mmi 

 
 fpHffl'H 
 
 rt ^Act 94
 
 1^ 
 
 L I E) RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N I VLR5ITY 
 
 or ILLI NOIS 
 
 •DT7ref 
 
 V. \
 
 THE EEFUGEES 
 
 A TALE OF TWO CONTINENTS 
 
 BY 
 
 A. CONAN DOYLE 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GEE EN, AND CO. 
 
 1893
 
 ! 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTIIOB. 
 
 
 MiCAH Clarke, 
 
 
 The Captain of the Polestar. 
 
 
 TdE Doings of Raffles Haw. 
 
 
 The Firm of Girdlestone. 
 
 
 The White Company. 
 
 
 The Great Shadow. 
 
 
 /A Study in Scarlet. 
 
 - The Sign of Four. 
 
 (Tue Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. 
 
 

 
 4 
 
 DnnhxL 
 
 v.l 
 
 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^
 
 ABERDEEN UNIVEKSITY I'BESS
 
 P R E F A C^ E. 
 
 Were the teller of an old tale to acknowledge 
 all his sources he would have to Ijurden his 
 book with a l3ibliography. No man, however, 
 can, without flagrant injustice, write upon the 
 end of the seventeenth century at the French 
 Court without acknowledging his indebted- 
 ness to Miss Julia Pardoe, nor can he treat 
 American history of the same date without 
 owing much to Mr. Francis Parkman. 
 
 I may add that I have taken some slight 
 liberties with history, especially by compress- 
 ing events which occurred within a space of 
 about three years into a ver}' much shorter 
 time. 
 
 A. CONAX DOYLE. 
 
 South Norwood, March 14, 1S92.
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/refugeestaleoftw01doyl
 
 COXTEXTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 IX THE OLD WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER PAflE 
 
 I. The ]\Iax from America. - - - . i 
 
 II. A Monarch in Deshabille. - - - - 17 
 
 III. The Holding of the Door, - - - r>0 
 
 lY. The Father of his People. - - - 65 
 
 V. Children of Belial, ----- 83 
 
 \l. A House of Strife. - - - - - 100 
 
 YII. Tee New Y'orld and the Old. - - - 128 
 
 YIII. Tee Rising Sun. ------ 147 
 
 IX. Le Eoi Samuse. ------ 160 
 
 X. An Eclipse at Yersailles. - - - - 185 
 
 XI. The Sun Reappears, 206
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE MAX FEOM AMERICA. 
 
 It was the sort of window which was common 
 in Paris about the end or" the seventeenth 
 century. It was high, mulHoned, with a 
 broad transom across the centre, and above 
 the middle of the transom a tiny coat of arms 
 — three caltrops gules upon a field argent — 
 let into the diamond-paned glass. Outside 
 there projected a stout iron rod, from which 
 hung a gilded miniature of a bale of wool 
 which SA\a^ing and squeaked with every puff of 
 wind. Beyond that again were the houses of 
 the other side, high, narrow, and prim, slashed 
 with diagonal wood-work in front, and topped 
 with a bristle of sharp gables and corner 
 turrets. Between were the cobble-stones of 
 the Rue St. Martin and the clatter of in- 
 numerable feet. 
 
 1
 
 2 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 Inside, the window was furnished with 
 a l)road l)ancal of l)rown stamped Spanish 
 leather, where the family might recline and 
 have an eye from behind the curtains on all 
 that was going forward in the busy world 
 l)eneath them. Two of them sat there now, 
 a man and a woman, but their backs were 
 turned to the spectacle, and their faces to 
 the large and richly furnished room. From 
 time to time they stole a glance at each other, 
 and their eyes told that they needed no other 
 sight to make them happy. 
 
 Nor was it to be wondered at, for they were 
 a well-favoured pair. She was very young, 
 twenty at the most, with a face which was 
 pale, indeed, and yet of a 1)rilliant pallor, 
 which was so clear and fresh, and carried with 
 it such a suggestion of purity and innocence, 
 that one would not wish its maiden grace to 
 be marred ])y an intrusion of colour. Her 
 features were delicate and sweet, and her 
 blue -black hair and long dark eyelashes 
 formed a piquant contrast to her dreamy gray
 
 THE MAX FEOM AMERICA. 3 
 
 eyes and her ivory skin. In her whole ex- 
 pression there was something quiet and sul)- 
 dued, which was accentuated by her simple 
 dress of black taffeta, and Ijy the little jet 
 brooch and bracelet which were her sole 
 ornaments. Such was Adele Catinat, the 
 only daughter of the famous Huguenot cloth- 
 merchant. 
 
 But if her dress was somljre, it was atoned 
 for by the magnificence of her companion. 
 He was a man who might have Ijeen ten years 
 her senior, with a keen soldier face, small 
 well-marked features, a carefully trimmed 
 black moustache, and a dark hazel eye which 
 might harden to command a man, or soften to 
 suj^plicate a woman, and be successful at 
 either. His coat was of sky-blue, slashed 
 across with silver braidings, and with ])i'oad 
 silver shoulder-straps on either side. A vest 
 of white calamanca peeped out from l)eneatli 
 it, and knee-breeches of the same disappeared 
 into high poli.shed Ijoots with gilt spurs upon 
 the heels. A silver-hilted rapier and a plumed
 
 4 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 cap lying upon a settle beside him completed 
 a costume which was a badge of honour to 
 the wearer, for any Frenchman would have 
 recognised it as being that of an officer in the 
 famous Blue Guard of Louis the Fourteenth. 
 A trim, dashing soldier he looked, with his 
 curling black hair and well-poised head. 
 kSucIi he had proved himself before now in 
 the field, too, until the name of Amory de 
 Catinat had become conspicuous among the 
 thousands of the valiant lesser noUesse who 
 had flocked into the service of the king. 
 
 They were first cousins, these two, and there 
 was just sufficient resemblance in the clear- 
 cut features to recall the relationship. De 
 Catinat was sprung from a noble Huguenot 
 family, Imt having lost his parents early he 
 had joined the army, and had worked his 
 way without influence and against all odds to 
 his present position. His father's younger 
 brother, however, finding every path to for- 
 tune barred to him through the persecution to 
 which men of his faith were already subjected.
 
 THE MAX FROM AMERICA. 5 
 
 had dropped the "de" which imphed his noble 
 descent; and had taken to trade in the city of 
 Paris, with such success that he was now one 
 of the richest and most prominent citizens of 
 the town. It was under his roof that the 
 guardsman now sat. and it was his only 
 dauoliter whose white hand he held in his 
 own. 
 
 "Tell me, Adele/'' said he, ••why do you 
 look trouliled ? " 
 
 "I am not troubled. Amory." 
 
 " Come, there is just one little line Ijetween 
 those curving l;)row.s. Ah, I can read you, 
 you see, as a shepherd reads the sky." 
 
 ''It is nothing, Amory. but '' 
 
 " But what ? " 
 
 "You leave me this evening." 
 
 "But only to return to-morrow." 
 
 " And must you really, really go to-night ? " 
 
 " It would he as much as my commission 
 is worth to Ije aVjsent. Why, I am on duty 
 to-morrow morninu' outside the king's bed- 
 room ! After chapel-time Major de Brissac
 
 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 will take my place, and then I am free once 
 
 more." 
 
 "Ah, Amory, when you talk of the king 
 and the court and the grand ladies, you fill 
 me with wonder." 
 
 " And why with wonder ? " 
 
 " To think that you who live an) id such 
 splendour should stoop to the humble room 
 of a mercer." 
 
 " Ah, but what does the room contain ? " 
 
 '' There is the greatest wonder of all. That 
 you who pass your days amid such people, so 
 beautiful, so witty, should think me worthy of 
 your love, me, who am such a quiet little 
 mouse, all alone in this great house, so shy 
 and so backward ! It is wonderful ! " 
 
 " Every man has his own taste," said her 
 cousin, stroking the tiny hand. "It is with 
 women as w^ith flowers. Some may prefer the 
 great brilliant sunflower, or the rose, which 
 is so bright and large that it must ever catch 
 the eye. But give me the little violet which 
 hides among the mosses, and yet is so sweet
 
 thp: max from America. 7 
 
 to look upon, and sheds its fragrance round it: 
 But still that line upon your l^row, dearest." 
 "I was wishing that father would return." 
 " And why ? Are you so lonely, then ? " 
 Her pale face lit up with a quick smile. " I 
 shall not be lonely until to-night. But I am 
 always uneasy when he is away. One hears 
 so much now of the persecution of our poor 
 brethren." 
 
 " Tut ! my uncle can defy them." 
 " He has gone to the provost of the Mercer 
 Guild about this notice of the quartering of 
 the dragoons." 
 
 "Ah, you have not told me of that." 
 " Here it is." She rose and took up a slip 
 of blue paper with a red seal dangling from it 
 which lay upon the taljle. His strong, black 
 brows knitted together as he glanced at it. 
 
 ''Take notice," it ran, "that you, Th^ophile 
 Catinat, cloth-mercer of the Rue St. Martin, 
 are hereby required to give shelter and rations 
 to twenty men of the Languedoc Blue Dra- 
 goons under Captain Dalbert, until such time
 
 8 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 as you receive a further notice. [Signed] De 
 Beaupr(5 (Commissioner of the King)." 
 
 De Catinat knew well how this method of 
 annoying Huguenots had been practised all 
 over France, but he had flattered himself that 
 his own position at court would have insured 
 his kinsman from such an outrage. He threw 
 the paper down with an exclamation of anger. 
 
 " When do they come ? " 
 
 "Father said to-night." 
 
 " Then they shall not be here long. To- 
 morrow I shall have an order to remove 
 them. But the sun has sunk behind St. Mar- 
 tin's Church, and I should already be upon 
 my way." 
 
 '' No, no ; you must not go yet." 
 
 " I would that I could oive you into your 
 father's charge first, for I fear to leave you 
 alone when these troopers may come. And 
 yet no excuse will avail me if I am not at 
 Versailles. But see, a horseman has stop])ed 
 before the door. He is not in uniform. Per- 
 haps he is a messenger from your father."
 
 THE MAN FROM AMEEICA. 9 
 
 The girl ran eagerly to the window, and 
 peered out, with her hand resting upon her 
 cousin's silver-corded shoulder. 
 
 " Ah ! " she cried, '' I had forgotten. It is 
 the man from America. Father said that he 
 would come to-day." 
 
 " The man from America ! " repeated the 
 soldier, in a tone of surprise, and they both 
 craned their necks from the window. The 
 horseman, a stuixly, Ijroad-shouldered young 
 man, clean-shaven and crop-haired, turned his 
 long, swarthy face and his bold features in 
 their direction as he ran his eyes over the 
 front of the house. He had a soft-brimmed 
 gray hat of a shape which was strange to 
 Parisian eyes, but his sombre clothes and 
 high Ijoots were such as any citizen might 
 have worn. Yet his general appearance was 
 so unusual that a group of townsfolk had 
 already assembled round him, staring v^'iih 
 o])en mouth at his horse and himself A 
 battered gun with an extremely long barrel 
 was fastened l)y the stock to his stirru}),
 
 10 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 while the muzzle stuck up into the air behind 
 him. At each holster was a large dangling 
 black Img, and a gaily coloured red-slashed 
 blanket was rolled up at the l)ack of his 
 saddle. His horse, a strong-limbed dapple- 
 gray, all shiny with sweat above, and all 
 caked with mud beneath, bent its fore knees 
 as it stood, as though it were overspent. The 
 rider, however, having satisfied himself as to 
 the house, sprang lightly out of his saddle, and 
 disengaging his gun, his l:>lanket, and his bags, 
 pushed his way unconcernedly through the 
 gaping crowd and knocked loudly at the door. 
 '^Who is he, then?" asked De Catinat. 
 '' A Canadian ? I am almost one myself I 
 had as many friends on one side of the sea as 
 on the other. Perchance I know him. There 
 are not so many white faces yonder, and in 
 two years there was scarce one from the 
 KSaguenay to Xipissing that I had not seen." 
 
 " Xay, he is from the English provinces, 
 Amory. But he speaks our tongue. His 
 mother was of our l)lood."
 
 THE MAN FROM AMERICA. 11 
 
 '' And his name ? " 
 
 " Is Amos — Amos^ — ah, those names ! Yes, 
 Green, that was it — Amos Green. His 
 father and mine have done much trade 
 together, and now his son, who, as I under- 
 stand, has Hved ever in the woods, is sent 
 here to see something of men and cities. Ah, 
 my God ! what can have happened now \ " 
 
 A sudden chorus of screams and cries had 
 broken out from the passage beneath, with 
 the shouting of a man and the sound of 
 rushing steps. In an instant iJe Catinat was 
 half-way down the stairs, and was staring in 
 amazement at the scene in the hall beneath 
 
 Two maids stood, screaming at the pitch of 
 their lungs, at either side. In the centre the 
 aged man-servant Pierre, a stern old Calvinist, 
 whose dignity had never Ijefore been shaken, 
 was spinning round, waving his arms, iind 
 roarino^ so that he mi£!:ht have been heard at 
 the Louvre. Attached to the gray worsted 
 stocking which covered his fleshless calf was 
 a fluffV black hairv l)all, with one little red eve
 
 12 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 glancing up, and the gleam of two white teeth 
 w^here it held its grip. At the shrieks, the 
 young stranger, wdio had gone out to his horse, 
 came rushing back, and plucking the creature 
 off, he slapped it twice across the snout, and 
 l)lunged it head-foremost back into the leather 
 bag from which it had emerged. 
 
 '' It is nothing," said he, speaking in excel- 
 lent French ; " it is only a bear." 
 
 " Ah, my God ! " cried Pierre, wiping the 
 drops from his ])row. '' Ah, it has aged me 
 five years ! I was at the door, bowing to 
 monsieur, and in a moment it had me from 
 Ijehind." 
 
 " It was my fault for leaving the bag loose. 
 The creature ^^'as l3ut pupj^ed the day we left 
 Xew York, six weeks come Tuesday. Do I 
 speak with my father's friend. Monsieur Cati- 
 nat ? " 
 
 '' Xo, monsieur," said the guardsman, from 
 the staircase. " My uncle is out, but I am 
 Captain de Catinat at your service, and here 
 is Mademoiselle Catinat, who is your hostess."
 
 THE MAN FEOM AMERICA. 13 
 
 The stranger ascended the stair, and paid 
 his greetings to them both with the air of a 
 man who was as shy as a wild deer, and yet 
 who had steeled himself to carry a thing 
 through. He walked with them to the sitting- 
 room, and then in an instant was gone again, 
 and they heard his feet thudding upon the 
 stairs. Presently he was back, with a lovely 
 glossy skin in his hands. ''The bear is for 
 your father, mademoiselle," said he. " This 
 little skin I have brought from America for 
 you. It is but a trifle, and yet it may serve 
 to make a pair of moccasins or a pouch." 
 
 Adele gave a cry of delight as her hands 
 sank into the depths of its softness. She 
 might well admire it, for no king in the world 
 could have had a finer skin. "Ah, it is 
 beautiful, monsieur," she cried ; " and what 
 creature is it ; and where did it come from ? " 
 
 '' It is a black fox. I shot it myself last fall 
 up near the Iroquois villages at Lake Oneida." 
 
 vShe pressed it to her cheek, her white face 
 showing up like marble against its absolute
 
 14 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 blackness. " I am sorry my father is not here 
 to welcome you, monsieur," she said ; '' but I 
 do so very heartily in his place. Your room 
 is above. Pierre will show you to it, if you 
 wish." 
 
 '' My room ? For what ? " 
 
 " Why, monsieur, to sleep in ! " 
 
 *' And must I sleep in a room ? " 
 
 De Catinat laughed at the gloomy face of 
 the American. " You shall not sleej) there if 
 you do not wish," said he. 
 
 The other brightened at once, and stepped 
 across to the further window, which looked 
 down upon the court-yard. "Ah," he cried. 
 " There is a beech-tree there, mademoiselle, 
 and if I might take my l)lanket out yonder, I 
 should like it l^etter than any room. In 
 winter, indeed, one must do it, l)ut in summer 
 I am smothered with a ceiling pressing doAvn 
 ui)on me." 
 
 " You are not from a town then ? " said De 
 Catinat. 
 
 " Mv father lives in New York — two doors
 
 THE MAX FROM AMERICA. 15 
 
 from the house of Peter Stuyvesant, of whom 
 you must have heard. He is a very hardy 
 man, and he can do it, but I — even a few 
 days of Albany or of Schenectady are enough 
 for me. My hfe has been in the woods." 
 
 " I am sure that my father would wish you 
 to sleep where you like and to do what you 
 like, as long as it makes you happy." 
 
 " I thank you, mademoiselle. Then I shall 
 take my things out there, and I shall groom 
 my horse." 
 
 '•'Xay, there is Pierre." 
 
 " I am used to doing it myself" 
 
 '' Then I will come with you," said De 
 Catinat, ''for I would have a word with you. 
 Until to-morrow, then, Adele, farewell ! " 
 
 " Until to-morrow, Amory." 
 
 The two young men passed down stairs 
 together, and the guardsman followed the 
 American out into the yard. 
 
 " You have had a long journey," he said. 
 
 " Yes ; from Rouen." 
 
 '' Are vou tired ? "
 
 16 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 '' No ; I am seldom tired." 
 
 "Remain with the lady, then, until her 
 feither comes back." 
 
 " Why do you say that ? '' 
 
 '' Because I have to go, and she might need 
 a protector." 
 
 The stranger said nothing, but he nodded, 
 and throwing off his black coat, set to work 
 vigorously rubbing down his travel-stained 
 horse.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A MONARCH IX DESHABILLE. 
 
 It was the morning after the guardsman had 
 returned to his duties. Eight o'clock had 
 struck on the great clock of Versailles, and it 
 was almost time for the monarch to rise. 
 Throuo^h all the lono; corridors and frescoed 
 passages of the monster palace there was a 
 subdued hum and rustle, with a low muffled 
 stir of preparation, for the rising of the king 
 was a great state function in which many had 
 a part to play. A servant with a steaming 
 silver saucer hurried past, bearing it to Mon- 
 sieur de St. Quentin, the state barber. Others, 
 with clothes thrown over their arms, bustled 
 down the passage which led to the ante- 
 chamber. The knot of guardsmen in their 
 gorgeous blue and silver coats straightened 
 
 themselves up and brought their halberds to 
 2 (17)
 
 18 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 attention, while the young officer, who had 
 been looking wistfully out of the window at 
 some courtiers who were laughing and chat- 
 ting on the terraces, turned sharply ujDon his 
 heel, and strode over to the white and gold 
 door of the royal bedroom. 
 
 He had hardly taken his stand there before 
 the handle was very gently turned from within, 
 the door revolved noiselessly upon its hinges, 
 and a man slid silently through the aperture, 
 closing it again behind him. 
 
 ''Hush!" said he, with his finger to his 
 thin, precise lips, while his whole clean-shaven 
 face and high-arched lirows were an entreaty 
 and a warning. "The king still sleeps." 
 
 The words were whispered from one to 
 another among the group who had assembled 
 outside the door. The speaker, who was 
 Monsieur Bontems, head valet de chambre 
 gave a sign to the officer of the guard, and led 
 him into the window alcove from which he 
 had lately come. 
 
 " (xood-morning, Ca2)tain de Catinat," said
 
 A MONARCH IN DESHABILLE. 19 
 
 he, with a mixture of famiHarity and respect 
 in his manner. 
 
 " Good-morning, Bontems. How has the 
 king slept ? " 
 
 '^ Admirably." 
 
 "But it is his time." 
 
 " Hardly." 
 
 '' You will not rouse him yet ? " 
 
 "In seven and a half minutes." The valet 
 pulled out the little round watch which gave 
 the law to the man who tvas the law to 
 twenty millions of people. " Who commands 
 at the main guard ? " 
 
 "Major de Brissac." 
 
 " And you will be here ? " 
 
 " For four hours I attend the king." 
 
 " Very good. He gave me some instructions 
 for the officer of the guard, when he was alone 
 last night after the ^j^^^i^ coucher. He bade me 
 to say that Monsieur de Vivonne was not to 
 be admitted to the grand lever. You are to 
 tell him so." 
 
 "I shall do so."
 
 20 THE r.EFUC4EE8. 
 
 " Then, should a note come from Iter — you 
 understand me, the new one " 
 
 " Madame de Maintenon ? " 
 
 '' Precisely. But it is more discreet not to 
 mention names. Should she send a note, you 
 will take it and deliver it quietly when the 
 king gives you an 023portunity. " 
 
 ''It shall be done." 
 
 *' But if the other should come, as is possible 
 enough — the other, you understand me, the 
 former " 
 
 "Madame de Montespan." 
 
 '' Ah, that soldierly tongue of yours, cap- 
 tain ! Should she come, I say, you will gently 
 Ijar her way, with courteous words, you under- 
 stand, but on no account is she to be permitted 
 to enter the royal room." 
 
 '' Very good, Bontems." 
 
 ''And now we have but three minutes." 
 
 He strode through the rapidly increasing 
 group of people in the corridor with an air of 
 proud humility, as befitted a man avIio, if he 
 was a valet, was at least the king of valets by
 
 A MOXAPvCH IX DfeHABILLE. 21 
 
 being the valet of the king. Close by the 
 door stood a line of footmen, resplendent in 
 their powdered wigs, red plush coats, and 
 silver shoulder-knots. 
 
 " Is the officer of the oven here ? " asked 
 Bontems. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied a functionary who ])ore 
 in front of him an enamelled tray heaped with 
 pine shavings. 
 
 " The opener of the shutters ? " 
 
 "Here, sir." 
 
 '' The remover of the taper ? " 
 
 '^Here, sir." 
 
 "Be ready for the word." He turned 
 the handle once more, and slipped into the 
 darkened room. 
 
 It was a large square apartment, with two 
 high windows upon the further side, curtained 
 across with priceless velvet hangings. Through 
 the chinks the morning sun shot a few little 
 gleams, which widened as they crossed the 
 room to break in Ijright l^lurs of light upon 
 the primrose-tinted wall. A large arm-chair
 
 22 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 stood by the side of the burned-out fire, 
 shadowed over by the huge marble mantel- 
 piece, the back of which was carried up, twin- 
 ing and curving into a thousand arabesque 
 and armorial devices until it blended with 
 the richly painted ceiling. In one corner a 
 narrow couch with a rug thrown across it 
 showed where the faithful Bontems had spent 
 the night. 
 
 In the very centre of the chamber there 
 stood a large four-post bed, with curtains of 
 Gobelin tapestry looped back from the pillow. 
 A square of polished rails surrounded it, 
 leaving a space some five feet in width all 
 round between the enclosure and the bedside. 
 Within this enclosure, or ruelle, stood a small 
 rcnind table, covered over with a white napkin, 
 upon which lay a silver platter and an 
 enamelled cup, the one containing a little 
 Frontiniac wine and water, and the other 
 bearing three slices of the breast of a chicken, 
 in case the king should hunger during the 
 night.
 
 A MOXARCH IN, DESHABILLE. 23 
 
 As Bontems passed noiselessly across the 
 room, his feet sinking into the moss-Hke 
 carpet, there was the heavy, close smell of 
 sleep in the air, and he could hear the long 
 thin breathing of the sleeper. He passed 
 through the opening in the rails, and stood, 
 watch in hand, waiting for the exact instant 
 when the iron routine of the court demanded 
 that the monarch should be roused. Beneath 
 him, from under the costly green coverlet of 
 Oriental silk, half Ijuried in the fluffy Valen- 
 ciennes lace which edged the pillow, there 
 protruded a round f)lack l)ristle of close- 
 cropped hair, with the profile of a curving 
 nose and j^^tulant li}) outlined against the 
 white background. The valet snapped his 
 watch, and bent over the sleeper. 
 
 " I have the honour to inform your ^lajesty 
 that it is half-past eight," said he. 
 
 " Ah ! " The king slowly opened his large 
 dark-brown eyes, made the sign of the cross, 
 and kissed a little dark reliquary which he drew 
 
 from under his niuht-dress. Then he sat 
 
 'C? 
 
 U})
 
 24 THE REFOTGEES. 
 
 in bed, and blinked about him with the air 
 of a man who is collecting his thoughts. 
 
 " Did you give my orders to the officer of 
 the guard, Bontems ? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes, sire." 
 
 " Who is on duty ? " 
 
 "Major de Brissac at the main guard, and 
 Captain de Catinat in the corridor." 
 
 " De Catinat ! Ah, the young man who 
 stopped my horse at Fontainebleau. I re- 
 member him. You may giye the signal, 
 Bontems." 
 
 The chief yalet walked swiftly across to the 
 door and threw it open. In rushed the officer 
 of the oyens and the four red-coated, white- 
 wigged footmen, ready-handed, silent-footed, 
 each intent upon his own duties. The one 
 seized upon Bontems' rug and couch, and in 
 an instant had whipped them off into an ante- 
 chamber ; another had carried away the " en 
 cas " meal and the silver taj^er-stand ; while a 
 third drew back the great curtains of stamped 
 velvet and let a flood of light into the apart-
 
 A MONARCH IX DESHABILLE. 25 
 
 ment. Then, as the flames were ah^eady 
 flickermg among the pine shavings in the 
 fireplace, the officer of the ovens placed two 
 romid logs crosswise above them, for the 
 morning air was chilly, and withdrew with 
 his fellow-servants. 
 
 They were hardly gone before a more august 
 group entered the bedchamber. Two walked 
 together in front, the one a youth little over 
 twentv vears of aue, middle-sized, inclining' to 
 stoutness, with a sIoav, pompous bearing, a 
 well-turned leg, and a face which was comely 
 enough in a mask-like fashion, but which was 
 devoid of any shadow of expression, except 
 perhaps of an occasional lurking gleam of 
 mischievous humour. He was richly clad in 
 plum-coloured velvet, with a broad band of 
 blue silk across his breast, and the glittering 
 edge of the order of St. Louis protruding from 
 under it. His companion was a man of fojty, 
 swarthy, dignified, and solemn, in a plain l)ut 
 rich dress of l^lack silk with slashes of gold 
 at the neck and sleeves. As the pair f^iced
 
 26 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 the king there was sufficient resemblance 
 between the three faces to show that they 
 were of one blood, and to enable a stranger 
 to guess that the older was Monsieur, the 
 younger brother of the king, while the other 
 was Louis the Dauphin, his only legitimate 
 child, and heir to a throne to which in the 
 strange workings of Providence neither he nor 
 his sons were destined to ascend. 
 
 Strong as was the likeness between the 
 three faces, each with the curving Bourbon 
 nose, the large full eye, and the thick Haps- 
 burg under lip, their common heritage from 
 Anne of Austria, there was still a vast differ- 
 ence of temperament and character stamped 
 upon their features. The king was now in 
 his six-and-fortieth year, and the cropped 
 black head was already thinning a little on 
 the top, and shading away to gray over the 
 temples. He still, however, retained nnich of 
 the iDcauty of his youth, tempered l)y the 
 dignity and sternness which increased with 
 his years. His dark eyes were full of ex-
 
 A MOXARCH IX DESHABILLE. 27 
 
 pression, and his clear-cut features were the 
 delight of the sculptor and the painter. His 
 firm and yet sensitive mouth and his thick, 
 well-arched brows gave an air of authority 
 and power to his face, while the more sub- 
 dued expression which was habitual to his 
 brother marked the man whose whole life 
 had been spent in one long exercise of defer- 
 ence and self-effacement. The dauphin, on 
 the other hand, with a more regular face than 
 his father, had none of that quick play of 
 feature when excited, or that kingly serenity 
 when composed, which had made a shrewd 
 observer say that Louis, if he were not the 
 greatest monarch that ever lived, was at least 
 the best fitted to act the part. 
 
 Behind the king's son and the king's 
 brother there entered a little group of nota- 
 bles and of officials whom duty had called 
 to this daily ceremony. There was the grand 
 master of the robes, the first lord of the l)ed- 
 chamber, the Due du Maine, a pale youth clad 
 in black velvet, limping heavily with his left
 
 28 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 leg, and his little l:)rotlier, the young Comte 
 de Toulouse, both of them the illegitimate 
 sons of Madame de Montespan and the king. 
 Behind them, again, was the first valet of 
 the wardrol^e, followed by Fagon, the first 
 physician. Teller, the head surgeon, and three 
 pages in scarlet and gold who bore the royal 
 clothes. Such were the partakers in the 
 family entry, the highest honour which the 
 court of France could aspire to. 
 
 Bontems had poured on the king's hands 
 a few drops of spirits of wine, catching them 
 again in a silver dish ; and the first lord of the 
 l)edchamber had presented the bowl of holy 
 water, with which he made the sign of the 
 cross, muttering to himself the short office of 
 the Holy Ghost. Then, with a nod to his 
 brother and a short word of greeting to the 
 dauphin and to the Due du Maine, he swung 
 his legs over the side of the bed, and sat in his 
 long silken night-dress, his little white feet 
 dangling from beneath it — a perilous position 
 for anv man to assume, were it not that he
 
 A MOXARCH IX DESHABILLE. 29 
 
 had so heart-felt a sense of his own diuiiity 
 that he couhl not reahse that under any cir- 
 cumstances it might l)e compromised in the 
 eyes of others. 80 he sat, the master of 
 France, and yet the slave to every puff of 
 wind, for a wandering draught had set him 
 shivering and shaking. ^Monsieur de St. 
 Quentin, the nol)le barljer, flung a purple 
 dressing-gown over the royal shoulders, and 
 placed a long many-curled court wig upon 
 his head, while Bontems drew on his red 
 stockings and laid before him his slippers of 
 embroidered velvet. The monarch thrust his 
 feet into them, tied his dressing-gown, and 
 passed out to the fireplace, where he settled 
 himself down in his easy-chair, holding out 
 his thin delicate hands towards the l^lazing 
 logs, while the others stood round in a semi- 
 circle, waiting for the grand lever which was 
 to follow. 
 
 '' How is this, messieurs ? " the king asked 
 suddenly, glancing round him with a petulant 
 face. " I am conscious of a smell of scent.
 
 30 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 Surely none of you would venture to ])ring 
 peVfunie into the presence, knowing, as you 
 must all do, how offensive it is to me." 
 
 The little group glanced from one to the 
 other with protestations of innocence. The 
 faithful Bontems, however, with his stealthy 
 step, had passed along behind them, and had 
 detected the offender. 
 
 " My lord of Toulouse, the smell comes 
 from you," he said. 
 
 The Comte de Toulouse, a little ruddy- 
 cheeked lad, flushed up at the detection. 
 
