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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rosin the Beau, by Laura Elizabeth Howe
+Richards
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Rosin the Beau
+
+
+Author: Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards
+
+
+
+Release Date: December 24, 2008  [eBook #27607]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSIN THE BEAU***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Emmy, and the Project Gutenberg Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustration.
+      See 27607-h.htm or 27607-h.zip:
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/6/0/27607/27607-h/27607-h.htm)
+      or
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/6/0/27607/27607-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+ROSIN THE BEAU
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Captain January Series
+
+By LAURA E. RICHARDS
+
+Over 350,000 copies of these books have been sold
+
+          CAPTAIN JANUARY                          $ .50
+            Same. Illustrated Holiday Edition.      1.25
+            Same. Centennial Edition Limited.       2.50
+
+          MELODY                                     .50
+            Same. Illustrated Holiday Edition.      1.25
+
+          MARIE                                      .50
+
+          ROSIN THE BEAU                             .50
+
+          NARCISSA                                   .50
+
+          SOME SAY                                   .50
+
+          JIM OF HELLAS                              .50
+
+          SNOW WHITE                                 .50
+
+Each volume attractively bound in cloth, with handsome new cover design.
+Frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill
+
+DANA ESTES & COMPANY PUBLISHERS Estes Press, Summer Street, Boston
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+ROSIN THE BEAU
+
+by
+
+LAURA E. RICHARDS
+
+Author of
+"Captain January," "Snow-White," "Three Margarets," "Queen Hildegarde,"
+etc.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Boston
+Dana Estes & Company
+Publishers
+
+
+
+
+          TO
+          My Sister Maud
+
+
+
+
+ROSIN THE BEAU.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+MELODY, MY DEAR CHILD:
+
+I SIT down to write my story for you, the life-story of old Rosin the
+Beau, your friend and true lover. Some day, not far distant now, my
+fiddle and I shall be laid away, in the quiet spot you know and love;
+and then (for you will miss me, Melody, well I know that!) this writing
+will be read to you, and you will hear my voice still, and will learn to
+know me better even than you do now; though that is better than any one
+else living knows me.
+
+When people ask me where I hail from, our good, neighbourly, down-east
+way, I answer "From the Androscoggin;" and that is true enough as far as
+it goes, for I have spent many years on and about the banks of that fine
+river; but I have told you more than that. You know something of the
+little village where I was born and brought up, far to the northeast of
+your own home village. You know something, too, of my second mother, as
+I call her,--Abby Rock; but of my own sweet mother I have spoken little.
+Now you shall hear.
+
+The first thing I can remember is my mother's playing. She was a
+Frenchwoman, of remarkable beauty and sweetness. Her given name was
+Marie, but I have never known her maiden surname: I doubt if she knew it
+herself. She came, quite by accident, being at the time little more than
+a child, to the village where my father, Jacques De Arthenay, lived; he
+saw her, and loved her at the sight. She consented to marry him, and I
+was their only child. My father was a stern, silent man, with but one
+bright thing in his life,--his love for my mother. Whenever she came
+before his eyes, the sun rose in his face, but for me he had no great
+affection; he was incapable of dividing his heart. I have now and then
+seen a man with this defect; never a woman.
+
+My first recollection, I said, is of my mother's playing. I see myself,
+sitting on a great black book, the family Bible. I must have been very
+small, and it was a large Bible, and lay on a table in the sitting-room.
+I see my mother standing before me, with her violin on her arm. She is
+light, young, and very graceful; beauty seems to flow from her face in a
+kind of dark brightness, if I may use such an expression; her eyes are
+soft and deep. I have seen no other eyes like my mother Marie's. She
+taps the violin with the bow; then she taps me under the chin.
+
+"_Dis 'Bon jour!' petit Jacques!_" and I say "Bo' zour!" as well as I
+can, and duck my head, for a bow is expected of me. No bow, no music,
+and I am quivering with eagerness for the music. Now she draws the bow
+across the strings, softly, smoothly,--ah, my dear, you have heard only
+me play, all your life; if you could have heard my mother! As I see her
+and hear her, this day of my babyhood, the song she plays is the little
+French song that you love. If you could have heard her sing!
+
+  "A la claire fontaine                 As I went walking, walking,
+   M'en allant promener,                Beside the fountain fair,
+   Jai trouvé l'eau si belle            I found its waves so lovely,
+   Que je m'y suis baigné.              I stayed to bathe me there.
+   Il y a longtemps que je              'Tis long and long I have
+      t'aime,                               loved thee,
+   Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"           I'll ne'er forget thee more.
+
+It is the song of my life, Melody; I never told you that before, but it
+has always pleased me well that you cared for it.
+
+As my mother sings the last words, she bends and kisses the violin,
+which was always a living personage to her. Her head moves like a bird's
+head, quickly and softly. I see her face all brightness, as I have told
+you; then suddenly a shadow falls on it. My back is towards the door,
+but she stands facing it. I feel myself snatched up by hands like
+quivering steel; I am set down--not roughly--on the floor. My father
+turns a terrible face on my mother.
+
+"Mary!" he cried. "He was on the Bible! You--you set the child on the
+Holy Bible!"
+
+I am too frightened to cry out or move, but my mother Marie lays down
+her violin in its box--as tenderly as she would lay me in my cradle--and
+goes to my father, and puts her arm round his neck, and speaks to him
+low and gently, stroking back his short, fair hair. Presently the
+frightful look goes out of his face; it softens into love and sadness;
+they go hand-in-hand into the inner room, and I hear their voices
+together speaking gravely, slowly. I do not know that they are
+praying,--I have known it since. I watch the flies on the window, and
+wish my father had not come.
+
+That, Melody, is the first thing I remember. It must have been after
+that, that my father made me a little chair, and my mother made a gay
+cushion for it, with scarlet frills, and I sat always in that. Our
+kitchen was a sunny room, full of bright things; Mother Marie kept
+everything shining. The floor was painted yellow, and the rugs were
+scarlet and blue; she dyed the cloth herself, and made them beautifully.
+There was always a fire--or so it seems now--in the great black gulf of
+a fireplace, and the crane hung over it, with pots and kettles. The
+firelight was thrown back from bright pewter and glass and copper all
+about the walls; I have never seen so gay a room. And always flowers in
+the window, and always a yellow cat on a red cushion. No canary bird; my
+mother Marie never would have a bird. "No prisoners!" she would say.
+Once a neighbour brought her a wounded sparrow; she nursed and tended it
+till spring, then set it loose and watched it fly away.
+
+This neighbour was a boy, some years older than myself; he is one of the
+people I remember best. Petie we called him; Peter Brand; he died long
+ago. He had been a comfort to my mother Marie, in days of
+sadness,--before my birth, for she was never sad after I came,--and she
+loved him, and he clung to her. He was a round-faced boy, with hair
+almost white; awkward and shy, but very good to me.
+
+As I grew older my mother taught me many French songs and games, and
+Petie often made a third with us. He made strange work of the French
+speech; to me it came like running water, but to Petie it was like
+pouring wine from a corked bottle. Mother Marie could not understand
+this, and tried always to teach him. I can hear her cry out, "Not thus,
+Petie! not! you break me the ears! Listen only!
+
+          "'_Sur le pont d'Avignon_,'
+
+_Encore!_ again, Petie! sing wiz p'tit Jacques!"
+
+And Petie would drone out, all on one note (for the poor boy had no
+music either),
+
+          "_Sooly pong d'Avinnong_,"
+
+And Mother Marie would put her hands to her ears and cry out, "Ah, _que
+non_! ah, _que non_! you keell me in my heart!" and poor Petie would be
+so ashamed! Then Mother Marie would be grieved for him, and would beat
+herself, and say that she was a demon, a monster of cruelty; and she
+would run to the cupboard and bring cakes and doughnuts (she always
+called them "dont's," I remember that), and make Petie eat till his eyes
+stood out. And it always ended in her taking out the violin, and playing
+and singing our hearts to heaven. Petie loved music, when Mother Marie
+made it.
+
+I speak of cakes. There was no one in the village who could cook like my
+mother; every one acknowledged that. Whatever she put her hand to was
+done to perfection. And the prettiness of it all! A flower, a green
+leaf, a bunch of parsley,--there was some delicate, pretty touch to
+everything she did. I must have been still small when I began to notice
+how she arranged the dishes on our table. These matters can mean but
+little to you, my dear child; but the eyes of your mind are so quick, I
+know it is one of your delights to fancy the colours and lights that you
+cannot see. Some bright-coloured food, then,--fried fish, it might be,
+which should be of a golden brown shade,--would be always on a dark blue
+platter, while a dark dish, say beefsteak, would be on the creamy yellow
+crockery that had belonged to my father's mother; and with it a wreath
+of parsley or carrot, setting off the yellow still more. And always,
+winter and summer, some flower, if only a single geranium-bloom, on the
+table. So that our table was always like a festival. I think this
+troubled my father, when his dark moods were on him. He thought it a
+snare of the flesh. Sometimes, if the meal were specially dainty, he
+would eat nothing but dry bread, and this grieved Mother Marie almost
+more than anything else. I remember one day,--it was my birthday, and I
+must have been quite a big boy by that time,--Mother Marie had made a
+pretty rose-feast for me. The table was strewn with rose-leaves, and
+there was a garland of roses round my plate, and they stood everywhere,
+in cups and bowls. There was a round cake, too, with rose-coloured
+frosting; I thought the angels might have such feasts on their
+birthdays, but was sure no one else could.
+
+But when my father came in,--I can see now his look of pain and terror.
+
+"You are tempting the Lord, Mary!" he cried. "You are teaching our child
+to love the lust of the flesh and the pride of the eye. It is sin, it is
+sin, my wife!"
+
+I trembled, for I feared he would throw my beautiful cake into the fire,
+as I had once seen him throw a pretty salad. But my mother Marie took
+his arm. The door stood open, and the warm June was shining through. She
+led him to the doorway, and pointed to the sky.
+
+"Look, _mon ami_!" she said, in her clear, soft voice. "See the day of
+gold that the good God has made for our little Jacques! He fills the
+garden wiz roses,--I bring His roses in ze house. It is that He love ze
+roses, and ze little child, and thee and me, my poor Jacques; for He
+make us all, is it not?"
+
+And presently, with her soft hand on his arm, the pain went from my poor
+father, and he came in and sat down with us, and even patted my head and
+tasted the cake. I recall many such scenes as this, my dear child. And
+perhaps I should say that my mind was, and has always remained, with my
+mother on such matters. If God gives food for the use of His creatures,
+it is to His honour and glory to serve it handsomely, so far as may be;
+and I see little religion in a slovenly piece of meat, or a shapeless
+hunch of butter on a dingy plate.
+
+My mother having this gift of grace, it was not strange that the
+neighbours often called on her for some service of making beautiful. At
+a wedding or a merrymaking of any kind she would be sent for, and the
+neighbours, who were plain people, thought her gift more than natural.
+People still speak of her in all that part of the country, though she
+has been dead sixty odd years, little Mother Marie. She would have liked
+to make the meeting-house beautiful each Sabbath with flowers, but this
+my father could not hear of, and she never urged it after the first
+time. At a funeral, too, she must arrange the white blossoms, and lay
+the pale hands together. Abby Rock has told me many stories of the
+comfort she brought to sorrowing homes, with her sweet, light, quiet
+ways. Abby loved her as her own child.
+
+As I grew older, my mother taught me the violin. I learned eagerly. I
+need not say much about that, Melody; my best playing has been for you,
+and you know all I could tell you; I learned, and it became the breath
+of life to me. My lessons were in the morning always, so that my father
+might not hear the sound; but this was not because he did not love the
+violin. Far otherwise! In the long winter evenings my mother Marie would
+play for him, after I was tucked up in my trundle-bed; music of
+religious quality, which stirred his deep, silent nature strongly. She
+had learned all the psalm-tunes that he loved, stern old Huguenot
+melodies, many of them, that had come over from France with his
+ancestor, and been sung down through the generations since. And with
+these she played soft, tender airs,--I never knew what they were, but
+they could wile the heart out of one's breast. I sometimes would lift my
+head from my pillow, and look through the open door at the warm, light
+kitchen beyond (for my mother Marie could not bear to shut me into the
+cold, dark little bedroom; my door stood open all night, and if I woke
+in the night, the coals would always wink me a friendly greeting, and I
+could hear the cat purring on her cushion). I would look, I say, through
+the open door. There would my mother stand, with the light, swaying way
+she had, like a flower or a young white birch in the wind; her cheek
+resting on the violin, her eyelids dropped, as they mostly were when she
+played, and the long lashes black against her soft, clear paleness. And
+my father Jacques sitting by the fire, his chin in his hand, still as a
+carved image, looking at her with his heart in his eyes. That is the way
+I think of them oftenest, Melody, my dear, as I look back to the days
+long ago; this is the way I mostly see my father and mother, Jacques and
+Marie De Arthenay, a faithful husband and wife.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+OUR village was not far from the sea, and my mother often took me down
+to the beach. It was a curving beach of fine sand, bright and warm, and
+the rocks that shut it in were warm, too, brown and yellow; it was a
+sunny, heartsome place as ever I saw. I remember one day,--many days,
+and this one of them,--when the three of us went down to the beach,
+Mother Marie and Petie Brand and I. The Lady, the violin, went too, of
+course, and we had our music, and it left us heartened through and
+through, and friends with all the world. Then we began to skip stones,
+three children together. Petie and I were only learning, and Mother
+Marie laughed at our stones, which would go flopping and tumbling a
+little way, then sink with a splash.
+
+"They are ducks!" she said. (She called it "docks," Melody; you cannot
+think how soft her speech was.) "Poor leetle docks, that go flap, flap;
+not yet zey have learned to swim, no! But here now, see a bird of ze
+water, a sea-bird what you call." She turned her wrist and sent the flat
+pebble flying; it skimmed along like a live thing, flipping the little
+crests of the ripples, going miles, it seemed to Petie and me, till at
+length we lost sight of it altogether.
+
+"Where did it go?" I asked. "I didn't hear it splash."
+
+"It went--to France!" said Mother Marie. "It make a voyage, it goes,
+goes,--at last it arrives. '_Voilà la France!_' it say. 'That I go
+ashore, to ask of things for Marie, and for _petit Jacques_, and for
+Petie too, good Petie, who bring the apples.'"
+
+There were red apples in a basket, and I can see now the bright
+whiteness of her teeth as she set them into one.
+
+"What will the stone see?" I asked again; for I loved to make my mother
+tell me of the things she remembered in France, the country she always
+loved. She loved to tell, too; and a dreamy look would come into her
+eyes at such times, as if she did not see us near at hand, but only
+things far off and dim. We listened, Petie and I, as if for a fairy
+tale.
+
+"He come, zat leetle--non! _that lit_-tel stone." (Mother Marie could
+often pronounce our English "th" quite well; it was only when she forgot
+that she slipped back to the soft "z" which I liked much better.) "He
+come to the shore! It is not as this shore, no! White is the sand, the
+rocks black, black. All about are nets, very great, and boats. The men
+are great and brown; and their beards--Holy Cric! their beards are a
+bush for owls; and striped their shirt, jersey, what you call, and blue
+trousers. Zey come in from sea, their sails are brown and red; the boats
+are full wiz fish, that shine like silver; they are the herring, _petit
+Jacques_, it is of those that we live a great deal. Down zen come ze
+women to ze shore and zey--_they_--are dressed beautiful, ah! so
+beautiful! A red petticoat,--sometimes a blue, but I love best the red,
+striped wiz white, and over this the dress turned up, _à la
+blanchisseuse_. A handkerchief round their neck, and gold earrings,--ah!
+long ones, to touch their neck; and gold beads, most beautiful! and then
+the cap! _P'tit Jacques_, thou hast not seen caps, because here they
+have not the understanding. But! white, like snow in ze sun; the muslin
+clear, you understand, and stiff that it cracks,--ah! of a beauty! and
+standing out like wings here, and here--you do not listen! you make not
+attention, bad children that you are! Go! I tell you no more!"
+
+It was true, Melody, my dear, that Petie and I did not care so much
+about the descriptions of dress as if we had been little girls; my
+mother was never weary of telling about the caps and earrings; I think
+she often longed for them, poor little Mother Marie! But now Petie and I
+clung about her, and begged her to go on, and she never could keep her
+vexation for two minutes.
+
+"Tell how they go up the street!" said Petie.
+
+"Play we went, too!" cried I. "Play the stone was a boat, Mère Marie."
+(I said it as one word, Melody; it makes a pretty name, "Mère-Marie,"
+when the pronunciation is good. To hear our people say "M'ree" or
+"Marry," breaks the heart, as my mother used to say.)
+
+She nodded, pleased enough to play,--for she was a child, as I have told
+you, in many, many ways, though with a woman's heart and
+understanding,--and clapped our hands softly together, as she held them
+in hers.
+
+"We, then, yes! we three, Mère-Marie, _p'tit Jacques_, and Petie, we go
+up from the beach, up the street that goes tic tac, zic zac, here and
+there, up the hill; very steep in zose parts. We come to one place, it
+is steps--"
+
+"Steps in the street?"
+
+"Steps that make the street, but yes! and on them (white steps, clean!
+ah! of a cleanness!), in the sun, sit the old women, and spin, and sing,
+and tell stories. Ah! the fine steps. They, too, have caps, but they are
+brown in the faces, and striped--"
+
+"Striped, Mère-Marie? painted, do you mean?"
+
+"She said the steps had caps!" whispered Petie, incredulous, but too
+eager for the story to interrupt the teller.
+
+"Painted? wat you mean of foolishness, _p'tit Jacques_? Ah! I was wrong!
+not striped; wreenkled, you say? all up togezzer like a brown apple when
+he is dry up,--like zis way!" and Mother Marie drew her pretty face all
+together in a knot, and looked so comical that we went into fits of
+laughter.
+
+"So! zey sit, ze old women, and talk, talk, wiz ze heads together; but
+one sit alone, away from those others, and she sing. Her voice go up,
+thin, thin, like a little cold wind in ze boat-ropes.
+
+          "'Il était trois mat'lots de Groix,
+            Il était trois mat'lots de Groix,
+            Embarqués sur le Saint François,
+              Tra la derira, la la la,
+              Tra la derira la laire!'[1]
+
+"I make learn you that song, _petit Jacques_, one time! So we
+come,--now, _mes enfants_, we come! and all the old women point the
+nose, and say, 'Who is it comes there?' But that one old--but Mère
+Jeanne, she cry out loud, loud. 'Marie! _petite Marie_, where hast thou
+been so long, so long?' She opens the arms--I fall into zem, on my
+knees; I cry--but hush, _p'tit Jacques_! I cry now only in ze story,
+only--to--to show thee how it would be! I say, 'It is me, Marie, Mère
+Jeanne! I come to show thee my little son, to take thy blessing. And my
+little friend, too!'" She turned to pat Petie's head; she would not let
+the motherless boy feel left out, even from a world in which he had no
+part.
+
+"My good friend Petie, whose mother is with the saints. Then Mère
+Jeanne, she take all our hands, after she has her weep; she say 'Come!'
+and we go up ze street, up, up, till we come to Mère Jeanne's house."
+
+"Tell about the house!" I cried.
+
+"Holy Cric! what a house!" cried Mère-Marie, clapping her hands
+together. "It is stone, painted white, clean, like new cheese; the roof
+beautiful, straw, warm, thick,--ah! what roofs! I have tried to teach
+thy father to make them, but no! Inside, it is dark and warm, and full
+wiz good smells. Now it is the _pot-au-feu_, but not every day zis, for
+Mère Jeanne is poor; but always somesing, fish to fry, or pancakes, or
+apples. But zis time, Mère Jeanne make me a _fête_; she say, 'It is the
+_Fête Marie_!'
+
+"She make the fire bright, bright; and she bring big chestnuts, two
+handfuls of zem, and set zem on ze shovel to roast; and zen she put ze
+greedle, and she mixed ze batter in a great bowl--it is yellow, that
+bowl, and the spoon, it is horn. She show it to me, she say, 'Wat leetle
+child was eat wiz this spoon, Marie? hein?' and I--I kiss the spoon; I
+say, '_'Tite Marie, Mère Jeanne! 'Tite Marie qui t'aime!_'[2] It is the
+first words I could say of my life, _mes enfants_!
+
+"Zen she laugh, and nod her head, and she stir, stir, stir till ze
+bobbles come--"
+
+"The way they do when you make griddle-cakes, Mère-Marie?"
+
+"Ah! no! much, much, thousand time better, Mère Jeanne make zem! She
+toss them--so! wiz ze spoon, and they shine like gold, and when they
+come down--hop!--they say 'Sssssssssss!' that they like to fry for Mère
+Jeanne, and for Marie, and _p'tit Jacques_, and good Petie. Then I bring
+out the black table, and I know where the bread live, and the cheese,
+and while the cakes fry, I go to milk the cow--ah! the pearl of cows,
+children, white like her own cream, fat like a boiled chestnut, good
+like an angel! She has not forgotten Marie, she rub her nose in my
+heart, she sing to me. I take her wiz both my arms, I weep--ah! but it
+is joy, _p'tit Jacques_! it is wiz joy I weep! Zen, again in ze house,
+and round ze table, we all sit, and we eat, and eat, that we can eat no
+more. And Mère Jeanne say:
+
+"'Tell me of thy home, Marie!' and I tell all, all; of thy father
+Jacques, how he good, and great, and handsome as Saint Michael; and how
+my house is fine, fine, and how Abiroc is good. And Mère Jeanne, she
+make the great eyes; she cry, 'Ah! the good fortune! Ah, Marie, that
+thou art fortunate, that thou art happy!'
+
+"Then she tell thee, _p'tit Jacques_, how I was little, little, in a
+blue frock, wiz the cap tie under my chin; and how I dance and sing in
+the street, and how _Madame la Comtesse_ see me, and take me to ze
+castle, and make teach me the violin, and give me Madame for my friend.
+I have told thee all, many, many times. Then she tell, Mère Jeanne,--oh!
+she is good, good, and all ze time she fill thee wiz chestnuts that I
+cry out lest thou die,--she tell how one day she come home from market,
+and I am gone. No Marie! She look, she run here and there, she cry,
+''Tite Marie, where art thou?' No Marie come. She run to the neighbours,
+she search, she tear her cap; they tell her, 'Demand of thy son's wife!
+The strange ship sailed this morning; we heard child cry; what do we
+know?'
+
+"For the wife of Mère Jeanne's Jeannot, she was a devil, as I have told
+thee, a devil with both the eyes evil; and none dare say what she had
+done, for fear of their children and their cows to die. And then, Mère
+Jeanne she tell how she run to Jeannot's house,--she fear nossing, Mère
+Jeanne! the good God protect her always. She cry, 'Where is Marie? where
+is my child?' And Jeannot's Manon, she laugh, she say, 'Cross the sea
+after her, old witch! Who keeps thee?' Then--see, _p'tit Jacques_! see,
+Petie! I have not seen this wiz my eyes, no! but in my heart I have
+seen, I know! Then Mère Jeanne run at that woman, that devil; and she
+pull off her cap and tread it wiz her foot; and she pull out her
+hair,--never she had much, but since this day none!--and she scratch her
+face and tear the clothes--ah! Mère Jeanne is mild like a cherub till
+she is angry, but then-- And that devil scream, scream, but no one come,
+no one care; they are all glad, they laugh to hear. Till Jeannot run in,
+and catch his mother and hold her hands, and take her home to her house.
+She tell me all this, Mère Jeanne, and it is true, and I know it in my
+heart. But now she is dead, that witch, and the great devil has her, and
+that is well." (I think my father would have lost his wits, Melody, if
+he had heard the way my mother talked to me sometimes; but it was a
+child's talk, my dear, and there was no harm. A child who had been
+brought up among ignorant peasants; how should she know better, poor
+little Mother Marie?)
+
+"But now, see, _mes enfants_! We must come back across the sea, for ze
+sun, he begin to go away down. So I tell zis, and Mère Jeanne she cry,
+she take us wiz her arms, she cannot let us go. But I take Madame on my
+arm, I go out in ze street, I begin to play wiz my hand. Then all come,
+all run, all cry, 'Marie! Marie is here wiz her _violon_!' And I play,
+play and sing, and the little children dance, dance, and _p'tit Jacques_
+and Petie take them the hands and dance wiz--
+
+          "'Eh! gai, Coco,
+            Eh! gai, Coco,
+            Eh! venez voir la danse
+            Du petit marmot!
+            Eh! venez voir la danse
+            Du petit marmot!'
+
+"Adieu, adieu, Mère Jeanne! adieu, la France! but you, _mes enfants_;
+why do _you_ cry?"
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[1]
+    There were three sailor-lads of Groix,
+    There were three sailor-lads of Groix,
+    They sailèd in the Saint François,
+          Tra la derira, etc.
+
+[2] Little Marie, Mother Jeanne! Little Marie who loves you.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+I WAS twelve years old when my mother died. She had no illness, or none
+that we had known of; the sweet soul of her slipped away in the night
+like a bird, and left the body smiling asleep. We never knew what ailed
+her; people did not torment themselves in those days with the "how" of a
+thing. There may have been talk behind the village doors, but my father
+never asked. She was gone, and his heart was gone with her, my poor
+father. She was all the joy of his life, and he never had any more; I
+never remember seeing him smile after that time. What gave him the best
+comfort was trying to keep things pretty and bright, as she liked to see
+them. He was neat as a woman, and he never allowed a speck of dust on
+the chairs, or a withered leaf on the geraniums. He never would let me
+touch her flowers, but I was set to polish the pewter and
+copper,--indeed, my mother had taught me that,--and he watched jealously
+lest any dimness come on them. I sometimes wondered at all this, as he
+had so lately counted these matters of adornment and prettiness and such
+as less than nothing, and vanity, as the preacher has it. But I think
+his great grief put a sacredness, as it were, over everything that had
+been hers, and all her ways seemed heavenly to him now, even though he
+had frowned at them (never at her, Melody, my dear! never at her!) when
+she was still with him.
+
+My father wished me to help him in the farm work, but I had no turn for
+that. I was growing up tall and weedy, and most like my strength went
+into that. However it was, there was little of it for farming, and less
+liking. Father Jacques made up his mind that I was no good for anything,
+but Abby Rock stood up for me.
+
+"The boy is not strong enough for farming, Jacques!" she said. "He's
+near as tall as you, now, and not fifteen yet. Put him to learn a trade,
+and he'll be a credit to you."
+
+So I was put to learn shoemaking, and a good trade it has been to me all
+my life. The shoemaker was a kind old man, who had known me from a baby,
+and he contrived to make my work easy for me,--seeing I took kindly to
+it,--and often let me have the afternoon to myself. My lungs were weak,
+or Abby thought they were, and the doctor had told her I must not sit
+too long over my bench, but must be out in the air as much as might be,
+though not at hard labour. Then,--those afternoons, I am saying,--I
+would be off like a flash with my fiddle,--off to the yellow sand beach
+where the round pebbles lay. I could never let my poor father hear me
+play; it was a knife in his heart even to see the Lady; and these hours
+on the beach were my comfort, and kept the spirit alive in me. Looking
+out to sea, I could still feel my mother Marie beside me, still hear her
+voice singing, so gay, so sad,--singing all ways, as the wind blows. She
+had no voice like yours, Melody, my dear, but it was small and sweet as
+a bird's; sweet as a bird's! It was there, on the yellow sand beach,
+that I first met Father L'Homme-Dieu, the priest.
+
+I have told you a great deal about this good man, Melody. He came of old
+French stock, like ourselves,--like most of the people in our village;
+only his people had always been Catholics. His village, where he had a
+little wooden church, was ten or twelve miles from ours, but he was the
+only priest for twenty miles round, and he rode or walked long
+distances, visiting the scattered families that belonged to his
+following. He chanced to come to the beach one day when I was there, and
+stayed to hear me play. I never knew he was there till I turned to go
+home; but then he spoke to me, and asked about my music and my home, and
+talked so kindly and wisely that my heart went out to him that very
+hour. He took to me, too; he was a lonely man, and there was none in his
+own neighbourhood that he cared to make his friend; and seldom a week
+passed that he did not find his way to the beach, for an hour of music
+and talk. Talk! How we did talk! There was always a book in his pocket,
+too, and he would read some fine passage aloud, and then we would
+discuss it, and turn it over and over, and let it draw our own thoughts
+like a magnet. It was a rare chance for a country boy, Melody! Here was
+a scholar, and as fine a gentleman as ever I met, and the heart of a
+child and a wise man melted into one; and I like his own son for the
+kindness he gave me. Sometimes I went to his house, but not often, for I
+could not take so long a time away from my work. He lived in a little
+house like a bird's house, and the little brown woman who did for him
+was like a bird, and of all curious things, her name was Sparrow,--the
+widow Sparrow.
+
+There was a little study, where he sat at a desk in the middle, and
+could pull down any book, almost, with no more than tilting his chair;
+and there was a little dining-room, and a closet with a window in it,
+where his bed stood. All these rooms were lined with books, most of them
+works of theology and religion, but plenty of others, too: poetry, and
+romances, and plays,--he was a great reader, and his books were all the
+friends he had, he used to say, till he found me. I should have been his
+son, he would say; and then lay his hand on my head and bid me be good,
+and say my prayers, and keep my heart true and clean. He never talked
+much to me of his own church (knowing my father by name and reputation),
+only made plain to me the love of God, and taught me to seek it through
+loving man.
+
+I used to wonder how he came to be there, in the wilderness, as it must
+often have seemed to him, for he had travelled much, and was city-bred,
+his people having left the seacoast and settled inland in his
+grandfather's time. One day, as I stood by his desk waiting for him, I
+saw a box that always lay there, set open; and in it was a portrait of a
+most beautiful lady in a rich dress. The portrait was in a gold frame
+set with red stones,--rubies, they may have been,--and was a rich jewel
+indeed. While I stood looking at it, Father L'Homme-Dieu came in; and at
+sight of the open box, and me looking at it, his face, that was like old
+ivory in its ordinary look, flushed dark red as the stones themselves. I
+was sorely vexed at myself, and frightened too, maybe; but the change
+passed from him, and he spoke in his own quiet voice. "That is the first
+half of my life, Jacques!" he said. "It is set in heart's blood, my
+son." And told me that this was his sweetheart who was drowned at sea,
+and it was after her death that he became a priest, and came to find
+some few sheep in the wilderness, near the spot where his fathers had
+lived. Then he bade me look well at the sweet face, and when my time
+should come to love, seek out one, if not so fair (as he thought there
+were none such), still one as true, and pure, and tender, and loving
+once, let it last till death; and so closed the box, and I never saw it
+open again.
+
+All this time I never let my father know about Father L'Homme-Dieu. It
+would have seemed to him a terrible thing that his son should be friends
+with a priest of the Roman Church, which he held a thing accursed. I
+thought it no sin to keep his mind at peace, and clear of this thing,
+for a cloud was gathering over him, my poor father. I told Abby,
+however, good Abby Rock; and though it shocked her at first, she was
+soon convinced that I brought home good instead of harm from my talks
+with Father L'Homme-Dieu. She it was who begged me not to tell my
+father, and she knew him better than any one else did, now that my
+mother Marie was gone. She told me, too, of the danger that hung over my
+poor father. The dark moods, since my mother's death, came over him more
+and more often; it seemed, when he was in one of them, that his mind was
+not itself. He never slighted his work,--that was like the breath he
+drew,--but when it was done, he would sit for hours brooding by the
+fireplace, looking at the little empty chair where my mother used to sit
+and sing at her sewing. And sitting so and brooding, now and again there
+would come over him as it were a blindness, and a forgetting of all
+about him, so that when he came out of it he would cry out, asking where
+he was, and what had been done to him. He would forget, too, that my
+mother was gone, and would call her, "Mary! Mary!" so that one's heart
+ached to hear him; and then Abby or I must make it clear to him again,
+and see the dumb suffering of him, like a creature that had not the
+power of speech, and knew nothing but pain and remembrance.
+
+I might have been seventeen or eighteen at this time; I do not recall
+the precise year. I was doing well with my shoemaking, and when this
+trouble grew on my poor father I brought my bench into the kitchen, so
+that I might have him always in sight. This was well enough for every
+day, but already I was beginning to be sent for here and there, among
+the neighbouring villages, to play the fiddle. The people of my father's
+kind were passing away, those who thought music a device of the devil,
+and believed that dancing feet were treading the road to hell. He was
+still a power in our own village; but in the country round about the
+young folks were learning the use of their feet, and none could hinder
+them, being the course of nature, since young lambs first skipped in the
+meadows. It was an old farmer, a good, jolly kind of man, who first gave
+me the name of "Rosin." He sent for me to play at his barn-raising, and
+a pretty sight it was; a fine new barn, Melody, all smelling sweet of
+fresh wood, and hung with lanterns, and a vast quantity of fruits and
+vegetables and late flowers set all about. Pretty, pretty! I have never
+seen a prettier barn-raising than that, and I have fiddled at a many
+since then. Well, this old gentleman calls to me across the floor, "Come
+here, young Rosin!" I remember his very words. "Come here, young Rosin!
+I can't get my tongue round your outlandish name, but Rosin'll do well
+enough for you." Well, it stuck to me, the name did, and I was never
+sorry, for I did not like to carry my father's name about overmuch, he
+misliking the dancing as he did. The young folks caught up an old song,
+and tagged that name on too, and called me Rosin the Bow. So it was
+first, Melody; but there are two songs, as you know, my dear, to the
+one tune (or one tune is all I know, and fits both sets of words), and
+the second song spells the word "Beau," and so some merry girls in a
+house where I often went to play, they vowed I should be Rosin the Beau.
+I suppose I may have been rather a good-looking lad, from what they used
+to say; and to make a long story short, it was by that name that I came
+to be known through the country, and shall be known till I die. An old
+beau enough now, my little girl; eighty years old your Rosin will be, if
+he lives till next September. I took to playing the air whenever I
+entered a room; it made a little effect, a little stir,--I was young and
+foolish, and it took little to please me in those days. But I have
+always thought, and think still, that a man, as well as a woman, should
+make the best of the mortal part of him; and I do not know why we should
+not be thankful for a well-looking body as for a well-ordered mind. I
+cannot abide to see a man shamble or slouch, or throw his arms and legs
+about as if they were timber logs. Many is the time I have said to my
+scholars, when I was teaching dancing-school,--great lumbering fellows,
+hulking through a quadrille as if they were pacing a raft in
+log-running,--"Don't insult your Creator by making a scarecrow of the
+body He has seen fit to give you. With reverence, He might have given it
+to one of better understanding; but since you have it, for piety's sake
+hold up your head, square your shoulders, and put your feet in the first
+position!"
+
+But I wander from the thread of my story, as old folks will do. After
+all, it is only a small story, of a small life; not every man is born to
+be great, my dear. Yet, while I sat on my shoemaker's bench, stitching
+away, I thought of greatness, as I suppose most boys do. I thought of a
+scholar's life, like that of Father L'Homme-Dieu before his sorrow came
+to him; a life spent in cities, among libraries and learned, brilliant
+people, men and women. I thought of a musician's life, and dreamed of
+the concerts and operas that I had never heard. The poet Wordsworth, my
+dear, has written immortal words about the dreams of a boy, and my
+dreams were fair enough. It seemed as if all the world outside were
+clouded in a golden glory, if I may put it so, and as if I had only to
+run forth and put aside this shining veil, to find myself famous, and
+happy, and blessed. And when I came down from the clouds, and saw my
+little black bench, and the tools and scraps of leather, and my poor
+father sitting brooding over the fire, my heart would sink down within
+me, and the longing would come strong upon me to throw down hammer and
+last, and run away, out into that great world that was calling for me.
+And so the days went by, and the months, and the years.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+I WAS twenty years old when the change came in my life. I remember the
+day was cold and bleak, an early spring day. My father had had an
+accident a few days before. In one of his unconscious fits he had fallen
+forward--I had left the room but for a moment--and struck his head
+sharply against one of the fire-irons. He came to himself quite wild,
+and seeing the blood, thought he had killed some one, and cried to us to
+take him to prison as a murderer. It took Abby and me a long time to
+quiet him. The shock and the pain of it all had shaken me more than I
+knew, and I felt sick, and did not know what ailed me; but Abby knew,
+and she sent me to see Father L'Homme-Dieu, while she sat with my
+father. I was glad enough to go, more glad than my duty allowed, I fear;
+yet I knew that Abby was better than I at caring for my father.
+
+As I walked across the brown fields, where the green was beginning to
+prick in little points here and there, I began to feel the life strong
+in me once more. The dull cloud of depression seemed to drop away, and
+instead of seeing always that sad, set face of my poor father's, I could
+look up and around, and whistle to the squirrels, and note the
+woodpecker running round the tree near me. It has remained a mystery to
+me all my life, Melody, that this bird's brains are not constantly
+addled in his head, from the violence of his rapping. When I was a
+little boy, I tried, I remember, to nod my head as fast as his went
+nodding: with the effect that I grew dizzy and sick, and Mother Marie
+thought I was going to die, and said the White Paternoster over me five
+times.
+
+I looked about me, I say, and felt my spirit waking with the waking of
+the year. Yet, though I was glad to feel alive and young once more, I
+never thought I was going to anything new or wonderful. The wise, kind
+friend would be there; we should talk, and I should come away refreshed
+and strengthened, in peace and courage; I thought of nothing more. But
+when the widow Sparrow opened the door to me, I heard voices from the
+room within; a strange voice of a man, and the priest's answering. I
+stopped short on the threshold.
+
+"The Father is busy!" I said. "I will call again, when he is alone."
+
+"Now don't you!" said Mrs. Sparrow, who was always fond of me, and
+thought it a terrible walk for me to take, so young, and with the
+"growing weakness" not out of me. "Don't ye go a step, Jacques! I expect
+you can come in just as well as not. There is a gentleman here, but he's
+so pleasant, I should wish to have you see him, if _I_ was the Father."
+
+I was hesitating, all the shyness of a country-bred boy coming over me;
+for I had a quick ear, and this strange voice was not like the voices I
+was used to hearing; it was like Father L'Homme-Dieu's, fine and
+high-bred. But the next instant Father L'Homme-Dieu had stepped to the
+door of the study, and saw me.
+
+"Come in, Jacques!" he cried. His eyes were bright, and his air gay, as
+I had never seen it. "Come in, my son! I have a friend here, and you are
+the very person I want him to meet." I stepped over the threshold
+awkwardly enough, and stood before the stranger. He was a young man, a
+few years older than myself; tall and slender,--we might have been twins
+as far as height and build went, but there the resemblance ceased. He
+was fair, with such delicate colouring that he might have looked
+womanish but for the dark fiery blue of his eyes, and his little curled
+moustache. He looked the way you fancy a prince looking, Melody, when
+Auntie Joy tells you a fairy story, though he was simply dressed enough.
+
+"Marquis," said Father L'Homme-Dieu, with a shade of ceremony that I had
+never heard before in his tone, "let me present to you M. Jacques
+D'Arthenay, my friend! Jacques, this is the Marquis de Ste. Valerie."
+
+He gave my name the French pronunciation. It was kindly meant; at my
+present age, I think it was perhaps rightly done; but then, it filled me
+with a kind of rage. The angry blood of a false pride, a false humility,
+surged to my brain and sang in my ears; and as the young man stepped
+forward with outstretched hand, crying, "A compatriot. Welcome,
+monsieur!" I drew back, stammering with anger. "My name is Jacques De
+Arthenay!"[3] I said. "I am an American, a shoemaker, and the son of a
+farmer."
+
+There was a moment of silence, in which I seemed to live a year. I was
+conscious of everything, the well-bred surprise of the young nobleman,
+the half-amused vexation of the priest, my own clumsy, boyish rage and
+confusion. In reality it was only a few seconds before I felt my
+friend's hand on my shoulder, with its kind, fatherly touch.
+
+"Sit down, my child!" he said. "Does it matter greatly how a name is
+pronounced? It is the same name, and I pronounced it thus, not without a
+reason. Sit down, and have peace!"
+
+There was authority as well as kindness in his voice. I sat down, still
+trembling and blushing. Father L'Homme-Dieu went on quietly, as if
+nothing had happened.
+
+"It was for the marquis's sake that I gave your name its former--and
+correct--pronunciation, my son Jacques. If I mistake not, he is of the
+same part of France from which your ancestors came. Huguenots of
+Blanque, am I not right, marquis?"
+
+I was conscious that the stranger, whom I was inwardly accusing as a
+pretentious puppy, a slip of a dead and worthless tree, was looking at
+me intently; my eyes seemed drawn to his whether I would or no. So
+meeting those blue eyes, there passed as it were a flash from them into
+mine, a flash that warmed and lightened, as a smile broke over his face.
+
+"D'Arthenay!" he said, in a tone that seemed to search for some
+remembrance. "_D'Arthenay, tenez foi! n'est-ce pas, monsieur?_"
+
+I started. The words were the motto of my father's house. They were
+engraved on the stone which marked the grave of my grandfather many
+times back, Jacques, Sieur D'Arthenay. Seeing my agitation, the marquis
+leaned forward eagerly. He was full of quick, light gestures, that
+somehow brought my mother back to me.
+
+"But, we are neighbours!" he cried. "We must be friends, M. D'Arthenay.
+Your tower--it is a noble ruin--stands not a league from my château in
+Blanque. The Ste. Valeries and the D'Arthenays were always friends,
+since Adam was, and till the Grand Monarque separated them with his
+accursed Revocation. Monsieur, that I am enchanted at this rencounter!
+_La bonne aventure, oh gai! n'est-ce pas, mon père?_"
+
+There was no resisting his eager gaiety. And when he quoted the nursery
+song that my mother used to sing, my stubborn resentment--at what? who
+can say?--broke and melted away, and I was smiling back into the bright,
+merry eyes. Once more he held out his hand, and this time I took it
+gladly. Father L'Homme-Dieu looked on in delight; it was a good moment.
+
+After that the talk flowed freely. I found that the young marquis,
+having come on a pleasure tour to the United States, had travelled thus
+far out of the general route to look up the graves of some of his
+mother's people, who had come out with Baron Castine, but had left him,
+as my ancestor had done, on account of his marriage with the Indian
+princess. They were the Belleforts of Blanque.
+
+"Bellefort!" I cried. "That name is on several stones in our old
+burying-ground. The Belforts of our village are their descendants,
+Father L'Homme-Dieu."
+
+"Not Ham?" cried the father, bursting into a great laugh. "Not Ham
+Belfort, Jacques?"
+
+I laughed back, nodding. "Just Ham, father!"
+
+I never saw Father L'Homme-Dieu so amused. He struck his hands together,
+and leaned back in his chair, repeating over and over, "Ham Belfort!
+Cousin of the Marquis de Ste. Valerie! Ham Belfort! Is it possible?"
+
+The young nobleman looked from one to the other of us curiously.
+
+"But what?" he asked. "Ham! _c'est-à-dire, jambon, n'est-ce pas?_"
+
+"It is also a Biblical name, marquis!" said Father L'Homme-Dieu. "I must
+ask who taught you your catechism!"
+
+"True! true!" said the marquis, slightly confused. "_Sem, Ham, et
+Japhet_, perfectly! and--I have a cousin, it appears, named Jam--I
+should say, Ham? Will you lead me to him, M. D'Arthenay, that I embrace
+him?"
+
+"You shall see him!" I said. "I don't think Ham is used to being
+embraced, but I will leave that to you. I will take you to see him, and
+to see the graves in the burying-ground, whenever you say."
+
+"But now, at the present time, this instant!" cried Ste. Valerie,
+springing from his chair. "Here is Father L'Homme-Dieu dying of me, in
+despair at his morning broken up, his studies destroyed by chatter. Take
+me with you, D'Arthenay, and show me all things; Ham, also his brothers,
+and Noë and the Ark, if they find themselves also here. Amazing country!
+astonishing people!"
+
+So off we went together, he promising Mrs. Sparrow to return in time for
+dinner, and informing her that she was a sylphide, which caused her to
+say, "Go along!" in high delight. He had brought a letter to the priest,
+from an old friend, and was to stay at the house.
+
+Back across the brown fields we went. I was no longer alone; the world
+was full of new light, new interest. I felt that it was good to be
+alive; and when my companion began to sing in very lightness of heart, I
+joined in, and sang with right good will.
+
+          "La bonne aventure, oh gai!
+           La bonne aventure!"
+
+He told me that his mother always sang him this song when he had been a
+good boy; I replied that mine had done the same. How many French
+mothers have sung the merry little lilt, I wonder? We sang one snatch
+and another, and I could not see that the marquise had had the advantage
+of the little peasant girl, if it came to songs.
+
+The marquis--but why should I keep to the empty title, which I was never
+to use after that first hour? Nothing would do but that we should be
+friends on the instant, and for life,--Jacques and Yvon. "Thus it was
+two centuries ago," my companion declared, "thus shall it be now!" and
+I, in my dream of wonderment and delight, was only too glad to have it
+so.
+
+We talked of a thousand things; or, to be precise, he talked, and I
+listened. What had I to say that could interest him? But he was full of
+the wonders of travel, the strangeness of the new world and the new
+people. Niagara had shaken him to the soul, he told me; on the wings of
+its thunder he had soared to the empyrean. How his fanciful turns of
+expression come back to me as I write of him! He was proud of his
+English, which was in general surprisingly good.
+
+New York he did not like,--a savage in a Paris gown, with painted face;
+but on Boston he looked with the eyes of a lover. What dignity! what
+Puritan, what maiden grace of withdrawal! An American city, where one
+feels oneself not a figure of chess, but a human being; where no street
+resembles the one before it, and one can wander and be lost in
+delicious windings! Ah! in Boston he could live, the life of a poet, of
+a scholar.
+
+"And then,--what, my friend? I come, I leave those joys, I come away
+here, to--to the locality of jump-off, as you say,--and what do I find?
+First, a pearl, a saint; for nobleness, a prince, for holiness, an
+anchorite of Arabia,--Le Père L'Homme-Dieu! Next, the ancient friend of
+my house, who becomes on the instant mine also, the brother for whom I
+have yearned. With these, the graves of my venerable ancestors, heroes
+of constancy, who lived for war and died for faith; graves where I go
+even now, where I kneel to pay my duty of respect, to drop the filial
+tear!"
+
+"Don't forget your living relations!" I said, with some malice. "Here is
+your cousin, coming to meet us."
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[3] Pronounced Jakes Dee Arthenay.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+AN ox-team was lumbering along the road towards us. The huge oxen
+lurched from side to side, half-asleep, making nothing of their load of
+meal-sacks piled high in air; their driver walked beside, half-asleep,
+too. He was a giant in height (six foot six, Melody, in his stockings! I
+have measured him myself), and his white clothes made him look something
+monstrous indeed. Yvon stared and gaped, as this vision came slowly
+towards him.
+
+"What--what is it?" he asked. "Is it a monster?"
+
+"Oh, no!" I said. "It's only Ham Belfort. How are you, Ham?"
+
+"Smart!" said Ham. "How be you? Hoish, Star! haw! Stand still there,
+will ye?"
+
+The oxen came to a halt willingly enough, and man and beasts stood
+regarding us with calm, friendly eyes. Ham and his oxen looked so much
+alike, Melody (the oxen were white, I ought to have said), that I
+sometimes thought, if we dressed one of the beasts up and did away with
+his horns, people would hardly know which was which.
+
+"Taking a load over to Cato?"
+
+Cato was the nearest town, my dear. It was there that the weekly boat
+touched, which was our one link with the world of cities and railways.
+
+Ham nodded; he was not given to unnecessary speech.
+
+"Is your wife better? I heard she was poorly."
+
+"No, she ain't! I expect she'll turn up her toes now most any day."
+
+This seemed awkward. I muttered some expressions of regret, and was
+about to move on, when my companion, who had been gazing speechless and
+motionless at the figure before him, caught my arm.
+
+"Present me!" he whispered. "Holy Blue! this is my cousin, my own blood!
+Present me, Jacques!"
+
+Now, I had never had occasion to make a formal introduction in my life,
+Melody. I had not yet begun to act as master of ceremonies at balls,
+only as fiddler and call-man; and it is the living truth that the only
+form of words I could bring to mind at the moment was, "Gents, balance
+to partners!" I almost said it aloud; but, fortunately, my wits came
+back, and I stammered out, sorely embarrassed:
+
+"Ham, this is--a gentleman--who--who is staying with Father
+L'Homme-Dieu."
+
+"That so? Pleased to meet you!" and Ham held out a hand like a shoulder
+of mutton, and engulfed the marquis's slender fingers.
+
+"I am delighted to make the acquaintance of Mr. Belfort," said Ste.
+Valerie, with winning grace. "I please myself to think that we are
+related by blood. My mother was a Bellefort of Blanque; it is the French
+form of your name, Mr. Belfort."
+
+"I want to know!" said Ham. "_Darned_ pleased to meet you!" He laboured
+for a moment, casting a glance of appeal at the oxen, who showed no
+disposition to assist him; then added, "You're slim-appearin' for a
+Belfort; they run consid'able large in these parts."
+
+"Truly, yes!" cried the marquis, laughing delightedly. "You desire to
+show the world that there are still giants. What pleasure, what rapture,
+to go through the crowd of small persons, as myself, as D'Arthenay here,
+and exhibit the person of Samson, of Goliath!"
+
+Ham eyed him gravely. "Meanin' shows?" he asked, after a pause of
+reflection. "No, we've never shew none, as I know of. We've been asked,
+father 'n' I, to allow guessin' on our weight at fairs and sech, but we
+jedged it warn't jest what we cared about doin'. Sim'lar with shows!"
