only, with the exception of 
 old Justine, saw how changed Sylvia was ; how 
 capricious she had grown, how she avoided her 
 husband. 
 
 There was a note of despair about her that 
 would suddenly disappear before a burst of high
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 299 
 
 spirits almost hysterical ; to this would succeed 
 hours, often days, of a quiet self-withdrawal from 
 those about her. To the superficial observer 
 these changes were inexplicable ; to us, who have 
 the key, it is easy to follow Sylvia s moods. A 
 chance word would make her realize forcibly 
 that she was Philippe s wife, that she was bound 
 to him until death did them part, and she was 
 ready to give herself to the placid river if she 
 could only escape ; but when the cloud was heavi 
 est the vivid belief in Maurice s honor dazzled 
 her with its brilliancy ; she might have lost his 
 love, but she had her faith in him now and al 
 ways. What wonder that the contrast brought 
 a reaction that amounted to an ecstasy while it 
 lasted ? 
 
 But day by day Sylvia s moral nature grew 
 stronger, and she began to perceive that the feel 
 ing for Maurice she was nourishing and foster 
 ing was a sin, not against her husband only, but 
 against herself, and that part of herself which 
 would not die with her. 
 
 Then the struggle began. Sins of imagination 
 are so intangible that it seems almost useless to 
 take them seriously, and often Sylvia mocked 
 at her own efforts to drive Maurice from her 
 mind. 
 
 " A man who has forgotten me probably, or 
 remembers me only as a virago, and I take my-
 
 300 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 self to task because I love to think of him, as I 
 might of a statue or a picture ! What nonsense 
 it is ! I am growing morbid. I will dream of 
 him, and all the wonderful, poetic things he used 
 to say to me ; it harms no one." 
 
 But after a sunset stroll in the garden, look 
 ing through the branches of the cedar at the 
 glowing sky, while her heart sang but one name 
 and bounded at but one thought, she found it 
 harder than ever to meet her husband with 
 calm indifference. Then would come to her the 
 reflection that perhaps Death was waiting for 
 her, and that with each succeeding day she drew 
 nearer to him. She could not tell whether she 
 regarded him as friend or foe ; but the idea al 
 ways brought a strange quiet with it that seemed 
 to muffle the sounds of daily life. Philippe paid 
 but little attention to his wife s caprices in these 
 days ; he found that she responded distantly to 
 any mark of endearment from him, and as these 
 politenesses had become rather a bore to him, 
 he let her severely alone. 
 
 His life for the time being was entertaining, 
 and he had enough money, or almost enough, 
 after his debts were paid, to begin some large 
 improvements on the estate ; besides this inter 
 est he was getting his chase into fine condition 
 for the autumn hunting, and making his stables 
 as nearly perfect as such establishments can be.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 301 
 
 In consequence of an addition of several stalls, 
 which were duly filled with fine horses, Sylvia 
 found herself almost steedless, for the new and 
 exceedingly haughty coachman demanded such 
 an amount of time to fulfill an order, and so 
 much red tape was necessary before he could be 
 communicated with, that often the dinner-hour 
 arrived before his mistress had had her drive. 
 Sylvia was too proud, perhaps too afraid of her 
 own temper, to appeal to Philippe, who cared for 
 nothing- so long- as the stables shone like jewels, 
 and the horses and harnesses were kept suffi 
 ciently polished ; but she displayed her American 
 independence by hiring a separate stable for her 
 own horses in the village, and with a new coach 
 man established over them she once more drove 
 when and where she pleased. 
 
 This small, silent skirmish astonished and 
 rather delighted Madame de La Koche ; she had 
 never seen a woman before capable of asserting 
 her rights so decidedly and so noiselessly, and 
 her son s indifference to his wife s actions an 
 noyed her. 
 
 He, when country life became a little tiresome, 
 would run up to Paris, " to look at some horses 
 he had heard of," and as he generally brought 
 one or two friends home with him the chateau 
 began to resume its old air of bustle and gayety,
 
 302 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 which delighted the hearts in the servants quar- 
 ters at least. 
 
 Madame de La Roche grew daily fonder of 
 Sylvia, first because there was a depth of child 
 like affection under the reserved exterior that 
 showed itself but shyly and rarely ; and also 
 because the bond of a common interest drew 
 them together. She recognized the fact that 
 there was not even a pretense of love between 
 the husband and wife. This troubled her to a 
 certain extent, for she would have gladly relived 
 her youth s romance in their lives ; but she com 
 forted herself by thinking that years and habit 
 would bring them closer to one another, and she 
 was so relieved by being freed from the degrad 
 ing pressure of debt, so happy to see Philippe 
 contenting himself in a regular, well-ordered 
 manner, that sentimental burdens ceased to op 
 press her. 
 
 And so the summer slipped by, while out 
 wardly the people in the chateau led the same 
 life, side by side ; but inwardly each was going 
 his or her own distinct way. It is almost alarm 
 ing to reflect how small a part of us are our sur 
 roundings. What an elusive unrestrained vaga 
 bond is the self that looks through our eyes ! It 
 would be the study of years to trace the cause 
 of the subtle turnings and twistings in our own
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 souls, and yet how often we hear the expression, 
 " I know him as well as I know myself." 
 
 No one really knows any one ; and this being 
 accepted, how was Sylvia ever to learn her new 
 family, or they her, separated as they were by 
 race, by all the weight of past generations, and 
 by the responsibility of those to come ?
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WITH the opening of the hunting season a 
 new era began at the chateau de La Roche. The 
 touch of the freshly acquired gold was like the 
 kiss of the Prince in the palace of the Sleeping 
 Beauty. During the spring and summer Phi 
 lippe had been pushing things, with the result 
 that the ample stable, which for many years 
 had given shelter to but one or two horses, now 
 presented a brave front to the army of grooms 
 that drilled and mano3uvred under the direction 
 of the haughty head coachman, imported from 
 England. Rows of guest-rooms that had seen 
 only the faint glimmer of a thief-like sunbeam 
 which ventured to glide through the closed shut 
 ters, now basked in the full rays shed by the 
 sun in at the wide-open casements. Galleries, 
 silent in the past, or echoing but to the nibble 
 of a mouse in the paneling, now rang to the 
 busy tread of the many servants running hither 
 and thither to the rooms of guests invited for the 
 hunting:. 
 
 O 
 
 Sylvia had begged off from receiving many 
 women, so the outsiders were chiefly men, who
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 305 
 
 appeared only at dinner, talked rapidly and con 
 vincingly of the day s sport, proving that if they 
 had missed their game it was but the fault of 
 the powder, and if they had been successful, it 
 was their superior skill. She quite lost run of 
 their names, they followed one another in such 
 quick succession. Some were handsome ; some 
 tall and well-made ; most of them were clever, 
 talking with an epigrammatic smartness not 
 difficult to adopt ; but not one combined the 
 qualities owned by Maurice. Even a common 
 place man would have been invested by Sylvia 
 with a halo of romance arising from the fact 
 that she had wronged him ; and Maurice was no 
 commonplace person. 
 
 For the first time in his life, Philippe was al 
 most content ; almost, but not entirely so. In 
 the early flush of good resolve following his 
 marriage, he had paid some of his most pressing- 
 debts, promising himself, and his creditors, to 
 continue this act of justice as he received his in 
 come. But after his return to his property, he 
 was like an impatient child ; he could not wait 
 a year to make good the damages of time, so he 
 plunged into all the expense incident on repair 
 ing. Then the ambition seized him to renew the 
 traditions of his family, and to show the neigh 
 borhood as fine a pack of hounds as any his an 
 cestors ever owned ; so the dogs were bought at
 
 306 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 great expense, and established with the neces 
 sary piqueurs, grooms, etc., on an outlying farm. 
 
 But his expenditure was not limited to the 
 country. The Parisian apartment had lately 
 grown into a hotel, whose occupant was begin 
 ning to give Philippe a notoriety, dear to some 
 men, by being known as the most luxurious and 
 extravagant of her world. 
 
 These drains were undoubtedly heavy, but 
 they could have been met, if the old passion for 
 gambling had not resumed its powerful fascina 
 tions for the count, fastening on him with fresh 
 strength after his short rest. 
 
 He was fully aware of its dangers ; he realized 
 its despotism, and he swore again and again to 
 abandon all play ; but it was late in the day for 
 him to acquire self-control. The habits of his 
 youth, when a slight penance could ease his con 
 science from all sting of remorse, no matter what 
 the offense had been, and the shallow skepticism 
 that had followed close on the heels of this early 
 credulity, made him an impotent prey to his own 
 passions. The fact that he was so soon again 
 heavily in debt troubled him, but he found it 
 easy enough to reason away any feeling of shame 
 caused by the reflection of the unworthy desires 
 that had brought him to this pass. All expense 
 incurred for the improvement of the estate would 
 make it more valuable for those who would come
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 307 
 
 after him, so what he had done in that direction 
 was not blamable. The establishment in Paris 
 was paid for scrupulously from his own income, 
 so no one could reproach him about that ; thus 
 he argued easuistically to himself. But the 
 gambling was not to be dismissed in so cavalier 
 a fashion ; the debts run up there were what 
 we call is it in sarcasm ? debts of honor. 
 To meet their imperative demands he renewed 
 his obligations to the Jews ; but that could not 
 last long ; for they had learned that it was only 
 the income of his wife s fortune which fell actu 
 ally into his hands, and alarmed for the safety of 
 the large sums already advanced, they began to 
 dun him. 
 
 This was the reopening of an old wound ; con 
 sequently more unbearable. He could not stand 
 this sort of thing as well as he had formerly ; 
 his nerves were losing their iron consistency. 
 Since he had reaped the actual benefits of wealth, 
 he had become in a certain manner conservative. 
 He was in an uncomfortable state, and felt it 
 an injustice that Sylvia should have such huge 
 sums lying at rest, earning leisurely interest, 
 when he was so tormented. He thought once 
 or twice of taking her halfway into his confi 
 dence ; of telling her just enough to make her 
 feel an impulse to help him : but some subtle 
 instinct kept him back. He was riding home
 
 308 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 from hunting one misty evening towards the end 
 of October when the cares, banished during the 
 excitement of the day, thronged round him. 
 
 " It s a pleasant state of things when I dread 
 to go home, for fear of finding some confounded 
 message to worry me ; this must stop. Why 
 don t I speak to Sylvia ? She s my wife ; she 
 belongs to me. What is there about the woman, 
 confound her, that makes me respect her?" 
 
 It was true : she had forced him to accord her 
 respect, if nothing else. The fact was that he 
 did not dare to ask her for money, and as he pon 
 dered an idea struck him ; he would write to her 
 man of business in Boston telling him to advance 
 the January interest. That was all that was re 
 quired for the present ; it would stop the barking 
 mouths of those curs, and afterwards he would 
 economize, he would, by " the beard of his 
 father," he said to himself with a grim smile. 
 
 The letter was posted that evening, and led 
 to consequences far different from the ones he 
 had looked for. 
 
 Philippe banished it as well as he could from 
 his mind during the next fortnight, when he 
 might expect a cable in reply to it ; but in the 
 meantime, ho, for a merry life ! 
 
 One cold, cheerless afternoon in November the 
 countess was sitting with Sylvia in her salon. 
 Outside the leaves had fallen, and all was dull
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 309 
 
 and sodden-looking 1 , but within, the trees on the 
 tapestry were forever green, and the strange ima 
 ginary beasts of fable-lore pictured there were 
 eternally innocent in a tropical clime. Sylvia 
 had chosen the older wing for herself, and her 
 rooms were on the ground-floor on the court side, 
 but twenty feet or more above the terrace on 
 which the cedar stood, so that she cowld see into 
 its very heart. The apartment was supposed to 
 be the one occupied by Francois I. on his first 
 visit, and Sylvia had chosen it partly from the 
 association, and because the rooms were large 
 and exquisitely proportioned ; also somewhat on 
 account of the conveniences they boasted. 
 
 In good weather it was but a step across the 
 court to the Renaissance wing, where the older 
 countess lived, and where the family met at 
 meals. When it rained, there were two ways of 
 reaching it under shelter, either by going up a 
 flight of stairs which took one through a covered 
 passage over the entrance arch, and down again, 
 keeping on by the kitchens and offices ; or by 
 descending a winding stair in the wall, that went 
 directly from Sylvia s bedroom to a tunneled 
 way leading to the chapel in the rock. A mod 
 ern housebuilder would hold up his hands in 
 despair over such clumsy exits and entrances, 
 but one must suffer a few inconveniences if one 
 lives in an historic chateau.
 
 310 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 Sylvia had grown into the old wing, with all 
 its memories. She had gathered her belong 
 ings about her, imparting to the grim chambers 
 a touch of modern life, and the surroundings of 
 a woman who thought and read, and kept up 
 with the march of the day. Reviews and new 
 publications lay on the tables ; a portfolio of 
 photographs from the modern masters shoul 
 dered another where the older schools were rep 
 resented ; a package of music, just sent from 
 Paris, and not yet opened, lay on the piano ; 
 but with it all the unconquerable essence of the 
 past dominated the atmosphere of the salon. 
 
 This afternoon, the two women were seated 
 with their work, talking in the snatchy way that 
 people fall into when they live together. Sud 
 denly Madame de La Roche folded her knit 
 ting up in a neat roll, and said : " Philippe is 
 very restless when he stays at home. He is 
 worrying me to send away Pierre." 
 
 Sylvia was too much on her guard with her 
 self to take any active part in the occasional dis 
 cussions between Philippe and his mother. It is 
 only really loving wives who feel the necessary 
 security that permits freedom of speech con 
 cerning their husbands. So she said in rather 
 a non-committal tone, " What fault does he find 
 with the poor old fellow ? " 
 
 As she spoke Philippe strolled into the room,
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 311 
 
 with the out-of-place manner men adopt when 
 they find themselves cut off from their usual oc 
 cupations. There was no deer hunt that day ; 
 an unexpected interval had come between two 
 visits ; and altogether he was ill at ease. It did 
 not add to his amiability to bear the constant 
 wonder in his mind if Sylvia s man of busi 
 ness would cable promptly. He had hoped for 
 an answer the day before, but had been disap 
 pointed. 
 
 " What poor old fellow ? What are you talk 
 ing about ? " he asked, opening- a review, and 
 running his eye over the contents. 
 
 No one answered for a moment, Sylvia, be 
 cause it was not her wish to say anything that 
 might lead to a dispute, and his mother because 
 she would have preferred to put off the inevit 
 able hour of discussion to some day when Phi 
 lippe would be in an easier humor. If she had 
 drawn his attention away by speaking of some 
 other interest, he would probably have forgotten 
 the whole matter ; but the entire silence reached 
 his consciousness through his desultory reading, 
 and throwing the magazine down on the table, 
 he repeated sharply : 
 
 " Don t you mean to tell me who it is you are 
 pitying ? " 
 
 " Sylvia and I were talking about Pierre, and 
 I was telling her of your discontent with him," at
 
 312 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 last replied the countess, once more undoing her 
 roll of work, and beginning to ply her needles. 
 She knew from experience that the matter would 
 have to be fought out now, and she was well 
 aware of Philippe s tenacity regarding his own 
 wishes. 
 
 Sylvia turned her head away, looked out at 
 the dreary landscape, and wished that they 
 would carry their domestic affairs somewhere 
 else. She hated difference of opinion, and had 
 a nervous shrinking lest she might be appealed 
 to by one or the other. 
 
 " Discontent ! That s a mild way of putting 
 it ! The fact is that he is impossible. It is ab 
 surd to think of having a well-run establishment 
 with him for butler." 
 
 " Your father was known as one of the most 
 particular men of his day, and he trained Pierre. 
 lie found him satisfactory." 
 
 " So he probably found the bonnet you wore 
 on your wedding trip enchanting, as it un 
 doubtedly was ; but how would it look to- 
 day?" 
 
 "Ah, Philippe, you should not speak of flesh 
 and blood as you do of inanimate objects. Have 
 you no gratitude for Pierre, when you remember 
 that he saved your life when you were a baby ? " 
 
 " There s always been a question in my mind 
 as to how long we should be slaves to gratitude.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 313 
 
 He saved my life good ; he risked being bitten 
 by a dog who was supposed to be mad good 
 again. In return he was rewarded by you and 
 my father, he was held up to me as my pre 
 server ; and this little game has been played for 
 nearly thirty years. It s time to stop it, and 
 cry quits. I shall provide for him, give him a 
 cottage in the village, and a pension." 
 
 Madame de La Roche could look very severe 
 when she was roused. Her son s words stung 
 her, and she said firmly : 
 
 " It is not agreeable to me to take my stand as 
 the actual owner of the chateau ; but I am driven 
 to say with firmness that it is my wish to keep 
 Pierre, either to the end of his, or of my, life." 
 
 Philippe looked at his mother. He knew 
 quite well that her will equaled his when she 
 had any object to fight for, and the faint color 
 that had crept into her cheeks, together with 
 her flashing eyes, warned him that he must draw 
 back. So he came down from his high horse, 
 and aired his grievances. 
 
 " I don t think that I m very demanding, my 
 dear mother ; just listen to the kind of thing 
 his parsimony makes him do all the time. Night 
 before last when I had those fellows at dinner, 
 I had told Marcel to ice some champagne. It 
 is some wine I am trying, and I wanted it that 
 night surely. Well, round toddled the old miser,
 
 314 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 filling the glasses with rather an unusual gener 
 osity. When I tasted the stuff, I saw at once 
 there had been some mistake. So I whispered 
 to him, You ve got the wrong bottle. Oh, 
 no, Monsieur le comte, there are only very 
 young gentlemen here to-night, who can t tell 
 good wine from bad, and the other cost so much 
 money that I sent to the grocer s for this tisane 
 in its place. It is nice and cold, and no one but 
 Monsieur le comte can tell the difference. I 
 was angry enough at that, and told him to serve 
 it in the servants hall, and give us the other. 
 He trotted off, and in a moment changed the 
 glasses and poured out from another bottle of 
 tisane under my very nose ! Now do you blame 
 me, when I find fault?" 
 
 Sylvia had been giving rather a languid atten 
 tion to the conversation, until Philippe poured 
 out his woes about the champagne. Then the 
 comic side of the story struck her : the image 
 of her autocratic husband being forced to econ 
 omize against his will brought an involuntary 
 smile to her lips, and unfortunately she caught 
 the countess s eye at the moment. The smile 
 became more pronounced, and suddenly they 
 both burst into uncontrollable laughter. The 
 knowledge that Philippe was being made justly 
 indignant by their behavior only made them the 
 more helpless.
 
 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 315 
 
 " It is something- to be grateful for that I have 
 found a way to rouse some interest in me," he 
 said, throwing a furious glance at his wife, 
 which sobered her in a second. He was going 
 on, when the door opened, and the cause of the 
 interview came into the room, bearing two blue 
 envelopes on a tray. 
 
 " For Monsieur le comte, and to one there is 
 an answer," he said. 
 
 Philippe forced himself to take them quietly, 
 and to open them with deliberation ; but he 
 could not control the angry frown that crossed 
 his brow as he read the first. It was from Syl 
 via s man of business, and the three curt words 
 struck him as an insult, " Wife s signature 
 necessary." 
 
 He drew his hand down over his mouth, as he 
 stood staring at the short sentence. It was a 
 check, and a most unpleasing one. 
 
 Pierre, who had been watching him with the 
 undisguised interest of an old and somewhat 
 spoiled servant, interposed : " If Monsieur le 
 comte will read the other dispatch he can tell 
 if there be an answer. I don t hold with the 
 idle messenger waiting long in the kitchen : he 
 will be sure to drink his weight in good wine." 
 
 " Send him to the hall, and tell him I will see 
 him myself," replied Philippe, who had by this 
 time read the second message, a repetition of
 
 316 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 the almost daily demands for payment from one 
 of the Jewish brethren, and as it was a trifle 
 threatening in its form, he decided to reply. As 
 he spoke to the old butler, lie seated himself at 
 Sylvia s writing-table, and pulling open a drawer, 
 took out a sheet of note paper, with the family 
 crest and coronet stamped in gold. But before 
 he had time to sully the fresh page with his pen, 
 Pierre had gently removed it. 
 
 " Monsieur le comte will pardon me. Here 
 is a bit of paper that will do well enough for 
 a telegraph message. I save odd sheets for 
 that." 
 
 Without giving Philippe time to answer, he 
 placed before him the blank side of a faire-part, 
 the wide black edge showing what gloomy mes 
 sage had been its errand. Both the watching 
 women held their breath : they knew that Pierre 
 had risked a violent reproof, and both dreaded 
 the outburst that they expected. But Philippe 
 was too much engrossed in his reflections to 
 notice the interference. He sat with his pen 
 balanced for a short time, and then dashed off 
 a few words ; after which he rose and left the 
 room without speaking. 
 
 " Pierre really is aggravating. I will go and 
 give him a lecture," said Madame de La Koche, 
 following after her son. 
 
 Sylvia leant her head against the window with
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 317 
 
 a sigh. The short-lived laughter had left her 
 depressed. She scorned the mind that would 
 trouble itself over such trivialities, not giving 
 Philippe any credit for his power of organiza 
 tion, and failing to find sympathy with him 
 when he was annoyed by details. She was in 
 the same listless attitude when he returned, and 
 seating himself by the fire, again opened the 
 review that he had thrown on the table. He 
 knew that before him lay a task. The business 
 like brevity of that dispatch irritated him ; con 
 found the canaille who dared to send him such 
 a message. The little episode with Pierre, too, 
 unimportant in itself, added a sting and increased 
 his ill humor. His eye ran down one page after 
 another, and still he pondered as to the best 
 way of opening the subject to his wife. At last 
 a way presented itself to him. He rose, and 
 lighted a cigarette ; then he said in an uncon 
 cerned manner : 
 
 " By the way, Sylvia, I wish you d write a 
 line to your man there in Boston, telling him 
 that you would like the January interest ad 
 vanced as soon as he conveniently can." 
 
 When he first spoke, she turned her head 
 from the window, where she had been looking 
 on the cedar as one looks at a friend, and her 
 whole face took on an altered expression : it 
 grew cold and hard.
 
 318 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " Is it possible that you have already spent all 
 the July income ? " 
 
 "Yes. The kennels have cost a deuced lot 
 more than I expected ; but then it s true that I 
 pushed matters, and it is the first outlay that 
 takes the most money. There will be nothing 
 so heavy again." 
 
 " I dislike to trouble Mr. Henderson. I 
 promised him that I would not make any change 
 in the existing arrangements unless it was some 
 thing serious. I would rather wait until Jan 
 uary." 
 
 " It is not a question of what you may or may 
 not prefer. The money is necessary to me, and 
 at once. Do you understand ? " 
 
 " There is nothing complicated in the state 
 ment." 
 
 " I don t suppose that you care to force me 
 to order you to send for it ? " 
 
 There was an insolent arrogance in his voice 
 that stung Sylvia ; for the first time she thought 
 of her conduct in giving up her entire income to 
 her husband as a generous action. Up to this 
 moment it had seemed but the natural thing to 
 do. Her eyes threw him a quick flash of scorn, 
 as she replied quietly : 
 
 " If you do, I am afraid that I shall disobey." 
 
 Philippe walked to the bell-rope, and gave it 
 a violent pull. He knew that he could not force
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 319 
 
 her to do as he wished, and he said to himself 
 that he had set about the matter in the wrong 
 way. His idea had been that it was best to 
 play a game of bluff, and act as if he were but 
 demanding his right ; but he now saw that he 
 must alter his tactics somewhat to gain his wife. 
 The thought galled him. It was infuriating to 
 feel that he must bend before a woman, but his 
 need was so urgent that he controlled his anger 
 for the time. 
 
 There was nothing more said until a footman 
 answered the bell. Philippe ordered his horse 
 at once, and when the man had left the room, he 
 turned again to Sylvia. 
 
 " That is your final decision, then ? " 
 
 " It is," she answered, her head bent over the 
 white wool in her hands. 
 
 The noise made by the violent slam given to 
 the door told her that she was alone. Alone, 
 indeed ! The very hand that should have been 
 the first to protect her was the one to pilfer her. 
 Every soul is to a large extent isolated ; but 
 Sylvia s position was peculiarly solitary. She 
 felt absolutely sure of no one. She had no 
 specific suspicions against her husband, but her 
 woman s instinct told her that he was not open 
 with her. 
 
 A tormenting thought, that had often been 
 with her of late, came into her mind, the
 
 320 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 dread that if she died, Maurice would never 
 know that she had been deceived ; that he would 
 always think of her as a woman of paltry ambi 
 tion and violent temper. A vague wonder came 
 to her, if she should be able after this life to 
 vindicate herself in his eyes ? But it glided 
 away, leaving the same chill fear behind. 
 
