doubt he had behaved, as Bellenger
said, for the good of the royalist cause. But the sanction of heaven was
not on his behavior. Bonaparte was let loose on him like the dragon from
the pit. And Frenchmen, after yawning eleven months or so in the king's
august face, threw up their hats for the dragon. In his second exile the
inner shadow and the shadow of age combined against him. He had tasted
royalty. It was not as good as he had once thought. Beside him always,
he saw the face of Marie-Therese. She never forgot the hushed mystery of
her brother. Her silence and obedience to the crown, her loyalty to
juggling and evasion, were more powerful than resistance.

A young man, brought suddenly before the jaded nation and proclaimed at
an opportune moment, might be a successful toy. The sore old king would
oil more than the royalist cause, and the blessing of heaven would
descend on one who restored the veritable dauphin.

I never have seen the most stupid man doubt his power to ride if
somebody hoists him into the saddle.

"Let us go farther with our suppositions," I said. "Suppose I decline?"

I heard Madame de Ferrier gasp.

The priest raised his eyebrows.

"In that case you will be quite willing to give me a signed paper
declaring your reasons."

"I sign no paper."

"Let me suggest that Monseigneur is not consistent. He neither resigns
his supposed rights nor will he exercise them."

"I will neither resign them nor exercise them."

"This is virtually resigning them."

"The abbe will pardon me for saying it is not. My rights are mine,
whether I use them or not."

"Monseigneur understands that opportunity is a visitor that comes but
once."

"I understand that the most extraordinary thing has happened to-day that
will ever go unrecorded in history. One Bourbon offers to give away a
throne he has lost and another Bourbon refuses it."

"You may well say it will go unrecorded in history. Excepting this
lady,"--the abbe bowed toward Eagle,--"there is no witness."

"Wise precautions have been taken," I agreed. "This scrap of paper may
mean anything or nothing."

"You decline?" he repeated.

"I think France is done with the Bourbons, monsieur the abbe. A fine
spectacle they have made of themselves, cooling their heels all over
Europe, waiting for Napoleon's shoes! Will I go sneaking and trembling
to range myself among impotent kings and wrangle over a country that
wants none of us? No, I never will! I see wh