+
+This speech was rather beyond Ste. Valerie, and seeing him look puzzled,
+I struck in, "Mr. Ste. Valerie wants to see the old graves in the old
+burying-ground, Ham. I told him there were plenty of Belforts there, and
+spelling the name as he does, with two l's and an e in the middle."
+
+"I want to know if he spells it that way!" said Ham, politely. "We
+jedged they didn't know much spellin', in them times along back, but I
+presume there's different idees. Does your folks run slim as a rule?"
+
+"Very slim, my cousin!" said Yvon. "Of my generation, there is none so
+great as myself."
+
+"I _want_ to know!" said Ham; and the grave compassion in his voice was
+almost too much for my composure. He seemed to fear that the subject
+might be a painful one, and changed it with a visible effort.
+
+"Well, there's plenty in the old berr'in-ground spelt both ways. Likely
+it don't matter to 'em now."
+
+He pondered again, evidently composing a speech; again he demanded help
+of the oxen, and went so far as to examine an ear of the nigh ox with
+anxious attention.
+
+"'Pears as if what Belforts is above the sod ought to see something of
+ye!" he said at last. "My woman is sick, and liable to turn--I should
+say, liable to pass away most any time; but if she should get better,
+or--anything--I should be pleased to have ye come and stop a spell with
+us at the grist-mill. Any of your folks in the grist business?"
+
+"Grisst?" Ste. Valerie looked helplessly at me. I explained briefly the
+nature of a grist-mill, and said truly that Ham's mill was one of the
+pleasantest places in the neighbourhood. Yvon was enchanted. He would
+come with the most lively pleasure, he assured Ham, so soon as Madame
+Belfort's health should be sufficiently rehabilitated. I remember,
+Melody, the pride with which he rolled out that long word, and the
+delight with which he looked at me, to see if I noticed it.
+
+"Meantime," he added, "I shall haste at the earliest moment to do myself
+the honour to call, to make inquiries for the health of madame, to
+present my respectful homages to monsieur your father. He will permit me
+to embrace him as a son?"
+
+Fortunately Ham only heard the first part of this sentence; he responded
+heartily, begging the marquis to call at any hour. Then, being at the
+end of his talk, he shook hands once more with ponderous good will, and
+passed on, he and the oxen rolling along with equal steps.
+
+Ste. Valerie was silent until Ham was out of earshot; then he broke out.
+
+"Holy Blue! what a prodigy! You suffer this to burst upon me, Jacques,
+without notice, without preparation. My nerves are permanently
+shattered. You tell me, a man; I behold a tower, a mountain, Atlas
+crowned with clouds! Thousand thunders! what bulk! what sinews! and of
+my race! Amazing effect of--what? Climate? occupation? In France, this
+race shrinks, diminishes; a rapier, keen if you will, but slender like a
+thread; here, it swells, expands, towers aloft,--a club of Hercules. And
+with my father, who could sit in my pocket, and my grandfather, who
+could sit in his! Figure to yourself, Jacques, that I am called _le
+grand Yvon!_" He was silent for a moment, then broke out again. "But the
+mind. D'Arthenay! the brain; how is it with that? Thought,--a lightning
+flash! is it not lost, wandering through a head large like that of an
+ox?"
+
+I cannot remember in what words I answered him, Melody. I know I was
+troubled how to make it clear to him, and he so different from the
+other. I seemed to stand midway between the two, and to understand both.
+Half of me seemed to spring up in joy at the voice of the young
+foreigner; his lightness, his quickness, the very way he moved his
+hands, seemed a part of my own nature that I had not learned to use, and
+now saw reflected in another. I am not sure if I make myself clear, my
+child; it was a singular feeling. But when I would spring forward with
+him, and toss my head and wave my hands as he did,--as my mother Marie
+did,--there was something held me back; it was the other nature in me,
+slow and silent, and--no! not cold, but loath to show its warmth, if I
+may put it so. My father in me kept me silent many a time when I might
+have spoken foolishness. And it was this half, my father's half, that
+loved Ham Belfort, and saw the solid sweetness of nature that made that
+huge body a temple of good will, so to speak. He had the kind of
+goodness that gives peace and rest to those who lean against it. His
+mill was one of the places--but we shall come to that by and by!
+
+Walking on as we talked, we soon came to the village, and I begged my
+new friend to come in and see my father and my home. We entered. My
+father was standing by the fire, facing the door, with one hand on the
+tall mantel-shelf. He was in one of his waking dreams, and I was struck
+deeply, Melody, by the beauty, and, if I may use the word about a plain
+man, the majesty of his looks. My companion was struck, too, for he
+stopped short, and murmured something under his breath; I heard the word
+"Noblesse," and thought it not amiss. My father's eyes (they were
+extraordinarily bright and blue) were wide open, and looked through us
+and beyond us, yet saw nothing, or nothing that other eyes could see;
+the tender look was in them that meant the thought of my mother. But
+Abby came quietly round from the corner where she sat sewing, and laid
+her hand on his arm, and spoke clearly, yet not sharply, telling him to
+look and see, Jakey had brought a gentleman to see him. Then the vision
+passed, and my father looked and saw us, and came forward with a
+stately, beautiful way that he could use, and bade the stranger welcome.
+Ste. Valerie bowed low, as he might to a prince. Hearing that he was a
+Frenchman, my father seemed pleased. "My dear wife was a Frenchwoman!"
+he said. "She was a musician, sir; I wish you could have heard her
+play."
+
+"He was himself also of French descent," Ste. Valerie reminded him, with
+another bow; and told of the ruined tower, and the old friendship
+between the two houses. But my father cared nothing for descent.
+
+"Long ago, sir!" he said. "Long ago! I have nothing to do with the dead
+of two hundred years back. I am a plain farmer; my son has learned the
+trade of shoemaking, though he also has some skill with the fiddle, I am
+told. Nothing compared to his mother, but still some skill."
+
+Ste. Valerie looked from one of us to the other. "A farmer,--a
+shoemaker!" he said, slowly. "Strange country, this! And while your
+_vieille noblesse_ make shoes and till the soil, who are these,
+monsieur, who live in some of the palaces that I have seen in your
+cities? In many, truly, persons of real nobility also, gentlemen,
+whether hunting of race or of Nature's own. But these others? I have
+seen them; large persons, both male and female, red as beef, their
+grossness illuminated with diamonds of royalty, their dwelling a
+magazine from the Rue de la Paix. These things are shocking to a
+European, M. D'Arthenay!" My father looked at him with something like
+reproof in his quiet gaze.
+
+"I have never been in cities," he said. "I consider that a farmer's life
+may be used as well as another for the glory of God."
+
+Then, with a wave of his hand, he seemed to put all this away from him,
+and with a livelier air asked the stranger to take supper with us. Abby
+had been laying the cloth quietly while we were talking, and my father
+would have asked her to sit down with us, but she slipped away while his
+face was turned in the other direction, and though he looked once or
+twice, he soon forgot. Poor Abby! I had seen her looking at him as he
+talked, and was struck by her intent expression, as if she would not
+lose a word he might say. It seemed natural, though, that he should be
+her first thought; he had always been, since my mother died.
+
+So presently we three sat about the little table, that was gay with
+flowers and pretty dishes. I saw Ste. Valerie's wondering glances; was
+it thus, he seemed to ask, that a farmer lived, who had no woman to care
+for him? My father saw, too, and was pleased as I had rarely seen him.
+He did not smile, but his face seemed to fill with light.
+
+"My wife, sir," he said, "loved to see things bright and adorned. I
+try--my son and I try--to keep the table as she would like it. I
+formerly thought these matters sinful, but I have been brought to a
+clearer vision,--through affliction." (Strange human nature, Melody, my
+child! he was moved to say these words to a stranger, which he could not
+have said to me, his son!) "She had the French taste and lightness, my
+wife Mary. I should have been proud to have you see her, sir; the Lord
+was mindful of His own, and took her away from a world of sin and
+suffering."
+
+The light died out; his eyes wandered for a moment, and then set, in a
+way I knew; and I began to talk fast of the first thing that came into
+my mind.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+I COULD write a whole book about the summer that followed this spring
+day, when I first met Yvon de Ste. Valerie. Yes, and the book would be
+so long that no mortal man would have time to read it; but I must hurry
+on with my story; for truth to tell, my eyes are beginning to be not
+quite what they have been,--they'll serve my time, I hope, but my
+writing was always small and crabbed,--and I must say what I have to
+say, shorter than I have begun, I perceive. After the first week, then,
+which he spent with Father L'Homme-Dieu, Yvon came over to our village
+and boarded with Abby Rock. The Father was pleased to have him come; he
+knew it would be a great thing for me, and he thought it would not hurt
+the young gentleman to live for a time with plain folks. But if he
+thought Yvon would look down on our village people, or hold himself
+better than they, he was mistaken. In a week the young Frenchman was the
+son and brother of the whole village. Our people were dear, good people,
+Melody; but I sometimes thought them a little dull; that was after my
+mother's death. I suppose I had enough of another nature in me to be
+troubled by this, but not enough to know how to help it; later I
+learned a little more; but indeed, I should justly say that my lessons
+were begun by Yvon de Ste. Valerie. It was from him I learned, my dear,
+that nothing in this world of God's is dull or common, unless we bring
+dull hearts and dim eyes to look at it. It is the vision, the vision,
+that makes the life; that vision which you, my child, with your
+sightless eyes, have more clearly than almost any one I have known.
+
+He was delighted with everything. He wanted to know about everything. He
+declared that he should write a book, when he returned to France, all
+about our village, which he called Paradise. It is a pretty place, or
+was as I remember it. He must see how bread was made, how wool was spun,
+how rugs were braided. Many's the time I have found him sitting in some
+kitchen, winding the great balls of rags neatly cut and stitched
+together, listening like a child while the woman told him of how many
+rugs she had made, and how many quilts she had pieced; and she more
+pleased than he, and thinking him one wonder and herself another.
+
+He was in love with all the girls; so he said, and they had nothing to
+say against it. But yet there was no girl could carry a sore heart, for
+he treated them all alike. In this I have thought that he showed a sense
+and kindness beyond his years or his seeming giddiness; for some of them
+might well enough have had their heads turned by a gentleman, and one so
+handsome, and with a tongue that liked better to say "Angel!" to a
+woman than anything more suited to the average of the sex. But no girl
+in the village could think herself for a moment the favoured maiden; for
+if one had the loveliest eyes in the world, the next had a cheek of
+roses and velvet, and the third walked like a goddess, and the fourth
+charmed his soul out of his body every time she opened her lips. And so
+it went on, till all understood it for play, and the pleasantest play
+they ever saw. But he vowed from the first that he would marry Abby
+Rock, and no other living woman. Abby always said yes, she would marry
+him the first Sunday that came in the middle of the week; and then she
+would try to make him eat more, though he took quite as much as was good
+for him, not being used to our hearty ways, especially in the mornings.
+Abby was as pleased with him as a child with a kitten, and it was pretty
+to see them together.
+
+"Light of my life!" Yvon would cry. "You are exquisite this morning!
+Your eyes are like stars on the sea. Come, then, angelic Rock, _Rocher
+des Anges_, and waltz with your Ste. Valerie!" And he would take Abby by
+the waist, and try to waltz with her, till she reached for the
+broomstick. I have told you, Melody, that Abby was the homeliest woman
+the Lord ever made. Not that I ever noticed it, for the kindness in her
+face was so bright I never saw anything but that; but strangers would
+speak of it, and Yvon himself, before he heard her speak, made a little
+face, I remember, that only I could see, and whispered, had I brought
+him to lodge with Medusa? Medusa, indeed! I think Abby's smile would
+soften any stone that had ever had a human heart beating in it, instead
+of the other way.
+
+But the place in the village that Yvon loved best was Ham Belfort's
+grist-mill; and when he comes to my mind, in these days, when sadder
+visions are softened and partly dim to me, it is mostly there that I
+seem to see my friend.
+
+It was, as I have said, one of the pleasantest places in the world. To
+begin with, the colour and softness of it all! The window-glass was
+powdered white, and the light came through white and dim, and lay about
+in long powdery shafts, and these were white, too, instead of yellow. So
+was the very dust white; or rather, it was good oatmeal and wheat flour
+that lay thick and crumbling on the rafters above, and the wheels and
+pulleys and other gear. As for Ham, the first time Yvon saw him in the
+mill, he cried out "Mont Blanc!" and would not call him anything else
+for some time. For Ham was whiter than all the rest, in his
+working-dress, cap and jacket and breeches, white to begin with, and
+powdered soft and furry, like his face and eyebrows, with the flying
+meal. Down-stairs there was plenty of noise; oats and corn and wheat
+pouring into the hoppers, and the great stones going round and round,
+and wheels creaking and buzzing, and belts droning overhead. Yvon could
+not talk at all here, and I not too much; only Ham's great voice and his
+father's (old Mr. Belfort was Ham over again, gray under the powder,
+instead of pink and brown) could roar on quietly, if I may so express
+it, rising high above the rattle and clack of the machinery, and yet
+peaceful as the stream outside that turned the great wheels and set the
+whole thing flying. So, as he could not live long without talking, Yvon
+loved best the loft above, where the corn was stored, both in bags and
+unground, and where the big blowers were, and the old green fire-engine,
+and many other curious things. I had known them all my life, but they
+were strange to him, and he never tired, any more than if he had been a
+boy of ten. Sometimes I wondered if he could be twenty-two, as he said;
+sometimes when he would swing himself on to the slide, where the bags of
+meal and flour were loaded on to the wagons. Well, Melody, it was a
+thing to charm a boy's heart; it makes mine beat a little quicker to
+think of it, even now; perhaps I was not much wiser than my friend,
+after all. This was a slide some three feet wide, and say seven or eight
+feet long, sloping just enough to make it pleasant, and polished till it
+shone, from the bags that rubbed along it day after day, loading the
+wagons as they backed up under it. Nothing would do but we must slide
+down this, as if, I say, we were children of ten years old, coming down
+astride of the meal-sacks, and sending a plump of flour into the air as
+we struck the wagon. Father Belfort thought Yvon was touched in the
+brain; but he was all the more gentle on this account. Boys were not
+allowed on the slide, unless it were a holiday, or some boy had had a
+hard time with sickness or what not; it was a treat rarely given, and
+the more prized for that. But Yvon and I might slide as much as we
+pleased. "Keep him cheerful, Jakey!" the dear old man would say. "Let
+him kibobble all he's a mind to! I had a brother once was looney, and we
+kep' him happy all his life long, jest lettin' him stay a child, as the
+Lord intended. Six foot eight he stood, and weighed four hundred
+pounds."
+
+And when the boy was tired of playing we would sit down together, and
+call to Ham to come up and talk; for even better than sliding, Yvon
+loved to hear his cousin talk. You can take the picture into your mind,
+Melody, my dear. The light dim and white, as I have told you, and very
+soft, falling upon rows and rows of full sacks, ranged like soldiers;
+the great white miller sitting with his back against one of these, and
+his legs reaching anywhere,--one would not limit the distance; and
+running all about him, without fear, or often indeed marking him in any
+way, a multitude of little birds, sparrows they were, who spent most of
+their life here among the meal-sacks. Sometimes they hopped on his
+shoulder, or ran over his head, but they never minded his talking, and
+he sat still, not liking to disturb them. It was a pretty sight of
+extremes in bulk, and in nature too; for while Ham was afraid to move,
+for fear of troubling them, they would bustle up to him and cock their
+heads, and look him in the eye as if they said, "Come on, and show me
+which is the biggest!"
+
+There you see him, my dear; and opposite to him you might see a great
+mound or heap of corn that shone yellow as gold. "_Le Mont d'Or_," Yvon
+called it; and nothing would do but he must sit on this, lifted high
+above us, yet sliding down every now and then, and climbing up again,
+with the yellow grains slipping away under him, smooth and bright as
+pebbles on the shore. And for myself, I was now here and now there, as I
+found it more comfortable, being at home in every part of the friendly
+place.
+
+How we talked! Ham was mostly a silent fellow; but he grew to love the
+lad so that the strings of his tongue were loosened as they had never
+been before. His woman, too (as we say in those parts, Melody; wife is
+the more genteel expression, but I never heard Ham use it. My father, on
+the other hand, never said anything else; a difference in the fineness
+of ear, my dear, I have always supposed),--his woman, I say, or wife,
+had not "turned up her toes," but recovered, and as he was a faithful
+and affectionate man, his heart was enlarged by this also. However it
+was, he talked more in those weeks, I suppose, than in the rest of his
+life put together. Bits of his talk, homely and yet wise, come back to
+me across the sixty years. One day, I remember, we talked of life, as
+young men love to talk. We said nothing that had not been said by young
+men since Abel's time, I do suppose, but it was all new to us; and
+indeed, my two companions had fresh ways of putting things that seemed
+to make them their own in a manner. Yvon maintained that gaiety was the
+best that life had to give; that the butterfly being the type of the
+human soul, the nearer man could come to his prototype, the better for
+him and for all. Sorrow and suffering, he cried, were a blot on the
+scheme, a mistake, a concession to the devil; if all would but spread
+their wings and fly away from it, houp! it would no longer exist. "_Et
+voilà!_"
+
+We laughed, but shook our heads. Ham meditated awhile, and then began in
+his strong, quiet voice, a little husky, which I always supposed was
+from his swallowing so much raw meal and flour.
+
+"That's one way of lookin' at it, Eavan; I expect that's your French
+view, likely; looks different, you see, to folks livin' where there's
+cold, and sim'lar things, as butterflies couldn't find not to say
+comfortable. Way I look at it, it always seemed to me that grain come as
+near it as anything, go to compare things. Livin' in a grist-mill, I
+presume, I git into a grainy way of lookin' at the world. Now, take
+wheat! It comes up pooty enough, don't it, in the fields? Show me a
+field o' wheat, and I'll show you as handsome a thing as is made this
+side of Jordan. Wal, that might be a little child, we'll say; if there's
+a thing handsomer than a field o' wheat, it's a little child. But bimeby
+comes reapin' and all, and then the trouble begins. First, it's all in
+the rough, ain't it, chaff and all, mixed together; and has to go
+through the thresher? Well, maybe that's the lickin's a boy's father
+gives him. He don't like 'em,--I can feel Father Belfort's lickin's
+yet,--but they git red of a sight o' chaff, nonsense, airs, and what
+not, for him. Then it comes here to the grist-mill. Well, I may be
+gittin' a little mixed, boys, but you can foller if you try, I expect.
+Say that's startin' out in life, leavin' home, or bindin' to a trade, or
+whatever. Well, it goes into the duster, and there it gets more chaff
+blowed off'n it. And from the duster it goes into the hopper, and down
+in betwixt the stones; and them stones grind, grind, grind, till you'd
+think the life was ground clear'n out of it. But 'tain't so; contrary!
+That's affliction; the upper and nether millstone--Scriptur! Maybe
+sickness, maybe losin' your folks, maybe business troubles,--whichever
+comes is the wust, and more than any mortal man ever had to bear before.
+Well, now, see! That stuff goes in there, grain; it comes out wheat
+flour! Then you take and wet it down and put your 'east in,--that's
+thought, I expect, or brains,--or might be a woman,--and you bake it in
+the oven,--call that--well, 'git-up-and-git' is all I can think of, but
+I should aim for a better word, talkin' to a foreigner."
+
+"Purpose," I suggested.
+
+"That's it! purpose! bake it in that oven, and you have a loaf of wheat
+bread, riz bread; and that's the best eatin' that's ben invented yet.
+That's food for the hungry,--which raw wheat ain't, except it's cattle.
+But now you hear me, boys! To git wheat bread, riz bread, you've got to
+have wheat to begin with. You've got to have good stuff to start with.
+You can't make good riz bread out o' field corn. But take good stuff and
+grind it in the Lord's mill, and you've got the best this world can
+give. That's my philos'phy!"
+
+He nodded his head to the last words, which fell slowly and weightily;
+and as he did so, the sparrow that had been perched on his head ran down
+his nose and fluttered in his face, seeming to ask how he dared make
+such a disturbance. "I beg your pardon, I'm sure!" said Ham. "I'd no
+notion I was interferin' with you. Why didn't you hit one of your
+size?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+IT was in the grist-mill loft, too, that Yvon brought forward his great
+plan, what he called the project of his life,--that of taking me back to
+France with him. I remember how I laughed when he spoke of it; it seemed
+as easy for me to fly to the moon as to cross the ocean, a thing which
+none of my father's people had done since the first settlers came. My
+mother, to be sure, had come from France, but that was a different
+matter; nor had her talk of the sea made me feel any longing for it. But
+Yvon had set his heart on it; and his gay talk flowed round and over my
+objections, as your brook runs over stones. I must go; I should go! I
+should see my tower, the castle of my fathers. It was out of repair, he
+could not deny that; but what! a noble château might still be made of
+it. Once restored, I would bring my father over to end his days with me,
+under the roof that alone could properly shelter a person of such
+nobility. He had won my father's heart, too, Melody, as he won all
+hearts; they understood each other in some fine, far-off way, that was
+beyond me. I sometimes felt a little pang that was not, I am glad to
+believe, jealousy, only a wish that I might be more like Yvon, more like
+my mother's people, since it was that so charmed my poor father.
+
+I asked Yvon how I was to live, how my father and I should support
+ourselves in our restored castle, and whose money would pay for the
+restoration. He threw this aside, and said that money was base, and he
+refused to consider it. It had nothing to do with the feelings, less
+than nothing with true nobility. Should I then take my cobbler's bench,
+I asked him, and make shoes for him and his neighbours, while my father
+tilled the ground? But then, for the first and almost the last time, I
+saw my friend angry; he became like a naughty, sulky child, and would
+hardly speak to me for the rest of the day.
+
+But he clung to his idea, none the less; and, to my great surprise, my
+father took it up after awhile. He thought well, he told me, of Yvon's
+plan; Yvon had talked it over with him. He, himself, was much stronger
+than he had been (this was true, Melody, or nothing would have induced
+me to leave him even for a week; Yvon had been like a cordial to him,
+and he had not had one of his seizures for weeks); and I could perfectly
+leave him under Abby's care. I had not been strong myself, a voyage
+might be a good thing for me; and no doubt, after seeing with my own
+eyes the matters this young lad talked of, I would be glad enough to
+come home and settle to my trade, and would have much to think over as I
+sat at my bench. It might be that a man was better for seeing something
+of the world; he had never felt that the Lord intended him to travel,
+having brought to his own door all that the world held of what was best
+(he paused here, and said "Mary!" two or three times under his breath,
+a way he had when anything moved him), but it was not so with me, nor
+likely to be, and it might be a good thing for me to go. He had money
+laid by that would be mine, and I could take a portion of that, and have
+my holiday.
+
+These are not his very words, Melody, but the sense of them. I was
+strangely surprised; and being young and eager, the thought came upon me
+for the first time that this thing was really possible; and with the
+thought came the longing, and a sense which I had only felt dimly
+before, and never let speak plain to me, as it were. I suppose every
+young man feels the desire to go somewhere else than the place where he
+has always abided. The world may be small and wretched, as some tell
+him, or great and golden, according to the speech of others; he believes
+neither one nor the other, he must see it with his own eyes. So this
+grew upon me, and I brooded over it, till my life was full of voices
+calling, and hands pointing across the sea, to the place which is
+Somewhere Else. I talked with Father L'Homme-Dieu, and he bade me go,
+and gave me his blessing; he had no doubt it was my pleasure, and might
+be my duty, in the way of making all that might be made of my life. I
+talked with Abby; she grew pale, and had but one word, "Your father!"
+Something in her tone spoke loud to my heart, and there came into my
+mind a thought that I spoke out without waiting for it to cool.
+
+"Won't you marry my father, Abby?"
+
+Abby's hands fell in her lap, and she turned so white that I was
+frightened; still, I went on. "You love him better than any one else,
+except me." (She put her hand on her heart, I remember, Melody, and kept
+it there while I talked; she made no other sign.)
+
+"And you can care for him ten times better than I could, you know that,
+Abby, dear; and--and--I know Mère-Marie would be pleased."
+
+I looked in her face, and, young and thoughtless as I was, I saw that
+there which made me turn away and look out of the window. She did not
+speak at once; but presently said in her own voice, or only a little
+changed, "Don't speak like that, Jakey dear! You know I'll care for your
+father all I can, without that;" and so put me quietly aside, and talked
+about Yvon, and how good Father L'Homme-Dieu had been to me.
+
+But I, being a lad that liked my own way when it did not seem a wrong
+one (and not only then, perhaps, my dear; not only then!), could not let
+my idea go so easily. It seemed to me a fine thing, and one that would
+bring happiness to one, at least; and I questioned whether the other
+would mind it much, being used to Abby all his life, and a manner of
+cousin to her, and she my mother's first friend when she came to the
+village, and her best friend always. I was very young, Melody, and I
+spoke to my father about it; that same day it was, while my mind was
+still warm. If I had waited over night, I might have seen more clear.
+
+"Father," said I; we were sitting in the kitchen after supper; it was a
+summer evening, soft and fair, but a little fire burned low on the
+hearth, and he sat near it, having grown chilly this last year.
+
+"Father, would you think it possible to change your condition?"
+
+He turned his eyes on me, with an asking look.
+
+"Would you think it possible to marry Abby Rock?" I asked; and felt my
+heart sink, somehow, even with saying the words. My father hardly seemed
+to understand at first; he repeated, "Marry Abby Rock!" as if he saw no
+sense in the words; then it came to him, and I saw a great fire of anger
+grow in his eyes, till they were like flame in the dusk.
+
+"I am a married man!" he said, slowly. "Are you a child, or lost to
+decency, that you speak of this to a married man?"
+
+He paused, but I found nothing to say. He went on, his voice, that was
+even when he began, dropping deeper, and sinking as I never heard it.
+
+"The Lord in His providence saw fit to take away my wife, your mother,
+before sickness, or age, or sorrow could strike her. I was left, to
+suffer some small part of what my sins merit, in the land of my sojourn.
+The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the
+Lord. But because my wife Mary,--my wife Mary" (he lingered over the
+words, loving them so), "is a glorified spirit in another world, and I
+am a prisoner here, is she any less my wife, and I her faithful husband?
+You are my son, and hers,--hers, Jakey; but if you ever say such words
+to me again, one house will not hold us both." He turned his head away,
+and I heard him murmuring under his breath, "Mary! Mary!" as I have said
+his way was; and I was silent and ashamed, fearing to speak lest I make
+matters worse; and so presently I slipped out and left him; and my fine
+plan came to naught, save to make two sad hearts sadder than they were.
+
+But it was to be! Looking back, Melody, after fifty years, I am
+confident that it was the will of God, and was to be. In three weeks
+from that night, I was in France.
+
+I pass over the wonder of the voyage; the sorrowful parting, too, that
+came before it, though I left all well, and my father to all appearances
+fully himself. I pass over these, straight to the night when Yvon and I
+arrived at his home in the south of France. We had been travelling
+several days since landing, and had stopped for two days in Paris. My
+head was still dizzy with the wonder and the brightness of it all. There
+was something homelike, too, in it. The very first people I met seemed
+to speak of my mother to me, as they flung out their hands and laughed
+and waved, so different from our ways at home. I was to see more of
+this, and to feel the two parts in me striving against each other; but
+it is early to speak of that.
+
+The evening was warm and bright, as we came near Château Claire; that
+was the name of my friend's home. A carriage had met us at the station,
+and as we drove along through a pretty country (though nothing to New
+England, I must always think), Yvon was deep in talk with the driver,
+who was an old servant, and full of news. I listened but little, being
+eager to see all my eyes could take in. Vines swung along the sides of
+the road, in a way that I always found extremely graceful, and wished we
+might have our grapes so at home. I was marvelling at the straw-roofed
+houses and the plots of land about them no bigger than Abby Rock's best
+table-cloth, when suddenly Yvon bade pull up, and struck me on the
+shoulder. "_D'Arthenay, tenez foi!_" he cried in my ear; and pointed
+across the road. I turned, and saw in the dusk a stone tower, square and
+bold, covered with ivy, the heavy growth of years. It was all dim in the
+twilight, but I marked the arched door, with carving on the stone work
+above it, and the great round window that stared like a blind eye. I
+felt a tugging at my heart, Melody; the place stood so lonely and
+forlorn, yet with a stateliness that seemed noble. I could not but think
+of my father, and that he stood now like his own tower, that he would
+never see.
+
+"Shall we alight now?" asked Yvon. "Or will you rather come by daylight,
+Jacques, to see the place in beauty of sunshine?"
+
+I chose the latter, knowing that his family would be looking for him;
+and no one waited for me in La Tour D'Arthenay, as it was called in the
+country. Soon we were driving under a great gateway, and into a
+courtyard, and I saw the long front of a great stone house, with a light
+shining here and there.
+
+"Welcome, Jacques!" cried Yvon, springing down as the great door opened;
+"welcome to Château Claire! Enter, then, my friend, as thy fathers
+entered in days of old!"
+
+The light was bright that streamed from the doorway; I was dazzled, and
+stumbled a little as I went up the steps; the next moment I was standing
+in a wide hall, and a young lady was running forward to throw her arms
+round Yvon's neck.
+
+He embraced her tenderly, kissing her on both cheeks in the French
+manner; then, still holding her hand, he turned to me, and presented me
+to his sister. "This is my friend," he said, "of whom I wrote you,
+Valerie; M. D'Arthenay, of La Tour D'Arthenay, Mademoiselle de Ste.
+Valerie!"
+
+The young lady curtseyed low, and then, with a look at Yvon, gave me her
+hand in a way that made me feel I was welcome. A proper manner of
+shaking hands, my dear child, is a thing I have always impressed upon my
+pupils. There is nothing that so helps or hinders the first impression,
+which is often the last impression. When a person flaps a limp hand at
+me, I have no desire for it, if it were the finest hand in the world;
+nor do I allow any tricks of fashion in this matter, as sometimes seen,
+with waggling this way or that; it is a very offensive thing. Neither
+must one pinch with the finger-tips, nor grind the bones of one's
+friend, as a strong man will be apt to do, mistaking violence for
+warmth; but give a firm, strong, steady pressure with the hand itself,
+that carries straight from the heart the message, "I am glad to see
+you!"
+
+This is a speech I have made many times; I have kept the young lady
+waiting in the hall while I made it to you, thereby failing in good
+manners.
+
+At the first glance, Valerie de Ste. Valerie seemed hardly more than a
+child, for she was slight and small; my first thought was, how like she
+was to her brother, with the same fair hair and dark, bright blue eyes.
+She was dressed in a gown of white dimity, very fine, with ruffles at
+the foot of the skirt, and a fichu of the same crossed on her breast. I
+must say to you, my dear Melody, that it was from this first sight of
+her that I took the habit of observing a woman's dress always. A woman
+of any age taking pains to adorn herself, it has always seemed to me
+boorish not to take careful note of the particulars of a toilet. Mlle.
+de Ste. Valerie wore slippers of blue kid, her feet being remarkably
+slender and well-shaped; and a blue ribbon about her hair, in the manner
+of a double fillet. After a few gracious words, she went forward into a
+room at one side of the hall, we following, and here I was presented to
+her aunt, a lady who had lived with the brother and sister since their
+parents' death, a few years before this time. Of this lady, who was
+never my friend, I will say little. Her first aspect reminded me of
+frozen vinegar, carved into human shape; yet she had fine manners, and
+excused herself with dignity for not rising to salute us, being lame, as
+her nephew knew. For Yvon, though he kissed her hand (a thing I had
+never seen before), I thought there was little love in the greeting; nor
+did he seem oppressed with grief when she excused herself also from
+coming to sup with us.
+
+At supper, we three together at a table that was like a small island of
+warm pleasantness in the great hollow dining-hall, Yvon was full of wild
+talk, we two others mostly listening. He had everything to tell, about
+the voyage, about his new friends, all of whom were noble and beautiful
+and clever.
+
+"Figure to yourself, Valerie!" he cried. "I found our family there; the
+most noble, the most gigantic persons in the world! Thy cousin Jambon,
+it is a giant, eight feet high, at the least. He denies it, he is the
+soul of modesty, but I have eyes, and I see. This man has the soul
+greater than his vast body; we have discussed life, death, in short, the
+Infinite, we three, Jambon and Jacques and I. He has a father--both have
+fathers! it is the course of nature. The father of D'Arthenay here is a
+prince, a diamond of the old rock; ah! if our father of sainted memory
+could have known M. D'Arthenay _père_, Valerie, he would have known the
+brother of his soul, as their sons know each other. Not so, Jacques? But
+_le père_ Bellefort, Valerie, he is gigantesque, like his son. These
+rocks, these towers, they have the hearts of children, the smiles of a
+crowing infant. You laugh, D'Arthenay? I say something incorrect? how
+then?"
+
+He had said nothing incorrect, I told him; I only thought it would be
+surprising to hear Father Belfort crow, as he hardly spoke three times
+in the day.
+
+"True! but what silence! the silence of fullness, of benevolence.
+Magnificent persons, not to be approached for goodness."
+
+So he rattled on, while his sister's blue eyes grew wider and wider. I
+did not in truth know what to say. I hardly recognised our plain people
+in the human wonders that Yvon was describing; I could hardly keep my
+countenance when he told her about Mlle. Roc, an angel of pious dignity.
+I fancied Abby transported here, and set down at this table, all flowers
+and perfumed fruits and crimson-shaded lights; the idea seemed to me
+comical, though now I know that Abby Rock would do grace to any table,
+if it were the President's. I was young then, and knew little. And so
+the lad talked on and on, and his fair young lady sister listened and
+marvelled, and I held my tongue and looked about me, and wondered was I
+awake or asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+THE pictures come back fast and thick upon my mind. I suppose every
+life, even the quietest, has its picture-book, its record of some one
+time that seems filled with beauty or joy as a cup that brims over.
+Every one, perhaps, could write his own fairy story; this is mine.
+
+The next day Yvon had a thousand things to show me. The ladies sat in
+their own room in the morning, and the rest of the castle was our own.
+It amazed me, being a great building, and the first of the kind I had
+seen. Terraces of stone ran about the house, except on the side of the
+courtyard, and these were set with flowering shrubs in great stone pots,
+that would take two men to lift. Beyond the terraces the ground fell
+away in soft banks and hollows to where I heard a brook running through
+a wood-piece. Inside, the rooms, very lofty and spacious, were dark to
+my eyes, partly from the smallness of the windows, partly from the dark
+carved wood that was everywhere, on floor and walls and ceilings. I
+could never be at home, I thought, in such a place; though I never found
+elsewhere such a fine quality of floor; smooth in the perfect degree,
+yet not too slippery for firm treading, and springing to the foot in a
+way that was next to dance music for suggestion. I said as much to Yvon,
+and he caught the idea flying, as was his way, and ran to bring his
+sister, bidding me get my fiddle on the instant. We were in a long hall,
+rather narrow, but with excellent space for a few couples, let alone one.
+Mlle. de Ste. Valerie came running, her hand in her brother's, a little
+out of breath from his suddenness, and in the prettiest morning dress of
+blue muslin. I played my best waltz, and the two waltzed. This is one of
+the brightest pictures in my book, Melody. The young lady had perfect
+grace of motion, and had been well taught; I knew less about the matter
+than I do now, but still enough to recognise fine dancing when I saw it;
+her brother was a partner worthy of her. I have seldom had more pure
+pleasure in playing dance music, and I should have been willing it had
+lasted all day; but it was not long before a sour-faced maid came and
+said my Lady had sent her to say mademoiselle should be at her studies;
+and she ran away laughing, yet sorry to go, and dropped a little running
+curtsey at the door, very graceful, such as I have never seen another
+person make.
+
+The room was darker when she was gone; but Yvon cried to me I must see
+the armory, and the chapel, and a hundred other sights. I followed him
+like a child, my eyes very round, I doubt not, and staring with all my
+might. The armory was another of the long halls or corridors that ran
+along the sides of the courtyard. Here were weapons of all kinds, but
+chiefly swords; swords of every possible make and size, some of great
+beauty, others clumsy enough, that looked as if bears should handle
+them. I had never held a sword in my hand,--how should I?--but Yvon
+vowed I must learn to fence, and told some story of an ancestor of mine
+who was the best swordsman in the country, and kept all comers at bay in
+some old fight long ago. I took the long bit of springy steel, and found
+it extraordinary comfortable to the hand. Practice with the fiddle-bow
+since early childhood gave, I may suppose, strength and quickness to the
+turn of my wrist; however it was, the marquis cried out that I was born
+for the sword; and in a few minutes again cried to know who had taught
+me tricks of fence. Honesty knows, I had had no teaching; only my eye
+caught his own motions, and my hand and wrist answered instantly, being
+trained to ready obedience. I felt a singular joy in this exercise,
+Melody. In grace and dexterity it equals the violin; with this
+difference, which keeps the two the width of the world apart, that the
+one breeds trouble and strife, while the other may, under Providence,
+soothe human ills more than any other one thing, save the kindly sound
+of the human voice.
+
+Make the best defence I could, it was not long before Yvon sent my foil
+flying from my hand; but still he professed amazement at my ready
+mastering of the art, and I felt truly that it was natural to me, and
+that with a few trials I might do as well as he.
+
+Next I must see the chapel, very ancient, but kept smart with candles
+and crimson velvet cushions. I could not warm to this, feeling the four
+plain walls of a meeting-house the only thing that could enclose my
+religious feelings with any comfort; and these not to compare with a
+free hillside, or the trees of a wood when the wind moves in them. And
+then we went to the stables, and the gardens, laid out very stately, and
+his sister's own rose garden, the pleasantest place in the whole, or so
+I thought.
+
+So with one thing and another, it was late afternoon before Yvon
+remembered that I must not sleep again without visiting my own tower, as
+he would call it; and for this, the young lady had leave to go with us.
+It was a short walk, not more than half a mile, and in a few minutes we
+were looking up at the tower, that seemed older and sadder by day than
+it had done in the evening dimness. It stood alone. The body of what had
+been behind and beside it was gone, but we could trace the lines of a
+large building, the foundations still remaining; and here and there were
+piles of cut stone, the same stone as that in the tower. Yvon told me
+that ever since the castle had begun to fall into decay (being long
+deserted), the country people around had been in the habit of mending
+their houses, and building them indeed, often, from the stone of the old
+château. He pointed to one cottage and another, standing around at
+little distance. "They are dogs," he cried, "that have each a bit of the
+lion's skin. Ah, Jacques! but for my father of blessed memory, thy tower
+would have gone in the same way. He vowed, when he came of age, that
+this desecration should go no further. He brought the priest, and
+together they laid a fine curse upon whoever should move another stone
+from the ruins, or lay hands on La Tour D'Arthenay. Since then, no man
+touches this stone. It remains, as you see. It has waited till this day,
+for thee, its propriety."
+
+He had not quite the right word, Melody, but I had not the heart to
+correct him, being more moved by the thing than I could show reason for.
+Inside the tower there was a stone staircase, that went steeply up one
+side, or rather the front it was, for from it we could step across to a
+wide stone shelf that stood out under the round window. It might have
+been part of a great chimney-piece, such as there still were in Château
+Claire. The ivy had reached in through the empty round, and covered this
+stone with a thick mat, more black than green. Though ready enough to
+step on this myself, I could not think it fit for Mlle. de Ste. Valerie,
+and took the liberty to say so; but she laughed, and told me she had
+climbed to this perch a hundred times. She was light as a leaf, and when
+I saw her set her foot in her brother's hand and spring across the empty
+space from the stair to the shelf, it seemed no less than if a wind had
+blown her. Soon we were all three crouching or kneeling on the stone,
+with our elbows in the curve of the great window, looking out on the
+prospect. A fair one it was, of fields and vineyards, with streams
+winding about, but very small. They spoke of rivers, but I saw none. It
+was the same with the hills, which Yvon bade me see here and there;
+little risings, that would not check the breath in a running man. For
+all that, the country was a fine country, and I praised it honestly,
+though knowing in my heart that it was but a poor patch beside our own.
+I was thinking this, when the young lady turned to me, and asked, in her
+gracious way, would I be coming back, I and my people, to rebuild
+Château D'Arthenay?
+
+"It was the finest in the county, so the old books say!" she told me.
+"There was a hall for dancing, a hundred feet long, and once the Sieur
+D'Arthenay gave a ball for the king, Henri Quatre it was, and the hall
+was lighted with a thousand tapers of rose-coloured wax, set in silver
+sconces. How that must have been pretty, M. D'Arthenay!"
+
+I thought of our kitchen at home, and the glass lamps that Mère-Marie
+kept shining with such care; but before I could speak, Yvon broke in.
+"He shall come! I tell him he shall come, Valerie! All my life I perish,
+thou knowest it, for a companion of my sex, of my age. Thou art my
+angel, Valerie, but thou art a woman, and soon, too, thou wilt leave me.
+Alone, a hermit in my château, my heart desolate, how to support life?
+It is for this that I cry to the friend of my house to return to his
+country, the country of his race; to bring here his respected father, to
+plant a vineyard, a little corn, a little fruit,--briefly, to live.
+Observe!" Instantly his hands fluttered out, pointing here and there.
+
+"Jacques, observe, I implore you! This tower; it is now uninhabited, is
+it not? you can answer me that, though you have been here but a day."
+
+As he waited for an answer, I replied that it certainly was vacant, so
+far as I could see; except that there must be bats and owls, I thought,
+in the thickness of the ivy trees.
+
+"Perfectly! Except for these animals, there is none to dispute your
+entrance. The tower is solid,--of a solidity! Cannon must be brought, to
+batter down these walls. Instead of battering, we restore, we construct.
+With these brave walls to keep out the cold, you construct within--a
+dwelling! vast, I do not say; palatial, I do not say; but ample for two
+persons, who--who have lived together, _à deux_, not requiring separate
+suites of apartments." He waved his hand in such a manner that I saw
+long sets of rooms opening one after another, till the eye was lost in
+them.
+
+"Here, where we now are posed, is your own room, Jacques. For you this
+view of Paradise. Monsieur your father will not so readily mount the
+stairs, becoming in future years infirm, though now a tree, an oak,
+massive and erect. We build for the future, D'Arthenay! Below, then, the
+paternal apartments, the salon, perhaps a small room for guns and dogs
+and appliances." Another wave set off a square space, where we could
+almost see the dogs leaping and crouching.
+
+"Behind again, the kitchens, offices, what you will. A few of these
+stones transported, erected; glass, carpets, a fireplace,--the place
+lives in my eyes, Jacques! Let us return to the château, that I set all
+on paper. You forget that I study architecture, that I am a drawsman,
+hein? Ten minutes, a sheet of drawing-paper,--pff! Château D'Arthenay
+lives before you, ready for habitation on the instant."
+
+I saw it all, Melody; I saw it all! Sometimes I see it now, in an old
+man's dream. Now, of course, it is wild and misty as a morning fog
+curling off the hills; but then, it seemed hardly out of reach for the
+moment. Listening to my friend's eager voice, and watching his glowing
+face, there came to life in me more and more strongly the part that
+answered to him. I also was young; I also had the warm French blood
+burning in me. In height, in strength, perhaps even in looks, I was not
+his inferior; he was noble, and my fathers had stood beside his in
+battle, hundreds of times.
+
+I felt in a kind of fire, and courted the heat even while it burned me.
+I answered Yvon, laughing, and said surely I would have no other
+architect for my castle. Mlle. de Ste. Valerie joined in, and told me
+where I should buy carpets, and what flowers I should plant in my
+garden.
+
+"Roses, M. D'Arthenay!" she cried. "Roses are the best, for the masses.
+A few gillyflowers I advise, they are so sweet; and plenty of lilies,
+the white and yellow. Oh! I have a lily with brown stripes, the most
+beautiful! you shall have a bulb of it; I will start it for you myself,
+in a stone pot. You must have a little conservatory, too, for winter
+plants; one cannot live without flowers, even in winter. All winter,
+when no longer many flowers bloom out-of-doors, though always some,
+always my hardy roses, then I live half my day in the conservatory. You
+shall have some of my flowers; oh, yes, I can spare you plenty."
+
+She was so like her brother! There was the same pretty eagerness, the
+same fire of kindliness and good will, hurrying both along to say they
+knew not what. I could only thank her; and the very beauty and sweetness
+of her struck all at once a sadness on my merriment; and I saw for a
+moment that this was all a fleeting wreath of fog, as I said; yet all
+the more for that strove to grasp it and hold it fast.
+
+The sun went down behind the low hills, and the young lady cried that
+she must hasten home; her aunt would be vexed at her for staying so
+long. Yvon said, his faith, she might be vexed. If Mlle. de Ste. Valerie
+might not go out with her brother, the head of her house and her natural
+guardian, he knew not with whom she might go; and muttered under his
+breath something I did not hear. So we went back to the château, and
+still I was in the bright dream, shutting my eyes when it seemed like to
+break away from me. The evening was bright and joyous, like the one
+before. Again we three supped alone, and it seemed this was the custom,
+the Countess Lalange (it was the name of the aunt) seldom leaving her
+own salon, save to pass to her private apartments beyond it. We spent
+an hour there,--in her salon, that is,--after supper, and I must bring
+my violin, but not for dance music this time. I played all the sweetest
+and softest things I knew; and now and then the young lady would clap
+her hands, when I played one of my mother's songs, and say that her
+nurse had sung it to her, and how did I learn it, in America? They were
+the peasant songs, she said, the sweetest in the world. The lady aunt
+listened patiently, but I think she had no music in her; only once she
+asked if I had no sacred music; and when I played our psalm-tunes, she
+thought them not the thing at all. But last of all, when it was time for
+us to go away, I played lightly, and as well as I knew how to play, my
+mother's favourite song, that was my own also; and at this, the young
+girl's head drooped, and her eyes filled with tears. Her mother, too,
+had sung it! How many other mothers, I ask myself sometimes, how many
+hearts, sad and joyful, have answered to those notes, the sweetest, the
+tenderest in the world?
+
+          "Il y a longtemps que je t'aime;
+           Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+THIS was one day of many, my dear. They came and went, and I thought
+each one brighter than the last. When I had been a month at Château
+Claire, I could hardly believe it more than a week, so quickly and
+lightly the time went. The mornings, two children at play; the
+afternoons, three. I suppose it was because the brother and sister were
+so strangely like each other, that I grew so soon to feel Mlle. Valerie
+as my friend; and she, sweet soul, took me at Yvon's word, and thought
+me, perhaps, a fine fellow, and like her own people. That she never
+fully learned the difference is one of the many things for which I have
+to thank a gracious God.
+
+Abby Rock told me, Melody,--in after-times, when we were much
+together,--how my poor father, at sight of my mother Marie, was struck
+with love as by a lightning-flash. It was a possession, she would say,
+only by an angel instead of an evil spirit; at the first look, she
+filled his life, and while she lived he wanted nothing else, nor indeed
+after she died. It was not so with me. And perhaps it might seem strange
+to some, my dear child, that I write this story of my heart for you, who
+are still a slip of a growing girl, and far yet from womanhood and the
+thoughts that come with it. But it may be some years before the paper
+comes to you, for except my poor father, we are a long-lived race; and I
+find singular comfort, now that I cannot keep myself exercised as much
+as formerly, by reason of growing years, in this writing. And I trust to
+say nothing that you may not with propriety hear, my dear.
+
+When I had been a month at Château Claire, then, a new thing began to
+come slowly upon me. From the first I had felt that this young lady was
+the fairest and the sweetest creature my eyes had seen; like a drop of
+morning dew on a rose, nothing less. I dwelt upon the grace of her
+motions, and the way the colour melted in her cheek, as I would dwell
+upon the fairest picture; and I listened to her voice because it was
+sweeter than my violin, or even the note of the hermit-thrush. But
+slowly I became aware of a change; and instead of merely the pleasure of
+eye and ear, and the warmth at the heart that comes from true kindliness
+and friendship, there would fall a trembling on me when she came or
+went, and a sense of the room being empty when she was not in it. When
+she was by, I wanted nothing more, or so it seemed, but just the
+knowledge of it, and did not even need to look at her to see how the
+light took her hair where it waved above her ear. This I take to have
+been partly because the feeling that was growing up in me came not from
+her beauty, or in small part only from that, but rather from my learning
+the truth and purity and nobleness of her nature; and this knowledge
+did not require the pleasure of the eyes. I thought no harm of all this;
+I took the joy as part of all the new world that was so bright about me;
+if voices spoke low within me, telling of the other life overseas, which
+was my own, while this was but a fairy dream,--I would not listen, or
+bade my heart speak louder and drown them. My mind had little, or say
+rather, my reason had little to do in those days; till it woke with a
+start, if I may say so, one night. It was a July night, hot and close.
+We were all sitting on the stone terrace for coolness, though there was
+little enough anywhere. I had been playing, and we had all three sung,
+as we loved to do. There was a song of a maiden who fell asleep by the
+wayside, and three knights came riding by,--a pretty song it was, and
+sung in three parts, the treble carrying the air, the tenor high above
+it, and the bass making the accompaniment.
+
+          "Le premier qui passa,--       The first who rode along,--
+            'Voilà une endormie!'          "Behold! a sleeping maid."
+
+          "Le deuxième qui passa,--      The next who rode along,--
+            'Elle est encore jolie!'       "She's fair enough!" he said.
+
+          "Le troisième qui passa,       The third who rode along,--
+            'Elle sera ma mie!'            "My sweetheart she shall be!"
+
+          "La prit et l'emporta,         He's borne her far away,
+            Sur son cheval d'Hongrie."     On his steed of Hungary.
