urtly gentleman, cadaverous and shabby as he stood, all the
breeding of past generations appearing in him.

"Eagle?" he said. The tone of piteous apology went through me like a
sword.

She took his hands and herself drew them around her neck. He kissed her
on both cheeks.

"O Cousin Philippe!"

"I have frightened you, child! I meant to send a message first--but I
wanted to see you--I wanted to come home!"

"Cousin Philippe, who wrote that letter?"

"The notary, child. I made him do it."

"It was cruel!" She gave way, and brokenly sobbed, leaning helpless
against him.

The old marquis smoothed her head, and puckered his forehead under the
sunlight, casting his eyes around like a culprit.

"It was desperate. But I could do nothing else! You see it has
succeeded. While I lay in hiding, the sight of the child, and your
youth, has softened Bonaparte. That was my intention, Eagle!"

"The peasants should have told me you were living!"

"They didn't know I came back. Many of them think I died in America. The
family at Les Rochers have been very faithful; and the notary has held
his tongue. We must reward them, Eagle. I have been hidden very closely.
I am tired of such long hiding!"

He looked toward the chateau and lifted his voice sharply--

"Where's the baby? I haven't seen the baby!"

With gracious courtesy, restraining an impulse to plunge up the steps,
he gave her his arm; and she swayed against it as they entered.

When I could see them no more, I rose, and put my snuffbox in my breast.
The key rattled in it.

A savage need of hiding when so wounded, worked first through the
disorder that let me see none of the amenities of leave-taking,
self-command, conduct.

I was beyond the gates, bare-headed, walking with long strides, when an
old mill caught my eye, and I turned towards it, as we turn to trifles
to relieve us from unendurable tension. The water dripped over the
wheel, and long green beard trailed from its chin down the sluice. In
this quieting company Skenedonk spied me as he rattled past with the
post-carriage; and considering my behavior at other times, he was not
enough surprised to waste any good words of Oneida.

He stopped the carriage and I got in. He pointed ahead toward a curtain
of trees which screened the chateau.

"Paris," I answered.

"Paris," he repeated to the postilion, and we turned about. I looked
from hill to stream, from the fruited brambles of blackberry to reaches
of