by my own name."

"_Eh bien_? Some adventure, then, perhaps? A woman at the bottom of it,
I warrant."

"Your Grace is right."

"'Twas like you, for a fellow of good zest. May God bless all fair
dames. And as to what you found in thus following--or was it in
fleeing--your divinity?"

"I found many things. For one, that this America is the greatest country
of the world. Neither England nor France is to be compared with it."

The regent fell back in his chair and laughed heartily.

"Monsieur, you are indeed, as I have ever found you, of most excellent
wit. You please me enormously."

"But, your Grace, I am entirely serious."

"Oh, come, spoil not so good a jest by qualifying, I beseech you!
England or France, indeed--ah, Monsieur L'as, Monsieur L'as!"

"Your own city of New Orleans, Sire, will lie at the gate of a realm
greater than all France. Your Grace will hand to the young king, when he
shall come of age, a realm excellently worth the ownership of any king."

"You say rich. In what way?" asked the regent. "We have not had so much
of returns after all. Look at Crozat? Look at--"

"Oh fie, Crozat! Your Grace, he solved not the first problem of real
commerce. He never dreamed the real richness of America."

Philippe sat thoughtful, his finger tips together. "Why have we not
heard of these things?" said he.

"Because of men like Crozat, of men like your governors and intendants
at Quebec. Because, your Grace, as you know very well, of the same
reason which sent me once from Paris, and kept me so long from laying
before you these very plans of which I now would speak."

"And that cause?"

"Maintenon."

"Oh, ah! Indeed--that is to say--"

"Louis would hear naught of me, of course. Maintenon took care that he
should find I was but heretic."

"As for myself," said Philippe the regent, "heretic or not heretic makes
but small figure. 'Twill take France a century to overcome her late
surfeit of religion. For us, 'tis most a question of how to keep the
king in the saddle and France underneath."

"Precisely, your Grace."

"Frankly, Monsieur L'as, I take it fittest now not so much to ponder
over new worlds as over how to keep in touch with this Old World yet
awhile. France has danced, though for years she danced to the tune of
Louis clad in black. Now France must pay for the music. My faith, I like
not the look of things. This joyful France to-day is a hideous thing.
These people laugh! I had sooner see a