+
+I was thinking, I remember, how fine it would be to be a knight on a
+horse of Hungary (though I am not aware that the horses of that country
+are finer than elsewhere, except in songs), and to stoop down beside the
+road and catch up the sleeping maiden,--and I knew how she would be
+looking as she slept,--and ride away with her no one could tell where,
+into some land of gold and flowers.
+
+I was thinking this in a cloudy sort of way, while Yvon had run into the
+house to bring something,--some piece of music that I must study, out of
+the stores of ancient music they had. There was a small table standing
+on the terrace, near where we were sitting, and on it a silver
+candlestick, with candles lighted.
+
+Mlle. Valerie was standing near this, and I again near her, both
+admiring the moon, which was extraordinary bright and clear in a light
+blue sky. The light flooded the terrace so, I think we both forgot the
+poor little candles, with their dull yellow gleam. However it was, the
+young lady stepped back a pace, and her muslin cape, very light, and
+fluttering with ruffles and lace, was in the candle, and ablaze in a
+moment. I heard her cry, and saw the flame spring up around her; but it
+was only a breath before I had the thing torn off, and was crushing it
+together in my hands, and next trampling it under foot, treading out the
+sparks, till it was naught but black tinder. A pretty cape it was, and a
+sin to see it so destroyed. But I was not thinking of the cape then. I
+had only eyes for the young lady herself; and when I saw her untouched,
+save for the end of her curls singed, but pale and frightened, and
+crying out that I was killed, there came a mist, it seemed, before my
+face, and I dropped on the stone rail, and laughed.
+
+"You are not burned, mademoiselle?"
+
+"I? no, sir! I am not touched; but you--you? oh, your hands! You took it
+in your hands, and they are destroyed! What shall I do?" Before I could
+move she had caught my two hands in hers, and turned the palms up.
+Indeed, they were only scorched, not burned deep, though they stung
+smartly enough; but black they were, and the skin beginning to puff into
+blisters. But now came the tap of a stick on the stone, and Mme. de
+Lalange came hobbling out. "What is this?" she cried, seeing me standing
+so, pale, it may be, with the young lady holding my blackened hands
+still in hers.
+
+"What is the meaning of this scene?"
+
+"Its meaning?" cried Mlle. Valerie; and it was Yvon's self that flashed
+upon her aunt.
+
+"The meaning is that this gentleman has saved my life. Yes, my aunt!
+Look as you please; if he had not been here, and a hero,--a _hero_,--I
+should be devoured by the flames. Look!" and she pointed to the
+fragments of muslin, which were floating off in black rags. "He caught
+it from me, when I was in flames. He crushed it in his hands,--these
+poor hands, which are destroyed, I tell you, with pain. What shall we
+do,--what can we ever do, to thank him?"
+
+The old lady looked from one to the other; her face was grim enough, but
+her words were courteous.
+
+"We are grateful, indeed, to monsieur!" she said. "The only thing we
+can do for him, my niece, is to bind his hands with soothing ointment; I
+will attend to this matter myself. You are agitated, Valerie, and I
+advise you to go to your own room, and let Felice bring you a potion. If
+M. D'Arthenay will follow me into my salon, I will see to these injured
+hands."
+
+How a cold touch can take the colour out of life. An instant before I
+was a hero, not in my own eyes, but surely in those tender blue ones
+that now shone through angry tears, and--I knew not what sweet folly was
+springing up in me while she held my hands in hers. Now, I was only a
+young man with dirty and blackened fingers, standing in a constrained
+position, and, I make no doubt, looking a great fool. The young lady
+vanished, and I followed madame into the little room. I am bound to say
+that she treated my scorched hands with perfect skill.
+
+When Yvon came rushing in a few minutes later,--he had heard the story
+from his sister, and was for falling on my neck, and calling me his
+brother, the saviour of his cherished sister,--I know not what wild
+nonsense,--Mme. de Lalange cut his expressions short. "M. le Marquis,"
+she said, and she put a curious emphasis on the title, I thought; "M. le
+Marquis, it will be well, believe me, for you to leave this gentleman
+with me for a short time. He has suffered a shock, more violent than he
+yet realises. His hands are painfully burned, yet I hope to relieve his
+sufferings in a few minutes. I suggest that you retire to your own
+apartments, where M. D'Arthenay will join you, say in half an hour."
+
+Generally, Yvon paid little heed to his aunt, rather taking pleasure in
+thwarting her, which was wrong, no doubt, yet her aspect invited it; but
+on this occasion, she daunted us both. There was a weight in her words,
+a command in her voice, which I, for one, was not inclined at that
+moment to dispute; and Yvon, after an angry stare, and a few muttered
+words of protest, went away, only charging me to be with him within the
+half-hour.
+
+Left alone with the ancient lady, there was silence for a time. I could
+not think what she wanted with me; she had shown no love for my society
+since I had been in the house. I waited, thinking it the part of
+courtesy to let her begin the conversation, if she desired any.
+
+Presently she began to talk, in a pleasanter strain than I had yet heard
+her use. Was the pain less severe? she asked; and now she changed the
+linen cloths dipped in something cool and fragrant, infinitely soothing
+to the irritated skin. I must have been very quick, to prevent further
+mischief; in truth, it was a great debt they owed me, and she, I must
+believe her, shared the gratitude of her niece and nephew, even though
+her feelings were less vivaciously expressed.
+
+I told her it was nothing, and less than nothing, that I had done, and I
+thought there had been far too much said about it already. I was deeply
+thankful that no harm had come to Mlle. de Ste. Valerie, but I could
+claim no merit, beyond that of having my eyes open, and my wits about
+me.
+
+She bowed in assent. "Your wits about you!" she said. "But that in
+itself is no small matter, M. D'Arthenay, I assure you. It is not every
+young man who can say as much. Your eyes open, and your wits about you?
+You are fortunate, believe me."
+
+Her tone was so strange, I knew not what reply to make, if any; again I
+waited her lead.
+
+"The young people with whom I have to do are so widely different from
+this!" she said, presently. "Hearts of gold, heads of feather! you must
+have observed this, M. D'Arthenay."
+
+I replied with some warmth that I had recognised the gold, but not the
+other quality. She smiled, a smile that had no more warmth in it than
+February sunshine on an icicle.
+
+"You are modest!" she said. "I give you credit for more discernment than
+you admit. Confess that you think our marquis needs a stronger head
+beside him, to aid in his affairs."
+
+I had thought this, but I conceived it no part of my duty to say as
+much. I was silent, therefore, and looked at her, wondering.
+
+"Confess," she went on, "that you saw as much, when he came to your
+estate--of which the title escapes me--in North America; that you
+thought it might be well for him to have a companion, an adviser, with
+more definite ideas of life; well for him, and possibly--incidentally,
+of course--for the companion?"
+
+"Madam!" I said. I could say no more, being confounded past the point of
+speech.
+
+"It is because of this friendly interest in my nephew," the lady went
+on, taking no notice of my exclamation. "In my _nephew_, that I think to
+give you pleasure by announcing a visit that we are shortly to receive.
+A guest is expected at Château Claire in a few days; in fact, the day
+after to-morrow. My nephew has doubtless spoken to you of the Vicomte de
+Creçy?"
+
+I said no, I had heard of no such person.
+
+"Not heard of him? Unpardonable remissness in Yvon! Not heard of the
+vicomte? Of the future husband of Mlle. de Ste. Valerie?"
+
+I took the blow full and fair, my dear. I think my father in me kept me
+from flinching; but I may have turned white as I saw myself an hour
+after; for after one glance the woman turned her eyes away, and looked
+at me no more as she spoke on. "It seems hardly credible that even my
+nephew's featherpate should have kept you a month in ignorance of what
+so nearly concerns his sister and our whole family. The vicomte is a
+charming man, of high polish and noble descent. His estate adjoins ours
+on the south. The match was made by my late brother, the father of Yvon
+and Valerie, shortly before his death. It had been his cherished plan
+for years, ever since Providence removed the vicomtesse to a better
+world than this; but Valerie was very young. The matter was arranged
+while she was still in the convent, and since then the vicomte has been
+travelling, in Russia, India, the world over, and is but just returned.
+The betrothal will be solemnised, now, in a few days."
+
+I feared to speak at the moment. I snuffed the candle, and, finding my
+hand steady, tried my voice, which had a good strength, though the sound
+of it was strange to me.
+
+"Do they--does she know?" I asked.
+
+The lady cleared her throat, and looked--or I fancied it--a trifle
+confused. "I have not yet told my niece and nephew. I--the letter came
+but this evening. There was a letter also for you, M. D'Arthenay; I
+ordered it sent to your room. I think your hands will do well now, and I
+need no longer detain you from your friend."
+
+I stood up before her.
+
+"Madam," I said, "permit me a word. I have to thank you for your
+kindness, and for the hospitality which I have received under this
+kindly roof, whether it were with your will or not. For Mlle. de Ste.
+Valerie, I wish her all joy that earthly life can know. If her--if her
+husband be one half so noble as herself, she cannot fail of happiness.
+It is only a princely nature that should be matched with the purity of
+an angel and the goodness of a saint. For myself"--I paused a moment,
+finding myself short of breath; but my strength was come back to me. I
+sought her eye and held it, forcing her to look at me against her will.
+"For myself, I am no noble, though there is good blood in my veins. I am
+a plain man, the son of a peasant. But God, madam, who sees your heart
+and mine, created, I make bold to remind you, both noble and peasant;
+and as that God is above us, you have done bitter wrong to an honest
+man. There is no heart of a woman in you, or I would commend to it that
+fair young creature, who will need, I think, a woman's tenderness. I
+thank you again for your assistance, and I take my leave. And I pray you
+to remember that, whatever the D'Arthenays may have been in France, in
+my country, in America, madam, they pass for men of honour!"
+
+I bowed, and left her; and now, methought, it was she who was white, and
+I thought there was fear in her eyes when she dropped them. But I turned
+away, and, passing Yvon's door, went to my own room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+
+THE shock of my awakening was so violent, the downfall of my air-castles
+so sudden and complete, that I think for awhile I had little sense of
+what was going on. Yvon came to my door and knocked, and then called;
+but I made no answer, and he went away, thinking, I suppose, that I had
+forgotten him, and gone to bed. I sat on the side of my bed, where I had
+thrown myself, great part of that night; and there was no thought of
+sleep in me. My folly loomed large before me; I sat and looked it in the
+face. And sometimes, for a few moments, it would not seem altogether
+folly. I felt my youth and strength in every limb of me, and I thought,
+what could not love do that was as strong as mine? for now I knew that
+all these quiet weeks it had been growing to full stature, and that
+neither gratitude nor friendship had any considerable part in my
+feeling, but here was the one woman in the world for me. And would it be
+so hard, I asked, to take her away from all this, and make a home for
+her in my own good country, where she should be free and happy as a
+bird, with no hateful watchers about her path? And would she not love
+the newness, and the greatness and beauty of it all, and the homely
+friends whom her brother so truly loved? Could I not say to her, "Come!"
+and would she not come with me?
+
+Ah! would she not? And with that there fell from my eyes as it were
+scales,--even like the Apostle Paul, with reverence be it said,--and I
+saw the thing in its true light. My heart said she would come; had not
+her eyes answered mine last night? Was there not for her, too, an
+awakening? And if she came,--what then?
+
+I saw her, the delicate lady, in my father's house; not a guest, as Yvon
+had been, but a dweller, the wife and daughter of the house, the wife of
+a poor man. I remembered all the work that my mother Marie had done so
+joyfully, so easily, because she was a working-woman, and these were the
+things she had known all her life. This form of grace that filled my
+eyes now was no lighter nor more graceful than hers; but the difference!
+My mother's little brown hands could do any work that they had strength
+for, and make it a woman's work in the doing, because she was pure woman
+in herself; but these white fingers that had caught mine last
+night,--what could they do? What ought they to do, save work delicately
+with the needle, and make cordials and sweets (for in this my young lady
+excelled), and beyond these matters, to play the harp and guitar, and
+tend her roses, and adorn her own lovely person?
+
+"But," cried the other voice in me, "I am young and strong, and I can
+work! I can study the violin, I can become a musician, can earn my
+bread and hers, so that there will be no need of the farm. It would be a
+few years of study, a few years of waiting,--and she is so young!"
+
+Ah, yes! she was so young! and then that voice died away, and knew that
+it had no more to say. What--what was this, to think of urging a young
+girl, still almost a child, to give up the station of life in which she
+had lived happy and joyous, and go away with a stranger, far from her
+own home and her own people, to share a struggling life, with no certain
+assurance of anything, save love alone? What was this but a baseness, of
+which no honest man could be capable? If,--if even I had read her glance
+aright,--last night,--or was it a year ago? Still, it was but a thing of
+a moment, the light springing up of a tiny fire of good will, that would
+die out in a few days after I was gone, for want of fuel; even if it
+were not snatched out strongly by other hands, as I had put out those
+climbing flames last night. How her startled eyes sought mine! How the
+colour flashed into her face when I spoke. No! no! Of that I must not
+think, if my manhood was to stay in me!
+
+This other, then, who was coming,--this man would turn her thoughts. She
+would yield, as is the custom for young maidens in France, with no
+thought that it might be otherwise. He was no longer young,--he had
+already been once married,--I looked up at this moment, I do not know
+by what chance, and my eyes fell on a long glass, what they call a
+cheval-glass in France, my dear, showing the whole figure. I think no
+harm, seeing this was so long ago, in saying that I appeared to
+advantage in such a view, being well-made, and perhaps not without other
+good points. This will seem strangely trifling to you, my child, who see
+nothing but the soul of man or woman; but I have always loved a good
+figure, and never felt shame to thank God for giving me one. My clothes
+were good, having been bought in Paris as we came through. I have never
+made any claim to pass for a gentleman, Melody, but yet I think I made a
+fair enough show of one, that night at least. And being so constituted,
+I sat staring at my image in the mirror, and wondering like a fool if
+the other man were as good-looking. This would be like a slight crust of
+contentment,--sad enough at that,--forming for a moment over the black
+depth of sorrow that was my heart; and next moment the pain would stab
+through it again, till I could have cried out but for the shame of it;
+and so the night wore by, and the morning found me still there. I had
+learned little, save the one thing that was all the world,--that I could
+not commit a baseness.
+
+It was strange to me, coming down to breakfast, to find Yvon unchanged,
+his own gay self simply. I was grown suddenly so old, he seemed no more
+than a child to me, with his bits of song that yesterday I had joined in
+with a light heart, and his plans for another day of pleasure, like
+yesterday and all the days. Looking at him, I could have laughed, had
+there been any laughter in me, at the thought of his aunt that I had
+come over with a view to bettering myself at his expense. It seemed a
+thing of so little moment; I had half a mind to tell him, but held my
+peace, wishing her really no evil, since what she had done had been
+through love and care for her own. There might be such men as she had
+thought me; I have since found that there are indeed.
+
+Yvon was full of plans; we were to ride this afternoon, to such and such
+a place; it was the finest view in the country, there was nothing to
+approach it. Pierre should drive over and meet us there, with peaches,
+and cream, and cakes, and we would sup, we three together, and come home
+by moonlight. It would be the very thing! if I really could hold the
+bridle? it was the very thing to remove the recollection of last night
+from his sister's mind, impressionable, as youth always is. (He said
+this, Melody, with an air of seventy years, and wisdom ineffable, that
+was comical enough.) "From my own mind," he cried, "never shall the
+impression be effaced. Thy heroism, my Jacques, shall be inscribed in
+the annals of our houses. To save the life of a Demoiselle de Ste.
+Valerie is claim sufficient for undying remembrance; to save the life of
+my sister, my Valerie,--and you her saviour, the friend of my
+heart,--the combination is perfect; it is ideal. I shall compose a poem,
+Jacques; I have already begun it. '_Ciel d'argent_--' you shall hear it
+when it has progressed a little farther; at present it is in embryo
+merely."
+
+He sent for his sister, that they might arrange their plans before she
+passed to her lessons, which were strictly kept up. She came, and my
+heart spoke loud, telling me that all my vigil had brought to me was
+true, and that I must begone. There was a new softness in her sweet
+eyes, a tone in her voice,--oh, it was always kind,--but now a
+tenderness that I must not hear. She would see my hands; could not
+believe that I was not seriously wounded; vowed that her aunt was a
+magician; "though I prayed long, long, last night, monsieur, that the
+wounds might heal quickly. They are really--no! look, Yvon! look! these
+terrible blisters! but, they are frightful, M. D'Arthenay. You--surely
+you should not have left your room, in this condition?"
+
+Not only this, I assured her, but I was so entirely well that I hoped to
+ride with them this afternoon, if the matter could be arranged. She
+listened with delight while Yvon detailed his plan; presently her face
+fell a little.
+
+"Walk back!" she said. "Yes, Yvon, what could be more delightful? but
+when I tell you that the sole is sprung from my walking-shoe, and it
+must go to the village to be mended! How can I get it back in time?"
+
+A thought came to me. "If mademoiselle would let me see the shoe?" I
+said. "Perhaps I can arrange it for her." Yvon frowned and pshawed; he
+did not like any mention of my shoemaking; this was from no unworthy
+feeling, but because he thought the trade unsuited to me. I, however,
+repeated my request, and, greatly wondering, the young lady sent a
+servant for the shoe. I took it in my hand with pleasure; it was not
+only beautiful, but well made. "Here is an easy matter!" I said,
+smiling. "Will mademoiselle see how they mend shoes in my country?" A
+hammer was soon found, and sitting down on a low bench, I tapped away,
+and soon had the pretty thing in order again. Mademoiselle Valerie cried
+out upon my cleverness. "But, you can then do anything you choose,
+monsieur?" she said. "To play the violin, to save a life, to mend a
+shoe,--do they teach all these things in your country? and to what
+wonderful school did you go?"
+
+I said, to none more wonderful than a village school; and that this I
+had indeed learned well, but on the cobbler's bench. "Surely Yvon has
+told you, mademoiselle, of our good shoemaker, and how he taught me his
+trade, that I might practise it at times when there is no fiddling
+needed?" I spoke cheerfully, but let it be seen that I was not in jest.
+A little pale, she looked from one of us to the other, not
+understanding.
+
+"All nonsense, Valerie!" cried Yvon, forcing a laugh. "Jacques learned
+shoemaking, as he would learn anything, for the sake of knowledge. He
+may even have practised it here and there, among his neighbours; why
+not? I have often wished I could set a stitch, in time of need, as he
+has done to-day. But to remain at this trade,--it is stuff that he
+talks; he does not know his own nature, his own descent, when he permits
+himself to think of such a thing. Fie, M. D'Arthenay!"
+
+"No more of that!" I said. "The play is over, _mon cher_! M. D'Arthenay
+is a figure of your kind, romantic heart, Yvon. Plain Jacques De
+Arthenay, farmer's son, fiddler, and cobbler, stands from this moment on
+his own feet, not those of his grandfather four times back."
+
+I did not look at my young lady, not daring to see the trouble that I
+knew was in her sweet face; but I looked full at Yvon, and was glad
+rather than sorry at his black look. I could have quarrelled with him or
+any man who had brought me to this pass. But just then, before there
+could be any more speech, came the sour-faced maid with an urgent
+message from Mme. de Lalange, that both the young lady and the marquis
+should attend her in her own room without delay.
+
+Left alone, I found myself considering the roses on the terrace, and
+wondering could I take away a slip of one, and keep it alive till I
+reached home. In the back of my head I knew what was going on up-stairs
+in the grim lady's room; but I had no mind to lose hold on myself, and
+presently I went for my fiddle, which was kept in the parlour hard by,
+and practised scales, a thing I always did when out of Yvon's company,
+being what he could not abear. To practise scales is a fine thing,
+Melody, to steady the mind and give it balance; you never knew, my
+child, why I made you sing your scales so often, that night when your
+aunt Rejoice was like to die, and all the house in such distress. Your
+aunt Vesta thought me mad, but I was never in better wits.
+
+So I was quiet, when after a long time Yvon came down to me. When I saw
+that he knew all, I laid my violin away, agitation being bad for the
+strings,--or so I have always thought. He was in a flame of anger, and
+fairly stammered in his speech. What had his aunt said to me, he
+demanded, the night before? How had she treated me, his friend? She
+was--many things which you know nothing about, Melody, my dear; the very
+least of them was cat, and serpent, and traitress. But I took a cool
+tone.
+
+"Is it true, Yvon," I asked, "about the gentleman who comes to-morrow?
+You have already known about it? It is true?"
+
+"True!" cried Yvon, his passion breaking out. "Yes, it is true! What,
+then? Because my sister is to marry, some day,--she is but just out of
+her pinafores, I tell you,--because some day she is to marry, and the
+estates are to join, is that a reason that my friend is to be insulted,
+my pleasure broken up, my summer destroyed? I insist upon knowing what
+that cat said to you, Jacques!"
+
+"She told me what you acknowledge," I said. "That I can be insulted I
+deny, unless there be ground for what is said. Mme. de Lalange did what
+she considered to be her duty; and--and I have spent a month of great
+happiness with you, marquis, and it is a time that will always be the
+brightest of my life."
+
+But at this Yvon flung himself on my neck--it is not a thing practised
+among men in this country, but in him it seemed nowise strange, my blood
+being partly like his own--and wept and stormed. He loved me, I am glad
+to believe, truly; yet after all the most part was to him, that his
+party of pleasure was spoiled, and his plans broken up. And then I
+remembered how we had talked together that day in the old grist-mill,
+and how he had said that when trouble came, we should spread our wings
+and fly away from it. And Ham's words came back to me, too, till I could
+almost hear him speak, and see the grave, wise look of him. "Take good
+stuff, and grind it in the Lord's mill, and you've got the best this
+world can give." And I found that Ham's philosophy was the one that
+held.
+
+There was no more question of the gay party that afternoon. Mlle. de
+Ste. Valerie did not dine with us, word coming down that her head ached,
+and she would not go out. Yvon and I went to walk, and I led the way to
+my tower (so I may call it this once), thinking I would like to see it
+once more. All these three months and more (counting from the day I
+first met Yvon de Ste. Valerie at the priest's house), I had played a
+second in the duet, and that right cheerfully. Though my own age, the
+marquis was older in many ways from his knowledge of society and its
+ways, and his gay, masterful manner; and I, the country lad, had been
+too happy only to follow his lead, and go about open-eyed, seeing all he
+would show, and loving him with honest admiration and pride in him. But
+it was curious to see how from this moment we changed; and now it was I
+who led, and was the master. The master in my own house, I thought for a
+moment, as we sat on the shelf under the great round window, and looked
+out over the lands that had once belonged to my people. Here once more
+the dream came upon me, and I had a wild vision of myself coming back
+after years, rich and famous, and buying back the old tower, building
+the castle, and holding that sweet princess by my side. The poet
+Coleridge, my dear, in describing a man whose wits are crazed, makes use
+of this remarkable expression:
+
+          "How there looked him in the face
+             An angel beautiful and bright,
+           And how he knew it was a fiend,
+             That miserable knight."
+
+This knowledge was also mercifully mine. And I was helped, too, by a
+thing slight enough, and yet curious. Being in distress of mind, I
+sought some use of my hands, as is the case with most women and some
+men. I fell to pulling off the dead leaves of ivy from the wall; and so,
+running my hand along the inside of the window, felt beneath it a
+carving on the stone. I lifted the leaves, which here were not so thick
+as in most places, and saw a shield carved with arms, and on it the
+motto I knew well: "_D'Arthenay, tenez foi!_"
+
+I told my friend that I must be gone that night; that I knew his aunt
+desired it, and was entirely in her right, it being most unfitting that
+a stranger should be present on such an occasion as this. Doubtless
+other friends would be coming, too, and my room would be wanted.
+
+Here he broke out in a storm, and vowed no one should have my room, and
+I should not stir a foot for a hundred of them. And here had she kept
+him in the dark, as if he were a babe, instead of the head of the house.
+It was an affront never to be forgiven. If the vicomte had not been the
+friend of his father, he would break off the match, and forbid him the
+house. As it was, he was powerless, tied hand and foot.
+
+I interrupted him, thinking such talk idle; and begged to know what
+manner of man this was who was coming. Was he--was he the man he should
+be?
+
+He was a gallant gentleman, Yvon confessed; there was no fault to find
+with him, save that he was old enough to be the girl's father. But that
+was all one! If he were twenty viscounts, he should not turn out his,
+Yvon's friend, the only man he ever cared to call his brother,--and so
+on and so on, till I cut him short. For now I saw no way, Melody, but to
+tell him how it was with me; and this I did in as few words as might
+be, and begged him to let me go quietly, and say no more. For once, I
+think, the lad was put to such depth of sorrow as was in him. He had
+never guessed, never thought of this; his sister was a child to him, and
+must be so, he supposed, to all. How could he tell? Why had he brought
+me here, to suffer? He was a criminal! What could he do? And then there
+struck him a thought, and he glanced up sharply at me, and I saw not the
+face of my friend, but one cold and questioning. Had I spoken to his
+sister? Did she--
+
+I cut him short at the word. Of that, I said, he could judge better than
+I, having been in my company daily for three months. He fell on my neck
+again, and implored my pardon; and said, I think, that twenty viscounts
+were less noble than I. I cared little for my nobility; all I asked was
+to get away, and hide my wound among my own friendly people.
+
+And so it was arranged that I was to go that night; and we walked back
+to the château, speaking little, but our hearts full of true affection,
+and--save for that one sting of a moment--trust in each other.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+
+THE disturbance of my mind had been so great, that all this while I had
+forgotten the letter of which Mme. de Lalange had spoken the night
+before. I had seen it when I first went to my room, but was in no mood
+for village news then; I saw that it was in the large round hand of Ham
+Belfort, and thought it kind in him to write, seeing that it cost him
+some effort; then I forgot it, as I said. But now, going again to my
+room, and with nothing much to do save wait the hour of my departure, I
+took the letter up, idly enough, thinking I might as well do this as
+another thing. This is what I read, Melody. No fear of my forgetting the
+words.
+
+          FRIEND JAKEY:
+
+          I am sorry to have bad news to send you this first
+          time of my writing. Father says to prepare your
+          mind, but I never found it work that way myself,
+          always liking to know straight out how things was,
+          and I think you are the same. Your father has been
+          hearty, for him, till about a week ago. Then he
+          begun to act strange, and would go about looking
+          for your mother, as if she was about the place.
+          Abby kep watch on him, and I happened in once or
+          twice a day, just to pass the word, and he was
+          always just as polite, and would read me your
+          letters. He thought a sight of your letters,
+          Jakey, and they gave him more pleasure than likely
+          he'd have had if you'd have ben here, being new
+          and strange to him, so to speak. He was a perfect
+          gentleman; he like to read them letters, and they
+          done credit to him and you. Last night Abby said
+          to me, she guessed she would take her things over
+          and stay a spell at the house, till your father
+          was some better, he was not himself, and she owed
+          it to you and your mother. I said she was right,
+          I'd gone myself, but things wasn't so I could
+          leave, and a woman is better in sickness, however
+          it may be when a man is well. She went over early
+          this morning, but your father was gone. There
+          warn't no hide nor hair of him round the house nor
+          in the garding. She sent for me, and I sarched the
+          farm; but while I was at it, seems as if she
+          sensed where he was, and she went straight to the
+          berrin-ground, and he was layin on your mother's
+          grave, peaceful as if he'd just laid down a spell
+          to rest him. He was dead and cold, Jakes, and you
+          may as well know it fust as last. He hadn't had no
+          pain, for when I see him his face was like he was
+          in heaven, and Abby says it come nearer smiling
+          than she'd seen it sence your mother was took. So
+          this is what my paneful duty is to tell you, and
+          that the Lord will help you threw it is my prayer
+          and alls that is in the village. Abby is real
+          sick, or she would write herself. She thought a
+          sight of your father, as I presume likely you
+          know. We shall have the funeral to-morrow, and
+          everything good and plain, knowing how he would
+          wish it from remembering your mother's. So no
+          more, Friend Jakey; only all that's in the village
+          feels for you, and this news coming to you far
+          away; and would like you to feel that you was
+          coming home all the same, if he is gone, for there
+          aint no one but sets by you, and they all want to
+          see you back, and everybody says it aint the same
+          place with you away. So I remain your friend,
+
+                                               HAM BELFORT.
+
+          P.S. I'd like you to give my regards to Eavan, if
+          he remembers the grist-mill, as I guess likely he
+          doos. Remember the upper and nether millstones,
+          Jakey, and the Lord help you threw.
+
+                                                      H. B.
+
+It is sometimes the bitterest medicine, Melody, that is the most
+strengthening. This was bitter indeed; yet coming at this moment, it
+gave me the strength I needed. The sharp sting of this pain dulled in
+some measure that other that I suffered; and I had no fear of any
+weakness now. I do not count it weakness, that I wept over my poor
+father, lying down so quietly to die on the grave of his dear love. In
+my distraction, I even thought for a moment how well it was with them
+both, to be together now, and wished that death might take me and
+another to some place where no foolish things of this world should keep
+us apart; but that was a boy's selfish grief, and I was now grown a man.
+I read Ham's letter over and over, as well as I could for tears; and it
+seemed to me a pure fruit of friendship, so that I gave thanks for him
+and Abby, knowing her silent for want of strength, not want of love. I
+should still go home, to the friendly place, and the friendly people who
+had known my birth and all that had fallen since. I had no place here; I
+was in haste to be gone.
+
+At first I thought not to tell Yvon of what had come to me; but he
+coming in and finding me as I have said, I would not have him mistake my
+feeling, and so gave him the letter. And let me say that a woman could
+not have been tenderer than my friend was, in his sympathy and grieving
+for me. I have told you that he and my poor father were drawn to each
+other from the first. He spoke of him in terms which were no more than
+just, but which soothed and pleased me, coming from one who knew
+nobility well, both the European sense of it, and the other. Upon this,
+Yvon pressed me to stay, declaring that he would go away with me, and we
+would travel together, till my hurt was somewhat healed, or at least I
+had grown used to the sting of it; but this I could not hear of. He
+helped me put my things together, for by this time night was coming on.
+He had found his sister so suffering, he told me, that she felt unable
+to leave her bed; and so he had thought it best not to tell her of my
+departure till the morrow. And this was perhaps the bitterest drop I had
+to drink, my dear, to leave the house like a thief, and no word to her
+who had made it a palace of light to me. Indeed, when Yvon left me, to
+order the horses, a thought came into my mind which I found it hard to
+resist. There was a little balcony outside my window, and I knew that my
+dear love's window (I call her so this once, the pain coming back sharp
+upon me of that parting hour) opened near it. If I took my violin and
+stepped outside, and if I played one air that she knew, then, I thought,
+she would understand, at least in part. She would not think that I had
+gone willingly without kissing her sweet hand, which I had counted on
+doing, the custom of the country permitting it. I took the violin, and
+went out into the cool night air; and I laid my bow across the strings,
+yet no sound came. For honour, my dear, honour, which we bring into this
+world with us, and which is the only thing, save those heavenly ones,
+that we can take from this world with us, laid, as it were, her hand on
+the strings, and kept them silent. A thing for which I have ever since
+been humbly thankful, that I never willingly or knowingly gave any touch
+of pain to that sweet lady's life. But if I had played, Melody; if it
+had been permitted to me as a man of honour as well as a true lover, it
+was my mother's little song that I should have played; and that, my
+child, is why you have always said that you hear my heart beat in that
+song.
+
+          "Il y a longtemps que je t'aime;
+           Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"
+
+Before we rode away, Mme. de Lalange came out to the door, leaning on
+her crutched stick; the horses being already there, and I about to
+mount. She swept me a curtsey of surprising depth, considering her
+infirmity.
+
+"M. D'Arthenay," she said, "I think I have done you an injustice. I
+cannot regret your departure, but I desire to say that your conduct has
+been that of a gentleman, and that I shall always think of you as noble,
+and the worthy descendant of a great race." With that she held out her
+hand, which I took and kissed, conceiving this to be her intention; that
+I did it with something the proper air her eyes assured me. It is a
+graceful custom, but unsuited to our own country and race.
+
+I could only reply that I thanked her for her present graciousness, and
+that it was upon that my thought should dwell in recalling my stay here,
+and not upon what was past and irrevocable; which brought the colour to
+her dry cheek, I thought, but I could say nothing else. And so I bowed,
+and we rode away; my few belongings having gone before by carrier, all
+save my violin, which I carried on the saddle before me.
+
+Coming to the Tour D'Arthenay, we checked our horses, with a common
+thought, and looked up at the old tower. It was even as I had seen it on
+first arriving, save that now a clear moonlight rested on it, instead of
+the doubtful twilight. The ivy was black against the white light, the
+empty doorway yawned like a toothless mouth, and the round eye above
+looked blindness on us. As I gazed, a white owl came from within, and
+blinked at us over the curve. Yvon started, thinking it a spirit,
+perhaps; but I laughed, and taking off my hat, saluted the bird.
+
+"_Monsieur mon locataire_," I said, "I have the honour to salute you!"
+and told him that he should have the castle rent free, on condition that
+he spared the little birds, and levied taxes on the rats alone.
+
+Looking back when we had ridden a little further, the tower had turned
+its back on me, and all I saw was the heaps of cut stone, lying naked in
+the moonlight. That was my last sight of the home of my ancestors. I had
+kept faith.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+
+HERE ends, my dear child, the romance of your old friend's life; if by
+the word romance we may rightly understand that which, even if not
+lasting itself, throws a brightness over all that may come after it. I
+never saw that fair country of France again, and since then I have lived
+sixty years and more; but what I brought away with me that sorrowful
+night has sweetened all the years. I had the honour of loving as sweet a
+lady as ever stepped from heaven to earth; and I had the thought that,
+if right had permitted, and the world been other than it was, I could
+have won her. Such feelings as these, my dear, keep a man's heart set on
+high things, however lowly his lot may be.
+
+I came back to my village. My own home was empty, but every house was
+open to me; and not a man or a woman there but offered me a home for as
+long as I would take it. My good friend Ham Belfort would have me come
+to be a son to him, he having no children. But my duty, as he clearly
+saw when I pointed it out, was to Abby Rock; and Abby and I were not to
+part for many years. Her health was never the same after my father's
+death; it was her son I was to be, and I am glad to think she found me
+a good one.
+
+Father L'Homme-Dieu made me kindly welcome, too, and to him and to Abby
+I could open my heart, and tell them all that had befallen me in these
+three life-long months. But I found a strange difference in their manner
+of receiving it; for whereas the Father understood my every feeling, and
+would nod his head (a kind hand on my shoulder all the while), and say
+yes, yes, I could not have done otherwise, and thus it was that a
+gentleman should feel and act,--which was very soothing to me,--Abby, on
+the other hand, though she must hear the story over and over again,
+could never gain any patience in the hearing.
+
+"What did they want?" she would cry, her good homely face the colour of
+a red leaf. "An emperor would be the least that could suit them, I'll
+warrant!" And though she dared not, after the first word, breathe
+anything against my sweet young lady, she felt no such fear about the
+old one, and I verily believe that if she had come upon Mme. de Lalange,
+she would have torn her in pieces, being extraordinary strong in her
+hands. Hag and witch were the kindest words she could give her; so that
+at last I felt bound to keep away from the subject, from mere courtesy
+to the absent. But this, as I have since found by observation, was the
+mother-nature in Abby, which will fill the mildest woman with desire to
+kill any one that hurts or grieves her child.
+
+For some time I stuck close to my shoemaker's bench, seeking quiet, as
+any creature does that is deeply wounded (for the wound was deep, my
+dear; it was deep; but I would not have had it otherwise), and seeing
+only those home friends, who had known the shape of my cradle, as it
+were, and to whom I could speak or not, as my mind was. I found solid
+comfort in the society of Ham, and would spend many hours in the old
+grist-mill; sometimes sitting in the loft with him and the sparrows,
+sometimes hanging over the stones, and watching the wheat pour down
+between them, and hearing the roar and the grinding of them. The upper
+and nether millstones! How Ham's words would come back, over and over,
+as I thought how my life was ground between pain and longing! One day, I
+mind, Ham came and found me so, and I suppose my face may have showed
+part of what I felt; for he put his great hand on my shoulder, and
+shouted in my ear, "Wheat flour, Jakey! prime wheat flour, and good riz
+bread; I see it rising, don't you be afeard!" But by and by the
+neighbours in the country round heard of my being home again; and
+thinking that I must have learned a vast deal overseas, they were set on
+having me here and there to fiddle for them. At first I thought no, I
+could not; there seemed to be only one tune my fiddle would ever play
+again, and that no dancing tune. But with using common sense, and some
+talk with Father L'Homme-Dieu, this foolishness passed away, and it
+seemed the best thing I could do, being in sadness myself, was to give
+what little cheer I could to others. So I went, and the first time was
+the worst, and I saw at once here was a thing I could do, and do, it
+might be, better than another. For being with the marquis, Melody, and
+seeing how high folks moved, and spoke, and held themselves, it was
+borne in upon me that I had special fitness for a task that might well
+be connected with the pleasure of youth in dancing. Dancing, as I have
+pointed out to you many times, may be considered in two ways: first, as
+the mere fling of high spirits, young animals skipping and leaping, as
+kids in a meadow, and with no thought save to leap the highest, and
+prance the furthest; but second, and more truly, I must think, to show
+to advantage the grace (if any) and perfection of the human body, which
+we take to be the work of a divine hand, and the beauty of motion in
+accord with music. And whereas I have heard dancing condemned as
+unmanly, and fit only for women and young boys, I must still take the
+other hand, and think there is no finer sight than a well-proportioned
+man, with a sense of his powers, and a desire to do justice to them,
+moving through the figures of a contra-dance. But this is my hobby, my
+dear, and I may have wearied you with it before now.
+
+I undertook, then, as my trade allowed it,--and indeed, in time the
+bench came to hold only the second place in the arrangement of my
+days,--to give instruction in dancing and deportment, to such as desired
+to improve themselves in these respects. The young people in the
+villages of that district were honest, and not lacking in wits; but
+they were uncouth to a degree that seemed to me, coming as I did from
+the home of all grace and charm, a thing horrible, and not to be
+endured. They were my neighbours; I was bound, or so it seemed to me, to
+help them to a right understanding of the mercies of a bountiful
+Providence, and to prevent the abuse of these mercies by cowish gambols.
+I let it be understood wherever I went that whoever would study under me
+must be a gentleman; for a gentleman is, I take it, first and last, a
+gentle man, or one who out of strength brings sweetness, as in the case
+of Samson's lion. To please, first the heart, by a sincere and cordial
+kindness, and next the eye, by a cheerful and (so far as may be)
+graceful demeanour; this disposition will tend, if not to great deeds,
+at least to the comfort and happiness of those around us. I was thought
+severe, and may have been so; but I lived to see a notable change
+wrought in that country. I remember the day, Melody, when a young man
+said to me with feeling, "I cannot bear to see a man take off his hat to
+a woman. _It makes me sick!_" To-day, if a man, young or old, should
+fail in this common courtesy, it would be asked what cave of the woods
+he came from. But let fine manners come from the heart, I would always
+say, else they are only as a gay suit covering a deformed and shapeless
+body. I recall an occasion when one of my pupils, who had made great
+progress by assiduous study, and had attained a degree of elegance not
+often reached in his station, won the admiration of the whole room by
+the depth and grace of his bow. I praised him, as he deserved; but a few
+minutes after, finding him in the act of mimicking, for the public
+diversion, an awkward, ill-dressed poor lad, I dismissed him on the
+instant, and bade him never come to my classes again.
+
+In these ways, my child, I tried, and with fair measure of success, to
+ease the smart of my own pain by furthering the pleasure of others; in
+these ways, to which I added such skill as I had gained on the violin,
+making it one of my chief occupations, when work was slack, to play to
+such as loved music, and more especially any who were infirm in health,
+or in sorrow by one reason or another. It was a humble path I chose, my
+dear; but I never clearly saw my way to a loftier one, and here I could
+do good, and think I did it, under Providence. As an instance,--I was
+sent for, it may have been a year or two after my trouble, to go some
+distance. A young lady was ill, and being fanciful, and her parents
+well-to-do, she would have me come and play to her, having heard of me
+from one or another. I went, and found a poor shadow of a young woman,
+far gone in a decline, if I could judge, and her eyes full of a trouble
+that came from no bodily ailment, my wits told me. She sent her people
+away, saying she must have the music alone. I have seldom found a better
+listener, Melody, or one who spoke to me more plain in silence, her
+spirit answering to the music till I almost could hear the sound of it.
+Feeling this, I let myself slip into the bow, as it were, more than I
+was aware of; and presently forgot her, or next thing to it, and was
+away in the rose-garden of Château Claire, and saw the blue eyes that
+held all heaven in them, and heard the voice that made my music harsh.
+And when at last I brought it down to a whisper, seeing the young
+woman's eyes shut, and thinking she might be asleep, she looked up at
+me, bright and sharp, and said, "You, too?"
+
+I never saw her again, and indeed think she had not long to live. But it
+is an instance, my dear, of what a person can do, if the heart within
+him is tender to the sorrows of others.
+
+After Abby's death,--but that was years after all this,--I found it wise
+to leave my native village. I will not go into the cause of this, my
+child, since it was a passing matter, or so I trusted. There was some
+one there who had great good will to me, and, not knowing my story, may
+have fancied that I was one who could make her happy; I thought it right
+to tell her how I had fared, and then, she being in distress, I left my
+home, and from that time, I may say, had many homes, yet none my own. I
+have met with rare kindness; no man of my generation, I would wager, has
+the number of friends I can boast, and all kind, all hearty, all ready
+with a "welcome to Rosin the Beau." And now here, at your aunts' kind
+wish and your prayer, my dearest Melody, dear as any child of my own
+could be, I am come to spend my last days under your roof; and what
+more could mortal man ask than this, I truly know not. My violin and
+your voice, Melody; they were made for each other; everybody says that,
+my dear, and neither you nor I would deny it. And when the _obligato_ is
+silent, as shortly it must be in the good course of nature, it is my
+prayer and hope that you will not miss me too much, my dear, but will go
+on in joy and in cheer, shedding light about you, and with your own
+darkness yielding a clear glory of kindness and happiness. Do not grieve
+for the old man, Melody, when the day comes for him to lay down the
+fiddle and the bow. I am old, and it is many years that Valerie has been
+dead, and Yvon, too, and all of them; and happy as I am, my dear, I am
+sometimes tired, and ready for rest. And for more than rest, I trust and
+believe; for new life, new strength, new work, as God shall please to
+give it me.
+
+          "I've travelled this country all over,
+             And now to the next I must go;
+           But I know that good quarters await me,
+             And a welcome to Rosin the Beau."
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+
+Obvious punctuation errors corrected.
+
+Page 20, "our" changed to "her" (clapping her hands)
+
+Page 63, " ather" changed to "father" (how my father)
+
+Page 74, "couple" changed to "couples" (a few couples)
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSIN THE BEAU***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 27607-8.txt or 27607-8.zip *******
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+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rosin the Beau, by Laura Elizabeth Howe
+Richards</h1>
+<pre>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: Rosin the Beau</p>
+<p>Author: Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards</p>
+<p>Release Date: December 24, 2008  [eBook #27607]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSIN THE BEAU***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Emmy,<br />
+    and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+    (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 339px;">
+<img src="images/cover01.jpg" width="339" height="500" alt="Cover" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<h1>ROSIN THE BEAU</h1>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
+<div class='bbox'>
+<h2>The Captain January Series</h2>
+
+<h3>By LAURA E. RICHARDS</h3>
+</div><div class='bbox'>
+<div class='center'>Over 350,000 copies of these books have been sold</div>
+</div><div class='bbox'>
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="">
+<tr><td align='left'>CAPTAIN JANUARY</td><td align='right'>$ .50</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Same. Illustrated Holiday Edition.</span></td><td align='right'>1.25</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Same. Centennial Edition Limited.</span></td><td align='right'>2.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>MELODY</td><td align='right'>.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Same. Illustrated Holiday Edition.</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align='right'>1.25</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>MARIE</td><td align='right'>.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>ROSIN THE BEAU</td><td align='right'>.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>NARCISSA</td><td align='right'>.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>SOME SAY</td><td align='right'>.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>JIM OF HELLAS</td><td align='right'>.50</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>SNOW WHITE</td><td align='right'>.50</td></tr>
+</table></div>
+</div><div class='bbox'>
+<div class='center'>Each volume attractively bound in cloth, with<br />
+handsome new cover design. Frontispiece by<br />
+Frank T. Merrill</div>
+</div><div class='bbox'>
+<div class='center'>DANA ESTES &amp; COMPANY<br />
+PUBLISHERS<br />
+Estes Press, Summer Street, Boston</div></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 331px;">
+<img src="images/frontis01.jpg" width="331" height="500" alt="Rosin the Beau" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p>
+<div class='bbox'><div class='bbox2'><h1>ROSIN THE<br />
+BEAU</h1>
+</div><div class='bbox2'>
+<h3>By</h3>
+<h2>LAURA E. RICHARDS</h2>
+
+<div class='center'><i>Author of</i><br />
+
+"Captain January," "Snow-White," "Three
+Margarets," "Queen Hildegarde," etc.</div>
+</div><div class='bbox2'>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 133px;">
+<img src="images/tp01.png" width="133" height="150" alt="Emblem: Inter Folia Fructus" title="" />
+</div>
+</div><div class='bbox2'>
+<div class='center'>
+Boston<br />
+Dana Estes &amp; Company<br />
+Publishers<br /></div></div></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<small>TO</small><br />
+<b>My Sister Maud</b><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p>
+<h2>ROSIN THE BEAU.</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Melody, My Dear Child:</span></p>
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;&nbsp;SIT down to write my story for you, the life-story
+of old Rosin the Beau, your friend and true lover.
+Some day, not far distant now, my fiddle and I shall
+be laid away, in the quiet spot you know and love;
+and then (for you will miss me, Melody, well I know
+that!) this writing will be read to you, and you will
+hear my voice still, and will learn to know me better
+even than you do now; though that is better
+than any one else living knows me.</div>
+
+<p>When people ask me where I hail from, our good,
+neighbourly, down-east way, I answer "From the
+Androscoggin;" and that is true enough as far as
+it goes, for I have spent many years on and about
+the banks of that fine river; but I have told you
+more than that. You know something of the little
+village where I was born and brought up, far to the
+northeast of your own home village. You know something,
+too, of my second mother, as I call her,&mdash;Abby
+Rock; but of my own sweet mother I have spoken
+little. Now you shall hear.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The first thing I can remember is my mother's
+playing. She was a Frenchwoman, of remarkable
+beauty and sweetness. Her given name was Marie,
+but I have never known her maiden surname: I
+doubt if she knew it herself. She came, quite by accident,
+being at the time little more than a child, to
+the village where my father, Jacques De Arthenay,
+lived; he saw her, and loved her at the sight. She
+consented to marry him, and I was their only child.
+My father was a stern, silent man, with but one
+bright thing in his life,&mdash;his love for my mother.
+Whenever she came before his eyes, the sun rose in
+his face, but for me he had no great affection; he
+was incapable of dividing his heart. I have now and
+then seen a man with this defect; never a woman.</p>
+
+<p>My first recollection, I said, is of my mother's
+playing. I see myself, sitting on a great black book,
+the family Bible. I must have been very small, and
+it was a large Bible, and lay on a table in the sitting-room.
+I see my mother standing before me, with her
+violin on her arm. She is light, young, and very
+graceful; beauty seems to flow from her face in a
+kind of dark brightness, if I may use such an expression;
+her eyes are soft and deep. I have seen no
+other eyes like my mother Marie's. She taps the violin
+with the bow; then she taps me under the chin.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Dis 'Bon jour!' petit Jacques!</i>" and I say "Bo'
+zour!" as well as I can, and duck my head, for a
+bow is expected of me. No bow, no music, and I am
+quivering with eagerness for the music. Now she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
+draws the bow across the strings, softly, smoothly,&mdash;ah,
+my dear, you have heard only me play, all your
+life; if you could have heard my mother! As I see
+her and hear her, this day of my babyhood, the song
+she plays is the little French song that you love. If
+you could have heard her sing!</p>
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" summary="Poem and translation">
+<tr><td align='left'>"A la claire fontaine <br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">M'en allant promener,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Jai trouv&eacute; l'eau si belle</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Que je m'y suis baign&eacute;.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"</span><br /></td><td align='left'>As I went walking, walking,<br />
+I found its waves so lovely,<br />
+Beside the fountain fair,<br />
+I stayed to bathe me there.<br />
+'Tis long and long I have loved thee,<br />
+I'll ne'er forget thee more.<br /></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+<div class='unindent'>It is the song of my life, Melody; I never told you
+that before, but it has always pleased me well that
+you cared for it.</div>
+
+<p>As my mother sings the last words, she bends
+and kisses the violin, which was always a living personage
+to her. Her head moves like a bird's head,
+quickly and softly. I see her face all brightness, as
+I have told you; then suddenly a shadow falls on it.
+My back is towards the door, but she stands facing
+it. I feel myself snatched up by hands like quivering
+steel; I am set down&mdash;not roughly&mdash;on the floor.
+My father turns a terrible face on my mother.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary!" he cried. "He was on the Bible!
+You&mdash;you set the child on the Holy Bible!"</p>
+
+<p>I am too frightened to cry out or move, but my
+mother Marie lays down her violin in its box&mdash;as
+tenderly as she would lay me in my cradle&mdash;and
+goes to my father, and puts her arm round his neck,
+and speaks to him low and gently, stroking back his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
+short, fair hair. Presently the frightful look goes out
+of his face; it softens into love and sadness; they
+go hand-in-hand into the inner room, and I hear their
+voices together speaking gravely, slowly. I do not
+know that they are praying,&mdash;I have known it since.
