said the young
count.

"Oh, dear, I can hardly wait!" said the merry-hearted girl, looking
proudly at her new lover.

"I admire your pluck, my young man," said M. de Lambert, as we
shook hands. "You Americans are a great people. I surrender; I am
not going to be foolish. Turn your horses," said he, motioning to
the driver. "We shall go back at once."

I helped Louise into the coach with her sister and the Comte de
Brovel. D'ri and I rode on behind them, the village folk cheering
and waving their hats,

"Ye done it skilful," said D'ri, smiling. "Whut'd I tell ye?"

I made no answer, being too full of happiness at the moment.

"Tell ye one thing, Ray," he went on soberly: "ef a boy an' a gal
loves one 'nother, an' he has any grit in 'im, can't nuthin' keep
'em apart long."

He straightened the mane of his horse, and then added:--

"Ner they can't nuthin' conquer 'em."

Soon after two o'clock we turned in at the chateau.

We were a merry company at luncheon, the doctor drinking our health
and happiness with sublime resignation. But I had to hurry
back--that was the worst of it all. Louise walked with me to the
big gate, where were D'ri and the horses. We stopped a moment on
the way.

"Again?" she whispered, her sweet face on my shoulder. "Yes, and
as often as you like. No more now--there is D'ri. Remember,
sweetheart, I shall look and pray for you day and night."

XXVII

Sooner or later all things come to an end, including wars and
histories,--a God's mercy!--and even the lives of such lucky men as
I. All things, did I say? Well, what wonder, for am I not writing
of youth and far delights with a hand trembling of infirmity? All
things save one, I meant to say, and that is love, the immortal
vine, with its root in the green earth, that weathers every storm,
and "groweth not old," and climbs to paradise; and who eats of its
fruit has in him ever a thought of heaven--a hope immortal as
itself.

This book of my life ends on a bright morning in the summer of '17,
at the new home of James Donatianus Le Ray, Comte de Chaumont, the
chateau having burned the year before.

President Monroe is coming on the woods-pike, and veterans are
drawn up in line to meet him. Here are men who fought at Chippewa
and Lundy's Lane and Lake Erie and Chrysler's Farm, and here are
some old chaps who fought long before at Plattsburg and
Ticonderoga. Joseph Bonaparte, the ex-king of Spain, so like his
migh