 She had not moved since Philippe left her ; 
 but sat watching with heedless eyes a steely blue 
 cloud, burdened with hail, that was passing up 
 the valley. The stones falling from it bounded 
 on the hard ground, while the trees swayed and 
 complained in the rough wind, that showed them 
 scant ceremony, and played rude games with the 
 reluctant, fallen leaves, urging them to assume 
 an air of gayety, whirling and dancing about, 
 which their sad-colored habits denied. 
 
 The biting cold brought by the shower struck 
 through the small leaded panes of glass. Sylvia 
 shivered and went to the fire. As she stood 
 there the cloud passed over, and a ray of low 
 sunlight struggled into the room through the 
 boughs of the cedar. A sudden idea came to 
 her. She rang the bell and ordered her close 
 carriage at once. She would see Monsieur 
 Regnier before night ; a talk with him always 
 did her good, and she blushed faintly as 
 she thought, " I shall see his picture, too." 
 
 It was dusk by the time she reached La
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 321 
 
 Source, and the warm glow of the library fire 
 was doubly grateful after the chill left in the 
 air by the recent hailstorm. Monsieur Regnier 
 was sitting before it, the shaded light of his 
 reading-lamp on the table by his side leaving 
 the rest of the long room in obscurity. As 
 Sylvia walked in unannounced, she saw the 
 doubtful expression in his face change to a look 
 of welcome ; he rose and came towards her with 
 both hands out. 
 
 " I could not see, but I am sure that it is my 
 little chatelaine," he said. " This is very good 
 of you. I am all alone, you know, and I am in 
 need of sympathy this evening." 
 
 " Let me take off my hat and gloves," said 
 Sylvia, laying them aside. " When I come 
 here I like to make believe that it is home, and 
 that I am going to stay. There, I will keep my 
 furs round me, for I am chilly." 
 
 She took a chair that he drew near the fire 
 for her ; turning it a little, so as to see Maurice s 
 picture, which was under the lamp, as if his 
 father had been looking at it. 
 
 Monsieur Regnier took up two letters. " I 
 have been much stirred by my afternoon s mail," 
 he began ; " I will read you what my boy wrote 
 me." He sat quite still for a moment, running 
 his eye over the page ; then he read :
 
 322 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 TLEMCEN, November 12, 1869. 
 
 MY DEAR FATHER, I am scratching- off this 
 line to follow my Wednesday s letter, because I 
 am afraid 
 
 His voice, which had trembled at first, died 
 quite away. He shook his head impatiently, 
 and handed the letter to Sylvia. " There ! you 
 will have to read it yourself ; I m an old fool," 
 he said brokenly. 
 
 She took it eagerly, and bending her head 
 went on to herself : 
 
 because I am afraid you may hear a gar 
 bled account of a little brush I had this after 
 noon with some natives, and will be anxious. 
 Some of these devils had captured a Sister 
 of Mercy, a woman who spends her life trying 
 to help mankind, in marked contrast to the 
 mass of her sex, and I got permission to go 
 to her rescue. I was 011 fire to begin with, 
 thinking of her possible fate, and when I came 
 to close quarters with the beggars I grew mad 
 with the fighting fever, and felt like a bull-dog 
 in the ring. I believe I even growled, I was so 
 imbued with the spirit of one ! My men acted 
 like trumps. They were bull-doggy, too, and 
 long before I had any idea that we were going 
 to be victorious, the dirty curs of Arabs turned
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 323 
 
 tail, and left me with a good deal of the feeling 
 one has going downstairs in the dark, when he 
 thinks there is another step, and there is n t. I 
 must confess to being disappointed that it was 
 all over. We came back with our prize, and 
 now I am going to bed. I hope that I am too 
 tired to dream of dear old La Source. I am 
 there in dreams half the night, generally. It is 
 your fault for being such a father that it is im 
 possible not to love you and home too much. 
 
 Embrace my sister for me, and give my love 
 to her children. 
 
 I clasp your hand, my dear father, and am 
 your dutiful son, MAUEICE. 
 
 Monsieur Regnier had watched Sylvia as she 
 read, and at any other time would have felt 
 some surprise at seeing the waves of emotion 
 that swept across her face ; but he was so stirred 
 himself that it seemed only natural to him. 
 When he saw that she had read the last word, 
 he handed her the second letter, saying : 
 
 " lie may treat it as a joke, but his superior 
 officers don t." 
 
 TLEMCEN, November 12, 1869. 
 
 MONSIEUR, It is my pleasure as well as my 
 duty to inform you of the gallant behavior of 
 your son, Captain Maurice Regnier, to-day in a 
 sharp encounter with a large force of natives.
 
 324 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 The expedition was undertaken by him at his 
 own request, from a sentiment of humanity 
 which does him credit. He cut his way through 
 fearful odds, and saved a Sister of Mercy from 
 a fate worse than death. It would have made 
 you young again to hear our men cheer him on 
 his return. He is the idol of the regiment, not 
 only for this, but for a dozen exploits almost its 
 equal. The foregoing sentences I write as his 
 commanding officer ; the following ones as his 
 friend, and I fear they may pain you. He is a 
 changed man since his return to us from his 
 furlough a year ago. He has something on his 
 mind, something that has made him hard and 
 bitter. He takes every chance to risk his life ; 
 he seeks every privation. One would think he 
 wished to die, provided the end were glorious. 
 Has he had any disappointment? Is he in debt? 
 Seek it out at once. Find out the cause, and 
 remove it, for the good of France, which cannot 
 afford to lose him ; for your own good ; for his 
 own life ! 
 
 Permit me to congratulate you on being the 
 father of such a son, and accept, monsieur, the 
 most sincere expression of my regards. 
 
 ANDRE DE CLEKMONT. 
 
 As Sylvia read the last part of this letter the 
 color surged to her face, and died away leaving
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 325 
 
 it paler than before ; for a moment her breast 
 rose and fell convulsively, and then with a sob 
 that seemed to wrench her very soul she dropped 
 on her knees, burying her head on the arm of 
 Monsieur Regnier s chair. 
 
 "Oh, how can I bear it? how can I bear 
 it?" she gasped. " I love him, and I am so 
 powerless. It is my punishment, for I thought 
 myself stronger than fate ; now I see my weak 
 ness." 
 
 " My child, my dear child ! " exclaimed Mon 
 sieur Regnier, alarmed by her emotion ; this 
 woman, always so self-controlled even when her 
 eyes contradicted her gay words and smiling 
 lips, now in such an agony of self-abandonment, 
 frightened him. Was she going mad ? What 
 did she know about Maurice ? He laid his hand 
 gently on her hair and said: " Tell me all; I can 
 understand ; but take your own time don t 
 hurry." 
 
 For a moment or two she knelt there, the 
 painful sobs growing fainter ; then she lifted 
 her head and looked at him. In spite of the 
 traces of tears and marks of suffering, her face 
 seemed years younger than the one which he 
 had grown to love ; the subtle, illusive expres 
 sion with the strange fascination had disap 
 peared, and there was a new, child-like honesty 
 in her eyes.
 
 326 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " I never, even to myself," she* began, " ac 
 knowledged that I loved Maurice ; I did not 
 want to ; I dreaded the power of love ; I had 
 seen too much of its havoc ; but I half promised 
 to marry him after a week s thought. He went 
 away, and they lied to me about him. They 
 told me they made me think ah, I cannot 
 tell you what they said, but I believed them 
 God forgive me ! I sent him away with insults. 
 I can see now that it was my love for him that 
 made me so violent, so mad with rage. But I 
 never faced it until I came here, and heard the 
 truth from the countess. Maurice was always 
 true. At first that was enough for me ; I only 
 cared to think of that but now, there is an 
 other thought I must tell you." 
 
 " Go on, my child," said Monsieur Regnier, 
 as her voice died away. His tone encouraged her. 
 He was beginning to understand ; the memory 
 of Maurice s hopes at the time when he came 
 home to obtain money for Philippe ; the de 
 spairing telegram that followed quick on the 
 heels of his departure ; the gloomy mystery in 
 which the affair had been shrouded, all began 
 to explain itself to the father s mind. 
 
 " This is it," she continued ; "December will 
 be here soon, and it is possible that I may not 
 live through it. At times I hope I shall not: 
 my life is a useless one ; if I leave a child to
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 327 
 
 inherit the name, and money to build up the old 
 place again, I shall have served my purpose in 
 the world. But oh, I cannot, I will not die and 
 leave Maurice with a memory of a cold, hard, 
 ambitious woman. If I live, it is for the best 
 that he should think of me so ; but if I die, tell 
 him the truth dear, dear friend, take that stain 
 away from me." 
 
 The old man was moved deeply ; pity for the 
 woman before him, heart-rending sympathy for 
 his brave boy bearing his lot in silence, for a 
 moment prevented him from speaking. He 
 gently raised Sylvia, and made her sit in a large 
 chair ; she leaned back, the simple, uncompli 
 cated expression deepening. 
 
 " I promise you, my dear," he said at length, 
 " that Maurice shall know the truth. It is bet 
 ter for both ; a deception can never work for 
 good. That is not what troubles me ; it is the 
 way you must face your feeling for him. You 
 do not speak of it as a sin you do not seem to 
 regard it as a wrong against Philippe." 
 
 Her face hardened. 
 
 " I have given my husband all that he married 
 me for. He is master of my entire income ; he 
 is content." 
 
 Monsieur Regnier leant forward, and placed 
 his hands on hers ; his touch seemed to calm the 
 burst of scorn called up by Philippe s name.
 
 328 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " You cannot stop there," he said impressively ; 
 " you will be, if you live, the mother of his child ; 
 you have linked yourself in a chain that has 
 continued for centuries ; you have no right to 
 bring the shadow of evil on the family you have 
 entered. It is not merely to your husband that 
 you owe fidelity, it is to his ancestors and to his 
 descendants. When you, a stranger of different 
 land and creed, married a French noble, you 
 threw away your birthright for a coronet. It 
 was a barter, your wealth against his name. If 
 you are a woman of honor you will fulfill your 
 share of the contract ; you will try to satisfy 
 yourself by serving to build up a great name, 
 nearly extinct ; you will so live that when you 
 die you may feel that your example and influ 
 ence have counteracted the evils of inheritance, 
 and your children will be nobler and sturdier 
 than their forefathers." 
 
 " Must I then renounce all happiness," said 
 Sylvia piteously, " and feel that my freedom is 
 lost forever ? It is fearful." 
 
 u Ah, poor little girl," said Monsieur Regnier, 
 " that is a consideration that never presents it 
 self beforehand. You wanted to be a countess 
 or a duchess ; you thought that it would mean a 
 life just as much your own as the years behind 
 you, only with the glitter of rank added ; no one 
 told you that your self was of no more conse-
 
 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 329 
 
 quence as an individual than that of a high-bred 
 mare, bought by the breeder to improve his 
 stable. This sounds brutal, but it is the truth, 
 and I am so little philosophic that I resent it 
 bitterly ; and if I had my way every girl whose 
 mother brings her from abroad in search of a 
 title should be taught it. The old world is ac 
 customed to it, and looks for nothing better as a 
 rule ; but these poor, new world children make 
 my heart bleed with their innocent arrogance." 
 
 This was an old grievance, and he spoke 
 strongly ; she heard his words, but her past 
 emotion prevented her from clearly understand 
 ing them ; besides, a new feeling was at work. 
 She spoke abruptly. 
 
 " Something very strange has happened to me 
 to-day ; I have found myself the real being, for 
 the first time in my life. I seem to have gone 
 back, and become a little girl again. I have 
 never been real, even to my own soul. I have 
 always hidden my true feelings until it has be 
 come a second nature. I think Dick was the 
 only person I ever spoke frankly to until now. 
 I have told myself that love was a curse, a blight, 
 for so long that I thought I believed it ; but 
 since I came here, and heard about Maurice, 
 suddenly I am another person." 
 
 She spoke half to herself, for the first time 
 noticing a change that had been gradually tak-
 
 330 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 ing place in her since the day when her heart 
 had stirred, faintly but decisively, at Maurice s 
 words of love ; her emotional nature had since 
 then grown slowly stronger, until at the first op 
 portunity it dominated her with an imperious 
 force. Monsieur Regnier saw that she was over 
 excited by what had gone before, and endeav 
 ored to calm both her and his own feelings. 
 She did not stay long, for she wished to be alone 
 with this new, wondrous personality which inter 
 ested her deeply, and Monsieur Regnier, moved 
 and saddened, wrapped her furs about her, and 
 watched the lamps of her carriage as it rolled 
 down the avenue in the November dusk. But 
 his thoughts of her died away with the sound of 
 the horse s rapid trot, and as he seated himself 
 once more in his silent room, it was to his boy, 
 his brave Maurice, who was showing a grim de 
 termination to fight down his sorrow, that his 
 mind turned. 
 
 " And he can write me merry, jesting letters 
 when his heart is breaking for her. May God 
 help him, for she is more worthy of his love than 
 most women," said the sorrowing father as he 
 carefully smoothed the colonel s letter, which 
 Sylvia in her burst of grief had crushed. 
 
 She, in the mean time, leaning back against 
 the cushions, forgot her past, her future, her 
 husband, even Maurice, and became absorbed in 
 herself.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 331 
 
 " I nevei 1 thought of myself before," she pon 
 dered. " I have thought of what I should do, 
 where I should be, what might happen to me, 
 but never of me Why, I am a woman ; I am 
 real ; I am like those loving, tender, heroic girls 
 I have loved and envied when I read about them, 
 but I never dreamed of having feelings like 
 
 o o 
 
 theirs. I could be a Viola ; I could be my duke s 
 page, and find content in serving him ; I would 
 carry his messages of love Oh, no, no, never ! 
 I would kill Olivia first ! I would not let him 
 love her. I would compel him to see through 
 my disguise. lie could not help feeling the air 
 throb against his cheek as my heart beat, and it 
 would bring him to my feet. O Maurice, my 
 Maurice, are you thinking of me to-night ? Do 
 you know " A shudder crept over her. " I 
 am a link only a link in a great chain. I am 
 responsible to my husband and his house. Mon 
 sieur Regnier said so. O God, why did you send 
 me feeling when it has become a sin ? Why 
 did no one, no one ever tell me what love meant ? 
 It is fate, though I thought that I had conquered 
 it instead I am doubly beaten." 
 
 She sat, her eyes closed, rigid in her corner. 
 She felt that she was capable of anything, 
 everything, for Maurice s sake, except giving 
 him up, and that was what pride, honor, and 
 womanliness imperatively called her to do. She
 
 332 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 fought her battle out as bravely in the solitude 
 of her evening drive as Maurice had fought his 
 under the African sun, and like him she was 
 victorious for the time. Luckily the thought did 
 not strike her that a resolution could be kept 
 with comparative ease when to break it would 
 mean the result of an unaided effort. This was 
 the time for suffering ; but when leagues of land 
 and sea no longer separated them, when once 
 more his voice thrilled her, and his eyes met 
 hers, then would come the time for resistance. 
 
 When she reached the chateau she had re 
 gained her self-control, and her nerves were 
 calmed, half by her will and half by the sheer 
 fatigue that follows any great emotion. She 
 went directly to her salon, and was surprised to 
 find Philippe waiting for her. An enormous fire 
 roared and blazed in the grim stone chimney, and 
 as he stood before it the brilliant light brought 
 out vividly the lines of his muscular, well-made 
 figure, still in riding-costume, the rich color of 
 his hair and skin, and the restless sparkle of his 
 eyes. Even Sylvia, absorbed and worse than in 
 different as she was, felt an involuntary admi 
 ration of such a complete picture of physical 
 manhood. 
 
 He came towards her, his hands held out, his 
 whole manner changed since their last meeting. 
 He had cooled down during a hard ride, and had
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 333 
 
 come to the conclusion that he must stoop to 
 conquer. Distasteful as the notion was to him, 
 he set about it at once. 
 
 " I was a selfish brute to you this morning, 
 mignonne ; and you have paid me well for it by 
 frightening me." 
 
 As he spoke, he took her furs from her, and 
 raised her gloved hand to his lips. 
 
 " By Jove, how cold you are ! " he exclaimed, 
 not giving her time to reply; "I can feel the 
 chill through your glove. Here, sit down by this 
 fire that I made for you myself. Where have 
 you been so late, making me think that you were 
 lost?" 
 
 " I drove to La Source," she answered, holding 
 her hands out to the fire ; she had not known 
 before how cold she was. 
 
 " You are as white as a ghost, too," he went 
 on, ringing the bell. " You must have some 
 tea." 
 
 "Oh no, I don t need it; besides, isn t it 
 time to dress for dinner? It must be after 
 seven." 
 
 " Dinner may wait for you. Some tea at once, 
 for Madame la comtesse," he added, turning to 
 the servant at the door ; " and bring some cognac, 
 too." 
 
 Sylvia leant back in her chair ; she was cold, 
 cold to her heart, and very tired. She could not
 
 334 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 think ; she only knew that it was good to feel 
 the warmth, and to be taken care of. Philippe s 
 voice seemed to come from a great distance as 
 he went on talking. He was saying something 
 kind that she could distinguish ; something 
 about how doubly precious her life was to him 
 now, and of the new pride that she had made him 
 feel. But she could not answer for the moment ; 
 she could only smile languidly at him, as he bent 
 over her. When the tea came he poured it out 
 for her himself. It was what she needed ; as 
 she swallowed it, the color came again to cheeks 
 and lips, and the fatigue disappeared. She sat 
 up straight, and took in the sense of what he 
 was saying. 
 
 " You will promise me to be careful ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said submissively, more in reply 
 to her own resolves than to his appeal, " yes, 
 I will do as you wish." 
 
 "That s right," he said, rubbing his hands. 
 
 She was now mistress of her thoughts once 
 more, and it flashed into her mind that she had 
 wronged this man, her husband ; she had sinned 
 against him in thought and word ; and she owed 
 it to him to atone for the disloyalty of which he 
 was unconscious, not for his sake, but to right 
 herself in her own sight, to make herself more 
 worthy ; to prove to some invisible presence that 
 Maurice had not lowered himself by loving her.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 335 
 
 A whole network of subtle impulses crossed and 
 recrossed her brain. 
 
 "Now that you re looking yourself again, do 
 you want to dress ? Or would you rather dine 
 here ? " 
 
 " Oh, I in quite well, thanks ; I can come to 
 dinner. But before you go, Philippe, I want to 
 say that I was wrong to refuse to write for the 
 money. If you will tell me what to say, I 11 
 send the letter this evening." 
 
 She rose as she said this, and went to the door 
 of her own room, thus cutting short his expres 
 sions of gratitude ; but in his triumph he did not 
 notice her aloofness. He went back to the fire, 
 and stood staring at the flames ; he gave his 
 moustache a twirl upwards, and a smile in which 
 satisfaction and conceit mingled was on his lips. 
 
 " Ah," he said to himself ; " if you can t gain 
 a woman in one way, it is pretty certain that you 
 can in another !
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ONE evening, late in December, most of the 
 servants of the chateau were gathered about 
 the hearth in the large vaulted kitchen. Roar 
 ing flames rushed up the chimney, as if eager 
 to meet and fight the wind roaring an angry 
 challenge aloft in its turn. The light of fire 
 and lamp fell on the brilliant battery of cop 
 per saucepans and other cooking utensils that 
 gleamed in all their bravery on the walls. The 
 square red tiles on the floor sent up a ruddy 
 glow over the faces of the company. The range 
 with all its accompanying grirnness was hidden 
 behind a huge settle, where the buxom cook 
 rested from her labors, and the whole scene was 
 one of social pleasure or perhaps it is truer 
 to say would have been, had not the expressions 
 of those gathered in the generous warmth ex 
 pressed a certain important gravity rather than 
 mirth. 
 
 " You are certain it was the Paris doctor who 
 came by the afternoon train, Jacques ? " asked 
 the cook for the twentieth time. 
 
 " When I told you again and again that I
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 337 
 
 drove him here myself, because the chief was 
 digesting his breakfast, and would n t budge!" 
 replied Jacques, a little tempestuously. 
 
 " That comes of thinking only an Englishman 
 can drive a horse, and only a Scotchman can see 
 to a garden," grumbled Pierre, the old butler ; 
 " when the truth is, that all one is good for is to 
 stuff his belly and swear at the grooms ; while 
 the other tells you there are no grapes for your 
 table, and sells them under your very nose, put 
 ting the money in his pocket." 
 
 A murmur of applause met this sally, neither 
 of the aliens being present. Then a pretty 
 chambermaid, who was darning stockings under 
 the lamp, made herself heard. 
 
 " I know it was the Paris doctor who came, 
 for Marcel, as usual, ordered me to unpack his 
 valise and lay out his clothes, and then pre 
 tended he had done it himself, and got the tip 
 as usual, too." 
 
 " It s too bad, Jeanne," said the others; while 
 Pierre added, " There s but one way you can get 
 even with him, my pretty marry him." 
 
 Jacques, the only other man present, grinned 
 at this, but cook, laundress, chambermaid and 
 even kitchen girl resented it loudly as being a 
 stigma cast on their sex. As they threw epi 
 thets at him, the mildest of which was " stingy 
 old bachelor," the door at the farther end of
 
 338 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 the room opened, and the wily Marcel appeared 
 with two large bottles in his hands. He placed 
 them on the table, displaying as he did so a 
 showy ring or two, and then said, " Monsieur 
 le comte sends you these magnums of cham 
 pagne with his wishes that you drink the health 
 of his son and heir." 
 
 A chorus of exclamations greeted this an 
 nouncement. 
 
 At last, when quiet was partially restored, 
 Pierre asked, " And the young countess ? How 
 is she ? " 
 
 " As well as can be expected," said Marcel, 
 repeating the diplomatic phrase which the doc 
 tor had used in telling his master of the great 
 news. 
 
 " Won t you stay and have a glass with us ? " 
 asked the cook graciously, as in the capacity of 
 hostess. 
 
 " Thank you, no," replied the great man ; 
 " it is not my brand. Good-night to you all." 
 
 Sundry sly winks and shrugs went the round 
 of the company as he walked majestically away, 
 but the good news prevented any ill-natured 
 remarks, and they watched Pierre in eager 
 silence as he carefully cut the wires of the cork, 
 and without spilling a drop sparingly filled the 
 glasses he had already placed on the table. He 
 then handed one to each of the party, and stand-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 339 
 
 ing in their midst held his own up, and said in a 
 solemn voice : 
 
 " I am the fourth Richer that has served in 
 this chateau. My father, grandfather, and great 
 grandfather all have lived and died for their 
 masters the Counts de La Roche. I am the 
 last, and I leave no one to follow me, but I am 
 none the less faithful for that. Here s health, 
 strength, and virtue to the young master. It s 
 not very likely I shall see him count, but until 
 I die this old hand shall do its best to work 
 and slave and save for him. May our Lord 
 and the Blessed Virgin and the Saints help 
 me." 
 
 "Amen, and Amen," cried the others, cross 
 ing themselves at the holy names, and then 
 clinking glasses and drinking gravely. 
 
 For a moment no one spoke, all more or less 
 moved by Pierre s little speech. Then Jacques 
 shook his ruddy face, and said huskily : " It s an 
 awful serious matter, having a child. I know, 
 for my first is only ten days old. Poor Mon 
 sieur le comte." 
 
 Poor Monsieur le comte f" exclaimed the 
 cook with energy, heaving her ample propor 
 tions to an alert position. " Poor Madame la 
 comtesse, you mean." 
 
 The other women echoed her scornful laugh, 
 but Jacques held his own.
 
 340 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " No, my sympathies are all with him. In all 
 my life I never suffered so much." 
 
 " You suffered! " snorted the cook. 
 
 " Yes," he answered firmly. " I was in such a 
 state that my mother-in-law could not make me 
 go for the nurse ; she had to send a little boy." 
 
 " Jacques, you try my patience," said the 
 cook ; " you had better hold your tongue and 
 not talk about matters you know nothing of. 
 I, who have had twins, could say a word if I 
 would." 
 
 " Yes," chimed in the chorus of women, " you 
 had better keep quiet, Jacques. 
 
 " Ladies," continued the groom, " you all 
 have known, or will know, what it is to be 
 mothers, but you can never, never, know what it 
 is to be a father ; and for a sensitive man like 
 me " Here he paused, and looked round for 
 Pierre to refill his glass ; but the butler, true to 
 his self-imposed duty, during the discussion had 
 slipped away with the second magnum, which 
 he would hoard, magpie-like, for his master s 
 benefit. 
 
 For a moment silence reigned. Each woman 
 glanced stonily at the groom, with the exception 
 of the laundress, the ugliest wench who ever 
 plunged her red, mottled arms into soap suds. 
 She giggled and looked coy. 
 
 Perhaps this sign of appreciation encouraged
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 341 
 
 Jacques, for he continued : " Yes, for a sensitive 
 man and all my family are sensitive, too. 
 Now my mother-in-law has no just knowledge of 
 the higher feelings, for when I was needing all 
 the sympathy I could have, she pushed me off 
 my chair, and called me a ladies, she called 
 me a lout." 
 