 "If you please, sire, it is possible that 
 Mademoiselle de Grammont may have wet 
 my coat with her casting-bottle when we all 
 played together at Marly yesterday," he stam- 
 mered. ''I had not observed it, but if it 
 offends your Majesty " 
 
 '' Take it away ! take it away ! " cried the 
 king. " Pah ! it chokes and stifles me ! 
 Open the lower casement, Bontems. Xo ; 
 never heed, now that he is gone. Monsieur de 
 8t. Quentin, is this not our shaving morning ? "
 
 A MOXARCH IX DESHABILLE. 31 
 
 "Yes, sire ; all is ready." 
 
 " Then why not proceed ? It is three minutes 
 after the accustomed time. To work, sir ; and 
 you, Bontems, give word for the grand lever.'' 
 
 It was obvious that the king was not in a 
 very good humour that morning. He darted 
 little quick questioning glances at his brother 
 and at his sons, but whatever complaint or 
 sarcasm may have trembled upon his lips, 
 was effectually stifled by De St. Quentin's 
 ministrations. With the nonchalance born 
 of long custom, the official covered the royal 
 chin with soap, drew the razor swiftly round 
 it, and sponged over the surface with spirits 
 of wine. A nobleman then helped to draw 
 on the king's black velvet haiU-de-chausses, 
 a second assisted in arranging them, while a 
 third drew the night-gown over the shoulders, 
 and handed the royal shirt, which had l^een 
 warming before the fire. His diamond-buckled 
 shoes, his gaiters, and his scarlet inner vest 
 were successively fastened by noble courtiers, 
 each keenly jealous of his own privilege, and
 
 32 THK ERFUGEES. 
 
 over the vest was placed the l)hie ril3l)on with 
 the cross of the Holy Ghost in diamonds, 
 and that of St. Louis tied with red. To one 
 to whom the sight w^as new, it might have 
 seemed strange to see the little man, listless, 
 passive, with his eyes fixed thoughtfully on 
 the luirning logs, while this group of men, 
 each with a historic name, bustled round him, 
 adding a touch here and a touch there, like a 
 knot of children with afovourite doll. The black 
 under-coat was drawn on, the cravat of rich 
 lace adjusted, the loose overcoat secured, two 
 handkerchiefs of costly point carried forward 
 upon an enamelled saucer, and thrust by 
 separate officials into each side pocket, the 
 silver and ebony cane laid to hand, and the 
 monarch was ready for the labours of the day. 
 During the half-hour or so which had been 
 occupied in this manner there had been a con- 
 stant opening and closing of the chamber door, 
 and a muttering of names from the captain of 
 the guard to the attendant in charge, and 
 from the attendant in charge to the first
 
 A MOXARCH IX DESHABILLE. 33 
 
 gentleman of the chamber, ending always 
 in the admission of some new visitor. Each 
 as he entered bowed profoundly three times, 
 as a salute to majesty, and then attached him- 
 self to his own little clique or coterie, to 
 gossip in a low voice over the news, the 
 weather, and the plans of the day. Gradually 
 the numbers increased, until by the time the 
 king's frugal first breakfast of bread and 
 twice-watered wine had been carried in, the 
 large square chamber was quite filled with a 
 throng of men, many of whom had helped to 
 make the epoch the most illustrious of French 
 history. Here, close by the king, was the 
 harsh but energetic Louvois, all-powerful now 
 since the death of his rival Colbert, discussing 
 a question of military organisation with two 
 officers, the one a tall and stately soldier, the 
 other a strange little figure, undersized and 
 misshapen, but bearing the insignia of a 
 marshal of France, and owning a name A\'hicli 
 was of evil omen over the Dutch frontier, for 
 
 Luxembourg was looked upon alreadv as the 
 
 3
 
 34 THE REFrGEES. 
 
 successor of Coiide, even as his companion 
 Yauban was of Turenne. Beside them, a 
 small white-haired clerical with a kindly face, 
 Pere La Chaise, confessor to the king, was 
 whispering his views upon Jansenism to the 
 portly Bossuet, the eloquent Bishop of Meaux, 
 and to the tall thin young Abbe de Fenelon, 
 who listened with a clouded brow, for it was 
 susjDected that his own opinions were tainted 
 with the heresy in question. There, too, was 
 Le Brun, the painter, discussing art in a small 
 circle which contained his fellow -workers 
 Verrio and Laguerre, the architects Blondel 
 and Le Xotre, and the sculptors Girardon, 
 Puget, Desjardins, and Coy se vox, Avhose 
 works had done so much to l)eautify the 
 new palace of the king. Close to the door, 
 Racine, with his handsome face wreathed 
 in smiles, was chatting with the poet Boileau 
 and the architect jNIansard, the three laughing 
 and jesting with the freedom which was 
 natural to the favourite servants of the king, 
 the only subjects who might wall< unan-
 
 A MONARCH IX DESHABILLE. 35 
 
 nouncecl and without ceremony into and out 
 of his chamber. 
 
 " What is amiss with him this morning ? " 
 asked Boileau, in a whisper, nodding his 
 head in the direction of the royal group. 
 "I fear that his sleep has not improved his 
 temper." 
 
 " He becomes harder and harder to amuse," 
 said Racine shaking his head. '' I am to be at 
 Madame de Maintenon's room at three to see 
 whether a page or two of the Phedre may not 
 work a change." 
 
 " My friend," said the architect, '' do you 
 not think that madame herself might be a 
 better consoler than your Pltedref 
 
 " Madame is a wonderful woman. She has 
 brains, she has heart, she has tact — she is 
 admirable." 
 
 ''And yet she has one gift too many." 
 
 "And that is?" 
 
 "Age." 
 
 " Pooh ! What matter her years when she 
 can carry them like thirty ? What an eye !
 
 36 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 What an arm ! And besides, my friends, he 
 is not himself a boy any longer." 
 
 ''Ah, bnt that is another thing." 
 
 '' A man's age is an incident, a woman's a 
 calamity." 
 
 '' Very true. But a young man consults his 
 eye, and an older man his ear. Over forty, it 
 is the clever tongue which wins ; under it, the 
 pretty face." 
 
 ''Ah, you rascal ! Then you have made ujj 
 }Our mind that five-and-forty years with tact 
 will hold the field against nine-and-thirty with 
 l3eauty. Well, when your lady has won, she 
 will doubtless remember who were the first to 
 pay court to her." 
 
 " But I think that you are wrong, Eacine." 
 
 "Well, we shall see." 
 
 " And if you are wrong " 
 
 " Well, what then ? " 
 
 " Then it may be a little serious for you." 
 
 " And why ? " 
 
 " The Marquise de Montespan has a me- 
 mory."
 
 A MOXAECH IN DESHABILLE. 37 
 
 " Her influence may soon be nothing 
 more." 
 
 " Do not rely too much upon it, my friend. 
 When the Fontanges came up from Provence, 
 with her blue eyes and her copper hair, it was 
 in every man's mouth that Montespan had had 
 her day. Yet Fontanges is six feet under a 
 church crypt, and the marquise spent two 
 hours with the king last week. She has won 
 once, and may again." 
 
 " Ah, l3ut this is a very different rival. This 
 is no slip of a country girl, ]3ut the cleverest 
 woman in France." 
 
 " Pshaw, Racine, you know our good 
 master well, or you should, for you seem to 
 have been at his elbow since the days of the 
 Fronde. Is he a man, think you, to be amused 
 forever l)y sermons, or to spend his days at 
 the feet of a lady of that age, watching her 
 at her tapestry- work, and fondling her poodle, 
 when all the fairest faces and brightest 
 eyes of France are as thick in his salons as 
 the tulips in a Dutch flower Ijed ? No, no,
 
 38 • THE REFUGEES. 
 
 it will be the Montespan, or if not she, some 
 younger beauty." 
 
 " My dear Boileau, I say again that her 
 sun is setting. Have you not heard the 
 news ? " 
 
 " Xot a word." 
 
 " Her brother, Monsieur de Vivonne, has 
 been refused the entree.'' 
 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 VBut it is a feet." 
 
 '' And when ? " 
 
 ''This very morning." 
 
 '' From whom had you it ? " 
 
 '' From De Catinat, the captain of the guard. 
 He had his orders to bar the way to him." 
 
 '' Ha ! then the king does indeed mean mis- 
 chief. That is why his brow is so cloudy this 
 morning, then. By my faith, if the marquise 
 has the spirit with which folk credit her, he 
 may find that it was easier to win her than to 
 slight her." 
 
 " Ay ; the Mortemarts are no easy i-ace to 
 liandle."
 
 A MONARCH IN D^HABILLE. 39 
 
 '^Well, heaven send him a safe way Dnt of 
 it ! But who is this gentleman ? His face is 
 somewhat grimmer than those to which the 
 court is accustomed. Ha 1 the king catches 
 sight of him, and Louvois Ijcckons to him to 
 advance. By my faith, he is one who would 
 be more at his ease in a tent than under a 
 painted ceiling." 
 
 The stranger who had attracted Eacine's 
 attention was a tall thin man, with a high 
 aquiline nose, stern fierce gray eyes, peeping 
 out from under tufted brows, and a counte- 
 nance so lined and marked by age, care, and 
 stress of weather that it stood out amid the 
 prim courtier faces which surrounded it as an 
 old hawk micrht in a cau^e of Ijirds of gav 
 plumage. He was clad in the sombre-coloured 
 suit which had l)ecome usual at court since 
 the king had put aside frivolity and Font- 
 anges, l)Ut the sword whicli hung from liis 
 w^aist was no fancy rapier, Ijut a good Ijrass- 
 hilted blade in a stained leather sheath, which 
 showed everv si^rn of havinjj' seen hard service.
 
 40 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 He had been standing near the door, his 
 l^lack-featliered beaver in his hand, glancing 
 with a half-amused, half-disdainful exj^ression 
 at the groups of gossips around him, but at 
 the sign from the minister of war he l^egan to 
 elbow his way forward, pushing aside in no very 
 ceremonious fashion all who barred his passage. 
 
 Louis possessed in a high degree the royal 
 faculty of recognition. ''It is years since I 
 have seen him, but I remember his face well," 
 said he, turning to his minister. " It is the 
 Comte de Frontenac, is it not ? " 
 
 '' Yes, sire," answered Louvois ; ''it is indeed 
 Louis de Buade, Comte de Frontenac, and 
 formerly governor of Canada." 
 
 " We are glad to see you once more at our 
 lever,'' said the monarch, as the old nobleman 
 stooped his head and kissed the white hand 
 which was extended to him. '' I hope that 
 the cold of Canada has not chilled the warmth 
 of your lovaltv." 
 
 "Only death itself, sire, would l)e cold 
 enough for that."
 
 A MONARCH IX DE.SHABILLE. 41 
 
 '' Then I trust that it may remain to us for 
 many long years. We would thank you for 
 the care and pains which you have spent upon 
 our province, and if we have recalled you, it is 
 chieflv that we would fain hear from your 
 own lips how all things go there. And first, 
 as the aifliirs of God take precedence of those 
 of France, how does the conversion of the 
 heathen prosper ? " 
 
 " We cannot complain, sire. The good 
 fathers, both Jesuits and Recollets, have done 
 their l^est, though indeed they are both rather 
 ready to abandon the affairs of the next world 
 in order to meddle with those of this." 
 
 "What say you to that, f^ither?" asked 
 Louis, glancing, with a twinkle of the eyes, 
 at his Jesuit confessor. 
 
 '' I say, sire, that when the affairs of this 
 world have a bearing upon those of the next, 
 it is indeed the duty of a good priest, as of 
 every other good Catholic, to guide them right." 
 
 " That is very true, sire," said De Front enac, 
 with an angry flush upon his swarthy cheek ;
 
 42 THE KEFU(4EE8. 
 
 ''but as long as your Majesty did me the 
 honour to intrust those affairs to my own 
 guidance, I would brook no interference in 
 the performance of my duties, whether the 
 meddler were^ clad in coat or cassock." 
 
 " Enough, sir, enough ! " said Louis sharply. 
 " I had asked you about the missions." 
 
 ''They prosper, sire. There are Iroquois 
 at the Sault and the mountain, Hurons at 
 Lorette, and Algonquins along the whole 
 river cotes from Tadousac in the East to Sault 
 la Marie, and even the great plains of the 
 Dakotas, who have all taken the cross as their 
 token. Marquette has passed down the river 
 of the West to preach among the Illinois, 
 and Jesuits have carried the gospel to the 
 warriors of the Long House in their w^igwams 
 at Onondaga." 
 
 " I may add, your Majesty," said l\'re La 
 Chaise, "that in leaving the truth there, they 
 have too often left their lives with it." 
 
 " Yes, sire, it is very true," cried De Fron- 
 ten ic, cordially. " Your Majesty has many
 
 A MOXAROH IN DESHABILLE. 43 
 
 brave men within your domains, ]3ut none 
 braver than these. They have come l^ack u\) 
 the Richeheu river from the Iroquois villages 
 with their nails gone, their fingers torn out, 
 a cinder where their eye should be, and the 
 scars of the pine splinters as thick upon their 
 bodies as the fleurs-de-lis on yonder curtain. 
 Yet, with a month of nursing from the good 
 Ursulines, they have used their i*emaining eye 
 to guide them back to the Indian country 
 once more, where even the dogs have been 
 frightened at their haggled faces and twisted 
 limbs." 
 
 " And you have suffered this ? " cried Louis, 
 hotly. " You allow these infamous assassins 
 to live ? " 
 
 '' I have asked for troops, sire." 
 
 "And I have sent some." 
 
 '' One regiment." 
 
 '' The Carignan-Saliere. I have no better 
 in my service." 
 
 '' But more is needed, sire." 
 
 " There are the Canadians themselves.
 
 44 THE KEFUGEES. 
 
 Have you not a militia ? Could you not 
 raise force enough to })unish these rascally 
 nuirderers of God's priests ? I had always 
 understood that you were a soldier." 
 
 De Frontenac's eyes flashed, and a quick 
 answer seemed for an instant to tremble upon 
 his lips, l3Ut with an eflbrt the fiery old man 
 restrained himself " Your Majesty will learn 
 ])est whether I am a soldier or not," said he, 
 " by asking those who have seen me at 
 SenefFe, Mulhausen, Salzbach, and half a 
 score of other places where I had the honour 
 of upholding your Majesty's cause." 
 
 " Your services have not been forgotten." 
 '' It is just because I am a soldier and have 
 seen something of war that I know how hard 
 it is to penetrate into a country much larger 
 than the Lowlands, all thick with forest and 
 bog, with a savage lurking behind every tree, 
 who, if he has not learned to ste}) in time or 
 to form line, can at least In-ing down the 
 running caribou at two hundred paces, and 
 travel three leagues to your one. And then
 
 A MONARCH IX DESHABILLE. 45 
 
 when you have at last reached their villages, 
 and burned their empty wigwams and a few 
 acres of maize fields, what the better are you 
 then ? You can but travel back again to 
 your own land with a cloud of unseen men 
 lurking behind you, and a scalp-yell for every 
 straggler. You are a soldier yourself, sire. I 
 ask you if such a war is an easy task for a 
 handful of soldiers, with a few censitaires 
 straight from the plough, and a troop of 
 coureurs-de-hois whose hearts all the time 
 are with their traps and their l^eaver- 
 skins." 
 
 " No, no ; I am sorry if I spoke too hastily, 
 said Louis. '' We shall look into the matter 
 at our council." 
 
 '' Then it warms my heart to hear you say 
 so," cried the old governor. "There will be 
 joy down the long St. Lawrence, in white 
 hearts and in red, when it is known that their 
 great father over the waters has turned his 
 mind towards them." 
 
 "And yet you must not look for too much,
 
 46 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 lor Canada has been a heavy cost to us, and 
 we have many calls in Euroj^e." 
 
 '' Ah, sire, 1 would that you could see that 
 great land. When your Majesty has won a 
 campaign over here, what may come of it ? 
 Glory, a few miles of land, Luxembourg, 
 Strasburg, one more city in the kingdom ; but 
 over there, with a tenth of the cost and a 
 hundredth part of the force, there is a world 
 ready to your hand. It is so vast, sire, so 
 rich, so beautiful! Where are there such 
 hills, such forests, such rivers ! And it is all 
 for us if we will but take it. Who is there 
 to stand in our w^ay ? A few nations of 
 scattered Indians and a thin strip of English 
 farmers and fishermen. Turn your thoughts 
 there, sire, and in a few years you would be 
 able to stand upon your citadel at Quebec, 
 and to say there is one great emi)ire here 
 from the snows of the North to the warm 
 Southern gulf, and from the waves of the 
 ocean to the great })lains beyond Marquette's 
 river, and tlu^ name of this empire is
 
 A MOXAECH IX DfeHABILLE. 47 
 
 France, and her king is Louis, and her flag 
 is the flfur^-de-lur 
 
 Louis's cheek had flushed at this aml)itious 
 picture, and he had leaned forward in his 
 chair, with flashing e}'es, but he sank Ijack 
 again as the governor concluded. 
 
 " On my word, count," said he, '' you have 
 caught something: of this ^ift of Indian elo- 
 quence of which we have heard. But about 
 these English folk. They are Huguenots, are 
 they not ? " 
 
 "For the most part. Especially in the 
 North." 
 
 " Then it might be a service to Holy Cliurch 
 to send them packing. They have a city 
 
 there, I am told. Xew — Xew How do 
 
 they call it ? " 
 
 '' Xew York, sire. They took it from the 
 Dutch." 
 
 '' Ah, Xew York. And have I not heard of 
 another ? Bos — Bos " 
 
 "Boston, sire." 
 
 " That is the name. The harbours might l^e
 
 48 thp: kefugees. 
 
 of service to us. Tell me, now, Frontenac," 
 lowering' his voice so that his words mieht be 
 audible only to the count, Louvois, and the 
 royal circle, " what force would you need to 
 clear these jDeople out ? One regiment, 
 two regiments, and perhaps a frigate or 
 two ? " 
 
 But the ex-governor shook his grizzled 
 head. "You do not know them, sire," said 
 he. " They are a stern folk, these. We in 
 Canada, with all your gracious help, have 
 found it hard to hold our own. Yet these 
 men have had no help, but only hinderance, 
 with cold and disease, and barren lands, and 
 Indian wars, but they have thriven and multi- 
 l>lie(l until the woods thin away in front of 
 them like ice in the sun, and their church 
 bells are heard where but yesterday the 
 wolves were howling. They are peaceful 
 folk, and slow to war, but when they have set 
 their hands to it, though they may l)e slack to 
 begin, they are slacker still to cease. To put 
 New England into your ^Majesty's hands, I
 
 A MUXARCH IX DESHABILLE. 49 
 
 would ask fifteen thousand of your best troops 
 and twenty sliijjs of the hne." 
 
 Louis sprang impatiently from his chair, 
 and caught up his cane. " I wish," said he, 
 " that you would imitate these people who 
 seem to you to be so formidable, in their 
 excellent habit of doing things for themselves. 
 The matter may stand until our council. 
 Reverend father, it has struclv the hour of 
 chapel, and all else may wait until we have 
 paid our duties to heaven." Taking a missal 
 from the hands of an attendant, he walked as 
 fast as his very high heels would permit him 
 towards the door, the court forming a lane 
 through which he might pass, and then closing 
 up behind to follow him in order of prece- 
 dence.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE HOLDING OF THE DOOK. 
 
 Whilst Louis^liad Ijeen afFording his court 
 that which he had openly stated to be the 
 highest of human pleasures — the sight of the 
 royal face — the young officer of the guard 
 outside had l^een very busy passing on the 
 titles of the numerous applicants for admis- 
 sion, and exchanging usually a smile or a few 
 words of greeting with them, for his frank 
 handsome face was a well-known one at the 
 court. AVith his merry eyes and his brisk 
 bearing, he looked like a man who was on 
 good terms with fortune. Indeed, he had 
 good 'Cause to be so, for she had used him 
 well. Three years ago he had l3een an un- 
 known subaltern l)ushfigliting with Algon- 
 quins and Iroquois in the wilds of Canada. 
 
 An exchange had l)rouglit him back to France 
 
 (50)
 
 THE HULDIXG OF THE DOCK. 51 
 
 and into the regiment of Picardy, but the 
 lucky chance of having seized the bridle of the 
 king's horse one winter's day in Fontaine- 
 iDleau when the creature was plunging within 
 a few yards of a deep gravel-pit had done for 
 him what ten campaigns might have failed to 
 accomplish. Xow as a trusted officer of the 
 king's guard, young, gallant, and popular, his 
 lot was indeed an enviable one. And yet, 
 ^vith the strange perversity of human nature, 
 he was already surfeited with the dull if 
 magnificent routine of the king's household, 
 and looked Ijack with regret to the rougher 
 and freer days of his early service. Even 
 there at the royal door his mind had turned 
 away from the frescoed passage and the 
 groups of courtiers to the wild ravines and 
 foaming rivers of the West, when suddenly 
 his eyes lit upon a face which he had last seen 
 among those very scenes. 
 
 ''Ah, ]\Ionsieur de Frontenac ! " he cried. 
 " You cannot have forgotten me." 
 
 " What ! De Catinat ! Ah, it is a joy 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 THE REFUGEES.' 
 
 indeed to see a face from over the water ! 
 But there is a long step between a subaltern 
 in the Carignan and a captain in the Guards. 
 You have risen rapidly." 
 
 " Yes ; and yet I may be none the happier 
 for it. There are times when I would give it 
 all to be dancing down the Lachine rapids in 
 a birch canoe, or to see the red and the yellow 
 on those hill-sides once more at the fall of 
 the leaf" 
 
 '' Ay," sighed De Frontenac. " You know 
 that my fortunes have sunk as }'Ours have 
 risen. I have been recalled, and De la Barre 
 is in my place. But there will be a storm 
 there which such a man as he can never 
 stand against. With the Iroquois all dancing 
 the scalp-dance, and Dongan l)ehind them in 
 Xew York to whoop them on, they will need 
 me, and they will find me waiting when they 
 send. I will see the kint>" now, and trv if I 
 cannot rouse him to play the great monarch 
 there as well as here. Had I but his power in 
 my hands, I should change the world's history."
 
 THE HOLDING OF THE DOOR. 53 
 
 " Hush ! Xo treason to the captam of the 
 guard," cried De Catinat, laughmg, while the 
 stern old soldier strode past him into the 
 king's presence. 
 
 A gentleman very richly dressed in black 
 and silver had come up during this short 
 conversation, and advanced, as the door 
 opened, with the assured air of a man whose 
 rights are beyond dispute. Captain de Cati- 
 nat, however, took a r[uick step forward, and 
 Ijarred him off from the door. 
 
 " I am very sorry, Monsieur de Yivonne," 
 said he, "but you are forbidden the presence." 
 
 " Forbidden the presence ! I ? You are 
 mad ! " He stepped back with gray face and 
 staring eyes, one shaking hand half raised in 
 protest. 
 
 "I assure you that it is his order." 
 
 '' But it is incredible. It is a mistake." 
 
 "Very possibly." 
 
 " Then you Avill let me past." 
 
 "]\Iy orders leave me no discretion." 
 
 " If I could have one word with the king."
 
 54 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 " Unfortunately, monsieur, it is impossiljle." 
 
 " Only one word." 
 
 " It really does not rest with me, monsieur." 
 
 The angry nobleman stamj^ed his foot, and 
 stared at the door as though he had some 
 thoughts of forcing a passage. Then turning 
 on his heel, he hastened away dow^n the 
 corridor with the air of a man who has come 
 to a decision. 
 
 "There, now," grumbled De Catinat to 
 himself, as he pulled at his thick dark mous- 
 tache, ''he is off to make some fresh mischief 
 I'll have his sister here presently, as like as 
 not, and a pleasant little choice between 
 breaking my orders and making an enemy of 
 her for life. I'd rather hold Fort Eichelieu 
 against the Iroquois than the king's door 
 against an angry woman. By my faith, here 
 is a lady, as I feared ! Ah, heaven be 
 praised ! it is a friend, and not a foe. Good- 
 morning, Mademoiselle. Nanon." 
 
 "Good-morning, Captain de Catinat." 
 
 The new-comer was a tall i^raceful l)rnnette.
 
 thp: holdixg of the door. do 
 
 her fresh face and si^arkling black eyes the 
 brighter in contrast with her plain dress. 
 
 " I am on guard, you see. I cannot talk 
 with you." 
 
 '• I cannot remember having asked monsieur 
 to talk with me." 
 
 '•' Ah, Ijut you must not }j(jut in that pretty 
 way, or else I cannot help talking to you," 
 whispered the captain. " What is this in 
 your hand, then ? " 
 
 ''A note from Madame de Maintenon to 
 the king. You will hand it to him, will you 
 not ? " 
 
 " Certainly, mademoiselle. And how is 
 madame, your mistress ? " 
 
 " Oh, her director has been with her all the 
 morning, and his talk is very, very good ; but 
 it is also very, very sad. We are not very 
 cheerful when ^lonsieur Godet has been to 
 see us. But I forget monsieur is a Huguenot, 
 and knows nothing of directors." 
 
 '' Oh. but I do not trouble aljout such differ- 
 ences. I let the Sorbonne and Geneva fiuht
 
 56 THE REFT GEES. 
 
 it out l^etweeii them. Yet a man must stand 
 by his family, you know." 
 
 '' Ah ! if monsieur could talk to Madame 
 de Maintenon a little ! She would convert 
 him." 
 
 " I would rather talk to Mademoiselle 
 Xanon, but if " 
 
 '' Oh ! " There was an exclamation, a 
 whisk of dark skirts, and the soubrette had 
 disappeared down a side passage. 
 
 Along the broad lighted corridor was glid- 
 ing a very stately and beautiful lady, tall, 
 graceful, and exceedingly haughty. She was 
 richly clad in a bodice of gold-coloured camlet 
 and a skirt of gray silk trimmed with gold and 
 silver lace. A handkerchief of priceless Genoa 
 point half hid and half revealed her beautiful 
 throat, and was fastened in front l)y a cluster 
 of pearls, while a rope of the same, each one 
 worth a bourgeois' income, was coiled in and 
 out through her luxuriant hair. The lady was 
 past her first youth, it is true, ])ut the magni- 
 ficent curves of her queenly figure, the purit}'
 
 THE HOLDING OF THE DOOR. 57 
 
 of lier complexion, tlie brightness of her deep- 
 lashed blue eyes, and the clear regularity of 
 her features enabled her still to claim to be 
 the most handsome as well as the most sharp- 
 tongued woman in the court of France. So 
 beautiful was her bearing, the carriage of her 
 dainty head upon her proud white neck, and 
 the sweep of her stately walk, that the young 
 officer's fears were overpowered in his admira- 
 tion, and he found it hard, as he raised his 
 hand in salute, to retain the firm countenance 
 which his duties demanded. 
 
 " Ah, it is Captain de Catinat," said Madame 
 de ]Montespan, with a smile which was more 
 embarrassing to him than any frown could 
 have been. 
 
 "Your humble servant, marquise." 
 
 '' I am fortunate in finding a friend here, for 
 there has been some ridiculous mistake this 
 morning." 
 
 '' I am concerned to hear it." 
 
 " It was al)out my brother, ^Monsieur de 
 Yivonne. It is almost too lauuIia]:)lo to
 
 58 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 mention, but he was actually refused admis- 
 sion to the lei'ery 
 
 '' It was my misfortune to have to refuse 
 him, madame." 
 
 "You, Captain de Catinat ? And by what 
 right '\ " She had drawn up her superb figure, 
 and her large blue eyes were blazing with 
 indignant astonishment. 
 
 " The king's order, madame." 
 
 "The king! Is it likely that the king 
 would cast a public slight upon my family? 
 From whom had you this preposterous 
 order ? " 
 
 " Direct from the king through Bontems." 
 
 " Absurd ! Do you think that the king 
 would venture to exclude a JNIortemart 
 through the mouth of a valet ? You have 
 been dreaming, captain." 
 
 " I trust that it may prove so, madame." 
 
 " But such dreams are not very fortunate to 
 the dreamer. Go, tell the king that I am 
 here, and would have a word with him." 
 
 "Impossible, madame."
 
 THE HOLDING OF THE DOOR. 59 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " I have been forbidden to cany a message." 
 
 " To carry any message ? " 
 
 ''Any from you, madame." 
 
 " Come, captain, you improve. It only 
 needed this insult to make the thing complete. 
 You may carry a message to the king from 
 any adventuress, from any decayed governess " 
 — she laughed shrilly at her description of her 
 rival — " l^ut none from Fran^oise de Morte- 
 mart, Marquise de ]Montespan ? " 
 
 "Such are my orders, madame. It pains 
 me deeply to be compelled to carry them 
 out." 
 
 "You may spare your protestations, cap- 
 tain. You may yet find that you have every 
 reason to be deeply pained. For the last 
 time, do you refuse to carry my message to 
 the king?" 
 
 "I must, madame." 
 
 " Then I carry it myself " 
 
 She sprang forward at the door, but he 
 shpped in front of her with outstretched arms.
 
 60 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 " For God's sake, consider yourself, ma- 
 dame!" he entreated. "Other eyes are upon 
 you." 
 
 ''Pah! Canaille!" She glanced at the 
 knot of vSwitzers, whose sergeant had drawn 
 them oft* a few paces, and who stood open- 
 eyed, staring at the scene. " I tell you that I 
 trill see the king." 
 
 '' Xo lady has ever j^een at tlie morning 
 
 " Then I shall be the first." 
 ''You will ruin me if you pass." 
 "And none the less, I shall do so." 
 The matter looked serious. De Catinat 
 was a man of resource, but for once he was at 
 his wits' end. Madame de Montespan's re- 
 solution, as it was called in her presence, or 
 eff'rontery, as it was termed l)ehind her l)ack, 
 was proverbial. If she attempted to force her 
 way, would he venture to use violence upon 
 one who only yesterday had held the fortunes 
 of the whole court in the hollow of her hand, 
 and who, with her beauty, her wit, and her
 
 THK H0LDINr4 OF THE DOOR. 01 
 
 energy, might very well be in the same posi- 
 tion to-morrow ? If she passed him, then his 
 future w^as ruined with the king, who never 
 brooked the smallest deviation from his orders. 
 On the other hand, if he thrust her back, he 
 did that which could never be forgiven, and 
 which would entail some deadly vengeance 
 should she return to power. It was an un- 
 pleasant dilemma. But a happy thought 
 flashed into his mind at the very moment 
 when she, with clinched hand and flashing 
 eyes, was on the point of making a fresh 
 attempt to pass him. 
 
 " If madame would deign to wait," said he 
 soothingly, ''the king will be on his way to 
 the chapel in an instant." 
 
 ''It is not yet time." 
 
 "I think the hour has just gone." 
 
 "And why should I wait like a lackey?" 
 
 "It is but a moment, madame." 
 
 "No, I shall not w^ait." She took a step 
 forward towards the door. 
 