+I watch the flies on the window, and wish my father
+had not come.</p>
+
+<p>That, Melody, is the first thing I remember. It
+must have been after that, that my father made me
+a little chair, and my mother made a gay cushion
+for it, with scarlet frills, and I sat always in that.
+Our kitchen was a sunny room, full of bright things;
+Mother Marie kept everything shining. The floor
+was painted yellow, and the rugs were scarlet and
+blue; she dyed the cloth herself, and made them
+beautifully. There was always a fire&mdash;or so it
+seems now&mdash;in the great black gulf of a fireplace,
+and the crane hung over it, with pots and kettles.
+The firelight was thrown back from bright pewter
+and glass and copper all about the walls; I have
+never seen so gay a room. And always flowers in
+the window, and always a yellow cat on a red
+cushion. No canary bird; my mother Marie never
+would have a bird. "No prisoners!" she would say.
+Once a neighbour brought her a wounded sparrow;
+she nursed and tended it till spring, then set it loose
+and watched it fly away.</p>
+
+<p>This neighbour was a boy, some years older than
+myself; he is one of the people I remember best.
+Petie we called him; Peter Brand; he died long ago.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
+He had been a comfort to my mother Marie, in days
+of sadness,&mdash;before my birth, for she was never sad
+after I came,&mdash;and she loved him, and he clung to
+her. He was a round-faced boy, with hair almost
+white; awkward and shy, but very good to me.</p>
+
+<p>As I grew older my mother taught me many
+French songs and games, and Petie often made a
+third with us. He made strange work of the French
+speech; to me it came like running water, but to
+Petie it was like pouring wine from a corked bottle.
+Mother Marie could not understand this, and tried
+always to teach him. I can hear her cry out, "Not
+thus, Petie! not! you break me the ears! Listen
+only!</p>
+
+<div class='center'>
+"'<i>Sur le pont d'Avignon</i>,'<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='unindent'><i>Encore!</i> again, Petie! sing wiz p'tit Jacques!"</div>
+
+<p>And Petie would drone out, all on one note (for
+the poor boy had no music either),</p>
+
+<div class='center'>
+"<i>Sooly pong d'Avinnong</i>,"<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='unindent'>And Mother Marie would put her hands to her ears
+and cry out, "Ah, <i>que non!</i> ah, <i>que non!</i> you keell
+me in my heart!" and poor Petie would be so
+ashamed! Then Mother Marie would be grieved for
+him, and would beat herself, and say that she was a
+demon, a monster of cruelty; and she would run to
+the cupboard and bring cakes and doughnuts (she
+always called them "dont's," I remember that), and
+make Petie eat till his eyes stood out. And it always
+ended in her taking out the violin, and playing and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
+singing our hearts to heaven. Petie loved music,
+when Mother Marie made it.</div>
+
+<p>I speak of cakes. There was no one in the village
+who could cook like my mother; every one acknowledged
+that. Whatever she put her hand to was done
+to perfection. And the prettiness of it all! A flower,
+a green leaf, a bunch of parsley,&mdash;there was some
+delicate, pretty touch to everything she did. I must
+have been still small when I began to notice how
+she arranged the dishes on our table. These matters
+can mean but little to you, my dear child; but the
+eyes of your mind are so quick, I know it is one of
+your delights to fancy the colours and lights that you
+cannot see. Some bright-coloured food, then,&mdash;fried
+fish, it might be, which should be of a golden brown
+shade,&mdash;would be always on a dark blue platter,
+while a dark dish, say beefsteak, would be on the
+creamy yellow crockery that had belonged to my
+father's mother; and with it a wreath of parsley or
+carrot, setting off the yellow still more. And always,
+winter and summer, some flower, if only a single
+geranium-bloom, on the table. So that our table
+was always like a festival. I think this troubled my
+father, when his dark moods were on him. He
+thought it a snare of the flesh. Sometimes, if the
+meal were specially dainty, he would eat nothing but
+dry bread, and this grieved Mother Marie almost more
+than anything else. I remember one day,&mdash;it was
+my birthday, and I must have been quite a big boy
+by that time,&mdash;Mother Marie had made a pretty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
+rose-feast for me. The table was strewn with rose-leaves,
+and there was a garland of roses round my
+plate, and they stood everywhere, in cups and bowls.
+There was a round cake, too, with rose-coloured
+frosting; I thought the angels might have such feasts
+on their birthdays, but was sure no one else could.</p>
+
+<p>But when my father came in,&mdash;I can see now his
+look of pain and terror.</p>
+
+<p>"You are tempting the Lord, Mary!" he cried.
+"You are teaching our child to love the lust of the
+flesh and the pride of the eye. It is sin, it is sin,
+my wife!"</p>
+
+<p>I trembled, for I feared he would throw my beautiful
+cake into the fire, as I had once seen him throw
+a pretty salad. But my mother Marie took his arm.
+The door stood open, and the warm June was shining
+through. She led him to the doorway, and pointed
+to the sky.</p>
+
+<p>"Look, <i>mon ami!</i>" she said, in her clear, soft voice.
+"See the day of gold that the good God has made for
+our little Jacques! He fills the garden wiz roses,&mdash;I
+bring His roses in ze house. It is that He love ze
+roses, and ze little child, and thee and me, my poor
+Jacques; for He make us all, is it not?"</p>
+
+<p>And presently, with her soft hand on his arm, the
+pain went from my poor father, and he came in and
+sat down with us, and even patted my head and
+tasted the cake. I recall many such scenes as this,
+my dear child. And perhaps I should say that my
+mind was, and has always remained, with my mother<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
+on such matters. If God gives food for the use of
+His creatures, it is to His honour and glory to serve it
+handsomely, so far as may be; and I see little religion
+in a slovenly piece of meat, or a shapeless hunch
+of butter on a dingy plate.</p>
+
+<p>My mother having this gift of grace, it was not
+strange that the neighbours often called on her for
+some service of making beautiful. At a wedding or a
+merrymaking of any kind she would be sent for, and
+the neighbours, who were plain people, thought her
+gift more than natural. People still speak of her in
+all that part of the country, though she has been
+dead sixty odd years, little Mother Marie. She would
+have liked to make the meeting-house beautiful each
+Sabbath with flowers, but this my father could not
+hear of, and she never urged it after the first time.
+At a funeral, too, she must arrange the white blossoms,
+and lay the pale hands together. Abby Rock
+has told me many stories of the comfort she brought
+to sorrowing homes, with her sweet, light, quiet ways.
+Abby loved her as her own child.</p>
+
+<p>As I grew older, my mother taught me the violin.
+I learned eagerly. I need not say much about that,
+Melody; my best playing has been for you, and you
+know all I could tell you; I learned, and it became
+the breath of life to me. My lessons were in the
+morning always, so that my father might not hear
+the sound; but this was not because he did not love
+the violin. Far otherwise! In the long winter evenings
+my mother Marie would play for him, after I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
+was tucked up in my trundle-bed; music of religious
+quality, which stirred his deep, silent nature strongly.
+She had learned all the psalm-tunes that he loved,
+stern old Huguenot melodies, many of them, that had
+come over from France with his ancestor, and been
+sung down through the generations since. And with
+these she played soft, tender airs,&mdash;I never knew
+what they were, but they could wile the heart out of
+one's breast. I sometimes would lift my head from
+my pillow, and look through the open door at the
+warm, light kitchen beyond (for my mother Marie
+could not bear to shut me into the cold, dark little
+bedroom; my door stood open all night, and if I
+woke in the night, the coals would always wink me a
+friendly greeting, and I could hear the cat purring on
+her cushion). I would look, I say, through the open
+door. There would my mother stand, with the light,
+swaying way she had, like a flower or a young white
+birch in the wind; her cheek resting on the violin,
+her eyelids dropped, as they mostly were when she
+played, and the long lashes black against her soft,
+clear paleness. And my father Jacques sitting by
+the fire, his chin in his hand, still as a carved image,
+looking at her with his heart in his eyes. That is the
+way I think of them oftenest, Melody, my dear, as I
+look back to the days long ago; this is the way
+I mostly see my father and mother, Jacques and
+Marie De Arthenay, a faithful husband and wife.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>OUR village was not far from the sea, and my
+mother often took me down to the beach. It
+was a curving beach of fine sand, bright and warm,
+and the rocks that shut it in were warm, too, brown
+and yellow; it was a sunny, heartsome place as ever
+I saw. I remember one day,&mdash;many days, and this
+one of them,&mdash;when the three of us went down to the
+beach, Mother Marie and Petie Brand and I. The
+Lady, the violin, went too, of course, and we had our
+music, and it left us heartened through and through,
+and friends with all the world. Then we began to
+skip stones, three children together. Petie and I
+were only learning, and Mother Marie laughed at our
+stones, which would go flopping and tumbling a little
+way, then sink with a splash.</div>
+
+<p>"They are ducks!" she said. (She called it
+"docks," Melody; you cannot think how soft her
+speech was.) "Poor leetle docks, that go flap, flap;
+not yet zey have learned to swim, no! But here now,
+see a bird of ze water, a sea-bird what you call." She
+turned her wrist and sent the flat pebble flying; it
+skimmed along like a live thing, flipping the little
+crests of the ripples, going miles, it seemed to Petie
+and me, till at length we lost sight of it altogether.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Where did it go?" I asked. "I didn't hear it
+splash."</p>
+
+<p>"It went&mdash;to France!" said Mother Marie. "It
+make a voyage, it goes, goes,&mdash;at last it arrives.
+'<i>Voil&agrave; la France!</i>' it say. 'That I go ashore, to ask
+of things for Marie, and for <i>petit Jacques</i>, and for
+Petie too, good Petie, who bring the apples.'"</p>
+
+<p>There were red apples in a basket, and I can see
+now the bright whiteness of her teeth as she set them
+into one.</p>
+
+<p>"What will the stone see?" I asked again; for I
+loved to make my mother tell me of the things she
+remembered in France, the country she always loved.
+She loved to tell, too; and a dreamy look would come
+into her eyes at such times, as if she did not see us
+near at hand, but only things far off and dim. We
+listened, Petie and I, as if for a fairy tale.</p>
+
+<p>"He come, zat leetle&mdash;non! <i>that lit</i>-tel stone."
+(Mother Marie could often pronounce our English
+"th" quite well; it was only when she forgot that
+she slipped back to the soft "z" which I liked much
+better.) "He come to the shore! It is not as this
+shore, no! White is the sand, the rocks black, black.
+All about are nets, very great, and boats. The men
+are great and brown; and their beards&mdash;Holy Cric!
+their beards are a bush for owls; and striped their
+shirt, jersey, what you call, and blue trousers. Zey
+come in from sea, their sails are brown and red; the
+boats are full wiz fish, that shine like silver; they are
+the herring, <i>petit Jacques</i>, it is of those that we live a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
+great deal. Down zen come ze women to ze shore
+and zey&mdash;<i>they</i>&mdash;are dressed beautiful, ah! so beautiful!
+A red petticoat,&mdash;sometimes a blue, but I love
+best the red, striped wiz white, and over this the dress
+turned up, <i>&agrave; la blanchisseuse</i>. A handkerchief round
+their neck, and gold earrings,&mdash;ah! long ones, to
+touch their neck; and gold beads, most beautiful!
+and then the cap! <i>P'tit Jacques</i>, thou hast not seen
+caps, because here they have not the understanding.
+But! white, like snow in ze sun; the muslin clear,
+you understand, and stiff that it cracks,&mdash;ah! of
+a beauty! and standing out like wings here, and
+here&mdash;you do not listen! you make not attention,
+bad children that you are! Go! I tell you no
+more!"</p>
+
+<p>It was true, Melody, my dear, that Petie and I did
+not care so much about the descriptions of dress as if
+we had been little girls; my mother was never weary
+of telling about the caps and earrings; I think she
+often longed for them, poor little Mother Marie! But
+now Petie and I clung about her, and begged her to
+go on, and she never could keep her vexation for two
+minutes.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell how they go up the street!" said Petie.</p>
+
+<p>"Play we went, too!" cried I. "Play the stone
+was a boat, M&egrave;re Marie." (I said it as one word,
+Melody; it makes a pretty name, "M&egrave;re-Marie,"
+when the pronunciation is good. To hear our people
+say "M'ree" or "Marry," breaks the heart, as my
+mother used to say.)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She nodded, pleased enough to play,&mdash;for she was
+a child, as I have told you, in many, many ways,
+though with a woman's heart and understanding,&mdash;and
+clapped our hands softly together, as she held
+them in hers.</p>
+
+<p>"We, then, yes! we three, M&egrave;re-Marie, <i>p'tit Jacques</i>,
+and Petie, we go up from the beach, up the street
+that goes tic tac, zic zac, here and there, up the hill;
+very steep in zose parts. We come to one place, it is
+steps&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Steps in the street?"</p>
+
+<p>"Steps that make the street, but yes! and on them
+(white steps, clean! ah! of a cleanness!), in the
+sun, sit the old women, and spin, and sing, and tell
+stories. Ah! the fine steps. They, too, have caps,
+but they are brown in the faces, and striped&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Striped, M&egrave;re-Marie? painted, do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"She said the steps had caps!" whispered Petie,
+incredulous, but too eager for the story to interrupt
+the teller.</p>
+
+<p>"Painted? wat you mean of foolishness, <i>p'tit
+Jacques?</i> Ah! I was wrong! not striped; wreenkled,
+you say? all up togezzer like a brown apple when he
+is dry up,&mdash;like zis way!" and Mother Marie drew
+her pretty face all together in a knot, and looked so
+comical that we went into fits of laughter.</p>
+
+<p>"So! zey sit, ze old women, and talk, talk, wiz ze
+heads together; but one sit alone, away from those
+others, and she sing. Her voice go up, thin, thin,
+like a little cold wind in ze boat-ropes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"'Il &eacute;tait trois mat'lots de Groix,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Il &eacute;tait trois mat'lots de Groix,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Embarqu&eacute;s sur le Saint Fran&ccedil;ois,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tra la derira, la la la,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tra la derira la laire!'<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></span><br />
+</div>
+
+<p>"I make learn you that song, <i>petit Jacques</i>, one
+time! So we come,&mdash;now, <i>mes enfants</i>, we come!
+and all the old women point the nose, and say,
+'Who is it comes there?' But that one old&mdash;but
+M&egrave;re Jeanne, she cry out loud, loud. 'Marie! <i>petite
+Marie</i>, where hast thou been so long, so long?' She
+opens the arms&mdash;I fall into zem, on my knees; I cry&mdash;but
+hush, <i>p'tit Jacques!</i> I cry now only in ze story,
+only&mdash;to&mdash;to show thee how it would be! I say, 'It
+is me, Marie, M&egrave;re Jeanne! I come to show thee my
+little son, to take thy blessing. And my little friend,
+too!'" She turned to pat Petie's head; she would
+not let the motherless boy feel left out, even from a
+world in which he had no part.</p>
+
+<p>"My good friend Petie, whose mother is with the
+saints. Then M&egrave;re Jeanne, she take all our hands, after
+she has her weep; she say 'Come!' and we go up ze
+street, up, up, till we come to M&egrave;re Jeanne's house."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell about the house!" I cried.</p>
+
+<p>"Holy Cric! what a house!" cried M&egrave;re-Marie,
+clapping <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'our'">her</ins> hands together. "It is stone, painted
+white, clean, like new cheese; the roof beautiful, straw,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
+warm, thick,&mdash;ah! what roofs! I have tried to teach
+thy father to make them, but no! Inside, it is dark
+and warm, and full wiz good smells. Now it is the
+<i>pot-au-feu</i>, but not every day zis, for M&egrave;re Jeanne is
+poor; but always somesing, fish to fry, or pancakes,
+or apples. But zis time, M&egrave;re Jeanne make me a
+<i>f&ecirc;te;</i> she say, 'It is the <i>F&ecirc;te Marie!</i>'</p>
+
+
+
+
+<p>"She make the fire bright, bright; and she bring
+big chestnuts, two handfuls of zem, and set zem on ze
+shovel to roast; and zen she put ze greedle, and she
+mixed ze batter in a great bowl&mdash;it is yellow, that
+bowl, and the spoon, it is horn. She show it to me,
+she say, 'Wat leetle child was eat wiz this spoon,
+Marie? hein?' and I&mdash;I kiss the spoon; I say, '<i>'Tite
+Marie, M&egrave;re Jeanne! 'Tite Marie qui t'aime!</i>'<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> It
+is the first words I could say of my life, <i>mes enfants!</i></p>
+
+<p>"Zen she laugh, and nod her head, and she stir,
+stir, stir till ze bobbles come&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The way they do when you make griddle-cakes,
+M&egrave;re-Marie?"</p>
+
+
+<p>"Ah! no! much, much, thousand time better,
+M&egrave;re Jeanne make zem! She toss them&mdash;so! wiz ze
+spoon, and they shine like gold, and when they come
+down&mdash;hop!&mdash;they say 'Sssssssssss!' that they like
+to fry for M&egrave;re Jeanne, and for Marie, and <i>p'tit Jacques</i>,
+and good Petie. Then I bring out the black table,
+and I know where the bread live, and the cheese, and
+while the cakes fry, I go to milk the cow&mdash;ah! the
+pearl of cows, children, white like her own cream, fat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
+like a boiled chestnut, good like an angel! She has
+not forgotten Marie, she rub her nose in my heart,
+she sing to me. I take her wiz both my arms, I weep&mdash;ah!
+but it is joy, <i>p'tit Jacques!</i> it is wiz joy I
+weep! Zen, again in ze house, and round ze table, we
+all sit, and we eat, and eat, that we can eat no more.
+And M&egrave;re Jeanne say:</p>
+
+<p>"'Tell me of thy home, Marie!' and I tell all, all;
+of thy father Jacques, how he good, and great, and
+handsome as Saint Michael; and how my house is
+fine, fine, and how Abiroc is good. And M&egrave;re Jeanne,
+she make the great eyes; she cry, 'Ah! the good
+fortune! Ah, Marie, that thou art fortunate, that
+thou art happy!'</p>
+
+<p>"Then she tell thee, <i>p'tit Jacques</i>, how I was little,
+little, in a blue frock, wiz the cap tie under my chin;
+and how I dance and sing in the street, and how
+<i>Madame la Comtesse</i> see me, and take me to ze castle,
+and make teach me the violin, and give me Madame
+for my friend. I have told thee all, many, many
+times. Then she tell, M&egrave;re Jeanne,&mdash;oh! she is
+good, good, and all ze time she fill thee wiz chestnuts
+that I cry out lest thou die,&mdash;she tell how one day
+she come home from market, and I am gone. No
+Marie! She look, she run here and there, she cry,
+''Tite Marie, where art thou?' No Marie come.
+She run to the neighbours, she search, she tear her
+cap; they tell her, 'Demand of thy son's wife!
+The strange ship sailed this morning; we heard
+child cry; what do we know?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"For the wife of M&egrave;re Jeanne's Jeannot, she was
+a devil, as I have told thee, a devil with both the
+eyes evil; and none dare say what she had done,
+for fear of their children and their cows to die. And
+then, M&egrave;re Jeanne she tell how she run to Jeannot's
+house,&mdash;she fear nossing, M&egrave;re Jeanne! the good God
+protect her always. She cry, 'Where is Marie?
+where is my child?' And Jeannot's Manon, she
+laugh, she say, 'Cross the sea after her, old witch!
+Who keeps thee?' Then&mdash;see, <i>p'tit Jacques!</i> see,
+Petie! I have not seen this wiz my eyes, no! but
+in my heart I have seen, I know! Then M&egrave;re
+Jeanne run at that woman, that devil; and she pull
+off her cap and tread it wiz her foot; and she pull
+out her hair,&mdash;never she had much, but since this
+day none!&mdash;and she scratch her face and tear the
+clothes&mdash;ah! M&egrave;re Jeanne is mild like a cherub
+till she is angry, but then&mdash; And that devil scream,
+scream, but no one come, no one care; they are all
+glad, they laugh to hear. Till Jeannot run in, and
+catch his mother and hold her hands, and take her
+home to her house. She tell me all this, M&egrave;re
+Jeanne, and it is true, and I know it in my heart.
+But now she is dead, that witch, and the great devil
+has her, and that is well." (I think my father would
+have lost his wits, Melody, if he had heard the way my
+mother talked to me sometimes; but it was a child's
+talk, my dear, and there was no harm. A child who
+had been brought up among ignorant peasants; how
+should she know better, poor little Mother Marie?)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"But now, see, <i>mes enfants!</i> We must come back
+across the sea, for ze sun, he begin to go away down.
+So I tell zis, and M&egrave;re Jeanne she cry, she take us
+wiz her arms, she cannot let us go. But I take
+Madame on my arm, I go out in ze street, I begin
+to play wiz my hand. Then all come, all run, all cry,
+'Marie! Marie is here wiz her <i>violon!</i>' And I play,
+play and sing, and the little children dance, dance, and
+<i>p'tit Jacques</i> and Petie take them the hands and dance
+wiz&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"'Eh! gai, Coco,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Eh! gai, Coco,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Eh! venez voir la danse</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Du petit marmot!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Eh! venez voir la danse</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Du petit marmot!'</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Adieu, adieu, M&egrave;re Jeanne! adieu, la France!
+but you, <i>mes enfants;</i> why do <i>you</i> cry?"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;&nbsp;WAS twelve years old when my mother died. She
+had no illness, or none that we had known of;
+the sweet soul of her slipped away in the night like
+a bird, and left the body smiling asleep. We never
+knew what ailed her; people did not torment themselves
+in those days with the "how" of a thing.
+There may have been talk behind the village doors,
+but my father never asked. She was gone, and his
+heart was gone with her, my poor father. She was
+all the joy of his life, and he never had any more;
+I never remember seeing him smile after that time.
+What gave him the best comfort was trying to keep
+things pretty and bright, as she liked to see them.
+He was neat as a woman, and he never allowed
+a speck of dust on the chairs, or a withered leaf
+on the geraniums. He never would let me touch
+her flowers, but I was set to polish the pewter
+and copper,&mdash;indeed, my mother had taught me
+that,&mdash;and he watched jealously lest any dimness
+come on them. I sometimes wondered at all this,
+as he had so lately counted these matters of adornment
+and prettiness and such as less than nothing,
+and vanity, as the preacher has it. But I think
+his great grief put a sacredness, as it were, over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
+everything that had been hers, and all her ways
+seemed heavenly to him now, even though he had
+frowned at them (never at her, Melody, my dear!
+never at her!) when she was still with him.</div>
+
+<p>My father wished me to help him in the farm work,
+but I had no turn for that. I was growing up tall
+and weedy, and most like my strength went into that.
+However it was, there was little of it for farming, and
+less liking. Father Jacques made up his mind that
+I was no good for anything, but Abby Rock stood up
+for me.</p>
+
+<p>"The boy is not strong enough for farming,
+Jacques!" she said. "He's near as tall as you,
+now, and not fifteen yet. Put him to learn a trade,
+and he'll be a credit to you."</p>
+
+<p>So I was put to learn shoemaking, and a good
+trade it has been to me all my life. The shoemaker
+was a kind old man, who had known me from a baby,
+and he contrived to make my work easy for me,&mdash;seeing
+I took kindly to it,&mdash;and often let me have
+the afternoon to myself. My lungs were weak, or
+Abby thought they were, and the doctor had told her
+I must not sit too long over my bench, but must be
+out in the air as much as might be, though not at
+hard labour. Then,&mdash;those afternoons, I am saying,&mdash;I
+would be off like a flash with my fiddle,&mdash;off to
+the yellow sand beach where the round pebbles lay.
+I could never let my poor father hear me play; it
+was a knife in his heart even to see the Lady; and
+these hours on the beach were my comfort, and kept<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
+the spirit alive in me. Looking out to sea, I could
+still feel my mother Marie beside me, still hear her
+voice singing, so gay, so sad,&mdash;singing all ways, as
+the wind blows. She had no voice like yours, Melody,
+my dear, but it was small and sweet as a bird's;
+sweet as a bird's! It was there, on the yellow sand
+beach, that I first met Father L'Homme-Dieu, the
+priest.</p>
+
+<p>I have told you a great deal about this good man,
+Melody. He came of old French stock, like ourselves,&mdash;like
+most of the people in our village; only his
+people had always been Catholics. His village, where
+he had a little wooden church, was ten or twelve miles
+from ours, but he was the only priest for twenty
+miles round, and he rode or walked long distances,
+visiting the scattered families that belonged to his following.
+He chanced to come to the beach one day
+when I was there, and stayed to hear me play. I
+never knew he was there till I turned to go home;
+but then he spoke to me, and asked about my music
+and my home, and talked so kindly and wisely that
+my heart went out to him that very hour. He took
+to me, too; he was a lonely man, and there was none
+in his own neighbourhood that he cared to make his
+friend; and seldom a week passed that he did not
+find his way to the beach, for an hour of music and
+talk. Talk! How we did talk! There was always a
+book in his pocket, too, and he would read some fine
+passage aloud, and then we would discuss it, and turn
+it over and over, and let it draw our own thoughts like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
+a magnet. It was a rare chance for a country boy,
+Melody! Here was a scholar, and as fine a gentleman
+as ever I met, and the heart of a child and a wise man
+melted into one; and I like his own son for the kindness
+he gave me. Sometimes I went to his house,
+but not often, for I could not take so long a time away
+from my work. He lived in a little house like a bird's
+house, and the little brown woman who did for him
+was like a bird, and of all curious things, her name
+was Sparrow,&mdash;the widow Sparrow.</p>
+
+<p>There was a little study, where he sat at a desk in
+the middle, and could pull down any book, almost,
+with no more than tilting his chair; and there was a
+little dining-room, and a closet with a window in it,
+where his bed stood. All these rooms were lined
+with books, most of them works of theology and religion,
+but plenty of others, too: poetry, and romances, and
+plays,&mdash;he was a great reader, and his books were all
+the friends he had, he used to say, till he found me. I
+should have been his son, he would say; and then lay
+his hand on my head and bid me be good, and say my
+prayers, and keep my heart true and clean. He never
+talked much to me of his own church (knowing my
+father by name and reputation), only made plain to
+me the love of God, and taught me to seek it through
+loving man.</p>
+
+<p>I used to wonder how he came to be there, in the
+wilderness, as it must often have seemed to him, for
+he had travelled much, and was city-bred, his people
+having left the seacoast and settled inland in his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
+grandfather's time. One day, as I stood by his desk
+waiting for him, I saw a box that always lay there, set
+open; and in it was a portrait of a most beautiful lady
+in a rich dress. The portrait was in a gold frame
+set with red stones,&mdash;rubies, they may have been,&mdash;and
+was a rich jewel indeed. While I stood looking
+at it, Father L'Homme-Dieu came in; and at sight of
+the open box, and me looking at it, his face, that was
+like old ivory in its ordinary look, flushed dark red as
+the stones themselves. I was sorely vexed at myself,
+and frightened too, maybe; but the change passed
+from him, and he spoke in his own quiet voice.
+"That is the first half of my life, Jacques!" he said.
+"It is set in heart's blood, my son." And told me
+that this was his sweetheart who was drowned at sea,
+and it was after her death that he became a priest,
+and came to find some few sheep in the wilderness,
+near the spot where his fathers had lived. Then he
+bade me look well at the sweet face, and when my
+time should come to love, seek out one, if not so fair
+(as he thought there were none such), still one as
+true, and pure, and tender, and loving once, let it last
+till death; and so closed the box, and I never saw it
+open again.</p>
+
+<p>All this time I never let my father know about
+Father L'Homme-Dieu. It would have seemed to him
+a terrible thing that his son should be friends with a
+priest of the Roman Church, which he held a thing
+accursed. I thought it no sin to keep his mind at
+peace, and clear of this thing, for a cloud was gathering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
+over him, my poor father. I told Abby, however,
+good Abby Rock; and though it shocked her at first,
+she was soon convinced that I brought home good
+instead of harm from my talks with Father L'Homme-Dieu.
+She it was who begged me not to tell my
+father, and she knew him better than any one else
+did, now that my mother Marie was gone. She told
+me, too, of the danger that hung over my poor father.
+The dark moods, since my mother's death, came over
+him more and more often; it seemed, when he was in
+one of them, that his mind was not itself. He never
+slighted his work,&mdash;that was like the breath he drew,&mdash;but
+when it was done, he would sit for hours brooding
+by the fireplace, looking at the little empty chair
+where my mother used to sit and sing at her sewing.
+And sitting so and brooding, now and again there
+would come over him as it were a blindness, and a
+forgetting of all about him, so that when he came out
+of it he would cry out, asking where he was, and what
+had been done to him. He would forget, too, that
+my mother was gone, and would call her, "Mary!
+Mary!" so that one's heart ached to hear him; and
+then Abby or I must make it clear to him again, and
+see the dumb suffering of him, like a creature that
+had not the power of speech, and knew nothing but
+pain and remembrance.</p>
+
+<p>I might have been seventeen or eighteen at this
+time; I do not recall the precise year. I was doing
+well with my shoemaking, and when this trouble
+grew on my poor father I brought my bench into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
+kitchen, so that I might have him always in sight.
+This was well enough for every day, but already I was
+beginning to be sent for here and there, among the
+neighbouring villages, to play the fiddle. The people of
+my father's kind were passing away, those who thought
+music a device of the devil, and believed that dancing
+feet were treading the road to hell. He was still a
+power in our own village; but in the country round
+about the young folks were learning the use of their
+feet, and none could hinder them, being the course of
+nature, since young lambs first skipped in the meadows.
+It was an old farmer, a good, jolly kind of
+man, who first gave me the name of "Rosin." He
+sent for me to play at his barn-raising, and a pretty
+sight it was; a fine new barn, Melody, all smelling
+sweet of fresh wood, and hung with lanterns, and a
+vast quantity of fruits and vegetables and late flowers
+set all about. Pretty, pretty! I have never seen a
+prettier barn-raising than that, and I have fiddled at
+a many since then. Well, this old gentleman calls
+to me across the floor, "Come here, young Rosin!"
+I remember his very words. "Come here, young
+Rosin! I can't get my tongue round your outlandish
+name, but Rosin'll do well enough for you." Well,
+it stuck to me, the name did, and I was never sorry,
+for I did not like to carry my father's name about
+overmuch, he misliking the dancing as he did. The
+young folks caught up an old song, and tagged that
+name on too, and called me Rosin the Bow. So it
+was first, Melody; but there are two songs, as you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
+know, my dear, to the one tune (or one tune is all I
+know, and fits both sets of words), and the second song
+spells the word "Beau," and so some merry girls in a
+house where I often went to play, they vowed I should
+be Rosin the Beau. I suppose I may have been rather
+a good-looking lad, from what they used to say; and
+to make a long story short, it was by that name that
+I came to be known through the country, and shall
+be known till I die. An old beau enough now, my
+little girl; eighty years old your Rosin will be, if he
+lives till next September. I took to playing the air
+whenever I entered a room; it made a little effect,
+a little stir,&mdash;I was young and foolish, and it took
+little to please me in those days. But I have always
+thought, and think still, that a man, as well as a
+woman, should make the best of the mortal part of
+him; and I do not know why we should not be thankful
+for a well-looking body as for a well-ordered mind.
+I cannot abide to see a man shamble or slouch, or
+throw his arms and legs about as if they were timber
+logs. Many is the time I have said to my scholars,
+when I was teaching dancing-school,&mdash;great lumbering
+fellows, hulking through a quadrille as if they
+were pacing a raft in log-running,&mdash;"Don't insult
+your Creator by making a scarecrow of the body
+He has seen fit to give you. With reverence, He
+might have given it to one of better understanding;
+but since you have it, for piety's sake hold up your
+head, square your shoulders, and put your feet in the
+first position!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But I wander from the thread of my story, as
+old folks will do. After all, it is only a small
+story, of a small life; not every man is born to be
+great, my dear. Yet, while I sat on my shoemaker's
+bench, stitching away, I thought of greatness, as I
+suppose most boys do. I thought of a scholar's life,
+like that of Father L'Homme-Dieu before his sorrow
+came to him; a life spent in cities, among libraries
+and learned, brilliant people, men and women. I
+thought of a musician's life, and dreamed of the concerts
+and operas that I had never heard. The poet
+Wordsworth, my dear, has written immortal words
+about the dreams of a boy, and my dreams were fair
+enough. It seemed as if all the world outside were
+clouded in a golden glory, if I may put it so, and as if
+I had only to run forth and put aside this shining
+veil, to find myself famous, and happy, and blessed.
+And when I came down from the clouds, and saw my
+little black bench, and the tools and scraps of leather,
+and my poor father sitting brooding over the fire, my
+heart would sink down within me, and the longing
+would come strong upon me to throw down hammer
+and last, and run away, out into that great world that
+was calling for me. And so the days went by, and
+the months, and the years.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;&nbsp;WAS twenty years old when the change came in
+my life. I remember the day was cold and bleak,
+an early spring day. My father had had an accident
+a few days before. In one of his unconscious fits he
+had fallen forward&mdash;I had left the room but for a
+moment&mdash;and struck his head sharply against one of
+the fire-irons. He came to himself quite wild, and
+seeing the blood, thought he had killed some one, and
+cried to us to take him to prison as a murderer. It
+took Abby and me a long time to quiet him. The
+shock and the pain of it all had shaken me more than
+I knew, and I felt sick, and did not know what ailed
+me; but Abby knew, and she sent me to see Father
+L'Homme-Dieu, while she sat with my father. I was
+glad enough to go, more glad than my duty allowed,
+I fear; yet I knew that Abby was better than I at
+caring for my father.</div>
+
+<p>As I walked across the brown fields, where the
+green was beginning to prick in little points here and
+there, I began to feel the life strong in me once more.
+The dull cloud of depression seemed to drop away, and
+instead of seeing always that sad, set face of my poor
+father's, I could look up and around, and whistle to
+the squirrels, and note the woodpecker running round<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
+the tree near me. It has remained a mystery to me
+all my life, Melody, that this bird's brains are not constantly
+addled in his head, from the violence of his
+rapping. When I was a little boy, I tried, I remember,
+to nod my head as fast as his went nodding: with
+the effect that I grew dizzy and sick, and Mother
+Marie thought I was going to die, and said the White
+Paternoster over me five times.</p>
+
+<p>I looked about me, I say, and felt my spirit waking
+with the waking of the year. Yet, though I was glad
+to feel alive and young once more, I never thought I
+was going to anything new or wonderful. The wise,
+kind friend would be there; we should talk, and I
+should come away refreshed and strengthened, in
+peace and courage; I thought of nothing more. But
+when the widow Sparrow opened the door to me, I
+heard voices from the room within; a strange voice
+of a man, and the priest's answering. I stopped short
+on the threshold.</p>
+
+<p>"The Father is busy!" I said. "I will call again,
+when he is alone."</p>
+
+<p>"Now don't you!" said Mrs. Sparrow, who was
+always fond of me, and thought it a terrible walk for
+me to take, so young, and with the "growing weakness"
+not out of me. "Don't ye go a step, Jacques!
+I expect you can come in just as well as not. There
+is a gentleman here, but he's so pleasant, I should
+wish to have you see him, if <i>I</i> was the Father."</p>
+
+<p>I was hesitating, all the shyness of a country-bred
+boy coming over me; for I had a quick ear, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
+this strange voice was not like the voices I was
+used to hearing; it was like Father L'Homme-Dieu's,
+fine and high-bred. But the next instant Father
+L'Homme-Dieu had stepped to the door of the study,
+and saw me.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in, Jacques!" he cried. His eyes were
+bright, and his air gay, as I had never seen it. "Come
+in, my son! I have a friend here, and you are the
+very person I want him to meet." I stepped over
+the threshold awkwardly enough, and stood before
+the stranger. He was a young man, a few years
+older than myself; tall and slender,&mdash;we might have
+been twins as far as height and build went, but there
+the resemblance ceased. He was fair, with such delicate
+colouring that he might have looked womanish but
+for the dark fiery blue of his eyes, and his little curled
+moustache. He looked the way you fancy a prince
+looking, Melody, when Auntie Joy tells you a fairy
+story, though he was simply dressed enough.</p>
+
+<p>"Marquis," said Father L'Homme-Dieu, with a
+shade of ceremony that I had never heard before in
+his tone, "let me present to you M. Jacques D'Arthenay,
+my friend! Jacques, this is the Marquis de
+Ste. Valerie."</p>
+
+<p>He gave my name the French pronunciation. It
+was kindly meant; at my present age, I think it
+was perhaps rightly done; but then, it filled me with
+a kind of rage. The angry blood of a false pride, a
+false humility, surged to my brain and sang in my
+ears; and as the young man stepped forward with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
+outstretched hand, crying, "A compatriot. Welcome,
+monsieur!" I drew back, stammering with anger.
+"My name is Jacques De Arthenay!"<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> I said. "I am
+an American, a shoemaker, and the son of a farmer."</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment of silence, in which I seemed
+to live a year. I was conscious of everything, the
+well-bred surprise of the young nobleman, the half-amused
+vexation of the priest, my own clumsy, boyish
+rage and confusion. In reality it was only a few
+seconds before I felt my friend's hand on my shoulder,
+with its kind, fatherly touch.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down, my child!" he said. "Does it matter
+greatly how a name is pronounced? It is the same
+name, and I pronounced it thus, not without a reason.
+Sit down, and have peace!"</p>
+
+<p>There was authority as well as kindness in his
+voice. I sat down, still trembling and blushing.
+Father L'Homme-Dieu went on quietly, as if nothing
+had happened.</p>
+
+<p>"It was for the marquis's sake that I gave your
+name its former&mdash;and correct&mdash;pronunciation, my
+son Jacques. If I mistake not, he is of the same part
+of France from which your ancestors came. Huguenots
+of Blanque, am I not right, marquis?"</p>
+
+<p>I was conscious that the stranger, whom I was inwardly
+accusing as a pretentious puppy, a slip of a
+dead and worthless tree, was looking at me intently;
+my eyes seemed drawn to his whether I would or no.
+So meeting those blue eyes, there passed as it were a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
+flash from them into mine, a flash that warmed and
+lightened, as a smile broke over his face.</p>
+
+<p>"D'Arthenay!" he said, in a tone that seemed to
+search for some remembrance. "<i>D'Arthenay, tenez
+foi! n'est-ce pas, monsieur?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>I started. The words were the motto of my
+father's house. They were engraved on the stone
+which marked the grave of my grandfather many
+times back, Jacques, Sieur D'Arthenay. Seeing
+my agitation, the marquis leaned forward eagerly.
+He was full of quick, light gestures, that somehow
+brought my mother back to me.</p>
+
+<p>"But, we are neighbours!" he cried. "We must
+be friends, M. D'Arthenay. Your tower&mdash;it is a
+noble ruin&mdash;stands not a league from my ch&acirc;teau
+in Blanque. The Ste. Valeries and the D'Arthenays
+were always friends, since Adam was, and till
+the Grand Monarque separated them with his accursed
+Revocation. Monsieur, that I am enchanted
+at this rencounter! <i>La bonne aventure, oh gai! n'est-ce
+pas, mon p&egrave;re?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>There was no resisting his eager gaiety. And
+when he quoted the nursery song that my mother
+used to sing, my stubborn resentment&mdash;at what?
+who can say?&mdash;broke and melted away, and I was
+smiling back into the bright, merry eyes. Once more
+he held out his hand, and this time I took it gladly.
+Father L'Homme-Dieu looked on in delight; it was
+a good moment.</p>
+
+<p>After that the talk flowed freely. I found that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
+the young marquis, having come on a pleasure tour
+to the United States, had travelled thus far out
+of the general route to look up the graves of
+some of his mother's people, who had come out
+with Baron Castine, but had left him, as my ancestor
+had done, on account of his marriage with
+the Indian princess. They were the Belleforts of
+Blanque.</p>
+
+<p>"Bellefort!" I cried. "That name is on several
+stones in our old burying-ground. The Belforts of
+our village are their descendants, Father L'Homme-Dieu."</p>
+
+<p>"Not Ham?" cried the father, bursting into a
+great laugh. "Not Ham Belfort, Jacques?"</p>
+
+<p>I laughed back, nodding. "Just Ham, father!"</p>
+
+<p>I never saw Father L'Homme-Dieu so amused.
+He struck his hands together, and leaned back in
+his chair, repeating over and over, "Ham Belfort!
+Cousin of the Marquis de Ste. Valerie! Ham Belfort!
+Is it possible?"</p>
+
+<p>The young nobleman looked from one to the other
+of us curiously.</p>
+
+<p>"But what?" he asked. "Ham! <i>c'est-&agrave;-dire,
+jambon, n'est-ce pas?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"It is also a Biblical name, marquis!" said Father
+L'Homme-Dieu. "I must ask who taught you your
+catechism!"</p>
+
+<p>"True! true!" said the marquis, slightly confused.
+"<i>Sem, Ham, et Japhet</i>, perfectly! and&mdash;I
+have a cousin, it appears, named Jam&mdash;I should say,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
+Ham? Will you lead me to him, M. D'Arthenay, that
+I embrace him?"</p>
+
+<p>"You shall see him!" I said. "I don't think
+Ham is used to being embraced, but I will leave
+that to you. I will take you to see him, and to see
+the graves in the burying-ground, whenever you say."</p>
+
+<p>"But now, at the present time, this instant!"
+cried Ste. Valerie, springing from his chair. "Here
+is Father L'Homme-Dieu dying of me, in despair at
+his morning broken up, his studies destroyed by chatter.
+Take me with you, D'Arthenay, and show me
+all things; Ham, also his brothers, and No&euml; and the
+Ark, if they find themselves also here. Amazing
+country! astonishing people!"</p>
+
+<p>So off we went together, he promising Mrs. Sparrow
+to return in time for dinner, and informing her
+that she was a sylphide, which caused her to say,
+"Go along!" in high delight. He had brought a
+letter to the priest, from an old friend, and was to
+stay at the house.</p>
+
+<p>Back across the brown fields we went. I was no
+longer alone; the world was full of new light, new
+interest. I felt that it was good to be alive; and
+when my companion began to sing in very lightness
+of heart, I joined in, and sang with right good will.</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"La bonne aventure, oh gai!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">La bonne aventure!"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='unindent'>He told me that his mother always sang him this
+song when he had been a good boy; I replied that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+mine had done the same. How many French
+mothers have sung the merry little lilt, I wonder?
+We sang one snatch and another, and I could not
+see that the marquise had had the advantage of the
+little peasant girl, if it came to songs.</div>
+
+<p>The marquis&mdash;but why should I keep to the
+empty title, which I was never to use after that first
+hour? Nothing would do but that we should be
+friends on the instant, and for life,&mdash;Jacques and
+Yvon. "Thus it was two centuries ago," my companion
+declared, "thus shall it be now!" and I, in my
+dream of wonderment and delight, was only too glad
+to have it so.</p>
+
+<p>We talked of a thousand things; or, to be precise,
+he talked, and I listened. What had I to say
+that could interest him? But he was full of the
+wonders of travel, the strangeness of the new world
+and the new people. Niagara had shaken him to the
+soul, he told me; on the wings of its thunder he had
+soared to the empyrean. How his fanciful turns of
+expression come back to me as I write of him! He
+was proud of his English, which was in general
+surprisingly good.</p>
+
+<p>New York he did not like,&mdash;a savage in a Paris
+gown, with painted face; but on Boston he looked
+with the eyes of a lover. What dignity! what Puritan,
+what maiden grace of withdrawal! An American
+city, where one feels oneself not a figure of chess,
+but a human being; where no street resembles the
+one before it, and one can wander and be lost in delicious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
+windings! Ah! in Boston he could live, the
+life of a poet, of a scholar.</p>
+
+<p>"And then,&mdash;what, my friend? I come, I leave
+those joys, I come away here, to&mdash;to the locality of
+jump-off, as you say,&mdash;and what do I find? First, a
+pearl, a saint; for nobleness, a prince, for holiness, an
+anchorite of Arabia,&mdash;Le P&egrave;re L'Homme-Dieu! Next,
+the ancient friend of my house, who becomes on the
+instant mine also, the brother for whom I have
+yearned. With these, the graves of my venerable
+ancestors, heroes of constancy, who lived for war and
+died for faith; graves where I go even now, where I
+kneel to pay my duty of respect, to drop the filial
+tear!"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't forget your living relations!" I said, with
+some malice. "Here is your cousin, coming to meet
+us."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>AN ox-team was lumbering along the road towards
+us. The huge oxen lurched from side to side,
+half-asleep, making nothing of their load of meal-sacks
+piled high in air; their driver walked beside,
+half-asleep, too. He was a giant in height (six foot
+six, Melody, in his stockings! I have measured him
+myself), and his white clothes made him look something
+monstrous indeed. Yvon stared and gaped, as
+this vision came slowly towards him.</div>
+
+<p>"What&mdash;what is it?" he asked. "Is it a monster?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no!" I said. "It's only Ham Belfort. How
+are you, Ham?"</p>
+
+<p>"Smart!" said Ham. "How be you? Hoish, Star!
+haw! Stand still there, will ye?"</p>
+
+<p>The oxen came to a halt willingly enough, and man
+and beasts stood regarding us with calm, friendly
+eyes. Ham and his oxen looked so much alike, Melody
+(the oxen were white, I ought to have said), that
+I sometimes thought, if we dressed one of the beasts
+up and did away with his horns, people would hardly
+know which was which.</p>
+
+<p>"Taking a load over to Cato?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>"</p>
+
+<p>Cato was the nearest town, my dear. It was there
+that the weekly boat touched, which was our one link
+with the world of cities and railways.</p>
+
+<p>Ham nodded; he was not given to unnecessary
+speech.</p>
+
+<p>"Is your wife better? I heard she was poorly."</p>
+
+<p>"No, she ain't! I expect she'll turn up her toes
+now most any day."</p>
+
+<p>This seemed awkward. I muttered some expressions
+of regret, and was about to move on, when
+my companion, who had been gazing speechless
+and motionless at the figure before him, caught my
+arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Present me!" he whispered. "Holy Blue! this is
+my cousin, my own blood! Present me, Jacques!"</p>
+
+<p>Now, I had never had occasion to make a formal
+introduction in my life, Melody. I had not yet begun
+to act as master of ceremonies at balls, only as fiddler
+and call-man; and it is the living truth that the only
+form of words I could bring to mind at the moment
+was, "Gents, balance to partners!" I almost said it
+aloud; but, fortunately, my wits came back, and I
+stammered out, sorely embarrassed:</p>
+
+<p>"Ham, this is&mdash;a gentleman&mdash;who&mdash;who is staying
+with Father L'Homme-Dieu."</p>
+
+<p>"That so? Pleased to meet you!" and Ham held
+out a hand like a shoulder of mutton, and engulfed
+the marquis's slender fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"I am delighted to make the acquaintance of Mr.
+Belfort," said Ste. Valerie, with winning grace. "I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
+please myself to think that we are related by blood.
+My mother was a Bellefort of Blanque; it is the
+French form of your name, Mr. Belfort."</p>
+
+<p>"I want to know!" said Ham. "<i>Darned</i> pleased
+to meet you!" He laboured for a moment, casting a
+glance of appeal at the oxen, who showed no disposition
+to assist him; then added, "You're slim-appearin'
+for a Belfort; they run consid'able large in these
+parts."</p>
+
+<p>"Truly, yes!" cried the marquis, laughing delightedly.
+"You desire to show the world that there are
+still giants. What pleasure, what rapture, to go
+through the crowd of small persons, as myself, as
+D'Arthenay here, and exhibit the person of Samson,
+of Goliath!"</p>
+
+<p>Ham eyed him gravely. "Meanin' shows?" he
+asked, after a pause of reflection. "No, we've never
+shew none, as I know of. We've been asked, father
+'n' I, to allow guessin' on our weight at fairs and sech,
+but we jedged it warn't jest what we cared about
+doin'. Sim'lar with shows!"</p>
+
+<p>This speech was rather beyond Ste. Valerie, and
+seeing him look puzzled, I struck in, "Mr. Ste. Valerie
+wants to see the old graves in the old burying-ground,
+Ham. I told him there were plenty of Belforts there,
+and spelling the name as he does, with two l's and
+an e in the middle."</p>
+
+<p>"I want to know if he spells it that way!" said
+Ham, politely. "We jedged they didn't know much
+spellin', in them times along back, but I presume<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
+there's different idees. Does your folks run slim as
+a rule?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very slim, my cousin!" said Yvon. "Of my
+generation, there is none so great as myself."</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>want</i> to know!" said Ham; and the grave
+compassion in his voice was almost too much for
+my composure. He seemed to fear that the subject
+might be a painful one, and changed it with a visible
+effort.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there's plenty in the old berr'in-ground
+spelt both ways. Likely it don't matter to 'em now."</p>
+
+<p>He pondered again, evidently composing a speech;
+again he demanded help of the oxen, and went so far
+as to examine an ear of the nigh ox with anxious
+attention.</p>
+
+<p>"'Pears as if what Belforts is above the sod ought
+to see something of ye!" he said at last. "My
+woman is sick, and liable to turn&mdash;I should say,
+liable to pass away most any time; but if she should
+get better, or&mdash;anything&mdash;I should be pleased to
+have ye come and stop a spell with us at the grist-mill.