 " Right she was, too," said madame cook en 
 ergetically ; and Jacques, looking about, saw a 
 lack of friendliness that seemed to wound his 
 tender organization, even the laundress having a 
 distant bearing. So he rose, wrapped his heavy 
 scarf about him, and taking his hat said good- 
 evening. 
 
 " I will carry the good news home to my 
 wife," he said. " And if by chance Madame la 
 comtesse should want a wet-nurse for the baby, 
 perhaps some one will say a good word for my 
 Marie." 
 
 " For her ! " retoi ted the cook with fine sar 
 casm. " Oh no, Monsieur Jacques ; but we will 
 recommend you for the position, as you seem to 
 be so entirely at home in the whole affair." 
 
 Jacques retired abruptly amid a burst of 
 shrill laughter, and the four women drew nearer 
 together for a bit of gossip. 
 
 " The heir will have his pockets well lined," 
 began the laundress. " They say the countess 
 owns a hundred srold mines in America."
 
 342 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " If she owned a thousand. Marcel and the 
 count would soon make an end of them," an 
 swered the chambermaid, setting her basket 
 aside; and drawing close to the fire, she thriftily 
 turned back the skirt of her dress, displaying 
 thereby a neat petticoat, and two trim well-shod 
 little feet. The cook instinctively drew her 
 large list slippers under her dress, and the laun 
 dress stared in wistful admiration. 
 
 "How you hate Marcel, Jeanne," she said. 
 
 " I know him," returned she significantly. 
 " He has every fault : he is stingy, insincere, 
 cruel, and greedy." 
 
 " You may well say that," chimed in the 
 cook. " What did he do last All Saints , and 
 he pretending to be a good Catholic ? Our 
 bishop proclaimed it a fast, but the bishop in 
 the next department did not ; so what does my 
 gentleman do but go to Monsieur le comte and 
 tell him that he had heard of a fine horse at 
 Blois, only to be seen that day. lie gets a 
 pocket full of money, skips over the line, eats a 
 fine breakfast, conies home and says the horse 
 is sold." 
 
 " Like master, like man," said Jeanne with a 
 touch of bitterness. " I pity the poor young 
 countess, that I do." 
 
 Pierre, who had crept in with his usual noise 
 less tread, heard this last remark.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 343 
 
 " A nice one you are, to be pitying a fine lady 
 like that," he exclaimed. 
 
 " La, you frightened me, Monsieur Pierre," 
 returned Jeanne, forgetting her scorn for men 
 in the presence of one. 
 
 " I wish I could frighten you all into loyalty," 
 he said severely, looking round the little group. 
 " It s a sad sign of the times when the domes 
 tics discuss and pity their masters." 
 
 " Loyalty breeds loyalty, Monsieur Pierre," 
 answered the cook solemnly. " Would n t any 
 of us die gladly for our old mistress ? and as 
 for the young one we have yet to see what she 
 may be. But, Pierre, you and I are past the 
 age when we can shut our eyes to facts, and you 
 know as well as I do that Monsieur le comte is 
 not worthy of his name." 
 
 " Hush, woman ; is there no family pride left 
 among you ? " 
 
 " There might be if Monsieur Maurice had 
 been our master," said the cook with enthu 
 siasm. " There is a gentleman for you. I was 
 a slip of a girl here when he was born in the old 
 wing," she continued, noticing with a look of 
 scorn only Jeanne s giggle at the word " slip." 
 " It was the same room where the new heir is now, 
 and if ever a boy lived who was a nobleman all 
 through it was Monsieur Maurice." 
 
 " This is treason," said Pierre angrily. " We
 
 344 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 have no right to say what we think of our mas 
 ters ; you gabbling- women would be better em 
 ployed saying your prayers for the baby who 
 has come to bear the name we ought all to feel 
 proud of." 
 
 " He 11 have money enough to keep it up, 
 won t he? " asked Jeanne. 
 
 Pierre shook his head dolefully. " I m not 
 sure any fortune can stand the extravagance of 
 these days. They tell me that the young coun 
 tess is as rich asjAhe emperor ; but if you could 
 see the way things go in my pantry Dear, 
 dear, it makes me sad. Think of finding a bottle 
 of cognac open, hardly a glass out of it, left 
 uncorked all night. That is what I see almost 
 every morning. But I hope I may be spared 
 long enough to teach the new count a little econ 
 omy. And now the fire has burnt out, and it is 
 too late to put on a fresh log. So good-night, 
 and remember the heir in your prayers."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 To Sylvia the world seemed to have receded, 
 and to have left her in a universe of her own, 
 of which the baby, her baby, was the sun. No 
 thing was of any consequence to her outside 
 the four walls of the room which held him. 
 What did she care for emperors or dynasties in 
 comparison with her king ? Here at last was 
 something of her very own, to love, to live for. 
 All the exalted dreams of her past seemed to be 
 entirely forgotten by her in her new interest ; 
 she did not even remember that she had ever 
 longed for any greater excitement than to see 
 the baby in his bath, or feel him in her arms. 
 The old room with its faded tapestries was an 
 enchanted glade to her, and the fairy prince had 
 come whose touch was to transform it all. Every 
 experience in her life had unfolded a new petal 
 of her nature, and now the great mystery of 
 motherhood had come to show glowing, radiant 
 depths in her character. 
 
 For the first weeks she was absolutely happy. 
 Even the daily call from Philippe failed to de 
 press her ; every perception unconnected with
 
 346 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 her child seemed to be muffled, and incapable 
 of any intensity of sensation. She wished that 
 the daily round of little duties, each so vital 
 in its relation to the baby, might continue for 
 ever. A woman less absorbed, or more selfish, 
 would perhaps have found some sadness in the 
 reflection that she came first in no heart about 
 her ; but Sylvia never noticed that only old Jus 
 tine gave her as much attention as she did the 
 newcomer. There was pathos in the situation : 
 the young, beautiful woman who had given her 
 all to support the tottering columns of the an 
 cient family, and who lay there beamingly happy, 
 not demanding any recompense for herself, only 
 grateful that at last God had given her some 
 one upon whom she could lavish the wealth of 
 love that had never yet found an outlet. Un 
 suspected capabilities of affection showed them 
 selves, surprising herself. She wondered where 
 the knowledge came from that taught her how 
 to handle the little bundle so cleverly. 
 
 When she grew strong enough to sit before 
 the fire, and dress or undress the baby, what de 
 light was hers. He was a fine specimen, and she 
 reveled in the deep creases, drawn with geomet 
 rical precision, round the fat red arms and legs, 
 the sweet curve at the nape of his neck, and the 
 delicious hollow in the small of his back. Sylvia 
 used to wonder that the important Parisian nurse
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 347 
 
 did not think these points as wonderful as she 
 did, and felt almost wounded when Justine un 
 warily remarked that she herself had been a 
 prettier baby. Madame de La Roche alone sat 
 isfied the demanding mother, for according to 
 her no child so healthy, so beautiful, so intel 
 ligent, had ever come into the world : the older 
 woman used to feel her youth renewed, and often 
 marveled that she was still open to such serene 
 content as now enveloped her. 
 
 Philippe was proud and pleased. Sylvia ap 
 peared to him in a new light. As the mother of 
 his son she had the right to an important posi 
 tion in his regard, and she should have it. She 
 did not jar on him now in her helplessness as 
 she had when, strong and independent, she had 
 claimed her rights. To him she assumed a more 
 becoming, a more feminine attitude, and he re 
 solved to forget the past, and let her see the 
 broader power over him she might acquire by a 
 greater show of submission. It was not surpris 
 ing that her quiet attitude of self-protection had 
 annoyed him, when one considers his education, 
 for he had never seen a woman assert herself be 
 fore. Had he been in love with his wife, this 
 would have amused him ; feeling as he did, it 
 had only served to widen the distance between 
 them. But now, he reflected, things would be 
 different ; they had a common interest, a mutual
 
 348 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 object in life, and if they did not pull together 
 in future the fault should not be his. He would 
 give up all gambling ; his former resolves went 
 for nothing ; then he had had no stimulus to aid 
 him, but now, for the sake of his heir, he would 
 rival old Pierre in stinginess. t 
 
 The January income arrived early in Decem 
 ber, as Sylvia had requested, and Philippe de 
 termined with a violence which betrayed how 
 little likely he was to keep his resolution that 
 he would not run in debt for another franc, but 
 struggle through the coming quarter on the small 
 sum that remained in his hands after he had 
 paid his debts of honor. He fortified himself by 
 going to Sylvia s room, and watching the baby 
 from a discreet distance while he vibrated be 
 tween mother, grandmother, and nurse. As they 
 sat there the afternoon mail was brought in by 
 Pierre, who never failed to pay his daily respects 
 to his young master, mingled with a few warn 
 ings to the nurse against draughts and baths. 
 Sylvia let the letters lie unheeded while she 
 smilingly watched the butler s clumsy attempts 
 to attract the baby s notice. 
 
 " He has fine blue eyes like Madame la com- 
 tesse," he said, as he turned reluctantly away. 
 
 " You can t tell at his age what color his eyes 
 will be," said the nurse haughtily ; " they may 
 come out green, or brown, or yellow for all you 
 know."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 349 
 
 Sylvia tore open her envelopes. "Ah," she 
 said, " Flora Lee-Blair is coming down to-mor 
 row for a few days. That is very kind, for she 
 hates the country in winter." 
 
 In his heart Philippe wished that she hated it 
 more, so as to prevent her from coming to trouble 
 him ; he knew what she wanted ; it was no kind 
 ness that brought her, it was because she had 
 spent all her money. He had entirely forgotten 
 her, and it gave him a rude and unpleasant shock 
 to remember that in a way he was pledged to 
 provide for her. He could not put her off ; it 
 was embarrassing enough that she was obliged 
 to remind him of her need, and he could not 
 offer her a small sum, either. He saw but one 
 way out of his difficulty : to go to Paris and play 
 for high stakes ; if he won, well and good ; if he 
 lost, there were his old friends the Jews. So it 
 happened that when Flora arrived in the chill 
 dusk of a January evening,* driven by anxiety to 
 take this step, she was annoyed and disgusted to 
 hear that her intended prey had slipped through 
 her fingers, and that his train, taking him to 
 Paris, had passed hers leaving it. 
 
 Sylvia was in her salon waiting for Flora 
 with a curious, reluctant feeling: it seemed to 
 her that the peace of the past weeks was to 
 be disturbed ; but she determined to show her 
 friend how grateful she was for her kindness.
 
 350 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 She was always pursued by a sensation that she 
 was in a way responsible for Flora s welfare ; it 
 was for her that she had hired an apartment in 
 Paris, and begged her to live in it and keep it 
 in readiness for a possible visit. 
 
 As Mrs. Lee - Blair followed the servant 
 through the stone corridors, echoing to the click 
 of her high heels, she shivered more from gloom 
 than cold. The drive from the station had de 
 pressed her, the country seemed so wide and 
 empty after the crowded, brilliant Paris streets. 
 She made an effort, however, when she came 
 into Sylvia s presence, and the two women 
 kissed each other with every show of affection. 
 
 " How well you look, dear girl, and how ex 
 traordinarily happy." 
 
 " Thank you, Flora. I am well, and when 
 you see my boy you will understand why I 
 look happy. Let me take your wrap. Are you 
 frozen ? " 
 
 " Almost," said Flora in a preoccupied tone. 
 She forgot that the ostensible reason for her 
 visit was the baby, and that she ought to put on 
 a semblance of interest. Long habit, more than 
 nature, had made her own affairs of such para 
 mount importance to her that only when her 
 mind was at ease about herself could she afford 
 to indulge in sentiment about her friends. Now 
 she gave a dismal look over her shoulder, and
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 351 
 
 crouched nearer to the fire, spreading her tur 
 quoise-covered fingers to the blaze. 
 
 " How can you bear it down here, Sylvia ? 
 Upon my word, this room seems larger to me 
 than the Place de 1 Etoile ; are you never 
 frightened sitting alone with all those pale, 
 weird ghosts of birds and beasts on the walls ? " 
 
 " Xo, I like them, and I love the space," an 
 swered Sylvia. " Dinner will be ready directly. 
 Will you go first to your rooms ? " 
 
 " No ; I am afraid of the staircase. One 
 never knows what may be round the corners in 
 those winding affairs. Let me wash my hands 
 in your room, and forgive me to-night for not 
 dressing ; I am so tired." 
 
 Sylvia looked at her attentively. There was 
 a new ring in her voice, something out of tune 
 and uncharacteristic of her usual jolly, rather 
 reckless way of speaking. This was not the 
 time to ask questions, but the hostess resolved 
 to find out the trouble, and remedy it if pos 
 sible. 
 
 " I still dine in my own salon," she said, 
 leading the way to her room, and lowering her 
 voice as she approached the sacred shrine where 
 the baby slept. " We have taken the whole 
 suite for a nursery," she added, " and Monsieur 
 de La Roche has gone back to his bachelor 
 apartment in the other wing. He left no end of
 
 352 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 messages for you, and wants you to be sure and 
 wait for his return. lie will be in Paris for a 
 few clays only." 
 
 Flora made her hasty toilet, her spirits both 
 heightened and depressed by this speech. If 
 he wanted her to wait for him financial matters 
 were not so bad ; but the vista of tete-a-tete 
 dinners with the old countess, and the childish 
 fear she felt of the grim chateau, with the gray, 
 far-reaching night outside, made present dis 
 comfort blot out future gain. She did her best, 
 however, and when she returned for an hour s 
 chat with Sylvia before going to bed she was 
 her old entertaining self. 
 
 The next morning brought clear cold sun 
 shine. She dawdled over her dressing until the 
 second breakfast, admired the baby enough to 
 please even Sylvia, and somehow the day slipped 
 by. The third morning, just as she was begin 
 ning to fear that she might go mad or die from 
 dullness, she received the joyful news that Phi 
 lippe would arrive at noon. This meant that her 
 adored Paris was only a few hours away from 
 her, and she decided to leave La Roche as soon 
 as she decently could. She was sitting with 
 Sylvia when his carriage was heard in the court. 
 He came instantly to his wife, and Flora was 
 impressed by an air of subdued excitement in 
 his manner, brought into strong contrast with
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 353 
 
 Sylvia s calm reception of him. Just at that 
 time he counted for almost nothing in her life, 
 absorbed as she was in her child. He met Flora 
 with a distant courtesy that he always affected 
 before outsiders, and then asked eagerly for the 
 baby. The nurse was summoned, and the most 
 important member of the family was brought in. 
 Then for the first time Flora noticed a slight 
 uneasiness in Sylvia, a flutter, like that of a 
 mother bird when some human eye rests on its 
 nest where the little ones are. She did not rise 
 from her chair, but her eye followed Philippe s 
 movements restlessly, and her hands stirred, as 
 if they would have snatched the child from its 
 father s arms. He did not hold it long, and 
 when he gave it up to the nurse, Sylvia was 
 again herself. The whole thing was so slight 
 that only a close observer would have noticed 
 it ; but it struck Flora forcibly, and roused a 
 feeling of remorse in her heart. 
 
 At that moment came the sound of the first 
 bell for breakfast, and Philippe left them, beg 
 ging Mrs. Lee-Blair to wait for him to return 
 and take her to the dining-room. A lusty cry 
 from the baby made Sylvia rush to the nursery, 
 and Flora was left alone to face the new and 
 unpleasant sensation that she was to a large 
 degree responsible for this marriage, and that it 
 meant anything but happiness to her friend.
 
 354 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 She tried in vain to sweep away the disagree 
 able conviction that she had done wrong 1 , and it 
 was in full possession of her when Philippe re 
 turned, and offered his arm. 
 
 As they crossed the court slowly, he said in a 
 low tone, " There is a large sum at your banker s 
 for you." 
 
 Something seemed to whisper to Flora : " Re 
 fuse it ; it is yours by fraud." 
 
 She hesitated, and he went on : " If you invest 
 it properly, you will get a very pretty income 
 from it, and, to be frank, that would be a wiser 
 method than depending on me. Heaven only 
 knows what may happen to me in these unsettled 
 times." 
 
 She saw her chance now to still her con 
 science, and secure her future at one stroke. 
 " Thank you," she said. " I feel now that we 
 are quits. I have helped, you, you have helped 
 me ; that s fair, is n t it ? " and as they stood 
 on the doorstep she put out her hand. He took 
 it with a smile of relief, and held it for a moment. 
 lie was triumphant. Ilis play had been wonder 
 fully lucky, and in two evenings he had won 
 enough to shake off his old man of the sea for 
 ever, he hoped. 
 
 Sylvia had in the mean time returned to her 
 salon, thinking that Flora was still there. Find 
 ing the room vacant, she had gone to the window,
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 355 
 
 and saw her husband and her friend across the 
 court, their hands clasped. The memory of what 
 she had seen at Trouville, and but idly noticed 
 at the time, flashed into her mind ; there, on the 
 sands, they had shaken hands just as now. All 
 her false feeling of calm and security left her, 
 and she was forced to take up the old burden of 
 suspicion of her husband. That meant, the father 
 of her child. She must be on her guard, and seek 
 for traces of that stained inheritance in the crea 
 ture she loved the most. Was nothing perfect 
 in this world ? No affection pure, and without 
 its flaw? As she put these questions to herself, 
 the thought of the bond between Maurice and 
 his father came to her mind, the mutual confi 
 dence and appreciation that riveted it, and tears 
 arose in her eyes. They were true and noble ; 
 they deserved each other s love and admiration ; 
 the finest qualities of the strong old blood seemed 
 to have been diverted from the main branch, and 
 to have concentrated themselves in the unrecog 
 nized offshoot. As Sylvia stood motionless at 
 the window, regardless of the servant arranging 
 her breakfast, she thought more of Monsieur 
 Regnier than of his son. The brave, wise old 
 man seemed a tower of strength to her. 
 
 " I wonder if he would consent to be the baby s 
 godfather," she pondered. " He could help me 
 in so many ways ; he told me that day how hard
 
 356 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 1 must work to counteract the evils of inherit 
 ance." 
 
 This idea took a deep root, and she found to 
 her pleasure that the countess approved of her 
 choice. Philippe shrugged his shoulders, re 
 marked that old Regiiier was not a good Cath 
 olic, and could not be expected to advance the 
 boy s worldly interests much, but when he saw 
 that his mother s heart was wrapped up in this 
 choice, he submitted with a very good grace. 
 
 Now that Sylvia had begun to take up her 
 old life, she gradually lost in his eyes the tran 
 sient charms that soft silks and laces had lent her 
 while she was still on her sofa ; with her every 
 day clothes she seemed to him to have assumed 
 her former irritating freedom of action ; he ceased 
 to feel at his ease in her presence. Perhaps some 
 subtle thought-transference made him dimly sen 
 sible that she was studying him minutely, trying 
 if possible to find some quality in him to admire, 
 so that in later years she might say to her child, 
 " Be like your father in that." Day by day she 
 grew more hopeless of succeeding ; her eyes saw 
 him now with a dispassionate severity, more fatal 
 to softer sentiments than any glow of vehemence. 
 " If I might only respect him, I would not ask 
 for love," she used to think. 
 
 It had been a relief to her when Flora took 
 her rather abrupt leave the day after her inter-
 
 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 357 
 
 view with Philippe, on her way to her own 
 people in England, but her instinct had been 
 right. The visit, short as it was, marked the 
 end of that interlude of perfect content and joy. 
 From that day the love she lavished on her child 
 grew in intensity, but it had lost its absolute 
 serenity. 
 
 Through the winter she did not see Monsieur 
 Regnier. At first he was confined to the house 
 by a heavy cold, and the doctor sent him, as 
 soon as he was able to travel, to the Riviera ; 
 like many men he wrote short and unsatisfac 
 tory letters, except to Maurice, and Sylvia used 
 to have an uneasy feeling that she had lost him 
 out of her life. But this sensation disappeared 
 when his answer came to her request that he 
 should be the baby s godfather; it was short, 
 but showed plainly his pleasure at having been 
 asked. He came back to La Source in April, 
 and the first Sunday in May was appointed for 
 the christening. 
 
 The old church at the end of the village road, 
 with its curiously carved font, had always been 
 preferred by the family for occasions of this kind, 
 to the chapel in the rock, which seemed more 
 like a tomb than a place of ceremonial. The 
 distance was short, and the morning dawning 
 clear and brilliant, the party set out on foot. It 
 was a great day for the little hamlet ; the peas-
 
 358 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 ants dressed their houses with garlands and 
 strewed the way with wreaths, roses, and bluets. 
 The church bells rang a joyful carillon. Every 
 inhabitant who could walk or be carried was in 
 the place before the church, and those who were 
 too old or infirm to leave their houses were 
 propped close to the open casements, and in feeble 
 voices blessed the young heir, who made his royal 
 progress, gorgeous in laces, and sleeping in pro 
 found content on his pillow. The interior of the 
 church was cool and dim after the wealth of 
 color and light without ; the altar to the Virgin 
 was ablaze with candles, and made the only 
 brilliant spot in the noon twilight. The old 
 cure, arrayed in white and gold, stood by the 
 altar, and the chateau party clustered about him, 
 the peasants hanging round the door, as if afraid 
 of intruding. Sylvia had learned with some 
 amusement that she was not called upon to choose 
 her boy s name, and listened half bewildered 
 to the apparently endless string of appellations 
 given to him. But it mattered little to her ; and 
 her mind soon lost count of the present in vague, 
 hopeful dreams for the future. It was soon over, 
 the witnesses signed their names in the sacristie, 
 and once more they came out into the dazzling 
 sunlight. 
 
 The children of Madame Lefevre, who had 
 been given a holiday for this joyful occasion,
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 359 
 
 each carried a satin bag filled with sugared al 
 monds, the time-honored dragee of French chris 
 tenings. The party halted on the church steps, 
 and with shouts of joy the little Lefevres show 
 ered the candy in handfuls among the village 
 youngsters. Then what a scrambling, scuffling, 
 and romping ensued. Sylvia watched this scene, 
 new to her, with much amusement ; the presence 
 of the count awed the young villagers into com 
 paratively good behavior, and inevitable cuffs 
 and blows were given and taken in good part. 
 Little Maurice Lefevre evidently thought the 
 whole proceeding a deplorable waste of good 
 candy, and for every meagre handful that he 
 threw among the scrambling crowd, he deposited 
 as many sweeties in his mouth as it could well 
 hold. Sylvia, to her delight, heard Pierre the 
 butler commending the young gourmand in the 
 following words : " That s right, my little mas 
 ter, save some ; don t throw all to the riffraff 
 down there, and I 11 give you a big sou for what 
 you bring back to the chateau, and you shall see 
 them on the table at breakfast." 
 
 " Got plenty of sous at home ; like bonbons 
 best," said Maurice in a husky voice, his mouth 
 full. This false step attracted his mother s at 
 tention, who snatched his satin bag from him, 
 declaring in shrill tones how sure she was 
 that he had made himself ill. Young Maurice,
 
 360 I A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 strong in the knowledge that lie had secured 
 more candy in ten minutes than he had ever 
 had in his short life, submitted to this indignity, 
 and stood sturdily licking his fat, sticky hands, 
 getting faint and ever fainter reminiscences of 
 past joys from the operation. 
 
 Philippe, who thoroughly enjoyed playing the 
 good lord of the chateau on occasions like this, 
 stood laughing and encouraging the good-na 
 tured buffeting, until the last dragee had disap 
 peared ; then, taking a leather bag from Marcel, 
 filled with half francs, he scattered the silver 
 in the air ; it fell, a shimmering shower on 
 the joyous young peasants, and the christening 
 party resumed its way home amid their pro 
 longed cheers. 
 
 This was a busy day, for custom demanded a 
 breakfast for the entire village, and on reaching 
 the chateau the long tables were seen spread 
 in the court, over which a temporary awning 
 had been erected. Everybody who was able, 
 turned out for this festivity, and after the vil 
 lagers had been left to themselves, their tongues 
 wagged vigorously, as the middle-aged recalled 
 the christening feast of the present count, and 
 a few old ti eble voices made themselves heard 
 as they told of incidents remembered either 
 personally, or vicariously of the day when his 
 father was carried about this same court,
 
 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 361 
 
 wrapped in the same laces which now adorned 
 the unconscious cause of the feast. At last the 
 moment came when Pierre, who had superin 
 tended the repast, appeared in the dining-room 
 to tell his master that the revelers wished to 
 drink the family healths. The baby, dewy and 
 rosy, after a long sleep, was placed in his 
 mother s arms, and they all stepped out into the 
 court to receive their compliments. 
 
 The cure, who stood a little behind the others, 
 was seen to smile and nod at a remark whis 
 pered in his ear by his sacristan, after which he 
 stepped forward, and took his place at the head 
 of the principal table. 
 
 " My dear friends," he began, " I have been 
 asked to propose the healths, and I accept the 
 invitation with great pleasure. First, let us 
 drink long life, honest endeavor, and happiness 
 to the most important person present. Here s 
 to Master Baby." 
 
