ured
faces of my family. The father whose name you invoke, is always close to
my heart. That royal duchess, whom you are privileged to see daily,
monsieur, and I--never--is so dear and sacred to me that I think of her
with a prayer. . . . But my life is here. . . . Monsieur, in this new
world, no man can say to me--'Come,' or 'Go.' I am as free as the Indian.
But the pretender to the throne of France, the puppet of Russia, of
England, of the enemies of my country,--a slave to policy and intrigue--a
chained wanderer about Europe--O my God! to be such a pretender--gasping
for air--for light--as I gasped in Ste. Pelagie!--O let me be a free
man--a free man!"

The old churchman whispered over and over--

"My royal son!"

My arms dropped relaxed.

There was another reason. I did not give it. I would not give it.

We heard the spring wind following the river channel--and a far faint
call that I knew so well--the triangular wild flock in the upper air,
flying north.

"Honk! honk!" It was the jubilant cry of freedom!

"Madame," said Abbe Edgeworth, resting his head on his hands, "I have
seen many stubborn Bourbons, but he is the most obstinate of them all.
We do not make as much impression on him as that little padlocked book."

Her terrified eyes darted at him--and hid their panic.

"Monsieur Abbe," she exclaimed piercingly, "tell him no woman will love
him for throwing away a kingdom!"

The priest began once more.

"You will not resign your rights?"

"No."

"You will not exercise them?"

"No."

"If I postpone my departure from to-day until to-morrow, or next week,
or next month, is there any possibility of your reconsidering this
decision?"

"No."

"Monseigneur, must I leave you with this answer?"

"Your staying cannot alter it, Monsieur Abbe."

"You understand this ends all overtures from France?"

"I understand."

"Is there nothing that you would ask?"

"I would ask Madame d'Angouleme to remember me."

[Illustration: "Louis! You are a king! You are a king!"]

He came forward like a courtier, lifted my hand to his lips, and kissed
it.

"With your permission, Monseigneur, I will now retire and ride slowly
back along the river until you overtake me. I should like to have some
time for solitary thought."

"You have my permission, Monsieur Abbe."

He bowed to Madame de Ferrier, and so moving to the door, he bowed again
to me, and took his leave.

His horse's impatient start, and his remons