+Any of your folks in the grist business?"</p>
+
+<p>"Grisst?" Ste. Valerie looked helplessly at me. I
+explained briefly the nature of a grist-mill, and said
+truly that Ham's mill was one of the pleasantest
+places in the neighbourhood. Yvon was enchanted.
+He would come with the most lively pleasure, he
+assured Ham, so soon as Madame Belfort's health
+should be sufficiently rehabilitated. I remember,
+Melody, the pride with which he rolled out that long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
+word, and the delight with which he looked at me, to
+see if I noticed it.</p>
+
+<p>"Meantime," he added, "I shall haste at the earliest
+moment to do myself the honour to call, to make
+inquiries for the health of madame, to present my
+respectful homages to monsieur your father. He will
+permit me to embrace him as a son?"</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately Ham only heard the first part of this
+sentence; he responded heartily, begging the marquis
+to call at any hour. Then, being at the end of his
+talk, he shook hands once more with ponderous good
+will, and passed on, he and the oxen rolling along
+with equal steps.</p>
+
+<p>Ste. Valerie was silent until Ham was out of earshot;
+then he broke out.</p>
+
+<p>"Holy Blue! what a prodigy! You suffer this to
+burst upon me, Jacques, without notice, without preparation.
+My nerves are permanently shattered. You
+tell me, a man; I behold a tower, a mountain, Atlas
+crowned with clouds! Thousand thunders! what
+bulk! what sinews! and of my race! Amazing effect
+of&mdash;what? Climate? occupation? In France, this
+race shrinks, diminishes; a rapier, keen if you will,
+but slender like a thread; here, it swells, expands,
+towers aloft,&mdash;a club of Hercules. And with my
+father, who could sit in my pocket, and my grandfather,
+who could sit in his! Figure to yourself,
+Jacques, that I am called <i>le grand Yvon!</i>" He was
+silent for a moment, then broke out again. "But
+the mind. D'Arthenay! the brain; how is it with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
+that? Thought,&mdash;a lightning flash! is it not lost,
+wandering through a head large like that of an ox?"</p>
+
+<p>I cannot remember in what words I answered him,
+Melody. I know I was troubled how to make it clear
+to him, and he so different from the other. I seemed
+to stand midway between the two, and to understand
+both. Half of me seemed to spring up in joy at the
+voice of the young foreigner; his lightness, his quickness,
+the very way he moved his hands, seemed a part
+of my own nature that I had not learned to use, and
+now saw reflected in another. I am not sure if I
+make myself clear, my child; it was a singular feeling.
+But when I would spring forward with him,
+and toss my head and wave my hands as he did,&mdash;as
+my mother Marie did,&mdash;there was something held
+me back; it was the other nature in me, slow and
+silent, and&mdash;no! not cold, but loath to show its
+warmth, if I may put it so. My father in me kept
+me silent many a time when I might have spoken
+foolishness. And it was this half, my father's half,
+that loved Ham Belfort, and saw the solid sweetness
+of nature that made that huge body a temple of good
+will, so to speak. He had the kind of goodness that
+gives peace and rest to those who lean against it.
+His mill was one of the places&mdash;but we shall come
+to that by and by!</p>
+
+<p>Walking on as we talked, we soon came to the village,
+and I begged my new friend to come in and see
+my father and my home. We entered. My father
+was standing by the fire, facing the door, with one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
+hand on the tall mantel-shelf. He was in one of his
+waking dreams, and I was struck deeply, Melody, by
+the beauty, and, if I may use the word about a plain
+man, the majesty of his looks. My companion was
+struck, too, for he stopped short, and murmured something
+under his breath; I heard the word "Noblesse,"
+and thought it not amiss. My father's eyes (they were
+extraordinarily bright and blue) were wide open, and
+looked through us and beyond us, yet saw nothing, or
+nothing that other eyes could see; the tender look was
+in them that meant the thought of my mother. But
+Abby came quietly round from the corner where she
+sat sewing, and laid her hand on his arm, and spoke
+clearly, yet not sharply, telling him to look and see,
+Jakey had brought a gentleman to see him. Then
+the vision passed, and my father looked and saw us,
+and came forward with a stately, beautiful way that
+he could use, and bade the stranger welcome. Ste.
+Valerie bowed low, as he might to a prince. Hearing
+that he was a Frenchman, my father seemed pleased.
+"My dear wife was a Frenchwoman!" he said. "She
+was a musician, sir; I wish you could have heard her
+play."</p>
+
+<p>"He was himself also of French descent," Ste. Valerie
+reminded him, with another bow; and told of the
+ruined tower, and the old friendship between the two
+houses. But my father cared nothing for descent.</p>
+
+<p>"Long ago, sir!" he said. "Long ago! I have
+nothing to do with the dead of two hundred years
+back. I am a plain farmer; my son has learned the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
+trade of shoemaking, though he also has some skill
+with the fiddle, I am told. Nothing compared to his
+mother, but still some skill."</p>
+
+<p>Ste. Valerie looked from one of us to the other. "A
+farmer,&mdash;a shoemaker!" he said, slowly. "Strange
+country, this! And while your <i>vieille noblesse</i> make
+shoes and till the soil, who are these, monsieur, who
+live in some of the palaces that I have seen in your
+cities? In many, truly, persons of real nobility also,
+gentlemen, whether hunting of race or of Nature's
+own. But these others? I have seen them; large
+persons, both male and female, red as beef, their
+grossness illuminated with diamonds of royalty, their
+dwelling a magazine from the Rue de la Paix. These
+things are shocking to a European, M. D'Arthenay!"
+My father looked at him with something like reproof
+in his quiet gaze.</p>
+
+<p>"I have never been in cities," he said. "I consider
+that a farmer's life may be used as well as
+another for the glory of God."</p>
+
+<p>Then, with a wave of his hand, he seemed to put all
+this away from him, and with a livelier air asked the
+stranger to take supper with us. Abby had been laying
+the cloth quietly while we were talking, and my
+father would have asked her to sit down with us, but
+she slipped away while his face was turned in the
+other direction, and though he looked once or twice,
+he soon forgot. Poor Abby! I had seen her looking
+at him as he talked, and was struck by her intent
+expression, as if she would not lose a word he might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
+say. It seemed natural, though, that he should be her
+first thought; he had always been, since my mother
+died.</p>
+
+<p>So presently we three sat about the little table, that
+was gay with flowers and pretty dishes. I saw Ste.
+Valerie's wondering glances; was it thus, he seemed
+to ask, that a farmer lived, who had no woman to care
+for him? My father saw, too, and was pleased as I
+had rarely seen him. He did not smile, but his face
+seemed to fill with light.</p>
+
+<p>"My wife, sir," he said, "loved to see things bright
+and adorned. I try&mdash;my son and I try&mdash;to keep the
+table as she would like it. I formerly thought these
+matters sinful, but I have been brought to a clearer
+vision,&mdash;through affliction." (Strange human nature,
+Melody, my child! he was moved to say these words
+to a stranger, which he could not have said to me, his
+son!) "She had the French taste and lightness, my
+wife Mary. I should have been proud to have you see
+her, sir; the Lord was mindful of His own, and took
+her away from a world of sin and suffering."</p>
+
+<p>The light died out; his eyes wandered for a moment,
+and then set, in a way I knew; and I began to talk
+fast of the first thing that came into my mind.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I COULD write a whole book about the summer
+that followed this spring day, when I first met
+Yvon de Ste. Valerie. Yes, and the book would be
+so long that no mortal man would have time to read
+it; but I must hurry on with my story; for truth to
+tell, my eyes are beginning to be not quite what they
+have been,&mdash;they'll serve my time, I hope, but my
+writing was always small and crabbed,&mdash;and I must
+say what I have to say, shorter than I have begun,
+I perceive. After the first week, then, which he
+spent with Father L'Homme-Dieu, Yvon came over
+to our village and boarded with Abby Rock. The
+Father was pleased to have him come; he knew it
+would be a great thing for me, and he thought it
+would not hurt the young gentleman to live for a
+time with plain folks. But if he thought Yvon would
+look down on our village people, or hold himself
+better than they, he was mistaken. In a week the
+young Frenchman was the son and brother of the
+whole village. Our people were dear, good people,
+Melody; but I sometimes thought them a little dull;
+that was after my mother's death. I suppose I had
+enough of another nature in me to be troubled by
+this, but not enough to know how to help it; later<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
+I learned a little more; but indeed, I should justly
+say that my lessons were begun by Yvon de Ste.
+Valerie. It was from him I learned, my dear, that
+nothing in this world of God's is dull or common,
+unless we bring dull hearts and dim eyes to look at
+it. It is the vision, the vision, that makes the life;
+that vision which you, my child, with your sightless
+eyes, have more clearly than almost any one I have
+known.</div>
+
+<p>He was delighted with everything. He wanted to
+know about everything. He declared that he should
+write a book, when he returned to France, all about
+our village, which he called Paradise. It is a pretty
+place, or was as I remember it. He must see how
+bread was made, how wool was spun, how rugs were
+braided. Many's the time I have found him sitting
+in some kitchen, winding the great balls of rags
+neatly cut and stitched together, listening like a child
+while the woman told him of how many rugs she had
+made, and how many quilts she had pieced; and she
+more pleased than he, and thinking him one wonder
+and herself another.</p>
+
+<p>He was in love with all the girls; so he said, and
+they had nothing to say against it. But yet there
+was no girl could carry a sore heart, for he treated
+them all alike. In this I have thought that he
+showed a sense and kindness beyond his years or
+his seeming giddiness; for some of them might well
+enough have had their heads turned by a gentleman,
+and one so handsome, and with a tongue that liked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
+better to say "Angel!" to a woman than anything
+more suited to the average of the sex. But no girl
+in the village could think herself for a moment the
+favoured maiden; for if one had the loveliest eyes in
+the world, the next had a cheek of roses and velvet,
+and the third walked like a goddess, and the fourth
+charmed his soul out of his body every time she
+opened her lips. And so it went on, till all understood
+it for play, and the pleasantest play they ever
+saw. But he vowed from the first that he would
+marry Abby Rock, and no other living woman.
+Abby always said yes, she would marry him the
+first Sunday that came in the middle of the week;
+and then she would try to make him eat more,
+though he took quite as much as was good for him,
+not being used to our hearty ways, especially in the
+mornings. Abby was as pleased with him as a child
+with a kitten, and it was pretty to see them together.</p>
+
+<p>"Light of my life!" Yvon would cry. "You are
+exquisite this morning! Your eyes are like stars on
+the sea. Come, then, angelic Rock, <i>Rocher des Anges</i>,
+and waltz with your Ste. Valerie!" And he would
+take Abby by the waist, and try to waltz with her,
+till she reached for the broomstick. I have told you,
+Melody, that Abby was the homeliest woman the
+Lord ever made. Not that I ever noticed it, for
+the kindness in her face was so bright I never saw
+anything but that; but strangers would speak of it,
+and Yvon himself, before he heard her speak, made
+a little face, I remember, that only I could see, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
+whispered, had I brought him to lodge with Medusa?
+Medusa, indeed! I think Abby's smile would soften
+any stone that had ever had a human heart beating in
+it, instead of the other way.</p>
+
+<p>But the place in the village that Yvon loved best
+was Ham Belfort's grist-mill; and when he comes to
+my mind, in these days, when sadder visions are
+softened and partly dim to me, it is mostly there
+that I seem to see my friend.</p>
+
+<p>It was, as I have said, one of the pleasantest places
+in the world. To begin with, the colour and softness
+of it all! The window-glass was powdered white,
+and the light came through white and dim, and lay
+about in long powdery shafts, and these were white,
+too, instead of yellow. So was the very dust white;
+or rather, it was good oatmeal and wheat flour that
+lay thick and crumbling on the rafters above, and the
+wheels and pulleys and other gear. As for Ham,
+the first time Yvon saw him in the mill, he cried out
+"Mont Blanc!" and would not call him anything
+else for some time. For Ham was whiter than all
+the rest, in his working-dress, cap and jacket and
+breeches, white to begin with, and powdered soft and
+furry, like his face and eyebrows, with the flying meal.
+Down-stairs there was plenty of noise; oats and corn
+and wheat pouring into the hoppers, and the great
+stones going round and round, and wheels creaking
+and buzzing, and belts droning overhead. Yvon
+could not talk at all here, and I not too much; only
+Ham's great voice and his father's (old Mr. Belfort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
+was Ham over again, gray under the powder, instead
+of pink and brown) could roar on quietly, if I may
+so express it, rising high above the rattle and clack of
+the machinery, and yet peaceful as the stream outside
+that turned the great wheels and set the whole thing
+flying. So, as he could not live long without talking,
+Yvon loved best the loft above, where the corn was
+stored, both in bags and unground, and where the big
+blowers were, and the old green fire-engine, and many
+other curious things. I had known them all my life,
+but they were strange to him, and he never tired, any
+more than if he had been a boy of ten. Sometimes I
+wondered if he could be twenty-two, as he said;
+sometimes when he would swing himself on to the
+slide, where the bags of meal and flour were loaded
+on to the wagons. Well, Melody, it was a thing to
+charm a boy's heart; it makes mine beat a little
+quicker to think of it, even now; perhaps I was not
+much wiser than my friend, after all. This was a
+slide some three feet wide, and say seven or eight
+feet long, sloping just enough to make it pleasant,
+and polished till it shone, from the bags that rubbed
+along it day after day, loading the wagons as they
+backed up under it. Nothing would do but we must
+slide down this, as if, I say, we were children of ten
+years old, coming down astride of the meal-sacks, and
+sending a plump of flour into the air as we struck the
+wagon. Father Belfort thought Yvon was touched
+in the brain; but he was all the more gentle on this
+account. Boys were not allowed on the slide, unless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
+it were a holiday, or some boy had had a hard time
+with sickness or what not; it was a treat rarely given,
+and the more prized for that. But Yvon and I might
+slide as much as we pleased. "Keep him cheerful,
+Jakey!" the dear old man would say. "Let him kibobble
+all he's a mind to! I had a brother once was
+looney, and we kep' him happy all his life long, jest
+lettin' him stay a child, as the Lord intended. Six foot
+eight he stood, and weighed four hundred pounds."</p>
+
+<p>And when the boy was tired of playing we would
+sit down together, and call to Ham to come up and
+talk; for even better than sliding, Yvon loved to hear
+his cousin talk. You can take the picture into your
+mind, Melody, my dear. The light dim and white,
+as I have told you, and very soft, falling upon rows
+and rows of full sacks, ranged like soldiers; the great
+white miller sitting with his back against one of
+these, and his legs reaching anywhere,&mdash;one would
+not limit the distance; and running all about him,
+without fear, or often indeed marking him in any way,
+a multitude of little birds, sparrows they were, who
+spent most of their life here among the meal-sacks.
+Sometimes they hopped on his shoulder, or ran over
+his head, but they never minded his talking, and he
+sat still, not liking to disturb them. It was a pretty
+sight of extremes in bulk, and in nature too; for
+while Ham was afraid to move, for fear of troubling
+them, they would bustle up to him and cock their
+heads, and look him in the eye as if they said, "Come
+on, and show me which is the biggest!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>There you see him, my dear; and opposite to him
+you might see a great mound or heap of corn that
+shone yellow as gold. "<i>Le Mont d'Or</i>," Yvon called
+it; and nothing would do but he must sit on this,
+lifted high above us, yet sliding down every now and
+then, and climbing up again, with the yellow grains
+slipping away under him, smooth and bright as pebbles
+on the shore. And for myself, I was now here
+and now there, as I found it more comfortable, being
+at home in every part of the friendly place.</p>
+
+<p>How we talked! Ham was mostly a silent fellow;
+but he grew to love the lad so that the strings of his
+tongue were loosened as they had never been before.
+His woman, too (as we say in those parts, Melody;
+wife is the more genteel expression, but I never heard
+Ham use it. My father, on the other hand, never
+said anything else; a difference in the fineness of ear,
+my dear, I have always supposed),&mdash;his woman, I
+say, or wife, had not "turned up her toes," but
+recovered, and as he was a faithful and affectionate
+man, his heart was enlarged by this also. However
+it was, he talked more in those weeks, I suppose, than
+in the rest of his life put together. Bits of his talk,
+homely and yet wise, come back to me across the
+sixty years. One day, I remember, we talked of life,
+as young men love to talk. We said nothing that
+had not been said by young men since Abel's time, I
+do suppose, but it was all new to us; and indeed, my
+two companions had fresh ways of putting things that
+seemed to make them their own in a manner. Yvon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
+maintained that gaiety was the best that life had to
+give; that the butterfly being the type of the human
+soul, the nearer man could come to his prototype, the
+better for him and for all. Sorrow and suffering, he
+cried, were a blot on the scheme, a mistake, a concession
+to the devil; if all would but spread their
+wings and fly away from it, houp! it would no longer
+exist. "<i>Et voil&agrave;!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>We laughed, but shook our heads. Ham meditated
+awhile, and then began in his strong, quiet voice, a
+little husky, which I always supposed was from his
+swallowing so much raw meal and flour.</p>
+
+<p>"That's one way of lookin' at it, Eavan; I expect
+that's your French view, likely; looks different, you
+see, to folks livin' where there's cold, and sim'lar
+things, as butterflies couldn't find not to say comfortable.
+Way I look at it, it always seemed to me
+that grain come as near it as anything, go to compare
+things. Livin' in a grist-mill, I presume, I git into a
+grainy way of lookin' at the world. Now, take
+wheat! It comes up pooty enough, don't it, in the
+fields? Show me a field o' wheat, and I'll show you as
+handsome a thing as is made this side of Jordan.
+Wal, that might be a little child, we'll say; if there's
+a thing handsomer than a field o' wheat, it's a
+little child. But bimeby comes reapin' and all, and
+then the trouble begins. First, it's all in the rough,
+ain't it, chaff and all, mixed together; and has to go
+through the thresher? Well, maybe that's the lickin's
+a boy's father gives him. He don't like 'em,&mdash;I can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
+feel Father Belfort's lickin's yet,&mdash;but they git red of
+a sight o' chaff, nonsense, airs, and what not, for him.
+Then it comes here to the grist-mill. Well, I may be
+gittin' a little mixed, boys, but you can foller if you
+try, I expect. Say that's startin' out in life, leavin'
+home, or bindin' to a trade, or whatever. Well, it
+goes into the duster, and there it gets more chaff
+blowed off'n it. And from the duster it goes into the
+hopper, and down in betwixt the stones; and them
+stones grind, grind, grind, till you'd think the life was
+ground clear'n out of it. But 'tain't so; contrary!
+That's affliction; the upper and nether millstone&mdash;Scriptur!
+Maybe sickness, maybe losin' your folks,
+maybe business troubles,&mdash;whichever comes is the
+wust, and more than any mortal man ever had to bear
+before. Well, now, see! That stuff goes in there,
+grain; it comes out wheat flour! Then you take and
+wet it down and put your 'east in,&mdash;that's thought, I
+expect, or brains,&mdash;or might be a woman,&mdash;and you
+bake it in the oven,&mdash;call that&mdash;well, 'git-up-and-git'
+is all I can think of, but I should aim for a better
+word, talkin' to a foreigner."</p>
+
+<p>"Purpose," I suggested.</p>
+
+<p>"That's it! purpose! bake it in that oven, and you
+have a loaf of wheat bread, riz bread; and that's the
+best eatin' that's ben invented yet. That's food for
+the hungry,&mdash;which raw wheat ain't, except it's
+cattle. But now you hear me, boys! To git wheat
+bread, riz bread, you've got to have wheat to begin
+with. You've got to have good stuff to start with.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
+You can't make good riz bread out o' field corn. But
+take good stuff and grind it in the Lord's mill, and
+you've got the best this world can give. That's my
+philos'phy!"</p>
+
+<p>He nodded his head to the last words, which fell
+slowly and weightily; and as he did so, the sparrow
+that had been perched on his head ran down his nose
+and fluttered in his face, seeming to ask how he dared
+make such a disturbance. "I beg your pardon, I'm
+sure!" said Ham. "I'd no notion I was interferin'
+with you. Why didn't you hit one of your size?"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>IT was in the grist-mill loft, too, that Yvon brought
+forward his great plan, what he called the project
+of his life,&mdash;that of taking me back to France with
+him. I remember how I laughed when he spoke of
+it; it seemed as easy for me to fly to the moon as to
+cross the ocean, a thing which none of my father's
+people had done since the first settlers came. My
+mother, to be sure, had come from France, but that
+was a different matter; nor had her talk of the sea
+made me feel any longing for it. But Yvon had set
+his heart on it; and his gay talk flowed round and
+over my objections, as your brook runs over stones. I
+must go; I should go! I should see my tower, the
+castle of my fathers. It was out of repair, he could
+not deny that; but what! a noble ch&acirc;teau might
+still be made of it. Once restored, I would bring my
+father over to end his days with me, under the roof
+that alone could properly shelter a person of such
+nobility. He had won my father's heart, too, Melody,
+as he won all hearts; they understood each other in
+some fine, far-off way, that was beyond me. I sometimes
+felt a little pang that was not, I am glad to
+believe, jealousy, only a wish that I might be more
+like Yvon, more like my mother's people, since it was
+that so charmed my poor father.</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I asked Yvon how I was to live, how my <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads ' ather'">father</ins> and
+I should support ourselves in our restored castle, and
+whose money would pay for the restoration. He
+threw this aside, and said that money was base, and
+he refused to consider it. It had nothing to do with
+the feelings, less than nothing with true nobility.
+Should I then take my cobbler's bench, I asked him,
+and make shoes for him and his neighbours, while my
+father tilled the ground? But then, for the first
+and almost the last time, I saw my friend angry; he
+became like a naughty, sulky child, and would hardly
+speak to me for the rest of the day.</p>
+
+<p>But he clung to his idea, none the less; and, to my
+great surprise, my father took it up after awhile.
+He thought well, he told me, of Yvon's plan; Yvon
+had talked it over with him. He, himself, was much
+stronger than he had been (this was true, Melody, or
+nothing would have induced me to leave him even for
+a week; Yvon had been like a cordial to him, and he
+had not had one of his seizures for weeks); and I
+could perfectly leave him under Abby's care. I had
+not been strong myself, a voyage might be a good
+thing for me; and no doubt, after seeing with my own
+eyes the matters this young lad talked of, I would be
+glad enough to come home and settle to my trade, and
+would have much to think over as I sat at my bench.
+It might be that a man was better for seeing something
+of the world; he had never felt that the Lord
+intended him to travel, having brought to his own
+door all that the world held of what was best (he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
+paused here, and said "Mary!" two or three times
+under his breath, a way he had when anything moved
+him), but it was not so with me, nor likely to be, and
+it might be a good thing for me to go. He had money
+laid by that would be mine, and I could take a portion
+of that, and have my holiday.</p>
+
+<p>These are not his very words, Melody, but the sense
+of them. I was strangely surprised; and being young
+and eager, the thought came upon me for the first
+time that this thing was really possible; and with the
+thought came the longing, and a sense which I had
+only felt dimly before, and never let speak plain to
+me, as it were. I suppose every young man feels the
+desire to go somewhere else than the place where he
+has always abided. The world may be small and
+wretched, as some tell him, or great and golden,
+according to the speech of others; he believes neither
+one nor the other, he must see it with his own eyes.
+So this grew upon me, and I brooded over it, till my
+life was full of voices calling, and hands pointing
+across the sea, to the place which is Somewhere Else.
+I talked with Father L'Homme-Dieu, and he bade me
+go, and gave me his blessing; he had no doubt it was
+my pleasure, and might be my duty, in the way of
+making all that might be made of my life. I talked
+with Abby; she grew pale, and had but one word,
+"Your father!" Something in her tone spoke loud
+to my heart, and there came into my mind a thought
+that I spoke out without waiting for it to cool.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you marry my father, Abby?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Abby's hands fell in her lap, and she turned so
+white that I was frightened; still, I went on. "You
+love him better than any one else, except me." (She
+put her hand on her heart, I remember, Melody, and
+kept it there while I talked; she made no other sign.)</p>
+
+<p>"And you can care for him ten times better than
+I could, you know that, Abby, dear; and&mdash;and&mdash;I
+know M&egrave;re-Marie would be pleased."</p>
+
+<p>I looked in her face, and, young and thoughtless as
+I was, I saw that there which made me turn away
+and look out of the window. She did not speak at
+once; but presently said in her own voice, or only a
+little changed, "Don't speak like that, Jakey dear!
+You know I'll care for your father all I can, without
+that;" and so put me quietly aside, and talked about
+Yvon, and how good Father L'Homme-Dieu had been
+to me.</p>
+
+<p>But I, being a lad that liked my own way when
+it did not seem a wrong one (and not only then,
+perhaps, my dear; not only then!), could not let
+my idea go so easily. It seemed to me a fine thing,
+and one that would bring happiness to one, at least;
+and I questioned whether the other would mind it
+much, being used to Abby all his life, and a manner
+of cousin to her, and she my mother's first
+friend when she came to the village, and her best
+friend always. I was very young, Melody, and I
+spoke to my father about it; that same day it was,
+while my mind was still warm. If I had waited over
+night, I might have seen more clear.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Father," said I; we were sitting in the kitchen
+after supper; it was a summer evening, soft and fair,
+but a little fire burned low on the hearth, and he sat
+near it, having grown chilly this last year.</p>
+
+<p>"Father, would you think it possible to change
+your condition?"</p>
+
+<p>He turned his eyes on me, with an asking look.</p>
+
+<p>"Would you think it possible to marry Abby
+Rock?" I asked; and felt my heart sink, somehow,
+even with saying the words. My father hardly seemed
+to understand at first; he repeated, "Marry Abby
+Rock!" as if he saw no sense in the words; then
+it came to him, and I saw a great fire of anger grow
+in his eyes, till they were like flame in the dusk.</p>
+
+<p>"I am a married man!" he said, slowly. "Are
+you a child, or lost to decency, that you speak of this
+to a married man?"</p>
+
+<p>He paused, but I found nothing to say. He went
+on, his voice, that was even when he began, dropping
+deeper, and sinking as I never heard it.</p>
+
+<p>"The Lord in His providence saw fit to take away
+my wife, your mother, before sickness, or age, or sorrow
+could strike her. I was left, to suffer some small
+part of what my sins merit, in the land of my sojourn.
+The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away;
+blessed be the name of the Lord. But because my
+wife Mary,&mdash;my wife Mary" (he lingered over the
+words, loving them so), "is a glorified spirit in
+another world, and I am a prisoner here, is she any
+less my wife, and I her faithful husband? You are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
+my son, and hers,&mdash;hers, Jakey; but if you ever
+say such words to me again, one house will not hold
+us both." He turned his head away, and I heard him
+murmuring under his breath, "Mary! Mary!" as I
+have said his way was; and I was silent and ashamed,
+fearing to speak lest I make matters worse; and so
+presently I slipped out and left him; and my fine
+plan came to naught, save to make two sad hearts
+sadder than they were.</p>
+
+<p>But it was to be! Looking back, Melody, after
+fifty years, I am confident that it was the will of
+God, and was to be. In three weeks from that
+night, I was in France.</p>
+
+<p>I pass over the wonder of the voyage; the sorrowful
+parting, too, that came before it, though I left all
+well, and my father to all appearances fully himself.
+I pass over these, straight to the night when Yvon
+and I arrived at his home in the south of France.
+We had been travelling several days since landing,
+and had stopped for two days in Paris. My head
+was still dizzy with the wonder and the brightness
+of it all. There was something homelike, too, in it.
+The very first people I met seemed to speak of my
+mother to me, as they flung out their hands and
+laughed and waved, so different from our ways at
+home. I was to see more of this, and to feel the two
+parts in me striving against each other; but it is
+early to speak of that.</p>
+
+<p>The evening was warm and bright, as we came near
+Ch&acirc;teau Claire; that was the name of my friend's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
+home. A carriage had met us at the station, and as
+we drove along through a pretty country (though
+nothing to New England, I must always think), Yvon
+was deep in talk with the driver, who was an old servant,
+and full of news. I listened but little, being
+eager to see all my eyes could take in. Vines swung
+along the sides of the road, in a way that I always
+found extremely graceful, and wished we might have
+our grapes so at home. I was marvelling at the
+straw-roofed houses and the plots of land about them
+no bigger than Abby Rock's best table-cloth, when
+suddenly Yvon bade pull up, and struck me on the
+shoulder. "<i>D'Arthenay, tenez foi!</i>" he cried in my
+ear; and pointed across the road. I turned, and saw
+in the dusk a stone tower, square and bold, covered
+with ivy, the heavy growth of years. It was all dim
+in the twilight, but I marked the arched door, with
+carving on the stone work above it, and the great
+round window that stared like a blind eye. I felt
+a tugging at my heart, Melody; the place stood so
+lonely and forlorn, yet with a stateliness that seemed
+noble. I could not but think of my father, and that
+he stood now like his own tower, that he would never
+see.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we alight now?" asked Yvon. "Or will
+you rather come by daylight, Jacques, to see the place
+in beauty of sunshine?"</p>
+
+<p>I chose the latter, knowing that his family would
+be looking for him; and no one waited for me in La
+Tour D'Arthenay, as it was called in the country.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
+Soon we were driving under a great gateway, and
+into a courtyard, and I saw the long front of a great
+stone house, with a light shining here and there.</p>
+
+<p>"Welcome, Jacques!" cried Yvon, springing down
+as the great door opened; "welcome to Ch&acirc;teau Claire!
+Enter, then, my friend, as thy fathers entered in days
+of old!"</p>
+
+<p>The light was bright that streamed from the doorway;
+I was dazzled, and stumbled a little as I went
+up the steps; the next moment I was standing in a
+wide hall, and a young lady was running forward to
+throw her arms round Yvon's neck.</p>
+
+<p>He embraced her tenderly, kissing her on both
+cheeks in the French manner; then, still holding her
+hand, he turned to me, and presented me to his sister.
+"This is my friend," he said, "of whom I wrote you,
+Valerie; M. D'Arthenay, of La Tour D'Arthenay,
+Mademoiselle de Ste. Valerie!"</p>
+
+<p>The young lady curtseyed low, and then, with a
+look at Yvon, gave me her hand in a way that made
+me feel I was welcome. A proper manner of shaking
+hands, my dear child, is a thing I have always impressed
+upon my pupils. There is nothing that so
+helps or hinders the first impression, which is often
+the last impression. When a person flaps a limp
+hand at me, I have no desire for it, if it were the
+finest hand in the world; nor do I allow any tricks of
+fashion in this matter, as sometimes seen, with waggling
+this way or that; it is a very offensive thing.
+Neither must one pinch with the finger-tips, nor grind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
+the bones of one's friend, as a strong man will be apt
+to do, mistaking violence for warmth; but give a firm,
+strong, steady pressure with the hand itself, that
+carries straight from the heart the message, "I am
+glad to see you!"</p>
+
+<p>This is a speech I have made many times; I have
+kept the young lady waiting in the hall while I made
+it to you, thereby failing in good manners.</p>
+
+<p>At the first glance, Valerie de Ste. Valerie seemed
+hardly more than a child, for she was slight and
+small; my first thought was, how like she was to her
+brother, with the same fair hair and dark, bright blue
+eyes. She was dressed in a gown of white dimity,
+very fine, with ruffles at the foot of the skirt, and a
+fichu of the same crossed on her breast. I must say
+to you, my dear Melody, that it was from this first
+sight of her that I took the habit of observing a
+woman's dress always. A woman of any age taking
+pains to adorn herself, it has always seemed to me
+boorish not to take careful note of the particulars of a
+toilet. Mlle. de Ste. Valerie wore slippers of blue
+kid, her feet being remarkably slender and well-shaped;
+and a blue ribbon about her hair, in the
+manner of a double fillet. After a few gracious
+words, she went forward into a room at one side of
+the hall, we following, and here I was presented to
+her aunt, a lady who had lived with the brother and
+sister since their parents' death, a few years before
+this time. Of this lady, who was never my friend,
+I will say little. Her first aspect reminded me of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
+frozen vinegar, carved into human shape; yet she had
+fine manners, and excused herself with dignity for
+not rising to salute us, being lame, as her nephew
+knew. For Yvon, though he kissed her hand (a
+thing I had never seen before), I thought there was
+little love in the greeting; nor did he seem oppressed
+with grief when she excused herself also from coming
+to sup with us.</p>
+
+<p>At supper, we three together at a table that was
+like a small island of warm pleasantness in the great
+hollow dining-hall, Yvon was full of wild talk, we
+two others mostly listening. He had everything to
+tell, about the voyage, about his new friends, all of
+whom were noble and beautiful and clever.</p>
+
+<p>"Figure to yourself, Valerie!" he cried. "I found
+our family there; the most noble, the most gigantic
+persons in the world! Thy cousin Jambon, it is a
+giant, eight feet high, at the least. He denies it, he
+is the soul of modesty, but I have eyes, and I see.
+This man has the soul greater than his vast body;
+we have discussed life, death, in short, the Infinite,
+we three, Jambon and Jacques and I. He has
+a father&mdash;both have fathers! it is the course of
+nature. The father of D'Arthenay here is a prince,
+a diamond of the old rock; ah! if our father of
+sainted memory could have known M. D'Arthenay
+<i>p&egrave;re</i>, Valerie, he would have known the brother of
+his soul, as their sons know each other. Not so,
+Jacques? But <i>le p&egrave;re</i> Bellefort, Valerie, he is gigantesque,
+like his son. These rocks, these towers, they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
+have the hearts of children, the smiles of a crowing
+infant. You laugh, D'Arthenay? I say something
+incorrect? how then?"</p>
+
+<p>He had said nothing incorrect, I told him; I only
+thought it would be surprising to hear Father Belfort
+crow, as he hardly spoke three times in the day.</p>
+
+<p>"True! but what silence! the silence of fullness,
+of benevolence. Magnificent persons, not to be approached
+for goodness."</p>
+
+<p>So he rattled on, while his sister's blue eyes grew
+wider and wider. I did not in truth know what to
+say. I hardly recognised our plain people in the
+human wonders that Yvon was describing; I could
+hardly keep my countenance when he told her about
+Mlle. Roc, an angel of pious dignity. I fancied
+Abby transported here, and set down at this table,
+all flowers and perfumed fruits and crimson-shaded
+lights; the idea seemed to me comical, though now
+I know that Abby Rock would do grace to any table,
+if it were the President's. I was young then, and
+knew little. And so the lad talked on and on, and
+his fair young lady sister listened and marvelled,
+and I held my tongue and looked about me, and wondered
+was I awake or asleep.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>THE pictures come back fast and thick upon my
+mind. I suppose every life, even the quietest,
+has its picture-book, its record of some one time that
+seems filled with beauty or joy as a cup that brims
+over. Every one, perhaps, could write his own fairy
+story; this is mine.</div>
+
+<p>The next day Yvon had a thousand things to show
+me. The ladies sat in their own room in the morning,
+and the rest of the castle was our own. It
+amazed me, being a great building, and the first
+of the kind I had seen. Terraces of stone ran about
+the house, except on the side of the courtyard, and
+these were set with flowering shrubs in great stone
+pots, that would take two men to lift. Beyond the
+terraces the ground fell away in soft banks and
+hollows to where I heard a brook running through
+a wood-piece. Inside, the rooms, very lofty and
+spacious, were dark to my eyes, partly from the
+smallness of the windows, partly from the dark
+carved wood that was everywhere, on floor and walls
+and ceilings. I could never be at home, I thought,
+in such a place; though I never found elsewhere
+such a fine quality of floor; smooth in the perfect
+degree, yet not too slippery for firm treading, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
+springing to the foot in a way that was next to dance
+music for suggestion. I said as much to Yvon, and
+he caught the idea flying, as was his way, and ran to
+bring his sister, bidding me get my fiddle on the
+instant. We were in a long hall, rather narrow, but
+with excellent space for a few <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'couple'">couples</ins>, let alone one.
+Mlle. de Ste. Valerie came running, her hand in her
+brother's, a little out of breath from his suddenness,
+and in the prettiest morning dress of blue muslin. I
+played my best waltz, and the two waltzed. This is
+one of the brightest pictures in my book, Melody.
+The young lady had perfect grace of motion, and had
+been well taught; I knew less about the matter than
+I do now, but still enough to recognise fine dancing
+when I saw it; her brother was a partner worthy of
+her. I have seldom had more pure pleasure in playing
+dance music, and I should have been willing it
+had lasted all day; but it was not long before a
+sour-faced maid came and said my Lady had sent her
+to say mademoiselle should be at her studies; and
+she ran away laughing, yet sorry to go, and dropped
+a little running curtsey at the door, very graceful,
+such as I have never seen another person make.</p>
+
+<p>The room was darker when she was gone; but
+Yvon cried to me I must see the armory, and the
+chapel, and a hundred other sights. I followed him
+like a child, my eyes very round, I doubt not, and
+staring with all my might. The armory was another
+of the long halls or corridors that ran along the sides of
+the courtyard. Here were weapons of all kinds, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
+chiefly swords; swords of every possible make and
+size, some of great beauty, others clumsy enough,
+that looked as if bears should handle them. I had
+never held a sword in my hand,&mdash;how should I?&mdash;but
+Yvon vowed I must learn to fence, and told some
+story of an ancestor of mine who was the best swordsman
+in the country, and kept all comers at bay in
+some old fight long ago. I took the long bit of
+springy steel, and found it extraordinary comfortable
+to the hand. Practice with the fiddle-bow since early
+childhood gave, I may suppose, strength and quickness
+to the turn of my wrist; however it was, the
+marquis cried out that I was born for the sword; and
+in a few minutes again cried to know who had taught
+me tricks of fence. Honesty knows, I had had no
+teaching; only my eye caught his own motions, and
+my hand and wrist answered instantly, being trained
+to ready obedience. I felt a singular joy in this exercise,
+Melody. In grace and dexterity it equals the
+violin; with this difference, which keeps the two the
+width of the world apart, that the one breeds trouble
+and strife, while the other may, under Providence,
+soothe human ills more than any other one thing,
+save the kindly sound of the human voice.</p>
+
+<p>Make the best defence I could, it was not long before
+Yvon sent my foil flying from my hand; but still
+he professed amazement at my ready mastering of the
+art, and I felt truly that it was natural to me, and
+that with a few trials I might do as well as he.</p>
+
+<p>Next I must see the chapel, very ancient, but kept<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
+smart with candles and crimson velvet cushions. I
+could not warm to this, feeling the four plain walls of
+a meeting-house the only thing that could enclose my
+religious feelings with any comfort; and these not to
+compare with a free hillside, or the trees of a wood
+when the wind moves in them. And then we went to
+the stables, and the gardens, laid out very stately, and
+his sister's own rose garden, the pleasantest place in
+the whole, or so I thought.</p>
+
+<p>So with one thing and another, it was late afternoon
+before Yvon remembered that I must not sleep again
+without visiting my own tower, as he would call it;
+and for this, the young lady had leave to go with us.
+It was a short walk, not more than half a mile, and
+in a few minutes we were looking up at the tower,
+that seemed older and sadder by day than it had done
+in the evening dimness. It stood alone. The body
+of what had been behind and beside it was gone, but
+we could trace the lines of a large building, the
+foundations still remaining; and here and there were
+piles of cut stone, the same stone as that in the tower.
+Yvon told me that ever since the castle had begun
+to fall into decay (being long deserted), the country
+people around had been in the habit of mending their
+houses, and building them indeed, often, from the
+stone of the old ch&acirc;teau. He pointed to one cottage
+and another, standing around at little distance. "They
+are dogs," he cried, "that have each a bit of the lion's
+skin. Ah, Jacques! but for my father of blessed
+memory, thy tower would have gone in the same way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
+He vowed, when he came of age, that this desecration
+should go no further. He brought the priest, and
+together they laid a fine curse upon whoever should
+move another stone from the ruins, or lay hands on
+La Tour D'Arthenay. Since then, no man touches
+this stone. It remains, as you see. It has waited
+till this day, for thee, its propriety."</p>
+
+<p>He had not quite the right word, Melody, but I had
+not the heart to correct him, being more moved by
+the thing than I could show reason for. Inside the
+tower there was a stone staircase, that went steeply
+up one side, or rather the front it was, for from it we
+could step across to a wide stone shelf that stood out
+under the round window. It might have been part of
+a great chimney-piece, such as there still were in
+Ch&acirc;teau Claire. The ivy had reached in through the
+empty round, and covered this stone with a thick mat,
+more black than green. Though ready enough to
+step on this myself, I could not think it fit for Mlle.
+de Ste. Valerie, and took the liberty to say so; but
+she laughed, and told me she had climbed to this
+perch a hundred times. She was light as a leaf, and
+when I saw her set her foot in her brother's hand and
+spring across the empty space from the stair to the
+shelf, it seemed no less than if a wind had blown her.
+Soon we were all three crouching or kneeling on the
+stone, with our elbows in the curve of the great window,
+looking out on the prospect. A fair one it was,
+of fields and vineyards, with streams winding about,
+but very small. They spoke of rivers, but I saw none.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
+It was the same with the hills, which Yvon bade me
+see here and there; little risings, that would not
+check the breath in a running man. For all that, the
+country was a fine country, and I praised it honestly,
+though knowing in my heart that it was but a poor
+patch beside our own. I was thinking this, when the
+young lady turned to me, and asked, in her gracious
+way, would I be coming back, I and my people, to
+rebuild Ch&acirc;teau D'Arthenay?</p>
+
+<p>"It was the finest in the county, so the old books
+say!" she told me. "There was a hall for dancing,
+a hundred feet long, and once the Sieur D'Arthenay
+gave a ball for the king, Henri Quatre it was, and the
+hall was lighted with a thousand tapers of rose-coloured
+wax, set in silver sconces. How that must
+have been pretty, M. D'Arthenay!"</p>
+
+<p>I thought of our kitchen at home, and the glass
+lamps that M&egrave;re-Marie kept shining with such care;
+but before I could speak, Yvon broke in. "He shall
+come! I tell him he shall come, Valerie! All my
+life I perish, thou knowest it, for a companion of my
+sex, of my age. Thou art my angel, Valerie, but
+thou art a woman, and soon, too, thou wilt leave me.
+Alone, a hermit in my ch&acirc;teau, my heart desolate,
+how to support life? It is for this that I cry to the
+friend of my house to return to his country, the country
+of his race; to bring here his respected father, to
+plant a vineyard, a little corn, a little fruit,&mdash;briefly,
+to live. Observe!" Instantly his hands fluttered
+out, pointing here and there.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Jacques, observe, I implore you! This tower; it
+is now uninhabited, is it not? you can answer me that,
+though you have been here but a day."</p>
+
+<p>As he waited for an answer, I replied that it certainly
+was vacant, so far as I could see; except that
+there must be bats and owls, I thought, in the thickness
+of the ivy trees.</p>
+
+<p>"Perfectly! Except for these animals, there is
+none to dispute your entrance. The tower is solid,&mdash;of
+a solidity! Cannon must be brought, to batter
+down these walls. Instead of battering, we restore,
+we construct. With these brave walls to keep out
+the cold, you construct within&mdash;a dwelling! vast, I
+do not say; palatial, I do not say; but ample for two
+persons, who&mdash;who have lived together, <i>&agrave; deux</i>, not
+requiring separate suites of apartments." He waved
+his hand in such a manner that I saw long sets of
+rooms opening one after another, till the eye was
+lost in them.</p>
+
+<p>"Here, where we now are posed, is your own room,
+Jacques. For you this view of Paradise. Monsieur
+your father will not so readily mount the stairs, becoming
+in future years infirm, though now a tree, an
+oak, massive and erect. We build for the future,
+D'Arthenay! Below, then, the paternal apartments,
+the salon, perhaps a small room for guns and dogs
+and appliances." Another wave set off a square
+space, where we could almost see the dogs leaping
+and crouching.</p>
+
+<p>"Behind again, the kitchens, offices, what you will.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
+A few of these stones transported, erected; glass,
+carpets, a fireplace,&mdash;the place lives in my eyes,
+Jacques! Let us return to the ch&acirc;teau, that I set all
+on paper. You forget that I study architecture, that
+I am a drawsman, hein? Ten minutes, a sheet of
+drawing-paper,&mdash;pff! Ch&acirc;teau D'Arthenay lives before
+you, ready for habitation on the instant."</p>
+
+<p>I saw it all, Melody; I saw it all! Sometimes I
+see it now, in an old man's dream. Now, of course,
+it is wild and misty as a morning fog curling off the
+hills; but then, it seemed hardly out of reach for the
+moment. Listening to my friend's eager voice, and
+watching his glowing face, there came to life in me
+more and more strongly the part that answered to
+him. I also was young; I also had the warm French
+blood burning in me. In height, in strength, perhaps
+even in looks, I was not his inferior; he was noble,
+and my fathers had stood beside his in battle, hundreds
+of times.</p>
+
+<p>I felt in a kind of fire, and courted the heat even
+while it burned me. I answered Yvon, laughing, and
+said surely I would have no other architect for my
+castle. Mlle. de Ste. Valerie joined in, and told me
+where I should buy carpets, and what flowers I should
+plant in my garden.</p>
+
+<p>"Roses, M. D'Arthenay!" she cried. "Roses are
+the best, for the masses. A few gillyflowers I advise,
+they are so sweet; and plenty of lilies, the white and
+yellow. Oh! I have a lily with brown stripes, the
+most beautiful! you shall have a bulb of it; I will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
+start it for you myself, in a stone pot. You must
+have a little conservatory, too, for winter plants; one
+cannot live without flowers, even in winter. All winter,
+when no longer many flowers bloom out-of-doors,
+though always some, always my hardy roses, then I
+live half my day in the conservatory. You shall have
+some of my flowers; oh, yes, I can spare you plenty."</p>
+
+<p>She was so like her brother! There was the same
+pretty eagerness, the same fire of kindliness and good
+will, hurrying both along to say they knew not what.
+I could only thank her; and the very beauty and
+sweetness of her struck all at once a sadness on my
+merriment; and I saw for a moment that this was all
+a fleeting wreath of fog, as I said; yet all the more
+for that strove to grasp it and hold it fast.</p>
+
+<p>The sun went down behind the low hills, and the
+young lady cried that she must hasten home; her aunt
+would be vexed at her for staying so long. Yvon said,
+his faith, she might be vexed. If Mlle. de Ste. Valerie
+might not go out with her brother, the head of her
+house and her natural guardian, he knew not with
+whom she might go; and muttered under his breath
+something I did not hear. So we went back to the
+ch&acirc;teau, and still I was in the bright dream, shutting
+my eyes when it seemed like to break away from me.
+The evening was bright and joyous, like the one before.
+Again we three supped alone, and it seemed
+this was the custom, the Countess Lalange (it was the
+name of the aunt) seldom leaving her own salon, save
+to pass to her private apartments beyond it. We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
+spent an hour there,&mdash;in her salon, that is,&mdash;after
+supper, and I must bring my violin, but not for dance
+music this time. I played all the sweetest and softest
+things I knew; and now and then the young lady
+would clap her hands, when I played one of my
+mother's songs, and say that her nurse had sung it to
+her, and how did I learn it, in America? They were
+the peasant songs, she said, the sweetest in the world.
+The lady aunt listened patiently, but I think she had
+no music in her; only once she asked if I had no
+sacred music; and when I played our psalm-tunes,
+she thought them not the thing at all. But last of
+all, when it was time for us to go away, I played
+lightly, and as well as I knew how to play, my
+mother's favourite song, that was my own also; and at
+this, the young girl's head drooped, and her eyes filled
+with tears. Her mother, too, had sung it! How
+many other mothers, I ask myself sometimes, how
+many hearts, sad and joyful, have answered to those
+notes, the sweetest, the tenderest in the world?</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>THIS was one day of many, my dear. They came
+and went, and I thought each one brighter
+than the last. When I had been a month at Ch&acirc;teau
+Claire, I could hardly believe it more than a week,
+so quickly and lightly the time went. The mornings,
+two children at play; the afternoons, three. I
+suppose it was because the brother and sister were
+so strangely like each other, that I grew so soon
+to feel Mlle. Valerie as my friend; and she, sweet
+soul, took me at Yvon's word, and thought me, perhaps,
+a fine fellow, and like her own people. That she
+never fully learned the difference is one of the many
+things for which I have to thank a gracious God.</div>
+
+<p>Abby Rock told me, Melody,&mdash;in after-times,
+when we were much together,&mdash;how my poor father,
+at sight of my mother Marie, was struck with love as
+by a lightning-flash. It was a possession, she would
+say, only by an angel instead of an evil spirit; at the
+first look, she filled his life, and while she lived he
+wanted nothing else, nor indeed after she died. It
+was not so with me. And perhaps it might seem
+strange to some, my dear child, that I write this
+story of my heart for you, who are still a slip of a
+growing girl, and far yet from womanhood and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
+thoughts that come with it. But it may be some
+years before the paper comes to you, for except my
+poor father, we are a long-lived race; and I find
+singular comfort, now that I cannot keep myself
+exercised as much as formerly, by reason of growing
+years, in this writing. And I trust to say nothing
+that you may not with propriety hear, my dear.</p>
+
+<p>When I had been a month at Ch&acirc;teau Claire, then,
+a new thing began to come slowly upon me. From
+the first I had felt that this young lady was the
+fairest and the sweetest creature my eyes had seen;
+like a drop of morning dew on a rose, nothing less.