 " Hurrah ! hurrah ! " rang out the honest 
 cheers, making the small hero start at first, and 
 nestle closer to his mother ; then, growing accus 
 tomed to the sound he opened his lips in a wide, 
 toothless smile, and added his tiny gurgle to the 
 turmoil. 
 
 After this, the names of the other members 
 of the family followed in quick succession, the 
 cure being too wise to do more than mention
 
 362 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 them, knowing that the young feasters were 
 already longing for the games. As he brought 
 his list to a quick close, the sacristan rose, and 
 blushing to the tips of his wide-spreading ears, 
 said in a voice, unmanageable from shyness, 
 " There are two more healths to be drunk ; the 
 first is to our good cure." 
 
 Again the cheers burst forth, and when silence 
 reigned he continued : " And the second is to 
 him who seems to belong to us still, as much as 
 when he lived here, for I m bound there s not 
 one of us, who in the old days knew sickness, or 
 losses, or sorrow, without knowing at the same 
 time the kind heart, the good words, and the 
 open purse of Monsieur Regnier. He has al 
 ways been our friend, my lads, and here s to 
 him." 
 
 This had not been expected by the peasants, 
 and for a moment their slow minds did not 
 receive the idea readily ; but when they fully 
 understood, a tumult of shouts and cries broke 
 out ; the men tossed their hats in the air, and 
 the women waved their arms and screamed 
 shrilly. Sylvia tingled with the excitement 
 which is caused by a touch approaching the 
 heroic, and the countess put her handkerchief to 
 her eyes. Monsieur Regnier, more surprised 
 than any one present, tried to speak when the 
 noise ceased ; there was a tender light in his
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 363 
 
 eyes, where a tear rose slowly. His voice trem 
 bled for a moment, but lie steadied it. 
 
 " Jean Meunier is right in one thing; I am 
 your friend, but I want to confess that I never 
 knew how much you were mine until now. You 
 have just given me a pleasure that money can 
 not buy, that time cannot steal; and I thank 
 you from my heart. I will give you one more 
 toast only, and I want you to drink it rever 
 ently. Here s a hopeful future to the family 
 who have for so many years lived in these old 
 gray walls. In days long past the counts de La 
 Roche protected and cared for the little town 
 lying at their gate, and in war they fought 
 side by side with the peasants. Let this feeling 
 of mutual help continue, go on living use 
 ful, honorable lives, and remember that next to 
 our mother, France, you owe allegiance to your 
 count." 
 
 Although he spoke with the fervor of enthu 
 siasm, Monsieur Regnier s words roused but 
 little excitement among the good people. They 
 cheered in a perfunctory manner because it was 
 evidently expected of them, but their hearts 
 were in the broad field where games of all sorts 
 awaited them, and they gladly trooped away. 
 
 Madame Lefevre, who had been pleased ap 
 parently by the compliment paid to her father, 
 now spoke to him.
 
 364 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " It was all very pretty, clear papa, but what 
 a blessed opportunity you missed. Surely that 
 was the moment to speak to them of their souls 
 not of fighting 1 ." 
 
 " Either was out of place at a feast, Berthe, 
 and I should have remembered that peasants see 
 but one thing at a time. I must apologize," he 
 added, turning to his friend the countess, " for 
 striking a false note, but my boy s letters stir 
 me so just now that I am bubbling over with 
 patriotism." 
 
 Philippe gave a slight laugh which might have 
 meant almost anything ; to Sylvia s surprise 
 he had behaved in a most respectful manner 
 to Monsieur Regnier during the day, and she 
 dreaded any word from him that might wound 
 the brave old man. She did not appreciate the 
 admirable deference of youth to age, taught and 
 practiced in France with a rigor which com 
 mands admiration, and this being the first time 
 she had seen the two men together she had pre 
 pared herself for possible friction. 
 
 Before more could be said, Berthe again broke 
 in : " Papa, you should rest now for a little 
 while ; you look tired." 
 
 " Yes," added Madame de La Roche. " Phi 
 lippe and I must look on at the games and give 
 the prizes. Berthe and Monsieur le cure will 
 help us, but you and Sylvia will be all the better 
 for a little quiet."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 365 
 
 " You are right, as always. Come, my chate 
 laine from over the seas, let us go to the garden, 
 and make up for all the time lost through the 
 winter." 
 
 Sylvia went with him gladly, and side by side 
 they descended the broad steps leading to the 
 garden. After the noise and disorder of the 
 court, littered by the rude chairs and tables, and 
 the remains of the breakfast, the garden seemed 
 a very Eden of quiet and order. The formally 
 trained fruit-trees were in full bloom, and made 
 screens of flowers. The paths were bordered by 
 stunted apple-trees cut down to two feet from 
 the ground, and growing in garland-like branches ; 
 with their profusion of pink and white blossoms 
 they made Sylvia think of a young girl s ball- 
 dress edged with a fragrant wreath. The foliage 
 of the trees was scanty as yet, and the hills on 
 the other side of the river could be plainly seen, 
 with here and there a hawthorn bush looking 
 like a puff of white smoke in the blue distance. 
 
 After wandering about for a while they came 
 back to the cedar and seated themselves. Their 
 talk, of a scattered sort at first, always came back 
 to the mainspring of Sylvia s heart, her little 
 Louis, as he was to be called, after Philippe s 
 father. They spoke vaguely of his future, and 
 recalled the varied elements which mingled in his 
 small make-up. Sylvia told all that she knew
 
 366 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 of her parents characters, and they contrasted 
 the uneventful lives of the sturdy old Boston 
 merchants on the one side, with the glittering, 
 exciting existences of the counts who had pre 
 ceded and lived through the reign of terror. 
 
 " Find the best in him, and develop it to your 
 utmost," said Monsieur Regnier at last. " Re 
 spect his Anglo-Saxon instincts, and trust him ; 
 don t keep him under lock and key, but give him 
 his head ; show him that you believe in him, and 
 leave the rest with God." 
 
 This talk gave Sylvia cheer and faith, and 
 helped her to face the future with a new, steady 
 courage.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 IT was a hot blazing afternoon in July of 1870. 
 Monsieur Regnier came swinging through his 
 shady park, still vigorous in spite of his years, 
 a picturesque figure in his buff linen suit, his 
 wide hat shading his bronzed face, and the ends 
 of his gay bandanna cravat fluttering in the 
 breeze caused by his own rapid motion. He had 
 been in his cornfields, and had superintended 
 the last day s work of getting in an unusually 
 good harvest, and now he was coming home to a 
 bath, which would be followed by a romp with 
 his little grandson, a calm dinner, and peaceful 
 evening for Berthe was in a retreat for some 
 fancied misdemeanor. He could hear the happy 
 laughter of the boy, who was splashing with 
 brown bare legs in the stream behind a clump 
 of bushes ; the house lay slumbering in the sun 
 shine, the gay awnings all stretched, and not a 
 breath stirring the ivy on the walls. The large 
 Pyrenean sheep-dog who lay before the open 
 door looked at him with one sleepy red-rimmed 
 eye, and welcomed his master with a few slaps 
 of his tail on the "ravel.
 
 368 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " Poor Medor, good old fellow ; you need not 
 try to be polite, it s too hot," said Monsieur 
 Regnier, passing- him. 
 
 As he entered the cool spacious hall the butler 
 came forward to meet him with a telegram. He 
 tore it open, and his genial face glowed with 
 delight. 
 
 " That is well, Jacques ; that is well. Mon 
 sieur le capitaine will be here in an hour. Order 
 the sorrel mare in the dog-cart to meet him at 
 the station. Albert had better drive, for I wish 
 to prepare things here. Send Mere Robin to 
 me at once." 
 
 Then followed the happy planning between 
 the old housekeeper and her master ; he sug 
 gesting this or that in a tentative manner, to be 
 met only by scarcely veiled scorn. 
 
 " If Monsieur thought the captain would like 
 a duck just out of the farm -yard, tough as a 
 board, of course she was not the one to say no ; 
 but it seemed a pity not to use some of a seven 
 weeks old lamb she had just ripe for cooking ; 
 and as pretty a little broiler as any one ever 
 saw she had all ready for the master s dinner ; 
 then if that lazy unfortunate of a Jacques would 
 catch thorn a fat carp, that would not come amiss ; 
 she had a fine melon too " .and so the dinner 
 grew to proportions Monsieur Regnier would 
 never have dared to hint at. Then came the
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 369 
 
 cares for Maurice s favorite wines ; two bottles 
 of the choicest were placed in the stream to 
 cool ; and this occasioned the calling of young 
 Maurice from his dabbling to be made ready 
 for his uncle. A merry, rosy chambermaid pre 
 pared his room, much hindered both by grand 
 papa and grandson, who kept running in and 
 out, heedless of her, with soap, cologne, a hun 
 dred little nothings, the boy giving a finishing 
 touch to the decorations by putting a woolly lamb 
 on casters in the centre of the table. 
 
 This was the first time in two years that Mau 
 rice had visited La Source, and all was in gala 
 dress to welcome him. As he left the train at 
 the little station, for him crowded with memories 
 of former home-comings, he looked much more 
 changed from the boyish soldier poet whom we 
 saw last at Trouville than the lapse of time war 
 ranted. He had grown heavier, and in conse 
 quence seemed less tall, and more symmetrical ; 
 the old impetuosity of manner had been replaced 
 by one outwardly more calm and restrained, 
 but those who knew him best perceived that it 
 covered a deeper, more significant recklessness. 
 Few men allow their entire lives to be ruined by 
 a disappointment in love, and Maurice had too 
 high a regard for his duty in the world where 
 Fate, Chance, or Providence, call it what you 
 will, had placed him, to shirk it in any partic-
 
 370 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 ular. Nevertheless, worthy as he regarded his 
 position as one of the defenders of his coun 
 try, absorbing as his hidden talent of poetizing 
 was to him, underneath his outer life worked the 
 hidden grief, altering him in many subtle ways, 
 sometimes for the better, sometimes for the 
 worse. lie had been strengthened by the first 
 acute suffering that he had ever undergone ; but 
 at the same time he had been hardened by the 
 shock given him by Sylvia when he was deceived 
 by her actions into believing her unworthy of the 
 love he had lavished upon her. lie had become 
 bitter, in short, and showed it in his profession 
 as a soldier by proving himself a stern martinet 
 to his men, requiring as much risk of life and 
 limb from them as he himself was willing to un 
 dergo ; and in his profession as a poet by a tinge 
 of fatalism, which made his later verses more 
 fascinating but less wholesome than his earlier 
 ones. 
 
 As he drove along the familiar road this July 
 afternoon, the groom found him strangely silent 
 and unapproachable ; he remembered former 
 visits when the young master had scarcely given 
 him time to answer his eager inquiries for every 
 man, woman, child, and beast at La Source ; 
 to-day, after asking for the family, the captain 
 remained without speaking for the rest of the 
 drive. In truth he was wondering a little at
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE, 371 
 
 himself, and had a vague sensation of disap 
 pointment that he was undergoing a dreaded 
 ordeal with such an absence of emotion. He 
 had looked forward almost with horror to going 
 home, in spite of his love for his father ; he had 
 imagined that being merely in the neighborhood 
 of Sylvia would be distressing. He had never 
 forgiven her ; not because she had rejected him, 
 but because she had pulled clown his ideal of 
 womanhood, never, as he believed, to be replaced. 
 In the years since his last visit to his father he 
 had learned a difficult and bitter lesson, and now, 
 as the sorrel mare dashed along through the park, 
 his heart beat no faster when the old house came 
 into view, and even the sight of his father in 
 the doorway brought no emotion beyond a calm 
 pleasure. 
 
 As a rule we feel strongly on one subject only 
 at a time ; and although it was for the moment 
 in abeyance, the thought which made the blood 
 tingle in Maurice s veins was the knowledge 
 that a month more might see him on the field 
 of battle, defending France. Monsieur Regnier 
 said not a word as his son leaped from the dog 
 cart, but his outstretched arms and shining eyes 
 told of his welcome. 
 
 The silent, eloquent gesture swept away at 
 one stroke the unreal veil of indifference which 
 had shrouded Maurice s sensations ; quick and
 
 372 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 vivid came the realization that this was the one 
 thing in the world left him worth having, this 
 unselfish, devoted love. An unexpected lump in 
 his throat prevented him from speaking as he 
 jumped to the ground. At their last meeting 
 tears would have come readily ; but after suffer 
 ing as bitter as that through which Maurice had 
 gone, tears are rarer and more painful. 
 
 Young Maurice effected a welcome diversion 
 by breaking in on the sad silence. He pulled 
 his tall uncle s coat, and said triumphantly, " I 
 am in knickerbockers ! " at the same moment 
 displaying a diminutive expanse of white duck. 
 
 " Well done ! What s your tailor s name ? 
 Some men in my regiment may want to employ 
 him," said Maurice senior, glad of the chance to 
 speak naturally. 
 
 But it seemed that he had trodden on delicate 
 ground, for, much to the disgust of the newly 
 breeched, his mamma had thriftily employed a 
 seamstress for the great occasion, and the un 
 happy woman had pursued her task under diffi 
 culties, such as resolute kicks during the " try- 
 ings on " and scornful reflections on her sex in 
 more calm, but yet bitter moments. 
 
 Grandpapa, who had sympathized in silence 
 with the young hero, prevented his reply by 
 changing the direction of his thoughts. 
 
 " Come, my boy, you must take your uncle to
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 373 
 
 his room and tell him not to be late for dinner. 
 He does n t know yet how dreadfully afraid we 
 are of Mere Robin when mamma is not here to 
 protect us ; and if we keep her soup waiting, we 
 can never tell what may happen." 
 
 So with a cloud of memory brushed aside, 
 young Maurice thrust his hands deep in his 
 pockets, and with much care led the way up the 
 shallow staircase to his uncle s room. 
 
 " I 11 come for you in fifteen minutes to show 
 you down," he said. As he spoke he watched 
 Maurice s face to see when the glory of the lamb 
 would burst upon him ; but as no remark ap 
 peared to be forthcoming, he continued : " I 
 have given you, for always, my lamb ; his name 
 is Albert, for the coachman. I love Albert, and 
 I am going to be a coachman when I grow up, 
 so I can crack a whip and say sapr-r-r-r-istl ! " 
 
 " Thank you a thousand times," said Maurice, 
 a little unsteadily, seeing the boy shut the door, 
 leaving him alone with a sense of relief. 
 
 Then he sat down by the table, put his head 
 by the woolly lamb, and let a wave of sorrow 
 sweep over him ; remorse for his hard mental 
 attitude towards his home ; a regret for all the 
 regrets that he had lost ; a passion of tender 
 ness for his father. He had allowed a woman 
 to interfere with his love and friendship for the 
 only person in the world to whom he meant
 
 374 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 everything, and what a woman ! She had 
 proved what she was by selling herself to Phi 
 lippe for his name ; she had been so wanting in 
 tenderness that she had found her one way of 
 rejecting him in an insult ; and for her, he had 
 spent the last years, perhaps in verity the last 
 years of his life, far from his father. She had 
 been right in one thing ; he was a coward ! It 
 had been fear of her, of the suffering she might 
 still be able to inflict on him, that had caused him 
 to deprive his father of the thing he cared most 
 for, his companionship. His heart had grown 
 used to absence, and habit had made him forget 
 that the old cling to the young, more than the 
 young to the old. Now the welcome, the little 
 attention to details in his room, the ready affec 
 tion of the bo.y, almost a stranger to him, which 
 proved how often he had been told of the absent 
 soldier ; above all, the shining, wistful eyes of 
 his father as he met him with outstretched hands, 
 showed him where he stood in his home. His 
 former greed for glory and devotion to his coun 
 try appeared now to him like heathen virtues, 
 when he thought of the anguish one bullet might 
 cause if it found him out. A quarter of an hour 
 had not passed when he opened his door and 
 went into the hall, to find Maurice the younger 
 braced against the wall watching for him, but 
 he had lived long in that time.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 375 
 
 " I was waiting, Uncle Maurice, to see if Albert 
 felt quite well ; when mamma is away grand 
 papa lets him come to dinner and sit in her chair; 
 but you know he is yours now, and you may not 
 think that is proper ? " 
 
 There was a question in the voice which quiv 
 ered slightly. 
 
 " Oh, I am sure it is proper, and I want to 
 consult you a little about Albert," answered 
 Maurice, returning and gravely shouldering the 
 lamb. " You know I must go away in a few 
 days, and probably I shall be obliged to live in 
 a tent; now I am afraid that Albert wouldn t 
 like a tent." 
 
 " I should dearly ; but Albert never was in 
 such a thing ; he might be scared." 
 
 " That is what I think, and I wish you would 
 keep Albert until I come back, and call him 
 yours ; then we can decide about the future." 
 
 "Yes, yes," shouted Maurice junior, in wild 
 joy at having his darling restored. " Give him, 
 I ll take him, and he may have some babies be 
 fore you get back, the guinea pigs do all the time, 
 and then you can have a baby Albert." 
 
 With this comforting remark he hugged the 
 stiff and ungainly lamb to his heart, giving vent 
 to his feelings by a series of high, shrill yells, 
 which rather interfered with the sentimental turn 
 his uncle s thoughts were beginning to take.
 
 376 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 They found Monsieur Regnier waiting for 
 them in the dining-room, and the party of four 
 seated themselves, Albert having a napkin care 
 fully pinned about his neck by the butler. 
 
 " That s the way the coachman does," ex 
 plained his young owner ; " he eats his soup like 
 this, and it tastes lots better." 
 
 He illustrated by bringing his spoon directly 
 in front of his mouth, the point aimed at it, and 
 his chubby elbow extended before him ; the re 
 sult was that his chin received a double share, 
 and he was resigned to a scrubbing from the 
 butler and a reprimand from his grandfather 
 only by seeing that they were both inwardly 
 amused by his imitations. 
 
 After the boy had gone to bed Maurice and 
 his father went out on to the terrace, and as 
 they sat in the dim light of the stars low hang 
 ing like jewels on the velvet darkness of the sky 
 their talk turned to grave themes. It was evi 
 dent that a war was imminent ; and this prospect 
 weighed on them, and made their words few and 
 scattered. Since Maurice s arrival Monsieur 
 Regnier had had his bad moments also ; he had 
 been obliged to acknowledge the fact thrust be 
 fore his eyes that Maurice was a boy no longer. 
 The lines about his mouth and eyes told of youth 
 lost forever, its spirit being killed. The former 
 expression of enthusiasm and pleasure had been
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 377 
 
 replaced by one of firmness and sombreness ; the 
 Greek beauty embodying sentient enjoyment had 
 disappeared ; and now in Maurice s face was 
 found evidence of deep experience and struggles 
 with life, giving him a new interest, and to his 
 father a deep pathos. 
 
 They sat in the warm night air, the silence 
 broken only by the bell-like notes of some dis 
 tant tree-toads. Monsieur Kegnier was think 
 ing painfully, and trying to see his way clear. 
 Maurice lighted a fresh cigarette by his nearly 
 burnt out one, and the ruddy light as he puffed 
 at it made his face plain for a moment. The 
 glimpse decided his father ; he spoke : 
 
 " You will soon be leaving me, my son, and 
 we must steel ourselves to face the worst." The 
 old man s voice was unshaken now, although the 
 joy of meeting had unmanned him. " If you 
 fall, I should wish you to die at peace with all 
 the world ; are you prepared for that ? " 
 
 The deep solemnity of his father s words and 
 manner impressed Maurice. 
 
 " I think I am, with one exception," he an 
 swered. " There is one person I can never feel 
 at peace with one insult I can never forgive." 
 
 " I think I know who it is, the wife of 
 Philippe." 
 
 In the obscurity Monsieur Regnier felt rather 
 than saw the sudden rigidity which seized
 
 378 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 Maurice, his very breathing seemed to have 
 ceased ; he did not answer, and his father con 
 tinued. 
 
 " Last autumn, when she too was facing a 
 possible death, she told me that if she died you 
 were to know that she had been the victim of a 
 cruel deception regarding you ; that she could 
 not endure the thought of an unknown future, 
 while in your eyes she seemed to have been 
 actuated by unworthy motives. I tell you this, 
 on the edge of the grave in a way and I trust 
 you to respect the confidence." 
 
 " Thank God," said Maurice, his voice stifled, 
 the rigidity all gone, as he bowed his head in 
 his hands. 
 
 Monsieur Regnier touched his shoulder gently 
 as if afraid even of so much sympathy. 
 
 In a few moments the younger man spoke 
 again. " Tell me about her. Is she happy ? " 
 
 " I think in a way that she is ; she is doing 
 her duty, which always brings calmness, if not 
 something better, and her child is a help to her. 
 The countess is very fond of her." 
 
 " And he ? does he treat her well ? " 
 
 " Ah, my boy, we both know what Philippe 
 is and we both know what Sylvia is. That is 
 my answer." 
 
 It gave Maurice a strange thrill to hear his 
 father speak of her by her name, and added con-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 379 
 
 fusion to his already confused thoughts. This 
 was a solemn, a sacramental hour for him. 
 
 " My father," he said, a profound quiet in his 
 manner, " I will, with God s help, respect your 
 confidence in me ; I will not ask you more about 
 her, not even if she still has any love for me. 
 You have given me great happiness, for I can 
 still believe in woman s purity, for she who stood 
 to me for ideal womanhood is once more on her 
 pedestal, and is worthy of the love with which I 
 honored her. I must never see her again, but if 
 I fall you will tell her everything." 
 
 " If I survive your death, I will." 
 
 Silence fell again 011 them, and they spoke no 
 more that night. 
 
 " I must never see her again," Maurice had 
 said, and he had meant it ; but destiny willed 
 otherwise. The next day he was by the brook 
 rigging a small boat for his nephew, while his 
 father sat near looking at them and trying to 
 blot the dread of the future from his mind. 
 Each was so intent on his occupation that Syl 
 via s carriage rolled up the avenue unnoticed, 
 stopped when it came to the point nearest to the 
 little group, and Maurice was warned of the ap 
 proach of newcomers only by the boy s shout of 
 " The baby, the baby ! " as he scampered over 
 the grass. Then he looked up, and saw, coming 
 towards him, the countess, Sylvia, and a woman
 
 380 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 with a child in her arms. Sylvia saw him as in 
 a dream at first ; for a moment she did not be 
 lieve the evidence of her eyes. Then, when con 
 vinced, she turned swiftly to the nurse, and 
 clasping her child to her breast with an instinc 
 tive desire to shield herself with her most power 
 ful armor, she faced the man whom she had 
 cruelty wronged, and whom she loved. 
 
 His skin, browned by the African sun, showed 
 no change ; but his face was tense as he lifted it 
 after kissing the countess s hand. She and the 
 children were the only unconscious ones there, 
 for old Justine s keen eyes saw much that lay 
 beneath the surface. 
 
 Monsieur Regnier greeted the countess, who 
 turned to him from his son, apologizing for hav 
 ing spoken first to Maurice, and then said with 
 no sign of embarrassment, " My son used to 
 know la Chatelaine Sylvie, so no introduction is 
 necessary." 
 
 They both bowed in silence, and still with 
 her little Louis in her arms, Sylvia took the gar 
 den chair that some one offered her, and listened 
 as one afar off to the talk between the others. 
 At first she did not heed what they were say 
 ing. Then gradually the words telling of ap 
 proaching war came to her, and she realized that 
 Maurice was here only to say farewell to his 
 father before joining his regiment. She altered
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 381 
 
 the baby s position on her lap, and as she did 
 so she sent a swift glance at the man who had 
 grown so strangely familiar to her in spite of 
 absence, and for a moment she felt a pang of 
 disappointment. This stern, composed officer, 
 whose habits of authority had impressed them 
 selves on him, was not the impulsive, enthusi 
 astic boy who had lived in her memory. She 
 saw that he had complete mastery over himself, 
 whilst she dared not trust her voice to say the 
 simplest words. 
 
 " How long shall you be here, Maurice ? " 
 asked Madame de La Roche. 
 
 " I may be called away at any moment," he 
 answered. " I dare not leave La Source even 
 for an hour, for I might miss my telegram." 
 
 There was the agonizing unreality of a dream 
 in the situation for Sylvia ; the seconds were 
 slipping away ; every heart-beat marked a step 
 towards their separation, and nothing could be 
 done but sit in passive silence. 
 
 " Uncle Maurice is beautiful in his uniform," 
 announced the boy in a loud tone ; " all blue 
 and black curly fur. I think I would rather be 
 a soldier than a coachman after all." 
 