 But the guardsman's quick ear had caught
 
 62 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 the sound of moving feet from within, and he 
 knew that he was master of the situation. 
 '' I will take madame's message," said he. 
 
 " Ah, you have recovered your senses ! Go, 
 tell the king that I wish to speak with him." 
 
 He must gain a little time yet. " Shall I 
 say it through the lord in waiting ? " 
 
 " Xo ; yourself" 
 
 '' Pubhely ? " 
 
 " Xo, no ; for his private ear." 
 
 '' Shall I give a reason for your request ? " 
 
 '' Oh, you madden me ! Say what I have 
 told you, and at once." 
 
 But the young otticer's dilemma was happily 
 over. At that instant the double doors were 
 swung open, and Louis appeared in the open- 
 ing, strutting forwards on his high-heeled 
 shoes, his stick tapping, his l)road skirts flap- 
 ping, and his courtiers spreading out behind 
 him. He stopped as he came oiit, and turned 
 to the captain of the guard. 
 
 " You have a note for me ? " 
 
 " Yes, sire."
 
 THE HOLDING OF THE DOOR. 63 
 
 The monarch sHpped it into the pocket of 
 his scarlet uncler-vest, and was advancing 
 once more when his eves fell upon Madame 
 de Montespan standing very stiff and erect in 
 the middle of the passage. A dark flush of 
 anger shot to his brow, and he walked swiftly 
 past her without a word ; but she turned and 
 kept pace with him down the corridor. 
 
 " I had not expected this honour, ma dame," 
 said he. 
 
 " Xor had I expected this insult, sire." 
 
 '' An insult, madame ? You forget }'our- 
 self" 
 
 '' Xo : it is you who have forgotten me, 
 sire." 
 
 '• You intrude upon me." 
 
 " I wished to hear ni}' fate from your own 
 lips," she whispered. '' I can Ijear to be struck 
 myself, sire, even l)y him who has m}' heart. 
 But it is hard to hear that one's brother has 
 been wounded through the mouths of valets 
 and Huguenot soldiers for no fault of his, 
 save that his sister has loved too fondlv."
 
 (34 THK ItKFUGEES. 
 
 "It is no time to speak of such things." 
 
 '' When can I see you, then, sire ? " 
 
 " In your chamber." 
 
 " At what hour ? " 
 
 "At four." 
 
 "Then I shall trouble your Majesty no 
 further." 
 
 She swept him one of the graceful courtesies 
 for which she was famous, and turned away 
 down a side passage with triumph shining in 
 her eyes. Her beauty and her spirit had 
 never failed her yet, and now that she had the 
 monarch's promise of an interview, she never 
 doubted that she could do as she had done 
 before, and win back the heart of the man, 
 however much against the conscience of the 
 king.
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 THE FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 
 
 Louis had walked on to his devotions in no 
 very charitable frame of mind, as was easily 
 to be seen from his clouded brow and com- 
 pressed lips. He knew his late favourite well, 
 her impulsiveness, her audacity, her lack of all 
 restraint when thwarted or opposed. She 
 was capable of making a hideous scandal, of 
 turning against him that bitter tongue which 
 had so often made him laugh at the expense 
 of others, perhaps even of making some public 
 exposure which would leave him the butt and 
 gossip of Europe. He shuddered at the 
 thought. At all costs such a catastrophe 
 must be averted. And yet how could he cut 
 the tie which l)Ound them i He had 1)roken 
 other such bonds as these ; but the gentle La 
 
 Valliere had shrunk into a convent at the 
 5 {(5d)
 
 66 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 very first glance which had told her of wan- 
 ing love. That was true affection. But this 
 woman would struggle hard, fight to the bitter 
 end, before she would quit the position which 
 was so dear to her. She spoke of her 
 wrongs. What were her wrongs ? In his 
 intense selfishness, nurtured by the eternal 
 flattery which was the very air he breathed, 
 he could not see that the fifteen years of her 
 life which he had absorbed, or the loss of the 
 husband whom he had supplanted, gave her 
 any claim upon him. In his view he had 
 raised her to the highest position which a 
 suV)ject could occupy. Now he was weary 
 of her, and it was her duty to retire with re- 
 signation, nay, even with gratitude for past 
 favours. She should have a pension, and 
 the children should be cared for. What 
 could a reasonable woman ask for more ? 
 
 ^\nd then his motives for discarding her 
 were so excellent. He turned them over in 
 his mind as he knelt listening to the Arch- 
 bishop of Paris reciting the mass, and the
 
 THE FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 67 
 
 more he thought, the more he approved. His 
 conception of the deity was as a larger Louis, 
 and of Heaven as a more gorgeous Versailles. 
 If he exacted obedience from his twenty 
 millions, then he must show it also to this 
 one who had a right to demand it of him. 
 On the whole, his conscience acquitted him. 
 But in this one matter he had been lax. 
 From the first coming of his gentle and for- 
 giving young wife from Spain, he had never 
 once permitted her to be without a rival. 
 Now that she was dead, the matter was no 
 l)etter. One favourite had succeeded another, 
 and if De Montespan had held her own so 
 long, it was rather from her audacity than 
 from his affection. But now Father La 
 Chaise and Bossuet were ever reminding him 
 that he had topped the summit of his life, and 
 was already upon that downward path which 
 leads to the grave. His wild outburst over 
 the unhappy Fontanges had represented the 
 last flicker of his passions. The time had 
 come for gravity and for calm, neither of
 
 68 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 which was to be expected in the company of 
 Madame de Montespan. 
 
 But he had found out where they were to 
 l)e enjoyed. From the day when De Monte- 
 span had introduced the stately and silent 
 widow as a governess for his children, he had 
 found a never-failing and ever-increasing plea- 
 sure in her society. In the early days of her 
 coming he had sat for hours in the rooms of 
 his favourite, watching the tact and sweetness 
 of temper with wliich her dependent con- 
 trolled the mutinous spirits of the petulant 
 young Due du Maine and the mischievous 
 little Comte de Toulouse. He had been there 
 nominally for the purpose of superintending 
 the teaching, Ijut he had confined himself to 
 admiring the teacher. And then in time he 
 too had been drawn into the attraction of that 
 strong sweet nature, and had found himself 
 consulting her upon points of conduct, and 
 acting upon her advice with a docility which 
 he had never shown liefore to minister or 
 mistress. For a time he had thought that
 
 THE FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 69 
 
 her piety and her talk of principle might 
 be a mere mask, for he was accustomed 
 to lu-pocrisy all round him. It was surely 
 unlikely that a woman who was still Ijeauti- 
 ful, with as Ijright an eye and as graceful a 
 fi!J:ure as anv in his court, could, after a life 
 spent in the gayest circles, preserve the spirit 
 of a nun. But on this point he was soon un- 
 deceived, for when his own language had 
 Ijecome warmer than that of friendship, he 
 had been met by an iciness of manner and a 
 brevity of speech which had shown him that 
 there was one woman at least in his domi- 
 nions who had a higher respect for herself than 
 for him. And perhaps it was better so. The 
 placid pleasures of friendship were very sooth- 
 ing after the storms of passion. To sit in her 
 room every afternoon, to listen to talk which 
 was not tainted with flattery, and to hear 
 opinions which were not framed to please his 
 ear, were the occupations now of his happiest 
 hours. And then her influence over him was 
 all so good ! She spoke of his kingly duties,
 
 70 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 of his example to his subjeets, of his prepara- 
 tion for the world beyond, and of the nee<:l for 
 an effort to snap the guilty ties whieli he had 
 formed. She was as good as a confessor — a 
 confessor with a lovely face and a j^erfect arm. 
 And now he knew that the time had come 
 when he must choose between her and De 
 Montespan. Their influences v/ere antago- 
 nistic. They could not continue together. He 
 stood between virtue and vice, and he must 
 choose. Vice was very attractive too, very 
 comely, very witty, and holding him by that 
 chain of custom which is so hard to shake off. 
 There were hours when his nature swayed 
 strongly over to that side, and when he was 
 tempted to fall back into his old life. But 
 Bossuet and Pere La Chaise were ever at 
 his elbows to whisper encouragement, and, 
 above all, there was Madame de Maintenon to 
 remind him of what was due to his position 
 and to his six-and-forty years. Xow at last 
 he had l)raced himself for a su})reme eflbrt. 
 There was no safety for him while his old
 
 THE FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 71 
 
 favourite was at court. He knew himself too 
 well to have any faith in a lasting change so 
 long as she was there ever waiting for his 
 moment of weakness. She must be persuaded 
 to leave Versailles, if Avithout a scandal it 
 could be done. He would be firm when he 
 met her in the afternoon, and make her 
 understand once for all that her reign was 
 forever over. 
 
 Such were the thoughts which ran through 
 the king's head as he bent over the rich crim- 
 son cushion which topped his jme-dieu of 
 carved oak. He knelt indiis own enclosure to 
 the right of the altar, with his" guards and his 
 immediate household around him, while the 
 court, ladies and cavaliers, filled the chapel. 
 Piety was a fashion now, like dark overcoats 
 and lace cravats, and no courtier was so 
 worldly-minded as not to have had a touch of 
 grace since the king had taken to religion. 
 Yet they looked very bored, these soldiers and 
 seigneurs, yawning and blinking over the 
 missals, while some who seemed more intent
 
 72 THE REFTGEKS. 
 
 upon their devotions were really dipping into 
 the latest romance of Scudery or Calpernedi, 
 cunningly bound up in a sombre cover. The 
 ladies, indeed, were more devout, and were 
 determined that all should see it, for each had 
 lit a tiny taper, which she held in front of her 
 on the plea of lighting up her missal, but really 
 that her face might be visil)le to the king, and 
 inform him that hers was a kindred spirit. A 
 few there may have been, here and there, 
 whose prayers rose from their hearts, and who 
 were there of their own free will ; but the 
 l)olicy of Louis had changed his noblemen into 
 courtiers and his men of the world into hypo- 
 crites, until the whole court was like one 
 gigantic mirror which reflected his own like- 
 ness a hundredfold. 
 
 It was the haljit of Louis, as he walked back 
 from the chai)el, to receive petitions or to 
 listen to any tales of wrong which his subjects 
 might bring to him. His way, as he returned 
 to his rooms, lay })artly across an open space, 
 and here it was that the supi)liants were wont
 
 THE FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. / 3 
 
 to assemble. On this particular morning there 
 were iDut two or three — a Parisian, who con- 
 ceived himself injured by the provost of his 
 guild, a peasant whose cow had been torn by 
 a huntsman's dog, and a farmer who had had 
 hard usage from his feudal lord. A few 
 questions, and then a hurried order to his 
 secretary disposed of each case, for if Louis 
 was a tyrant himself, he had at least the 
 merit that he insisted upon l)eing the only one 
 witliui his kingdom. He was about to resume 
 his way again, when an elderly man, clad in 
 the garb of a respectable citizen, and with a 
 strong deep-lined face which marked him as a 
 man of character, darted forward, and threw 
 himself down upon one knee in front of the 
 monarch. 
 
 " Justice, sire, justice ! " he cried. 
 
 " What is this, then ? " asked Louis. '' Who 
 are you, and what is it that you want 1 " 
 
 '' I am a citizen of Paris, and I have l)een 
 cruelly wronged." 
 
 "You seem a very worthy person. If you
 
 74 THE REFCGEES. 
 
 have indeed l)een wronged you shall have 
 redress. What have you to complain of?" 
 
 " Twentv of the Blue Dra^i^oons of LansJ:ue- 
 doc are quartered in my house, with Captain 
 Dalbert at their head. They have devoured 
 my food, stolen my property, and beaten my 
 servants, yet the magistrates will give me no 
 redress." 
 
 " On my life, justice seems to l^e adminis- 
 tered in a strange fashion in our city of 
 Paris ! " exclaimed the king, wrathfully. • 
 
 " It is indeed a shameful case," said Bossuet. 
 
 " And yet there may he a very good reason 
 for it," suggested Pere La Chaise. " I would 
 suggest that your ]\rajesty should ask this 
 man his name, his business, and why it was 
 that the dragoons were quartered upon him." 
 
 ''You hear the reverend father's question." 
 
 ''My name, sire, is Catinat, by trade I am a 
 merchant in cloth, and I am treated in this 
 fashion because I am of the lieformed Church." 
 
 " I thought as much ! " cried the confessor. 
 
 " That alters matters " said Bossuet.
 
 THE FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. / 
 
 The king shook his head and his brow 
 darkened. " You have only yourself to thank, 
 then. The remedy is in your hands." 
 
 '' And how, sire ? " 
 
 '' By embracing the only true faith." 
 
 " I am already a member of it, sire." 
 
 The king stamped his foot angrily. '' I can 
 see that you are a very insolent heretic," said 
 he. " There is but one Church in France, and 
 that is my Church. If you are outside that, 
 you cannot look to me for aid." 
 
 " My creed is that of my father, sire, and of 
 my grandfather." 
 
 '' If they have sinned it is no reason why 
 you should. My own grandfather erred also 
 before his eyes were opened." 
 
 '' But he nobly atoned for his error," mur- 
 mured the Jesuit. 
 
 " Then you will not help me, sire ? " 
 
 '' You must first help yourself." 
 
 The old Huguenot stood up with a gesture 
 of despair, while the king continued on his 
 way, the two ecclesiastics, on either side of
 
 76 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 him, murmuring their approval into his 
 ears. 
 
 '' You have done nobly, sire." 
 
 " You are truly the first son of the Church." 
 
 " You are the worthy successor of St. 
 Louis." 
 
 But the king l)ore the fece of a man who 
 was not absolutely satisfied with his own 
 action. 
 
 " You do not think, then, that these peoi)le 
 have too hard a measure ? " said he. 
 
 '' Too hard ? Nay, your ]\Iajesty errs on the 
 side of mercy." 
 
 " I hear that they are leaving my kingdom 
 in great numbers." 
 
 " And surely it is ])etter so, sire ; for what 
 blessing can come upon a country which has 
 such stubborn infidels within its boundaries ? " 
 
 " Those who are traitors to God can scarce 
 l)e loyal to the king," remarked Bossuet. 
 '' Your Majesty's power would l)e greater if 
 there were no temple, as they call their dens 
 of lieresv, within your dominions."
 
 THE FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. t 7 
 
 " My grandfather has promised them pro- 
 tection. They are shielded, as you well know, 
 by the edict which he gave at Nantes. " 
 
 " But it lies with your Majesty to undo the 
 mischief that has been done." 
 
 '' And how ? " 
 
 ''By recalling the edict." 
 
 " And driving into the open arms of my 
 enemies two millions of my best artisans and 
 of my bravest servants. Xo, no, father, I 
 have, I trust, every zeal for Mother-Church, 
 but there is some truth in what De Front enac 
 said this morning of the evil which comes 
 from mixing the affairs of this woi'ld with 
 those of the next. How say you, Louvois ? " 
 
 "With all respect to the Church, sire, I 
 would say that the devil has given these men 
 such cunning of hand and of brain that they 
 are the best workers and traders in your 
 Majesty's kingdom. I know not how the 
 state coffers are to be filled if such tax-})ayers 
 go from among us. Already many have left 
 the countrv and taken their trades with them.
 
 78 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 If all were to go, it would be worse for us 
 than a lost campaign." 
 
 ''But," remarked Bossuet, " if it were once 
 known that the king's will had been expressed, 
 your ^Majesty may rest assured that even the 
 worst of his subjects bear him such love that 
 they would hasten to come within the pale of 
 Holy Church. As long as the edict stands, it 
 seems to them that the king is luke-w^arm, 
 and that they may abide in their error." 
 
 The king shook his head. " They have al- 
 ways been stubborn folk," said he. 
 
 " Perhaps," remarked Louvois, glancing 
 maliciously at Bossuet, ''were the bishops- of 
 France to make an offering to the state of the 
 treasures of their sees, we might then do 
 without these Huguenot taxes." 
 
 "All that the Church has is at the king's 
 service," answered Bossuet, curtly. 
 
 " The kingdom is mine, and all that is in it," 
 remarked Louis, as they entered the Grand 
 Salon, in which the court assembled after 
 chapel, " yet I trust that it may l)e long
 
 THE FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 79 
 
 before I have to claim the wealth of the 
 Church." 
 
 " We trust so, sire," echoed the ecclesiastics. 
 
 ''But we may reserve such topics for our 
 council -chamber. Where is Mansard ? I 
 must see his plans for the new wing at Marly." 
 He crossed to a side stable, and was buried in 
 an instant in his favourite pursuit, inspecting 
 the gigantic plans of the great architect, and in- 
 quiring eagerly as to the progress of the work. 
 
 ''I think," said Pere La Chaise, drawing 
 Bossuet aside, ''that your Grace has made 
 some impression upon the king's mind." 
 
 "-With your powerful assistance, father." 
 
 " Oh, you may rest assured that I shall lose 
 no opportunity of pushing on the good work." 
 
 " If you take it in hand, it is done." 
 
 " But there is another who has more weight 
 than I." 
 
 " The favourite, De Montespan ? " 
 
 " No, no ; her day is gone. It is Madame 
 de Maintenon." 
 
 " I hear that she is very devout."
 
 80 THE KEFUr.EES. 
 
 " Very. But she has no love for my Order. 
 She is a vSiil})itiaii. Yet we may all work to 
 one end. Now if you were to speak to her, 
 your Grace." 
 
 ''With all my heart." 
 
 " Show her how good a service it would be 
 could she bring about the banishment of the 
 Huguenots." 
 
 ''I shall do so." 
 
 " And offer her in return that we will pro- 
 mote " he bent forward and whis2)ered 
 
 into the prelate's ear. 
 
 " What ! He would not do it ! " 
 
 " And why ? The queen is dead." 
 
 '' The widow of the poet Scarron ! " 
 
 " She is of good birth. Her grandfather 
 and his were dear friends." 
 
 " It is impossible ! " 
 
 '* But I know his heart, and I say it is pos- 
 sible." 
 
 ''You certainly know his heart, father, if 
 any can. But such a thought had never 
 entered mv head."
 
 THE FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 81 
 
 " Then let it enter and remain there. If 
 she will serve the Church, the Church will 
 serve her. But the king beckons, and I 
 must go." 
 
 The thin dark figure hastened off through 
 the throng of courtiers, and the great Bishop 
 of Meaux remained standing with his chin 
 upon his breast, sunk in reflection. 
 
 By this time all the court was assembled in 
 the Grand Salon, and the huge room was gay 
 from end to end with the silks, the velvets, 
 and the brocades of the ladies, the flitter of 
 jewels, the flirt of painted fans, and the sweep 
 of plume or aigrette. The grays, blacks, and 
 browns of the men's coats toned down the 
 mass of colour, for all must be dark when the 
 king was dark, and only the blues of the 
 officers' uniforms, and the pearl and gray of 
 the musketeers of the guard, remained to call 
 back those early days of the reign when the 
 men had vied Avith the women in the costli- 
 ness and brilliancy of their wardrobes. And 
 if dresses had changed, manners had done so
 
 82 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 even more. The old levity and the old pas- 
 sions lay doubtless very near the surface, but 
 grave faces and serious talk were the fashion 
 of the hour. It was no longer the lucky coujy 
 at the lansquenet table, the last comedy of 
 Moliere, or the new opera of Lully about 
 which they gossiped, but it was on the evils 
 of Jansenism, or the expulsion of Arnauld 
 from the Sorbonne, on the insolence of Pascal, 
 or on the comparative merits of two such 
 popular i^reachers as Bourdaloue and Mas- 
 silon. So, under a radiant ceiling and over 
 a many -coloured floor, surrounded l)y im- 
 mortal paintings, set thickly in gold and 
 ornament, there moved these nobles and 
 ladies of France, all moulding themselves 
 upon the one little dark figure in their midst, 
 who was himself so far from being his own 
 master that he hung l)alanced even now be- 
 tween two rival women, who were playing a 
 game in which the future of France and his 
 own destiny were the stakes.
 
 CHAPTEK Y. 
 
 CHILDREN OF BELIAL. 
 
 The elderly Huguenot had stood silent after 
 his repulse by the king, with his eyes cast 
 moodily downwards, and a face in which 
 doubt, sorrow, and anger contended for the 
 mastery. He was a very large, gaunt man, 
 rawboned and haggard, with a wide forehead, 
 a large fleshy nose, and a powerful chin. He 
 wore neither wig nor powder, Imt nature had 
 put her own silvering upon his thick grizzled 
 locks, and the thousand puckers which clus- 
 tered round the edges of his eyes, or drew at 
 the corners of his mouth, gave a set gravity to 
 his face which needed no device of the barber 
 to increase it. Yet, in spite of his mature 
 years, the swift anger with which he had 
 sprung up when the king refused his i)laint, 
 
 and the keen fierv glance which he had shot 
 
 (83j
 
 84 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 at the royal court as they filed past him with 
 many a scornful smile and whispered gil)e at 
 his expense, all showed that he had still pre- 
 served something of the strength and of the 
 spirit of his youth. He was dressed as be- 
 came his rank, plainly and yet well, in a sad- 
 coloured brown kersey coat with silver-plated 
 buttons, knee-breeches of the same, and white 
 woollen stockings, ending in broad-toed black 
 leather shoes cut across w^ith a great steel 
 buckle. In one hand he carried his low felt 
 hat, trimmed with gold edging, and in the 
 other a little cyhnder of paper containing a 
 recital of his wrongs, which he had hoped to 
 leave in the hands of the king's secretary. 
 
 His doubts as to what his next step should 
 be were soon resolved for him in a very sum- 
 mary fashion. These were days when, if the 
 Huguenot was not absolutely forlndden in 
 France, he was at least looked upon as a man 
 who existed upon sufferance, and who was 
 unshielded by the laws which protected his 
 Catholic fellow-subjects. For twenty years the
 
 CHILDREN OF BELIAL. 85 
 
 Stringency of the persecution had increased 
 until there was no weapon which bigotry 
 could employ, short of absolute expulsion, 
 which had not been turned against him. He 
 was impeded in his business, elbowed out of 
 all public employment, his house filled with 
 troops, his children encouraged to rebel against 
 him, and all redress refused him for the insults 
 and assaults to which he was subjected. Every 
 rascal Avho wished to gratify his personal spite, 
 or to gain favour with his bigoted superiors, 
 might do his worst upon him without fear of 
 the law. Yet, in spite of all, these men clung 
 to the land which disowned them, and, full of 
 the love for their native soil which lies so 
 deep in a Frenchman's heart, preferred insult 
 and contumely at home to the welcome which 
 would await them beyond the seas. Already, 
 however, the shadow of those days was falling 
 upon them when the choice should no longer 
 be theirs. 
 
 Two of the king's big blue-coated guards- 
 men were on duty at that side of the palace,
 
 86 THE refit; EES. 
 
 and had l)een witnesses to his unsuccessful 
 appeal. Now they tramped across together 
 to where he was standing, and broke brutally 
 into the current of his thoughts. 
 
 '' Now, Hymn-books," said one, gruftiy, "get 
 off again about your business." 
 
 '' You're not a very pretty ornament to 
 the king's pathway," cried the other, with a 
 hideous oath. '' Who are you, to turn up your 
 nose at the king's religion, curse you ? " 
 
 The old Huguenot shot a glance of anger 
 and contempt at them, and was turning to go, 
 when one of them thrust at his ribs with the 
 butt end of his halberd. 
 
 "Take that, you dog!" he cried. "Would 
 you (hire to look like that at the king's 
 guard ? " 
 
 " Children of Belial," cried the old man, 
 with his hand pressed to his side, " were I 
 twenty years younger you would not have 
 dared to use me so." 
 
 " Ha ! you would still spit your venom, 
 would you ? That is enough, Andre' ! He
 
 CHILDREX OF BELIAL. 87 
 
 has threatened the king's guard. Let us seize 
 him and drag him to the guard-room." 
 
 The two soldiers droj^ped their halberds 
 and rushed upon the old man, but, tall and 
 strong as they were, they found it no easy 
 matter to secure him. With his long sinewy 
 arms and his wiry frame, he shook himself 
 clear of them again and again, and it was only 
 when his breath had failed him that the two, 
 torn and panting, were able to twist round his 
 wrists, and so secure him. They had hardly 
 won their pitiful victory, however, before a 
 stern voice and a sword flashing before their 
 eyes, compelled them to release their prisoner 
 once more. 
 
 It was (jaj^tain de Catinat, who, his morn- 
 ing duties over, had strolled out on to the 
 terrace and had come upon this sudden 
 scene of outrage. At the sight of the old 
 man's face he gave a violent start, and draw- 
 ing his sword, had rushed forward with such 
 fury that the two guardsmen not only dropped 
 their victim, but, staggering liack from the
 
 88 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 threatening sword point, one of them slipped 
 and the other rolled over him, a revolving 
 mass of blue coat and white kersey. 
 
 '^ Villains!" roared De Catinat. "What 
 is the meaning of this ? " 
 
 The two had stumbled on to their feet 
 again, very shamefaced and ruffled. 
 
 " If you please, captain," said one, saluting, 
 "this is a Huguenot who abused the royal 
 guard." 
 
 " His petition had 1)een rejected by the 
 king, captain, and yet he refused to go." 
 
 De Catinat was white with fury. "And 
 so, wdien a French citizen has come to have 
 a word with the great master of his country, 
 he must be harassed by two Sw^iss dogs like 
 you ? " he cried. " By my faith, we shall 
 soon see about that ! " 
 
 He drew a little silver whistle from his 
 pocket, and at the shrill summons an old 
 sergeant and half-a-dozen soldiers came run- 
 ning from the guard-room. 
 
 " Your names ? " asked the captain, sternly.
 
 CHILDREN OF BELIAL. 89 
 
 ^'Andr^ Meunier." 
 
 '' And yours ? " 
 
 "Nicholas Klopper." 
 
 " Semeant, you will arrest these men, Meu- 
 nier and Klopper." 
 
 " Certainly, captain," said the sergeant, a 
 dark grizzled old soldier of Conde and Tu- 
 renne. 
 
 '' See that they are tried to-day." 
 
 " And on what charge, captain ? " 
 
 '' For assaulting an aged and respected 
 citizen who had come on business to the 
 king." 
 
 " He was a Huguenot on his own con- 
 fession," cried the culprits together. 
 
 " Hum ! " The sergeant pulled douljtfully 
 at his long moustache. " Shall we put the 
 charge in that form, captain ? Just as the 
 captain pleases." He gave a little shrug of 
 his epauletted shoulders to signify his dou])t 
 whether any good could arise from it. 
 
 '' Xo," said De Catinat, with a sudden 
 happy thought. " I charge them with laying
 
 90 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 their halberds down while on duty, and with 
 having their uniforms dirty and disar- 
 ranged." 
 
 " That is l)etter," answered the sergeant, 
 with the freedom of a privileged veteran. 
 '' Thunder of God, but you have disgraced 
 the guards ! An hour on the wooden horse 
 with a musket at either foot may teach you 
 that halberds were made for a soldier's hand, 
 and not for the king's grass-plot. Seize 
 them ! Attention ! Eight half turn ! March ! " 
 
 xVnd away went the little clump of guards- 
 men w^ith the sergeant in the rear. 
 
 The Huguenot had stood in the back- 
 ground, grave and composed, without any 
 sign of exultation, during this sudden reversal 
 of fortune ; but when the soldiers . were gone, 
 he and the young officer turned warmly upon 
 each other. 
 
 " Amory, I had not hoped to see you ! " 
 
 '' Nor I you, uncle. What, in the name of 
 wonder, brings you to Versailles ? " 
 
 " My wrongs, Amory. The hand of the
 
 CHILDREN OF BELIAL. 91 
 
 wicked is heavy upon us, and whom can we 
 turn to, save only the king?" 
 
 The young officer shook his head. " The 
 king is at heart a good man," said he. " But 
 he can only see the world through the glasses 
 which are held before him. You have nothing 
 to hope from him." 
 
 " He spurned me from his presence." 
 
 " Did he ask your name ? " 
 
 '' He did, and I gave it." 
 
 The young guardsman whistled. " Let us 
 walk to the gate," said he. ''By my faith, if 
 my kinsmen are to come and bandy argu- 
 ments with the king, it may not l^e long 
 before my company finds itself without its 
 captain." 
 
 "The king would not couple us together. 
 But indeed, nephew, it is strange to me how 
 you can live in this house of Baal and yet 
 bow down to no false gods." 
 
 " I keep my belief in my own heart." 
 
 The older man shook his head gravely. 
 "Your ways He along a very narrow path,"
 
 92 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 said he, '' with temptation and danger ever 
 at your feet. It is hard for you to walk with 
 the Lord, Amory, and yet go hand in hand 
 with the persecutors of His people." 
 
 " Tut, uncle ! " said the young man, im- 
 patiently. " I am a soldier of the king's, and 
 I am willing to let the black gown and the 
 white surplice settle these matters betw^een 
 them. Let me live in honour and die in my 
 duty, and I am content to wait to know the 
 rest." 
 
 ''Content, too, to live in palaces, and eat 
 from fine linen," said the Huguenot, bitterly, 
 " when the hands of the wicked are heavy 
 upon your kinsfolk, and there is a breaking of 
 phials, and a pouring forth of tribulation, 
 and a wailing and a w^eeping throughout the 
 land." 
 
 " What is amiss, then ? " asked the young 
 soldier, who was somewhat mystified l)y the 
 scriptural languc^ge in use among the French 
 Calvinists of the day. 
 
 *' Tw^enty men of Moab have been quar-
 
 CHILDrvEX OF BELIAL. 93 
 
 tered upon me, with one Dalliert, their cap- 
 tain, who has long been a scourge to Israel." 
 
 " Captain Claude Dalbert, of the Languedoc 
 dragoons ? I' have already some small score 
 to settle with him." 
 
 *' Ay, and the scattered remnant has also a 
 score against this murderous dog and self- 
 seeking Ziphite." 
 
 '' What has he done, then ? " 
 
 " His men are over my house like moths in 
 a cloth bale. Xo place is free from them. 
 He sits in the room which should be mine, 
 his great boots on my Spanish-leather chairs, 
 his pipe in his mouth, his wine-pot at his 
 elbow, and his talk a hissing and an abomina- 
 tion. He has beaten old Pierre of the ware- 
 house." 
 
 " Ha ! " 
 
 '' And thrust me into the cellar." 
 
 ^' Ha ! " 
 
 ''Because I have dragged him l)ack when 
 in his drunken love he would have thrown 
 his arms about vour cousin Adele."
 