+I dwelt upon the grace of her motions, and the way
+the colour melted in her cheek, as I would dwell upon
+the fairest picture; and I listened to her voice because
+it was sweeter than my violin, or even the note
+of the hermit-thrush. But slowly I became aware of
+a change; and instead of merely the pleasure of eye
+and ear, and the warmth at the heart that comes
+from true kindliness and friendship, there would fall
+a trembling on me when she came or went, and a
+sense of the room being empty when she was not in
+it. When she was by, I wanted nothing more, or so
+it seemed, but just the knowledge of it, and did not
+even need to look at her to see how the light took her
+hair where it waved above her ear. This I take to
+have been partly because the feeling that was growing
+up in me came not from her beauty, or in small
+part only from that, but rather from my learning the
+truth and purity and nobleness of her nature; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
+this knowledge did not require the pleasure of the
+eyes. I thought no harm of all this; I took the joy
+as part of all the new world that was so bright about
+me; if voices spoke low within me, telling of the
+other life overseas, which was my own, while this was
+but a fairy dream,&mdash;I would not listen, or bade my
+heart speak louder and drown them. My mind had
+little, or say rather, my reason had little to do in
+those days; till it woke with a start, if I may say so,
+one night. It was a July night, hot and close. We
+were all sitting on the stone terrace for coolness,
+though there was little enough anywhere. I had
+been playing, and we had all three sung, as we loved
+to do. There was a song of a maiden who fell asleep
+by the wayside, and three knights came riding by,&mdash;a
+pretty song it was, and sung in three parts, the
+treble carrying the air, the tenor high above it, and
+the bass making the accompaniment.</p>
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="6" cellspacing="0" summary="Poem and translation">
+<tr><td align='left' valign='top'>"Le premier qui passa,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Voil&agrave; une endormie!'</span><br /><br />
+"Le deuxi&egrave;me qui passa,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Elle est encore jolie!'</span><br /><br />
+"Le troisi&egrave;me qui passa,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Elle sera ma mie!'</span><br /><br />
+"La prit et l'emporta,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sur son cheval d'Hongrie."</span><br /><br /> </td><td align='left' valign='top'>The first who rode along,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Behold! a sleeping maid."</span><br />
+<br />
+The next who rode along,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"She's fair enough!" he said.</span><br />
+<br />
+The third who rode along,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My sweetheart she shall be!"</span><br />
+<br />
+He's borne her far away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On his steed of Hungary.</span><br />
+</td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+<div class='unindent'>I was thinking, I remember, how fine it would be to
+be a knight on a horse of Hungary (though I am not
+aware that the horses of that country are finer than
+elsewhere, except in songs), and to stoop down beside
+the road and catch up the sleeping maiden,&mdash;and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
+I knew how she would be looking as she slept,&mdash;and
+ride away with her no one could tell where,
+into some land of gold and flowers.</div>
+
+<p>I was thinking this in a cloudy sort of way, while
+Yvon had run into the house to bring something,&mdash;some
+piece of music that I must study, out of the
+stores of ancient music they had. There was a small
+table standing on the terrace, near where we were sitting,
+and on it a silver candlestick, with candles lighted.</p>
+
+<p>Mlle. Valerie was standing near this, and I
+again near her, both admiring the moon, which was
+extraordinary bright and clear in a light blue sky.
+The light flooded the terrace so, I think we both
+forgot the poor little candles, with their dull yellow
+gleam. However it was, the young lady stepped
+back a pace, and her muslin cape, very light, and
+fluttering with ruffles and lace, was in the candle,
+and ablaze in a moment. I heard her cry, and saw
+the flame spring up around her; but it was only a
+breath before I had the thing torn off, and was crushing
+it together in my hands, and next trampling it
+under foot, treading out the sparks, till it was naught
+but black tinder. A pretty cape it was, and a sin to
+see it so destroyed. But I was not thinking of the
+cape then. I had only eyes for the young lady herself;
+and when I saw her untouched, save for the
+end of her curls singed, but pale and frightened, and
+crying out that I was killed, there came a mist, it
+seemed, before my face, and I dropped on the stone
+rail, and laughed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You are not burned, mademoiselle?"</p>
+
+<p>"I? no, sir! I am not touched; but you&mdash;you?
+oh, your hands! You took it in your hands, and
+they are destroyed! What shall I do?" Before I
+could move she had caught my two hands in hers,
+and turned the palms up. Indeed, they were
+only scorched, not burned deep, though they stung
+smartly enough; but black they were, and the skin
+beginning to puff into blisters. But now came the
+tap of a stick on the stone, and Mme. de Lalange
+came hobbling out. "What is this?" she cried,
+seeing me standing so, pale, it may be, with the
+young lady holding my blackened hands still in
+hers.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the meaning of this scene?"</p>
+
+<p>"Its meaning?" cried Mlle. Valerie; and it was
+Yvon's self that flashed upon her aunt.</p>
+
+<p>"The meaning is that this gentleman has saved
+my life. Yes, my aunt! Look as you please; if he
+had not been here, and a hero,&mdash;a <i>hero</i>,&mdash;I should
+be devoured by the flames. Look!" and she pointed
+to the fragments of muslin, which were floating off
+in black rags. "He caught it from me, when I
+was in flames. He crushed it in his hands,&mdash;these
+poor hands, which are destroyed, I tell you, with
+pain. What shall we do,&mdash;what can we ever do, to
+thank him?"</p>
+
+<p>The old lady looked from one to the other; her
+face was grim enough, but her words were courteous.</p>
+
+<p>"We are grateful, indeed, to monsieur!" she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
+"The only thing we can do for him, my niece, is to
+bind his hands with soothing ointment; I will attend
+to this matter myself. You are agitated, Valerie,
+and I advise you to go to your own room, and let
+Felice bring you a potion. If M. D'Arthenay will
+follow me into my salon, I will see to these injured
+hands."</p>
+
+<p>How a cold touch can take the colour out of life.
+An instant before I was a hero, not in my own eyes,
+but surely in those tender blue ones that now shone
+through angry tears, and&mdash;I knew not what sweet
+folly was springing up in me while she held my
+hands in hers. Now, I was only a young man with
+dirty and blackened fingers, standing in a constrained
+position, and, I make no doubt, looking a great fool.
+The young lady vanished, and I followed madame
+into the little room. I am bound to say that she
+treated my scorched hands with perfect skill.</p>
+
+<p>When Yvon came rushing in a few minutes later,&mdash;he
+had heard the story from his sister, and was for
+falling on my neck, and calling me his brother, the
+saviour of his cherished sister,&mdash;I know not what
+wild nonsense,&mdash;Mme. de Lalange cut his expressions
+short. "M. le Marquis," she said, and she
+put a curious emphasis on the title, I thought; "M.
+le Marquis, it will be well, believe me, for you
+to leave this gentleman with me for a short time.
+He has suffered a shock, more violent than he yet
+realises. His hands are painfully burned, yet I hope
+to relieve his sufferings in a few minutes. I suggest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
+that you retire to your own apartments, where M.
+D'Arthenay will join you, say in half an hour."</p>
+
+<p>Generally, Yvon paid little heed to his aunt, rather
+taking pleasure in thwarting her, which was wrong,
+no doubt, yet her aspect invited it; but on this occasion,
+she daunted us both. There was a weight in
+her words, a command in her voice, which I, for one,
+was not inclined at that moment to dispute; and
+Yvon, after an angry stare, and a few muttered
+words of protest, went away, only charging me to
+be with him within the half-hour.</p>
+
+<p>Left alone with the ancient lady, there was silence
+for a time. I could not think what she wanted with
+me; she had shown no love for my society since
+I had been in the house. I waited, thinking it the
+part of courtesy to let her begin the conversation,
+if she desired any.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she began to talk, in a pleasanter strain
+than I had yet heard her use. Was the pain less
+severe? she asked; and now she changed the linen
+cloths dipped in something cool and fragrant, infinitely
+soothing to the irritated skin. I must have
+been very quick, to prevent further mischief; in
+truth, it was a great debt they owed me, and she,
+I must believe her, shared the gratitude of her niece
+and nephew, even though her feelings were less vivaciously
+expressed.</p>
+
+<p>I told her it was nothing, and less than nothing,
+that I had done, and I thought there had been far too
+much said about it already. I was deeply thankful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
+that no harm had come to Mlle. de Ste. Valerie, but
+I could claim no merit, beyond that of having my eyes
+open, and my wits about me.</p>
+
+<p>She bowed in assent. "Your wits about you!"
+she said. "But that in itself is no small matter,
+M. D'Arthenay, I assure you. It is not every young
+man who can say as much. Your eyes open, and
+your wits about you? You are fortunate, believe
+me."</p>
+
+<p>Her tone was so strange, I knew not what reply to
+make, if any; again I waited her lead.</p>
+
+<p>"The young people with whom I have to do are
+so widely different from this!" she said, presently.
+"Hearts of gold, heads of feather! you must have
+observed this, M. D'Arthenay."</p>
+
+<p>I replied with some warmth that I had recognised
+the gold, but not the other quality. She smiled, a
+smile that had no more warmth in it than February
+sunshine on an icicle.</p>
+
+<p>"You are modest!" she said. "I give you credit
+for more discernment than you admit. Confess that
+you think our marquis needs a stronger head beside
+him, to aid in his affairs."</p>
+
+<p>I had thought this, but I conceived it no part of my
+duty to say as much. I was silent, therefore, and
+looked at her, wondering.</p>
+
+<p>"Confess," she went on, "that you saw as much,
+when he came to your estate&mdash;of which the title
+escapes me&mdash;in North America; that you thought it
+might be well for him to have a companion, an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
+adviser, with more definite ideas of life; well for
+him, and possibly&mdash;incidentally, of course&mdash;for the
+companion?"</p>
+
+<p>"Madam!" I said. I could say no more, being
+confounded past the point of speech.</p>
+
+<p>"It is because of this friendly interest in my
+nephew," the lady went on, taking no notice of my
+exclamation. "In my <i>nephew</i>, that I think to give
+you pleasure by announcing a visit that we are shortly
+to receive. A guest is expected at Ch&acirc;teau Claire in
+a few days; in fact, the day after to-morrow. My
+nephew has doubtless spoken to you of the Vicomte de
+Cre&ccedil;y?"</p>
+
+<p>I said no, I had heard of no such person.</p>
+
+<p>"Not heard of him? Unpardonable remissness in
+Yvon! Not heard of the vicomte? Of the future
+husband of Mlle. de Ste. Valerie?"</p>
+
+<p>I took the blow full and fair, my dear. I think my
+father in me kept me from flinching; but I may have
+turned white as I saw myself an hour after; for after
+one glance the woman turned her eyes away, and
+looked at me no more as she spoke on. "It seems
+hardly credible that even my nephew's featherpate
+should have kept you a month in ignorance of what
+so nearly concerns his sister and our whole family.
+The vicomte is a charming man, of high polish
+and noble descent. His estate adjoins ours on the
+south. The match was made by my late brother,
+the father of Yvon and Valerie, shortly before his
+death. It had been his cherished plan for years,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
+ever since Providence removed the vicomtesse to a
+better world than this; but Valerie was very young.
+The matter was arranged while she was still in the
+convent, and since then the vicomte has been travelling,
+in Russia, India, the world over, and is but just
+returned. The betrothal will be solemnised, now, in a
+few days."</p>
+
+<p>I feared to speak at the moment. I snuffed the
+candle, and, finding my hand steady, tried my voice,
+which had a good strength, though the sound of it
+was strange to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Do they&mdash;does she know?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>The lady cleared her throat, and looked&mdash;or I
+fancied it&mdash;a trifle confused. "I have not yet told
+my niece and nephew. I&mdash;the letter came but this
+evening. There was a letter also for you, M. D'Arthenay;
+I ordered it sent to your room. I think your
+hands will do well now, and I need no longer detain
+you from your friend."</p>
+
+<p>I stood up before her.</p>
+
+<p>"Madam," I said, "permit me a word. I have to
+thank you for your kindness, and for the hospitality
+which I have received under this kindly roof, whether
+it were with your will or not. For Mlle. de Ste.
+Valerie, I wish her all joy that earthly life can know.
+If her&mdash;if her husband be one half so noble as herself,
+she cannot fail of happiness. It is only a princely
+nature that should be matched with the purity of an
+angel and the goodness of a saint. For myself"&mdash;I
+paused a moment, finding myself short of breath;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
+but my strength was come back to me. I sought her
+eye and held it, forcing her to look at me against
+her will. "For myself, I am no noble, though there
+is good blood in my veins. I am a plain man, the son
+of a peasant. But God, madam, who sees your heart
+and mine, created, I make bold to remind you, both
+noble and peasant; and as that God is above us,
+you have done bitter wrong to an honest man. There
+is no heart of a woman in you, or I would commend
+to it that fair young creature, who will need, I think,
+a woman's tenderness. I thank you again for your
+assistance, and I take my leave. And I pray you to
+remember that, whatever the D'Arthenays may have
+been in France, in my country, in America, madam,
+they pass for men of honour!"</p>
+
+<p>I bowed, and left her; and now, methought, it was
+she who was white, and I thought there was fear
+in her eyes when she dropped them. But I turned
+away, and, passing Yvon's door, went to my own
+room.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>THE shock of my awakening was so violent, the
+downfall of my air-castles so sudden and complete,
+that I think for awhile I had little sense of
+what was going on. Yvon came to my door and
+knocked, and then called; but I made no answer,
+and he went away, thinking, I suppose, that I had
+forgotten him, and gone to bed. I sat on the side
+of my bed, where I had thrown myself, great part of
+that night; and there was no thought of sleep in
+me. My folly loomed large before me; I sat and
+looked it in the face. And sometimes, for a few
+moments, it would not seem altogether folly. I felt
+my youth and strength in every limb of me, and I
+thought, what could not love do that was as strong as
+mine? for now I knew that all these quiet weeks it
+had been growing to full stature, and that neither
+gratitude nor friendship had any considerable part in
+my feeling, but here was the one woman in the world
+for me. And would it be so hard, I asked, to take
+her away from all this, and make a home for her in
+my own good country, where she should be free and
+happy as a bird, with no hateful watchers about her
+path? And would she not love the newness, and
+the greatness and beauty of it all, and the homely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
+friends whom her brother so truly loved? Could I
+not say to her, "Come!" and would she not come
+with me?</div>
+
+<p>Ah! would she not? And with that there fell
+from my eyes as it were scales,&mdash;even like the
+Apostle Paul, with reverence be it said,&mdash;and I
+saw the thing in its true light. My heart said she
+would come; had not her eyes answered mine last
+night? Was there not for her, too, an awakening?
+And if she came,&mdash;what then?</p>
+
+<p>I saw her, the delicate lady, in my father's house;
+not a guest, as Yvon had been, but a dweller, the wife
+and daughter of the house, the wife of a poor man. I
+remembered all the work that my mother Marie had
+done so joyfully, so easily, because she was a working-woman,
+and these were the things she had known all
+her life. This form of grace that filled my eyes now
+was no lighter nor more graceful than hers; but the
+difference! My mother's little brown hands could do
+any work that they had strength for, and make it
+a woman's work in the doing, because she was pure
+woman in herself; but these white fingers that had
+caught mine last night,&mdash;what could they do? What
+ought they to do, save work delicately with the needle,
+and make cordials and sweets (for in this my young
+lady excelled), and beyond these matters, to play the
+harp and guitar, and tend her roses, and adorn her
+own lovely person?</p>
+
+<p>"But," cried the other voice in me, "I am young
+and strong, and I can work! I can study the violin,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
+I can become a musician, can earn my bread and hers,
+so that there will be no need of the farm. It would
+be a few years of study, a few years of waiting,&mdash;and
+she is so young!"</p>
+
+<p>Ah, yes! she was so young! and then that voice
+died away, and knew that it had no more to say.
+What&mdash;what was this, to think of urging a young
+girl, still almost a child, to give up the station of life
+in which she had lived happy and joyous, and go
+away with a stranger, far from her own home and
+her own people, to share a struggling life, with no
+certain assurance of anything, save love alone?
+What was this but a baseness, of which no honest
+man could be capable? If,&mdash;if even I had read
+her glance aright,&mdash;last night,&mdash;or was it a year
+ago? Still, it was but a thing of a moment, the light
+springing up of a tiny fire of good will, that would die
+out in a few days after I was gone, for want of fuel;
+even if it were not snatched out strongly by other
+hands, as I had put out those climbing flames last
+night. How her startled eyes sought mine! How
+the colour flashed into her face when I spoke. No!
+no! Of that I must not think, if my manhood was
+to stay in me!</p>
+
+<p>This other, then, who was coming,&mdash;this man
+would turn her thoughts. She would yield, as is
+the custom for young maidens in France, with no
+thought that it might be otherwise. He was no
+longer young,&mdash;he had already been once married,&mdash;I
+looked up at this moment, I do not know by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
+what chance, and my eyes fell on a long glass, what
+they call a cheval-glass in France, my dear, showing
+the whole figure. I think no harm, seeing this was
+so long ago, in saying that I appeared to advantage
+in such a view, being well-made, and perhaps not
+without other good points. This will seem strangely
+trifling to you, my child, who see nothing but the soul
+of man or woman; but I have always loved a good
+figure, and never felt shame to thank God for giving
+me one. My clothes were good, having been bought
+in Paris as we came through. I have never made
+any claim to pass for a gentleman, Melody, but yet I
+think I made a fair enough show of one, that night
+at least. And being so constituted, I sat staring at
+my image in the mirror, and wondering like a fool if
+the other man were as good-looking. This would be
+like a slight crust of contentment,&mdash;sad enough at
+that,&mdash;forming for a moment over the black depth
+of sorrow that was my heart; and next moment the
+pain would stab through it again, till I could have
+cried out but for the shame of it; and so the night
+wore by, and the morning found me still there. I
+had learned little, save the one thing that was
+all the world,&mdash;that I could not commit a baseness.</p>
+
+<p>It was strange to me, coming down to breakfast, to
+find Yvon unchanged, his own gay self simply. I was
+grown suddenly so old, he seemed no more than a
+child to me, with his bits of song that yesterday I had
+joined in with a light heart, and his plans for another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
+day of pleasure, like yesterday and all the days.
+Looking at him, I could have laughed, had there been
+any laughter in me, at the thought of his aunt that I
+had come over with a view to bettering myself at his
+expense. It seemed a thing of so little moment; I
+had half a mind to tell him, but held my peace, wishing
+her really no evil, since what she had done had
+been through love and care for her own. There
+might be such men as she had thought me; I have
+since found that there are indeed.</p>
+
+<p>Yvon was full of plans; we were to ride this afternoon,
+to such and such a place; it was the finest
+view in the country, there was nothing to approach
+it. Pierre should drive over and meet us there, with
+peaches, and cream, and cakes, and we would sup,
+we three together, and come home by moonlight. It
+would be the very thing! if I really could hold the
+bridle? it was the very thing to remove the recollection
+of last night from his sister's mind, impressionable,
+as youth always is. (He said this, Melody, with
+an air of seventy years, and wisdom ineffable, that
+was comical enough.) "From my own mind," he
+cried, "never shall the impression be effaced. Thy
+heroism, my Jacques, shall be inscribed in the annals
+of our houses. To save the life of a Demoiselle de
+Ste. Valerie is claim sufficient for undying remembrance;
+to save the life of my sister, my Valerie,&mdash;and
+you her saviour, the friend of my heart,&mdash;the
+combination is perfect; it is ideal. I shall compose
+a poem, Jacques; I have already begun it. '<i>Ciel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
+d'argent</i>&mdash;' you shall hear it when it has progressed
+a little farther; at present it is in embryo merely."</p>
+
+<p>He sent for his sister, that they might arrange
+their plans before she passed to her lessons, which
+were strictly kept up. She came, and my heart spoke
+loud, telling me that all my vigil had brought to me
+was true, and that I must begone. There was a new
+softness in her sweet eyes, a tone in her voice,&mdash;oh,
+it was always kind,&mdash;but now a tenderness that
+I must not hear. She would see my hands; could
+not believe that I was not seriously wounded; vowed
+that her aunt was a magician; "though I prayed
+long, long, last night, monsieur, that the wounds
+might heal quickly. They are really&mdash;no! look,
+Yvon! look! these terrible blisters! but, they are
+frightful, M. D'Arthenay. You&mdash;surely you should
+not have left your room, in this condition?"</p>
+
+<p>Not only this, I assured her, but I was so entirely
+well that I hoped to ride with them this afternoon, if
+the matter could be arranged. She listened with delight
+while Yvon detailed his plan; presently her
+face fell a little.</p>
+
+<p>"Walk back!" she said. "Yes, Yvon, what could
+be more delightful? but when I tell you that the sole
+is sprung from my walking-shoe, and it must go to
+the village to be mended! How can I get it back
+in time?"</p>
+
+<p>A thought came to me. "If mademoiselle would
+let me see the shoe?" I said. "Perhaps I can arrange
+it for her." Yvon frowned and pshawed; he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
+did not like any mention of my shoemaking; this
+was from no unworthy feeling, but because he thought
+the trade unsuited to me. I, however, repeated my
+request, and, greatly wondering, the young lady sent
+a servant for the shoe. I took it in my hand with
+pleasure; it was not only beautiful, but well made.
+"Here is an easy matter!" I said, smiling. "Will
+mademoiselle see how they mend shoes in my country?"
+A hammer was soon found, and sitting
+down on a low bench, I tapped away, and soon had
+the pretty thing in order again. Mademoiselle Valerie
+cried out upon my cleverness. "But, you can
+then do anything you choose, monsieur?" she said.
+"To play the violin, to save a life, to mend a shoe,&mdash;do
+they teach all these things in your country? and
+to what wonderful school did you go?"</p>
+
+<p>I said, to none more wonderful than a village
+school; and that this I had indeed learned well, but
+on the cobbler's bench. "Surely Yvon has told you,
+mademoiselle, of our good shoemaker, and how he
+taught me his trade, that I might practise it at times
+when there is no fiddling needed?" I spoke cheerfully,
+but let it be seen that I was not in jest. A
+little pale, she looked from one of us to the other,
+not understanding.</p>
+
+<p>"All nonsense, Valerie!" cried Yvon, forcing a
+laugh. "Jacques learned shoemaking, as he would
+learn anything, for the sake of knowledge. He may
+even have practised it here and there, among his
+neighbours; why not? I have often wished I could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
+set a stitch, in time of need, as he has done to-day.
+But to remain at this trade,&mdash;it is stuff that he
+talks; he does not know his own nature, his own
+descent, when he permits himself to think of such
+a thing. Fie, M. D'Arthenay!"</p>
+
+<p>"No more of that!" I said. "The play is over,
+<i>mon cher!</i> M. D'Arthenay is a figure of your kind,
+romantic heart, Yvon. Plain Jacques De Arthenay,
+farmer's son, fiddler, and cobbler, stands from this
+moment on his own feet, not those of his grandfather
+four times back."</p>
+
+<p>I did not look at my young lady, not daring to see
+the trouble that I knew was in her sweet face; but I
+looked full at Yvon, and was glad rather than sorry
+at his black look. I could have quarrelled with him
+or any man who had brought me to this pass. But
+just then, before there could be any more speech,
+came the sour-faced maid with an urgent message
+from Mme. de Lalange, that both the young lady
+and the marquis should attend her in her own room
+without delay.</p>
+
+<p>Left alone, I found myself considering the roses on
+the terrace, and wondering could I take away a slip
+of one, and keep it alive till I reached home. In the
+back of my head I knew what was going on up-stairs
+in the grim lady's room; but I had no mind to lose
+hold on myself, and presently I went for my fiddle,
+which was kept in the parlour hard by, and practised
+scales, a thing I always did when out of Yvon's
+company, being what he could not abear. To practise<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
+scales is a fine thing, Melody, to steady the mind and
+give it balance; you never knew, my child, why I
+made you sing your scales so often, that night when
+your aunt Rejoice was like to die, and all the house
+in such distress. Your aunt Vesta thought me mad,
+but I was never in better wits.</p>
+
+<p>So I was quiet, when after a long time Yvon came
+down to me. When I saw that he knew all, I laid
+my violin away, agitation being bad for the strings,&mdash;or
+so I have always thought. He was in a flame of
+anger, and fairly stammered in his speech. What
+had his aunt said to me, he demanded, the night
+before? How had she treated me, his friend? She
+was&mdash;many things which you know nothing about,
+Melody, my dear; the very least of them was cat,
+and serpent, and traitress. But I took a cool tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it true, Yvon," I asked, "about the gentleman
+who comes to-morrow? You have already known
+about it? It is true?"</p>
+
+<p>"True!" cried Yvon, his passion breaking out.
+"Yes, it is true! What, then? Because my sister is
+to marry, some day,&mdash;she is but just out of her
+pinafores, I tell you,&mdash;because some day she is to
+marry, and the estates are to join, is that a reason
+that my friend is to be insulted, my pleasure broken
+up, my summer destroyed? I insist upon knowing
+what that cat said to you, Jacques!"</p>
+
+<p>"She told me what you acknowledge," I said.
+"That I can be insulted I deny, unless there be
+ground for what is said. Mme. de Lalange did what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
+she considered to be her duty; and&mdash;and I have
+spent a month of great happiness with you, marquis,
+and it is a time that will always be the brightest of
+my life."</p>
+
+<p>But at this Yvon flung himself on my neck&mdash;it
+is not a thing practised among men in this
+country, but in him it seemed nowise strange, my
+blood being partly like his own&mdash;and wept and
+stormed. He loved me, I am glad to believe, truly;
+yet after all the most part was to him, that his party
+of pleasure was spoiled, and his plans broken up.
+And then I remembered how we had talked together
+that day in the old grist-mill, and how he had said
+that when trouble came, we should spread our wings
+and fly away from it. And Ham's words came back
+to me, too, till I could almost hear him speak, and see
+the grave, wise look of him. "Take good stuff, and
+grind it in the Lord's mill, and you've got the best
+this world can give." And I found that Ham's
+philosophy was the one that held.</p>
+
+<p>There was no more question of the gay party that
+afternoon. Mlle. de Ste. Valerie did not dine with us,
+word coming down that her head ached, and she
+would not go out. Yvon and I went to walk, and
+I led the way to my tower (so I may call it this
+once), thinking I would like to see it once more. All
+these three months and more (counting from the day
+I first met Yvon de Ste. Valerie at the priest's house),
+I had played a second in the duet, and that right
+cheerfully. Though my own age, the marquis was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
+older in many ways from his knowledge of society
+and its ways, and his gay, masterful manner; and I,
+the country lad, had been too happy only to follow
+his lead, and go about open-eyed, seeing all he would
+show, and loving him with honest admiration and
+pride in him. But it was curious to see how from
+this moment we changed; and now it was I who led,
+and was the master. The master in my own house,
+I thought for a moment, as we sat on the shelf under
+the great round window, and looked out over the
+lands that had once belonged to my people. Here
+once more the dream came upon me, and I had a
+wild vision of myself coming back after years, rich
+and famous, and buying back the old tower, building
+the castle, and holding that sweet princess by my
+side. The poet Coleridge, my dear, in describing a
+man whose wits are crazed, makes use of this remarkable
+expression:</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"How there looked him in the face<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">An angel beautiful and bright,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And how he knew it was a fiend,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That miserable knight."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='unindent'>This knowledge was also mercifully mine. And I
+was helped, too, by a thing slight enough, and yet
+curious. Being in distress of mind, I sought some
+use of my hands, as is the case with most women and
+some men. I fell to pulling off the dead leaves of
+ivy from the wall; and so, running my hand along
+the inside of the window, felt beneath it a carving on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
+the stone. I lifted the leaves, which here were not
+so thick as in most places, and saw a shield carved
+with arms, and on it the motto I knew well: "<i>D'Arthenay,
+tenez foi!</i>"</div>
+
+<p>I told my friend that I must be gone that night;
+that I knew his aunt desired it, and was entirely in
+her right, it being most unfitting that a stranger
+should be present on such an occasion as this. Doubtless
+other friends would be coming, too, and my room
+would be wanted.</p>
+
+<p>Here he broke out in a storm, and vowed no one
+should have my room, and I should not stir a foot
+for a hundred of them. And here had she kept him
+in the dark, as if he were a babe, instead of the head
+of the house. It was an affront never to be forgiven.
+If the vicomte had not been the friend of his father,
+he would break off the match, and forbid him the
+house. As it was, he was powerless, tied hand and
+foot.</p>
+
+<p>I interrupted him, thinking such talk idle; and
+begged to know what manner of man this was
+who was coming. Was he&mdash;was he the man he
+should be?</p>
+
+<p>He was a gallant gentleman, Yvon confessed; there
+was no fault to find with him, save that he was old
+enough to be the girl's father. But that was all one!
+If he were twenty viscounts, he should not turn out
+his, Yvon's friend, the only man he ever cared to call
+his brother,&mdash;and so on and so on, till I cut him
+short. For now I saw no way, Melody, but to tell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
+him how it was with me; and this I did in as few
+words as might be, and begged him to let me go
+quietly, and say no more. For once, I think, the
+lad was put to such depth of sorrow as was in him.
+He had never guessed, never thought of this; his
+sister was a child to him, and must be so, he supposed,
+to all. How could he tell? Why had he
+brought me here, to suffer? He was a criminal!
+What could he do? And then there struck him a
+thought, and he glanced up sharply at me, and I saw
+not the face of my friend, but one cold and questioning.
+Had I spoken to his sister? Did she&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>I cut him short at the word. Of that, I said, he
+could judge better than I, having been in my company
+daily for three months. He fell on my neck again,
+and implored my pardon; and said, I think, that
+twenty viscounts were less noble than I. I cared
+little for my nobility; all I asked was to get away,
+and hide my wound among my own friendly people.</p>
+
+<p>And so it was arranged that I was to go that
+night; and we walked back to the ch&acirc;teau, speaking
+little, but our hearts full of true affection, and&mdash;save
+for that one sting of a moment&mdash;trust in each other.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>THE disturbance of my mind had been so great,
+that all this while I had forgotten the letter of
+which Mme. de Lalange had spoken the night before.
+I had seen it when I first went to my room, but was
+in no mood for village news then; I saw that it was in
+the large round hand of Ham Belfort, and thought
+it kind in him to write, seeing that it cost him some
+effort; then I forgot it, as I said. But now, going
+again to my room, and with nothing much to do save
+wait the hour of my departure, I took the letter up,
+idly enough, thinking I might as well do this as another
+thing. This is what I read, Melody. No fear
+of my forgetting the words.<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><span class="smcap">Friend Jakey:</span>
+
+<p>I am sorry to have bad news to send you this first time of
+my writing. Father says to prepare your mind, but I never
+found it work that way myself, always liking to know straight
+out how things was, and I think you are the same. Your
+father has been hearty, for him, till about a week ago. Then
+he begun to act strange, and would go about looking for your
+mother, as if she was about the place. Abby kep watch on
+him, and I happened in once or twice a day, just to pass the
+word, and he was always just as polite, and would read me
+your letters. He thought a sight of your letters, Jakey, and
+they gave him more pleasure than likely he'd have had if
+you'd have ben here, being new and strange to him, so to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
+speak. He was a perfect gentleman; he like to read them
+letters, and they done credit to him and you. Last night
+Abby said to me, she guessed she would take her things over
+and stay a spell at the house, till your father was some better,
+he was not himself, and she owed it to you and your mother.
+I said she was right, I'd gone myself, but things wasn't so I
+could leave, and a woman is better in sickness, however it may
+be when a man is well. She went over early this morning,
+but your father was gone. There warn't no hide nor hair of
+him round the house nor in the garding. She sent for me,
+and I sarched the farm; but while I was at it, seems as if she
+sensed where he was, and she went straight to the berrin-ground,
+and he was layin on your mother's grave, peaceful as
+if he'd just laid down a spell to rest him. He was dead and
+cold, Jakes, and you may as well know it fust as last. He
+hadn't had no pain, for when I see him his face was like he
+was in heaven, and Abby says it come nearer smiling than
+she'd seen it sence your mother was took. So this is what my
+paneful duty is to tell you, and that the Lord will help you
+threw it is my prayer and alls that is in the village. Abby is
+real sick, or she would write herself. She thought a sight of
+your father, as I presume likely you know. We shall have the
+funeral to-morrow, and everything good and plain, knowing
+how he would wish it from remembering your mother's. So
+no more, Friend Jakey; only all that's in the village feels for
+you, and this news coming to you far away; and would like
+you to feel that you was coming home all the same, if he is
+gone, for there aint no one but sets by you, and they all want
+to see you back, and everybody says it aint the same place with
+you away. So I remain your friend,</p>
+
+<div class='sig'>
+<span class="smcap">Ham Belfort.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<p>P.S. I'd like you to give my regards to Eavan, if he remembers
+the grist-mill, as I guess likely he doos. Remember the
+upper and nether millstones, Jakey, and the Lord help you
+threw.</p>
+
+<div class='sig'>
+H. B.<br />
+</div>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It is sometimes the bitterest medicine, Melody, that
+is the most strengthening. This was bitter indeed;
+yet coming at this moment, it gave me the strength
+I needed. The sharp sting of this pain dulled in some
+measure that other that I suffered; and I had no fear
+of any weakness now. I do not count it weakness,
+that I wept over my poor father, lying down so quietly
+to die on the grave of his dear love. In my distraction,
+I even thought for a moment how well it was
+with them both, to be together now, and wished that
+death might take me and another to some place where
+no foolish things of this world should keep us apart;
+but that was a boy's selfish grief, and I was now grown
+a man. I read Ham's letter over and over, as well as
+I could for tears; and it seemed to me a pure fruit of
+friendship, so that I gave thanks for him and Abby,
+knowing her silent for want of strength, not want of
+love. I should still go home, to the friendly place,
+and the friendly people who had known my birth and
+all that had fallen since. I had no place here; I was
+in haste to be gone.</p>
+
+<p>At first I thought not to tell Yvon of what had
+come to me; but he coming in and finding me as I
+have said, I would not have him mistake my feeling,
+and so gave him the letter. And let me say that a
+woman could not have been tenderer than my friend
+was, in his sympathy and grieving for me. I have
+told you that he and my poor father were drawn to
+each other from the first. He spoke of him in terms
+which were no more than just, but which soothed and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
+pleased me, coming from one who knew nobility well,
+both the European sense of it, and the other. Upon
+this, Yvon pressed me to stay, declaring that he would
+go away with me, and we would travel together, till
+my hurt was somewhat healed, or at least I had grown
+used to the sting of it; but this I could not hear of.
+He helped me put my things together, for by this time
+night was coming on. He had found his sister so suffering,
+he told me, that she felt unable to leave her
+bed; and so he had thought it best not to tell her of
+my departure till the morrow. And this was perhaps
+the bitterest drop I had to drink, my dear, to leave
+the house like a thief, and no word to her who had
+made it a palace of light to me. Indeed, when Yvon
+left me, to order the horses, a thought came into my
+mind which I found it hard to resist. There was a
+little balcony outside my window, and I knew that my
+dear love's window (I call her so this once, the pain
+coming back sharp upon me of that parting hour)
+opened near it. If I took my violin and stepped outside,
+and if I played one air that she knew, then, I
+thought, she would understand, at least in part. She
+would not think that I had gone willingly without kissing
+her sweet hand, which I had counted on doing, the
+custom of the country permitting it. I took the violin,
+and went out into the cool night air; and I laid my
+bow across the strings, yet no sound came. For
+honour, my dear, honour, which we bring into this
+world with us, and which is the only thing, save those
+heavenly ones, that we can take from this world with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
+us, laid, as it were, her hand on the strings, and kept
+them silent. A thing for which I have ever since
+been humbly thankful, that I never willingly or knowingly
+gave any touch of pain to that sweet lady's life.
+But if I had played, Melody; if it had been permitted
+to me as a man of honour as well as a true lover, it
+was my mother's little song that I should have played;
+and that, my child, is why you have always said that
+you hear my heart beat in that song.</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<p>Before we rode away, Mme. de Lalange came out
+to the door, leaning on her crutched stick; the horses
+being already there, and I about to mount. She
+swept me a curtsey of surprising depth, considering
+her infirmity.</p>
+
+<p>"M. D'Arthenay," she said, "I think I have
+done you an injustice. I cannot regret your departure,
+but I desire to say that your conduct has been
+that of a gentleman, and that I shall always think of
+you as noble, and the worthy descendant of a great
+race." With that she held out her hand, which I
+took and kissed, conceiving this to be her intention;
+that I did it with something the proper air her eyes
+assured me. It is a graceful custom, but unsuited to
+our own country and race.</p>
+
+<p>I could only reply that I thanked her for her
+present graciousness, and that it was upon that my
+thought should dwell in recalling my stay here, and
+not upon what was past and irrevocable; which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
+brought the colour to her dry cheek, I thought, but
+I could say nothing else. And so I bowed, and we
+rode away; my few belongings having gone before
+by carrier, all save my violin, which I carried on the
+saddle before me.</p>
+
+<p>Coming to the Tour D'Arthenay, we checked our
+horses, with a common thought, and looked up at the
+old tower. It was even as I had seen it on first
+arriving, save that now a clear moonlight rested on
+it, instead of the doubtful twilight. The ivy was
+black against the white light, the empty doorway
+yawned like a toothless mouth, and the round eye
+above looked blindness on us. As I gazed, a white
+owl came from within, and blinked at us over the
+curve. Yvon started, thinking it a spirit, perhaps;
+but I laughed, and taking off my hat, saluted the bird.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Monsieur mon locataire</i>," I said, "I have the
+honour to salute you!" and told him that he should
+have the castle rent free, on condition that he spared
+the little birds, and levied taxes on the rats alone.</p>
+
+<p>Looking back when we had ridden a little further,
+the tower had turned its back on me, and all I saw
+was the heaps of cut stone, lying naked in the moonlight.
+That was my last sight of the home of my
+ancestors. I had kept faith.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>HERE ends, my dear child, the romance of your
+old friend's life; if by the word romance we
+may rightly understand that which, even if not lasting
+itself, throws a brightness over all that may come
+after it. I never saw that fair country of France
+again, and since then I have lived sixty years and
+more; but what I brought away with me that sorrowful
+night has sweetened all the years. I had the
+honour of loving as sweet a lady as ever stepped from
+heaven to earth; and I had the thought that, if right
+had permitted, and the world been other than it was,
+I could have won her. Such feelings as these, my
+dear, keep a man's heart set on high things, however
+lowly his lot may be.</div>
+
+<p>I came back to my village. My own home was
+empty, but every house was open to me; and not a
+man or a woman there but offered me a home for as
+long as I would take it. My good friend Ham Belfort
+would have me come to be a son to him, he having
+no children. But my duty, as he clearly saw when
+I pointed it out, was to Abby Rock; and Abby and I
+were not to part for many years. Her health was
+never the same after my father's death; it was her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
+son I was to be, and I am glad to think she found me
+a good one.</p>
+
+<p>Father L'Homme-Dieu made me kindly welcome,
+too, and to him and to Abby I could open my heart,
+and tell them all that had befallen me in these three
+life-long months. But I found a strange difference in
+their manner of receiving it; for whereas the Father
+understood my every feeling, and would nod his head
+(a kind hand on my shoulder all the while), and say
+yes, yes, I could not have done otherwise, and thus
+it was that a gentleman should feel and act,&mdash;which
+was very soothing to me,&mdash;Abby, on the other hand,
+though she must hear the story over and over again,
+could never gain any patience in the hearing.</p>
+
+<p>"What did they want?" she would cry, her good
+homely face the colour of a red leaf. "An emperor
+would be the least that could suit them, I'll warrant!"
+And though she dared not, after the first word, breathe
+anything against my sweet young lady, she felt no
+such fear about the old one, and I verily believe that
+if she had come upon Mme. de Lalange, she would
+have torn her in pieces, being extraordinary strong in
+her hands. Hag and witch were the kindest words
+she could give her; so that at last I felt bound to
+keep away from the subject, from mere courtesy to
+the absent. But this, as I have since found by observation,
+was the mother-nature in Abby, which will
+fill the mildest woman with desire to kill any one that
+hurts or grieves her child.</p>
+
+<p>For some time I stuck close to my shoemaker's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
+bench, seeking quiet, as any creature does that is
+deeply wounded (for the wound was deep, my dear;
+it was deep; but I would not have had it otherwise),
+and seeing only those home friends, who had known
+the shape of my cradle, as it were, and to whom I
+could speak or not, as my mind was. I found solid
+comfort in the society of Ham, and would spend many
+hours in the old grist-mill; sometimes sitting in the
+loft with him and the sparrows, sometimes hanging
+over the stones, and watching the wheat pour down
+between them, and hearing the roar and the grinding
+of them. The upper and nether millstones! How
+Ham's words would come back, over and over, as
+I thought how my life was ground between pain and
+longing! One day, I mind, Ham came and found me
+so, and I suppose my face may have showed part of
+what I felt; for he put his great hand on my shoulder,
+and shouted in my ear, "Wheat flour, Jakey!
+prime wheat flour, and good riz bread; I see it
+rising, don't you be afeard!" But by and by the
+neighbours in the country round heard of my being
+home again; and thinking that I must have learned a
+vast deal overseas, they were set on having me here
+and there to fiddle for them. At first I thought no, I
+could not; there seemed to be only one tune my fiddle
+would ever play again, and that no dancing tune.
+But with using common sense, and some talk with
+Father L'Homme-Dieu, this foolishness passed away,
+and it seemed the best thing I could do, being in sadness
+myself, was to give what little cheer I could to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
+others. So I went, and the first time was the worst,
+and I saw at once here was a thing I could do, and
+do, it might be, better than another. For being
+with the marquis, Melody, and seeing how high folks
+moved, and spoke, and held themselves, it was borne
+in upon me that I had special fitness for a task that
+might well be connected with the pleasure of youth
+in dancing. Dancing, as I have pointed out to you
+many times, may be considered in two ways: first,
+as the mere fling of high spirits, young animals skipping
+and leaping, as kids in a meadow, and with no
+thought save to leap the highest, and prance the furthest;
+but second, and more truly, I must think, to
+show to advantage the grace (if any) and perfection
+of the human body, which we take to be the work of
+a divine hand, and the beauty of motion in accord
+with music. And whereas I have heard dancing
+condemned as unmanly, and fit only for women and
+young boys, I must still take the other hand, and
+think there is no finer sight than a well-proportioned
+man, with a sense of his powers, and a desire to do
+justice to them, moving through the figures of a contra-dance.
+But this is my hobby, my dear, and I
+may have wearied you with it before now.</p>
+
+<p>I undertook, then, as my trade allowed it,&mdash;and
+indeed, in time the bench came to hold only the
+second place in the arrangement of my days,&mdash;to
+give instruction in dancing and deportment, to such
+as desired to improve themselves in these respects.
+The young people in the villages of that district were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
+honest, and not lacking in wits; but they were uncouth
+to a degree that seemed to me, coming as I did
+from the home of all grace and charm, a thing horrible,
+and not to be endured. They were my neighbours;
+I was bound, or so it seemed to me, to help
+them to a right understanding of the mercies of a
+bountiful Providence, and to prevent the abuse of
+these mercies by cowish gambols. I let it be understood
+wherever I went that whoever would study
+under me must be a gentleman; for a gentleman
+is, I take it, first and last, a gentle man, or one who
+out of strength brings sweetness, as in the case of
+Samson's lion. To please, first the heart, by a sincere
+and cordial kindness, and next the eye, by a
+cheerful and (so far as may be) graceful demeanour;
+this disposition will tend, if not to great deeds, at
+least to the comfort and happiness of those around
+us. I was thought severe, and may have been so;
+but I lived to see a notable change wrought in that
+country. I remember the day, Melody, when a young
+man said to me with feeling, "I cannot bear to see
+a man take off his hat to a woman. <i>It makes me
+sick!</i>" To-day, if a man, young or old, should fail
+in this common courtesy, it would be asked what cave
+of the woods he came from. But let fine manners
+come from the heart, I would always say, else they
+are only as a gay suit covering a deformed and shapeless
+body. I recall an occasion when one of my
+pupils, who had made great progress by assiduous
+study, and had attained a degree of elegance not often<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
+reached in his station, won the admiration of the
+whole room by the depth and grace of his bow. I
+praised him, as he deserved; but a few minutes after,
+finding him in the act of mimicking, for the public
+diversion, an awkward, ill-dressed poor lad, I dismissed
+him on the instant, and bade him never come
+to my classes again.</p>
+
+<p>In these ways, my child, I tried, and with fair
+measure of success, to ease the smart of my own pain
+by furthering the pleasure of others; in these ways,
+to which I added such skill as I had gained on the
+violin, making it one of my chief occupations, when
+work was slack, to play to such as loved music, and
+more especially any who were infirm in health, or in
+sorrow by one reason or another. It was a humble
+path I chose, my dear; but I never clearly saw my
+way to a loftier one, and here I could do good, and
+think I did it, under Providence. As an instance,&mdash;I
+was sent for, it may have been a year or two after
+my trouble, to go some distance. A young lady
+was ill, and being fanciful, and her parents well-to-do,
+she would have me come and play to her, having
+heard of me from one or another. I went, and found
+a poor shadow of a young woman, far gone in a
+decline, if I could judge, and her eyes full of a trouble
+that came from no bodily ailment, my wits told me.
+She sent her people away, saying she must have the
+music alone. I have seldom found a better listener,
+Melody, or one who spoke to me more plain in silence,
+her spirit answering to the music till I almost could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
+hear the sound of it. Feeling this, I let myself slip
+into the bow, as it were, more than I was aware of;
+and presently forgot her, or next thing to it, and was
+away in the rose-garden of Ch&acirc;teau Claire, and saw
+the blue eyes that held all heaven in them, and heard
+the voice that made my music harsh. And when at
+last I brought it down to a whisper, seeing the young
+woman's eyes shut, and thinking she might be asleep,
+she looked up at me, bright and sharp, and said, "You,
+too?"</p>
+
+<p>I never saw her again, and indeed think she had
+not long to live. But it is an instance, my dear, of
+what a person can do, if the heart within him is
+tender to the sorrows of others.</p>
+
+<p>After Abby's death,&mdash;but that was years after all
+this,&mdash;I found it wise to leave my native village. I
+will not go into the cause of this, my child, since it
+was a passing matter, or so I trusted. There was
+some one there who had great good will to me, and,
+not knowing my story, may have fancied that I was
+one who could make her happy; I thought it right
+to tell her how I had fared, and then, she being in
+distress, I left my home, and from that time, I may
+say, had many homes, yet none my own. I have
+met with rare kindness; no man of my generation,
+I would wager, has the number of friends I can boast,
+and all kind, all hearty, all ready with a "welcome
+to Rosin the Beau." And now here, at your aunts'
+kind wish and your prayer, my dearest Melody, dear
+as any child of my own could be, I am come to spend<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
+my last days under your roof; and what more could
+mortal man ask than this, I truly know not. My
+violin and your voice, Melody; they were made for
+each other; everybody says that, my dear, and neither
+you nor I would deny it. And when the <i>obligato</i> is
+silent, as shortly it must be in the good course of
+nature, it is my prayer and hope that you will not
+miss me too much, my dear, but will go on in joy
+and in cheer, shedding light about you, and with your
+own darkness yielding a clear glory of kindness and
+happiness. Do not grieve for the old man, Melody,
+when the day comes for him to lay down the fiddle
+and the bow. I am old, and it is many years that
+Valerie has been dead, and Yvon, too, and all of
+them; and happy as I am, my dear, I am sometimes
+tired, and ready for rest. And for more than rest,
+I trust and believe; for new life, new strength, new
+work, as God shall please to give it me.</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"I've travelled this country all over,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And now to the next I must go;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But I know that good quarters await me,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And a welcome to Rosin the Beau."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<h3>THE END.</h3>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><div class="footnotes"><h3>Footnotes</h3>
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>
+</p><div class='poem'>
+There were three sailor-lads of Groix,<br />
+There were three sailor-lads of Groix,<br />
+They sail&egrave;d in the Saint Fran&ccedil;ois,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Tra la derira, etc.</span><br />
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Little Marie, Mother Jeanne! Little Marie who loves you.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Pronounced Jakes Dee Arthenay.</p></div></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3>
+<p>Obvious punctuation errors corrected.</p>
+
+<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
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+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rosin the Beau, by Laura Elizabeth Howe
+Richards
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Rosin the Beau
+
+
+Author: Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards
+
+
+
+Release Date: December 24, 2008  [eBook #27607]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSIN THE BEAU***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Emmy, and the Project Gutenberg Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustration.
+      See 27607-h.htm or 27607-h.zip:
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/6/0/27607/27607-h/27607-h.htm)
+      or
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/6/0/27607/27607-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+ROSIN THE BEAU
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Captain January Series
+
+By LAURA E. RICHARDS
+
+Over 350,000 copies of these books have been sold
+
+          CAPTAIN JANUARY                          $ .50
+            Same. Illustrated Holiday Edition.      1.25
+            Same. Centennial Edition Limited.       2.50
+
+          MELODY                                     .50
+            Same. Illustrated Holiday Edition.      1.25
+
+          MARIE                                      .50
+
+          ROSIN THE BEAU                             .50
+
+          NARCISSA                                   .50
+
+          SOME SAY                                   .50
+
+          JIM OF HELLAS                              .50
+
+          SNOW WHITE                                 .50
+
+Each volume attractively bound in cloth, with handsome new cover design.
+Frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill
+
+DANA ESTES & COMPANY PUBLISHERS Estes Press, Summer Street, Boston
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+ROSIN THE BEAU
+
+by
+
+LAURA E. RICHARDS
+
+Author of
+"Captain January," "Snow-White," "Three Margarets," "Queen Hildegarde,"
+etc.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Boston
+Dana Estes & Company
+Publishers
+
+
+
+
+          TO
+          My Sister Maud
+
+
+
+
+ROSIN THE BEAU.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+MELODY, MY DEAR CHILD:
+
+I SIT down to write my story for you, the life-story of old Rosin the
+Beau, your friend and true lover. Some day, not far distant now, my
+fiddle and I shall be laid away, in the quiet spot you know and love;
+and then (for you will miss me, Melody, well I know that!) this writing
+will be read to you, and you will hear my voice still, and will learn to
+know me better even than you do now; though that is better than any one
+else living knows me.
+
+When people ask me where I hail from, our good, neighbourly, down-east
+way, I answer "From the Androscoggin;" and that is true enough as far as
+it goes, for I have spent many years on and about the banks of that fine
+river; but I have told you more than that. You know something of the
+little village where I was born and brought up, far to the northeast of
+your own home village. You know something, too, of my second mother, as
+I call her,--Abby Rock; but of my own sweet mother I have spoken little.
+Now you shall hear.
+
+The first thing I can remember is my mother's playing. She was a
+Frenchwoman, of remarkable beauty and sweetness. Her given name was
+Marie, but I have never known her maiden surname: I doubt if she knew it
+herself. She came, quite by accident, being at the time little more than
+a child, to the village where my father, Jacques De Arthenay, lived; he
+saw her, and loved her at the sight. She consented to marry him, and I
+was their only child. My father was a stern, silent man, with but one
+bright thing in his life,--his love for my mother. Whenever she came
+before his eyes, the sun rose in his face, but for me he had no great
+affection; he was incapable of dividing his heart. I have now and then
+seen a man with this defect; never a woman.
+
+My first recollection, I said, is of my mother's playing. I see myself,
+sitting on a great black book, the family Bible. I must have been very
+small, and it was a large Bible, and lay on a table in the sitting-room.
+I see my mother standing before me, with her violin on her arm. She is
+light, young, and very graceful; beauty seems to flow from her face in a
+kind of dark brightness, if I may use such an expression; her eyes are
+soft and deep. I have seen no other eyes like my mother Marie's. She
+taps the violin with the bow; then she taps me under the chin.
+
+"_Dis 'Bon jour!' petit Jacques!_" and I say "Bo' zour!" as well as I
+can, and duck my head, for a bow is expected of me. No bow, no music,
+and I am quivering with eagerness for the music. Now she draws the bow
+across the strings, softly, smoothly,--ah, my dear, you have heard only
+me play, all your life; if you could have heard my mother! As I see her
+and hear her, this day of my babyhood, the song she plays is the little
+French song that you love. If you could have heard her sing!
+
+  "A la claire fontaine                 As I went walking, walking,
+   M'en allant promener,                Beside the fountain fair,
+   Jai trouve l'eau si belle            I found its waves so lovely,
+   Que je m'y suis baigne.              I stayed to bathe me there.
+   Il y a longtemps que je              'Tis long and long I have
+      t'aime,                               loved thee,
+   Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"           I'll ne'er forget thee more.
+
+It is the song of my life, Melody; I never told you that before, but it
+has always pleased me well that you cared for it.
+
+As my mother sings the last words, she bends and kisses the violin,
+which was always a living personage to her. Her head moves like a bird's
+head, quickly and softly. I see her face all brightness, as I have told
+you; then suddenly a shadow falls on it. My back is towards the door,
+but she stands facing it. I feel myself snatched up by hands like
+quivering steel; I am set down--not roughly--on the floor. My father
+turns a terrible face on my mother.
+
+"Mary!" he cried. "He was on the Bible! You--you set the child on the
+Holy Bible!"
+
+I am too frightened to cry out or move, but my mother Marie lays down
+her violin in its box--as tenderly as she would lay me in my cradle--and
+goes to my father, and puts her arm round his neck, and speaks to him
+low and gently, stroking back his short, fair hair. Presently the
+frightful look goes out of his face; it softens into love and sadness;
+they go hand-in-hand into the inner room, and I hear their voices
+together speaking gravely, slowly. I do not know that they are
+praying,--I have known it since. I watch the flies on the window, and
+wish my father had not come.
+
+That, Melody, is the first thing I remember. It must have been after
+that, that my father made me a little chair, and my mother made a gay
+cushion for it, with scarlet frills, and I sat always in that. Our
+kitchen was a sunny room, full of bright things; Mother Marie kept
+everything shining. The floor was painted yellow, and the rugs were
+scarlet and blue; she dyed the cloth herself, and made them beautifully.
+There was always a fire--or so it seems now--in the great black gulf of
+a fireplace, and the crane hung over it, with pots and kettles. The
+firelight was thrown back from bright pewter and glass and copper all
+about the walls; I have never seen so gay a room. And always flowers in
+the window, and always a yellow cat on a red cushion. No canary bird; my
+mother Marie never would have a bird. "No prisoners!" she would say.
+Once a neighbour brought her a wounded sparrow; she nursed and tended it
+till spring, then set it loose and watched it fly away.
+
+This neighbour was a boy, some years older than myself; he is one of the
+people I remember best. Petie we called him; Peter Brand; he died long
+ago. He had been a comfort to my mother Marie, in days of
+sadness,--before my birth, for she was never sad after I came,--and she
+loved him, and he clung to her. He was a round-faced boy, with hair
+almost white; awkward and shy, but very good to me.
+
+As I grew older my mother taught me many French songs and games, and
+Petie often made a third with us. He made strange work of the French
+speech; to me it came like running water, but to Petie it was like
+pouring wine from a corked bottle. Mother Marie could not understand
+this, and tried always to teach him. I can hear her cry out, "Not thus,
+Petie! not! you break me the ears! Listen only!
+
+          "'_Sur le pont d'Avignon_,'
+
+_Encore!_ again, Petie! sing wiz p'tit Jacques!"
+
+And Petie would drone out, all on one note (for the poor boy had no
+music either),
+
+          "_Sooly pong d'Avinnong_,"
+
+And Mother Marie would put her hands to her ears and cry out, "Ah, _que
+non_! ah, _que non_! you keell me in my heart!" and poor Petie would be
+so ashamed! Then Mother Marie would be grieved for him, and would beat
+herself, and say that she was a demon, a monster of cruelty; and she
+would run to the cupboard and bring cakes and doughnuts (she always
+called them "dont's," I remember that), and make Petie eat till his eyes
+stood out. And it always ended in her taking out the violin, and playing
+and singing our hearts to heaven. Petie loved music, when Mother Marie
+made it.
+
+I speak of cakes. There was no one in the village who could cook like my
+mother; every one acknowledged that. Whatever she put her hand to was
+done to perfection. And the prettiness of it all! A flower, a green
+leaf, a bunch of parsley,--there was some delicate, pretty touch to
+everything she did. I must have been still small when I began to notice
+how she arranged the dishes on our table. These matters can mean but
+little to you, my dear child; but the eyes of your mind are so quick, I
+know it is one of your delights to fancy the colours and lights that you
+cannot see. Some bright-coloured food, then,--fried fish, it might be,
+which should be of a golden brown shade,--would be always on a dark blue
+platter, while a dark dish, say beefsteak, would be on the creamy yellow
+crockery that had belonged to my father's mother; and with it a wreath
+of parsley or carrot, setting off the yellow still more. And always,
+winter and summer, some flower, if only a single geranium-bloom, on the
+table. So that our table was always like a festival. I think this
+troubled my father, when his dark moods were on him. He thought it a
+snare of the flesh. Sometimes, if the meal were specially dainty, he
+would eat nothing but dry bread, and this grieved Mother Marie almost
+more than anything else. I remember one day,--it was my birthday, and I
+must have been quite a big boy by that time,--Mother Marie had made a
+pretty rose-feast for me. The table was strewn with rose-leaves, and
+there was a garland of roses round my plate, and they stood everywhere,
+in cups and bowls. There was a round cake, too, with rose-coloured
+frosting; I thought the angels might have such feasts on their
+birthdays, but was sure no one else could.
+
+But when my father came in,--I can see now his look of pain and terror.
+
+"You are tempting the Lord, Mary!" he cried. "You are teaching our child
+to love the lust of the flesh and the pride of the eye. It is sin, it is
+sin, my wife!"
+
+I trembled, for I feared he would throw my beautiful cake into the fire,
+as I had once seen him throw a pretty salad. But my mother Marie took
+his arm. The door stood open, and the warm June was shining through. She
+led him to the doorway, and pointed to the sky.
+
+"Look, _mon ami_!" she said, in her clear, soft voice. "See the day of
+gold that the good God has made for our little Jacques! He fills the
+garden wiz roses,--I bring His roses in ze house. It is that He love ze
+roses, and ze little child, and thee and me, my poor Jacques; for He
+make us all, is it not?"
+
+And presently, with her soft hand on his arm, the pain went from my poor
+father, and he came in and sat down with us, and even patted my head and
+tasted the cake. I recall many such scenes as this, my dear child. And
+perhaps I should say that my mind was, and has always remained, with my
+mother on such matters. If God gives food for the use of His creatures,
+it is to His honour and glory to serve it handsomely, so far as may be;
+and I see little religion in a slovenly piece of meat, or a shapeless
+hunch of butter on a dingy plate.
+
+My mother having this gift of grace, it was not strange that the
+neighbours often called on her for some service of making beautiful. At
+a wedding or a merrymaking of any kind she would be sent for, and the
+neighbours, who were plain people, thought her gift more than natural.
+People still speak of her in all that part of the country, though she
+has been dead sixty odd years, little Mother Marie. She would have liked
+to make the meeting-house beautiful each Sabbath with flowers, but this
+my father could not hear of, and she never urged it after the first
+time. At a funeral, too, she must arrange the white blossoms, and lay
+the pale hands together. Abby Rock has told me many stories of the
+comfort she brought to sorrowing homes, with her sweet, light, quiet
+ways. Abby loved her as her own child.
+
+As I grew older, my mother taught me the violin. I learned eagerly. I
+need not say much about that, Melody; my best playing has been for you,
+and you know all I could tell you; I learned, and it became the breath
+of life to me. My lessons were in the morning always, so that my father
+might not hear the sound; but this was not because he did not love the
+violin. Far otherwise! In the long winter evenings my mother Marie would
+play for him, after I was tucked up in my trundle-bed; music of
+religious quality, which stirred his deep, silent nature strongly. She
+had learned all the psalm-tunes that he loved, stern old Huguenot
+melodies, many of them, that had come over from France with his
+ancestor, and been sung down through the generations since. And with
+these she played soft, tender airs,--I never knew what they were, but
+they could wile the heart out of one's breast. I sometimes would lift my
+head from my pillow, and look through the open door at the warm, light
+kitchen beyond (for my mother Marie could not bear to shut me into the
+cold, dark little bedroom; my door stood open all night, and if I woke
+in the night, the coals would always wink me a friendly greeting, and I
+could hear the cat purring on her cushion). I would look, I say, through
+the open door. There would my mother stand, with the light, swaying way
+she had, like a flower or a young white birch in the wind; her cheek
+resting on the violin, her eyelids dropped, as they mostly were when she
+played, and the long lashes black against her soft, clear paleness. And
+my father Jacques sitting by the fire, his chin in his hand, still as a
+carved image, looking at her with his heart in his eyes. That is the way
+I think of them oftenest, Melody, my dear, as I look back to the days
+long ago; this is the way I mostly see my father and mother, Jacques and
+Marie De Arthenay, a faithful husband and wife.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+OUR village was not far from the sea, and my mother often took me down
+to the beach. It was a curving beach of fine sand, bright and warm, and
+the rocks that shut it in were warm, too, brown and yellow; it was a
+sunny, heartsome place as ever I saw. I remember one day,--many days,
+and this one of them,--when the three of us went down to the beach,
+Mother Marie and Petie Brand and I. The Lady, the violin, went too, of
+course, and we had our music, and it left us heartened through and
+through, and friends with all the world. Then we began to skip stones,
+three children together. Petie and I were only learning, and Mother
+Marie laughed at our stones, which would go flopping and tumbling a
+little way, then sink with a splash.
+
+"They are ducks!" she said. (She called it "docks," Melody; you cannot
+think how soft her speech was.) "Poor leetle docks, that go flap, flap;
+not yet zey have learned to swim, no! But here now, see a bird of ze
+water, a sea-bird what you call." She turned her wrist and sent the flat
+pebble flying; it skimmed along like a live thing, flipping the little
+crests of the ripples, going miles, it seemed to Petie and me, till at
+length we lost sight of it altogether.
+
+"Where did it go?" I asked. "I didn't hear it splash."
+
+"It went--to France!" said Mother Marie. "It make a voyage, it goes,
+goes,--at last it arrives. '_Voila la France!_' it say. 'That I go
+ashore, to ask of things for Marie, and for _petit Jacques_, and for
+Petie too, good Petie, who bring the apples.'"
+
+There were red apples in a basket, and I can see now the bright
+whiteness of her teeth as she set them into one.
+
+"What will the stone see?" I asked again; for I loved to make my mother
+tell me of the things she remembered in France, the country she always
+loved. She loved to tell, too; and a dreamy look would come into her
+eyes at such times, as if she did not see us near at hand, but only
+things far off and dim. We listened, Petie and I, as if for a fairy
+tale.
+
+"He come, zat leetle--non! _that lit_-tel stone." (Mother Marie could
+often pronounce our English "th" quite well; it was only when she forgot
+that she slipped back to the soft "z" which I liked much better.) "He
+come to the shore! It is not as this shore, no! White is the sand, the
+rocks black, black. All about are nets, very great, and boats. The men
+are great and brown; and their beards--Holy Cric! their beards are a
+bush for owls; and striped their shirt, jersey, what you call, and blue
+trousers. Zey come in from sea, their sails are brown and red; the boats
+are full wiz fish, that shine like silver; they are the herring, _petit
+Jacques_, it is of those that we live a great deal. Down zen come ze
+women to ze shore and zey--_they_--are dressed beautiful, ah! so
+beautiful! A red petticoat,--sometimes a blue, but I love best the red,
+striped wiz white, and over this the dress turned up, _a la
+blanchisseuse_. A handkerchief round their neck, and gold earrings,--ah!
+long ones, to touch their neck; and gold beads, most beautiful! and then
+the cap! _P'tit Jacques_, thou hast not seen caps, because here they
+have not the understanding. But! white, like snow in ze sun; the muslin
+clear, you understand, and stiff that it cracks,--ah! of a beauty! and
+standing out like wings here, and here--you do not listen! you make not
+attention, bad children that you are! Go! I tell you no more!"
+
+It was true, Melody, my dear, that Petie and I did not care so much
+about the descriptions of dress as if we had been little girls; my
+mother was never weary of telling about the caps and earrings; I think
+she often longed for them, poor little Mother Marie! But now Petie and I
+clung about her, and begged her to go on, and she never could keep her
+vexation for two minutes.
+
+"Tell how they go up the street!" said Petie.
+
+"Play we went, too!" cried I. "Play the stone was a boat, Mere Marie."
+(I said it as one word, Melody; it makes a pretty name, "Mere-Marie,"
+when the pronunciation is good. To hear our people say "M'ree" or
+"Marry," breaks the heart, as my mother used to say.)
+
+She nodded, pleased enough to play,--for she was a child, as I have told
+you, in many, many ways, though with a woman's heart and
+understanding,--and clapped our hands softly together, as she held them
+in hers.
+
+"We, then, yes! we three, Mere-Marie, _p'tit Jacques_, and Petie, we go
+up from the beach, up the street that goes tic tac, zic zac, here and
+there, up the hill; very steep in zose parts. We come to one place, it
+is steps--"
+
+"Steps in the street?"
+
+"Steps that make the street, but yes! and on them (white steps, clean!
+ah! of a cleanness!), in the sun, sit the old women, and spin, and sing,
+and tell stories. Ah! the fine steps. They, too, have caps, but they are
+brown in the faces, and striped--"
+
+"Striped, Mere-Marie? painted, do you mean?"
+
+"She said the steps had caps!" whispered Petie, incredulous, but too
+eager for the story to interrupt the teller.
+
+"Painted? wat you mean of foolishness, _p'tit Jacques_? Ah! I was wrong!
+not striped; wreenkled, you say? all up togezzer like a brown apple when
+he is dry up,--like zis way!" and Mother Marie drew her pretty face all
+together in a knot, and looked so comical that we went into fits of
+laughter.
+
+"So! zey sit, ze old women, and talk, talk, wiz ze heads together; but
+one sit alone, away from those others, and she sing. Her voice go up,
+thin, thin, like a little cold wind in ze boat-ropes.
+
+          "'Il etait trois mat'lots de Groix,
+            Il etait trois mat'lots de Groix,
+            Embarques sur le Saint Francois,
+              Tra la derira, la la la,
+              Tra la derira la laire!'[1]
+
+"I make learn you that song, _petit Jacques_, one time! So we
+come,--now, _mes enfants_, we come! and all the old women point the
+nose, and say, 'Who is it comes there?' But that one old--but Mere
+Jeanne, she cry out loud, loud. 'Marie! _petite Marie_, where hast thou
+been so long, so long?' She opens the arms--I fall into zem, on my
+knees; I cry--but hush, _p'tit Jacques_! I cry now only in ze story,
+only--to--to show thee how it would be! I say, 'It is me, Marie, Mere
+Jeanne! I come to show thee my little son, to take thy blessing. And my
+little friend, too!'" She turned to pat Petie's head; she would not let
+the motherless boy feel left out, even from a world in which he had no
+part.
+
+"My good friend Petie, whose mother is with the saints. Then Mere
+Jeanne, she take all our hands, after she has her weep; she say 'Come!'
+and we go up ze street, up, up, till we come to Mere Jeanne's house."
+
+"Tell about the house!" I cried.
+
+"Holy Cric! what a house!" cried Mere-Marie, clapping her hands
+together. "It is stone, painted white, clean, like new cheese; the roof
+beautiful, straw, warm, thick,--ah! what roofs! I have tried to teach
+thy father to make them, but no! Inside, it is dark and warm, and full
+wiz good smells. Now it is the _pot-au-feu_, but not every day zis, for
+Mere Jeanne is poor; but always somesing, fish to fry, or pancakes, or
+apples. But zis time, Mere Jeanne make me a _fete_; she say, 'It is the
+_Fete Marie_!'
+
+"She make the fire bright, bright; and she bring big chestnuts, two
+handfuls of zem, and set zem on ze shovel to roast; and zen she put ze
+greedle, and she mixed ze batter in a great bowl--it is yellow, that
+bowl, and the spoon, it is horn. She show it to me, she say, 'Wat leetle
+child was eat wiz this spoon, Marie? hein?' and I--I kiss the spoon; I
+say, '_'Tite Marie, Mere Jeanne! 'Tite Marie qui t'aime!_'[2] It is the
+first words I could say of my life, _mes enfants_!
+
+"Zen she laugh, and nod her head, and she stir, stir, stir till ze
+bobbles come--"
+
+"The way they do when you make griddle-cakes, Mere-Marie?"
+
+"Ah! no! much, much, thousand time better, Mere Jeanne make zem! She
+toss them--so! wiz ze spoon, and they shine like gold, and when they
+come down--hop!--they say 'Sssssssssss!' that they like to fry for Mere
+Jeanne, and for Marie, and _p'tit Jacques_, and good Petie. Then I bring
+out the black table, and I know where the bread live, and the cheese,
+and while the cakes fry, I go to milk the cow--ah! the pearl of cows,
+children, white like her own cream, fat like a boiled chestnut, good
+like an angel! She has not forgotten Marie, she rub her nose in my
+heart, she sing to me. I take her wiz both my arms, I weep--ah! but it
+is joy, _p'tit Jacques_! it is wiz joy I weep! Zen, again in ze house,
+and round ze table, we all sit, and we eat, and eat, that we can eat no
+more. And Mere Jeanne say:
+
+"'Tell me of thy home, Marie!' and I tell all, all; of thy father
+Jacques, how he good, and great, and handsome as Saint Michael; and how
+my house is fine, fine, and how Abiroc is good. And Mere Jeanne, she
+make the great eyes; she cry, 'Ah! the good fortune! Ah, Marie, that
+thou art fortunate, that thou art happy!'
+
+"Then she tell thee, _p'tit Jacques_, how I was little, little, in a
+blue frock, wiz the cap tie under my chin; and how I dance and sing in
+the street, and how _Madame la Comtesse_ see me, and take me to ze
+castle, and make teach me the violin, and give me Madame for my friend.
+I have told thee all, many, many times. Then she tell, Mere Jeanne,--oh!
+she is good, good, and all ze time she fill thee wiz chestnuts that I
+cry out lest thou die,--she tell how one day she come home from market,
+and I am gone. No Marie! She look, she run here and there, she cry,
+''Tite Marie, where art thou?' No Marie come. She run to the neighbours,
+she search, she tear her cap; they tell her, 'Demand of thy son's wife!
+The strange ship sailed this morning; we heard child cry; what do we
+know?'
+
+"For the wife of Mere Jeanne's Jeannot, she was a devil, as I have told
+thee, a devil with both the eyes evil; and none dare say what she had
+done, for fear of their children and their cows to die. And then, Mere
+Jeanne she tell how she run to Jeannot's house,--she fear nossing, Mere
+Jeanne! the good God protect her always. She cry, 'Where is Marie? where
+is my child?' And Jeannot's Manon, she laugh, she say, 'Cross the sea
+after her, old witch! Who keeps thee?' Then--see, _p'tit Jacques_! see,
+Petie! I have not seen this wiz my eyes, no! but in my heart I have
+seen, I know! Then Mere Jeanne run at that woman, that devil; and she
+pull off her cap and tread it wiz her foot; and she pull out her
+hair,--never she had much, but since this day none!--and she scratch her
+face and tear the clothes--ah! Mere Jeanne is mild like a cherub till
+she is angry, but then-- And that devil scream, scream, but no one come,
+no one care; they are all glad, they laugh to hear. Till Jeannot run in,
+and catch his mother and hold her hands, and take her home to her house.
+She tell me all this, Mere Jeanne, and it is true, and I know it in my
+heart. But now she is dead, that witch, and the great devil has her, and
+that is well." (I think my father would have lost his wits, Melody, if
+he had heard the way my mother talked to me sometimes; but it was a
+child's talk, my dear, and there was no harm. A child who had been
+brought up among ignorant peasants; how should she know better, poor
+little Mother Marie?)
+
+"But now, see, _mes enfants_! We must come back across the sea, for ze
+sun, he begin to go away down. So I tell zis, and Mere Jeanne she cry,
+she take us wiz her arms, she cannot let us go. But I take Madame on my
+arm, I go out in ze street, I begin to play wiz my hand. Then all come,
+all run, all cry, 'Marie! Marie is here wiz her _violon_!' And I play,
+play and sing, and the little children dance, dance, and _p'tit Jacques_
+and Petie take them the hands and dance wiz--
+
+          "'Eh! gai, Coco,
+            Eh! gai, Coco,
+            Eh! venez voir la danse
+            Du petit marmot!
+            Eh! venez voir la danse
+            Du petit marmot!'
+
+"Adieu, adieu, Mere Jeanne! adieu, la France! but you, _mes enfants_;
+why do _you_ cry?"
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[1]
+    There were three sailor-lads of Groix,
+    There were three sailor-lads of Groix,
+    They sailed in the Saint Francois,
+          Tra la derira, etc.
+
+[2] Little Marie, Mother Jeanne! Little Marie who loves you.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+I WAS twelve years old when my mother died. She had no illness, or none
+that we had known of; the sweet soul of her slipped away in the night
+like a bird, and left the body smiling asleep. We never knew what ailed
+her; people did not torment themselves in those days with the "how" of a
+thing. There may have been talk behind the village doors, but my father
+never asked. She was gone, and his heart was gone with her, my poor
+father. She was all the joy of his life, and he never had any more; I
+never remember seeing him smile after that time. What gave him the best
+comfort was trying to keep things pretty and bright, as she liked to see
+them. He was neat as a woman, and he never allowed a speck of dust on
+the chairs, or a withered leaf on the geraniums. He never would let me
+touch her flowers, but I was set to polish the pewter and
+copper,--indeed, my mother had taught me that,--and he watched jealously
+lest any dimness come on them. I sometimes wondered at all this, as he
+had so lately counted these matters of adornment and prettiness and such
+as less than nothing, and vanity, as the preacher has it. But I think
+his great grief put a sacredness, as it were, over everything that had
+been hers, and all her ways seemed heavenly to him now, even though he
+had frowned at them (never at her, Melody, my dear! never at her!) when
+she was still with him.
+
+My father wished me to help him in the farm work, but I had no turn for
+that. I was growing up tall and weedy, and most like my strength went
+into that. However it was, there was little of it for farming, and less
+liking. Father Jacques made up his mind that I was no good for anything,
+but Abby Rock stood up for me.
+
+"The boy is not strong enough for farming, Jacques!" she said. "He's
+near as tall as you, now, and not fifteen yet. Put him to learn a trade,
+and he'll be a credit to you."
+
+So I was put to learn shoemaking, and a good trade it has been to me all
+my life. The shoemaker was a kind old man, who had known me from a baby,
+and he contrived to make my work easy for me,--seeing I took kindly to
+it,--and often let me have the afternoon to myself. My lungs were weak,
+or Abby thought they were, and the doctor had told her I must not sit
+too long over my bench, but must be out in the air as much as might be,
+though not at hard labour. Then,--those afternoons, I am saying,--I
+would be off like a flash with my fiddle,--off to the yellow sand beach
+where the round pebbles lay. I could never let my poor father hear me
+play; it was a knife in his heart even to see the Lady; and these hours
+on the beach were my comfort, and kept the spirit alive in me. Looking
+out to sea, I could still feel my mother Marie beside me, still hear her
+voice singing, so gay, so sad,--singing all ways, as the wind blows. She
+had no voice like yours, Melody, my dear, but it was small and sweet as
+a bird's; sweet as a bird's! It was there, on the yellow sand beach,
+that I first met Father L'Homme-Dieu, the priest.
+
+I have told you a great deal about this good man, Melody. He came of old
+French stock, like ourselves,--like most of the people in our village;
+only his people had always been Catholics. His village, where he had a
+little wooden church, was ten or twelve miles from ours, but he was the
+only priest for twenty miles round, and he rode or walked long
+distances, visiting the scattered families that belonged to his
+following. He chanced to come to the beach one day when I was there, and
+stayed to hear me play. I never knew he was there till I turned to go
+home; but then he spoke to me, and asked about my music and my home, and
+talked so kindly and wisely that my heart went out to him that very
+hour. He took to me, too; he was a lonely man, and there was none in his
+own neighbourhood that he cared to make his friend; and seldom a week
+passed that he did not find his way to the beach, for an hour of music
+and talk. Talk! How we did talk! There was always a book in his pocket,
+too, and he would read some fine passage aloud, and then we would
+discuss it, and turn it over and over, and let it draw our own thoughts
+like a magnet. It was a rare chance for a country boy, Melody! Here was
+a scholar, and as fine a gentleman as ever I met, and the heart of a
+child and a wise man melted into one; and I like his own son for the
+kindness he gave me. Sometimes I went to his house, but not often, for I
+could not take so long a time away from my work. He lived in a little
+house like a bird's house, and the little brown woman who did for him
+was like a bird, and of all curious things, her name was Sparrow,--the
+widow Sparrow.
+
+There was a little study, where he sat at a desk in the middle, and
+could pull down any book, almost, with no more than tilting his chair;
+and there was a little dining-room, and a closet with a window in it,
+where his bed stood. All these rooms were lined with books, most of them
+works of theology and religion, but plenty of others, too: poetry, and
+romances, and plays,--he was a great reader, and his books were all the
+friends he had, he used to say, till he found me. I should have been his
+son, he would say; and then lay his hand on my head and bid me be good,
+and say my prayers, and keep my heart true and clean. He never talked
+much to me of his own church (knowing my father by name and reputation),
+only made plain to me the love of God, and taught me to seek it through
+loving man.
+
+I used to wonder how he came to be there, in the wilderness, as it must
+often have seemed to him, for he had travelled much, and was city-bred,
+his people having left the seacoast and settled inland in his
+grandfather's time. One day, as I stood by his desk waiting for him, I
+saw a box that always lay there, set open; and in it was a portrait of a
+most beautiful lady in a rich dress. The portrait was in a gold frame
+set with red stones,--rubies, they may have been,--and was a rich jewel
+indeed. While I stood looking at it, Father L'Homme-Dieu came in; and at
+sight of the open box, and me looking at it, his face, that was like old
+ivory in its ordinary look, flushed dark red as the stones themselves. I
+was sorely vexed at myself, and frightened too, maybe; but the change
+passed from him, and he spoke in his own quiet voice. "That is the first
+half of my life, Jacques!" he said. "It is set in heart's blood, my
+son." And told me that this was his sweetheart who was drowned at sea,
+and it was after her death that he became a priest, and came to find
+some few sheep in the wilderness, near the spot where his fathers had
+lived. Then he bade me look well at the sweet face, and when my time
+should come to love, seek out one, if not so fair (as he thought there
+were none such), still one as true, and pure, and tender, and loving
+once, let it last till death; and so closed the box, and I never saw it
+open again.
+
+All this time I never let my father know about Father L'Homme-Dieu. It
+would have seemed to him a terrible thing that his son should be friends
+with a priest of the Roman Church, which he held a thing accursed. I
+thought it no sin to keep his mind at peace, and clear of this thing,
+for a cloud was gathering over him, my poor father. I told Abby,
+however, good Abby Rock; and though it shocked her at first, she was
+soon convinced that I brought home good instead of harm from my talks
+with Father L'Homme-Dieu. She it was who begged me not to tell my
+father, and she knew him better than any one else did, now that my
+mother Marie was gone. She told me, too, of the danger that hung over my
+poor father. The dark moods, since my mother's death, came over him more
+and more often; it seemed, when he was in one of them, that his mind was
+not itself. He never slighted his work,--that was like the breath he
+drew,--but when it was done, he would sit for hours brooding by the
+fireplace, looking at the little empty chair where my mother used to sit
+and sing at her sewing. And sitting so and brooding, now and again there
+would come over him as it were a blindness, and a forgetting of all
+about him, so that when he came out of it he would cry out, asking where
+he was, and what had been done to him. He would forget, too, that my
+mother was gone, and would call her, "Mary! Mary!" so that one's heart
+ached to hear him; and then Abby or I must make it clear to him again,
+and see the dumb suffering of him, like a creature that had not the
+power of speech, and knew nothing but pain and remembrance.
+
+I might have been seventeen or eighteen at this time; I do not recall
+the precise year. I was doing well with my shoemaking, and when this
+trouble grew on my poor father I brought my bench into the kitchen, so
+that I might have him always in sight. This was well enough for every
+day, but already I was beginning to be sent for here and there, among
+the neighbouring villages, to play the fiddle. The people of my father's
+kind were passing away, those who thought music a device of the devil,
+and believed that dancing feet were treading the road to hell. He was
+still a power in our own village; but in the country round about the
+young folks were learning the use of their feet, and none could hinder
+them, being the course of nature, since young lambs first skipped in the
+meadows. It was an old farmer, a good, jolly kind of man, who first gave
+me the name of "Rosin." He sent for me to play at his barn-raising, and
+a pretty sight it was; a fine new barn, Melody, all smelling sweet of
+fresh wood, and hung with lanterns, and a vast quantity of fruits and
+vegetables and late flowers set all about. Pretty, pretty! I have never
+seen a prettier barn-raising than that, and I have fiddled at a many
+since then. Well, this old gentleman calls to me across the floor, "Come
+here, young Rosin!" I remember his very words. "Come here, young Rosin!
+I can't get my tongue round your outlandish name, but Rosin'll do well
+enough for you." Well, it stuck to me, the name did, and I was never
+sorry, for I did not like to carry my father's name about overmuch, he
+misliking the dancing as he did. The young folks caught up an old song,
+and tagged that name on too, and called me Rosin the Bow. So it was
+first, Melody; but there are two songs, as you know, my dear, to the
+one tune (or one tune is all I know, and fits both sets of words), and
+the second song spells the word "Beau," and so some merry girls in a
+house where I often went to play, they vowed I should be Rosin the Beau.
+I suppose I may have been rather a good-looking lad, from what they used
+to say; and to make a long story short, it was by that name that I came
+to be known through the country, and shall be known till I die. An old
+beau enough now, my little girl; eighty years old your Rosin will be, if
+he lives till next September. I took to playing the air whenever I
+entered a room; it made a little effect, a little stir,--I was young and
+foolish, and it took little to please me in those days. But I have
+always thought, and think still, that a man, as well as a woman, should
+make the best of the mortal part of him; and I do not know why we should
+not be thankful for a well-looking body as for a well-ordered mind. I
+cannot abide to see a man shamble or slouch, or throw his arms and legs
+about as if they were timber logs. Many is the time I have said to my
+scholars, when I was teaching dancing-school,--great lumbering fellows,
+hulking through a quadrille as if they were pacing a raft in
+log-running,--"Don't insult your Creator by making a scarecrow of the
+body He has seen fit to give you. With reverence, He might have given it
+to one of better understanding; but since you have it, for piety's sake
+hold up your head, square your shoulders, and put your feet in the first
+position!"
+
+But I wander from the thread of my story, as old folks will do. After
+all, it is only a small story, of a small life; not every man is born to
+be great, my dear. Yet, while I sat on my shoemaker's bench, stitching
+away, I thought of greatness, as I suppose most boys do. I thought of a
+scholar's life, like that of Father L'Homme-Dieu before his sorrow came
+to him; a life spent in cities, among libraries and learned, brilliant
+people, men and women. I thought of a musician's life, and dreamed of
+the concerts and operas that I had never heard. The poet Wordsworth, my
+dear, has written immortal words about the dreams of a boy, and my
+dreams were fair enough. It seemed as if all the world outside were
+clouded in a golden glory, if I may put it so, and as if I had only to
+run forth and put aside this shining veil, to find myself famous, and
+happy, and blessed. And when I came down from the clouds, and saw my
+little black bench, and the tools and scraps of leather, and my poor
+father sitting brooding over the fire, my heart would sink down within
+me, and the longing would come strong upon me to throw down hammer and
+last, and run away, out into that great world that was calling for me.
+And so the days went by, and the months, and the years.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+I WAS twenty years old when the change came in my life. I remember the
+day was cold and bleak, an early spring day. My father had had an
+accident a few days before. In one of his unconscious fits he had fallen
+forward--I had left the room but for a moment--and struck his head
+sharply against one of the fire-irons. He came to himself quite wild,
+and seeing the blood, thought he had killed some one, and cried to us to
+take him to prison as a murderer. It took Abby and me a long time to
+quiet him. The shock and the pain of it all had shaken me more than I
+knew, and I felt sick, and did not know what ailed me; but Abby knew,
+and she sent me to see Father L'Homme-Dieu, while she sat with my
+father. I was glad enough to go, more glad than my duty allowed, I fear;
+yet I knew that Abby was better than I at caring for my father.
+
+As I walked across the brown fields, where the green was beginning to
+prick in little points here and there, I began to feel the life strong
+in me once more. The dull cloud of depression seemed to drop away, and
+instead of seeing always that sad, set face of my poor father's, I could
+look up and around, and whistle to the squirrels, and note the
+woodpecker running round the tree near me. It has remained a mystery to
+me all my life, Melody, that this bird's brains are not constantly
+addled in his head, from the violence of his rapping. When I was a
+little boy, I tried, I remember, to nod my head as fast as his went
+nodding: with the effect that I grew dizzy and sick, and Mother Marie
+thought I was going to die, and said the White Paternoster over me five
+times.
+
+I looked about me, I say, and felt my spirit waking with the waking of
+the year. Yet, though I was glad to feel alive and young once more, I
+never thought I was going to anything new or wonderful. The wise, kind
+friend would be there; we should talk, and I should come away refreshed
+and strengthened, in peace and courage; I thought of nothing more. But
+when the widow Sparrow opened the door to me, I heard voices from the
+room within; a strange voice of a man, and the priest's answering. I
+stopped short on the threshold.
+
+"The Father is busy!" I said. "I will call again, when he is alone."
+
+"Now don't you!" said Mrs. Sparrow, who was always fond of me, and
+thought it a terrible walk for me to take, so young, and with the
+"growing weakness" not out of me. "Don't ye go a step, Jacques! I expect
+you can come in just as well as not. There is a gentleman here, but he's
+so pleasant, I should wish to have you see him, if _I_ was the Father."
+
+I was hesitating, all the shyness of a country-bred boy coming over me;
+for I had a quick ear, and this strange voice was not like the voices I
+was used to hearing; it was like Father L'Homme-Dieu's, fine and
+high-bred. But the next instant Father L'Homme-Dieu had stepped to the
+door of the study, and saw me.
+
+"Come in, Jacques!" he cried. His eyes were bright, and his air gay, as
+I had never seen it. "Come in, my son! I have a friend here, and you are
+the very person I want him to meet." I stepped over the threshold
+awkwardly enough, and stood before the stranger. He was a young man, a
+few years older than myself; tall and slender,--we might have been twins
+as far as height and build went, but there the resemblance ceased. He
+was fair, with such delicate colouring that he might have looked
+womanish but for the dark fiery blue of his eyes, and his little curled
+moustache. He looked the way you fancy a prince looking, Melody, when
+Auntie Joy tells you a fairy story, though he was simply dressed enough.
+
+"Marquis," said Father L'Homme-Dieu, with a shade of ceremony that I had
+never heard before in his tone, "let me present to you M. Jacques
+D'Arthenay, my friend! Jacques, this is the Marquis de Ste. Valerie."
+
+He gave my name the French pronunciation. It was kindly meant; at my
+present age, I think it was perhaps rightly done; but then, it filled me
+with a kind of rage. The angry blood of a false pride, a false humility,
+surged to my brain and sang in my ears; and as the young man stepped
+forward with outstretched hand, crying, "A compatriot. Welcome,
+monsieur!" I drew back, stammering with anger. "My name is Jacques De
+Arthenay!"[3] I said. "I am an American, a shoemaker, and the son of a
+farmer."
+
+There was a moment of silence, in which I seemed to live a year. I was
+conscious of everything, the well-bred surprise of the young nobleman,
+the half-amused vexation of the priest, my own clumsy, boyish rage and
+confusion. In reality it was only a few seconds before I felt my
+friend's hand on my shoulder, with its kind, fatherly touch.
+
+"Sit down, my child!" he said. "Does it matter greatly how a name is
+pronounced? It is the same name, and I pronounced it thus, not without a
+reason. Sit down, and have peace!"
+
+There was authority as well as kindness in his voice. I sat down, still
+trembling and blushing. Father L'Homme-Dieu went on quietly, as if
+nothing had happened.
+
+"It was for the marquis's sake that I gave your name its former--and
+correct--pronunciation, my son Jacques. If I mistake not, he is of the
+same part of France from which your ancestors came. Huguenots of
+Blanque, am I not right, marquis?"
+
+I was conscious that the stranger, whom I was inwardly accusing as a
+pretentious puppy, a slip of a dead and worthless tree, was looking at
+me intently; my eyes seemed drawn to his whether I would or no. So
+meeting those blue eyes, there passed as it were a flash from them into
+mine, a flash that warmed and lightened, as a smile broke over his face.
+
+"D'Arthenay!" he said, in a tone that seemed to search for some
+remembrance. "_D'Arthenay, tenez foi! n'est-ce pas, monsieur?_"
+
+I started. The words were the motto of my father's house. They were
+engraved on the stone which marked the grave of my grandfather many
+times back, Jacques, Sieur D'Arthenay. Seeing my agitation, the marquis
+leaned forward eagerly. He was full of quick, light gestures, that
+somehow brought my mother back to me.
+
+"But, we are neighbours!" he cried. "We must be friends, M. D'Arthenay.
+Your tower--it is a noble ruin--stands not a league from my chateau in
+Blanque. The Ste. Valeries and the D'Arthenays were always friends,
+since Adam was, and till the Grand Monarque separated them with his
+accursed Revocation. Monsieur, that I am enchanted at this rencounter!
+_La bonne aventure, oh gai! n'est-ce pas, mon pere?_"
+
+There was no resisting his eager gaiety. And when he quoted the nursery
+song that my mother used to sing, my stubborn resentment--at what? who
+can say?--broke and melted away, and I was smiling back into the bright,
+merry eyes. Once more he held out his hand, and this time I took it
+gladly. Father L'Homme-Dieu looked on in delight; it was a good moment.
+
+After that the talk flowed freely. I found that the young marquis,
+having come on a pleasure tour to the United States, had travelled thus
+far out of the general route to look up the graves of some of his
+mother's people, who had come out with Baron Castine, but had left him,
+as my ancestor had done, on account of his marriage with the Indian
+princess. They were the Belleforts of Blanque.
+
+"Bellefort!" I cried. "That name is on several stones in our old
+burying-ground. The Belforts of our village are their descendants,
+Father L'Homme-Dieu."
+
+"Not Ham?" cried the father, bursting into a great laugh. "Not Ham
+Belfort, Jacques?"
+
+I laughed back, nodding. "Just Ham, father!"
+
+I never saw Father L'Homme-Dieu so amused. He struck his hands together,
+and leaned back in his chair, repeating over and over, "Ham Belfort!
+Cousin of the Marquis de Ste. Valerie! Ham Belfort! Is it possible?"
+
+The young nobleman looked from one to the other of us curiously.
+
+"But what?" he asked. "Ham! _c'est-a-dire, jambon, n'est-ce pas?_"
+
+"It is also a Biblical name, marquis!" said Father L'Homme-Dieu. "I must
+ask who taught you your catechism!"
+
+"True! true!" said the marquis, slightly confused. "_Sem, Ham, et
+Japhet_, perfectly! and--I have a cousin, it appears, named Jam--I
+should say, Ham? Will you lead me to him, M. D'Arthenay, that I embrace
+him?"
+
+"You shall see him!" I said. "I don't think Ham is used to being
+embraced, but I will leave that to you. I will take you to see him, and
+to see the graves in the burying-ground, whenever you say."
+
+"But now, at the present time, this instant!" cried Ste. Valerie,
+springing from his chair. "Here is Father L'Homme-Dieu dying of me, in
+despair at his morning broken up, his studies destroyed by chatter. Take
+me with you, D'Arthenay, and show me all things; Ham, also his brothers,
+and Noe and the Ark, if they find themselves also here. Amazing country!
+astonishing people!"
+
+So off we went together, he promising Mrs. Sparrow to return in time for
+dinner, and informing her that she was a sylphide, which caused her to
+say, "Go along!" in high delight. He had brought a letter to the priest,
+from an old friend, and was to stay at the house.
+
+Back across the brown fields we went. I was no longer alone; the world
+was full of new light, new interest. I felt that it was good to be
+alive; and when my companion began to sing in very lightness of heart, I
+joined in, and sang with right good will.
+
+          "La bonne aventure, oh gai!
+           La bonne aventure!"
+
+He told me that his mother always sang him this song when he had been a
+good boy; I replied that mine had done the same. How many French
+mothers have sung the merry little lilt, I wonder? We sang one snatch
+and another, and I could not see that the marquise had had the advantage
+of the little peasant girl, if it came to songs.
+
+The marquis--but why should I keep to the empty title, which I was never
+to use after that first hour? Nothing would do but that we should be
+friends on the instant, and for life,--Jacques and Yvon. "Thus it was
+two centuries ago," my companion declared, "thus shall it be now!" and
+I, in my dream of wonderment and delight, was only too glad to have it
+so.
+
+We talked of a thousand things; or, to be precise, he talked, and I
+listened. What had I to say that could interest him? But he was full of
+the wonders of travel, the strangeness of the new world and the new
+people. Niagara had shaken him to the soul, he told me; on the wings of
+its thunder he had soared to the empyrean. How his fanciful turns of
+expression come back to me as I write of him! He was proud of his
+English, which was in general surprisingly good.
+
+New York he did not like,--a savage in a Paris gown, with painted face;
+but on Boston he looked with the eyes of a lover. What dignity! what
+Puritan, what maiden grace of withdrawal! An American city, where one
+feels oneself not a figure of chess, but a human being; where no street
+resembles the one before it, and one can wander and be lost in
+delicious windings! Ah! in Boston he could live, the life of a poet, of
+a scholar.
+
+"And then,--what, my friend? I come, I leave those joys, I come away
+here, to--to the locality of jump-off, as you say,--and what do I find?
+First, a pearl, a saint; for nobleness, a prince, for holiness, an
+anchorite of Arabia,--Le Pere L'Homme-Dieu! Next, the ancient friend of
+my house, who becomes on the instant mine also, the brother for whom I
+have yearned. With these, the graves of my venerable ancestors, heroes
+of constancy, who lived for war and died for faith; graves where I go
+even now, where I kneel to pay my duty of respect, to drop the filial
+tear!"
+
+"Don't forget your living relations!" I said, with some malice. "Here is
+your cousin, coming to meet us."
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[3] Pronounced Jakes Dee Arthenay.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+AN ox-team was lumbering along the road towards us. The huge oxen
+lurched from side to side, half-asleep, making nothing of their load of
+meal-sacks piled high in air; their driver walked beside, half-asleep,
+too. He was a giant in height (six foot six, Melody, in his stockings! I
+have measured him myself), and his white clothes made him look something
+monstrous indeed. Yvon stared and gaped, as this vision came slowly
+towards him.
+
+"What--what is it?" he asked. "Is it a monster?"
+
+"Oh, no!" I said. "It's only Ham Belfort. How are you, Ham?"
+
+"Smart!" said Ham. "How be you? Hoish, Star! haw! Stand still there,
+will ye?"
+
+The oxen came to a halt willingly enough, and man and beasts stood
+regarding us with calm, friendly eyes. Ham and his oxen looked so much
+alike, Melody (the oxen were white, I ought to have said), that I
+sometimes thought, if we dressed one of the beasts up and did away with
+his horns, people would hardly know which was which.
+
+"Taking a load over to Cato?"
+
+Cato was the nearest town, my dear. It was there that the weekly boat
+touched, which was our one link with the world of cities and railways.
+
+Ham nodded; he was not given to unnecessary speech.
+
+"Is your wife better? I heard she was poorly."
+
+"No, she ain't! I expect she'll turn up her toes now most any day."
+
+This seemed awkward. I muttered some expressions of regret, and was
+about to move on, when my companion, who had been gazing speechless and
+motionless at the figure before him, caught my arm.
+
+"Present me!" he whispered. "Holy Blue! this is my cousin, my own blood!
+Present me, Jacques!"
+
+Now, I had never had occasion to make a formal introduction in my life,
+Melody. I had not yet begun to act as master of ceremonies at balls,
+only as fiddler and call-man; and it is the living truth that the only
+form of words I could bring to mind at the moment was, "Gents, balance
+to partners!" I almost said it aloud; but, fortunately, my wits came
+back, and I stammered out, sorely embarrassed:
+
+"Ham, this is--a gentleman--who--who is staying with Father
+L'Homme-Dieu."
+
+"That so? Pleased to meet you!" and Ham held out a hand like a shoulder
+of mutton, and engulfed the marquis's slender fingers.
+
+"I am delighted to make the acquaintance of Mr. Belfort," said Ste.
+Valerie, with winning grace. "I please myself to think that we are
+related by blood. My mother was a Bellefort of Blanque; it is the French
+form of your name, Mr. Belfort."
+
+"I want to know!" said Ham. "_Darned_ pleased to meet you!" He laboured
+for a moment, casting a glance of appeal at the oxen, who showed no
+disposition to assist him; then added, "You're slim-appearin' for a
+Belfort; they run consid'able large in these parts."
+
+"Truly, yes!" cried the marquis, laughing delightedly. "You desire to
+show the world that there are still giants. What pleasure, what rapture,
+to go through the crowd of small persons, as myself, as D'Arthenay here,
+and exhibit the person of Samson, of Goliath!"
+
+Ham eyed him gravely. "Meanin' shows?" he asked, after a pause of
+reflection. "No, we've never shew none, as I know of. We've been asked,
+father 'n' I, to allow guessin' on our weight at fairs and sech, but we
+jedged it warn't jest what we cared about doin'. Sim'lar with shows!"
+
+This speech was rather beyond Ste. Valerie, and seeing him look puzzled,
+I struck in, "Mr. Ste. Valerie wants to see the old graves in the old
+burying-ground, Ham. I told him there were plenty of Belforts there, and
+spelling the name as he does, with two l's and an e in the middle."
+
+"I want to know if he spells it that way!" said Ham, politely. "We
+jedged they didn't know much spellin', in them times along back, but I
+presume there's different idees. Does your folks run slim as a rule?"
+
+"Very slim, my cousin!" said Yvon. "Of my generation, there is none so
+great as myself."
+
+"I _want_ to know!" said Ham; and the grave compassion in his voice was
+almost too much for my composure. He seemed to fear that the subject
+might be a painful one, and changed it with a visible effort.
+
+"Well, there's plenty in the old berr'in-ground spelt both ways. Likely
+it don't matter to 'em now."
+
+He pondered again, evidently composing a speech; again he demanded help
+of the oxen, and went so far as to examine an ear of the nigh ox with
+anxious attention.
+
+"'Pears as if what Belforts is above the sod ought to see something of
+ye!" he said at last. "My woman is sick, and liable to turn--I should
+say, liable to pass away most any time; but if she should get better,
+or--anything--I should be pleased to have ye come and stop a spell with
+us at the grist-mill. Any of your folks in the grist business?"