 Monsieur Regnier laughed, glad of the inter 
 ruption, and the countess began to question the 
 boy. Maurice let his look rest for one moment 
 on Sylvia. This was all they could claim now,
 
 382 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 these stolen glances. The agitation of the meet 
 ing had driven the color from her face, and her 
 features were rigid ; but all the old grace of 
 form and movement was there, and in spite of 
 the evident mask of impassiveness which she 
 had assumed as a shield, Maurice caught a new 
 expression in her eyes : they seemed deeper, 
 more womanly, less imperious than formerly. 
 The pride and fire that used to fascinate him 
 in other days had given place to a tender look 
 of comprehension and sympathy which appealed 
 yet more strongly to him now. He vaguely 
 noticed, remembering it afterwards, that she 
 had lost the subtle, mocking air, and even in 
 her silence she struck him as less complex. 
 Manlike, he paid little attention to his own 
 sensations ; he probably would have found it 
 difficult to express them, in spite of his poetic 
 temperament. For nearly two years the memory 
 of Sylvia had been as a festering, hidden wound. 
 Time was helping him to become used to it ; but 
 his whole life was jarred by the underlying pain, 
 and now he was free once more. Experience 
 which had softened her had strengthened him, 
 and the bitterness which had made the pain was 
 now swept away by his father s revelation on 
 the previous evening. He was, for the time, 
 contented to know her worthy of the best love 
 of which he was capable ; he was even recon-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 383 
 
 ciled to her marriage, and to seeing her with her 
 child in her arms. He forgot Philippe, and re 
 membered only the fact that good still lived in 
 the world. And on that day he felt himself 
 ready to face death cheerfully, having the warm 
 glow of justified self-renunciation at his heart. 
 Had all gone well for them in the beginning, 
 had no falsehood separated them, they might 
 have lived their lives in peace and happiness ; 
 but the slow ripening that experience gives 
 might never have been theirs. Rain must fall 
 on the peach as surely as the sun must shine 
 on it before it is perfect. 
 
 " The baby must not be out too late, Sylvia," 
 said the countess. She felt that they were rob 
 bers, stealing the golden moments of these last 
 days from father and son. 
 
 " Order the carriage, Justine," said Sylvia. 
 
 They were the first words that she had uttered, 
 and she spoke now with an effort. Her mother- 
 in-law saw that she was pale, and fancied that 
 she felt ill, but tactfully did not speak of it. 
 A few more nothings were said, and then the 
 carriage was heard. The countess rose, and 
 taking Monsieur Regnier s arm, walked slowly 
 across the lawn ; Justine held out her arms for 
 the baby, and then followed, little Maurice at 
 her side, and they were alone. Sylvia tried to 
 speak ; she wanted to say two words only
 
 384 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " Forgive me " but she could not. It was 
 not pride that stopped her, it was a tightening 
 of the throat. Still she seemed in a nightmare, 
 unable to awake, and Maurice s eyes, reproach 
 ful and sorrowful she thought them, were crush 
 ing her to earth. The idea came to her that 
 hell must be like this, with all the capacities for 
 suffering and making others suffer, with no power 
 to resist. 
 
 Maurice saw how agitated she was, and he 
 had the key of the situation ; but he could only 
 trust himself to say one short sentence : " We 
 are friends ? " 
 
 " Yes," she whispered, her head bowed. 
 
 They stood silent, motionless for a moment, 
 then she turned away, and he followed. One has 
 seen mourners come away from a freshly filled 
 grave with the same gestures, the same looks ; 
 and these two, this man and this woman, had in 
 truth just buried their past and their passions. 
 Monsieur Regnier felt the significance of the in 
 terview. He had a double sorrow at the sight 
 of the suffering under his eyes, and as he sat 
 alone by the little stream after the others had all 
 gone, he prayed with his whole being that this 
 might indeed be the ending, and that the future 
 might have in store no remorse, even if it prom 
 ised no joy. 
 
 When the carriage reached the park limit,
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 385 
 
 Sylvia left the others, and said that she would 
 walk home. She wished to be alone for a while 
 before facing Philippe. A calm, full of a sad 
 ness which was not all pain, had succeeded to 
 the racked feelings of the past hour : she was 
 like a tired child, worn out with excitement. 
 When she reached the garden, deserted even by 
 the gardeners to-day, she sat down on a bench 
 and soft tears began to flow. It was a luxury to 
 cry, hardly knowing why. She bent her head 
 in her hands, and sobbed gently, without vio 
 lence. Some slight movement caught her at 
 tention, and lifting her head she saw Justine 
 looking at her, her eyes like those of some dumb 
 animal. When her mistress stirred she threw 
 herself on her knees before her, and gave way 
 to her distress. 
 
 " Oh, madame, oh, my lamb, mine ever since 
 you were a baby, it cuts me to my poor old 
 heart that you should suffer, and it is all my 
 fault all all. I told you that in France 
 things were different that French hearts were 
 not cold like those in your country that honor 
 came first and I lied, for it is bad, bad all 
 through here and you suffer, my baby, my 
 little lamb ; you, who are worth them all." 
 
 Sylvia was startled by this outbreak. Since 
 the day when she had burst forth, having heard 
 Philippe call her a spy, the old woman had gone
 
 , >8G A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 stolidly on her way, showing her devotion more 
 by acts than words, and her mistress had hoped 
 that the whole affair was forgotten in the new 
 interest brought by the baby. But Justine had 
 marked Sylvia s pallor that afternoon at La 
 Source. She found her in tears, and she felt with 
 renewed agony that she, deceived herself, had 
 helped to deceive the idol of her earthly love. 
 
 The countess laid her hand on the bent, heav 
 ing shoulders, and said : " My poor Justine, it 
 is not your fault, dear heart, it is my own if I 
 suffer. Every one must bear the burden of his 
 own failures, and you must not grieve for me. 
 You have been a mother to me, and I want your 
 love, not your tears." 
 
 Sylvia s own voice nearly gave way ; the faith 
 ful sympathy touched her deeply. 
 
 Justine rose, drying her eyes. " I am forget 
 ting my errand ; Monsieur le comte is called to 
 Paris, and wishes to bid Madame la comtesse 
 good-by." 
 
 As she followed her mistress towards the 
 chateau her brain was at work. She saw but 
 one object in life worth attaining, Sylvia s hap 
 piness. Her perception, sharpened by her de 
 votion, had found out the secret, so carefully 
 concealed. She had divined what lay beneath 
 the surface. And now there was coming a 
 glimmer of hope to her. The count was called
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 387 
 
 to take his place with his regiment. War was 
 coming, battles, fighting ; why should there not 
 be a ball waiting for him ? Time would show, 
 and in the mean time the saints were good and 
 answered prayers sometimes. 
 
 Sylvia found Philippe ready for instant de 
 parture ; he was giving orders to Pierre. The 
 old butler was to be at the head of things, dur 
 ing the absence of Marcel, who accompanied his 
 master. 
 
 The countess was listening, the light of enthu 
 siasm in her eyes making her look like another 
 woman. When Pierre turned away, leaving 
 the three alone, she took Philippe s hand. 
 
 " My son, thank God for the chance He holds 
 out to you ; you have it in your own hands to 
 add honor and glory to your name ; see that 
 you do it. Our country needs you, my boy; 
 fight for her ; give her your best ; redeem your 
 past. If you fall, leave a name that your son 
 will reverence ; a name that will spur him on 
 to great deeds on his part." 
 
 " Yes, yes, my noble Roman matron, I will 
 come home with my shield, or on it, I promise 
 you ; but there is no time for talk now ; I must 
 hurry. Remember, if the horses are required, 
 try to hide my hunter ; I can t hope to find one 
 like him every day in the week. Now good-by ; 
 good-by, Sylvia where s the boy ? "
 
 388 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 The nurse was holding the baby in the court, 
 and Philippe, with a hasty kiss to mother, wife, 
 and child, jumped into the dog-cart, and laying 
 his whip over the plunging horse s back, dashed 
 under the arch and was gone. 
 
 As the sound of the wheels died away, Sylvia 
 thought, " It may be for the last time ; I may 
 never see him again ; O my God, help me not 
 to wish it." 
 
 The countess, who had stood fixed as a statue 
 since her last words, turned to her son s wife, 
 suddenly looking very old. " My dear," she 
 said, " it may be that this is the opportunity 
 God has given him ; let us go and pray for it." 
 
 The two women, wife and mother, descended 
 to the chapel, and each prayed after her own 
 manner. For the moment Sylvia felt that she 
 could forgive Philippe everything if he gave her 
 son an inheritance of honor.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE year of 1870, tragic and disastrous to 
 France, strode on with unfaltering step. The 
 Empire, gay, glittering, brilliant as it had been, 
 suddenly was no more. Like a soap bubble it 
 had floated, bounded, danced before the daz 
 zled eyes of the people. One day it jostled 
 against something else that was round too, but 
 also heavy and black a Prussian cannon ball 
 and instead of the beautiful spectacle the 
 people saw nothing ; the mist in their eyes came 
 from the nation s tears. But although the Em 
 pire was no more, France remained ; and from 
 every hamlet, rough thatched cottage, nay, from 
 the very caves in the rocks, rose her sons to 
 defend her. Frenchmen love their country with 
 a steady, wholesome affection. They are in 
 love with Paris, which to them represents all 
 the fascination which this world is capable of 
 giving. , When their queen was invested by the 
 invading forces, and lay helpless, surrounded 
 by enemies, anxiety changed to frenzy. A new 
 army arose like magic along the line of the 
 Loire, and revived the fainting hope of the
 
 390 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 nation by wresting Orleans from the Germans. 
 From this army came an effort to relieve the 
 capital, only seventy-five miles away, through a 
 combined movement : a sortie from within, and 
 an attack from without upon the same point 
 of the ring of investment. All communication 
 with the hapless city by land or water was cut 
 off ; only the air remained, and it proved a 
 fickle element to the besieged. Notice of the 
 hour at which the sortie would be made was 
 sent out from Paris to the army of succor four 
 days in advance, by balloon. How many hopes 
 and fears followed its flight through the air 
 into cloudland ! Alas, it was swept by contrary 
 winds into Norway. The sortie, made without 
 the expected cooperation, failed miserably, and 
 the army of the Loire, attacking too late, was 
 broken into pieces. 
 
 The histories of that unhappy time give one 
 the impression of reading in a nightmare. 
 Every other paragraph begins with a useless If; 
 " if " such and such things had not happened, 
 the French would have been victorious ; but 
 such and such things did happen, and the Prus 
 sians made steady progress. Again did a new 
 army arise, and yet another effort was made to 
 free the beleaguered capital. Under the com 
 mand of Chanzy, the new levies marched up 
 from Blois along the right bank of the Loire
 
 A TRANSATLANTtC CHATELAINE. o91 
 
 to meet the Germans under Prince Frederic 
 Charles. Again was there sharp fighting before 
 Orleans, and again did the French make head 
 way against the invaders. 
 
 These victories, and the elastic courage innate 
 in the French character, responded vigorously 
 to the encouragement received. The underlying 
 romance of their nature recalled to them that 
 France was in still greater straits when a maid 
 came forth from the mists of obscurity and de 
 livered her country, leaving behind her an image 
 unequaled in history in its supernatural dis 
 tinctness. Once more they rallied, and among 
 the voices that rang the clearest with words 
 of enthusiasm and determination was that of 
 Maurice Regnier. In spite of his dash and 
 energy, he had so far escaped wounds and im 
 prisonment. 
 
 The fresh army was in a position to aid a new 
 sortie from Paris, and all eyes in its ranks were 
 turned skywards in search of another messenger 
 from their capital. Without such cooperation 
 nothing could be accomplished. The Red Prince 
 was before them in superior numbers, and only 
 by heroic courage and much loss had headway 
 been made against him. While Chanzy rested 
 for a moment on the right bank of the Loire, 
 ready for a dash through the opposing forces 
 if the word should be given, the Prussian was
 
 392 A TRAXSATLAXTJC CHATELAINE. 
 
 stealthily moving a reserve division of twenty 
 thousand men down the opposite bank to cross 
 in the rear of the French and encompass him, 
 as at Sedan and Metz and Paris, following, as 
 always, the fatal coiling tactics of the boa. The 
 bridge over the Loire at Blois had been cut, and 
 the Prussian move having been made known, 
 Maurice was sent to post a detachment of troops 
 to prevent the crossing at Amboise, twenty miles 
 below, towards which the division was marching. 
 They must be blocked at any cost. It was a wild 
 wintry day, and as Maurice at the head of his 
 troops had ridden in the early morning across 
 the dreary country lying between Vendome and 
 the Loire, the wind swept over the open plains 
 in uninterrupted brutal triumph, now and then 
 adding to the discomfort of the riders by veering 
 suddenly, bringing a storm of loose sand against 
 their faces. 
 
 Unconsciously Maurice had likened it, in its 
 fury, to the enemy against whom he was fighting 
 with the last desperate hope that despair sends 
 ahead to make the end yet more bitter. A thou 
 sand thoughts unconnected with warfare came 
 into his head as he drew near the familiar place. 
 There, across the river, lay La Roche ; whether 
 Sylvia was still there he knew not ; not so far 
 away on the same side was his own home, and the 
 impossibility of stopping there for even a mo-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 393 
 
 ment weighed on him gloomily. Although he was 
 ignorant of it, Sylvia had remained at the chateau 
 with the older countess ; the younger men-ser 
 vants had been drafted, the women had left from 
 fright, and the horses had been given up, so only 
 old Pierre the butler and Justine remained with 
 them. 
 
 Madame de La Roche had signified firmly her 
 intention of staying in her home. " It has shel 
 tered me for many a year, and even my presence 
 may be some restraint if the Prussians take pos 
 session ; but you, Sylvia, had better take the boy 
 and go to some safer place." 
 
 But Sylvia was as staunch as her mother-in- 
 law. " We must hold it as far as we can for 
 little Louis," she said ; and so day after day 
 they pursued their peaceful way, the quiet of 
 their lives broken only by the reports, distressing 
 in their unreliability, of the svar, and at times 
 by the far-away boom of the cannon. Madame 
 de La Roche devoted herself more than ever to 
 the peasant women, who remained at home to 
 care for the aged, the infirm, and the children, 
 for the men were with the army. Sylvia took 
 all the care of the baby, leaving Justine to help 
 Pierre with household duties. In spite of the 
 monotony of her days, she was more peaceful than 
 she had been since the first weeks of her married 
 life. Philippe was with the beleaguered forces
 
 ,394 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 in Paris ; at last he was in a position of which 
 she could be proud. He was suffering for his 
 country, and in her eyes one deed of heroism 
 blotted out years of ignoble conduct. She could 
 talk to her boy of his father now, without feeling 
 like a hypocrite. So she taught little Louis to 
 say Papa, and showed him Philippe s portrait. 
 The year-old child varied his more unintelligi 
 ble remarks with liberal papas, to his grand 
 mother s great delight. She, poor soul, was not 
 Spartan where her only son was concerned, and 
 secretly resented Sylvia s attitude, which she 
 divined in some subtle way. 
 
 Between these two women there was mutual 
 love and respect ; but the close intimacy of their 
 present lives showed clearly that a barrier existed, 
 and always would exist, between them. It might 
 have been the result either of race, creed, or tem 
 perament ; perhaps a combination of all three ; 
 and there it stood, solid, impenetrable, never 
 yielding to circumstances. But a strong bond 
 made them cleave one to the other : their love 
 for the child, who grew sturdy and rosy, and 
 laughed when he heard the distant, sullen roar 
 of the cannon, trying to imitate it. 
 
 For the second time in her life Sylvia followed 
 in imagination the progress of two hostile forces 
 with vital interest. Her heart beat as warmly 
 for her adopted country as it had for her father-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 395 
 
 land. Once more she turned with sickening 
 eagerness to the list of killed and wounded after 
 an engagement. Ah, those were moments to 
 make young women old to teach unaccustomed 
 lips to utter real prayers. And every day the 
 incense of supplication arose from the inmates 
 of the grim old castle by the river, but with it 
 mingled a dark smoke, not sweet-smelling surely 
 to the saints for night after night when her 
 day s work was completed, old Justine demanded 
 the death of her master and the freedom of her 
 mistress. 
 
 Maurice had completed his arrangements at 
 the farther end of the Amboise bridge, and had 
 given all necessary directions to the officer to be 
 left in command, when the westering sun warned 
 him that if he wished to reach headquarters that 
 night he must start at once. Even as it was, 
 the last half of his journey would be in dark 
 ness. In December, evening falls early and 
 suddenly upon Touraine. He was joined by a 
 brother officer, who was on his way from Tours 
 to headquarters with a handful of troops; and 
 having mounted their scarcely rested horses, 
 they began their journey up the right river bank. 
 The road lay over some low hills ; the wind was 
 in their faces, and bitterly cold. The clouds, 
 which all day had rolled in serried ranks across 
 the sky, cleared towards the west, showing a
 
 396 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 wide band of clear, pale green ; when the sun 
 reached this open space a sudden glory spread 
 in broad, level stretching beams over the land 
 scape, turning the dull gray of the leafless trees 
 to dusky purple, and glittering in the windows 
 of La Roche, which lay just opposite the riders, 
 across the river. Without checking his steady 
 trot, Maurice, from the instinct of long habit, 
 let his eyes wander with half conscious admira 
 tion over the transfigured scene. As he looked 
 he saw something which caused him to draw his 
 breath sharply ; it was a mere speck against the 
 sullen sky, touched by the rays of the sun ; not 
 a bird its course was too steady for that. It 
 grew larger rapidly, increasing in size even in the 
 brief space between seeing and speaking of it. 
 
 " Look," said Maurice. 
 
 His companion followed the direction of his 
 gaze, and he too was moved. The two men drew 
 rein, and halted on the upland, the patient horses 
 hanging their heads. No word was spoken ; the 
 moment was too full of hopes and fears for 
 speech. In the dark object, apparently motion 
 less, but steadily growing more and more dis 
 tinct, might be hanging, between heaven and 
 earth, the last chance for France. It might bring 
 the long expected word from Paris of another 
 sortie ; it might mean victory. So motionless 
 sat the two officers that they might have bren
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 397 
 
 mistaken for carven statues, had not the tossing 
 manes of the horses given a touch of life. 
 
 Now the balloon was so near that the hanging 
 car could be distinguished. Blow, good wind, it 
 has proved a friend after all ! 
 
 At last Maurice spoke : " I can t make out 
 what their course is. As they are going now 
 they will be over the Prussians in another five 
 minutes." 
 
 " No, they won t ; they are keeping straight 
 down the river," returned the other ; " they are 
 making for Tours." 
 
 " Look at the curve in the river, and you will 
 see what I mean." 
 
 As Maurice spoke he pointed down to where 
 the Loire makes a turn from right to left, " an 
 elbow," the country folk call it ; and towards 
 this turn swept the balloon. 
 
 " They are coming down, they are trying to 
 land ! " exclaimed the officer, and the handful of 
 men behind gave way to their intense interest. 
 
 " They will want us to fasten the cord ; they 
 must see us now. Four of you dismount, and 
 be ready to catch the rope they will let down. 
 Look alive, now ! " commanded Maurice impa 
 tiently, as the soldiers, stiff with cold and long 
 riding, stumbled awkwardly forward. 
 
 As he had said, a trailing rope was let down 
 from the car : it was so near now that the heads
 
 398 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 of its occupants could be easily seen peering over 
 the edge ; lower and lower it came in a long 
 slanting line, directly towards the soldiers : Mau 
 rice measured its progress with his eye. 
 
 " A little farther back ! " he shouted. " For 
 God s sake secure it! " 
 
 The cords were not ten feet above their heads. 
 Maurice looked up, full into the pale face and 
 starting eyes of Philippe de La Roche. At that 
 moment the treacherous wind veered, and with 
 sudden, uncontrollable fury caught the balloon 
 in its grip as if it were a feather, tossed it side 
 ways from the uplifted hands of the men, and 
 swept it across the river, over the enemy s forces. 
 At first the disappointment was so keen and bit 
 ter that only the groans and oaths of the soldiers 
 were audible. Then Maurice said, " They may 
 even yet sweep over the Prussians, and get round 
 to Tours ; " but as he spoke a scattering fire 
 of rifle-shots was heard from across the river. 
 They saw the balloon sway violently, right itself, 
 waver, and then sink rapidly behind the trees 
 on the verge of the forest. 
 
 " All is lost," said the officer, lifting his hand 
 and letting it fall heavily with a tragic gesture. 
 
 Maurice did not answer ; his brain was pre 
 senting a vivid series of pictures to him ; he 
 looked earnestly down at the river below. The 
 water showed its inky blackness between huge
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 399 
 
 blocks of ice, which were crashing and crowding 
 on their seaward way ; at this point where the 
 course turned, the current whirled them across 
 from the right to the left bank, where they 
 shocked against the stable ice making out from 
 shore, and rested a moment until again jostled 
 on. He might succeed in crossing the dangerous 
 centre of the current in safety. Beyond this 
 death-like flood was a hope, perhaps the last, of 
 saving France. He did not hesitate after his 
 plan had formed itself. 
 
 " All is not lost yet," he said, rousing from 
 his reflections, and replying to his companion s 
 last words, which he seemed to have just heard. 
 
 " How do you know ? We are helpless 
 everything seems to combine against us. Once 
 let those rascals over there get hold of the poor 
 fellows, and it is good-by to them and to hope." 
 
 " Listen to me," said Maurice, kindling. " I 
 know one of the men in the balloon, and he is as 
 familiar with every inch of the country about 
 here as I am. If any one can escape, he can." 
 
 " What good will that do him if he has plans 
 of a sortie ? He may escape from them, but he 
 can t reach us." 
 
 " I think I may reach him, though." 
 
 " How ? You can t cross the bridge at Am- 
 boise ; and look at the river." 
 
 " There is my hope ! " exclaimed Maurice.
 
 400 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " You are mad, Regnier ; you would be crushed 
 between the iee before you had gone ten feet ; 
 you are too valuable a man to risk your life need 
 lessly ; I must beg you to consider the danger." 
 
 " The only danger I consider is that of fail 
 ure ; we have been prudent too long in this un 
 happy war now it must be neck or nothing. 
 Come on, old fellow, and I 11 explain my plan." 
 
 As he spoke he turned his horse s head to the 
 right, and went down a stony lane leading to 
 the river bank. By this time only the highest 
 branches of the trees were touched by the sun : 
 in another fifteen minutes it would be dark. 
 The little band followed Maurice, and clustered 
 about him as he halted close by the stream. In 
 the hollow they were more protected from the 
 wind, but the air was full of the strange, swish 
 ing noise made by the floating ice. Maurice had 
 told his companion what he intended attempting 
 on their way down, and now there was but one 
 more word to be spoken. He dismounted, and 
 busied himself with unbuckling his spurs while 
 he said, " If I never come back you will see my 
 father for me ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Tell him why I went, and that my last 
 thought was of him." 
 
 The officer could not answer, but he patted 
 Maurice gently on the shoulder. An act of hero-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 401 
 
 ism, even in heroic epochs, never fails to touch 
 some underlying string which responds to it. 
 While hearts beat warm and fast at such deeds, 
 there is good in the world. The one moment of 
 emotion passed, Maurice became practical again. 
 He filled his flask from his friend s, taking first 
 a long drink to offset the cold. He gave neces 
 sary directions about their further journey to 
 headquarters ; he pointed out a farmhouse where 
 his horse was to be left in case he needed him 
 later and all this time, in the gathering gloom, 
 the spectral ice came crashing on ; some of the 
 cakes lodged for a time against the projecting 
 bank. 
 
 "I think it is dark enough now," said Maurice. 
 
 " It will be as black as midnight in ten 
 minutes," said the other. 
 
 " Well, then, here goes ; here s a block that 
 may carry me. Good-by, old man." 
 
 " Good-by, and and " The sentence was 
 never finished ; there are times when words seern 
 impertinent. 
 
 Stamping through the thin layer of ice formed 
 over the shelving sand by the bank, Maurice 
 plunged into the black water, staggering a little 
 as the floating ice knocked against him ; the 
 large block he had picked out was coming rather 
 slowly on the edge of the current, but the bed 
 of the river sank suddenly just at that point, and
 
 402 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 he was breast high in the stream before he could 
 clutch the edge nearest him. His grasp did not 
 stay its course, and he was carried on into deeper 
 water ; there, he managed to slide on to the rough 
 surface ; the cold penetrated to his very heart ; 
 he burnt with it, and his physical sufferings be 
 came intense, lying there, the bitter wind sweep 
 ing over him, his drenched clothing freezing rap 
 idly ; but under, and over, and round the pain 
 rose a paean of triumph from his soul. This was 
 his chance, and he had bad the strength to seize 
 it. Death was naught, honor much. His innate 
 bravery and high spirits rose with the sense of 
 adventure. The previous years of gloom and 
 disappointment had subdued but not killed his 
 natural buoyancy, and in this moment of peril 
 it rose to the surface. He half turned on his 
 novel raft and waved a triumphant farewell to 
 the shadowy forms on the shore. Then he began 
 to take keen note of the direction in which he 
 was advancing. He was still on the edge of the 
 current farthest from the other shore ; he must 
 alter this. He began to make the motions of 
 swimming with his feet, guiding the float always 
 to his left. Slowly he attained the centre, and 
 then, inch by inch, he gained the further limit, 
 making his way carefully through the floating 
 floes. It was hard work, but the icy chill was 
 lessened by his exertions. At last he had steered
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 403 
 
 himself so that he was being swept directly to 
 wards a bar of sand that made out from shore ; 
 it was covered with a brittle coating of ice, and 
 in the dusk Maurice could not tell exactly what 
 it was ; but he saw that it was stable, and he 
 felt that, if he once managed to get behind it, he 
 could reach the land. The block bearing him 
 swirled through the calmer water and came with 
 a slight shock against the soft sand. By this 
 time he felt numb with cold, and his legs almost 
 refused to bear him when he had torn away from 
 the ice to which his clothes were frozen. 
 