 04 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 " Oh ! " The young man's colour had l:)een 
 rising and his brows knitting at each succes- 
 sive charge, l)ut at this hist his anger boiled 
 over, and he hurried forward with fury in his 
 face, dragging his elderly companion by the 
 elbow. They had been passing through one 
 of those winding paths, l)ordered by high 
 hedges, which thinned away every here and 
 there to give a glimpse of some prowhng faun 
 or weary nymph who sluml)ered in marble 
 amid the foliage. The few courtiers wdio met 
 them gazed with surprise at so ill assorted a 
 pair of companions. But the young soldier 
 was too full of his own plans to waste a 
 thought upon their s23eculations. Still hurry- 
 ing on, he followed a crescent path which led 
 past a dozen stone dolphins shooting water 
 out of their mouths over a group of Tritons, 
 and so through an avenue of great trees which 
 looked as if they had grown there for cen- 
 turies, and yet had in truth ])een carried over 
 that very year by incredil^le labour from St. 
 Germain and Fontainebleau. Beyond this
 
 CHILDEEN OF BELIAL. 95 
 
 point a small gate lead out of the grounds, 
 and it was through it that the two passed, 
 the elder man puffing and panting with this 
 unusual haste. 
 
 " How did you come, uncle ? " 
 
 "In a caleche." 
 
 '' Where is it ? " 
 
 ''That is it, beyond the auberge." 
 
 '' Come, let us make for it." 
 
 '• And you, Amory, are you coming ? " 
 
 " My faith, it is time that I came, from 
 what you tell me. There is room for a man 
 with a sword at his side in this establishment 
 of yours." 
 
 '' But what would you do ? " 
 
 ''I would have a word with this Captain 
 Dalbert." 
 
 " Then I have wronged you, nephew, when 
 I said even now that }0u were not whole- 
 hearted towards Israel." 
 
 " I know not about Israel," cried De Cati- 
 nat, impatiently. " I only know that if my 
 Adele chose to worship the thunder like
 
 96 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 an Abenaqui squaw, or turned her innocent 
 prayers to the ^litche Manitou, I should like 
 to set eyes upon the man who would dare to 
 lay a hand upon her. Ha, here comes our 
 caleche ! Whip up, driver, and five livres to 
 you if you pass the gate of the Invalides 
 within the hour." 
 
 It was no light matter to drive fast in an 
 age of springless carriages and deeply rutted 
 roads, luit the driver lashed at his two I'ough 
 undipped horses, and the caleche jolted and 
 clattered upon its way. As they s})ed on, 
 with the road-side trees dancing past the 
 narrow windows, and the white dust stream- 
 ing l:)ehind them, the guardsman drummed 
 his fingers upon his knees, and fidgeted in 
 his seat with impatience, shooting an occa- 
 sional question across at his grim companion. 
 
 " When was all this, then ? " 
 
 " It was yesterday night." 
 
 " And where is Adele now i " 
 
 'SShe is at home." 
 
 " And this Dalbert ? "
 
 CHILDREX OF BELIAL. 97 
 
 '^ Oh, he is there also ! " 
 
 " What ! you have left her in his power 
 while you came away to Versailles ? " 
 
 " She is locked in her room." 
 
 " Pah ! what is a lock ? " The young man 
 raved with his hands in the air at the thought 
 of his own impotence. 
 
 '•And Pierre is there." 
 
 "He is useless." 
 
 "And Amos Green." 
 
 "Ah, that is ])etter. He is a man, by the 
 look of him." 
 
 " His mother was one of our own folk from 
 Staten Island, near Manhattan. She was one 
 of those scattered lamljs who fled early before 
 the wolves, when first it was seen that the 
 king's hand waxed heavy upon Israel. He 
 speaks French, and yet he is neither French 
 to the eye, nor are his ways like our ways." 
 
 " He has chosen an evil time for his 
 visit." 
 
 " Some wise purpose may lie hid in it." 
 
 " And you have left him in the house ? "
 
 98 THE KEFUGEES. 
 
 '' Yes ; he was sat with this Dalbert, smok- 
 ing with him, and telHng him strange tales." 
 
 " What guard could he be ? He a stranger 
 in a strange land ? You did ill to leave Adele 
 thus, uncle." 
 
 ''She is in God's hands, Aniory." 
 " I trust so. Oh, I am on fire to be there!" 
 He thrust his head through the cloud of 
 dust wdiich rose from the wheels, and craned 
 his neck to look upon the long curving river 
 and Inroad -spread city, which was already 
 visible before them, half hid by a thin l)lue 
 haze, through wdiich shot the double tower 
 of Notre Dame, with the high spire of St. 
 Jacques and a forest of other steeples and 
 minarets, the monuments of eight hundred 
 years of devotion. Soon, as the road curved 
 down to the river-bank, the city wall grew 
 nearer and nearer, until they had passed the 
 southern gate, and were rattling over the 
 stony causeway, leaving the broad Luxem- 
 ])Ourg upon their right, and Coll)ert's last 
 work, the Invalides, upon their left. A sharp
 
 CHILDREN OF BELIAL. 99 
 
 turn Ijrought them on to the river quays, and 
 crossing over the Pont Xeuf, they skirted the 
 stately Louvre, and plunged into the labyrinth 
 of narrow but important streets which ex- 
 tended to the northward. The young officer 
 had his head still thrust out of the window, 
 l)ut his view was obscured by a broad gilded 
 carriage which lumljered heavily along in 
 front of them. As the road Ijroadened, how- 
 ever, it swerved to one side, and he was able 
 to catch a glimpse of the house to which they 
 were making. 
 
 It was surrounded on every side hy an 
 immense crowd.
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 A HOUSE OF STKIFE. 
 
 The house of the Huguenot merchant was a 
 tall narrow building standing at the corner of 
 the Kue St. Martin and the Rue de Biron. 
 It was four stories in height, grim and grave 
 like its owner, with high peaked roof, long 
 diamond - paned windows, a frame -work of 
 black wood, with gray plaster filling the 
 interstices, and five stone steps which led up 
 to the narrow and sombre door. The u})per 
 stor}' was l)ut a warehouse in which the 
 trader kept his stock, l)ut the second and 
 tliird were furnished with Imlconies edged 
 with stout wooden balustrades. As the uncle 
 and the nephew sprang out of the caleche^ 
 they found themselves upon the outskirts of 
 a dense crowd of people, who were swaying 
 
 and tossing with excitement, their chins all 
 
 (100)
 
 A HOUSE OF STRIFE. 101 
 
 thrown forwards and their gaze directed 
 upwards. Following their eyes, the young 
 officer saw a sight which left him standing 
 l)ereft of every sensation save amazement. 
 
 From the upper balcony there was hanging 
 head downwards a man clad in the bright lAiie 
 coat and white breeches of one of the king's 
 dragoons. His hat and wig had dropped off, 
 and his close -cropped head swung slowly 
 backwards and forwards a good fifty feet 
 above the' pavement. His face was turned 
 towards the street, and was of a deadly 
 whiteness, while his eyes were screwed up 
 as though he dared not open them upon the 
 horror which faced them. His voice, how- 
 ever, resounded over the whole place until 
 the air was filled with his screams for mercy. 
 
 Above him, at the corner of the balcony, 
 there stood a young man who leaned \\'ith a 
 bent ])ack over the balustrades, and who held 
 the dangling dragoon l)y either ankle. His 
 face, however, was not directed towards his 
 victim, Ijut was half turned over his shoulder
 
 102 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 to confront a group of soldiers who were 
 clustering at the long open window which 
 led out into the balcony. His head, as he 
 glanced at them, was poised with a proud 
 air of defiance, while they surged and oscil- 
 lated in the 0})ening, uncertain whether to 
 rush on or to retire. 
 
 Suddenly the crowed t^ave a ^roan of excite- 
 ment. The young man had released his grip 
 u|)on one of the ankles, and the dragoon hung 
 now Ijy one only, his other leg flapping help- 
 lessly in the aii*. He grabbed aimlessly with 
 his hands at the wall and the wood-work 
 behind him, still yelling at the pitch of his 
 lungs. 
 
 " Pull me up, son of the devil, })ull me up ! '' 
 he screamed. " AVould you murder me, then ? 
 Help, good people, help ! " 
 
 " Do you want to come u}), captain ? " said 
 the strong clear voice of the young man 
 al)Ove him, speaking excellent French, but 
 in an accent which fell strangely upon the 
 ears of the crowd l)eneath.
 
 A HOUSE OF STRIFE. 103 
 
 " Yes, sacred name of God, yes ! " 
 
 ''Order off vour men, then." 
 
 '• Away, you dolts, you imbeciles ! Do you 
 wish to see me dashed to joieces ? Away, I 
 say ! Off* with you ! " 
 
 " That is better," said the youth, when the 
 soldiers had vanished from the window. He 
 gave a tug at the dragoon's leg as he spoke, 
 which jerked him up so far that he could 
 twist round and catch hold of the lower edge 
 of the balcony. '• How do you find yourself 
 now r' he asked. 
 
 •• Hold me, for heaven's sake, hold me ! " 
 
 •' I have you quite secure." 
 
 " Then jjull me up ! " 
 
 " Xot so fast, captain. You can talk very 
 well where you are." 
 
 " Let me up, sir, let me up ! " 
 
 " All in good time. 1 fear that it is incon- 
 venient to you to talk with your heels in the 
 air. " 
 
 '' Ah, you would murder me ! " 
 
 " On the contrary. I am going to pull you u])."
 
 104 THE KKFn^EES. 
 
 " Heaven l)less you ! " 
 
 " But only on conditions." 
 
 " Oh, they are granted ! I am sHpping ! " 
 
 '' You will leave this house — you and your 
 men. You will not trouble this old man or 
 this young girl any further. Do you pro- 
 mise ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; we shall go." 
 
 " Word of honour ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Only pull me up ! " 
 
 ''Not so fast. It may be easier to talk to 
 you like this. I do not know how the laws 
 are over here. Mayl^e this sort of thing is not 
 permitted. You will promise me that I shall 
 have no trouble over the matter." 
 
 " None, none. Only pull me up ! " 
 
 " Very good. Come along ! " 
 
 He dragged at the dragoon's leg while the 
 other gripped his way up the l)alustrade until, 
 amid a buzz of congratulation from the crowd, 
 he tumbled all in a liea}) over the rail on to 
 the balcony, where he lay for a few moments 
 as he had fallen. Then staggering to his feet.
 
 A HOUSE OF STRIFE. 105 
 
 without a glance at his opponent, he rushed, 
 with a bellow of rage, through the open win- 
 dow. 
 
 While this little drama had been enacted 
 overhead, the young guardsman had shaken 
 off his first stupor of amazement, and had 
 pushed his way through the crowd with such 
 vigour that he and his companion had nearly 
 reached the bottom of the steps. The uniform 
 of the king's guard was in itself a })assport 
 anywhere, and the face of old Catinat was so 
 well known in the district that every one 
 drew back to clear a path for him towards 
 his house. The door was flung open for them, 
 and an old servant stood wringing his hands 
 in the dark passage. 
 
 " Oh, master ! Oh, master ! ' he cried. 
 
 " Such doings, such infamy ! They will 
 murder him ! " 
 
 " Whom, then ? " 
 
 "This brave monsieur from America. Oli, 
 my (lod, hark to them now ! " 
 
 As he spoke, a clatter and shouting which
 
 106 THK KKFUGEES. 
 
 had l)ui'st out again u})stairs ended suddenly 
 in a tremendous crash, witli volleys of oaths 
 and a prolonged lainiping and smashing, 
 which shook the old house to its foundations. 
 The soldier and the Huguenot rushed swiftly 
 up the first flight of stairs, and were al)Out 
 to ascend the second one, from the head of 
 which the uproar seemed to proceed, when 
 a great eight-day clock came hurtling down, 
 springing four steps at a time, and ending 
 with a leap across the landing and a crash 
 against the wall, which left it a shattered 
 heap of metal wheels and wooden sphnters. 
 An instant afterwards four men, so locked 
 touether that thev formed l)ut one rolling' 
 bundle, came thuddino' down amid a (h-hris 
 of splintered stair rails, and writhed and 
 struggled upon the landing, staggering u}), 
 falling down, and all Ijreathing together like 
 the wind in a chimney. ^So twisted and 
 twined wei'e they that it was hard to picl^ 
 one from the other save that the innermost 
 was clad in l)lack Flemish clotli. while the
 
 A HOUSE OF STRIFE. 107 
 
 three who clung to him were soldiers of the 
 king. Yet so strong and vigorous was the 
 man whom they tried to hold that as often as 
 he could find his feet he dragged them after 
 him from end to end of the passage, as a boar 
 might pull the curs which had fastened on to 
 his haunches. An officer, who had rushed 
 down at the heels of the brawlers, thrust his 
 hands in to catch the civilian l)y the throat, 
 l)ut he whipped them l)ack again with an 
 oath as the man's strong white teeth met in 
 his left thuml). Clapping the wound to his 
 mouth, he Hashed out his sword, and was 
 about to drive it through the l.)ody of his 
 unarmed opponent, when De C'atinat sprang 
 forward and caught him Ijy the wrist. 
 
 ''You villain, Dalbert ! " he cried. 
 
 The sudden appearance of one of the king's 
 own body-guard had a magic effect upon the 
 l)rawlers. Dalbert sprang 1)ack, with his 
 thumb still in his mouth, and his sword 
 drooping, scowling darkly at the new-comer. 
 His long sallow face was distorted with anger.
 
 108 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 and his small hlack eyes blazed with passion 
 and with the hell-fire light of unsatisfied 
 vengeance. His troopers had released their 
 victim, and stood panting in a line, while the 
 young man leaned against the wall, brushing 
 the dust from his black coat, and looking 
 from his rescuer to his antagonists. 
 
 " I had a little account to settle with you 
 l^efore, Dalbert," said De Catinat, unsheath- 
 ing his rapier. 
 
 '' I am on the king's errand," snarled the 
 other. 
 
 " No tloul^t. On guard, sir ! " 
 
 " I am here on duty, I tell you ! " 
 
 " Very good. Your sword, sir ! " 
 
 " I have no quarrel with you." 
 
 "No?" De Catinat stepped forward and 
 struck him across the face with his open hand. 
 " It seems to me that you have one now," 
 said he. 
 
 ''Hell and furies!" screamed the captain. 
 " To your arms, men ! Hola, there, from 
 above ! Cut down this fellow, and seize
 
 A HOUSE OF STRIFE. 109 
 
 your prisoner ! Hold ! In the king's 
 name ! " 
 
 At his call a dozen more troopers came 
 hurrying down the stairs, while the three 
 upon the landing advanced upon their former 
 antagonist. He slipped l^y them, however, 
 and caught out of the old merchant's hand 
 the thick oak stick which he carried. 
 
 " I am with you, sir," said he, taking his 
 place beside the guardsman. 
 
 " Call off your canaille, and fight me like 
 a gentleman," cried De Catinat. 
 
 '' A gentleman ! Hark to the bourgeois 
 Huguenot, whose family peddles cloth ! " 
 
 "You coward! I will write liar on you 
 with my sword point ! " 
 
 He sprang forward, and sent in a thrust 
 which might have found its way to Dalberfs 
 heart had the heavy sabre of a dragoon not 
 descended from the side and shorn his more 
 dehcate weapon short off close to the hilt. 
 With a shout of triumpli, his enemy sprang 
 furiously upon him with his rapier shortened.
 
 110 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 1)ut was met l)v a sharp blow from the cudgel 
 of the young stranger which sent his weapon 
 tinkling on to the ground. A trooper, how- 
 ever, on the stair had pulled out a pistol, ami 
 clapping it within a foot of the guardsman's 
 head, was about to settle the combat once and 
 forever, when a little old gentleman, who had 
 quietly ascended from the street, and who 
 had Ijeen looking on with an anuised and in- 
 terested smile at this fiery sequence of events, 
 took a sudden step forward, and ordered all 
 parties to drop their weapons with a voice so 
 decided, so stern, and so full of authority, 
 that the sabre points all clinked down to- 
 gether upon the parquet flooring as though it 
 w^ere a part of their daily drill. 
 
 "Upon my word, gentlemen, upon my 
 word ! " said he, looking sternly from one to 
 the other. He was a very small, dapper man, 
 as thin as a herring, with projecting teeth and 
 a huge drooping many-curled wig, which cut 
 off the line of his skinny neck and the slope of 
 his narrow shoulders. His dress was a long
 
 A HOUSE OF STRIFE. Ill 
 
 ov^ercoat of mouse-coloured velvet slashed 
 with u'old, beneath which were hioh leather 
 boots, which, with his little gold-laced, three- 
 cornered hat, gave a military tinge to his 
 appearance. In his gait and bearing he had a 
 dainty strut and backward cock of the head, 
 which, taken with his sharp black eyes, his 
 high thin features, and his assured manner, 
 would impress a stranger with the feeling that 
 this was a man of power. And, indeed, in 
 France or out of it there were few to whom 
 this man's name was not familiar, for in all 
 France the only figure which loomed up as 
 laro^e as that of the kino: was this verv little 
 gentleman who stood now, with gold snuff- 
 box in one hand, and deep-laced handkerchief 
 in the other, upon the landing of the Hugue- 
 not's house. For, who was there who did not 
 know the last of the great French nobles, the 
 bravest of French captains, the beloved Conde, 
 victor of Kecroy and hero of the Fronde i At 
 the sight of his pinched sallow face the 
 dragoons and their leader had stood starino-,
 
 112 THE KEFUCtKES. 
 
 while I)e Catinat raised tlie stum}) of liis 
 sword in a salute. 
 
 " Hell, hell ! " cried the old soldier, peering 
 at him. " You were with me on the Rhme — 
 hell i I know your face, captain. But tlu^ 
 household was with Turenne." 
 
 '' I was in the regiment of Picardy, your 
 Highness. De Catinet is my name." 
 
 " Yes, yes. But you, sir, who the devil are 
 you ? " 
 
 " Captain Dalbert, your Highness, of the 
 I.anguedoc Blue Dragoons." 
 
 " Heh ! I was passing in my carriage, and 
 I saw you standing on your head in the air. 
 The young man let you up on conditions, as 
 I understood." 
 
 " He swore he would go from the house," 
 cried the young stranger. ''Yet when I had 
 let him up, he set his men ujjon me, and we 
 all came down stairs together." 
 
 '• ^ly faith, you seem to have left little 
 behind you," said Cbnde, smiling, as he 
 glanced at the litter which was strewed all
 
 A HOUSE OF STKIFE. 113 
 
 over the floor. " And so you l^roke your 
 
 parole, Captain Dalbert ? " 
 
 "I could not hold treaty with a Huguenot 
 
 and an enemy of the king," said the dragoon, 
 
 sulkily. 
 
 '' You could hold treaty, it appears, but not 
 
 keep it. And why did you let him go, sir, 
 
 when you had him at such a vantage ? " 
 '' I believed his promise." 
 " You must 1)e of a trusting nature." 
 " I have been used to deal with Indians." 
 " Heh ! And you think an Indian's word 
 
 is better ilian that of an officer in the king's 
 
 dragoons ? " 
 
 " I did not think so an hour ago." 
 
 '' Hem ! " Conde took a large pinch of 
 
 snuff, and brushed the wandering grains from 
 
 his velvet coat with his handkerchief of 
 
 point. 
 
 " You are very strong, monsieur," said he, 
 
 glancing keenly at the l)road shoulders and 
 
 arching chest of the young stranger. " You 
 
 are from Canada, I presume ? "
 
 1 14 THE KKFUGEES. 
 
 " I have ])een there, sir. But I am from 
 New York/' 
 
 Conde shook his head. '* An island ? " 
 
 "Xo, sir; a town." 
 
 " In what province ? " 
 
 " The province of Xew York." 
 
 '' The chief town, then ? " 
 
 " Nay ; Albany is the chief town." 
 
 " And how came you to speak French ? " 
 
 '' ]\Iy mother was of French blood." 
 
 " And how long have you been in 
 Paris ? " 
 
 ^'Aday." 
 
 '' Heh ! And you already begin to throw 
 your mother's country folk out of windows ! " 
 
 '' He was annoying a young maid, sir, and 
 I asked him to stop, whereon he whipped out 
 his sword, and would have slain me had I not 
 closed with him, upon which he called u])on 
 his fellows to aid him. To keep them off, I 
 swore that I would drop him over if they 
 moved a step. Yet when I let him go, they 
 set upon me again, and I know not what the
 
 A HOUSE OF STRIFE. 115 
 
 end might have been had this gentleman not 
 stood my friend." 
 
 " Hem ! You did very well. You are 
 young, but you have resource." 
 
 '• I was reared in the woods, sir." 
 
 '• If there are many of your kidney, you 
 may give my friend De Front enac some work 
 ere he found this empire of which he talks. 
 But how is this, Captain Dalbert ? What 
 have you to say ? " 
 
 '• The king's orders, your Highness." 
 
 " Hell 1 Did he order you to molest the 
 girl ? I have never yet heard that his Majesty 
 erred by being too harsJi with a woman." 
 He gave a little dry chuckle in his throat, 
 and took another pinch of snuff. 
 
 " The orders are, your Highness, to use 
 every means which ma}' drive these people 
 into the true Church." 
 
 " On my word, you look a very tine apostle 
 and a pretty champion for a holy cause," 
 said Conde, glancing sardonically out of his 
 twinkling black eyes at the brutal face of the
 
 116 THE kefugep:.s. 
 
 (Irauooii. "Take your men out of this, sir, 
 and never venture to set your foot again 
 across this threshold." 
 
 " But the king's command, your Highness." 
 
 '' I will tell the king when I see him that 
 I left soldiers and that I find brigands. Not 
 a word, sir ! Away ! You take your shame 
 with you, and you leave your honour behind." 
 He had turned in an instant from the sneering, 
 strutting, old beau to the fierce soldier with 
 set face and eye of hre. Dalljert shrank ])ack 
 from his baleful gaze, and muttering an order 
 to his men, they filed otf down the stair with 
 clattering feet and clank of sabres. 
 
 " Your Highness," said the old Huguenot, 
 coming forward and throwing o|)en one of 
 the doors which led froin the landing, '-you 
 have indeed been a saviour of Israel and a 
 stumbling-block to the froward this day. Will 
 you not deign to rest under my roof, and even 
 to take a cup of wine ere you go onwards ? " 
 
 Conde raised his thick eyebrows at the 
 scriptural fashion of the m(^rchant's speech.
 
 A HOUSE OF STRIFE. 117 
 
 but lie bowed courteously to the invitation, 
 and entered the chaml^er, looking around him 
 in surj)rise and admiration at its magnificence. 
 With its panelling of dark shining oak, its 
 polished floor, its stately marble chimney- 
 piece, and its beautifully moulded ceiling, it 
 was indeed a room which might have graced a 
 palace. 
 
 "My carriage waits below," said he, "and I 
 must not delay longer. It is not often that I 
 leave my castle of Chantilly to come to Paris, 
 and it was a fortunate chance which made me 
 pass in time to be of service to honest men. 
 When a house hangs out such a sign as an 
 officer of dragoons with his heels in the air, 
 it is hard to drive past without a question. 
 But I fear that as long as you are a Huguenot, 
 there will he no peace for you in France, 
 monsieur." 
 
 "The law is indeed heavy upon us." 
 "And will be heavier if what I hear from 
 court is correct. I wonder that you do not 
 flv the countrv."
 
 118 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 ''My business and my duty lie here." 
 
 "Well, every man knows his own affliirs 
 best. Would it not 1)0 wise to 1)end to the 
 storm, lieh ? " 
 
 The Huguenot gave a gesture of horror. 
 
 '' Well, well, I meant no harm. And where 
 is this fair maid who has been the cause of the 
 broil?" 
 
 " Where is Adele, Pierre ? " asked the mer- 
 chant of the old servant, who had carried in 
 the silver tra}' with a squat Hask and tinted 
 Venetian glasses. 
 
 " I locked her in my room, master." 
 
 " And where is she now?" 
 
 " I am here, father." The young girl sprang 
 into the room, and threw her arms round 
 the old merchant's neck. "Oh, 1 trust these 
 wicked men have not hurt you, love ! " 
 
 " Xo, no, dear child; n(me of us have been 
 hurt, thanks to his Highness the Prince of 
 Conde here." 
 
 Adele raised her eyes, and (juickly drooped 
 them again before the keen (jue.stioning gaze
 
 A HOUSE OF strifp:. 119 
 
 of the old soldier. ''May God reward your 
 Highness!" she stammered. In her confusion 
 the blood rushed to her face, which was per- 
 fect in feature and expression. With her 
 sweetly delicate contour, her large gray eyes, 
 and the sweep of the lustrous hair, setting off 
 with its rich tint the little shell-like ears and 
 the alabaster whiteness of the neck and throat, 
 even Cond(^, who had seen all the beauties of 
 three courts and of sixty years defile l^efore 
 him, stood staring in admiration at the 
 Huguenot maiden. 
 
 •Hell! On my word, mademoiselle, you 
 make me wish that I could wipe forty years 
 from my account." He bowed, and sighed in 
 the fashion that was in vogue when Bucking- 
 ham came to the wooing of Anne of Austria, 
 and the dynasty of cardinals was at its 
 height. 
 
 " France could ill spare those forty years, 
 your Highness." 
 
 ''Hell, hell! 80 quick of tongue, too? 
 Your daughter has a courtlv wit, monsieur.'
 
 120 THE KEFUUEES. 
 
 '' God forbid, your Highness ! She is as 
 pure and good " 
 
 '' Xay, that is but a sorry eomphment to the 
 court. Surely, mademoiselle, you would love 
 to go out into the great world, to hear sweet 
 music, see all that is lovely, and wear all that 
 is costly, rather than look out ever upon the 
 Kue St. Martin, and l)ide in this great dark 
 house until the roses wither upon your 
 cheeks." 
 
 " Where my father is, I am happy at his 
 side," said she, })utting her two hands upon 
 his sleeve. " I ask nothing more than I have 
 got." 
 
 "And I think it best that you go u}) to 
 your room again," said the old merchant, 
 shortly, for the prince, in spite of his age, 
 bore an evil name among women. He had 
 come close to her as he spoke, and had even 
 placed one yellow hand upon her shrinking 
 arm, while his little dark eyes twinkled witli 
 an ominous light. 
 
 "Tut, tut!" said he, as she hastened to
 
 A HOUSE OF strifp:. 121 
 
 obey. " You need not fear for your little 
 <love. This hawk, at least, is far past the 
 stoop, however tempting the quarry. But, 
 indeed, I can see that she is as good as she 
 is fair, and one could not say more than that 
 if she were from heaven direct. My carriage 
 waits, gentlemen, and I wish you all a very 
 good day ! " He inclined his Ijewigged head, 
 and strutted off in his dainty, dandified fashion. 
 From the window De Catinat could see him 
 step into the same gilded chariot which had 
 stood in his way as he drove from Versailles. 
 
 •' By my faith," said he, turning to the 
 young American, '' we all o\\'e thanks to the 
 prince, Ijut it seems to me, sir, that we are 
 your debtors even more. You have risked 
 your life for my cousin, and Init for your 
 cudgel, Dalbert would have had liis ])lade 
 through me when he had me at a vantage. 
 Your hand, sir ! These are things which a 
 man cannot forget." 
 
 "Ay, you may well thank him, Amory," 
 broke in the old Huguenot, who had re-
 
 122 THE UEFl'GEK.S. 
 
 turned after eseorting liis illustrious guest 
 to the carriage. *' He has l)een raised up as 
 a champion for the afflicted, and as a helper 
 for those who are in need. An old man's 
 l:)lessing upon you, Amos Green, for my own 
 son could not have done for me more than 
 you, a stranger." 
 
 But their young visitor appeared to be more 
 embarrassed by their thanks than ])y any of his 
 preceding adventures. The blood flushed to 
 his weather-tanned clear-cut face, as smooth 
 as that of a l)oy, and yet marked l)y a firnmess 
 of lip and a shrewdness in the keen blue eyes 
 which spoke of a strong and self-reliant 
 nature. 
 
 " I have a mother and two sisters over the 
 water," said he, diffidently. 
 
 '' And you honour women for their sake ? " 
 
 "We always honour women over there. 
 Perhaps it is that we have so few. Over in 
 these old countries you have not learned what 
 it is to l)e without them. I have been away 
 u}) the lakes for furs, living for months on
 
 A HOUSE OF STRIFE. 123 
 
 end the life of a savage among the wigwams 
 of the Sacs and the Foxes, foul livers and 
 foul talkers, ever squatting like toads around 
 their fires. Then when I have come back to 
 Albany where my folk then dwelt, and have 
 heard my sisters play upon the spinet and 
 sing, and my mother talk to us of the France 
 (jf her younger days and of her childhood, and 
 of ail that they had suftered for what the}' 
 thought was right, then I have felt what a 
 good woman is, and how, . like the sunshine, 
 she draws out of one's soul all that is purest 
 and best." 
 
 "Indeed, the ladies should Ije very much 
 obliged to monsieur, who is as eloquent as 
 he is brave," said Adele Catinat, who, stand- 
 ing in the open door, had listened to the hitter 
 part of his remarks. 
 
 He had forgotten himself for the instant, 
 and had spoken freely and with energ}'. At 
 the sight of the girl, however, he coloured u}) 
 again, and cast down his eyes. 
 
 "Much of mv life has been spent in the
 
 124 THK REFUGEES. 
 
 woods," said he, ''and one speaks so little 
 there that one comes to forget how to do it. 
 It was foi^ this that my father wished me to 
 stay some time in France, for he would not 
 have me grow up a mere trapper and trader." 
 
 " And how long do you stop in Paris ? " 
 asked the guardsman. 
 
 " Until Ephraim Savage conies for me." 
 
 ''And who is he ? " 
 
 " The master of the Golden Rod.'' 
 
 " And that is your ship ? " 
 
 " My father's ship. She has been to Bristol, 
 is now at Rouen, and then must go to 
 Bristol again. When she comes back once 
 more, Ephraim conies to Paris for me, and 
 it will l)e time for me to go." 
 
 " And how like you Paris ? " 
 
 The young man smiled. "They told me 
 ere I came that it was a very lively place, 
 and truly from the little that I have seen this 
 morning, I think that it is the liveliest place 
 that I have seen.' 
 
 " Bv mv faith." said T)e Catinat, " vou came
 
 A HOUSE OF STRIFE. 125 
 
 down those stairs in a verv lively fashion, four 
 of you together, with a Dutch clock as an 
 (ivant-courier, and a whole train of wood- 
 work at your heels. And you have not seen 
 the city yet ? " 
 
 " Only as I journeyed through it yester- 
 evening on my way to this house. It is a 
 wondrous place, Init I was pent in for lack 
 of air as I passed through it. Xew York is 
 a u'reat citv. There are said to l)e as manv 
 as three thousand folk living there, and they 
 sa}' that they could send out four hundred 
 fighting-men, though I can scarce bring my- 
 self to believe it. Yet from all parts of the 
 city one may see something of God's handi- 
 work — the trees, the green of the grass, and 
 the shine of the sun upon the l)ay and the 
 rivers. But here it is stone and wood, and 
 wood and stone, look where you will. In 
 truth, you must be very hardy people to kee}) 
 your health in such a place." 
 