 As he staggered along, crashing the thin cover 
 ing of ice, for one moment his spirits faltered. 
 It was the sight of a light shining from behind a 
 low clump of bare, stunted willows, which caused 
 him to stop and wonder if his perilous journey 
 had been in vain. It had never occurred to 
 him that the Prussians would think it neces 
 sary to set a watch by the river, but the wavering 
 flame made him cautious. He would creep up, 
 and perhaps he might escape under cover of the 
 bushes. 
 
 But as he made this resolve the light came 
 towards him, and to his relief he saw it was a 
 torch held aloft by an old woman whose wrinkled 
 yellow face, and skinny, half -bare arms were 
 shown in its flicker. The wind carried its flame 
 in a long line of fire and smoke at right angles
 
 404 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 to its support, and blew the gray hair and flut 
 tering garments of the old peasant in a thousand 
 ways. 
 
 As Maurice came within the radius of the 
 blaze, she turned towards him, waving one with 
 ered arm. "Have you seen her?" she asked. 
 " Have you seen my little Marie, the youngest 
 of them all ? You who rise out of the water surely 
 have a message for me." 
 
 Maurice drew himself painfully on to the bank, 
 and seating himself began to rub his well-nigh 
 frozen feet. " No, mother," he said, " I have 
 seen no one. Who is it you want ? " 
 
 " My baby, the youngest of them all. When 
 Denis went off to fight he gave her to me ; he 
 said I must care for her, now that his wife was 
 dead. And she came to play by the river she 
 slipped under the ice and she is gone to the 
 ocean. Listen, my boy, listen I have lost chil 
 dren of my own ; I have cried over them. But 
 they lie up yonder in the graveyard and I 
 could still sleep in my bed. But this little one 
 cannot rest she turns, turns in the water, and 
 it is cold for the child and I cannot sleep 
 while she is drifting away to the sea. O my 
 God, it is hard to bear, and my boy Denis 
 fighting and thinking of his baby in her warm 
 cradle, while the river is her cradle, and the ice 
 is her coverlid."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 40o 
 
 Maurice saw that her poor mind wavered like 
 the light of the torch, and found a moment for 
 pity. " Never fear, good mother," he said gently. 
 " The saints will make your baby s bed softer 
 and warmer under the ice than you could in 
 your own home." 
 
 " You think so ? " exclaimed the woman. Her 
 sunken eyes gleamed from beneath the loose, 
 overhanging lids, and she laid her claw-like fin 
 gers on his arm. 
 
 " Ah," she added, drawing back ; " you are a 
 gentleman. I beg Monsieur s pardon a hundred 
 times." 
 
 " All right," said Maurice, rising to his feet. 
 " AVill you do me a good turn, mother ? I am 
 freezing cold ; can you give me some dry 
 clothes ? " 
 
 " Surely, surely," she answered, eager to serve 
 him. " I have my boy s Sunday suit at home ; 
 come with me." 
 
 " But I do not wish to be seen, and you live 
 in the village." 
 
 " Nay, nay, my home is in the rock, beyond 
 the hamlet ; you will be safe." 
 
 He persuaded her to extinguish her light, and 
 then followed her from the river, through the 
 
 O 
 
 little belt of woods, across the highway, and so 
 to the further end of the village street. There, 
 in the face of the cliff bordering the river road,
 
 400 .-1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 was a low, wooden door ; the old woman opened 
 it, and Maurice followed her into a room cut out 
 of the heart of a rock. 
 
 A few red embers threw an uncertain light on 
 the uneven floor and rough ceiling where the 
 marks of the implements which fashioned this 
 rude dwelling still showed. When a lamp had 
 been lighted Maurice saw that everything was 
 scrupulously neat. The place was warm and 
 dry ; and the silence within after the tumult 
 without, a relief. He paid but little attention 
 to the bed with its gay chintz curtains, or the 
 old carved buffet in the corner, from which his 
 hostess drew a pile of neatly folded garments. 
 He was mad with impatience, and her slow, fum 
 bling movements were hard to bear. At last she 
 pattered across the floor, and hung the wardrobe 
 on two chairs drawn close to the fire. 
 
 " Now I will leave Monsieur to dress, while I 
 milk Minette, for he must need something to 
 stay his stomach," she said, casting a last look 
 of pride at the stout, well-made clothes. 
 
 Maurice lost no time in making his hasty 
 toilet. The absent Denis evidently made up in 
 breadth what he lacked in height, and although 
 not a good fit, still the young officer managed 
 to make things go until it came to the Sunday 
 coat. This was impossible, and he looked rue 
 fully at his arms, the sleeves stopping halfway
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 407 
 
 up. At this moment the old woman returned, 
 a bowl of goat s milk in her tremulous hands. 
 
 "Mother," said her guest, "hasn t Denis a 
 blouse?" 
 
 " But yes, only Monsieur is a gentleman," 
 she answered reluctantly. 
 
 " Well, a blouse is never amiss ; may I bor 
 row that instead of this coat, which might be 
 hurt? I have some rough work ahead of me 
 to-night." 
 
 She sighed, but obeyed him, and in another 
 moment he had settled himself comfortably into 
 the dark blue blouse, which he fastened round 
 his waist with his leather belt. He had caught 
 sight of a beret, a flat cap of dark woolen, 
 sometimes worn by the peasants. " There," he 
 exclaimed gayly, " now I am ready for every 
 thing." 
 
 He drank the bowl of milk, adding some 
 cognac from his flask, and then he turned to the 
 peasant. " Tell me, mother, are the Prussians 
 about here? " 
 
 She eyed him curiously. " Those devils ? 
 yes," she answered, crossing herself. " They 
 are here, there, everywhere coming and going 
 like ants in a hill." 
 
 " Are any at the chateau ? " 
 
 " How can I tell ? Probably yes but I 
 know nothing."
 
 408 A TRAX^ATLAXTir CHATELAINE. 
 
 He put two gold pieces into her hand. " I 
 may come back and I may not/ he said. " But 
 as long as I live you will have my gratitude." 
 
 She looked at him with admiration in her 
 puckered face. Where is the woman too old to 
 feel a gleam of pleasure in youth and beauty 
 and dash ? and as he stood in the dim room 
 Maurice represented all three, his eyes gleam 
 ing with excitement from under the cap resting 
 on his dark hair, his muscular figure all alive 
 with impatience. He was gone before she could 
 find words to thank him, confusion running riot 
 in her misty brain. 
 
 It was easy enough for him to find his way 
 after the first moment. While he had been in 
 the cottage he had laid his course. Having 
 learned from his hostess that the chatelaines 
 were still at La Roche, he thought it probable 
 that Philippe s first move would be to hide him 
 self in his old home. The peasant had given 
 him some vague accounts of Prussian soldiers 
 who had passed by the village during the day, 
 and he knew that the country must be bristling 
 with them. There was even a chance that some 
 might be at the chateau ; at all events he must 
 act with caution. Avoiding equally the high 
 way and the village road, he struck into the 
 fields lying between them. Although not yet 
 six o clock it was verv dark. The fierce wind
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 409 
 
 tore rents in the clouds through which the stars 
 looked with frightened eyes. The warmth of 
 the old woman s fire, the dry clothes, and the 
 exercise had chased away the deadly chill ; he 
 felt a pleasurable glow without and within ; the 
 excitement of his adventure, and the hopes its 
 success held out, filled him with exultation. He 
 knew every foot of the fields he was crossing: 
 just where the little brook ran under its sheath 
 of ice, and where the great walnut-trees stood. 
 A hundred more strides would bring him to a 
 narrow lane, which was bounded on the other 
 side by the high stone wall which surrounded 
 the park. Ah! here he was at the hedge 
 marking the limit of the field, two yards 
 or so 011 one side was a gate. He felt along 
 until his hand rested on the upper bar ; then he 
 vaulted lightly over. As he came down on the 
 other side he grazed against an unseen body ; 
 there was a sudden movement ; sparks were 
 struck from the frozen ground by the kicks of a 
 startled horse ; an oath in German rolled out, 
 and against the sky Maurice saw indefinitely 
 the forms of mounted men. He had half a 
 chance, and quick as lightning he seized it. 
 Before the horses had ceased their plunging he 
 had run along the hedge, crossed the lane, and 
 with a spring had gained the top of the wall ; 
 no easy matter, but a feat that he had accom-
 
 410 .-1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 plished more than once in his boyhood. As he 
 dropped to the ground on the other side, he saw 
 a light shining from one of the windows in the 
 old wing of the chateau. He thought that it 
 came from his own former room, and his one 
 idea now was to gain admittance, so as to warn 
 Philippe to hide if he had gained shelter there. 
 The land fell away so abruptly towards the 
 river that the room, although on a level with 
 the court, was at least twenty feet above the 
 terrace on which Maurice soon found himself. 
 He must communicate with those within, but he 
 dared not run the risk of showing himself, for 
 the mounted soldiers in the lane gave evidence 
 of a close watch kept about the place. An old 
 ivy, gnarled and strong, grew against the solid 
 rock, forming the foundation of the east wing, 
 climbing nearly to the eaves. With this for a 
 ladder Maurice began his ascent. 
 
 The crashing, tossing trees kept all other 
 sounds in abeyance, and he could not tell if he 
 had been followed ; he must take every possible 
 precaution. This was not the first time that he 
 had gained his room by means of the ivy. As 
 a boy, after some frolic, undertaken from the 
 mere love of adventure, he had crept through 
 the windows in the dim morning light, tired 
 but triumphant, and trying to imagine himself 
 some hero of romance. Now there was no time
 
 .4 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 411 
 
 for imagination, hardly for memory. He was 
 scarcely as light as in those bygone days, and 
 his progress was a slow one, each branch being 
 carefully tested before he reached the level of 
 the window. He tore a spray of the vine, and 
 always mindful of the eyes that might be peer 
 ing through the night, he swayed it against the 
 glass, and in its protection looked into the room. 
 He could only see a small part, owing to the 
 thickness of the walls ; but the picture that 
 met his gaze drove for one brief moment all 
 thought of war, of danger, all hopes and fears 
 from his mind. There in the brilliant firelight 
 sat Sylvia, her child on her knee ; she was 
 " trotting him to market," and over the fury 
 of the gale Maurice could hear the bursts of 
 laughter when, the perilous journey made, she 
 gathered the baby in her arms, and cuddled 
 him, kissed him, hugged him, as if, indeed, he 
 had been restored to her from some danger. 
 Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes shone, and she 
 looked as if no sorrow or care had ever laid 
 a withering finger on her. It was a vision of 
 home and joy, set in the midst of war and deso 
 late hearth-stones. It was an embodiment of 
 the Paradise that he might never realize, and 
 the unsuspected watcher felt one sharp stab of 
 regret. But this was a time for action, not 
 feeling. He sank self with an imperious effort
 
 412 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 of his will, and struck sharply against the glass 
 with the spray. 
 
 Sylvia heard the three blows ; she knew it 
 was a sign, and her whole figure stiffened, but 
 she went on with the game as if she had noticed 
 nothing, her white lips forcing themselves to say 
 the familiar words, " Trot, trot to market, trot, 
 trot to Lynn," and all the time she was thinking 
 rapidly, " An enemy would not knock, it must 
 be some one who needs me. Is it oh, no 
 it cannot be he." Again came the three taps, 
 more imperatively than before. 
 
 She was alone ; the countess and Justine 
 away, Pierre in the distant kitchen. It might 
 be her husband who appealed to her. She 
 shrank from the thought. Then she blushed at 
 her own cowardice, nay, worse than cowardice, 
 for she had protested so much, and now recoiled 
 from her clear duty. Putting little Louis on 
 the hearth-rug, she went with a steady step to 
 the window ; she drew the heavy curtain across 
 the embrasure between herself and the light ; 
 then with a cautious hand she undid the fasten 
 ing, and opened the casement. 
 
 A voice, so close to her that she started, said, 
 " It is Maurice Regnier ; are you alone ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Let me in ; I must say something to you." 
 
 She threw the window wide, holding the cur-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 413 
 
 tains firm so that the wind should not sway 
 them aside. Maurice jumped in, and closed all 
 behind him, fastening the heavy wooden shut 
 ters, before he turned ; then out of the storm 
 and the darkness he came into a harbor of light 
 and warmth. Sylvia looked at him, puzzled at 
 first by his peasant s dress, and then for a mo 
 ment gloriously frightened by the light which 
 leapt unconsciously from his eyes as they rested 
 on her, more gracious, more womanly in her 
 bravery than even his heart had painted her. 
 As their glances mingled, she felt herself carried 
 along by a force more mighty than the wind 
 without, more powerful than any ocean. She 
 knew for the brief space of a second what part 
 nature plays in our lives, and she exulted in its 
 domination and her own powerlessness. 
 
 " Pa-pa, pa-pa," said little Louis, with genial 
 welcome from the hearth. 
 
 The strange emotion had gone ; the magic 
 had been banished by a child. Maurice was less 
 moved : he had a nation s rescue in his keeping, 
 he thought. This drove out other feelings for 
 the time.. 
 
 " We are safe from interruption ? " he asked 
 hurriedly. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Is Philippe here ? " 
 
 " No, no. Why do you ask ? "
 
 414 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " He may come at any moment. He has es 
 caped by balloon from Paris. Hark ! What 
 was that ? " 
 
 " Only the wind swaying the tapestry ; go 
 on." 
 
 As she answered, a wilder blast than the last 
 made the faded green trees on the wall bend and 
 sway as their originals were doing outside. 
 
 Maurice continued. " We believe that he 
 may be the bearer of very important news, of 
 plans for another sortie, and the safety of France 
 may hang on this night s work."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WHILE Maurice was making his way to Syl 
 via s room, Justine started on a two miles walk, 
 to a cottage where the countess was nursing a 
 woman sick unto death. The dying peasant had 
 been a servant in the chateau in former days, 
 had married and settled on an outlying farm be 
 longing to the property, and had always main 
 tained friendly relations with the family. Her 
 children were boys, who, with their father, were 
 in the army, so the poor creature was left alone 
 but for the kindly services of Madame de La 
 Roche. Justine had gone to take her leave of 
 Sylvia and the baby before her departure, and 
 had carried a warm memory into the night with 
 her. Her adored mistress had looked up with a 
 laugh which bore Justine back to the days in 
 New England, one of those rare days when 
 Sylvia had been for the time a happy, simple 
 child. The faithful, passionate, ignorant heart 
 glowed at the thought of the solicitude in her 
 mistress s voice when she asked her if she were 
 warmly dressed, and if her lantern were in good 
 order.
 
 416 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " I hate to have you go alone, Justine," she 
 had said. " It is most unfortunate that Pierre s 
 rheumatism disables him." 
 
 To make her trip shorter, Justine had gone 
 through the chapel, thus saving herself the tour 
 of the buildings. She opened the low door, and 
 stepping out, put her lantern down while she 
 turned the large key in the lock, and then hung 
 it about her neck. Although somewhat sheltered 
 by the trees, she found that her walk was likely 
 to prove a difficult one, but she advanced steadily 
 thinking, "She is safe from the wind and cold; 
 that is all I care for." 
 
 The sick woman s cottage lay in the opposite 
 direction from the village, and nearly a third of 
 the road was in the park. As Justine battled on 
 her way, the wind bore to her the sound of bells 
 from the village church. It was the angelus, 
 the hour of prayer. Putting her lantern down 
 she knelt beneath the stormy sky, looking up as 
 if to pierce the clouds. The light shone full on 
 her strong, square face, with its resolute jaw, and 
 the lines hinting at a capacity for tremendous 
 passions. Devoutly turned heavenward, the fore 
 shortening of the brow and the uplifted eyes gave 
 the expression of ecstasy Perugino so cunningly 
 uses with his saints. 
 
 The desire prompting her prayer had grown 
 to be a part of her very being ; for nearly a year
 
 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 417 
 
 now she had demanded the freedom her mistress 
 had wept for. At first it was with vague, un- 
 formulated phrases, but little by little she had 
 grown bold : the war seemed to her to have been 
 planned by Providence to rid the world of her 
 master, and she no longer scrupled to face the 
 fact that his death was what she begged from 
 her saints with fervent insistence. To-night a 
 hope was in her heart ; Sylvia had been gay and 
 young ; in fact ever since the count had gone 
 away a cloud had seemed lifted from his wife s 
 spirits ; but just now, as she had wished the old 
 servant God-speed, her voice rang with girlish 
 lightness, and Justine took it for a sign of good. 
 Still on her knees, her lips muttering rapidly, 
 she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, and her 
 eyes met those of Philippe. She recoiled as if 
 she had seen an evil spirit, and crossed herself. 
 
 " Don t scream," he said, " or I will strangle 
 you. Are there any Prussians in the chateau?" 
 
 She hesitated, looking into his pale, eager 
 face, which had for her the fascination of a ser 
 pent. If she could only keep him away from 
 her mistress, she thought ; if that happy smile 
 could stay a few hours longer on the lips she 
 loved. 
 
 " Pie shall not see my darling," she resolved, 
 and, still on her knees, she lied. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur le comte ; the chateau is full 
 of them."
 
 418 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 He cursed low under his breathy be was worn 
 out with fatigue ; for the last hour and more, be 
 bad been doubling 1 and turning, pursued by the 
 men who bad seen bis balloon drop ; bis com 
 panion was taken ; be bad escaped only because 
 be knew the country so well, and bis chief object 
 had been to gain La Roche, with its secret pas 
 sages, where he might find at least a temporary 
 shelter. He might, even in the teeth of bis ene 
 mies, enter his own home. He decided to try, 
 for his present situation was too precarious to 
 continue ; the morning, at the latest, would be 
 tray him to the surrounding Prussians. 
 
 " You came out of the chapel ; give me the 
 key," be said abruptly. 
 
 " I dropped it I have not got it," replied 
 Justine, remembering bow easily her mistress s 
 room was reached by the stair in the wall. 
 
 " You lie, you old spy," said Philippe. " I 
 saw you from the shrubbery ; I only followed 
 you to be farther off. Give it to me." 
 
 A lowering, determined look came into her eyes, 
 but she did not speak. His quick ear caught 
 the ring of horses hoofs far away on the frozen 
 road. He was brutalized by Hie sufferings he had 
 witnessed and endured ; his finer instincts were 
 smothered. With a sudden wrench he pulled 
 the key from her neck, where he had watched her 
 hide it, and without another word slunk away
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 419 
 
 towards the chapel door. For a moment she 
 crouched where his violence had thrown her, one 
 thought clear to her, he had gone to Sylvia ! 
 The smile was to be banished from her lips, the 
 light from her eyes. The agonized appeal once 
 wrung from her, never forgotten by the old ser 
 vant, " O God, free me ! " had remained unan 
 swered. 
 
 Justine raised herself again to her knees ; she 
 felt the angry throb about her neck where the 
 cord had cut in from his violent twist. She 
 was the prey of a burst of fury, so intense as 
 to amount to insanity. " There are 110 saints," 
 she called aloud in defiance ; " if they were true 
 saints they would not be deaf to my prayers. 
 There are only devils in saints shrines, and they 
 have been laughing and jeering all this time to 
 hear my prayers. I spurn them and all holy 
 things. There is no God a true God would 
 have let him die. And now he is going to make 
 my darling unhappy again he never loved her 
 never he wanted her money for that woman 
 in Paris. I know him well. I know his deceits. 
 He takes my child s gold and gives it to harlots. 
 Would true saints permit that? No, my new 
 master is the Devil ; I will pray to him." Half 
 crazed by the sight of the man, hatred for whom 
 had grown to be her master passion, dominating 
 even her love for her mistress, she, still kneeling
 
 420 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 on the frozen ground, continued: "O Satan, what 
 is my poor soul worth compared to my child s 
 happiness ? I give it to thee willingly, if I can 
 gain her joy. A thousand years in hell is nothing 
 for me. I am only a poor, ignorant old woman 
 but she is a flower fit for paradise. Keep 
 her fresh, unfaded. Let her be free, let her be 
 happy, and I will serve thee for ever and ever. 
 Amen." 
 
 Who can say that the unselfishness prompting 
 the blasphemous prayer was not more than half 
 divine ? Did Satan wake while the saints slept? 
 she wondered, horrified and triumphant, for as 
 she rose from her knees the hard clatter of 
 horses hoofs met her ear. He was delivered 
 into her hand ; her petition was granted. 
 
 Fast against the driving wind came the horse 
 men ; she lifted her lantern, and its beams shone 
 on a Prussian officer riding ahead, with a detach 
 ment following, four abreast. The men saw her 
 indistinctly ; their leader pulled up, and they 
 halted in line with military precision. Satan 
 was prompt in his answer ; here was her oppor 
 tunity. Still shaken by her blind rage, she 
 obeyed the peremptory summons, " Come here." 
 
 She advanced close to the side of the mounted 
 officer. 
 
 " Have you seen any one escaping through this 
 park ? "
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 421 
 
 4k Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " A Frenchman ? " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " Where did he go ? " 
 
 " Into the chateau through the chapel door 
 yonder." 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 For the first time she hesitated ; then the word 
 he applied to her, which had at first crushed and 
 then exasperated her, leaped to her lips. 
 
 " He is a spy, Monsieur ; the Comte de La 
 Roche and a spy." 
 
 The Prussian hesitated ; it seemed to him that 
 this good fortune was a little too fortuitous to 
 be true. " Give me your lantern," he said. 
 
 Justine handed it to him, and he flashed the 
 light full on her face. Its stolid, heavy expres 
 sion for the eyes had become sullen reas 
 sured him. 
 
 " Show me the way ; but remember, if you lead 
 me into any ambush you will be the first to suffer." 
 
 " I will tell you how to trap him : he will be 
 in his wife s room ; guard the chapel door well 
 yonder but you must promise never to betray 
 me, for if Pierre knew he would kill me." 
 
 " Don t fear ; lead on, and you shall be safe. 
 Point out the chapel door to my men." 
 
 Without a word she took her lantern back, 
 and strode rapidly on, pointing silently to the
 
 422 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 door as she passed it. There was murder in her 
 eye as she extended her hand, but the night hid 
 it. The officer gave an order in German, half a 
 dozen soldiers halted, and as Justine led the way 
 along the terrace, under the moaning cedar, she 
 heard their blows battering on the solid oak. 
 Philippe, on the other side, heard them too, and 
 started from his temporary security. How had 
 they tracked him ? At any rate the passage and 
 staircase tunneled in the wall, leading to Sylvia s 
 room, were cleverly concealed, and would be dif 
 ficult to discover by those not in the secret. He 
 would hide himself there, but he must try to let 
 some one friendly to him know of his presence, 
 lest he be betrayed through ignorance. He was 
 sure that the chateau woidd be searched by his 
 pursuers, and he felt his courage evaporate under 
 the strain. He let himself out of the chapel, and 
 felt along the dark passage, until he reached the 
 winding stairs. Cautiously, stepping lightly, 
 pausing often, he mounted until he reached the 
 narrow landing. He found the latch of the door 
 behind the tapestry, and lifted it noiselessly ; 
 then he heard a voice, a man s voice, one that 
 he knew well, say, " Hark ! what was that ? " 
 and his wife s answer came, " Only the wind." 
 
 He stood listening avidly. lie heard Maurice 
 tell that on him hung the fortunes of France. 
 Behind him the Prussians were on his track, and
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 423 
 
 he well knew that all his pursuers were not 
 wasting their time at the chapel door ; the chateau 
 would be searched. He must form a plan and act 
 quickly. As he hesitated, a scheme presented 
 itself to him, clear and distinct ; he lifted the 
 tapestry, and showed himself. Sylvia started, 
 and then suppressed the exclamation of dismay 
 which rose to her lips. There was a pathos to 
 her in the sight of this man ; he was thin and 
 haggard ; a half-grown beard gave him a ragged 
 appearance, not contradicted by his shabby uni 
 form. He who had always been so fastidious 
 about himself had risen to this state for the sake 
 of his country. He commanded her respect, and 
 she was grateful to be able to give it. He lost 
 no time in greetings. 
 
 " I am pursued, but I have doubled on them. 
 I have papers for Chanzy in my boots. Maurice, 
 you must help me reach him." 
 
 " I will, Philippe ; I can get you across the 
 river, and my horse is just opposite ; you will 
 reach headquarters before midnight if we have 
 any luck." 
 