 ''And to us it is you who seem so hardy, 
 with vour life in the forest and on the river."'
 
 126 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 cried tlie young girl. '' And then the wonder 
 that you can find your path through those great 
 wildernesses, where there is naught to guide 
 you." 
 
 " Well, there again ! I marvel how you 
 can find your way among these thousands of 
 houses. For myself, I trust that it will be a 
 clear night to-night." 
 ''And why?" 
 
 " That I may see the stars." 
 "But you will find no change in them." 
 " That is it. If I can luit see the stars, it 
 will be easy for me to know how to walk 
 when I w^ould find this house again. In the 
 daytime I can carry a knife and notch the 
 <loor-posts as I pass, for it might be hard to 
 pick up one's trail again, with so many folk 
 (^ver passing over it." 
 
 De Catinat lairst out laughing again. ''By 
 my faith, you will find Paris livelier than 
 ever," said he, " if you l)laze your way through 
 on the door-posts as you would on the trees 
 of a forest. But perchance it would Ix^ as
 
 A HOUSE OF STRIFE. 127 
 
 well that you should have a guide at first ; 
 so, if you have two horses ready in your 
 stables, uncle, our friend and I might shortly 
 ride back to Versailles together, for I have 
 a spell of guard again before many liours are 
 over. Then for some days he might bide 
 with me there, if he will share a soldier's 
 (juarters, and so see more than the Rue St. 
 Martin can offer. How w(juld that suit you. 
 Monsieur (xreen ? " 
 
 '' I should be right glad to come out with 
 you, if we may leave all here in safety.' 
 
 " Oh, fear not for that," said the Huguenot. 
 " The order of the Prince of Conde will be as 
 a shield and a buckler to us for manv a da v. 
 I will order Pierre to saddle the horses." 
 
 "And I must use the little time I have," 
 said the guardsman, as he turned away to 
 where Adele waited for liim in the window.
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 THE NEW WORT.l) AND THE OLD. 
 
 The young American was soon ready for the 
 exi3edition, but De C'atinat lingered until the 
 last possible minute. When at last he was 
 al)le to tear himself away, he adjusted his 
 cravat, brushed his brilliant coat, and looked 
 very critically over the sombre suit of his 
 companion. 
 
 '' Where got you those ? " he asked. 
 
 'In Xew York, ere I left." 
 
 " Hem ! There is naught amiss with the 
 cloth, and indeed the sombre colour is the 
 mode, but the cut is strange to our eyes." 
 
 '•I only know that I wish that I had my 
 fringed hunting tunic nnd leggings on once 
 more." 
 
 "This hat, now. We do not wear our 
 
 (128)
 
 THE NEW WOELD AND THE OLD. 129 
 
 brims fiat like that. See if I cannot mend it." 
 He took the l^eaver, and looping up one side 
 of the brim, he fastened it with a golden 
 brooch taken from his own shirt front. 
 '' There is a martial cock," said he, laughing, 
 ''and would do credit to the King's Own 
 ^Musketeers. The black broadcloth and silk 
 hose will pass, but why have you not a sword 
 at your side ? " 
 
 '' I carry a gun when I ride out." 
 
 " Man Dieu, you will he laid by the heels as 
 a bandit ! " 
 
 " I have a knife, too." 
 
 " Worse and worse ! Well, we must dis- 
 pense with the sword, and with the gun too, I 
 pray ! Let me re-tie your cravat. So ! Now 
 if you are in the mood for a ten-mile gallop, 
 I am at your service. " 
 
 They were indeed a singular contrast as 
 they walked their horses together through 
 the narrow and crowded causeways of the 
 Parisian streets. De Catinat, who was the 
 older by five years, with his delicate small-
 
 130 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 featured face, his sharply trimmed moustache, 
 his small but well-set and dainty figure, and 
 his brilliant dress, looked the very type of the 
 great nation to which he belonged. 
 
 His companion, however, large-limited and 
 strong, turning his l)old and yet thoughtful face 
 from side to side, and eagerly taking in all 
 the strange new life amidst which he found 
 himself, was also a type, unfinished it is true, 
 l)ut l^idding fair to l)e the higher of the two. 
 His close yellow hair, l)lue eyes, and heavy 
 build showed that it was the l)loo(l of his 
 father, rather than that of his mother, which 
 ran in his veins ; and even the sombre coat 
 and swordless belt, if less pleasing to the eye, 
 were true badges of a race which found its 
 fiercest l)attles and its most glorious victories 
 in l^ending nature to its will upon the seas 
 and in the waste places of the earth. 
 
 " What is vonder mvixt buildino- ? " he 
 asked, as they emerged into a broader square. 
 
 " It is the Louvre, one of the palaces of 
 the king."
 
 THE NEW WORLD AND THE OLD. 131 
 
 " And is he there ? " 
 
 " Xay ; he lives at Versailles." 
 
 "What! Fancy that a man should have 
 two such houses ! " 
 
 " Two ! He has many more — St. Germain, 
 Marly, Fontainebleau, Clugny." 
 
 " But to what end ? A man can but live 
 at one at a time." 
 
 " Xay ; he can now come or go as the fancy 
 takes him." 
 
 "It is a wondrous building. I have seen 
 the Seminary of St. Sulpice at Montreal, and 
 thought that it was the greatest of all houses, 
 and yet what is it beside this ? " 
 
 " You have been to Montreal, then ? You 
 remember the fort ? " 
 
 " Yes, and the Hotel Dieu, and the wooden 
 houses in a row, and eastward the great mill 
 with the wan ; ])ut what do you know of 
 Montreal ? " 
 
 " I have soldiered there, and at Quebec, 
 too. Why, my friend, you are not the only 
 man of the woods in Paris, for I give you my
 
 13-2 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 word that I have worn the caril)oii moccasins, 
 the leather jacket, and the fur cap with the 
 eagle feather for six months at a stretch, and 
 I care not how soon I do it again." 
 
 Amos Green's eyes shone ^^'ith deliuht at 
 finding that his companion and he had so 
 much in common, and he plunged into a 
 series of questions which lasted until they 
 had crossed the river and reached the south- 
 westerly gate of the city. By the moat and 
 w^alls long lines of men were busy at their 
 (Mil. 
 
 " Who are those, then ? " he asked, gazing 
 at them with curiosity. 
 
 " They are some of the king's soldiers." 
 
 "But why so many of them? Do they 
 await some enemy ? " 
 
 " Nay ; we are at peace with all the world. 
 Worse luck ! " 
 
 '' At peace. Why then all these men ? " 
 
 '' That they may l)e ready." 
 
 The young man shook his head in ])ewilder- 
 ment. " Thev miirht l)e as ready in their own
 
 THE NEW WORLD AXD THE OLD. 133 
 
 homes surely. In our country every man has 
 his musket in his chimney corner, and is ready 
 enough, yet he does not waste his time when 
 all is at peace." 
 
 " Our king is very great, and he has many 
 enemies." 
 
 " And who made the enemies 1 " 
 
 "Why, the king, to be sure." 
 
 "Then would it not be l^etter to be without 
 him ? " 
 
 The guardsman shrugged his epaulets in 
 despair. " We shall both wind up in the 
 Bastille or Yincennes at this rate," said he. 
 " You must know that it is in serving the 
 country that he has made these enemies. It 
 is but five years since he made a peace at 
 Nimeguen, by which he tore away sixteen 
 fortresses from the Spanish Lowlands. Then, 
 also, he has laid his hands upon Strasburg 
 and upon Luxembourg, and has chastised the 
 Genoans, so that there are many who would 
 fall upon him if they thought that he was 
 weak."
 
 134 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 '' And why has he done all this ? " 
 
 '' Because he is a great king, and for the 
 glory of France." 
 
 The stranger pondered over this answer for 
 some time as they rode on between the high 
 thin poplars, which threw bars across the sun- 
 lit road. 
 
 '' There w^as a great man in Schenectady 
 once," said he at last. " They are simple 
 folk Lip }onder, and they all had great trust 
 in each other. But after this man came 
 among them they began to miss — one a 
 beaver-skin, and one a bag of ginseng, and 
 one a belt of wampum, until at last old Pete 
 Hendricks lost his chestnut three-year-old. 
 Then there w^as a search and a fuss until 
 they found all that had been lost in the 
 stable of the new-comer, so we took him, 
 I and some others, and we hung him uj) 
 on a tree, without ever thinking what a 
 great man he had been." 
 
 De Catinat shot an angry glance at his 
 companion. " Your parable, my fi'iend, is
 
 THE NEW WORLD AND THE OLD. 135 
 
 scarce polite," said he. '' If you and I are 
 to travel in peace, you must keep a closer 
 guard upon your tongue." 
 
 '' I would not giye you offence, and it may 
 be that 1 am wrong," answered the American, 
 "but I speak as the matter seems to me, and 
 it is the right of a free man to do that." 
 
 De Catinat's frown relaxed as the other 
 turned his earnest blue eyes u23on him. "By 
 my soul, where would the court l)e if every 
 man did that?" said he. "But what in the 
 name of heaven is amiss now^ ? " 
 
 His companion had hurled himself off his 
 horse, and was stooping low over the ground, 
 with his eyes bent upon the dust. Then, with 
 quick, noiseless steps, he zigzagged along the 
 road, ran swiftly across a grassy bank, and 
 stood peering at the gap of a fence, with his 
 nostrils dilated, his eyes shining, and his 
 whole face aglow with eagerness. 
 
 " The fellow's brain is gone," muttered 
 De Catinat, as he caught at the Ijridle of 
 the riderless horse. " The sight of Paris
 
 136 THE REFrOEFX 
 
 has sliaken liis wits. What in the name 
 of the devil ails you, that you should stand 
 glaring there ? " 
 
 ''A deer has passed," whispered the other, 
 pointing down at the grass. " Its trail lies 
 along there and into the wood. It could not 
 have been long ago, and there is no slur to 
 the track, so that it was not going fast. Had 
 we Init fetched my gun, we might have fol- 
 lowed it, and brought the old man l)ack a 
 side of venison." 
 
 " For God's sake get on your horse again ! " 
 cried De Catinat, distractedly. '' I fear that 
 some evil will come upon you ere I get you 
 safe to the Rue 8t. ]\Iartin again ! " 
 
 " And what is wrong now ? " asked Amos 
 Green, swinging himself into the saddle. 
 
 ''Why, man, these woods are the king's 
 preserves, and you speak as coolly of slaying 
 his deer as though you were on the shores 
 of :\Iichigan ! " 
 
 "Preserves! They are tame deer!" An 
 expression of deep disgust passed over his
 
 THE NEW WORLD AXD THE OLD. 137 
 
 face, and spurring his horse, he galloped 
 onwards at such a pace that De Catinat, 
 after vainly endeavouring to keep up, had 
 to shriek to him to stop. 
 
 " It is not usual in this country to ride 
 so madly along the roads," he panted. 
 
 '' It is a very strange country," cried the 
 stranger, in perplexity. " Maybe it would 
 be easier for me to remember what /.< allowed. 
 It was but this morning that I took my gun 
 to shoot a pigeon that was flying over the 
 roofs in yonder street, and old Pierre caught 
 my arm with a face as though it were the 
 minister that I was aiming at. And then 
 there is that old man — why, they will not 
 even let him say his prayers." 
 
 De Catinat laughed. " You will come to 
 know our ways soon," said he. " This is a 
 crowded land, and if all men rode and shot as 
 they listed, much harm would come from it. 
 But let us talk rather of your own country. 
 You have lived much in the woods from what 
 vou tell me."
 
 138 THE REFL'GEES. 
 
 " I was but ten when first I journeyed with 
 my uncle to Sault hi Marie, where the three 
 great hikes meet, to trade with the Chippewas 
 and the tribes of the west."' 
 
 '' I know not what La Salle or De Frontenac 
 would have said to that. The trade in those 
 parts belong to France." 
 
 " We were taken prisoners, and so it was 
 that I came to see Montreal and afterwards 
 Quebec. In the end we were sent back 
 because they did not know what they could 
 do with us." 
 
 " It was a good journey for a first." 
 
 ''And ever since I have been tradino — first, 
 on the Kennebec with the Abenaquis, in the 
 great forests of Maine, and with the ]\Iicmac 
 fish-eaters over the Penol)scot. Then later 
 with the Iroquois, as far west as the country of 
 the Senecas. At Albany and Schenectady w^e 
 stored our pelts, and so on to New York, 
 where my father shipped them over the sea." 
 
 " But he could ill spare you surely ( " 
 
 '' Very ill. Rut as he was rich, he thought
 
 THE NEW WORLD AND THE OLD. 139 
 
 it best that I should learn some things that 
 are not to be found in the woods. And so he 
 sent me in the Golden Rod, under the care of 
 Ephraim Savage." 
 
 " Who is also of New York ? " 
 
 " Xav ; he is the first man that ever was 
 born ?,t Boston." 
 
 " I cannot remember the names of all these 
 villages." 
 
 "And yet there may come a day when their 
 names shall l^e as well known as that of Paris." 
 
 De Catinat laughed heartily. " The woods 
 may have given you much, l?;ut not the gift of 
 prophecy, my friend. Well, my heart is often 
 over the water even as yours is, and I would 
 ask nothing better than to see the palisades of 
 Point Levi again, even if all the Five Xations 
 were raving upon the other side of them. But 
 now, if you will look there in the gap of the 
 trees, you will see the king's new palace." 
 
 The tw^o young men pulled u}) their horses, 
 and looked down at the widespreading l)uil(ling 
 in all the beauty of its dazzling whiteness, and
 
 140 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 at tlie lovely grounds, dotted with fountain 
 and with statue, and barred with hedge and 
 with walk, stretching away to the dense 
 woods which clustered round them. It 
 amused De Catinat to watch the swift play 
 of wonder and admiration which flashed over 
 his companion's features. 
 
 " Well, what do vou think of it ? " he asked 
 at last. 
 
 " I think that God's best work is in America, 
 and man's in Europe." 
 
 '' Ay, and in all Europe there is no such 
 palace as that, even as there is no such king as 
 he who dwells within it." 
 
 " Can I see him, think you ? " 
 
 '' Who, the king ? No, no ; I fear that you 
 are scarce made for a court." 
 
 " Nay, I should show him all honour." 
 
 " How, then ? What greeting would you 
 give him ? " 
 
 '' I would shake him respectfully by the 
 hand, and ask as to his health and that of his 
 familv.'
 
 THE NEW WORLD AND THE OLD. 141 
 
 "On my word, I think that such a greeting 
 might please him more than the Ijent knee and 
 the rounded back, and yet, I think, my son of 
 the woods, that it were best not to lead you 
 into paths where you would he lost, as would 
 any of the courtiers if you dropped them in 
 the gorge of the Saguenay. But //o/a ! what 
 comes here ? It looks like one of the carriages 
 of the court." 
 
 A white cloud of dust, which had rolled 
 towards them down the road, was now so 
 near that the glint of gilding and the red coat 
 of the coachman could be seen l^reaking out 
 through it. As the two cavaliers reined their 
 horses aside to leave the roadway clear, the 
 coach rumbled heavily past them, drawn l)y 
 two dapple grays, and the horsemen caught a 
 glimpse, as it passed, of a Ijeautiful but 
 haughty face which looked out at them. An 
 instant afterwards a sharp cry had caused 
 the driver to pull u}) his horses, and a white 
 hand beckoned to them through the carriage 
 window.
 
 142 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 '' It is Madame <lc Montespan, the proudest 
 woman in France," whispered I)e Catinat. 
 '' She would speak with us, so do as I do." 
 
 He touched his horse with the spur, gave 
 a (Kimlxide which took him across to the 
 carriage, and then, sweeping off his hat, he 
 bowed to his horse's neck ; a salute in which 
 he was imitated, though in a somewhat un- 
 gainly fashion, by his comi)anion. 
 
 '' Ha, captain ! " said the lady, with no very 
 pleasant face, "we meet again." 
 
 '' Fortune has ever ])een good to me, 
 madame." 
 
 " It was not so this morning." 
 
 " You say truly. It gave me a hateful duty 
 to perform." 
 
 " And you performed it in a hateful fashion." 
 
 '' Xay, madame, what could I do more ? " 
 
 The lady sneered, and her beautiful face 
 turned as l)itter as it could upon occasion. 
 
 '' You thought that I had no more power 
 with the king. You thought that my day was 
 past. No (loul)t it seemed to you that you
 
 THE NEW WORLD AND THE OLD. 143 
 
 might reap favour with the new l^y being the 
 first to cast a sHght upon the old." 
 
 " But madame " 
 
 " You may spare your protestations. I am 
 one who judges by deeds and not l^y words. 
 Did you, then, think that my charm had so 
 faded, that any l^eauty which I ever have 
 had is so withered i "' 
 
 " Xay, madame, I were bhnd to think that."' 
 
 " Bhnd as a noontide owl," said Amos 
 Green, with emphasis. 
 
 Madame de Montespan arched her eyebrows 
 and glanced at her singular admirer. " Your 
 friend at least speaks that which he really 
 feels," said she. " At four o'clock to-day we 
 shall see whether others are of the same mind ; 
 and if they are, then it may be ill for those 
 who mistook what was Init a passing shadow^ 
 for a lastiuii; cloud." She cast another vin- 
 dictive glance at the young guardsman, and 
 rattled on once more upon her way. 
 
 "Come on!" cried De Catinat, curtly, for 
 his companion was staring open-mouthed after
 
 144 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 the carriage. " Have you never seen a woman 
 before ? " 
 
 " Never such a one as that." 
 
 '' Never one with so railing a tongue, I dare 
 swear," said De Catinat. 
 
 " Never one with so lovely a face. And yet 
 there is a lovely face at the Rue St. ]\Iartin 
 also." 
 
 '' You seem to have a nice taste in beauty, 
 for all your woodland training." 
 
 " Yes, for I have been cut away from women 
 so much that when I stand before one I feel 
 that she is something tender and sweet and 
 holy." 
 
 '' You may find dames at the court who are 
 both tender and sweet, but you will look long, 
 my friend, before you find the holy one. This 
 one would ruin me if she can, and only because 
 I have done what it was my duty to do. To 
 keep one's self in this coin-t is like coming 
 down the La Chine Rapids where there is a 
 rock to right, and a rock to left, and another 
 perchance in front, and if you so much as
 
 THE NEW WORLD AXD THE OLD. 145 
 
 graze one, where are you and your Ijircli 
 canoe ? But our rocks are w^onien, and in our 
 canoe w^e bear all our worldly fortunes. Xow^ 
 here is another who would sway me over to 
 her side, and indeed I think it may prove to 
 be the better side too." 
 
 •They had passed through the gateway of the 
 palace, and the Ijroad sweeping drive la}' in 
 front of them, dotted with carriages and horse- 
 men. On the gravel walks were many gaily 
 dressed ladies, who strolled among the flower- 
 beds or watched the fountains with the sun- 
 light glinting upon their high water sprays. 
 One of these, who had kept her eyes turned 
 upon the gate, came hastening forward the 
 instant that De Catinat appeared. It was 
 Mademoiselle Xanon, the ccmjldante of Ma- 
 dame de Maintenon. 
 
 " I am so pleased to see you, captain/' she 
 cried, '' and I have waited so patiently. Ma- 
 dame would speak with you. The king comes 
 to her at three, and we have Ijut twenty 
 
 minutes. I heard that vou had uone to Paris, 
 
 id
 
 146 THE KEFCGEES. 
 
 and so I stationed myself here. Madame has 
 something which she would ask you." 
 
 '' Then I will come at once. Ah, De Brissac, 
 it is well met ! " 
 
 A tall burly officer was passing in the same 
 uniform which De Catinat wore. He turned 
 at once, and came smiling towards his com- 
 rade. 
 
 " Ah, Amory, you have covered a league or 
 two from the dust on your coat ! " 
 
 " We are fresh from Paris. But I am called 
 on business. This is my friend, Monsieur 
 Amos Green. I leave him in your hands, for 
 he is a stranger from America, and would fain 
 see all that you can show. He stays with me 
 at my quarters. And my horse, too, De 
 Brissac. You can give it to the groom." 
 
 Throwing the bridle to his brother officer, 
 and pressing the hand of Amos Green, De 
 Catinat sprang from his horse, and followed 
 at the top of his speed in the direction which 
 the young lady had already taken.
 
 CHAPTER VIIl. 
 
 THE iUSING SUX. 
 
 The rooms which were inhabited Ijy the ladv 
 who had ah^eadv taken so marked a position 
 at the court of France were as humble as were 
 her fortunes at the time when they were 
 alloted to her, Ijut with that rare tact and self- 
 restraint which were the leading features in 
 her remarkable character, she had made no 
 change in her living \A'ith the increase of her 
 prosperity, and forebore from provoking envy 
 and jealousy by any display of wealth or of 
 power. In a side wing of the palace, far from 
 the central .<'(h})ts. and only to be reached l)y 
 long corridors and stairs, were the two or 
 three small chambers upon which the eyes, 
 first of the court, then of France, and finally of 
 the world, were destined to be turned. In 
 
 such rooms had the destitute widow of the 
 
 (147)
 
 148 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 poet ScaiTon been housed when she had first 
 been brought to court by Madame de ]\Ionte- 
 span as the governess of tlie royal children, 
 and in such rooms she still dwelt, now that 
 she had added to her maiden Francoise 
 d'Aubigny the title of Marquise de ^Nlaintenon, 
 with the pension and estate which the king's 
 favour had awarded her. Here it was that 
 every day the king would lounge, finding in 
 the conversation of a clever and virtuous 
 woman a charm and a pleasure Avhich none of 
 the professed wits of his sparkling court had 
 ever been able to give to him, and here, too, 
 the more sagacious of the courtiers were 
 beginning to understand, was the point, 
 formerly to be found in the magnificent salons^ 
 of De Montespan, whence flowed those im- 
 pulses and tendencies which were so eagerly 
 studied, and so keenly followed up l\v all who 
 wished to keep the favour of the king. It was 
 a simple creed, that of the court. Were the 
 king pious, then let all turn to their missals 
 and their rosaries. Were he rakish, then who
 
 THE RISING SUX. 149 
 
 SO rakish as his devoted followers ? But woe 
 to the man who was rakish when he should be 
 praying, or who pulled a long face when the 
 king wore a laughing one ! And thus it was 
 that keen eyes were ever fixed upon him, and 
 upon every influence that came near him, so 
 that the wary courtier, watching the first 
 subtle signs of a coming change, might so 
 order his conduct as to seem to lead rather 
 than to follow. 
 
 The }'Oung guardsman had scarce ever 
 exchanged a word with this powerful lady, for 
 it was her taste to isolate herself, and to 
 appear with the court only at the hours of 
 devotion. It was therefore with some feelings 
 both of nervousness and of curiosity that he 
 followed his guide down the gorgeous corri- 
 dors, where art and wealth had been strewn 
 with so lavish a hand. The lady paused in 
 front of the chamber door, and turned to her 
 companion. 
 
 '' ]\Iadame wishes to speak to you of what 
 occurred this morning," said she. " I should
 
 150 THE REFLTiEES. 
 
 advise you to say nothing* to madame about 
 your creed, for it is the only thing upon which 
 her heart can be hard." She raised lier finger 
 to emphasise the warning, and tapping at the 
 door, she pushed it open. "I have l)rought 
 Captain de Catinat, madame," said she. 
 
 " Then let the captain step in." The voice 
 was firm, and yet sweetly musical. 
 
 Obeying the command, De Catinat found 
 himself in a room which was no larger and 
 but little better furnished than that which was 
 alloted to his own use. Yet, though simple, 
 everything in the chamber w^as scrupulously 
 neat and clean, l)etraying the dainty taste of a 
 refined woman. The stamped-leather furni- 
 ture, the La Savonniere carpet, the pictures 
 of sacred sul^jects, exquisite from an artist's 
 point of view, the plain but tasteful curtains, 
 all left an impression half rehgious and half 
 feminine l)ut wholly soothing. Indeed, the 
 soft light, the high white statue of the Virgin 
 in a canopied niche, with a perfumed red 
 lamp burning l)efore it, and the wooden prie-
 
 THE RISING SUN. 151 
 
 diea with the red-edged prayer-book upon the 
 top of it, made the apartment look more Hke a 
 private chapel than a fair lady's boudoir. 
 
 On each side of the empty fireplace was a 
 little green-covered arm-chair, the one for 
 madame and the other reserved for the use 
 of the king. A small three-legged stool be- 
 tween them was heaped with her work-ljasket 
 and her tapestry. On the chair which was 
 furthest from the door, with her l)ack turned 
 to the light, madame was sitting as the young 
 officer entered. It was her favourite position, 
 and yet there were few women of her years 
 who had so little reason to fear the sun, for a 
 healthy life and active haljits had left her 
 with a clear skin and delicate bloom which 
 any young beauty of the court might have 
 envied. Her figure was graceful and queenly, 
 her gestures and pose full of a natural dignity, 
 and her voice, as he had already remarked, 
 most sweet and melodious. Her face was 
 handsome rather than beautiful, set in a 
 statuesque classical mould, with broad white
 
 152 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 forehead, firm, delicately sensitive mouth, and 
 a pair of large serene gray eyes, earnest and 
 placid in repose, but capable of reflecting the 
 whole play of her soul, from the merry gleam 
 of humour to the quick flash of righteous 
 anger. An elevating serenity was, however, 
 the leading expression of her features, and in 
 that she presented the strongest contrast to 
 her rival, whose beautiful face was ever swept 
 l\v the emotion of the moment, and who 
 gleamed one hour and shadowed over the 
 next like a corn-field in the wind. In wit 
 and (quickness of tongue it is true that De 
 Montespan had the advantage, Ijut the strong 
 common-sense and the deeper nature of the 
 elder woman might prove in the end to be the 
 l^etter weapon. De Catinat, at the moment, 
 without having time to notice details, was 
 simply conscious that he was in the presence 
 of a very handsome woman, and that her 
 large jDcnsive eyes were fixed critically upon 
 him, and seemed to be reading his thoughts 
 as thev had never been read before.
 
 THE RISING SUX. 153 
 
 " I think that I have abeady seen you, sir, 
 have I not ? " 
 
 " Yes, madame, I have once or twice had 
 the honour of attending upon you, though it 
 may not have l^een my good fortune to ad- 
 dress you." 
 
 " My Hfe is so quiet and retired that I fear 
 that much of what is 1:>est and worthiest at 
 the court is unknown to me. It is the curse 
 of such places that evil flaunts itself before 
 the eye and cannot l^e overlooked, while the 
 good retires in its modesty, so that at times 
 we scarce dare hope that it is there. You 
 have served, monsieur ? '" 
 
 " Yes, madame. In the Lowlands, on the 
 Rhine, and in Canada.'' 
 
 '' In Canada ! Ah ! What noljler amliition 
 could woman have than to be a member of 
 that sweet sisterhood which was founded l)y 
 the holy INIarie de I'lncarnation and the 
 sainted Jeanne le Ber at Montreal ( It was 
 but the other day that I had an account of 
 them from Father (lodet des ]Marais. What
 
 154 THK KKFUOEES. 
 
 joy to be one of such a body, and to turn from 
 the l)lesse(l work of converting the heathen 
 to the even more precious task of nursing 
 back health and strength into those of God's 
 warriors who have been struck down in the 
 fight with Satan!" 
 
 It was strange to De C'atinat, who knew 
 well the sordid and dreadful existence led 
 by these same sisters, threatened ever with 
 misery, hunger, and the scalping-knife, to hear 
 this lady at whose feet lay all the good things 
 of this earth speaking enviously of their lot. 
 
 ''They are very good women," said he, 
 shortly, rememl)ering Mademoiselle Xanon's 
 warning, and fearing to trench u|)on the 
 dangerous subject. 
 
 " And doubtless you have had the privilege 
 also of seeing the holy Bishop Laval ? " 
 
 '' Yes, ma dame, I have seen Bishop 
 Laval." 
 
 "And I trust that the Sulpitians still hold 
 their own against the Jesuits i " 
 
 "I have heard, madame, that the Jesuits
 
 THE PJSIXG SUN. 155 
 
 are the stronger at Quebec, and the others 
 at Montreal." 
 
 " And who is your own director, mon- 
 sieur i " 
 
 De Catinat felt that the worst had come 
 upon him. "I have none, madame." 
 
 " Ah, it is too common to dispense with a 
 director, and yet I know not how I could 
 guide my steps in the difficuk path which I 
 tread if it were not for mine. Who is your 
 confessor, then ? " 
 
 •'I have none. I am of the Keformed 
 Church, madame." 
 
 The lady gave a gesture of horror, an<l a 
 sudden hardening showed itself in mouth and 
 eye. " What, in the court itself," she cried, 
 " and in the neighbourhood of the king's o\\n 
 person ! " 
 
 De Catinat was lax enough in matters of 
 faith, and held his creed rather as a family 
 tradition than from any strong conviction, 
 but it hurt his self-esteem to see himself 
 regarded as though he had confessed to 
 
 f
 
 15G THE REFUGEES. 
 
 something that was loathsome and unclean. 
 '' You will find, madame," said he, sternly, 
 " that members of my faith have not only 
 stood around the throne of France, but have 
 even seated themselves upon it." 
 
 " God has for His own all-wise purposes 
 permitted it, and none should know it l^etter 
 than I, whose grandsire, Theodore d'Aubigny, 
 did so much to place a crown upon the head 
 of the great Henry. But Henry's eyes were 
 opened ere his end came, and I pray — oh, 
 from my heart I pray — that yours may be also." 
 
 She rose, and throwing herself down upon 
 the prie-dieu, sunk her face in her hands for 
 some few minutes, during which the object 
 of her devotions stood in some perplexity in 
 the middle of the room, hardly knowing 
 whether such an attention should ])e regarded 
 as an insult or as a favour. A tap at the 
 door brought the lady back to this world 
 again, and her devoted attendant answered 
 her summons to enter. 
 
 " The kini'- is in the Hall of Victories,
 
 THE RISING SUN. lo7 
 
 madame," siiid she. " He will be here in 
 five minutes." 
 
 ''Very well. Stand outside, and let me 
 know when he comes. Xow, sir," she con- 
 tinued, when they were alone once more, 
 "you gave a note of mine to the king this 
 morning ? " 
 
 "I did, madame." 
 
 " And, as I understand, Madame de ]\Ionte- 
 span was refused admittance to the (n-and 
 lever f " 
 
 "She was, madame." 
 
 " But she waited for the king in the pas- 
 sage ? " 
 
 "She did." 
 
 "And wrung from him a promise that he 
 would see her to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 " I would not have you tell me that which 
 it may seem to you a breach of your duty 
 to tell. But I am fighting now against a 
 terrible foe, and for a great stake. Do you 
 understand me ? "
 
 158 THE KEFUGEE.S. 
 
 De Catinat Ijowed. 
 
 " Then what do I mean ? " 
 
 '' I presume that what madame means is 
 that she is fighting for the king's favour 
 with the lady you mentioned." 
 
 " As heaven is my judge, 1 have no thought 
 of myself I am fighting with the devil for 
 the king's soul." 
 
 " 'Tis the same thing, madame." 
 
 The lady smiled. '' If the king's body 
 were in peril, I could call on the aid of his 
 faithful guards, and not less so now, surely, 
 when so much more is at stake. Tell me, 
 then, at what hour was the king to meet 
 the marquise in her room ? " 
 
 "At four, madame." 
 
 ** I thank you. You have done me a ser- 
 vice, and I shall not forget it." 
 
 " The king comes, madame," said Made- 
 moiselle Xanon, again protruding her head. 
 
 " Then you must go, captain. Pass through 
 the other room, and so into the outer pas- 
 sage. And take this. It is Bossuet's state-
 
 THE RISING 8rX. 159 
 
 ment of the Catholic faith. It has softened 
 the hearts of others, and may yours. Now, 
 adieu ! " 
 
 De Catinat passed out through another 
 door, and as he did so he glanced back. 
 The lady had her back to him, and her 
 hand was raised to the mantel-piece. At 
 the instant that he looked she moved her 
 neck, and he could see what she was doing. 
 She was pushing l^ack the long hand of the 
 clock.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LE KOI S'AMUSh:. 
 
 Captain de Catixat liad hardly vanished 
 through the one door ])efore the other was 
 thrown open by Mademoiselle Xanon, and 
 the king entered the room. Madame de 
 Maintenon rose with a pleasant smile and 
 courtesied deeply, but there was no answer- 
 ing light upon her visitor's face, and he 
 threw himself down upon the vacant arm- 
 chair w4th a pouting lip and a frown upon 
 his forehead. 
 
 " Xay, now this is a very l)a(l compliment," 
 she cried, with the gaiety which she could 
 assume whenever it was necessary to draw 
 the king from his blacker humours. " My 
 poor little dark room has already cast a 
 shadow over you." 
 
 '* Xav ; it is Father La Chaise and the 
 
 (1(30)
 
 LE ROI S AMUSE. 161 
 
 Bishop of Meaiix who have l)een after me 
 all day like two hounds on a stag, with talk 
 of mv duty and my position and my sins, 
 with judgment and hell-fire ever at the end 
 of their exhortations." 
 
 ''And what would they have your ]\Iajesty 
 do ? " 
 
 " Break the promise which I made ^^'hen I 
 €ame upon the throne, and which my grand- 
 father made Ijefore me. They wish me to 
 recall the Edict of Xantes, and drive the 
 Huguenots from the kingdom.'' 
 
 " Oh, but your Majesty must not trouV)le 
 your mind about such matters." 
 
 " You would not have me do it, madame ? " 
 
 " Xot if it is to be a grief to your Majesty." 
 
 " You have, perchance, some soft feeling 
 for the religion of your youth ? " 
 
 " Xay, sire ; I have nothing but hatred for 
 heresy." 
 
 "And yet you would not have them thrust 
 out ? " 
 
 " Bethink you, sire, that the Ahnighty can 
 
 11
 
 1G2 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 Himself incline their hearts to 1)etter things 
 if He is so minded, even as mine was inclined. 
 May you not leave it in His hands ? " 
 
 '' On my word," said Louis, brightening, 
 " it is well put. I shall see if Father La 
 Chaise can find an answer to that. It is 
 hard to l)e threatened with eternal flames 
 because one will not ruin one's kingdom. 
 Eternal torment ! I have seen the face of a 
 man who had l)een in the Bastille for fifteen 
 years. It was like a dreadful book with a 
 scar or a wrinkle to mark every hour of that 
 death in life. But eternity ! " He shuddered, 
 and his eyes were filled with the horror of 
 his thought. The higher motives had l)ut 
 little power over his soul, as those about him 
 had long discovered, l)ut he was ever ready to 
 wince at the image of the terrors to come. 
 
 '' Why should you think of such things, 
 sire?" said the lady, in her rich, soothing- 
 voice. '' What have you to fear, you who 
 have been the first son of the Church ! " 
 
 " You think that I am safe, then ? "
 
 LE ROI S AMFSE. 163 
 
 " Surely, sire." 
 
 '• But I have erred, and erred deeply. You 
 have yourself said as much." 
 
 ''But that is all over, sire. Who is there 
 who is without stain ? You have turned 
 away from temptation. Surely, then, you 
 have earned your forgiveness." 
 
 " I would that the queen were living once 
 more. She would find me a l^etter man." 
 
 "I would that she were, sire." 
 
 "And she should know that it was to you 
 that she owed the change. Oh, Francoise, 
 you are surely my guardian angel, who has 
 taken bodily form ! How can I thank you 
 for what you have done for me ! " He leaned 
 forward and took her hand, ])ut at the touch 
 a sudden fire sprang into his eyes, and he 
 would have passed his other arm round her 
 had she not risen hurriedly to avoid the 
 embrace. 
 
 '' Sire ! " said she, with a rigid face and one 
 finger upraised. 
 
 "You are right, you are right, Francoise.
 
 164 THE KEFL'GEES. 
 
 Sit down and I will control myself. Still at 
 the same tapestry, then ! My workers at 
 the Gobelins must look to their laurels." He 
 raised one border of the glossy roll, while she, 
 having reseated herself, though not without 
 a quick questioning glance at her companion, 
 took the other end into her lap and continued 
 her work. 
 
 '' Yes, sire. It is a hunting scene in your 
 forests at Fontainebleau. A stag of ten tines, 
 you see, and the hounds in full cry, and a 
 gallant band of cavaliers and ladies. Has 
 your Majesty ridden to-day ? " 
 
 " Xo. How is it, Francoise, that you have 
 such a heart of ice ? " 
 
 "I would it were so, sire. Perhaps you 
 have hawked, then?" 
 
 " No. But surely no man's love has ever 
 stirred you ! And yet you have been a wife." 
 
 " A nurse, sire, but never a wife. See the 
 lady in the park ! It is surely Mademoiselle. 
 I did not know that she had come up from 
 Choisv."
 
 LE KOI s 'amuse. 165 
 
 But the king was not to be distracted from 
 his subject. 
 
 '•' You did not love this Scarron, then ? " 
 he persisted. " He was old, I have heard, 
 and as lame as some of his verses.' 
 
 ''Do not speak Hghtly of him, sire. I was 
 grateful to him ; I honoured him ; I liked 
 him." 
 
 " But you did not love him." 
 
 " Why should you seek to read the secrets 
 of a woman's heart ? " 
 
 '' You did not love him, Franfoise ? " 
 
 "At least, I did my duty towards him." 
 
 '• Has that nun's heart never yet been 
 touched l)y love, then i " 
 
 " Sire, do not question me." 
 
 " Has it never " 
 
 '' Spare me, sire, I Ijeg of you ! " 
 
 " But I must ask, for my own peace hangs 
 upon your answer." 
 
 '' Your words })ain me to the soul." 
 
 '' Have you never, Fran9oise, felt in your 
 heart some little flicker of the h)ve which
 
 1G(3 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 glows in mine ? " He rose with his hands 
 outstretched, a pleading monarch, l)ut she, 
 with half-turned head, still shrank away from 
 him. 
 
 " Be assured of one thing, sire," said she, 
 " that even if I loved you as no woman ever 
 loved a man yet, I should rather spring from 
 that window on to the stone terraces beneath 
 than ever by word or sign confess as much 
 to you." 
 
 " And why, Fran^oise ? " 
 
 " Because, sire, it is iny highest hope upon 
 earth that I have l)een chosen to lift up your 
 mind towards loftier things — that mind the 
 greatness and nol)ility of which nonc^ know 
 more than I." 
 
 "And is my love so Ijase, then f " 
 
 "You have wasted too much of your life 
 and of your thoughts upon woman's love. 
 And now, sire, the years steal on ^nd the 
 day is coming when even you will l^e called 
 u[)on to give an account of your actions, and of 
 the innermost thoughts of your heart. T would
 
 LK ROI 8 AMUSE. 167 
 
 see you spend the time that is left to you. 
 .sire, in iDuilding up the Church, in showing 
 a noble example to your subjects, and in re- 
 pairing any evil which that example may 
 have done in the past." 
 
 The king sunk V)ack into his chair with a 
 groan. " Forever the same," said he. " Why, 
 you are worse than Father La Chaise and 
 Bossuet." 
 
 " Xay, nay," said she gaily, with the quick 
 tact in which she never failed. " I have 
 wearied you. when you have stooped to 
 honour my little room with your presence. 
 That is indeed ingratitude, and it were a just 
 punishment if you were to leave me in soli- 
 tude to-morrow, and so cut oft* all the light 
 of my day. But tell me, sire, how go the 
 works at ^larly ? I am all on tire to know 
 whether the great fountain will work." 
 
 '' Yes, the fountain plays well, but Mansard 
 has thrown the right wing too far back. I 
 have made him a good architect, Init 1 have 
 still much to teach him. I showed him his
 
 168 THK IJKFrcJEKS. 
 
 fault on the plan this morninir. and ho 
 promised to amend it." 
 
 " And what will the change cost, sire ? " 
 "Some millions of livres, Init then the 
 view will be nmch improved from the south 
 side. I have taken in another mile of ground 
 in that direction, for there were a number 
 of poor folk living there, and their hovels 
 were far from pretty." 
 
 ''And why have you not ridden to-day, 
 sire ? " 
 
 '' Pah ! it brings me no pleasure. There 
 was a time when my blood was stirred l:>y 
 the blare of the horn and the rush of the 
 hoofs, but now it is all wearisome to me." 
 " And hawking too ? " 
 '' Yes ; I shall hawk no more." 
 " But, sire, you must have amusement." 
 ''What is so dull as an amusement which 
 has ceased to amuse ? I know not how it 
 is. When I was Init a lad, and my mother 
 and 1 were driven from place to place, with 
 the Fronde at war with us and Paris in
 
 LE ROI s'aMUSE. 1G9 
 
 revolt, with our throne and even our Hves 
 in danger, all life seemed to be so bright, 
 so new, and so full of interest. Xow that 
 there is no shadow, and that my voice is 
 the first in France, as France's is in Europe, 
 all is dull and lacking in flavour. What use 
 is it to have all pleasure before me, when 
 it turns to wormwood when it is tasted ? " 
 
 '' True pleasure, sire, lies rather in the 
 inward life, the serene mind, the easy con- 
 science. And then, as we grow older, is 
 it not natural that our minds should take 
 a graver bent ? We might well reproach 
 ourselves if it were not so, for it would 
 show that we had not learned the lesson 
 of life." 
 
 " It may be so, and yet it is sad and 
 weary when nothing amuses. But who is 
 there ? " 
 
 '' It is my companion knocking. What 
 is it, mademoiselle ? " 
 
 '' Monsieur Corneille, to read to the king," 
 said the young lady, opening the door.
 
 170 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 " Ah, yes, sire ; I know how fooHsh is a 
 woman's tongue, and so I have brought a 
 wiser one than mine here to charm you. 
 Monsieur Racine was to have come, but I 
 liear that he has had a fall from his horse, 
 and he sends his friend in his place. Shall 
 I admit him ? " 
 
 '■ Oh, as you like, madame, as you like," 
 said the king, listlessly. At a sign from 
 Mademoiselle Nanon a little peaky man 
 with a shrewd petulant face, and long gray 
 hair falling back over his shoulders, entered 
 the room. He bowed profoundly three times, 
 and then seated himself nervously on the very 
 edge of the stool, from which the lady had 
 removed her work-basket. She smiled and 
 nodded to encourage the })oet, while the 
 monaroh leaned back in his chair with an 
 air of resignation. 
 
 '' Shall it be a comedy, or a tragedy, or a 
 burlesque pastoral?" Corneille asked, timidly. 
 
 '' Xot the burlesque pastoral," said the 
 king, with decision. "Such things may be
 
 LE ROI S 'amuse. 171 
 
 played, Ixit cannot l)e read, since they are 
 for the eye rather than the ear." 
 
 The poet bowed his ac( quiescence. 
 
 "And not the tragedy, monsieur," said 
 ^Madame de ^Vlaintenon, glancing up from 
 her tapestry. '' The king has enough that 
 is serious in his graver hours, and so I trust 
 that you will use your talent to amuse him." 
 
 '' Ay, let it l)e a comedy," said Louis ; 
 " I have not had a good laugh since poor 
 Moliere passed away." 
 
 " Ah, your Majesty has indeed a fine taste," 
 cried the courtier poet. '' Had you conde- 
 iiCended to turn your own attention to poetry, 
 where should we all have been then ( " 
 
 Louis smiled, for no flattery was too gross 
 to please him. 
 
 " Even as you have taught our generals war 
 and our ])uilders art, so you would have 
 set your poor singers a loftier strain. l>ut 
 ^lars would hardly deign to share the 
 humbler laurels of Apollo." 
 
 " I have sometimes thought that 1 had
 
 ^>' 
 
 1 / 2 THK HEFUOEES. 
 
 some such powers," answered the kin^i 
 complacently ; '' though amid my toils and 
 tlie burdens of state I have had, as you say, 
 little time for the softer arts." 
 
 '' But you have encouraged others to do 
 what you could so well have done yourself, 
 sire. You have brought out poets as the 
 sun brings out flowers. How many have 
 we not seen — Moliere, Boileau, Racine, one 
 greater than the other. And the others, 
 too, the smaller ones — Scarron, so scurrilous 
 
 and yet so witty Oh, holy Virgin ! what 
 
 have I said ? " 
 
 Madame had laid down her tapestry, and 
 was staring in intense indignation at the 
 })oet, who writhed on his stool under the 
 stern reV)uke of those cold gray eyes. 
 
 " I think, Monsieur Corneille, that you 
 had better i>o on with vour reading," said 
 the king, dryly. 
 
 " Assuredly, sire. Shall T read my play 
 about Darius ? " 
 
 " And who was iJarius ( " asked the king,
 
 LE RUI 8 AMUSE. 1 / 3 
 
 whose education had been so neglected by 
 the crafty pohcy of Cardinal ]\Iazarin that 
 he was ignorant of everything save what had 
 come under his own personal observation. 
 
 "Darius was king of Persia, sire." 
 
 " And where is Persia ? " 
 
 "It is a kingdom of Asia." 
 
 " Is Darius still king there ? " 
 
 " Xay, sire ; he fought against Alexander 
 the Great." 
 
 "Ah, I have heard of Alexander. He 
 was a famous king and general, was he not ? " 
 
 " Like your Majesty, he both ruled wisely 
 and led his armies victoriously." 
 
 " And was king of Persia, you say ; " 
 
 " Xo, sire ; of Macedonia. It was Darius 
 who was king of Persia." 
 
 The king frowned, for the slightest correc- 
 tion was offensive to him. 
 
 "You do not seem very clear about the 
 matter, and I confess that it does not in- 
 terest me deeply," said he. " Pray turn to 
 something else."
 
 174 THE RKKrGEES. 
 
 " There is niv I* Mended Astroloi/er." 
 
 ''Yes, that will do." 
 
 Corneille commenced to read his comedy, 
 while Madame de Maintenon's white and 
 delicate fingers picked among the many- 
 colom^ed silks which she was weaving into 
 her ta})estry. From time to time she glanced 
 across, first at the clock and then at the 
 king, who was leaning Imck, with his lace 
 handkerchief thrown over his face. It was 
 twenty minutes to four now, l3ut she knew 
 that she had put it back half an hour, and 
 that the true time was ten minutes past. 
 
 "Tut! tut!" cried the king, suddenly. 
 " There is something amiss there. The 
 second last line has a limj) in it, surely." 
 It was one of his foibles to pose as a critic, 
 and the wise poet would fall in with his 
 corrections, however unreasonable they might 
 be. 
 
 " Which line, sire ^ It is indeed an advan- 
 tage to have one's faults made clear." 
 
 '' Kead the passage again."
 
 LE ROI S AMUSE. 175 
 
 ** Et si, quand je lui dis le secret de mon ame, 
 Avec moins de rigueur elle eiit traite ma flamine, 
 Dans ma facon de vivre, et suivant mon iiumeur, 
 Une autre eut eu bientot le present de mon ca-m-." 
 
 "Yes, the third hue has a foot too many. 
 Do you not remark it, madame ? " 
 
 '' Xo ; but I fear that I should make a 
 poor critic." 
 
 '' Your Majesty is perfectly right," said 
 Corneille, unblushingly. " I shall mark the 
 passage, and see that it is corrected."* 
 
 " I thought that it was wrong. If I do 
 not write myself, you can see that I have at 
 least got the correct ear. A false (juantity 
 jars upon me. It is the same in music. .VI- 
 though I know little of the matter, I can tell 
 a discord where Lully himself would mis.s 
 it. I have often shown him errors of the 
 sort in his operas, and I have alwa}'s con- 
 vinced him that I was right." 
 
 " I can readily beheve it, your Majesty." 
 Corneille had picked up his book again, and 
 w^as about to resume his reading, when there 
 came a sharp tap at the door.
 
 176 THK REFUGEKS. 
 
 "It is liis hiu'bness the minister, Monsieur 
 de Louvois," said Mademoiselle Nanon. 
 
 "Admit liim," answered Louis. "Monsieur 
 Corneille, I am ol)liged to you for what you 
 have read, and I regret that an affair of state 
 will now interrupt your comedy. Some other 
 <lay i^erhaps I may have the pleasure of 
 hearing the rest of it." He smiled in the 
 gracious fashion which made all who came 
 within his personal influence forget his faults 
 and remember him only as the impersonation 
 of dignity and of courtesy. 
 
 The poet, with his book under his arm, 
 slipped out, wdiile the famous minister, tall, 
 heavily wigged, eagle-nosed, and command- 
 ing, came bowing into the little room. His 
 manner was that of exaggerated politeness, 
 l)ut his haughty face marked only too plainly 
 his contempt for such a chamber and for the 
 lady who dwelt there. She was well aware 
 of the feeling w^ith which he regarded her, but 
 her perfect self-command prevented her from 
 ewer by word or look returning his dislike.
 
 LE EOI S AM USE. 177 
 
 " My apartments are indeed honoured to- 
 day," said she, rising with outstretched hand. 
 '• Can monsieur condescend to a stool, since 
 I have no fitter seat to offer you in this little 
 doll's house ? But perhaps I am in the way, if 
 you wish to talk of state affairs to the king. 
 I can easily withdraw into my boudoir." 
 
 " Xo, no, nothing of the kind, madame," 
 cried Louis. " It is my wish that you should 
 remain here. What is it, Louvois ? " 
 
 " A messenger arrived from England with 
 desj)atches, your Majesty," answered the 
 minister, his ponderous figure balanced upon 
 the three-legged stool. " There is very ill 
 feeling there, and there is some talk of a 
 rising. The letter from Lord Sunderland 
 wished to know whether, in case the Dutch 
 took the side of the malcontents, the king might 
 look to France for help. Of course, knowing 
 your Majesty's mind, I answered unhesita- 
 tingly that he might." 
 
 '' You did wdiat ! " 
 
 ''I answered, sire, that he mii;lit." 
 1-2
 
 178 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 King Louis flushed with anger, and he 
 caught up the tongs from the grate with a 
 motion as though he would have struck his 
 minister with them. Madame sprang from 
 her chair, and laid her hand upon his arm 
 with a soothing gesture. He threw down the 
 tongs again, but his eyes still flashed with 
 passion as he turned them ujjon Louvois. 
 
 " How dared you ! " he cried. 
 
 " But, sire " 
 
 " How dared you, I say ! What ! You 
 venture to answer such a message without 
 consulting me ! How often am I to tell you 
 that I am the state — I alone ; that all is to 
 come from me ; and that I am answerable to 
 God only ! What are you ? My instrument I 
 my tool ! And you venture to act without 
 my authority ! " 
 
 " I thought that I knew your wishes, sire," 
 stammered Louvois, whose haughty manner 
 had quite deserted him, and whose face was 
 as white as the ruffles of his shirt. 
 
 '' You are not there to think al)Out my
 
 LE ROI S AMUSE. 179 
 
 wishes, sir. You are there to consult them 
 and to obey them. Why is it that I have 
 tm^ned away from my old nobility, and have 
 committed the affairs of my kingdom to men 
 whose names have never been heard of in the 
 history of France, such men as Colbert and 
 yourself? I have been blamed for it. There 
 was the Due de St. Simon, who said, the last 
 time that he was at the court, that it was a bour- 
 geois government. vSo it is. But I wished it 
 to be so, because I knew that the nobles have 
 a way of thinking for themselves, and I ask 
 for no thought but mine in the governing of 
 France. But if my bourgeois are to receive 
 messages and give answers to embassies, then 
 indeed I am to be pitied. I have marked you 
 of late, Louvois. You have grown l^eyond 
 your station. You take too much upon your- 
 self See to it that I have not again to 
 complain to you upon this matter." 
 
 The humiliated minister sat as one crushed, 
 with his chin sunk upon his breast. The king- 
 muttered and frowned for a few minutes, but
 
 180 THE KKFrCiEKS. 
 
 the cloiul cleared iiraduallv from his face, for 
 his fits of aiij^er were usually as short as they 
 were fierce and sudden. 
 
 " You will detain that messenger, Louvois," 
 he said at last, in a calm voice. 
 
 ''Yes, sire." 
 
 '' And we shall see at the council meeting 
 to-morrow that a fitting reply be sent to Lord 
 Sunderland. It would be liest perha})s not to 
 l)e too free with our promises in the matter. 
 These English have ever been a thorn in our 
 sides. If we could leave them among their 
 own fogs with such a (juarrel as would keep 
 them l)usy for a few years, then indeed we 
 might crush this Dutch prince at our leisure. 
 Their last civil war lasted ten years, and their 
 next may do as much. We could carry our 
 frontier to the lihine long ere that. Eh, 
 Louvois ? " 
 
 " Your armies are ready, sire, on the day 
 tliat you give the word." 
 
 '' But war is a costly business. I do not 
 wish to have to sell the court })late. as we
 
 lp: roi s 'amuse. 181 
 
 (lid the other flay. How are the piibhc 
 funds ? " 
 
 " We are not very rich, sire. But there is 
 one way in which money may very readily be 
 gained. There was some talk this morning 
 about the Huguenots, and whether they 
 should dwell any longer in tliis Catholic 
 kina^dom. Xow. if thev are driven out. and if 
 their property were taken 1)y the state, then 
 indeed your Majesty would at once V)ecome 
 the richest monarch in Christendom." 
 
 '' But you were against it this morning, 
 Louvois ? " 
 
 '• I had not had time to think of it. sire." 
 
 ••You mean that Father La Chaise and the 
 bishop had not had time to get at you," said 
 Louis .sharply. "Ah, Louvois, I have not 
 lived with a court round me all these years 
 without learning how things are done. It 
 is a word to him, and so on to another, and 
 so to a third, and so to the king. When my 
 good fathers of the Church liave set them- 
 selves to l)ring anything to pass, I see traces
 
 182 THE ilKFUGEES. 
 
 of them at every turn, as one traces a mole by 
 tlie dirt which it has thrown ii}). But I will 
 not he moved against my own reason to do 
 wrong to those who, however mistaken tliey 
 may be, are still the subjects whom God has 
 given me." 
 
 " I would not have you do so, sire, " cried 
 Louvois, in confusion. The king's accusation 
 had been so true that he had been unable at 
 the moment even to protest. 
 
 " I know but one person," continued Louis, 
 glancing across at Madame de Maintenon, 
 ''who has no ambitions, who desires neither 
 wealth nor preferment, and who can therefore 
 never be bribed to sacrifice my interests. 
 That is why I value that person's opinion so 
 highly." He smiled at the lady as he spoke, 
 while his minister cast a glance at her which 
 showed the jealousy which ate into his soul. 
 
 " It was my duty to point this out to you, 
 sire, not as a suggestion, but as a possibility," 
 said he, rising. " I fear that I have already 
 taken u]) too much of your Majesty's time,
 
 LE RO: S AMUSE. 183 
 
 and I shall now withdraw." Bowing slightly 
 to the lady, and profoundly to the monarch, 
 he walked from the room. 
 
 ' ■ Louvois grows intolerable," said the king. 
 "I know not where his insolence will end. 
 Were it not that he is an excellent servant, I 
 should have sent him from the court before 
 this. He has his own opinions upon every- 
 thing. It was l)ut the other day that he 
 would have it that I was wrong when I said 
 that one of the windows in the Trianon was 
 smaller than any of the others. It was the 
 same size, said he. I brought Le Xotre with 
 his measures, and of course the window was, 
 as I had said, too small. But I see by your 
 clock that it is four o'clock. I must go." 
 " My clock, sire, is half an hour slow." 
 " Half an hour ! " The king looked dis- 
 mayed for an instant, and then began to 
 laugh. " Xay, in that case," said he, " I had 
 l)est remain where I am, for it is too late to 
 go, and I can say with a clear conscience that 
 it was the clock's fault rather than mine."
 
 184 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 " I trust tliat it was nothing of very great 
 importance, sire," said the lady, witli a look of 
 demure triumph in her eyes. 
 
 " By no means." 
 
 " Xo state affair ? " 
 
 *' No, no ; it was only that it was the hour 
 at which I had intended to rebuke the 
 conduct of a presumptuous person. But 
 perhaps it is better as it is. My absence will 
 in itself convey my message, and in such a 
 ^ort that I trust I may never see that person's 
 face more at my court. But, ah, what is 
 this ? " 
 
 The door had been tlung open, and Madame 
 de Montespan, beautiful and furious, was 
 standing before them.
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 AX ECLIPSE AT VERSAILLES. 
 
 ]\Iadame de Maixtexox was a woman who 
 was always full of self-restraint and of cool 
 resource. vShe had risen in an instant, with 
 an air as if she had at last seen the welcome 
 guest for whom she had pined in vain. With 
 a frank smile of greeting, she advanced with 
 outstretched hand. 
 
 " This is indeed a pleasure,'" said she. 
 
 But Madame de ^Nlontespan was very angry, 
 so angry that she was evidently making strong- 
 efforts to kee}) herself within control, and to 
 avoid breaking into a furious outljurst. Her 
 face was very pale, her lips compressed, and 
 "^ her l^lue eyes had the set stare and tlie cold 
 flitter of a furious woman. So for an instant 
 tlu'v faced each other, the one frowning, tlie 
 
 other smiling, two of the most l)eautiful and 
 
 (185;
 
 186 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 (jueenly women in France. Then I)e Monte- 
 span, disregarding her rival's outstretched 
 liand, turned towards the king, who had l)een 
 hx)king at her with a darkening face. 
 
 " I fear that I intrude, sire." 
 
 " Your entrance, madame, is certainly some- 
 what abrupt." 
 
 " I must crave pardon if it is so. Since 
 this lady has been the governess of my 
 children I have been in the hal)it of coming 
 into her room unannounced." 
 
 ''As far as I am concerned, you are most 
 welcome to do so," said her rival, with })erfect 
 composure. 
 
 " I confess that I had not even thought it 
 necessary to ask your permission, madame, ' 
 the other answered coldly. 
 
 " Then you shall certainly do so in the 
 future, madame," said the king, sternly. " It 
 is my express order to you that every possible 
 respect is to ])e shown in every way to this 
 la.ly." 
 
 " Oil, to f/iis ];i(lv : " wifli a wave of lior
 
 AN ECLIPSE AT VERSAILLES. 187 
 
 hand in her direction. " Your ^Majesty's 
 commands are of course our laws. But I 
 must remember that it is this lady, for some- 
 times one may get confused as to which name 
 it is that your Majesty has picked out for 
 honour. To-day it is De ]\[aintenon : yester- 
 day it was Fontanges ; to-morrow Ah, 
 
 well, who can say who it may be to-morrow ? " 
 
 She was suj^erb in her pride and her fear- 
 lessness as she stood, with her sparkling blue 
 eyes and her heaving bosom, looking down 
 upon her royal lover. Angry as he was, his 
 gaze lost something of its sternness as it 
 rested upon her round full throat and the 
 delicate lines of her shapely shoulders. There 
 vras something very becoming in her passion, 
 in the defiant pose of her dainty head, and the 
 magnificent scorn with which she glanced at 
 her rival. 
 
 " There is nothing to be gained, madame, 
 ])y being insolent," said he. 
 
 " Nor is it my custom, sire." 
 
 " And yet I find your words so."
 
 188 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 '' Truth is always mistaken for insolence, 
 sire, at the court of France." 
 
 " We have had enough of this." 
 
 "A very little truth is enough." 
 
 ''You forget yourself, madame. T l)eg that 
 you will leave the room." 
 
 " I must first remind your Majesty that 
 I was so far honoured as to have an appoint- 
 ment this afternoon. At four o'clock I had 
 your royal promise that you would come to 
 me. I cannot doubt that your Majesty will 
 keep that promise in spite of the fascinations 
 which you may find here." 
 
 " I should have come, madame, but the 
 clock, as you may observe, is half an hour 
 slow, and the time had passed before I was 
 aware of it." 
 
 '' I beg, sire, that you will not let that 
 distress you. I am returning to my chamber, 
 and five o'clock will suit me as well as four.'" 
 
 " I thank you, madame, l)ut I have not 
 found this interview so pleasant that I should 
 seek another."
 
 AX ECLIPSE AT VERSAILLES. 189 
 
 " Then your ^Majesty will not come i "' 
 
 " I should prefer not." 
 
 " In spite of your promise ! " 
 
 " Madame ! " 
 
 " You will break your word ! '' 
 
 " Silence, madame ; this is intolerable/' 
 
 ''It is indeed intolerable ! " cried the angry 
 lady, throwing all discretion to the winds. 
 '' Oh, I am not afraid of you, sire. I have 
 loved you. but I have never feared you. I 
 leave you here. I leave you with your con- 
 science and your — your lady confessor. But 
 one \vord of truth you shall hear before I go. 
 You have l)een false to your wife, and you 
 have been false to your mistress, lait it is 
 only now that I find that you can l)e false 
 also to your word."' She swept him an in- 
 dignant courtesy, and glided, with head erect, 
 out of the room. 
 
 The king sprang from his chair as if he had 
 l)een stung. Accustomed as he was to his 
 gentle little wife, and the even gentler La 
 Vallicre. such lano-uao-e as this had ni^ver
 
 190 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 ])efore intruded itself upon the royal ears. 
 It was like a physical blow to him. He felt 
 stunned, humiliated, l)ewildered, by so un- 
 wonted a sensation. AV^liat odour was this 
 which mingled for the first time with the 
 incense amid wdiich he lived ? And then his 
 whole soul rose up in anger at her, at the 
 woman who had dared to raise her voice 
 against him. That she should be jealous of 
 and insult another woman, that was excus- 
 able. It was, in fact, an indirect compliment 
 to himself But that she should turn upon 
 him, as if they were merely man and w^oman, 
 instead of monarch and subject, that was too 
 much. He gave an inarticulate cry of rage, 
 and rushed to the door. 
 