 " First I must eat and drink. I am famished. 
 Paris has not fitted me out any too well for hard 
 ships. Sylvia, get me some food." 
 
 " I will bring you something at once," she said; 
 "but first drink this milk." 
 
 As she spoke she took up a pitcher that had
 
 424 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 been brought in for the baby s supper, and as 
 she poured it out, Philippe heard a confused 
 tramp in the hall. 
 
 "No, no," he said, half losing his head; "go 
 for wine, quick, not that stuff." 
 
 She set the pitcher down, and obediently 
 started for the door. 
 
 " Some one is coming," she said ; " hide ! " 
 and made a spring to lock it ; but she was not 
 quick enough ; it was thrust abruptly open, and 
 a Prussian officer strode in. Sylvia saw the 
 tapestry wave as if from the sudden draught, 
 and there, in the full light, stood Maurice alone. 
 He was apparently unmoved, and had made no 
 attempt to escape. 
 
 " Ha," said the Prussian, laying a heavy hand 
 on his shoulder, and then throwing a backward 
 glance at the group of soldiers beyond the 
 threshold. " You have given us a good chase, 
 Monsieur le Comte de La Roche, but I have 
 you at last." 
 
 " He is not the man you seek, Monsieur," said 
 Sylvia. " Cannot you see by his dress that he is 
 a peasant ? He is not Monsieur de La Roche." 
 
 The officer smiled. "You are the comtesse, 
 I believe ? " 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " Then how does it happen that this young 
 peasant is in your room ? "
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 425 
 
 . She came close to the officer, and put her hand 
 on his arm. 
 
 "Believe me, Monsieur," she said earnestly, 
 " he is not my husband whom you seek. This 
 man is not the count." 
 
 There was a ring of truth in her voice that 
 shook the Prussian for a moment. 
 
 " Then, Madame^we must make a search for 
 the real count," he said. 
 
 " Find the hidden door under the tapestry," 
 he added in German to one of his soldiers. 
 
 " I will save you that trouble, Monsieur," 
 broke in Maurice. " I see you are too well in 
 formed for me to attempt to escape. I am the 
 Comte de La Roche." 
 
 " No, no," said Sylvia wildly. " You must 
 not, you shall not sacrifice " 
 
 " My wife, cannot you give me up for France ? " 
 
 She understood all that his words implied. It 
 was not Philippe alone, it was his country that 
 he was saving. But his sudden surrender had 
 made the Prussian suspicious. 
 
 " You may be the man I want, and you may 
 not be. You French are as slippery as eels. 
 Time presses, but I can t afford to let my little 
 count get away." 
 
 All this time the baby, who had been amus 
 ing himself in his own way, regardless of friend 
 or foe, dug his fists into his eyes, and whim-
 
 426 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 pered ; then opening both arms wide, he said, 
 looking towards Maurice, " Pa-pa, pa-pa." 
 
 " Ah, my master, you ve done me a good 
 turn," said the officer. " In this cursed land 
 only the babies speak the truth. Come now 
 be off ; you have wasted enough of my time." 
 
 "May I have one word with my wife?" 
 
 "No, you ve had one too many already. 
 Come on." 
 
 Maurice turned towards Sylvia, who stood 
 rigid as a statue : she went swiftly to him in 
 obedience to his eye s appeal. He put his arms 
 about her, and as he pressed her to him, whis 
 pered, " Forgive me. It is for France." 
 
 But she put both arms about his neck, and 
 lifted her face close to his ; he could see the 
 little violet glints in her eyes, and the black 
 lashes about them. 
 
 " I will save you," she whispered back. " And 
 this is not for France ; it is to wipe out the past 
 the memory of that blow." As she spoke 
 she kissed the cheek she had struck. 
 
 " Now I can meet death," said Maurice, drink 
 ing deep of her beauty, even at this moment 
 swayed by his enduring love for her. 
 
 " That is enough," said the officer. " I am 
 not here for play-acting, but for work. For 
 ward ! March." 
 
 He wrenched Maurice awav, and Svlvia saw
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 427 
 
 him surrounded by the soldiers. Their heavy 
 boots rang on the stone floor of the corridor. 
 There he went, her hero, once her lover. All 
 life was compressed into this supreme moment 
 of ecstatic pain. She listened as if her life 
 depended on hearing the last sound ; the heavy 
 door into the court clanged ; the clatter of hoofs 
 on the paved way beneath the arch rang out; 
 then came silence for a moment ; followed by 
 the gallop, now loud, now faint, as the detach 
 ment rode down the avenue. 
 
 Little Louis had grown sleepy, and began to 
 rub his face and cry. Sylvia pulled herself 
 back as if from a great distance, and tried to 
 realize where she was ; her mind was as yet 
 hardly under control, as she lifted the baby to 
 her lap, and began mechanically to undress him. 
 He missed the accustomed kisses, and laid his 
 chubby hand against her cheek, with a won 
 dering look in his brown eyes. Still with her 
 sensations stony in the reaction from the strain 
 that she had just undergone, she went on with 
 her work, giving the child from time to time an 
 unmeaning caress. Just now nothing seemed 
 real to her, neither the baby nor herself ; they 
 were both like dream creatures. As for Phi 
 lippe, she had utterly forgotten him, and started 
 when the door behind the tapestry opened, and 
 he peered out.
 
 428 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 "Am I safe now? have they all gone?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " I think so ; I can t be sure," she answered. 
 
 "Ring for Pierre, and find out," he com 
 manded impatiently. " Have you no pity for 
 me? I am nearly starved to death." 
 
 She put little Louis in his crib, and pulled 
 the bell-rope. Neither she nor Philippe spoke 
 until the old man, twisted with rheumatism, 
 hobbled in. Then she said, "Have they all 
 gone ? is it safe for Monsieur le comte to 
 come out? " 
 
 When Pierre saw his master he threw up his 
 hands in astonishment. " Monsieur Philippe," 
 he exclaimed, remembering the old times. Then 
 recollecting himself, he added, " I beg a thou 
 sand pardons. Yes, the devils have all gone, 
 carrying a poor peasant to Chaumont, they 
 said." 
 
 " Then get me something to eat, quick," said 
 Philippe, for the first time coming into the 
 room. " Bring it in here by the fire, with a bot 
 tle of champagne liqueurs coffee cigar 
 ettes. Ah, what a feast I am going to have. 
 Do you realize, Sylvia, that I have been eating 
 stewed rats and broiled horse?" 
 
 She shuddered, but could not answer. 
 
 He continued, his face losing its pallor in the 
 warmth of the fire over which he crouched, and
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 429 
 
 his voice becoming more genial in his growing 
 comfort, " Have one of the other servants light 
 a fire in my dressing-room, and set a hot bath, 
 while my dinner is coming." 
 
 " The only other servant is Justine, and she 
 is away, gone to the west farm to bring your 
 mother home. I will do it myself, only can 
 you spare the time oughtn t you to make 
 haste?" 
 
 His yellowish eyes rested on her for a mo 
 ment, and then glanced restlessly about. " I 
 can t start without food I have no strength 
 I might die on the way," he answered. " But 
 the bath can wait until I dine ; I won t have 
 you doing that sort of work." 
 
 During the pause that followed she tried to 
 force herself to be wifely in her mental attitude 
 towards him. He was doing his duty, and risk 
 ing his life for it. Could mortal do more ? And 
 yet she found herself judging him severely be 
 cause he took an interest in his dinner. She 
 was unjust. 
 
 When she spoke again her voice was more 
 sympathetic. " Have you made any plans for 
 getting across the river, Philippe ? " 
 
 Again he gave an unintelligible look. " Yes, 
 plenty of them," he answered. 
 
 At this point Pierre came in, bearing a large 
 tray. The simple dinner prepared for the ladies
 
 430 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 had only to be hurried a little for his master. 
 Sylvia helped him draw a table to the fire, laid 
 a cloth, and arranged the service. 
 
 "Ah, that is delicious," exclaimed Philippe, 
 as the savory steam from the soup met his nos 
 trils. " Here, Pierre, before I begin you may 
 pull off my boots, and then bring me my slip 
 pers." 
 
 He held out his foot as he spoke. Sylvia 
 looked aghast. 
 
 " The papers," she said, in a low tone. 
 
 He gave her an angry look, while Pierre did 
 what was required of him. 
 
 She was puzzled, but not shaken yet in her 
 belief. " I will get the slijypers, Pierre," she 
 said. " You must hurry with Monsieur le 
 comte s dinner, for he will have to start as soon 
 as he has eaten it." 
 
 "Yes, Madame," answered the servant, hasten 
 ing away for the second course. 
 
 " You fool, can t you hold your tongue before 
 him ? " said Philippe, as the door closed. 
 
 " He is safe ; I only said what he is sure to 
 find out in a few minutes," she answered. 
 
 He gave a curious laugh. " Don t interfere 
 with my plans as long as I don t with yours. 
 How many husbands would be as patient as I 
 have shown myself to-night ? By Jove, how do 
 you suppose I liked to come home after months
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 431 
 
 of absence, and find a man an old lover, too 
 in disguise, in your room ? " 
 
 She turned white to her lips, but she looked 
 him in the face with eyes so full of outraged 
 dignity that his wavered. Pierre reentered, and 
 nothing more was said until he had again left 
 them alone. 
 
 Then Sylvia spoke. " Your insult is unworthy 
 even of you. Show me the papers you have for 
 General Chanzy." 
 
 A sudden suspicion had leaped into her mind ; 
 she felt that she must speak so as to banish it ; 
 it shamed her to harbor it against her husband. 
 
 " That, my dear, is impossible," said Philippe, 
 carefully untwisting the wire about his cham 
 pagne cork. 
 
 " Why ? Where are they ? What do you 
 mean ? " she said breathlessly, resting her hands 
 on the table and looking across at him, stooping 
 so as to see into his face. 
 
 Philippe poured out a glass of the wine slowly, 
 not allowing the foam to rise ; then he drank it 
 with a sigh of satisfaction. 
 
 " The English way suits me ; a dry brand, 
 and serve it through the dinner after the fish 
 course," he said genially ; then he set the glass 
 down, and looked up. Sylvia s white face, so 
 condemning with its questioning eyes, maddened 
 him.
 
 432 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 " Mind your own affairs," he burst out with 
 violence. " You have no right to cross-examine 
 me. All is fair in love and war, and by the 
 Lord, both conditions existed this evening, it 
 seems to me ! " 
 
 " You lied to Maurice and me ? you had no 
 papers ? " she asked slowly. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, and went on eat 
 ing. 
 
 " Do you realize," she continued, " that you 
 will be dishonored for life ? Maurice will tell at 
 headquarters what you said." 
 
 "Maurice? He won t tell much; he will be 
 shot for a spy at daybreak. Idiot, to come in 
 side the enemy s lines in disguise. I am sorry 
 for him, but I must say such stupidity deserves 
 death." 
 
 Was he telling the truth ? Sylvia felt that 
 everything had stopped, except time, and as if 
 that whirled by her so she could hear its pro 
 gress. She must make one more effort. 
 
 " Philippe," she said, and her voice was plead 
 ing, " you are my husband, and my child s father. 
 Tell me that what you just said is not true. Oh, 
 for God s sake, do not let me believe that you 
 betrayed the man who had risked his life to meet 
 you, to save yourself alone." 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 " Philippe, you have important news for
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 433 
 
 Chanzy ? You are not willing to let me know 
 of the danger you must run ; you are sparing 
 me, but I would rather know the truth. You 
 are not really in earnest when you say you lied 
 to Maurice ? " 
 
 Hardened, brutalized as he was, he could not 
 meet her eyes ; he let his head fall forward on 
 his chest. 
 
 " I only want one word, Philippe ; for your 
 mother s sake, for the sake of your son. Come 
 look at him, and then forgive me for having 
 suspected you. Let me wake him, and place 
 him in your arms, and teach him always to re 
 member this night, when his father put honor 
 first, and gave his life willingly for his country." 
 
 The shame which had bowed Philippe s head 
 gave way to a heavy, sullen anger. 
 
 " Stop your high-flown talk ; it is sickening," 
 he said brutally. " I have done enough for my 
 country ; it is a lost cause ; we are beaten. I 
 am on my way to Monte Carlo ; I am on sick- 
 leave. Now you know the whole story, so keep 
 quiet." 
 
 While he was speaking she had drawn away 
 from him, gathering herself together. Then 
 with one whispered word, " Traitor ! " she swept 
 from the room. 
 
 When she reached the end of the long gallery 
 she paused like one dazed, and sank down on the
 
 434 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 lowest step of the turning stone stairs. She felt 
 that a great calamity had come to her ; some 
 thing unheard of ; a stain was on her, a corrod 
 ing stain. There was no future ; her life was 
 all compressed into this moment of realization. 
 And she had thought that she had known what 
 it meant to suffer. Never until now had she 
 imagined what shame was. As she crouched 
 in the obscurity she saw Pierre passing through 
 the hall with a freshly laden tray, and the sight 
 roused her. She was selfish, wicked, to give way 
 to her own feelings, when Maurice s life was in 
 danger. He must be saved. He must be saved ! 
 But how ? 
 
 Her mind worked rapidly, but she could find 
 no answer to the desperate question. There was 
 no one to advise her, no one to whom she could 
 turn for help. She thought of Monsieur Reg- 
 nier, but he was on the other side of the river; 
 it would be mere loss of time to try to reach 
 him. Again Pierre came from her room, going 
 painfully towards the kitchen wing ; no aid could 
 be sought from him, for he was too old and crip 
 pled. Perhaps when Justine returned she might 
 suggest some plan. Even as Sylvia thought of 
 this, the fear struck her that it was probable 
 that the countess and the servant would pass 
 the night with the dying woman. The whole 
 country was sprinkled over with Prussians ; their
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 435 
 
 homeward road might be intercepted, or again, 
 they might be unwilling to leave their unfortu 
 nate charge to face death alone. She must de 
 pend on herself only, and she must act quickly. 
 As she came to this conclusion, with a hopeless 
 sense of its futility, she heard a sound of horses 
 hoofs. " They are bringing him back," she 
 thought, and a gleam of hope flashed across the 
 hopeless darkness. The door of the farther end 
 opened once more, and again old Pierre came 
 out, this time hurrying fast. 
 
 "What is it?" said Sylvia going towards 
 him. 
 
 " Officers Prussians I am going to warn 
 my master," he replied, continuing on his breath 
 less way. 
 
 As he disappeared the great hall door was 
 thrown open, and half a dozen men strode in. 
 Sylvia stood under the hanging lamp, as if to 
 welcome them ; in her enemies she saw her 
 chance to save Maurice. They spoke for a mo 
 ment among themselves, and then one advanced 
 towards her. 
 
 " You are the mistress of this place, Ma 
 dame?" 
 
 She returned his bow. " I am the Countess 
 de La Roche ; I am an American," she replied. 
 She felt that her nationality might be of some 
 use to her.
 
 436 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 The officer bowed again, and said, " I am afraid 
 we must thrust ourselves upon your hospitality, 
 Madame, for this night." 
 
 " My house is at your service, Monsieur ; in 
 return I want your advice. A friend of mine 
 was discovered here this evening by one of your 
 countrymen ; he was naturally supposed to be 
 my husband, and as he was in peasant s dress he 
 was taken for a spy. He is no spy ; but they 
 took him to Chaumont, and he is to be shot. 
 How can I save him ? " 
 
 Sylvia, as she spoke, felt that every word was 
 a lie. She was acting some strange part, too 
 terrible to be true ; it was only grotesque. 
 
 The Prussian looked grave. " Prince Frederic 
 Charles is at Chaumont for this one night," he 
 said after a slight pause. " Your only hope is in 
 him. You can prove that your friend was not 
 here as a spy ? " 
 
 " I can," she answered. 
 
 " You had better go at once to Chaumont 
 and plead your cause with the Prince," he con 
 tinued. " I will give you a pass you will need 
 it. The villages are pretty well occupied." 
 
 "Thank you, Monsieur," was Sylvia s only 
 answer, but her eyes spoke eloquently. 
 
 " I shall want something to write on," he 
 said. 
 
 She led the way to her salon, carrying a lamp
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 437 
 
 to light them. The officer seated himself at her 
 table, and wrote a few words on a piece of 
 paper. 
 
 " There, Madame, that will help you to reach 
 the Prince ; more I cannot do ; you must finish 
 your task yourself. Now, with your permission, 
 I will make the best of the few hours of com 
 fort I may have here." 
 
 " The entire chateau is yours, Monsieur, ex 
 cept my room." She pointed to the door beyond 
 which she had last seen her husband. " My 
 baby is asleep there." 
 
 " He shall not be disturbed. Good luck, 
 Madame." 
 
 The Prussian spoke pleasantly, but he was 
 not sorry to be left to the enjoyment of a good 
 night s rest. 
 
 Sylvia thanked him earnestly, and then, find 
 ing a fur cloak and a black lace mantilla in the 
 hall, holding fast her precious paper she hurried 
 out into the night. She hardly sent a thought 
 back to Philippe, hidden like a thief in his own 
 home ; Pierre would save him. She did wish 
 that she might have kissed little Louis once, 
 that she had been able to tuck him into his 
 crib ; but even that wish was vague compared 
 to the dominating idea, " Save Maurice." She, 
 who had never humbled herself, would kneel to 
 the Prince for him. She could not fail, she was 
 strong. He should live.
 
 438 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 Knowing a path skirting the vineyards be 
 longing to the property, she was able to avoid 
 going through the village, where, as she rightly 
 conjectured, a detachment of Prussians was 
 quartered for the night ; but once beyond this 
 boundary she was obliged to follow the main 
 road. She bent her head, and kept steadily on 
 against the cruel, exhausting wind, rushing down 
 the valley as through a tunnel. A small band 
 of horsemen passed her, bringing her heart 
 to her mouth, but they did not notice the dark 
 figure shrinking towards the leafless hedge. A 
 little further along an ammunition wagon had 
 broken down, and a group of soldiers was stand 
 ing about it. She passed them, too, unchal 
 lenged. Then came the first town, a small 
 place, but alive to-night ; lights in the houses, 
 people coming and going. This was the first 
 test ; would the words on the paper be of use 
 here ? A picket was walking back and forth 
 across the road, the light from a window stream 
 ing out, making a wide track of yellow over the 
 gray ground. There could be no shirking here. 
 
 Sylvia walked up to the man without a word, 
 holding out her paper. He scanned it closely, 
 folded it, and called a man lounging within the 
 lighted room, who escorted her through the vil 
 lage, beyond the sentry at the other end. Now 
 she could think, her mind being relieved of the
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 439 
 
 fear that her passport would prove useless. It 
 was a cruel privilege, for all the horrors of her 
 situation crowded upon her as she kept reso 
 lutely on, to save Maurice, unheeding cold and 
 fatigue. The brutal fact thrust itself before 
 her. The man she had married, her husband, 
 the father of her child, had deliberately sacri 
 ficed another man to save himself. A sob rose 
 in her throat, and she felt her eyes wet with 
 tears, as she thought of Maurice that evening 
 in her room. His dress had made him look 
 boyish, and the light in his eyes had banished 
 the expression of hardness and age which had 
 pained her the day she had seen him at La 
 Source. 
 
 " He is too young to die ; too brave to be 
 sacrificed. Oh, my God, help me help me 
 save him " 
 
 She had no future ; everything was chaos be 
 yond this night s work. Her paper took her in 
 safety through the other hamlets lying between 
 her and Chaumont, and when at last the lights 
 from the castle on the hill twinkled high above 
 her, she felt that a lifetime had slipped by since 
 she left La Roche. The gate of the avenue was 
 guarded, but here, also, the few words did their 
 duty, and as in a dream she began to ascend the 
 long slope of the hill, a soldier by her side with 
 a lantern. The drawbridge was passed ; the
 
 440 .1 TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 courtyard entered ; lights gleamed from every 
 window; soldiers were coming and going; all 
 was movement and bustle after the awful gloom 
 of the night without. Sylvia saw her guide 
 speak to one of the men, and they both looked 
 at her ; then they approached an officer who 
 had just come out from one of the doors. He 
 snatched the paper, read it hastily, and then 
 came clanking towards her. 
 
 " You wish to see Prince Frederic Charles," 
 he said, brusquely. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " Is your business important ? He is much 
 occupied to-night." 
 
 " It is a question of life and death, Mon 
 sieur." Sylvia spoke haughtily ; the man s 
 manner roused her. 
 
 " Step in there, and I will see what can be 
 done," he replied, pointing to a small room 
 under the entrance arch. 
 
 She went down the two steps leading to it. 
 Three Prussians were seated by the fire, smok 
 ing. Two of them paid her no attention, but 
 the third, hardly more than a boy, offered her 
 his chair witli a kindly look in his blue eyes. 
 As she took it, bowing her thanks, she thought, 
 " Oh, I hope no one will be gentle with me 
 I can t bear that ; only let them be rough and 
 rude."
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 441 
 
 Her lace fell over her face, and the cloak hid 
 her figure. She sat in her place, unnoticed, for 
 hours, it seemed to her, while doors opened and 
 shut, soldiers hurried in and out, messages were 
 delivered ; and every moment the fear grew 
 strong and the hope which had buoyed her up 
 faded away. Maurice was here, in the same 
 building and he was under sentence of death 
 he would be shot at daybreak Philippe 
 had said so. In her absorption she did not 
 shudder at the thought of her husband. 
 
 At last an officer entered, and approaching 
 her told her to follow him to the Prince, who 
 had agreed to see her. 
 
 " But, Madame, the interview must be a very 
 short one," he warned her. 
 
 She bent her head, stifled by the emotions of 
 the moment, but she followed him steadily, al 
 though nearly unconsciously. Her progress was 
 a blank to her, and she was aware of nothing 
 until she found herself in a small, lofty room ; 
 the windows, sunk deep in the walls and heavily 
 barred, gave the effect of a prison ; she under 
 stood vaguely that she was with the Prince, alone 
 with him, although she had not noticed when her 
 conductor left them. Afterwards she never was 
 able to recall anything of the Prince s appear 
 ance, except two searching brilliant eyes, and a 
 well-formed sinewy hand holding a pen. He was
 
 442 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 seated at a table covered with papers and maps, 
 and at her entrance he had risen, and pointed to 
 a chair which stood as if ready for her opposite 
 his. Time was precious to the man of war ; lie 
 looked impatiently at the silent figure before 
 him, and then spoke a little abruptly. 
 
 "You will forgive me, Madame, if I remind 
 you that I can only give you very little time." 
 
 Sylvia felt stifled ; she undid the clasp at her 
 throat, pushing the furs back, and drew the lace 
 away from her throat. At first words would not 
 come, but her eyes, heavy with pleading, her 
 clasped hands, the swaying, beseeching attitude 
 of her figure, above all her beauty, touched some 
 chord in the heart of the Prince, and prepared 
 him to listen with indulgence. Twice she opened 
 her mouth as if to speak, and twice the lips 
 trembled with the agony of fear ; she could have 
 faced anything for herself with unshaken cour 
 age, but it was Maurice s life which hung in the 
 balance. 
 
 At last the words came, low, but distinct. 
 " Monseigneur has a prisoner here, Monsieur le 
 Capitaine Maurice Regnier ; I have come to save 
 him." 
 
 The Prince raised his eyebrows ; if the ques 
 tion had not been so grave he would have been 
 amused. " Regnier is the name you say, 
 Madame ? "
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 443 
 
 " Yes, Monseigneur." 
 
 He blew two shrill blasts on a whistle, and an 
 orderly entered, to whom he gave an order. In 
 another moment an officer came into the room, 
 an elderly man, with a grizzled beard, and an 
 indifferent, cold expression that seemed more ill- 
 omened than an actively aggressive one. The 
 Prince spoke to the newcomer in a low voice, 
 evidently not meant for Sylvia s ears. She with 
 drew into one of the deep window recesses, where 
 she could hear nothing ; but she watched them 
 closely. The Prince s face grew grave and offi 
 cial. The officer spoke without gestures, and 
 she could see no sign of any interest in his man 
 ner ; it was a matter of business, nothing more. 
 When he had finished his account he stood 
 motionless ; the Prince drew some figures in an 
 absent-minded way on a bit of paper ; then he 
 dismissed his subordinate, and looked towards 
 the window. Sylvia came again to the table, 
 and sat down opposite to him. 
 
 At first he did not look up, but went on mak 
 ing idle marks on the paper ; then with an evi 
 dent effort he said : " This is a grave affair, 
 Madame. Captain Regnier was captured within 
 our lines in disguise ; you know what that means, 
 of course ? " 
 
 " It means that he was taken for a spy," she 
 answered with growing resolution ; " and I have
 
 444 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 come to tell Monseigneur that he was not there 
 as a spy ; he had crossed the river ; he was nearly 
 frozen, and had left his wet clothes at a peasant s 
 to dry but he was not there as a spy." 
 