 " Sire ! " Madame de Maintenon, wdio had 
 watched keenly the swift play of his emotions 
 over his expressive face, took two quick steps 
 forward, and laid hei* hand upon liis arm. 
 
 ''I will go after her." 
 
 "And why, sire?" 
 
 ''To forl)id her the court."
 
 AX ECLIPSE AT VEKSAILLES. 191 
 
 "But, sire " 
 
 '■ You heard her ! It is infamous ! I shall 
 go." 
 
 " But, sire, could you not write ? " 
 
 " Xo, no ; I shall see her." He pulled open 
 the door. 
 
 "Oh, sire, be firm, then I" It was with an 
 anxious face that she watched him start off, 
 walking rapidly, with angry gestures, down 
 the corridor. Then she turned back, and 
 dropping upon her knees on the prie-dieu, 
 bowed her head in prayer for the king, for 
 herself, and for France. 
 
 De Catinat, the guardsman, had employed 
 himself in showino^ his voung friend from over 
 the water all the wonders of the great palace, 
 which the other had examined keenly, and 
 had criticised or admired with an indepen- 
 dence of judgment and a native correctness of 
 taste natural to a man whose life had been 
 spent in freedom amid the noblest works of 
 nature. Grand as were the mighty fountains 
 and the artificial cascades, thev had no over-
 
 1 92 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 whelming effect on one who had travelled 
 u}) from Erie to Ontario, and had seen the 
 Niagara Kiver hurl itself over its precipice, 
 nor were the long level swards so very large 
 to eyes which had rested upon the great 
 l)lains of the Dakotas. The l)uilding itself, 
 however, its extent, its height, and the beauty 
 of its stone, filled him with astonishment. 
 
 " I must bring Ephraim Savage here," he 
 kept repeating. " He would never believe 
 else that there was one house in the world 
 which would weigh more than all Boston and 
 New York put together." 
 
 De Catinat had arranged that the Ameri- 
 can should remain with his friend ]\Iajor de 
 Brissac, as the time had come round for his 
 own second turn of guard. He had hardly 
 stationed himself in the corridor when he was 
 astonished to see the king, without escort or 
 attendants, w^alking swiftly down the })assage. 
 His deHcate ftice was disfigured with anger, 
 and his mouth was set grimly, like that of 
 a man who had taken a momentous resolution.
 
 AN ECLIPSE AT VERSAILLES. 193 
 
 '' Officer of the guard," said he, shortly. 
 
 '' Yes, sh^e." 
 
 " What ! You again, Captain de Catinat ? 
 You have not been on duty since morning?" 
 
 " Xo, sire. It is my second guard." 
 
 '^ Very good. I wish your assistance. ' 
 
 '' I am at your command, sire." 
 
 " Is there a subaltern here ? " 
 
 " Lieutenant de la Tremouille is at the side 
 guard. " 
 
 "Very well. You will place him in com- 
 mand." 
 
 " Yes, sire." 
 
 "You will yourself go to Monsieur de 
 Vivonne. You Imow his apartments ? " 
 
 ''Yes, sire." 
 
 ''If he is not there, you must go and seek 
 him. Wherever he is, you must find him 
 within the hour." 
 
 " Yes, sire." 
 
 " You will give him an order from me. At 
 six o'clock he is to be in his carriage at the 
 east gate of the palace. His sister, Madame 
 
 18
 
 194 THE REFrOEES. 
 
 (le Montespaii, will await him tliere, and he is 
 charged ])y me to (hive her to the Chateau of 
 Petit Bourg. You will tell him that he is 
 answerable to me for her arrival there." 
 
 '* Yes, sire." I)e Catinat raised his sword 
 in salute, and started upon his mission. 
 
 The king passed on dow^n the corridor, and 
 opened a door which led him into a magni- 
 ficent anteroom, all one blaze of mirrors and 
 gold, furnished to a marvel with the most 
 delicate ebony and silver suite, on a deep red 
 carpet of Aleppo, as soft and yielding as the 
 moss of a forest. In keeping with the furni- 
 ture was the sole occupant of this stately 
 chamber — a little negro Ijoy in a livery of 
 velvet picked out with silver tinsel, who stood 
 as motionless as a small swart statuette 
 against the door which faced that through 
 which the king entered. 
 
 " Is your mistress there ? " 
 
 'SShe has just returned, sire." 
 
 " I wish to see her." 
 
 " Pardon, sire, Init she "
 
 AX ECLIPSE AT VERSAILLES. 195 
 
 * Is every one to thwart me to-dav 
 
 snarled the king, and taking the Httle page 
 hy his velvet collar, he hurled him to the 
 other side of the room. Then, without 
 knocking, he opened the door, and passed 
 on into the lady's boudoir. 
 
 It was a laro^e and loftv room, verv difterent 
 to that from which he had just come. Three 
 long windows from ceiling to tioor took up 
 one side, and through the delicate pink-tinted 
 blinds the evening sun cast a subdued and 
 daintv lii>ht. Great o-old candelabra ^littered 
 l_)etween the mirrors upon the wall, and Le 
 Brun had expended all his wealth of colouring 
 upon the ceiling, where Louis himself, in the 
 character of Jove, hurled down his thunder- 
 bolts upon a writhing heap of Dutch and 
 Palatine Titans. Pink was the prevailing 
 tone in tapestry, carpet, and furniture, so 
 that the whole room seemed to shine with 
 the sweet tints of the inner side of a shell, 
 and when lit up, as it was then, formed sucli 
 a chaml^er as some fairv hero miuht have
 
 196 THE KEFUGEE8. 
 
 Ijuilt up for his princess. At the further side, 
 prone upon an ottoman, her face buried in the 
 cushion, her beautiful white arms thrown over 
 it, the rich coils of her iDrown hair hanging in 
 disorder across the long curve of her ivory 
 neck, lay, like a drooping flower, the woman 
 whom he had come to discard. 
 
 At the sound of the closing door she had 
 glanced up, and then, at the sight of the king, 
 she sprang to her feet and ran towards him, 
 her hands out, her blue eyes bedimmed with 
 tears, her whole beautiful figure softening into 
 womanliness and humility. 
 
 ''Ah, sire," she cried, with a pretty little 
 sunburst of joy through her tears, " then I 
 have wronged you ! I have wronged you 
 cruelly ! You have kejjt your promise. You 
 were but trying my faith ! Oh how could I 
 have said such words to you — how could I 
 pain that noble heart ! But you have come 
 after me to tell me that you have forgiven 
 me ! " She put her arms forward with the 
 trusting air of a })retty child who claims an
 
 AX ECLIPSE AT VERSAILLES. 197 
 
 eml)race as her due, but the king stepped 
 swiftly back from her, and warned her away 
 from him with an angry gesture. 
 
 " All is over forever between us," he cried 
 harshly. "Your brother will await you at 
 the east gate at six o'clock, and it is my com- 
 mand that you wait there until you receive 
 my further orders." 
 
 She staggered back as if he had struck her. 
 
 " Leave you ! " she cried. 
 
 "You must leave the court." 
 
 " The court ! Ay, willingly, this instant ! 
 But you ! Ah, sire, you ask what is impos- 
 sible." 
 
 "I do not ask, madame ; I order. Since 
 you have learned to al^use your position, your 
 presence has become intolerable. The united 
 kings of Europe have never dared to speak 
 to me as you have spoken to-day. You have 
 insulted me in my own palace — me, Louis, 
 the king. Such things are not done twice, 
 madame. Your insolence has carried you 
 too far this time. You thought that l^ecause
 
 198 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 I was forbearing, I was therefore weak. It 
 appeared to you that if you only humoured 
 me one moment, you might treat me as if I 
 were your equal the next, for that this poor 
 puppet of a king could always be bent this 
 way or that. You see your mistake now. 
 At six o'clock you leave Versailles forever.'' 
 His eyes flashed, and his small upright figure 
 seemed to swell in the violence of his indigna- 
 tion, while she leaned away from him, one 
 hand across her eyes and one thrown forw^ard, 
 as if to screen her from that angry gaze. 
 
 '' Oh, I have been wicked ! " she cried. " I 
 know it, I know it ! " 
 
 '' I am glad, madame, that you have the 
 grace to acknowledge it." 
 
 '' How could I speak to you so ! How 
 could I ! Oh, that some blight may come 
 upon this unhappy tongue ! I, who have had 
 nothing but good from you ! I to insult you, 
 who are the author of all my happiness ! Oh, 
 sire, forgive me, forgive me ! for pity's sake 
 forgive me ! "
 
 AX ECLIPSE AT VERSAILLES. 199 
 
 Louis was by nature a kind-hearted man. 
 His feelings were touched, and his pride also 
 was flattered by the abasement of this beauti- 
 ful and haughty woman. His other favourites 
 had been amiable to all, but this one was so 
 proud, so unyielding, until she felt his master- 
 hand. His face softened somewhat in its 
 expression as he glanced at her, but he shook 
 his head, and his voice was as firm as ever as 
 he answered. 
 
 "It is useless, madame," said he. "I have 
 thought this matter over for a long time, and 
 your madness to-day has only hurried what 
 must in any case have taken place. You 
 must leave the palace." 
 
 '' I will leave the palace. Say only that 
 you forgive me. Oh, sire, I cannot l^ear 
 your anger. It crushes me down. I am 
 not strong enough. It is not banishment, 
 it is death to which you sentence me. Think 
 of our long years of love, sire, and say that 
 you forgive me. I have given up all for your 
 sake— husband, honour, everything. Oh, will
 
 200 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 you not give your anger up for mine ? My 
 God. lie weeps ! Oh, I am saved, I am 
 saved ! " 
 
 " Xo, no, ma dame," cried the king, dashing 
 his hand across his eyes. '' You see the 
 weakness of the man, but you shall also 
 see the firmness of the king. As to your 
 insults to-day, I forgive them freely, if that 
 will make you more happy in your retirement. 
 But I owe a duty to my subjects also, and 
 that duty is to set them an examj^le. We 
 have thought too little of such things. But 
 a time has come when it is necessary to 
 review our past life, and to prepare for that 
 which is to come." 
 
 "Ah, sire, you pain me. You are not yet 
 in the prime of }'Our years, and }0u speak 
 as though old age were upon you. In a 
 score of years from now it ma}' l)e time 
 for folk lo say that age has made a change 
 in your life." 
 
 The king winced. ''AVho say so?" he 
 cried anurilv.
 
 AX ECLIPSE AT VERSAILLES. 201 
 
 "Oh, sire, it slipped from me mia wares. 
 Think no more of it. Xobody says so. 
 Nobody." 
 
 '' You are hidino- something' from me. Who 
 is it who says this ? " 
 
 '' Oh, do not ask me, sire." 
 
 " You said that it was reported that I had 
 changed my Hfe not through rehgion, but 
 
 through stress of years. AVho said so ? " 
 
 ~ «, 
 
 " Oh, sire, it was ])ut fooHsh court gossip, 
 all unworthy of your attention. It was but 
 the empt}' common talk of cavaliers who had 
 nothino' else to sav to oain a smile from 
 their ladies.'' 
 
 " The common talk ? " Louis flushed crim- 
 son. ■' Have I, then, grown so aged ? You 
 have known me for nearly twenty years. Do 
 you see such changes in me ? " 
 
 " To me, sire, you are as pleasing and as 
 gracious as when you first mow the heart of 
 r\Iademoiselle Tonnay-Charente." 
 
 The king smiled as he looked at the 1)eauti- 
 ful woman l)efore him.
 
 202 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 " In very truth," said he, " I can say that 
 there has been no such great change in Ma- 
 demoiselle Tonnay-Charente either. But still 
 it is best that we should part, Francoise." 
 
 ''If it will add aught to your happiness, 
 sire, I shall go through it, he it to my death." 
 
 " Xow that is the proper spirit." 
 
 " You have l)ut to name the place, sire — 
 Petit Bourg, Chargny, or my own convent of 
 8t. Josei)li in the Faubourg St. Germain. 
 What matter where the flower withers, when 
 once the sun has forever turned from it ? At 
 least, the past is my own, and I shall live in 
 the rememl^rance of the days when none had 
 come between us, and when your sweet love 
 was all my own. Be happy, sire, be happy, 
 and think no more of what I said about the 
 foolish gossip of the court. Your life lies in 
 the future. Mine is in the past. Adieu, dear 
 sire, adieu ! " She threw forward her hands, 
 her eyes dimmed over, and she would have 
 fallen had Louis not sprung forward and 
 caught her in his arms. Her Ix^uitiful head
 
 AX ECLIPSE AT VEESATLLES. 203 
 
 drooped upon his shoulder, her breath was 
 warm ujDon his cheek, and the subtle scent of 
 her hair was in his nostrils. His arm, as he 
 held her, rose and fell with her bosom, and 
 he felt her heart, beneath his hand, fluttering 
 like a caged bird. Her Inroad white throat 
 was thrown back, her eyes almost closed, her 
 lips just parted enough to show the line of 
 pearly teeth, her beautiful face not three 
 inches from his own. And then suddenly 
 the eyelids quivered, and the great blue eyes 
 looked up at him, lovingly, appealingiy, half 
 deprecating, half challenging, her whole soul 
 in a glance. Did he move ? or was it she I 
 Who could tell ? But their lips had met in 
 a long kiss, and then in another, and })lans 
 and resolutions were streaming away from 
 Louis like autumn leaves in the west Avind. 
 
 " Then I am not to go ? You would not 
 have the heart to send me away, would you ? " 
 
 " Xo, no ; Ijut you must not annoy me, 
 Francoise." 
 
 " T had rather die than cause vou an instant
 
 204 THK KEFLOEES. 
 
 of grief. Oh, sire, I have seen so little of you 
 lately ! And I love you so ! It has maddened 
 me. And then that dreadful woman " 
 
 "Who, then?" 
 
 " Oh, I must not speak against her. I will 
 l)e civil for your sake even to her, the widow 
 of old Scarron." 
 
 " Yes, yes, you must he civil. I cannot 
 have any unpleasantness." 
 
 '' But you will stay with me, sire ? " Her 
 supple arms coiled themselves round his neck. 
 Then she held him for an instant at arm's 
 length to feast her eyes upon his face, and 
 then drew him once more towards her. " You 
 will not leave me, dear sire. It is so long- 
 since you have been here." 
 
 The sweet face, the pink glow in the room, 
 the hush of the evening, all seemed to join in 
 their sensuous influence. Louis sank down 
 upon the settee. 
 
 " I will stay," said he. 
 
 "And that carriage, dear sire, at the east 
 door { "
 
 AN ECLIPSE AT VERSAILLES. 205 
 
 "I have been very harsh with you, Fran- 
 coise. You will forgive me. Have you 
 paper and pencil, that I may countermand 
 the order?" 
 
 ''They are here, sire, upon the side table. 
 I have also a note which, if I may leave you 
 for an instant, I will write in the anteroom." 
 
 She swept out with triumph in her eyes. It 
 had been a terrible fight, but all the greater 
 the credit of her victory. She took a little 
 pink slip of paper from an inlaid desk, and 
 dashed off* a few words upon it. They were, 
 " Should Madame de Maintenon have any 
 message for his Majesty, he will be for the 
 next few hours in the room of Madame de 
 Montespan. ' This she addressed to her rival, 
 and it was sent on the spot, together with the 
 king's order, by the hands of the little Ijlack 
 page.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE SUN KEAPPEAES. 
 
 F()i( nearly a week the king was constant to 
 his new humour. The routine of his life 
 remained unchanged, save that it was the 
 room of the frail l^eauty, rather than of 
 Madame de ]\Iaintenon, which attracted him 
 in the afternoon. And in sympathy with this 
 sudden relapse into his old life, his coats lost 
 something of their sombre hue, and fawn- 
 colour, buff-colour, and lilac began to replace 
 the blacks and the blues. A little gold lace 
 budded out upon his hats also and at the 
 trimmings of his pockets, while for three days 
 on end his prie-dieu at the royal chapel had 
 been unoccupied. His walk was brisker, and 
 he gave a youthful flourish to his cane as a 
 defiance to those who had seen in his reforma- 
 tion the first svmptoms of age. Madame had 
 
 (206)
 
 THE SUX REAPPEARS. 207 
 
 known her man well when she threw out that 
 artful insinuation. 
 
 And as the king brightened, so all the great 
 court brightened too. The salons began to 
 resume their former splendour, and gay coats 
 and glittering embroidery which had lain in 
 drawers for years were seen once more in the 
 halls of the palace. In the chapel, Bourdaloue 
 preached in vain to empty benches, but a 
 ballet in the grounds was attended l^y the 
 whole court, and received with a frenzy of 
 enthusiasm. The Montespan anteroom was 
 crowded every morning with men and women 
 who had some suit to l^e urged, while her 
 rival's chambers were as deserted as they had 
 been l^efore the king first turned a gracious 
 look upon her. Faces which had been long 
 banished the court began to reappear in the 
 corridors and gardens unchecked and unre- 
 buked, while the l^lack cassock of the Jesuit 
 and the purple soutane of the bishop were less 
 frequent colours in the royal circle. 
 
 But the Church party, who, if they were the
 
 208 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 champions of bigotry, were also those of virtue, 
 were never seriously alarmed at this relapse. 
 The grave eyes of priest or of prelate followed 
 Louis in his escapade as wary huntsmen 
 might watch a young deer which gambols 
 about in the meadow under the impression 
 that it is masterless, when every gap and path 
 is netted, and it is in truth as much in their 
 hands as though it were lying bound before 
 them. They knew how short a time it would 
 be before some ache, some pain, some chance 
 word, would l^rini^ his mortalitv home to him 
 again, and envelop him once more in those 
 superstitious terrors which took the 2)lace of 
 religion in his mind. They waited, therefore, 
 and they silently planned how the })rodigal 
 might best be dealt with on his return. 
 
 To this end it was that his confessor, Pere 
 La Chaise, and Bossuet, the great Bishop of 
 Meaux, waited one morning upon Madame de 
 ]\Iaintenon in her chamlier. With a globe 
 beside her, she was endeavouring' to teach 
 geography to the lame Due du Maine and the
 
 THE SUN REAPPEARS. 209 
 
 mischievous little Comte de Toulouse, who 
 had enough of their father's disposition to 
 make them averse to learning, and of their 
 mother's to cause them to hate any discipline 
 or restraint. Her wonderful tact, hoAvever, 
 and her unwearying patience had won the 
 love and confidence even of these little per- 
 verse princes, and it was one of Madame de 
 Montespan's most l;)itter griefs that not only 
 her royal lover, l)ut even her own children, 
 turned away from the brilliancy and riches of 
 her salon to pass their time in the modest 
 apartment of her rival. 
 
 Madame de Maintenon dismissed her two 
 pupils, and received the ecclesiastics with the 
 mixture of affection and respect which was 
 due to those who were not only personal 
 friends, but great lights of the Gallican 
 Church. She had suffered the minister Lou- 
 vois to sit upon a stool in her presence. V>ut 
 the two chan\s were allotted to the priests 
 now, and she insisted upon reserving the 
 humbler seat for herself. The last few days 
 
 14
 
 210 thp: refugeks. 
 
 had cast a pallor over her face which spiritua- 
 Hsed and refined the features, but she wore 
 unimpaired the expression of sweet serenity 
 which was habitual to her. 
 
 " I see, my dear daughter, that you have 
 sorrowed," said Bossuet, glancing at her with 
 a kindly and yet searching; eye. 
 
 " I have indeed, your Grace. All last night 
 I spent in })rayer that this trial may pass away 
 from us." 
 
 " And yet you have no need for fear, 
 madame — none, I assure you. Others may 
 think that your influence has ceased ; luit w^e, 
 who know the king's heart, we think other- 
 wise. A few days may pass, a few weeks at 
 the most, and once more it will be upon your 
 rising fortunes that every eye in France will 
 turn." 
 
 The lady's brow clouded, and she glanced 
 at the prelate as though his speech were not 
 altogether to her taste. " I trust that pride 
 does not lead me astray," she said. " But if I 
 can read my own soul aright, there is no
 
 THE SUX REAPPEARS. 211 
 
 thouo^lit of mvself in the orief which now tears 
 my heart. What is power to me ? What do 
 I desire i A little room, leisure for my de- 
 votions, a pittance to save me from want — 
 what more can I ask for ? Why, then, should 
 I covet power ? If I am sore at heart, it is 
 not for any poor loss which I have sustained. 
 I think no more of it than of the snapping of 
 one of the threads on yonder tapestry frame. 
 It is for the king I grieve — for the noble 
 heart, the kindly soul, which might rise so 
 high, and which is dragged so low, like a royal 
 eagle with some foul weight which ever 
 hampers its flight. It is for him and for 
 France that my days are spent in sorrow and 
 my nights upon my knees." 
 
 '' For all that, my daughter, you are am- 
 bitious." 
 
 It was the Jesuit who had spoken. His 
 voice was clear and cold, and his piercing gray 
 eyes seemed to read into the depths of her 
 soul. 
 
 " You mav be riulit, father. God guard me
 
 •212 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 from self-esteem. An<] yet I do not think 
 that I am. The king, in his goodness, has 
 offered me titles — I have refused them ; 
 money-- 1 have returned it. He has deigned 
 to ask my advice in matters of state, and I 
 have withheld it. Where, then, is my am- 
 bition ? " 
 
 '' In your heart, my daughter. But it is 
 not a sinful ambition. It is not an ambition 
 of this world. Would you not love to turn 
 the king tow^ards good ? " 
 
 " I would give my life for it." 
 
 "And there is your ambition. Ah, can I 
 not read your noble soul ? Would you not 
 love to see the Church reign pure and serene 
 over all this realm — to see the poor housed, 
 the needy helped, the wicked turned from 
 their ways, and the king ever the leader in all 
 that is noble and good ? Would you not love 
 tliat, my daughter ? " 
 
 Her cheeks had flushed, and her eyes shone 
 as she looked at the gray face of the Jesuit, 
 and saw the picture which his words had
 
 THE SL'X REAPPEARS. 213 
 
 conjured up before her. "Ah, that would l)e 
 joy indeed ! " she cried. 
 
 ''And greater joy still to know, not from 
 the mouths of the people, but from the voice 
 of your own heart in the privacy of your 
 chamber, that you had been the cause of it, 
 that vour influence had Ijrouoiit this blessino- 
 upon the king and upon the country." 
 
 '' I would die to do it." 
 
 "We wish you to do what may be harder. 
 We wish you to live to do it." 
 
 " Ah ! " She glanced from one to the other 
 with questioning eyes. 
 
 "My daughter," said Bossuet, solemnly, 
 leaning forward, with his broad white hand 
 outstretched and his purple pastoral ring 
 sparkling in the sunlight, " it is time for plain- 
 speaking. It is in the interests of the Church 
 that we do it. Xone hear, and none shall ever 
 hear, what passes between us now. Regard 
 us, if you will, as two confessors, with whom 
 your secret is inviola1)le. I call it a secret, 
 and vet it is none to us, for it is our mission
 
 214 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 to read the human heart. You love the 
 kmg." 
 
 ''Your Grace!" She started, and a warm 
 bkish, mantHng up in her pale cheeks, 
 deepened and spread until it tinted her white 
 forehead and her queenly neck. 
 
 " You love the king." 
 
 " Your Grace — father!" She turned in con- 
 fusion from one to the other. 
 
 " There is no shame in loving, my daughter. 
 The shame lies only in yielding to love. I 
 say again that you love the king." 
 
 "At least I have never told him so," she 
 faltered. 
 
 " And will you never ? " 
 
 " ]May heaven wither my tongue first ! " 
 
 " But consider, my daughter. Such love in 
 a soul like yours is Heaven's gift, and sent for 
 some wise purpose. This human love is too 
 often but a noxious weed which blights the 
 soil it grows in, but here it is a gracious flower, 
 all fragrant w^ith humility and virtue." 
 
 "Alas! I have tried to tear it from mv heart."
 
 THE SUN REAPPEARS. 215 
 
 " Xay ; rather hold it firmly rooted there. 
 Did the king but meet with some tenderness 
 from you, some sign that his own affection 
 met with an answer from your heart, it mi^ht 
 be that this ambition which you profess would 
 be secured, and that Louis, strengthened by 
 the intimate companionship of your nol^le 
 nature, might live in the spirit as well as in 
 the forms of the Church. All this might 
 spring from the love which you hide away as 
 though it bore the brand of shame." 
 
 The lady half rose, glancing from the pre- 
 late to the priest with eyes which had a lurk- 
 ing horror in their depths. 
 
 " Can I have understood you ! " she gasped. 
 '' What meaning lies ]:)ehind these words ? 
 You cannot counsel me to " 
 
 The Jesuit had risen, and his spare figure 
 towered above her. 
 
 " My daughter, we give no counsel which is 
 unworthy of our office. We speak for the 
 interests of Holy Church, and those interests 
 demand that you should marry the king."
 
 216 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 " Many tlie king ! " The little room swam 
 round her. '' Marry the king ! " 
 
 '' There lies the best hope for the future. 
 We see in you a second Jeanne d'Arc who 
 will save l)oth France and France's king." 
 
 ]\Iadame sat silent for a few moments. 
 Her face had regained its composure, and 
 her eyes were ])ent vacantly upon her tapestry 
 frame as she turned over in her mind all that 
 was involved in the suggestion. 
 
 '' But surely — surely this could never be," 
 she said at last. '' Why should we plan that 
 which can never come to pass ? " 
 
 '' And why ? " 
 
 " What King of France has married a 
 subject ? See how every princess of Eiu-ope 
 stretches out her hand to him. The Queen 
 of France must l)e of queenly blood, even 
 as the last was." 
 
 "All this may be overcome." 
 
 " And then there are the reasons of state. 
 If the king marry, it should l^e to form a 
 powerful alliance, to cement a friendship with
 
 THE SUX REAPPEARS. 217 
 
 a neighbour nation, or to gain some province 
 which may be the l^ride's dowry. What is 
 my dowry ? A widow's pension and a work- 
 box." She laughed bitterly, and yet glanced 
 eagerly at her companions, as one who wished 
 to be confuted. 
 
 '' Your dow^rv, mv dauohter. would l)e 
 those gifts of l)ody and of mind with which 
 heaven has endowed vou. The kino- has 
 money enough, and the king has provinces 
 enough. As to the state, how can the state 
 be better served than l^y the assurance that 
 the king will be saved in future from such 
 sights as are to be seen in this })alace to- 
 day ? " 
 
 '\ Oh, if it could be so ! But think, lather, 
 think of those about him — the Dauphin, ]\Ion- 
 sieur his l^rother, his ministers. You know 
 how little this would })lease them, and how 
 easy it is for them to sway his mind. So, 
 no ; it is a dream, father, and it can never 
 be." 
 
 The faces of the two ecclesiastics, who had
 
 218 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 dismissed her other objections with a smile and 
 a wave, clouded over at this, as though she 
 had at last touched upon the real obstacle. 
 
 '' My daughter," said the Jesuit, gravely, 
 " that is a matter which you may leave to the 
 Church. It may be that we, too, have some 
 power over the king's mind, and that we may 
 lead him in the right path, even though those 
 of his own blood would fain have it otherwise. 
 The future only can show w^th whom the 
 power lies. But you ? Love and duty both 
 draw you one way now, and the Church may 
 count upon you." 
 
 " To my last breath, father." 
 
 '' And you upon the Church. It will serve 
 you, if you in turn will but serve it." 
 
 " What higher wish could I have ? " 
 
 '' You w^ll be our daughter, our queen, our 
 champion, and you will heal the wounds of 
 the suffering Church." 
 
 "Ah! if I could!" 
 
 " But you can. While there is heresy within 
 the land there can be no peace or rest for the
 
 THE SUN REAPPEARS. 219 
 
 faithful. It is the speck of mould which will 
 in time, if it be not pared off, corrupt the 
 whole fruit." 
 
 " What would you have, then, father ? " 
 " The Huguenots must go. They must be 
 driven forth. The goats must Ije divided 
 from the sheep. The king is already in two 
 minds. Louvois is our friend now. If you 
 are with us, then all will be well." 
 
 " But, father, think how many there are ! '"' 
 " The more reason that they should be 
 dealt with." 
 
 ''And think, too, of their sufferings should 
 they be driven forth." 
 
 " Their cure lies in their own hands." 
 " That is true. And yet my heart softens 
 for them." 
 
 Pere La Chaise and the bishop shook their 
 heads. Xature had made them both kind 
 and charitable men, Ijut the heart turns to 
 flint when the l:)lessing of religion is changed 
 to the curse of sect. 
 
 " You would befriend (jod's enemies tlien?"
 
 220 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 " No, no ; not if they are indeed so." 
 
 " Can you doal)t it ? Is it possible that 
 your heart still turns towards the heresy of 
 your youth ? " 
 
 '' Xo, father ; Ijut it is not in nature to for- 
 get that my father and my grandfather " 
 
 " Xay, they have answered for their own 
 sins. Is it possible that the Church has been 
 mistaken in you ? Do you then refuse the 
 first favour which she asks of you ? You 
 would accept her aid, and yet you would give 
 none in return." 
 
 iMadame de Alaintenon rose with the air 
 of one who has made her resolution. "You 
 are wiser than I," said she, "and to you have 
 been committed the interests of the Church. 
 I will do what you advise." 
 
 " You promise it ? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 Her two visitors threw up their hands 
 together. " It is a l)lessed day," they cried, 
 "and generations yet unl)orn will learn to 
 deem it so."
 
 THE SUN REAPPEARS. 221 
 
 She sat half stunned l^y the prospect which 
 was opening out in front of her. Ambitious 
 she had, as the Jesuit had surmised, always 
 been — ambitious for the power which would 
 enable her to leave the world better than she 
 found it. And this ambition she had already 
 to some extent been able to satisfy, for more 
 than once she had swayed l.ioth king and 
 kingdom. But to marry the king — to marry 
 the man for whom she would gladly lay down 
 her life, whom in the depths of her heart she 
 loved in as pure and as noble a fashion as 
 woman ever yet loved man — that was indeed 
 a thing above her utmost hopes. She knew 
 her own mind, and she knew his. Once his 
 wife, she could hold him to good, and keep 
 every evil influence away from him. She was 
 sure of it. She should be no weak ]\Iaria 
 Theresa, but rather, as the priest had said, a 
 new Jeanne d'Arc, come to lead France and 
 France's king into better ways. .Vnd if, to 
 gain this aim, she had to harden her heart 
 against the Huguenots, at least the fault, if
 
 222 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 there were one, lay with those who made 
 this condition rather than with herself. The 
 king's wife ! The heart of the woman and 
 the soul of the enthusiast l)oth leaped at the 
 thought. 
 
 But close at the heels of her joy there came 
 a sudden revulsion to doubt and despondency. 
 Was not all this fine prospect a mere day 
 dream i and how could these men l^e so 
 sure that they held the king in the hollow of 
 their hand ? The Jesuit read the fears which 
 dulled the sparkle of her eyes, and answered 
 her thoughts before she had time to put them 
 into words. 
 
 '' The Church redeems its pledges swiftly," 
 said he. " And you, my daughter, you must 
 be as prompt when your own turn comes." 
 
 " I have promised, father." 
 
 " Then it is for us to perform. You will 
 remain in your room all evening." 
 
 ''Yes, father." 
 
 "The king already hesitates. I spoke 
 with him tliis mornini>\ and his mind was
 
 THE .SUX REAPPEARS. 223 
 
 full of blackness and despair. His better self 
 turns in disgust from his sins, and it is now 
 when the first hot fit of repentance is just 
 coming upon him that he may best be 
 moulded to our ends. I have to see and 
 speak with him once more, and I go from 
 your room to his. And when I have spoken, 
 he will come from his room to yours, or I 
 have studied his heart for twenty years in 
 vain. We leave you now, and you will not 
 see us, but you will see the effects of what 
 we do, and you will rememl^er your pledge 
 t-o us." They bowed low to her, both to- 
 gether, and left her to her thoughts. 
 
 An hour passed, and then a second one, 
 as she sat in her fauteuil, her tapestry before 
 her, 1)Ut her hands listless upon her lap, wait- 
 ing for her fate. Her life's future was now 
 being settled for her, and she was powerless 
 to turn it in one wav or the other. Davli^-ht 
 turned to the pearly light of evening, and 
 that again to dusk, Ijut she still sat wai ting- 
 in the shadow. Sometimes as a step passed
 
 224 THE REFUGEES. 
 
 ill the corridor she would glance expectantly 
 towards the door, and the light of welcome 
 would spring up in her gray eyes, only to die 
 away again into disappointment. At last, how- 
 ever, there came a quick sharp tread, crisp and 
 authoritative, which brought her to her feet 
 with flushed cheeks and her heart beating 
 wildly. The door opened, and she saw out- 
 lined against the gray light of the outer pas- 
 sage the erect and graceful figure of the king. 
 
 " Sire ! One instant, and mademoiselle will 
 light the lamp." 
 
 "Do not call her." He entered and closed 
 the door behind him. " Francoise, the dusk 
 is welcome to me, because it screens me from 
 the reproaches which must lie in your glance, 
 even if your tongue be too kindly to speak 
 them." 
 
 '' Reproaches, sire ! God forbid that I 
 should utter them ! " 
 
 "When I last left you, Fran9oise, it was 
 with a good resolution in my mind. I tried 
 to carry it out, and I failed — I foiled. I
 
 THE SUX EEAPPEARS. 225 
 
 rememl:>er that you warned me. Fool that 
 I was not to follow your advice ! " 
 
 '' We are all weak and mortal, sire. Who 
 has not fallen ? Nay, sire, it goes to my heart 
 to see you thus." 
 
 He was standing by the firej^lace, his face 
 buried in his hands, and she could tell by the 
 catch of his breath that he was weeping. All 
 the pity of her woman's nature went out to 
 that silent and repenting figure dimly seen in 
 the failing light. She put out her hand with 
 a gesture of sympathy, and it rested for an 
 instant upon his velvet sleeve. The next he 
 had clasped it between his own, and she made 
 no effort to release it. 
 
 " I cannot do without you, Francoise," he 
 cried. " I am the loneliest man in all this 
 world, like one who lives on a great mountain- 
 peak, with none to bear him company. Who 
 have I for a friend ? Whom can I rel}' upon ? 
 Some are for the Church ; some are for their 
 families ; most are for themselves. But who 
 of them all is single-minded ? You are my
 
 '22() thp: refugees. 
 
 better self, Francoise ; you are my guardian 
 angel. What the good father says is true, 
 and the nearer I am to you the further am I 
 from all that is evil. Tell me, Francoise, do 
 you love me ? " 
 
 '' I have loved you for years, sire." Her 
 voice was low but clear — the voice of a 
 woman to whom coquetry was abhorrent. 
 
 " I had hoped it, Francoise, and yet it thrills 
 me to hear you say it. I know that wealth 
 and title have no attraction for you, and that 
 your heart turns rather towards the convent 
 than the })alace. Yet I ask you to remain in 
 the palace, and to reign there. Will you he 
 my wife, Francoise ? " 
 
 And so the moment had in very truth come. 
 She paused for an instant, only an instant, 
 ])efore taking this last great ste}) ; Init even 
 that was too long for the patience of the 
 king. 
 
 '' Will you not, Francoise ? " he cried, with 
 a ring of fear in his voice. 
 
 '' Mav God make me worthv of such an
 
 THE SUX REAPPEARS. 227 
 
 honour, sire!" said she. "And here I swear 
 that if heaven double my Hfe, every hour 
 shall be spent in the one endeavour to make 
 you a happier man ! " 
 
 She had knelt down, and the king, still 
 holding her hand, knelt down beside her. 
 
 " And I swear too," he cried, " that if my 
 days also are doubled, you will now and 
 forever be the one and only woman for me." 
 
 And so their double oath was taken, an 
 oath which was to be tested in the future, 
 for each did live almost double their years, 
 and yet neither broke the promise made hand 
 in hand on that evening in the shadow-girt 
 chamber. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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 4 A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS IN GENERAL LITERATURE 
 
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 8 A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS IN GENERAL LITERATURE 
 
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 12 A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS IN GENERAL LITERATURE 
 
 KANT (Immanuel).— CRITIQUE OF PRACTICAL REASON, AND 
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 KILLICK (Rev. A. II.).— HANDBOOK TO MILL'S SYSTEM OF 
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 KNIGHT (E. F.).— THE CRUISE OF THE ' ALERTE' ; the Narrative of 
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 23 Illustrations. Crown Bvo. 3^. 6d. 
 
 WHERE THREE EMPIRES MEET. A Narrative of Recent Travel 
 
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 OUTLINES OF PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY. A Text-Book 
 
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 OLD FRIENDS. Fcp. Bvo. 2s. 6d. net. 
 
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 THE GREEN FAIRY BOOK, Edited by Andrew Lang. W^ith 
 
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 ANGLING SKETCHES. With Illustrations by W. G. Bukn- 
 
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 liAVISSE (Ernest).-GENERAL VIEW OF THE POLITICAL HIS- 
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 IjECKY(W. E. H.).— history OF ENGLAND IN THE EIGHTEENTH 
 
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 LLOYD (E. J.).— THE SCIENCE OF AGRICULTURE. Svo. xzs. 
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 [^Co?itim{ed.
 
 14 A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS IN GENERAL LITERATURE 
 
 MACAULAY ajOTd.)-(ConHnued). 
 
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 Addison and V/alpola. Ranke and Gladscone. 
 
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 LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME, &c. Illustrated by G. Scharf. Library 
 
 Edition. Fcp. 4to. los. 6d. 
 
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 ! IS. cloth. 
 
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 8vo. 35. td. gilt edges. 
 
 Annotated Edition, Fcp.Svo. i v. sewed. 
 
 Cabinet Edition, Post 8vo. 3^, 6d. \ is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. 
 
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 MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS AND SPEECHES. 
 
 Popular Edition. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. I Cabinet Edition, Post 8vo. 24J. 
 Student's Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 Edited, with Notes, by the Right Hon. Sir G. O. Trevelyan. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
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 Hon. Sir G. O. Trevelyan. 
 
 Popular Edition. Crown. 8vo. 2J. 6d. 1 Cabinet Edition, 2 vols. Post 8vo. lar. 
 Student's Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. I Library Edition, 2 vols. 8vo. 36^. 
 
 MACjDONAIjD (George).— UNSPOKEN SERMONS. Three Series. 
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 THE MIRACLES OF OUR LORD. Crown Svo. y. 6d. 
 
 A BOOK OF STRIFE, IN THE FORM OF THE DIARY OF AN 
 
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 MACKAIIi (J. W.).— SELECT EPIGRAMS FROM THE GREEK AN- 
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 MACLEOD (Henry D.).— THE ELEMENTS OF BANKING. Crown 
 
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 THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF BANKING. Vol. I. Svo. 12s., 
 
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 THE THEORY OF CREDIT. Svo. Vol. I. [A'ew Edition in the P/rw] ; 
 
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 MANWERING (G. E.).— WITH AXE AND ROPE IN THE NEW 
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 PUBLISHED BY MESSRS. LONGMANS, GREEN, cf CO. 15 
 
 ]>IA]S"UAIjS of CATHOliIC PHUjOSOPHT" {Stonyhurst Series). 
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 HOME PRAYERS. Crown 8vo. 35. 6d. 
 
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 ESSAYS, REVIEWS, AND ADDRESSES. 4 vols. Crown Svo. -js. 6d. 
 
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 MATTHEWS (Brander).— A FAMILY TREE, and other Stories. Crown 
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 PEN AND INK— Selected Papers. Crown Svo. 5^. 
 
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 Treasury of Knowledge. i 2 vols. 
 
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 THREE LECTURES ON THE .SCIENCE OF LANGUAGE. Cr. 
 
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 filBBERT LECTURES ON THE ORIGIN AND GROWTH OF 
 
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 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION; Four 
 
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 ANTHROPOLOGICAL RELIGION: The Gifford Lectures delivered 
 
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 {^Continued.
 
 i6 A CATALOGUE OF BOOfCS IN GENERAL LITERATURE 
 
 MAX MtJIiIiER {-F^-iContinued). 
 
 THEOSOPHY OR PSYCHOLOGICAL RELIGION : the Gifford 
 
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 [^Continued,
 
 i8 A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS IN GENERAL LITERATURE 
 
 NEWMAN (Cardinal).— Works by -.—{continued). 
 
 Loss and Gain: a Tale. Cabinet 
 Edition, Crown 8vo. 6s. Cheap 
 Edition, Crown 8vo. 35. 6d. 
 
 The Dream of Gerontius. i6mo. 6d. 
 sewed, is. cloth. 
 
 Verses on Various Occasions. Cabinet 
 Edition, Crown 8vo. 6s. Cheap 
 Edition, Crown 8vo. 3J. 6d. 
 
 An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of 
 Assent. Cabinet Edition, Crown 
 8vo. js. 6d. Cheap Edition, Crown 
 8vo. y. 6d. 
 
 Callista : a Tale of the Third Century. 
 Cabinet Edition, Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 Cheap Edition, Crown 8vo. y. 6d. 
 
 *,* For Cardinal Neivmans other Works see Messrs. Longmans ^ Co.'s 
 Catalogue of Theological Works. 
 
 NORTON (Charles L.).— A HANDBOOK OF FLORIDA. 49 Maps and 
 Plans. Fcp. 8vo. qj, 
 
 O'BRIEN (William).— WHEN WE WERE BOYS: A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 
 2J. 6d. 
 
 OlilPHANT (Mrs.).— MADAM. Crown 8vo. \s. boards ; u. 6d. cloth. 
 IN TRUST. Crown 8vo. i.r. boards; xs. 6d. cloth. 
 
 OMAN (C. W. C.).— A HISTORY OF GREECE FROM THE EARLIEST 
 TIMES TO THE MACEDONIAN CONQUEST. With Maps. Crown 8vo. 
 4J. 6d. 
 
 PARKES (Sir Henry). — FIFTY YEARS IN THE MAKING OF 
 AUSTRALIAN HISTORY. With Portraits. 2 vols. 8vo. 325. 
 
 PAUL (Hermann).— PRINCIPLES OF THE HISTORY OF LANGUAGE. 
 Translated by H. A. Strong. 8vo. loj. 6d. 
 
 PAYN (James).— THE LUCK OF THE DARRELLS. Cr. 8vo. is. bds. ; 
 IS. 6d. cl. 
 
 THICKER THAN WATER. Crown 8vo. \s. boards ; \s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 PERRING (Sir Philip).— HARD KNOTS IN SHAKESPEARE. 8vo. 
 Ts. 6d. 
 
 THE ' WORKS AND DAYS ' OF MOSES. Crown 8vo. y. 6d. 
 
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 POOLE (W. H. and Mrs.).— COOKERY FOR THE DIABETIC. Fcp. 
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 PRENDERGAST (JohnP.).— IRELAND, FROM THE RESTORATION 
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 PUBLISHED BY MESSRS. LONGMANS, GREEN, £ CO. 
 
 19 
 
 PROCTOE, (R.A.).— Works by :— 
 Old and New Astronomy. 410. 36J. 
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 Other Worlds than Ours. With 14 
 
 Iliustiations. Crown 8vo. 55. Cheap 
 
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 The Moon. Crown 8vo. y. 
 Universe of Stars. Bvo. iqs. 6d. 
 Larger Star Atlas for the Library, in 
 
 12 Circular Maps, with Introduction 
 
 and 2 Index Pages. FoHo, 155. or 
 
 Maps only, i2j. 6d. 
 The Student's Atlas. In 12 Circular 
 
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 Ke¥/ Star Atlas. In 12 Circular Maps. 
 
 Crown 8vo. y. 
 Light Science for Leisure Hours. 
 
 3 vols. Crown 8vo. 55. each. 
 Ch3.nce and Luck. Crown 8vo. -zs. 
 
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 Pleasant Ways in Science. Cr. 8vo. y. 
 
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 Royal 8vo. c^s. 
 Star Primer. Showing the Starry Sky 
 
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 The Seasons Pictured in 48 Sun-Views 
 
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 &.C. Demy 410. 5^. 
 Strength and Happiness. With 9 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 5J-. 
 Strength: How to get Strong and 
 
 keep Strong. Crown 8vo. 2s. 
 Rough Ways Made Smooth. Essays on 
 
 Scientific Subjects. Crown Bvo. 55. 
 
 Cheap Edition, y. 6d. 
 Our Place among Infinities. Cr. Bvo. 5^. 
 The Expa.nse of Heaven. Cr. Bvo. 55. 
 The Great Pyramid. Crown Bvo. 55-. 
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 Crown Bvo. 5^. 
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 Wilson, T. Foster, E. Clodd, and 
 
 R. A. l^rcctor. Crown 8vo. ^s. 
 Leisure Readings. By E. Clodd, A, 
 
 Wilson, T. Foster, A. C. Ranyard, 
 
 and R, A. Proctor. Crown 3vo. s,s. 
 
 RANSOME (Cyril).— THE RISE OF CONSTITUTIONAL GOVERN- 
 MENT IN ENGLAND : being a Series of Twenty Lectures. Crown Bvo. 6j-. 
 
 RBADEH (Emily E.).— VOICES FROM FLOWER-LAND : a Birthday 
 Book and Language of Flowers. Illustrated by Ada Bkooke. Royal i6mo. 
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 REPLY (A) TO DR 
 natural Religion '. 
 
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 Bvo. 6s. 
 
 By the Author of ' Super 
 ion'. Bvo. 6j-. 
 
 BIBOT (Th.).— THE PSYCHOLOGY OF ATTENTION. Crown Bvo. 3s. 
 
 KICK (A.).— A DICTIONARY OF ROMAN AND GREEK ANTIQUITIES. 
 With 2COO Woodcuts. Crown Bvo. js. 6d. 
 
 KICKAKDSOK" (Dr. E. "W.).— NATIONAL HEALTH. A Review of 
 the Vv'orks of Sir Edwin Chadwick, K.C. B. Crown .\s. 6d. 
 
 RIVERS (T. and T. F.).— THE MINIATURE FRUIT GARDEN ; or, 
 The Culture of Pyramidal and Bush Fruit Trees. With 32 Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo. 4s. 
 
 RIVERS (T.).— THE ROSE AMATEUR'S GUIDE. Fcp. Bvo. 40. 6d. 
 
 ROBERTSOIT (A.).— THE KIDNAPPED SQUATTER, and other Aus- 
 tralian Tales. Crown Bvo. 6.;. 
 
 ROGET (John Lev/is).— A HISTORY OF THE 'OLD WATER 
 COLOUR ' SOCIETY. 2 vols. Royal Bvo. 42s. 
 
 ROGET (Peter M.).— THESAURUS OF ENGLISH WORDS AND 
 PHRA:=^ES. Crown Bvo. 10^. 6/.
 
 20 A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS IN GENERAL. LITERATURE 
 
 BOMANES (George John, M.A., LL.D., P.R.S.).— DARWIN, AND 
 
 AFTER DARWIN : an Exposition of the Darwinian Theory and a Discus- 
 sion of Post- Darwinian Questions. Part I.— The Darwinian Theory. With a 
 Portrait of Darwin and 125 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. lor. dd. 
 
 RONALDS (Alfred).— THE FLY-FISHER'S ETYMOLOGY. With 20 
 
 Coloured Plates. 8vo. 14J. 
 
 HOSSETTI (Maria Francesca).— A SHADOW OF DANTE : being an 
 Essay towards studying Himself, his World, and his Pilgrimage. Cr.Svo. 10s. 6d. 
 
 ROUTED (J. H., M.A.).— GEOFFREY DE MANDEVILLE : a Study of 
 the Anarchy. 8vo. 165. 
 
 RUSSELL— A LIFE OF LORD JOHN RUSSELL. By Spencer Walpole. 
 2 vols. Svo. 36J. Cabinet Edition, 2 vols. Crown Bvo. 12^. 
 
 SEEBOHM (Frederick). — THE OXFORD REFORMERS — JOHN 
 
 COLET, ERASMUS, AND THOMAS MORE. Bvo. 14^. 
 
 THE ENGLISH VILLAGE COMMUNITY Examined in its Re- 
 lations to the Manorial and Tribal Systems, ike. 13 Maps and Plates. Svo. its. 
 
 THE ILRA OF THE PROTESTANT REVOLUTION. With Map. 
 
 Fcp. Svo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 SEWELL (Elizabeth M.).— STORIES AND TALES, 
 each, cloth plain ; 2s. bd. each, cloth extra, gilt edges : — 
 
 Crown Bvo. is. td 
 
 Amy Herbert. 
 The Earl's Daughter. 
 The Experience of Life. 
 A Glimpse of the World. 
 Cleve Hall. 
 
 Katharine Ashton. 
 Margaret Percival. 
 Laneton Parsonage. 
 Ursula. 
 
 Gertrude. 
 Ivors. 
 Home Life. 
 After Life. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE.— BOVv^DLER'S FAMILY SHAKESPEARE, i vol. Bvo. 
 
 With 36 Woodcuts, 14J. , or in 6 vols. Fcp. Bvo. 2ij-. 
 OUTLINES OF THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. By J. O. 
 
 Halliwell-Phillipps. With Illustrations. 2 vols. Royal Bvo. £1 is. 
 SHAKESPEARE'S TRUE LIFE. By James Walter. With 500 
 
 Illustrations. Imp. Bvo. 21s. 
 THE SHAKESPEARE BIRTHDAY BOOK. By Marv F. Dunbar. 
 
 32mo. is. 6d. cloth. With Photographs, 32mo. 5J. Drawing Room Edition, 
 
 with Photographs, Fcp. Bvo. 10s. td. 
 
 SHERBROOKE (Viscount).— LIFE AND LETTERS OF THE RIGHT 
 HON. ROBERT LOWE, VISCOUNT SHERBROOKE, G.C.B. By A, 
 Patchett Martin. With 5 Copper-plate Portraits, &c. 2 vols. Bvo. 
 
 SHIRRES (L. P.).— AN ANALYSIS OF THE IDEAS OF ECONOMICS. 
 Crown Bvo. 6j. 
 
 SIDGWICK (Alfred).- DISTINCTION : and the Criticism of Beliefs. 
 Bvo. 6.f. 
 
 Cr. 
 
 SILVER LIBRARY, The.— Crown 
 BAKER'S (Sir S. W.) Eight Years in 
 
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 Rifle and Hound in Ceylon. 
 
 With 6 Illustrations. 
 BARING-GOULD'S (S.) Curious Myths 
 
 of the Middle Ages. 
 Origin and Development of 
 
 Religious Belief. 2 vols. 
 BRASSEYS (Lady) A Voyage in the 
 
 ♦ Sunbeam '. With 66 Illustrations. 
 
 Bvo. price 3s. td. each volume. 
 
 CLODD'S (E.) Story of Creation : a 
 Plain Account of Evolution. With 
 77 Illustrations. 
 
 CONYBEARE (Rev. W. J.) and HOW- 
 SO-rS (Very Rev. J. S.) Life and 
 Epistles of St. Paul. 46 Illustra- 
 tions. 
 
 DOU GALL'S (L.) Beggars All ; a Novel. 
 
 DOYLE'S (A. Conan) Micah Clarke : a 
 Tale of Monmouth's Rebellion. 
 
 \Continued.
 
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 SILVER LIBRARY, Tlie.—iContiniied). 
 
 DOYLE'S (A. Conan) The Captain of 
 
 the Polsstar, and other Tales. 
 FROUDE'S (J. A.) Short Studies on 
 
 Great Subjects. 4 vols. 
 The History of England, 
 
 from the Fall of Wolsey to the 
 
 Defeat of the Spanish Armada. 12 
 
 vols. 
 
 Caesar : a Sketch. 
 
 Thomas Carlyle : a History 
 
 of his Life. 1705-1835. 2 vols. 
 
 1834-1881. 2 vols'. 
 — The Two Chiefs of Dunboy : 
 
 an Irish Romance of the Last 
 
 Centur}'. 
 GLEIG 3 (Rev. G. R.) Life of the Duke 
 
 of Y/ellington. With Portrait. 
 HAGGARD'S (H. R.) She : A History of 
 
 Adventure, 32 Illustrations. 
 Allan Quatermain^ With 
 
 20 Illustrations. 
 Colonel Qaaritch, Y.C. : a 
 
 Tale of Countr}' Life. 
 Cleopatra. With 29 Full- 
 page Illustrations. 
 
 Beatrice. 
 
 HARTE'S (Bret) In the Carquinez 
 
 Woods, and other Stories. 
 HELKHOLTZ'S (Professor) Popular 
 
 Lectures on Scientific Subjects. 
 
 With 68 Woodcuts. 2 vols. 
 HOWITT'S (W.) Visits to Remarkable 
 
 Places. 80 Illustrations. 
 JEFFERIES' (B.) The Story of My 
 
 Heart. With Portrait. 
 Field and Hedgerow. Last 
 
 Essays of. With Portrait. 
 
 Red Deer. \\'ith 17 Illust. 
 
 KNIGHT'S (E. F.) Cruise of the 
 
 * Alette,' a Search for Treasure. 
 
 Vv'ith 2 Maps and 23 Illustrations. 
 LEES (J. A.) and CLUTTERBUCK'S 
 
 (\Y. J.) B.C. 1837. British Columbia. 
 
 75 Illustrations. 
 HACAULAY'E (Lord) Essays— Lays of 
 
 Ancient Rome. In i vol. With Por- 
 trait and Illustrations to the ' Lays '. 
 MACLEOD'S (H. D.) The Elements of 
 
 Banking. 
 MARSHMAN'S (J. C.) Memoirs of Sir 
 
 Henry Havelock. 
 MAX MULLER'S (F.) India, What can 
 
 it teach us ? 
 Introduction to the Science 
 
 of Religion. 
 
 MERIYALE'S (Dean) History of the 
 
 Ro:nans under the Empire. 8 vols. 
 HILL'S (J. S.) Principles of Political 
 
 Economy. 
 
 Sysiem of Logic. 
 
 MILKER'S (G.) Country Pleasures. 
 KEWMAK'3 (Cardinal) Historical 
 
 Sketches. 3 vols. 
 Fifteen Sermons Preached 
 
 before the University cf Oxford. 
 
 Apologia Fro Yita Sun,. 
 
 Callista : a Tale of the Third 
 
 Centur}'. 
 
 Loss and Gain : a Tale. 
 
 Essays, Critical and His- 
 torical. 2 vols. 
 
 Sermons on "Various Occa- 
 sions, 
 
 Lectures on the Doctrine of 
 
 Justification. 
 
 Fifteen 
 
 srmoi 
 
 hed 
 
 before the Uniyercity of Oxford. 
 
 An Essay en the Develop- 
 ment or Christian Doctrine. 
 
 The Arians of the Fourth 
 
 Century. 
 
 Yerses on Various Occa- 
 sions. 
 
 Difficulties felt by Aijg!icans 
 
 in Catholic Teaching Considered. 
 2 vols. 
 
 The Idea cf a Unlveisity 
 
 defined and Illuatrated. 
 
 Biblical and Ecclesiastical 
 
 Miracles. 
 
 Discussions and Arguments 
 
 on Various Eubjects. 
 
 Graniriar of Assent. 
 
 The Via Media of the An- 
 glican Church. 2 vols. 
 
 Parochial and Plain Ser- 
 mons. 8 vols. 
 
 Selection from 'Parochial 
 
 and Plain Sermons '. 
 
 Discowrses Addressed to 
 
 Mixed Congrefjations. 
 
 Present Position of Ca- 
 tholics in England. 
 
 Sermons bearing upon Sub- 
 jects of the Day. 
 
 PHILLIPPS-WOLLEY'S (C.) Snap : a 
 Legend of the Lone Mountains. 13 
 Illustrations. 
 
 PROCTOR'S (R. A.) Other Worlds than 
 Oars. 
 
 [^Conti/r^ed.
 
 22 A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS IN GENERAL LITERATURE 
 
 SILVER LIBRARY, "HY^q.— {Continued.) 
 PROCTOR'S (R. A.) Rough Ways made WEYMAN'S (Stanley J.) The House of 
 Smooth. I the Wolf: a Romance. 
 
 Pleasant Ways in Science. I V/OOD'S (Rev. J. G.) Petland Re- 
 
 STANLEY'S (Bishop) Familiar History j visited. With 33 Illustrations. 
 
 of Birds. With 160 Illustrations. Strange Dwellings. With 
 
 STEYENSON (Robert Louis) and OS- I 60 Illustrations. 
 
 BOURNE'S (Lloyd) The Wrong [ Outof Doors. With n Illus- 
 
 ■30X. trations. 
 
 SMITH (R. Bosworth).— CARTHAGE AND THE CARTHAGINIANS. 
 Maps, Plans, <S:c. Crown 8vo. 6^. 
 
 STANLEY (S.).— A FAMILIAR HISTORY OF BIRDS. With 160 Wood- 
 outs. Crown 8vo. 3^. 6;/. 
 
 STEPHEN (Sir James).— ESSAYS IN ECCLESIASTICAL BIO- 
 GRAPHY. Crown 8vo. js. 6d. 
 
 STEPHENS (H. Morse).— A HISTORY OF THE FRENCH REVOLU- 
 TION. 3 vols. 8vo. Vol. I. iBj. Vol. II. i8j. [Vol. IIL in the press. 
 
 STEVENSON (Robt. Louis).-A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES. 
 Small Fcp. 8vo. t^s. 
 
 A CHILD'S GARLAND OF SONGS, Gathered from ' A Child's 
 
 Garden of Verses'. Set to Music by C. Villieks Stanford, Mus. Doc. 
 4to. 2i-. sewed, 35. 6^. cloth gilt. 
 
 THE DYNAMITER. Fcp. 8vo. i.f. sewed, \s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE. Fcp. Svo. 
 
 IS. sewed, is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 STEVENSON (Robert Louis) and OSBOURNE (Lloyd).— THE 
 WRONG BOX. Crown Svo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 STOCK (St. George).— DEDUCTIVE LOGIC. Fcp. Svo. 3.^ 6d. 
 
 STRONG (Herbert A.),LOGEMAN(V/illeni3.)and V/KEELER 
 (B. L).— INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF THE HISTORY OF 
 LANGUAGE. Svo. \os. 6d. 
 
 SULLY (James).— THE HUMAN MIND. 2 vols. Svo. 21s. 
 
 OUTLINES OF PSYCHOLOCiY. Svo. gs. 
 
 THE TEACHER'S HANDBOOK OF PSYCHOLOGY. Cr. Svo. 5.?. 
 
 SUPERNATURAL RELIGION ; an Inquiry into the Reality of Divine Revela- 
 tion. 3 vols. Svo. 36s. 
 REPLY (A) TO DR. LIGHTFOOFS ESSAYS. By the Author ol 'Super- 
 natural Religion '. Svo. ys. bd. 
 
 SUTTNER (Bsrtha Von).— LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS {Die Wajfen 
 Nieder) : The Autobiography of Martha Tilling. Tianslatcd by T. HOLMt-. 
 Crown Svo. 7s. td. 
 
 SYMES (J. E.).— PRELUDE TO MODERN HISTORY: a Brief Sketch of 
 the World's History irom the Third to the Ninth Century. Cr. Svo. 2S. 6d. 
 
 TAYLOR (Colonel Meadows).-A STUDENT'S MANUAL OF THE 
 HISTORY OF INDIA. Crown Svo. ys. 6d. 
 
 THOMPSON (Annie).— A MORAL DILEMMA : a Novel. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 THOMPSON (D. Greenleaf).-THE PROBLE.M OF EVIL: an Iniro- 
 
 duciion to the Practical Sciences. Svo. ioj. 6^/. 
 A SYSTEM OF PSYCHOLOGY. 2 vols. 8\o. 365. 
 
 THE RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTSOF THE HUMAN MIND. Svo. 
 
 js. 6d. 
 
 SOCIAL PROGRESS : an Essav. Svo. 7s. 6d. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF FICTION IN LITERATURE: an Essay. 
 
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 PUBLISHED BY MESSRS. LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO. 23 
 
 THOMSON (Most Rev. Williani, D.D., late Archbishop of York).— 
 
 OUTLINES OF THE NECESSARY LAWS OF THOUGHT ; a Treatise 
 
 on Pure and Applied Logic. Post 8vo. 6s. 
 THREE IN NORWAY. By Two of Them. With a Map and 59 Illustrations. 
 
 Crown 8vo. 2s. boards ; 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 TOYNBEE (Arnold).— LECTURES ON THE INDUSTRIAL REVO- 
 LUTION OF THE i8th CENTURY IN ENGLAND. 8vo. los. 6d. 
 TREVEIiYAN" (Sir G. O., Bart.).— THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 LORD MACAU LAY. 
 Popular Edition. Crown Bvo. 2s. 6d. I Cabinet Edition, 2 vols. Cr. 8v3. 12s. 
 Student's Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. \ Library Edition, 2 vols. 8vo. ^6j. 
 THE EARLY HISTORY OF CHARLES JAMES FOX. ^Librar>' 
 
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