 "Yet he passed himself off as the Count de 
 La Roche ? " 
 
 As he said this, Sylvia s face grew rigid ; it 
 might be that to save Maurice she would be 
 forced to betray her husband. The Prince no 
 ticed the sudden change in her expression. 
 
 " And," he continued, " he was found in your 
 room." 
 
 The memory of Philippe s insulting suspicion 
 rushed over her ; if he could misjudge her, who 
 should know her character, what would a stranger 
 think ? The blood surged to her cheeks, but she 
 remained silent. 
 
 Her confusion puzzled the Prince ; it compli 
 cated matters ; he went on slowly and impres 
 sively. " There is something more to be cleared 
 up, Madame. It is known that the real Count 
 de La Roche escaped from Paris by balloon, 
 and was traced to his chateau, where Captain 
 Regnier was taken ; the count is strongly sus 
 pected of being the bearer of important papers, 
 and this Regnier was evidently in communica 
 tion with him." 
 
 " But there were no papers," said Sylvia 
 eagerly.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 445 
 
 The Prince bowed, with a smile which spoke 
 volumes. She leaned towards him, her eyes look 
 ing straight at him, all alive with fire ; all con 
 ventions were forgotten ; it was not the Prince 
 to whom she spoke ; it was the man to whom 
 she appealed directly. 
 
 " Oh, you must believe me you must. My 
 God, if there had been papers, I could have 
 borne it better but he only wanted to save 
 himself, that is what makes it so terrible. If 
 there had been any hope for France any at 
 tempt even on his part to save her I could 
 have borne it I should never have come here. 
 Maurice would have died for his country, and I 
 would have gloried in his death ; but it was all 
 treachery, all for private ends, that he was sacri 
 ficed." 
 
 She was superb in her excitement ; the Prince 
 looked at her with open admiration. 
 
 " I am still a little in the dark, Madame," he 
 said. " You give me to understand that your 
 husband was not the bearer of papers from 
 Paris?" 
 
 " Yes, Monseigneur." 
 
 " And that Captain Regnier did not cross the 
 Loire to communicate with him ?" 
 
 She could not answer. Maurice should not 
 be saved by a lie. The Prince gave her a search 
 ing look ; her distress was so evident that it 
 touched him.
 
 446 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 "Why, then," he continued, "did your hus 
 band arrive in such a way, at such a time, within 
 our lines, if he had no papers? You know, 
 Madame, that it is not an easy matter to charter 
 a balloon." 
 
 " Monseigneur, he was ignorant of the pres 
 ence of your troops ; he is invalided, and is try 
 ing to reach Monte Carlo ; it was an accident 
 that forced him to land as he did, a bullet 
 pierced his balloon, he was pursued, and hid in 
 the chateau ; the Prussians, on his track, entered, 
 and found Monsieur Regnier. He believed, as 
 Monseigneur did, that Monsieur de La Roche 
 had important papers, and to save him took his 
 place. Then, when I found out the mistake, I 
 came to tell the truth to Monseigneur." 
 
 The first agitation had passed away, and the 
 sound of her own voice reassured her ; she was 
 so strong in her knowledge, so sure that the truth 
 must prevail now that she found herself face to 
 face with her last chance, that her strong will 
 reasserted itself. The man with the power of 
 life and death in his hands sat looking at her 
 with open admiration. He thought less of the 
 supposed spy, condemned to a hasty death, than 
 of the woman pleading for him, her beauty, 
 her courage, her energy, all appealed strongly to 
 him. Accustomed to the study of men, he was 
 convinced of the truth of her story. Besides,
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 447 
 
 what did one French life more or less matter? 
 Even if the case against Regnier were graver, 
 yet it would be worth while to see that face with 
 the glow of joy upon it which a word from him 
 could call forth. 
 
 " Since seeing you, Madame, it is not impos 
 sible to believe that something better than duty 
 induced this beau sabreur to risk his life cross 
 ing the Loire." 
 
 For a second she did not understand his 
 meaning. Then, as it came to her that he, 
 like her husband, regarded her with unworthy 
 suspicions, the fine lines of her face became 
 scornful. How small the minds were, capable 
 of such low thoughts. She rose, for the moment 
 forgetting everything but her insulted dignity, 
 and drew her cloak about her. 
 
 " I thought that I was safe in throwing my 
 self on the chivalry of Prince Frederic Charles." 
 
 His chivalry was touched as well as his hero 
 ism ; he was too brave himself not to recognize 
 courage in another. " And you were right. 
 Wait, Madame," he said with respectful author 
 ity. " Sit down again, and wait. You have 
 persuaded me that this man is no spy. What I 
 am about to do is the action of the Prince, of the 
 man not of the officer. He was to have been 
 shot at daybreak, for he would offer no explana 
 tion ; but here is his release." As he spoke, he
 
 448 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 wrote a few words rapidly on a piece of paper, 
 and when he looked up again his eyes were 
 kindly. 
 
 " You may take him the good news yourself." 
 She had won ; Maurice was free. The color 
 rushed over her face and her bosom rose and 
 fell. In her gratitude she could have kneeled 
 to the man who had saved her hero ; no words 
 came ; but she raised the Prince s hand to her 
 lips, and her eyes spoke for her. He was 
 touched and interested by the romance of the 
 episode ; for a moment thoughts of warfare were 
 banished, and he wondered what the end of it 
 would be. In his turn he bent over her hand, 
 and there was a sincere ring in his voice as he 
 said, " Gliick auf ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MAURICE EEGNIER had been conducted to a 
 room high up in one of the massive towers of 
 the chateau, after a brief and unsatisfactory ex 
 amination. He had given his own name, but had 
 resolutely withheld any other information. The 
 evidence that he was a spy was strong against 
 him, and his sentence was only what was to have 
 been expected in the unstable condition of affairs. 
 He was to be shot at daybreak. The officer con 
 ducting the matter had been kindly enough in a 
 rough fashion, and had arranged to send for the 
 prisoner s father. 
 
 Captain Regnier s name was well known, and 
 gallantry is respected by gallant men in friend 
 or foe. The room where he was imprisoned 
 was but a section of the tower, and irregular in 
 form. Without, a covered gallery made the cir 
 cuit of the building, and Maurice could hear the 
 measured tread of the sentinel as he made his 
 monotonous round. Escape was so impossible 
 that he had been allowed the luxury of solitude, 
 and there he waited alone for death. He had 
 not accepted the inevitable, however, without
 
 450 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 first making every investigation for a possible 
 escape ; but he was soon convinced that any at 
 tempt would be hopeless. 
 
 He dreaded the interview with his father more 
 than anything. " But," he thought, " it is only 
 what he and I have both faced all along, and 
 neither of us looked forward to my death mean 
 ing more than a little barren personal honor ; 
 now it means hope for France." 
 
 He had imagined Philippe s course when he 
 found himself free ; had planned a hundred 
 ways for him to cross the river, and tried to 
 remember if he had told him where his horse 
 was to be found. 
 
 Then a solemn wonder came to him : Would 
 he ever know whether the sortie proved success 
 ful ? In a few hours death s mystery would be 
 explained to him. By this time to-morrow the 
 wisdom of eternity would be his or oblivion. 
 But that seemed too great an impossibility for 
 him to grasp : there was no reality in the sugges 
 tion. 
 
 Over and under all these thoughts was the 
 atmosphere of his love for Sylvia. How could 
 the feeling die that sent the blood coursing 
 through his veins ? No bullet could crush that 
 out of existence. 
 
 " Poor child," he thought, drawing his hand 
 across his eyes. " She believed that she could
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 451 
 
 save me, when she promised to when she 
 kissed me." Then a wish rose in his heart that 
 she might die with him. " Philippe has never 
 been worthy of her ; but this may be the turn 
 ing- point in his life he may come out all right 
 after all." In spite of the passing moments this 
 thought brought a sting ; but he crushed down 
 the unworthy feeling. " I should wish her to 
 be able to respect him yes love him, if she 
 can." 
 
 Gradually the solitude of his situation came 
 over him ; the stupendous isolation of dying. 
 His whole being seemed swallowed up in a glori 
 ous trustfulness ; words were nothing. He could 
 give no name to the Being he looked up to ; but 
 as with a flash of inward light he felt that the 
 love he had lavished on Sylvia, and the adora 
 tion for his country which led him to lay down 
 his life for it, were but symbols of higher feel 
 ings, nobler opportunities. If this world were 
 all, why had not some instinct pulled him irre 
 sistibly away from self-sacrifice, instead of irre 
 sistibly driving him towards it ? No prayer 
 was on his lip, but his mental attitude was wor 
 ship. He could bear it all now ; not for himself 
 only, that was comparatively easy ; but for Syl 
 via and his father. His foot was on the thresh 
 old of eternity ; he thought that all his battles 
 had been fought, both with seen and unseen
 
 452 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 foes. He felt that he had conquered self ; but 
 the supreme trial was yet to come. 
 
 Suddenly a sound disturbed him : some one 
 was undoing the door from without, and he felt 
 a wave of regret pass over him ; for he thought 
 that it was his father, and he longed indescrib 
 ably to save him from suffering. He rose and 
 found himself face to face with Sylvia. To her 
 the sight of him came almost as a surprise. 
 Until this minute she had gone on her way like 
 a spirit ; there had been no thought of self in her 
 mind, only of what she must do. The intensity 
 of force thrown by her into compelling every 
 thing to give way to her will had made her 
 oblivious of her own personality. Up to the 
 moment when she saw him, Maurice had been an 
 idea, and she herself something elemental, work 
 ing for this idea. But when she found herself 
 face to face with him, the exalted look still 
 about him ; when she realized how near he had 
 been to a shameful, useless death ; above all, 
 when her long-smothered love broke into flame 
 then the strain was too much for her to bear, 
 shaken as she was by the terrible emotions of 
 the last hours. 
 
 The mere sight of Maurice seemed to promise 
 her safety and protection, and she came swiftly 
 towards him, her hands held out, her whole look 
 one of triumph. Without a thought, instinc-
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 453 
 
 tively, he put his arms about her and held her 
 close to him. Her head rested on his shoulder ; 
 he felt a tremor run over her, then came the 
 words, telling what he seemed to know already. 
 
 " My Maurice, I have saved you ! You are 
 mine I am yours." 
 
 Was this the same man who, not five min 
 utes before, had sat waiting for death ? Every 
 thing faded and grew dim, except the one fact 
 that in his arms rested Sylvia, her wonderful 
 eyes storehouses of rapturous promise, looking 
 deep into his own. Death, life, what were 
 they ? Shadows. Only this was real. He did 
 not question what had brought her to him ; it 
 was enough to feel her presence. 
 
 Then the shadows deepened and became real 
 again. This was a temptation, and his face had 
 been turned heavenwards too recently for him to 
 be able to shake off its influence. With infinite 
 tenderness he drew away from her embrace, and 
 putting his hands on her shoulders looked full 
 into her eyes, an expression in his of wistful 
 strength. 
 
 " I must not accept this sacrifice ; you must 
 help me to renounce you, my Sylvia. You are 
 a wife and a mother. Not by word or look will 
 I give you any cause for remorse hereafter." 
 
 " No, Maurice, in God s sight I am no wife. 
 He won me by treachery away from you, my
 
 454 A Tit AN S ATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 king, my hero. Love me, Maurice, love me 
 care for me. It is fate that brings me to you. 
 I have always waited for you. Even as a child 
 I adored honor, and bravery, and truth and 
 they mean you. Oh, do not send me away I 
 am so frightened. I cannot go back to him." 
 
 Tears came to her eyes, and her lips trem 
 bled ; she clasped her hands, but still he held 
 her from him. 
 
 " Sylvia, listen to me. You are, as you al 
 ways were, my queen among women my ideal. 
 You say I am not to die ; as yet I cannot under 
 stand it. I have been so near death ; and as I 
 looked forward, trying to see beyond the grave, 
 you were with me as truly as you are now 
 you, my darling, and my father. Now let us 
 think help me, help me, for you tempt me 
 sorely. Oh, Sylvia, I love you so, and I must 
 give you up." 
 
 He turned away with a groan, his self-control 
 shaken under the power of her face. She came 
 close to him again. 
 
 " Hear me, Maurice you do not know all. 
 You must not believe that I come to you with 
 out a struggle. I have been brave, and true to 
 my husband, for your sake. I knew you loved 
 me, and I would not have you love a faulty 
 woman. Until to-night I have been brave be 
 cause you were ; but now that I know what he
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 455 
 
 is, my courage and strength have gone. I can 
 struggle no longer." 
 
 She sank on a chair and bowed her head. The 
 attitude of helplessness touched Maurice irresist 
 ibly ; he came and knelt by her side. 
 
 " Tell me all ; has he hurt you ? If he has 
 harmed a hair of your head I 11 kill him ! " 
 
 As he spoke he took her hands in his. 
 
 " Oh, he has not hurt me. I could have borne 
 that. It is you he has injured from the first. 
 He lied about you to gain me in the beginning. 
 He betrayed you to-night to save himself." 
 
 The anger in her N eyes kindled an answering 
 flame in his. His voice was very low as he said, 
 "You say he took you from me by a lie you 
 say he betrayed me to-night? Think before you 
 answer me, Sylvia, for a man s life hangs on your 
 words." 
 
 She began to speak very slowly and delib 
 erately. " He won me by a slanderous lie, 
 and still I kept my vow as his wife. I tried to 
 turn even my thoughts away from you. Until 
 to-night I considered myself bound to him ; but 
 then, when I found that he had deliberately sent 
 you to your death, that he might dine Oh, 
 Maurice, the thought is driving me mad." 
 
 There was no deliberation now, the words 
 came with feverish haste. " He was false all 
 through false and a coward. There were
 
 456 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 no papers for Chanzy there is no hope of a 
 sortie he is running away, and he lied to help 
 himself." 
 
 Maurice had listened, growing whiter and 
 whiter. He had crushed Sylvia s hands, still held 
 in his, until she could have cried out with pain 
 had she been less absorbed ; then as if afraid of 
 hurting her in his passion, he flung them from 
 him, and turned away, a blind instinct warning 
 him to hide his face, terrible in its rage. 
 
 Neither of them had heard Monsieur Regnier 
 enter the room. He had been told on reaching 
 the chateau of his son s reprieve, and tremulous 
 with the unexpected joy had hastened to him. 
 He had heard Sylvia s story, and his son s face 
 shocked him when he turned from her. Maurice 
 strode towards him, laying his hand heavily on 
 the old man s shoulder. 
 
 " You have heard ? " he said. 
 
 Monsieur Regnier bent his head. 
 
 " How soon can I leave this place ? My work 
 must not wait." 
 
 " You are free now, Maurice," answered his 
 father ; " your pardon is unconditional." 
 
 " Then you will care for Sylvia in my absence ? 
 She is mine now. I must go back to headquar 
 ters after I have killed that man." 
 
 He spoke as if no one could contradict or ques 
 tion his decision, but calmly spoken as it was, it
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 457 
 
 conveyed a grim sense of finality that shook his 
 listeners. Sylvia started up. 
 
 " Not that not murder, Maurice," she said 
 commandingly. 
 
 "And why not?" he answered sharply; "is 
 it murder to kill a wolf ? The man must die." 
 
 She came close to him, almost timidly ; his 
 heavy-contained anger was more fearful than any 
 storm of ravings could have been. 
 
 " Maurice, my love, I have given you your 
 life ; I give you mine ; but do not separate us 
 forever by such a deed. How could I face my 
 child if I loved his father s murderer? And 
 God help me, nothing you ever did could keep 
 me from loving you. If you do this deed, you 
 kill not one but two for now I cannot live 
 without you death would be better than life 
 away from you so I should die." 
 
 There was no answering softness in his face ; 
 it was set in lines of granite. As if he had not 
 heard her, he repeated, " The man must die." 
 
 Sylvia looked appealingly at Monsieur Reg- 
 nier. He spoke. 
 
 " There is another reason that Sylvia has over 
 looked why you may not have the blood of Phi 
 lippe de La Roche on your hands. He has 
 wronged you cruelly, but he and you are of the 
 same race ; I am his father s unacknowledged 
 brother. When you recall that father, Maurice,
 
 458 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 and his many kindnesses to us, you will spare 
 his son." 
 
 Maurice started. " There is a stain, then, on 
 my birth ? " he demanded. 
 
 " On mine," replied his father with proud hu 
 mility. " I would have kept this from you, but 
 the occasion demands a sacrifice." 
 
 The change of expression that the news had 
 brought to Maurice s face died away, and it 
 set itself again in the rigid lines of determi 
 nation. 
 
 " The man must die," he reiterated sullenly. 
 
 The innate antagonism between them ; the 
 many insults he had received from the count ; 
 the treachery which had taken Sylvia from him, 
 and the crowning baseness of this night s work, 
 made a combination of deadly strength. He 
 could not struggle against it. Monsieur Regnier 
 took his son s hand in one of his and laid the 
 other on his shoulder. The two men stood 
 face to face, their eyes meeting in a look with 
 which each seemed to read the other s soul. The 
 patient dignity which stooped to plead, in his 
 father s face, the clasp of the hand which seemed 
 to promise sympathy and help, quieted Maurice. 
 When the words came they found him able to 
 listen. 
 
 " My boy, this night, not an hour ago, you 
 were looking forward to death. Only you know
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 459 
 
 what thoughts came to you ; but if they were of 
 the life beyond, if you felt that this was not all, 
 had you no hopes, no fears ? You bear in your 
 heart a great love for this woman ; she is all in 
 all to you ; can you expect to meet her after this 
 life, if you stain your hand with blood ? You 
 might gain her for a while, but you would lose 
 her eternally. Is revenge, and revenge on your 
 own blood, sweet enough to justify this ? " 
 
 Maurice buried his face in his hands. Eter 
 nity had been close to him this night : its influ 
 ence still hung about him. In the light of the 
 hereafter lesser things paled. For a moment 
 no one spoke ; then Sylvia, feeling that he was 
 shaken, began to move towards him, but Mon 
 sieur Regnier held her back. 
 
 " I have more to say, and it is for you both ; 
 you must hear me, my children, and you must 
 trust in the love behind the harshness. You, 
 Sylvia, I have taken to my heart as if you were 
 my own daughter ; you are not the only ones to 
 renounce ; and Maurice my son my only 
 son " He held out his arms towards the 
 bowed head, and his eyes were full of the light 
 of love ; his voice died away for a moment. 
 
 When he spoke again he seemed to tower 
 above his listeners, and his face was like the 
 face of an angel. He was pleading against the 
 love of this world, against all that makes life
 
 460 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 beautiful ; he was pleading for the life to come, 
 and his words rang true. 
 
 " Sylvia, my child, you have a heavy burden 
 to bear ; only God and you know how heavy ; 
 but He will give you strength. Remember that 
 this life is not all ; it is only the stepping-stone 
 to the life beyond. No one can liye for himself 
 alone. You are a link in a great family chain ; 
 if you tear yourself away you do infinite harm, 
 not only to yourself, but to your child and his 
 house. You have helped to give him a birth 
 right ; you must not steal it from him for your 
 own passion. You, and he, and Maurice will 
 exist eternally. Each of you is responsible for 
 all. The things of this life pass away sorrow 
 endureth for a night, but joy cometh with the 
 morning. Let us each live so that when that 
 morning dawns we can stand before the sun of 
 righteousness, proud of our honorable wounds, 
 borne for the sake of right. Pray for strength 
 to give each other up. Beat down the wrong 
 be brave rise to things eternal on the wings 
 of self -surrender." 
 
 Sylvia s higher nature stirred ; the months 
 of struggle, of endeavor to conquer herself, had 
 not been in vain. She had been weak for a 
 while ; she had lost sight of her standards under 
 the strain she had undergone ; but Monsieur 
 Regnier recalled her from her short dream.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 461 
 
 Even in the sudden burst of passion she had 
 been dimly aware that sin would not be easy to 
 her, and had rebelled against the under-stratum 
 of her nature which almost compelled her to 
 take the right path. Now she knew that it was 
 the only one possible to her, and yet the idea of 
 giving up Maurice nearly broke her heart. How 
 could she tear herself from him, now that she 
 had told him of her love ? As she thought of 
 
 O 
 
 losing him out of her life she felt a reckless 
 desire that he would kill Philippe anything 
 everything, so that they might be together. 
 Then she remembered her child, and the wild 
 mood passed away. Once more she felt capa 
 ble of all for the sake of right; she would re 
 nounce ; she would be brave. As she sent up 
 a dumb, speechless prayer for help, Maurice 
 lifted his head, and looked at her. Then she 
 knew that her prayer was already answered, 
 and that here was her help, for in his eyes she 
 read his resignation of her, his victory over self. 
 They had been hard tried, but they were con 
 querors. He stood where he was, his voice 
 sounded muffled, and his words came slowly, as 
 if refusing to obey his will. 
 
 " We must part ; there is no other way. But 
 remember, Sylvia, that in life and in death I am 
 yours and yours only ; that you will be to me my 
 star, always guiding me to the right ; that the
 
 462 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 love which might have been our ruin shall be, by 
 God s help, our salvation." 
 
 She came to him, and once more, for the last 
 time, put her arms about him. 
 
 " Good-by, my Maurice, my more than love 
 my hero." 
 
 His hand trembled as he smoothed the soft 
 hair away from her brow, and for the last time 
 looked deep into her eyes ; then he kissed her 
 once, and she felt that the consecration of their 
 lives to duty had begun as she turned and left 
 him. 
 
 They parted then with a steady resolve never 
 to meet again, and they were true to their vow 
 and each other. With their eyes fully opened 
 to what they renounced, they deliberately chose 
 the right ; and their self-imposed cross, faith 
 fully borne, gave them the wider wisdom, the 
 ampler sympathy, which is our inheritance from 
 Christ. 
 
 Little more remains to be said : passions fade 
 out, or are cut off, and still life goes on. As 
 long as she lives Sylvia s love story will last in 
 her heart in the completeness of its incomplete 
 ness. She left Maurice to take up her old life, 
 inspired by the thought that he and she had 
 suffered equally, renounced equally, and that 
 their recompense would be equal. To the coun 
 tess she grew dearer each year, and became a
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 463 
 
 very daughter to Monsieur Regnier, giving and 
 taking a daughter s tender love. She soothed 
 the last moments of old Justine, wht) never ral 
 lied after that terrible night when she had given 
 her soul for her mistress. The poor creature 
 died unshriven by mortal priest, never having 
 confessed her sin. Sylvia, who did not under 
 stand her mental sufferings, did all that she could 
 to alleviate them, and had the comfort at the 
 very last to see a look of trust and joy on the 
 face of the dying woman as if an angel had 
 touched it. A long time passed before Philippe 
 came back to his home, broken in health and 
 spirit, more by his worthless life than by the 
 hardships of war. His presence has been Syl 
 via s heaviest cross, borne nobly for the sake of 
 right, and because of her boy from whose honest 
 brown eyes look out the spirits of the men who 
 made the name of La Roche a term of honor, 
 and those other sturdy ancestors of his who 
 helped to lay the foundations of a nation dear to 
 the hearts of its children, stretching from ocean 
 to ocean. 
 
 Maurice sleeps his last sleep in the chapel 
 with the old Counts of La Roche. He fell in 
 battle, his face to the foe, and they laid him with 
 his ancestors whose nobility he had inherited. 
 When Sylvia saw his sword placed on his coffin, 
 the sword he had wielded so nobly, she was able
 
 464 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 
 
 to thank God that the man she had loved so 
 well had gone to His presence glorified by the 
 light of victory victory over self. She felt 
 that he was more wholly hers, because nothing 
 could tarnish his memory. Eternally young, 
 eternally brave, he is and will be to her death 
 her hero without a blemish. She loves to sit 
 under the protecting sweep of the old cedar, ever 
 murmuring its mystic music, a sleep-song for 
 the dead soldier poet who had so loved it ; and 
 as she touches its rugged bark, and looks through 
 its solemn branches, there are times when the 
 thin veil between her and the unseen world al 
 most sways aside. 
 
 Happy ? It is not for me to say no. Is there 
 place for unhappiness in the lives of those who 
 are filling their days with the struggle for at 
 tainment and conquest, when we apply the words 
 in their higher meaning ? 
 
 And had we the choice, would we dare, for a 
 few years of pleasure in this life, give up the 
 height, and depth, and breadth the soul may 
 reach, through a noble sorrow nobly met? 
 
 Happy ? Let him who wore the purple, and 
 touched the summit of earthly prosperity, an 
 swer : 
 
 " If thou workest at that which is before thee, 
 . . . keeping thy divine part pure as if thou 
 shouldest be bound to give it back immediately.
 
 A TRANSATLANTIC CHATELAINE. 465 
 
 if thou boldest to this, expecting nothing, fear 
 ing nothing, but satisfied with thy present activ 
 ity according to nature, and with heroic truth in 
 every word and sound which thou utterest, thou 
 wilt live happy. And there is no man who is 
 able to prevent this."
 
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