+
+"Grisst?" Ste. Valerie looked helplessly at me. I explained briefly the
+nature of a grist-mill, and said truly that Ham's mill was one of the
+pleasantest places in the neighbourhood. Yvon was enchanted. He would
+come with the most lively pleasure, he assured Ham, so soon as Madame
+Belfort's health should be sufficiently rehabilitated. I remember,
+Melody, the pride with which he rolled out that long word, and the
+delight with which he looked at me, to see if I noticed it.
+
+"Meantime," he added, "I shall haste at the earliest moment to do myself
+the honour to call, to make inquiries for the health of madame, to
+present my respectful homages to monsieur your father. He will permit me
+to embrace him as a son?"
+
+Fortunately Ham only heard the first part of this sentence; he responded
+heartily, begging the marquis to call at any hour. Then, being at the
+end of his talk, he shook hands once more with ponderous good will, and
+passed on, he and the oxen rolling along with equal steps.
+
+Ste. Valerie was silent until Ham was out of earshot; then he broke out.
+
+"Holy Blue! what a prodigy! You suffer this to burst upon me, Jacques,
+without notice, without preparation. My nerves are permanently
+shattered. You tell me, a man; I behold a tower, a mountain, Atlas
+crowned with clouds! Thousand thunders! what bulk! what sinews! and of
+my race! Amazing effect of--what? Climate? occupation? In France, this
+race shrinks, diminishes; a rapier, keen if you will, but slender like a
+thread; here, it swells, expands, towers aloft,--a club of Hercules. And
+with my father, who could sit in my pocket, and my grandfather, who
+could sit in his! Figure to yourself, Jacques, that I am called _le
+grand Yvon!_" He was silent for a moment, then broke out again. "But the
+mind. D'Arthenay! the brain; how is it with that? Thought,--a lightning
+flash! is it not lost, wandering through a head large like that of an
+ox?"
+
+I cannot remember in what words I answered him, Melody. I know I was
+troubled how to make it clear to him, and he so different from the
+other. I seemed to stand midway between the two, and to understand both.
+Half of me seemed to spring up in joy at the voice of the young
+foreigner; his lightness, his quickness, the very way he moved his
+hands, seemed a part of my own nature that I had not learned to use, and
+now saw reflected in another. I am not sure if I make myself clear, my
+child; it was a singular feeling. But when I would spring forward with
+him, and toss my head and wave my hands as he did,--as my mother Marie
+did,--there was something held me back; it was the other nature in me,
+slow and silent, and--no! not cold, but loath to show its warmth, if I
+may put it so. My father in me kept me silent many a time when I might
+have spoken foolishness. And it was this half, my father's half, that
+loved Ham Belfort, and saw the solid sweetness of nature that made that
+huge body a temple of good will, so to speak. He had the kind of
+goodness that gives peace and rest to those who lean against it. His
+mill was one of the places--but we shall come to that by and by!
+
+Walking on as we talked, we soon came to the village, and I begged my
+new friend to come in and see my father and my home. We entered. My
+father was standing by the fire, facing the door, with one hand on the
+tall mantel-shelf. He was in one of his waking dreams, and I was struck
+deeply, Melody, by the beauty, and, if I may use the word about a plain
+man, the majesty of his looks. My companion was struck, too, for he
+stopped short, and murmured something under his breath; I heard the word
+"Noblesse," and thought it not amiss. My father's eyes (they were
+extraordinarily bright and blue) were wide open, and looked through us
+and beyond us, yet saw nothing, or nothing that other eyes could see;
+the tender look was in them that meant the thought of my mother. But
+Abby came quietly round from the corner where she sat sewing, and laid
+her hand on his arm, and spoke clearly, yet not sharply, telling him to
+look and see, Jakey had brought a gentleman to see him. Then the vision
+passed, and my father looked and saw us, and came forward with a
+stately, beautiful way that he could use, and bade the stranger welcome.
+Ste. Valerie bowed low, as he might to a prince. Hearing that he was a
+Frenchman, my father seemed pleased. "My dear wife was a Frenchwoman!"
+he said. "She was a musician, sir; I wish you could have heard her
+play."
+
+"He was himself also of French descent," Ste. Valerie reminded him, with
+another bow; and told of the ruined tower, and the old friendship
+between the two houses. But my father cared nothing for descent.
+
+"Long ago, sir!" he said. "Long ago! I have nothing to do with the dead
+of two hundred years back. I am a plain farmer; my son has learned the
+trade of shoemaking, though he also has some skill with the fiddle, I am
+told. Nothing compared to his mother, but still some skill."
+
+Ste. Valerie looked from one of us to the other. "A farmer,--a
+shoemaker!" he said, slowly. "Strange country, this! And while your
+_vieille noblesse_ make shoes and till the soil, who are these,
+monsieur, who live in some of the palaces that I have seen in your
+cities? In many, truly, persons of real nobility also, gentlemen,
+whether hunting of race or of Nature's own. But these others? I have
+seen them; large persons, both male and female, red as beef, their
+grossness illuminated with diamonds of royalty, their dwelling a
+magazine from the Rue de la Paix. These things are shocking to a
+European, M. D'Arthenay!" My father looked at him with something like
+reproof in his quiet gaze.
+
+"I have never been in cities," he said. "I consider that a farmer's life
+may be used as well as another for the glory of God."
+
+Then, with a wave of his hand, he seemed to put all this away from him,
+and with a livelier air asked the stranger to take supper with us. Abby
+had been laying the cloth quietly while we were talking, and my father
+would have asked her to sit down with us, but she slipped away while his
+face was turned in the other direction, and though he looked once or
+twice, he soon forgot. Poor Abby! I had seen her looking at him as he
+talked, and was struck by her intent expression, as if she would not
+lose a word he might say. It seemed natural, though, that he should be
+her first thought; he had always been, since my mother died.
+
+So presently we three sat about the little table, that was gay with
+flowers and pretty dishes. I saw Ste. Valerie's wondering glances; was
+it thus, he seemed to ask, that a farmer lived, who had no woman to care
+for him? My father saw, too, and was pleased as I had rarely seen him.
+He did not smile, but his face seemed to fill with light.
+
+"My wife, sir," he said, "loved to see things bright and adorned. I
+try--my son and I try--to keep the table as she would like it. I
+formerly thought these matters sinful, but I have been brought to a
+clearer vision,--through affliction." (Strange human nature, Melody, my
+child! he was moved to say these words to a stranger, which he could not
+have said to me, his son!) "She had the French taste and lightness, my
+wife Mary. I should have been proud to have you see her, sir; the Lord
+was mindful of His own, and took her away from a world of sin and
+suffering."
+
+The light died out; his eyes wandered for a moment, and then set, in a
+way I knew; and I began to talk fast of the first thing that came into
+my mind.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+I COULD write a whole book about the summer that followed this spring
+day, when I first met Yvon de Ste. Valerie. Yes, and the book would be
+so long that no mortal man would have time to read it; but I must hurry
+on with my story; for truth to tell, my eyes are beginning to be not
+quite what they have been,--they'll serve my time, I hope, but my
+writing was always small and crabbed,--and I must say what I have to
+say, shorter than I have begun, I perceive. After the first week, then,
+which he spent with Father L'Homme-Dieu, Yvon came over to our village
+and boarded with Abby Rock. The Father was pleased to have him come; he
+knew it would be a great thing for me, and he thought it would not hurt
+the young gentleman to live for a time with plain folks. But if he
+thought Yvon would look down on our village people, or hold himself
+better than they, he was mistaken. In a week the young Frenchman was the
+son and brother of the whole village. Our people were dear, good people,
+Melody; but I sometimes thought them a little dull; that was after my
+mother's death. I suppose I had enough of another nature in me to be
+troubled by this, but not enough to know how to help it; later I
+learned a little more; but indeed, I should justly say that my lessons
+were begun by Yvon de Ste. Valerie. It was from him I learned, my dear,
+that nothing in this world of God's is dull or common, unless we bring
+dull hearts and dim eyes to look at it. It is the vision, the vision,
+that makes the life; that vision which you, my child, with your
+sightless eyes, have more clearly than almost any one I have known.
+
+He was delighted with everything. He wanted to know about everything. He
+declared that he should write a book, when he returned to France, all
+about our village, which he called Paradise. It is a pretty place, or
+was as I remember it. He must see how bread was made, how wool was spun,
+how rugs were braided. Many's the time I have found him sitting in some
+kitchen, winding the great balls of rags neatly cut and stitched
+together, listening like a child while the woman told him of how many
+rugs she had made, and how many quilts she had pieced; and she more
+pleased than he, and thinking him one wonder and herself another.
+
+He was in love with all the girls; so he said, and they had nothing to
+say against it. But yet there was no girl could carry a sore heart, for
+he treated them all alike. In this I have thought that he showed a sense
+and kindness beyond his years or his seeming giddiness; for some of them
+might well enough have had their heads turned by a gentleman, and one so
+handsome, and with a tongue that liked better to say "Angel!" to a
+woman than anything more suited to the average of the sex. But no girl
+in the village could think herself for a moment the favoured maiden; for
+if one had the loveliest eyes in the world, the next had a cheek of
+roses and velvet, and the third walked like a goddess, and the fourth
+charmed his soul out of his body every time she opened her lips. And so
+it went on, till all understood it for play, and the pleasantest play
+they ever saw. But he vowed from the first that he would marry Abby
+Rock, and no other living woman. Abby always said yes, she would marry
+him the first Sunday that came in the middle of the week; and then she
+would try to make him eat more, though he took quite as much as was good
+for him, not being used to our hearty ways, especially in the mornings.
+Abby was as pleased with him as a child with a kitten, and it was pretty
+to see them together.
+
+"Light of my life!" Yvon would cry. "You are exquisite this morning!
+Your eyes are like stars on the sea. Come, then, angelic Rock, _Rocher
+des Anges_, and waltz with your Ste. Valerie!" And he would take Abby by
+the waist, and try to waltz with her, till she reached for the
+broomstick. I have told you, Melody, that Abby was the homeliest woman
+the Lord ever made. Not that I ever noticed it, for the kindness in her
+face was so bright I never saw anything but that; but strangers would
+speak of it, and Yvon himself, before he heard her speak, made a little
+face, I remember, that only I could see, and whispered, had I brought
+him to lodge with Medusa? Medusa, indeed! I think Abby's smile would
+soften any stone that had ever had a human heart beating in it, instead
+of the other way.
+
+But the place in the village that Yvon loved best was Ham Belfort's
+grist-mill; and when he comes to my mind, in these days, when sadder
+visions are softened and partly dim to me, it is mostly there that I
+seem to see my friend.
+
+It was, as I have said, one of the pleasantest places in the world. To
+begin with, the colour and softness of it all! The window-glass was
+powdered white, and the light came through white and dim, and lay about
+in long powdery shafts, and these were white, too, instead of yellow. So
+was the very dust white; or rather, it was good oatmeal and wheat flour
+that lay thick and crumbling on the rafters above, and the wheels and
+pulleys and other gear. As for Ham, the first time Yvon saw him in the
+mill, he cried out "Mont Blanc!" and would not call him anything else
+for some time. For Ham was whiter than all the rest, in his
+working-dress, cap and jacket and breeches, white to begin with, and
+powdered soft and furry, like his face and eyebrows, with the flying
+meal. Down-stairs there was plenty of noise; oats and corn and wheat
+pouring into the hoppers, and the great stones going round and round,
+and wheels creaking and buzzing, and belts droning overhead. Yvon could
+not talk at all here, and I not too much; only Ham's great voice and his
+father's (old Mr. Belfort was Ham over again, gray under the powder,
+instead of pink and brown) could roar on quietly, if I may so express
+it, rising high above the rattle and clack of the machinery, and yet
+peaceful as the stream outside that turned the great wheels and set the
+whole thing flying. So, as he could not live long without talking, Yvon
+loved best the loft above, where the corn was stored, both in bags and
+unground, and where the big blowers were, and the old green fire-engine,
+and many other curious things. I had known them all my life, but they
+were strange to him, and he never tired, any more than if he had been a
+boy of ten. Sometimes I wondered if he could be twenty-two, as he said;
+sometimes when he would swing himself on to the slide, where the bags of
+meal and flour were loaded on to the wagons. Well, Melody, it was a
+thing to charm a boy's heart; it makes mine beat a little quicker to
+think of it, even now; perhaps I was not much wiser than my friend,
+after all. This was a slide some three feet wide, and say seven or eight
+feet long, sloping just enough to make it pleasant, and polished till it
+shone, from the bags that rubbed along it day after day, loading the
+wagons as they backed up under it. Nothing would do but we must slide
+down this, as if, I say, we were children of ten years old, coming down
+astride of the meal-sacks, and sending a plump of flour into the air as
+we struck the wagon. Father Belfort thought Yvon was touched in the
+brain; but he was all the more gentle on this account. Boys were not
+allowed on the slide, unless it were a holiday, or some boy had had a
+hard time with sickness or what not; it was a treat rarely given, and
+the more prized for that. But Yvon and I might slide as much as we
+pleased. "Keep him cheerful, Jakey!" the dear old man would say. "Let
+him kibobble all he's a mind to! I had a brother once was looney, and we
+kep' him happy all his life long, jest lettin' him stay a child, as the
+Lord intended. Six foot eight he stood, and weighed four hundred
+pounds."
+
+And when the boy was tired of playing we would sit down together, and
+call to Ham to come up and talk; for even better than sliding, Yvon
+loved to hear his cousin talk. You can take the picture into your mind,
+Melody, my dear. The light dim and white, as I have told you, and very
+soft, falling upon rows and rows of full sacks, ranged like soldiers;
+the great white miller sitting with his back against one of these, and
+his legs reaching anywhere,--one would not limit the distance; and
+running all about him, without fear, or often indeed marking him in any
+way, a multitude of little birds, sparrows they were, who spent most of
+their life here among the meal-sacks. Sometimes they hopped on his
+shoulder, or ran over his head, but they never minded his talking, and
+he sat still, not liking to disturb them. It was a pretty sight of
+extremes in bulk, and in nature too; for while Ham was afraid to move,
+for fear of troubling them, they would bustle up to him and cock their
+heads, and look him in the eye as if they said, "Come on, and show me
+which is the biggest!"
+
+There you see him, my dear; and opposite to him you might see a great
+mound or heap of corn that shone yellow as gold. "_Le Mont d'Or_," Yvon
+called it; and nothing would do but he must sit on this, lifted high
+above us, yet sliding down every now and then, and climbing up again,
+with the yellow grains slipping away under him, smooth and bright as
+pebbles on the shore. And for myself, I was now here and now there, as I
+found it more comfortable, being at home in every part of the friendly
+place.
+
+How we talked! Ham was mostly a silent fellow; but he grew to love the
+lad so that the strings of his tongue were loosened as they had never
+been before. His woman, too (as we say in those parts, Melody; wife is
+the more genteel expression, but I never heard Ham use it. My father, on
+the other hand, never said anything else; a difference in the fineness
+of ear, my dear, I have always supposed),--his woman, I say, or wife,
+had not "turned up her toes," but recovered, and as he was a faithful
+and affectionate man, his heart was enlarged by this also. However it
+was, he talked more in those weeks, I suppose, than in the rest of his
+life put together. Bits of his talk, homely and yet wise, come back to
+me across the sixty years. One day, I remember, we talked of life, as
+young men love to talk. We said nothing that had not been said by young
+men since Abel's time, I do suppose, but it was all new to us; and
+indeed, my two companions had fresh ways of putting things that seemed
+to make them their own in a manner. Yvon maintained that gaiety was the
+best that life had to give; that the butterfly being the type of the
+human soul, the nearer man could come to his prototype, the better for
+him and for all. Sorrow and suffering, he cried, were a blot on the
+scheme, a mistake, a concession to the devil; if all would but spread
+their wings and fly away from it, houp! it would no longer exist. "_Et
+voila!_"
+
+We laughed, but shook our heads. Ham meditated awhile, and then began in
+his strong, quiet voice, a little husky, which I always supposed was
+from his swallowing so much raw meal and flour.
+
+"That's one way of lookin' at it, Eavan; I expect that's your French
+view, likely; looks different, you see, to folks livin' where there's
+cold, and sim'lar things, as butterflies couldn't find not to say
+comfortable. Way I look at it, it always seemed to me that grain come as
+near it as anything, go to compare things. Livin' in a grist-mill, I
+presume, I git into a grainy way of lookin' at the world. Now, take
+wheat! It comes up pooty enough, don't it, in the fields? Show me a
+field o' wheat, and I'll show you as handsome a thing as is made this
+side of Jordan. Wal, that might be a little child, we'll say; if there's
+a thing handsomer than a field o' wheat, it's a little child. But bimeby
+comes reapin' and all, and then the trouble begins. First, it's all in
+the rough, ain't it, chaff and all, mixed together; and has to go
+through the thresher? Well, maybe that's the lickin's a boy's father
+gives him. He don't like 'em,--I can feel Father Belfort's lickin's
+yet,--but they git red of a sight o' chaff, nonsense, airs, and what
+not, for him. Then it comes here to the grist-mill. Well, I may be
+gittin' a little mixed, boys, but you can foller if you try, I expect.
+Say that's startin' out in life, leavin' home, or bindin' to a trade, or
+whatever. Well, it goes into the duster, and there it gets more chaff
+blowed off'n it. And from the duster it goes into the hopper, and down
+in betwixt the stones; and them stones grind, grind, grind, till you'd
+think the life was ground clear'n out of it. But 'tain't so; contrary!
+That's affliction; the upper and nether millstone--Scriptur! Maybe
+sickness, maybe losin' your folks, maybe business troubles,--whichever
+comes is the wust, and more than any mortal man ever had to bear before.
+Well, now, see! That stuff goes in there, grain; it comes out wheat
+flour! Then you take and wet it down and put your 'east in,--that's
+thought, I expect, or brains,--or might be a woman,--and you bake it in
+the oven,--call that--well, 'git-up-and-git' is all I can think of, but
+I should aim for a better word, talkin' to a foreigner."
+
+"Purpose," I suggested.
+
+"That's it! purpose! bake it in that oven, and you have a loaf of wheat
+bread, riz bread; and that's the best eatin' that's ben invented yet.
+That's food for the hungry,--which raw wheat ain't, except it's cattle.
+But now you hear me, boys! To git wheat bread, riz bread, you've got to
+have wheat to begin with. You've got to have good stuff to start with.
+You can't make good riz bread out o' field corn. But take good stuff and
+grind it in the Lord's mill, and you've got the best this world can
+give. That's my philos'phy!"
+
+He nodded his head to the last words, which fell slowly and weightily;
+and as he did so, the sparrow that had been perched on his head ran down
+his nose and fluttered in his face, seeming to ask how he dared make
+such a disturbance. "I beg your pardon, I'm sure!" said Ham. "I'd no
+notion I was interferin' with you. Why didn't you hit one of your
+size?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+IT was in the grist-mill loft, too, that Yvon brought forward his great
+plan, what he called the project of his life,--that of taking me back to
+France with him. I remember how I laughed when he spoke of it; it seemed
+as easy for me to fly to the moon as to cross the ocean, a thing which
+none of my father's people had done since the first settlers came. My
+mother, to be sure, had come from France, but that was a different
+matter; nor had her talk of the sea made me feel any longing for it. But
+Yvon had set his heart on it; and his gay talk flowed round and over my
+objections, as your brook runs over stones. I must go; I should go! I
+should see my tower, the castle of my fathers. It was out of repair, he
+could not deny that; but what! a noble chateau might still be made of
+it. Once restored, I would bring my father over to end his days with me,
+under the roof that alone could properly shelter a person of such
+nobility. He had won my father's heart, too, Melody, as he won all
+hearts; they understood each other in some fine, far-off way, that was
+beyond me. I sometimes felt a little pang that was not, I am glad to
+believe, jealousy, only a wish that I might be more like Yvon, more like
+my mother's people, since it was that so charmed my poor father.
+
+I asked Yvon how I was to live, how my father and I should support
+ourselves in our restored castle, and whose money would pay for the
+restoration. He threw this aside, and said that money was base, and he
+refused to consider it. It had nothing to do with the feelings, less
+than nothing with true nobility. Should I then take my cobbler's bench,
+I asked him, and make shoes for him and his neighbours, while my father
+tilled the ground? But then, for the first and almost the last time, I
+saw my friend angry; he became like a naughty, sulky child, and would
+hardly speak to me for the rest of the day.
+
+But he clung to his idea, none the less; and, to my great surprise, my
+father took it up after awhile. He thought well, he told me, of Yvon's
+plan; Yvon had talked it over with him. He, himself, was much stronger
+than he had been (this was true, Melody, or nothing would have induced
+me to leave him even for a week; Yvon had been like a cordial to him,
+and he had not had one of his seizures for weeks); and I could perfectly
+leave him under Abby's care. I had not been strong myself, a voyage
+might be a good thing for me; and no doubt, after seeing with my own
+eyes the matters this young lad talked of, I would be glad enough to
+come home and settle to my trade, and would have much to think over as I
+sat at my bench. It might be that a man was better for seeing something
+of the world; he had never felt that the Lord intended him to travel,
+having brought to his own door all that the world held of what was best
+(he paused here, and said "Mary!" two or three times under his breath,
+a way he had when anything moved him), but it was not so with me, nor
+likely to be, and it might be a good thing for me to go. He had money
+laid by that would be mine, and I could take a portion of that, and have
+my holiday.
+
+These are not his very words, Melody, but the sense of them. I was
+strangely surprised; and being young and eager, the thought came upon me
+for the first time that this thing was really possible; and with the
+thought came the longing, and a sense which I had only felt dimly
+before, and never let speak plain to me, as it were. I suppose every
+young man feels the desire to go somewhere else than the place where he
+has always abided. The world may be small and wretched, as some tell
+him, or great and golden, according to the speech of others; he believes
+neither one nor the other, he must see it with his own eyes. So this
+grew upon me, and I brooded over it, till my life was full of voices
+calling, and hands pointing across the sea, to the place which is
+Somewhere Else. I talked with Father L'Homme-Dieu, and he bade me go,
+and gave me his blessing; he had no doubt it was my pleasure, and might
+be my duty, in the way of making all that might be made of my life. I
+talked with Abby; she grew pale, and had but one word, "Your father!"
+Something in her tone spoke loud to my heart, and there came into my
+mind a thought that I spoke out without waiting for it to cool.
+
+"Won't you marry my father, Abby?"
+
+Abby's hands fell in her lap, and she turned so white that I was
+frightened; still, I went on. "You love him better than any one else,
+except me." (She put her hand on her heart, I remember, Melody, and kept
+it there while I talked; she made no other sign.)
+
+"And you can care for him ten times better than I could, you know that,
+Abby, dear; and--and--I know Mere-Marie would be pleased."
+
+I looked in her face, and, young and thoughtless as I was, I saw that
+there which made me turn away and look out of the window. She did not
+speak at once; but presently said in her own voice, or only a little
+changed, "Don't speak like that, Jakey dear! You know I'll care for your
+father all I can, without that;" and so put me quietly aside, and talked
+about Yvon, and how good Father L'Homme-Dieu had been to me.
+
+But I, being a lad that liked my own way when it did not seem a wrong
+one (and not only then, perhaps, my dear; not only then!), could not let
+my idea go so easily. It seemed to me a fine thing, and one that would
+bring happiness to one, at least; and I questioned whether the other
+would mind it much, being used to Abby all his life, and a manner of
+cousin to her, and she my mother's first friend when she came to the
+village, and her best friend always. I was very young, Melody, and I
+spoke to my father about it; that same day it was, while my mind was
+still warm. If I had waited over night, I might have seen more clear.
+
+"Father," said I; we were sitting in the kitchen after supper; it was a
+summer evening, soft and fair, but a little fire burned low on the
+hearth, and he sat near it, having grown chilly this last year.
+
+"Father, would you think it possible to change your condition?"
+
+He turned his eyes on me, with an asking look.
+
+"Would you think it possible to marry Abby Rock?" I asked; and felt my
+heart sink, somehow, even with saying the words. My father hardly seemed
+to understand at first; he repeated, "Marry Abby Rock!" as if he saw no
+sense in the words; then it came to him, and I saw a great fire of anger
+grow in his eyes, till they were like flame in the dusk.
+
+"I am a married man!" he said, slowly. "Are you a child, or lost to
+decency, that you speak of this to a married man?"
+
+He paused, but I found nothing to say. He went on, his voice, that was
+even when he began, dropping deeper, and sinking as I never heard it.
+
+"The Lord in His providence saw fit to take away my wife, your mother,
+before sickness, or age, or sorrow could strike her. I was left, to
+suffer some small part of what my sins merit, in the land of my sojourn.
+The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the
+Lord. But because my wife Mary,--my wife Mary" (he lingered over the
+words, loving them so), "is a glorified spirit in another world, and I
+am a prisoner here, is she any less my wife, and I her faithful husband?
+You are my son, and hers,--hers, Jakey; but if you ever say such words
+to me again, one house will not hold us both." He turned his head away,
+and I heard him murmuring under his breath, "Mary! Mary!" as I have said
+his way was; and I was silent and ashamed, fearing to speak lest I make
+matters worse; and so presently I slipped out and left him; and my fine
+plan came to naught, save to make two sad hearts sadder than they were.
+
+But it was to be! Looking back, Melody, after fifty years, I am
+confident that it was the will of God, and was to be. In three weeks
+from that night, I was in France.
+
+I pass over the wonder of the voyage; the sorrowful parting, too, that
+came before it, though I left all well, and my father to all appearances
+fully himself. I pass over these, straight to the night when Yvon and I
+arrived at his home in the south of France. We had been travelling
+several days since landing, and had stopped for two days in Paris. My
+head was still dizzy with the wonder and the brightness of it all. There
+was something homelike, too, in it. The very first people I met seemed
+to speak of my mother to me, as they flung out their hands and laughed
+and waved, so different from our ways at home. I was to see more of
+this, and to feel the two parts in me striving against each other; but
+it is early to speak of that.
+
+The evening was warm and bright, as we came near Chateau Claire; that
+was the name of my friend's home. A carriage had met us at the station,
+and as we drove along through a pretty country (though nothing to New
+England, I must always think), Yvon was deep in talk with the driver,
+who was an old servant, and full of news. I listened but little, being
+eager to see all my eyes could take in. Vines swung along the sides of
+the road, in a way that I always found extremely graceful, and wished we
+might have our grapes so at home. I was marvelling at the straw-roofed
+houses and the plots of land about them no bigger than Abby Rock's best
+table-cloth, when suddenly Yvon bade pull up, and struck me on the
+shoulder. "_D'Arthenay, tenez foi!_" he cried in my ear; and pointed
+across the road. I turned, and saw in the dusk a stone tower, square and
+bold, covered with ivy, the heavy growth of years. It was all dim in the
+twilight, but I marked the arched door, with carving on the stone work
+above it, and the great round window that stared like a blind eye. I
+felt a tugging at my heart, Melody; the place stood so lonely and
+forlorn, yet with a stateliness that seemed noble. I could not but think
+of my father, and that he stood now like his own tower, that he would
+never see.
+
+"Shall we alight now?" asked Yvon. "Or will you rather come by daylight,
+Jacques, to see the place in beauty of sunshine?"
+
+I chose the latter, knowing that his family would be looking for him;
+and no one waited for me in La Tour D'Arthenay, as it was called in the
+country. Soon we were driving under a great gateway, and into a
+courtyard, and I saw the long front of a great stone house, with a light
+shining here and there.
+
+"Welcome, Jacques!" cried Yvon, springing down as the great door opened;
+"welcome to Chateau Claire! Enter, then, my friend, as thy fathers
+entered in days of old!"
+
+The light was bright that streamed from the doorway; I was dazzled, and
+stumbled a little as I went up the steps; the next moment I was standing
+in a wide hall, and a young lady was running forward to throw her arms
+round Yvon's neck.
+
+He embraced her tenderly, kissing her on both cheeks in the French
+manner; then, still holding her hand, he turned to me, and presented me
+to his sister. "This is my friend," he said, "of whom I wrote you,
+Valerie; M. D'Arthenay, of La Tour D'Arthenay, Mademoiselle de Ste.
+Valerie!"
+
+The young lady curtseyed low, and then, with a look at Yvon, gave me her
+hand in a way that made me feel I was welcome. A proper manner of
+shaking hands, my dear child, is a thing I have always impressed upon my
+pupils. There is nothing that so helps or hinders the first impression,
+which is often the last impression. When a person flaps a limp hand at
+me, I have no desire for it, if it were the finest hand in the world;
+nor do I allow any tricks of fashion in this matter, as sometimes seen,
+with waggling this way or that; it is a very offensive thing. Neither
+must one pinch with the finger-tips, nor grind the bones of one's
+friend, as a strong man will be apt to do, mistaking violence for
+warmth; but give a firm, strong, steady pressure with the hand itself,
+that carries straight from the heart the message, "I am glad to see
+you!"
+
+This is a speech I have made many times; I have kept the young lady
+waiting in the hall while I made it to you, thereby failing in good
+manners.
+
+At the first glance, Valerie de Ste. Valerie seemed hardly more than a
+child, for she was slight and small; my first thought was, how like she
+was to her brother, with the same fair hair and dark, bright blue eyes.
+She was dressed in a gown of white dimity, very fine, with ruffles at
+the foot of the skirt, and a fichu of the same crossed on her breast. I
+must say to you, my dear Melody, that it was from this first sight of
+her that I took the habit of observing a woman's dress always. A woman
+of any age taking pains to adorn herself, it has always seemed to me
+boorish not to take careful note of the particulars of a toilet. Mlle.
+de Ste. Valerie wore slippers of blue kid, her feet being remarkably
+slender and well-shaped; and a blue ribbon about her hair, in the manner
+of a double fillet. After a few gracious words, she went forward into a
+room at one side of the hall, we following, and here I was presented to
+her aunt, a lady who had lived with the brother and sister since their
+parents' death, a few years before this time. Of this lady, who was
+never my friend, I will say little. Her first aspect reminded me of
+frozen vinegar, carved into human shape; yet she had fine manners, and
+excused herself with dignity for not rising to salute us, being lame, as
+her nephew knew. For Yvon, though he kissed her hand (a thing I had
+never seen before), I thought there was little love in the greeting; nor
+did he seem oppressed with grief when she excused herself also from
+coming to sup with us.
+
+At supper, we three together at a table that was like a small island of
+warm pleasantness in the great hollow dining-hall, Yvon was full of wild
+talk, we two others mostly listening. He had everything to tell, about
+the voyage, about his new friends, all of whom were noble and beautiful
+and clever.
+
+"Figure to yourself, Valerie!" he cried. "I found our family there; the
+most noble, the most gigantic persons in the world! Thy cousin Jambon,
+it is a giant, eight feet high, at the least. He denies it, he is the
+soul of modesty, but I have eyes, and I see. This man has the soul
+greater than his vast body; we have discussed life, death, in short, the
+Infinite, we three, Jambon and Jacques and I. He has a father--both have
+fathers! it is the course of nature. The father of D'Arthenay here is a
+prince, a diamond of the old rock; ah! if our father of sainted memory
+could have known M. D'Arthenay _pere_, Valerie, he would have known the
+brother of his soul, as their sons know each other. Not so, Jacques? But
+_le pere_ Bellefort, Valerie, he is gigantesque, like his son. These
+rocks, these towers, they have the hearts of children, the smiles of a
+crowing infant. You laugh, D'Arthenay? I say something incorrect? how
+then?"
+
+He had said nothing incorrect, I told him; I only thought it would be
+surprising to hear Father Belfort crow, as he hardly spoke three times
+in the day.
+
+"True! but what silence! the silence of fullness, of benevolence.
+Magnificent persons, not to be approached for goodness."
+
+So he rattled on, while his sister's blue eyes grew wider and wider. I
+did not in truth know what to say. I hardly recognised our plain people
+in the human wonders that Yvon was describing; I could hardly keep my
+countenance when he told her about Mlle. Roc, an angel of pious dignity.
+I fancied Abby transported here, and set down at this table, all flowers
+and perfumed fruits and crimson-shaded lights; the idea seemed to me
+comical, though now I know that Abby Rock would do grace to any table,
+if it were the President's. I was young then, and knew little. And so
+the lad talked on and on, and his fair young lady sister listened and
+marvelled, and I held my tongue and looked about me, and wondered was I
+awake or asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+THE pictures come back fast and thick upon my mind. I suppose every
+life, even the quietest, has its picture-book, its record of some one
+time that seems filled with beauty or joy as a cup that brims over.
+Every one, perhaps, could write his own fairy story; this is mine.
+
+The next day Yvon had a thousand things to show me. The ladies sat in
+their own room in the morning, and the rest of the castle was our own.
+It amazed me, being a great building, and the first of the kind I had
+seen. Terraces of stone ran about the house, except on the side of the
+courtyard, and these were set with flowering shrubs in great stone pots,
+that would take two men to lift. Beyond the terraces the ground fell
+away in soft banks and hollows to where I heard a brook running through
+a wood-piece. Inside, the rooms, very lofty and spacious, were dark to
+my eyes, partly from the smallness of the windows, partly from the dark
+carved wood that was everywhere, on floor and walls and ceilings. I
+could never be at home, I thought, in such a place; though I never found
+elsewhere such a fine quality of floor; smooth in the perfect degree,
+yet not too slippery for firm treading, and springing to the foot in a
+way that was next to dance music for suggestion. I said as much to Yvon,
+and he caught the idea flying, as was his way, and ran to bring his
+sister, bidding me get my fiddle on the instant. We were in a long hall,
+rather narrow, but with excellent space for a few couples, let alone one.
+Mlle. de Ste. Valerie came running, her hand in her brother's, a little
+out of breath from his suddenness, and in the prettiest morning dress of
+blue muslin. I played my best waltz, and the two waltzed. This is one of
+the brightest pictures in my book, Melody. The young lady had perfect
+grace of motion, and had been well taught; I knew less about the matter
+than I do now, but still enough to recognise fine dancing when I saw it;
+her brother was a partner worthy of her. I have seldom had more pure
+pleasure in playing dance music, and I should have been willing it had
+lasted all day; but it was not long before a sour-faced maid came and
+said my Lady had sent her to say mademoiselle should be at her studies;
+and she ran away laughing, yet sorry to go, and dropped a little running
+curtsey at the door, very graceful, such as I have never seen another
+person make.
+
+The room was darker when she was gone; but Yvon cried to me I must see
+the armory, and the chapel, and a hundred other sights. I followed him
+like a child, my eyes very round, I doubt not, and staring with all my
+might. The armory was another of the long halls or corridors that ran
+along the sides of the courtyard. Here were weapons of all kinds, but
+chiefly swords; swords of every possible make and size, some of great
+beauty, others clumsy enough, that looked as if bears should handle
+them. I had never held a sword in my hand,--how should I?--but Yvon
+vowed I must learn to fence, and told some story of an ancestor of mine
+who was the best swordsman in the country, and kept all comers at bay in
+some old fight long ago. I took the long bit of springy steel, and found
+it extraordinary comfortable to the hand. Practice with the fiddle-bow
+since early childhood gave, I may suppose, strength and quickness to the
+turn of my wrist; however it was, the marquis cried out that I was born
+for the sword; and in a few minutes again cried to know who had taught
+me tricks of fence. Honesty knows, I had had no teaching; only my eye
+caught his own motions, and my hand and wrist answered instantly, being
+trained to ready obedience. I felt a singular joy in this exercise,
+Melody. In grace and dexterity it equals the violin; with this
+difference, which keeps the two the width of the world apart, that the
+one breeds trouble and strife, while the other may, under Providence,
+soothe human ills more than any other one thing, save the kindly sound
+of the human voice.
+
+Make the best defence I could, it was not long before Yvon sent my foil
+flying from my hand; but still he professed amazement at my ready
+mastering of the art, and I felt truly that it was natural to me, and
+that with a few trials I might do as well as he.
+
+Next I must see the chapel, very ancient, but kept smart with candles
+and crimson velvet cushions. I could not warm to this, feeling the four
+plain walls of a meeting-house the only thing that could enclose my
+religious feelings with any comfort; and these not to compare with a
+free hillside, or the trees of a wood when the wind moves in them. And
+then we went to the stables, and the gardens, laid out very stately, and
+his sister's own rose garden, the pleasantest place in the whole, or so
+I thought.
+
+So with one thing and another, it was late afternoon before Yvon
+remembered that I must not sleep again without visiting my own tower, as
+he would call it; and for this, the young lady had leave to go with us.
+It was a short walk, not more than half a mile, and in a few minutes we
+were looking up at the tower, that seemed older and sadder by day than
+it had done in the evening dimness. It stood alone. The body of what had
+been behind and beside it was gone, but we could trace the lines of a
+large building, the foundations still remaining; and here and there were
+piles of cut stone, the same stone as that in the tower. Yvon told me
+that ever since the castle had begun to fall into decay (being long
+deserted), the country people around had been in the habit of mending
+their houses, and building them indeed, often, from the stone of the old
+chateau. He pointed to one cottage and another, standing around at
+little distance. "They are dogs," he cried, "that have each a bit of the
+lion's skin. Ah, Jacques! but for my father of blessed memory, thy tower
+would have gone in the same way. He vowed, when he came of age, that
+this desecration should go no further. He brought the priest, and
+together they laid a fine curse upon whoever should move another stone
+from the ruins, or lay hands on La Tour D'Arthenay. Since then, no man
+touches this stone. It remains, as you see. It has waited till this day,
+for thee, its propriety."
+
+He had not quite the right word, Melody, but I had not the heart to
+correct him, being more moved by the thing than I could show reason for.
+Inside the tower there was a stone staircase, that went steeply up one
+side, or rather the front it was, for from it we could step across to a
+wide stone shelf that stood out under the round window. It might have
+been part of a great chimney-piece, such as there still were in Chateau
+Claire. The ivy had reached in through the empty round, and covered this
+stone with a thick mat, more black than green. Though ready enough to
+step on this myself, I could not think it fit for Mlle. de Ste. Valerie,
+and took the liberty to say so; but she laughed, and told me she had
+climbed to this perch a hundred times. She was light as a leaf, and when
+I saw her set her foot in her brother's hand and spring across the empty
+space from the stair to the shelf, it seemed no less than if a wind had
+blown her. Soon we were all three crouching or kneeling on the stone,
+with our elbows in the curve of the great window, looking out on the
+prospect. A fair one it was, of fields and vineyards, with streams
+winding about, but very small. They spoke of rivers, but I saw none. It
+was the same with the hills, which Yvon bade me see here and there;
+little risings, that would not check the breath in a running man. For
+all that, the country was a fine country, and I praised it honestly,
+though knowing in my heart that it was but a poor patch beside our own.
+I was thinking this, when the young lady turned to me, and asked, in her
+gracious way, would I be coming back, I and my people, to rebuild
+Chateau D'Arthenay?
+
+"It was the finest in the county, so the old books say!" she told me.
+"There was a hall for dancing, a hundred feet long, and once the Sieur
+D'Arthenay gave a ball for the king, Henri Quatre it was, and the hall
+was lighted with a thousand tapers of rose-coloured wax, set in silver
+sconces. How that must have been pretty, M. D'Arthenay!"
+
+I thought of our kitchen at home, and the glass lamps that Mere-Marie
+kept shining with such care; but before I could speak, Yvon broke in.
+"He shall come! I tell him he shall come, Valerie! All my life I perish,
+thou knowest it, for a companion of my sex, of my age. Thou art my
+angel, Valerie, but thou art a woman, and soon, too, thou wilt leave me.
+Alone, a hermit in my chateau, my heart desolate, how to support life?
+It is for this that I cry to the friend of my house to return to his
+country, the country of his race; to bring here his respected father, to
+plant a vineyard, a little corn, a little fruit,--briefly, to live.
+Observe!" Instantly his hands fluttered out, pointing here and there.
+
+"Jacques, observe, I implore you! This tower; it is now uninhabited, is
+it not? you can answer me that, though you have been here but a day."
+
+As he waited for an answer, I replied that it certainly was vacant, so
+far as I could see; except that there must be bats and owls, I thought,
+in the thickness of the ivy trees.
+
+"Perfectly! Except for these animals, there is none to dispute your
+entrance. The tower is solid,--of a solidity! Cannon must be brought, to
+batter down these walls. Instead of battering, we restore, we construct.
+With these brave walls to keep out the cold, you construct within--a
+dwelling! vast, I do not say; palatial, I do not say; but ample for two
+persons, who--who have lived together, _a deux_, not requiring separate
+suites of apartments." He waved his hand in such a manner that I saw
+long sets of rooms opening one after another, till the eye was lost in
+them.
+
+"Here, where we now are posed, is your own room, Jacques. For you this
+view of Paradise. Monsieur your father will not so readily mount the
+stairs, becoming in future years infirm, though now a tree, an oak,
+massive and erect. We build for the future, D'Arthenay! Below, then, the
+paternal apartments, the salon, perhaps a small room for guns and dogs
+and appliances." Another wave set off a square space, where we could
+almost see the dogs leaping and crouching.
+
+"Behind again, the kitchens, offices, what you will. A few of these
+stones transported, erected; glass, carpets, a fireplace,--the place
+lives in my eyes, Jacques! Let us return to the chateau, that I set all
+on paper. You forget that I study architecture, that I am a drawsman,
+hein? Ten minutes, a sheet of drawing-paper,--pff! Chateau D'Arthenay
+lives before you, ready for habitation on the instant."
+
+I saw it all, Melody; I saw it all! Sometimes I see it now, in an old
+man's dream. Now, of course, it is wild and misty as a morning fog
+curling off the hills; but then, it seemed hardly out of reach for the
+moment. Listening to my friend's eager voice, and watching his glowing
+face, there came to life in me more and more strongly the part that
+answered to him. I also was young; I also had the warm French blood
+burning in me. In height, in strength, perhaps even in looks, I was not
+his inferior; he was noble, and my fathers had stood beside his in
+battle, hundreds of times.
+
+I felt in a kind of fire, and courted the heat even while it burned me.
+I answered Yvon, laughing, and said surely I would have no other
+architect for my castle. Mlle. de Ste. Valerie joined in, and told me
+where I should buy carpets, and what flowers I should plant in my
+garden.
+
+"Roses, M. D'Arthenay!" she cried. "Roses are the best, for the masses.
+A few gillyflowers I advise, they are so sweet; and plenty of lilies,
+the white and yellow. Oh! I have a lily with brown stripes, the most
+beautiful! you shall have a bulb of it; I will start it for you myself,
+in a stone pot. You must have a little conservatory, too, for winter
+plants; one cannot live without flowers, even in winter. All winter,
+when no longer many flowers bloom out-of-doors, though always some,
+always my hardy roses, then I live half my day in the conservatory. You
+shall have some of my flowers; oh, yes, I can spare you plenty."
+
+She was so like her brother! There was the same pretty eagerness, the
+same fire of kindliness and good will, hurrying both along to say they
+knew not what. I could only thank her; and the very beauty and sweetness
+of her struck all at once a sadness on my merriment; and I saw for a
+moment that this was all a fleeting wreath of fog, as I said; yet all
+the more for that strove to grasp it and hold it fast.
+
+The sun went down behind the low hills, and the young lady cried that
+she must hasten home; her aunt would be vexed at her for staying so
+long. Yvon said, his faith, she might be vexed. If Mlle. de Ste. Valerie
+might not go out with her brother, the head of her house and her natural
+guardian, he knew not with whom she might go; and muttered under his
+breath something I did not hear. So we went back to the chateau, and
+still I was in the bright dream, shutting my eyes when it seemed like to
+break away from me. The evening was bright and joyous, like the one
+before. Again we three supped alone, and it seemed this was the custom,
+the Countess Lalange (it was the name of the aunt) seldom leaving her
+own salon, save to pass to her private apartments beyond it. We spent
+an hour there,--in her salon, that is,--after supper, and I must bring
+my violin, but not for dance music this time. I played all the sweetest
+and softest things I knew; and now and then the young lady would clap
+her hands, when I played one of my mother's songs, and say that her
+nurse had sung it to her, and how did I learn it, in America? They were
+the peasant songs, she said, the sweetest in the world. The lady aunt
+listened patiently, but I think she had no music in her; only once she
+asked if I had no sacred music; and when I played our psalm-tunes, she
+thought them not the thing at all. But last of all, when it was time for
+us to go away, I played lightly, and as well as I knew how to play, my
+mother's favourite song, that was my own also; and at this, the young
+girl's head drooped, and her eyes filled with tears. Her mother, too,
+had sung it! How many other mothers, I ask myself sometimes, how many
+hearts, sad and joyful, have answered to those notes, the sweetest, the
+tenderest in the world?
+
+          "Il y a longtemps que je t'aime;
+           Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+THIS was one day of many, my dear. They came and went, and I thought
+each one brighter than the last. When I had been a month at Chateau
+Claire, I could hardly believe it more than a week, so quickly and
+lightly the time went. The mornings, two children at play; the
+afternoons, three. I suppose it was because the brother and sister were
+so strangely like each other, that I grew so soon to feel Mlle. Valerie
+as my friend; and she, sweet soul, took me at Yvon's word, and thought
+me, perhaps, a fine fellow, and like her own people. That she never
+fully learned the difference is one of the many things for which I have
+to thank a gracious God.
+
+Abby Rock told me, Melody,--in after-times, when we were much
+together,--how my poor father, at sight of my mother Marie, was struck
+with love as by a lightning-flash. It was a possession, she would say,
+only by an angel instead of an evil spirit; at the first look, she
+filled his life, and while she lived he wanted nothing else, nor indeed
+after she died. It was not so with me. And perhaps it might seem strange
+to some, my dear child, that I write this story of my heart for you, who
+are still a slip of a growing girl, and far yet from womanhood and the
+thoughts that come with it. But it may be some years before the paper
+comes to you, for except my poor father, we are a long-lived race; and I
+find singular comfort, now that I cannot keep myself exercised as much
+as formerly, by reason of growing years, in this writing. And I trust to
+say nothing that you may not with propriety hear, my dear.
+
+When I had been a month at Chateau Claire, then, a new thing began to
+come slowly upon me. From the first I had felt that this young lady was
+the fairest and the sweetest creature my eyes had seen; like a drop of
+morning dew on a rose, nothing less. I dwelt upon the grace of her
+motions, and the way the colour melted in her cheek, as I would dwell
+upon the fairest picture; and I listened to her voice because it was
+sweeter than my violin, or even the note of the hermit-thrush. But
+slowly I became aware of a change; and instead of merely the pleasure of
+eye and ear, and the warmth at the heart that comes from true kindliness
+and friendship, there would fall a trembling on me when she came or
+went, and a sense of the room being empty when she was not in it. When
+she was by, I wanted nothing more, or so it seemed, but just the
+knowledge of it, and did not even need to look at her to see how the
+light took her hair where it waved above her ear. This I take to have
+been partly because the feeling that was growing up in me came not from
+her beauty, or in small part only from that, but rather from my learning
+the truth and purity and nobleness of her nature; and this knowledge
+did not require the pleasure of the eyes. I thought no harm of all this;
+I took the joy as part of all the new world that was so bright about me;
+if voices spoke low within me, telling of the other life overseas, which
+was my own, while this was but a fairy dream,--I would not listen, or
+bade my heart speak louder and drown them. My mind had little, or say
+rather, my reason had little to do in those days; till it woke with a
+start, if I may say so, one night. It was a July night, hot and close.
+We were all sitting on the stone terrace for coolness, though there was
+little enough anywhere. I had been playing, and we had all three sung,
+as we loved to do. There was a song of a maiden who fell asleep by the
+wayside, and three knights came riding by,--a pretty song it was, and
+sung in three parts, the treble carrying the air, the tenor high above
+it, and the bass making the accompaniment.
+
+          "Le premier qui passa,--       The first who rode along,--
+            'Voila une endormie!'          "Behold! a sleeping maid."
+
+          "Le deuxieme qui passa,--      The next who rode along,--
+            'Elle est encore jolie!'       "She's fair enough!" he said.
+
+          "Le troisieme qui passa,       The third who rode along,--
+            'Elle sera ma mie!'            "My sweetheart she shall be!"
+
+          "La prit et l'emporta,         He's borne her far away,
+            Sur son cheval d'Hongrie."     On his steed of Hungary.
+
+I was thinking, I remember, how fine it would be to be a knight on a
+horse of Hungary (though I am not aware that the horses of that country
+are finer than elsewhere, except in songs), and to stoop down beside the
+road and catch up the sleeping maiden,--and I knew how she would be
+looking as she slept,--and ride away with her no one could tell where,
+into some land of gold and flowers.
+
+I was thinking this in a cloudy sort of way, while Yvon had run into the
+house to bring something,--some piece of music that I must study, out of
+the stores of ancient music they had. There was a small table standing
+on the terrace, near where we were sitting, and on it a silver
+candlestick, with candles lighted.
+
+Mlle. Valerie was standing near this, and I again near her, both
+admiring the moon, which was extraordinary bright and clear in a light
+blue sky. The light flooded the terrace so, I think we both forgot the
+poor little candles, with their dull yellow gleam. However it was, the
+young lady stepped back a pace, and her muslin cape, very light, and
+fluttering with ruffles and lace, was in the candle, and ablaze in a
+moment. I heard her cry, and saw the flame spring up around her; but it
+was only a breath before I had the thing torn off, and was crushing it
+together in my hands, and next trampling it under foot, treading out the
+sparks, till it was naught but black tinder. A pretty cape it was, and a
+sin to see it so destroyed. But I was not thinking of the cape then. I
+had only eyes for the young lady herself; and when I saw her untouched,
+save for the end of her curls singed, but pale and frightened, and
+crying out that I was killed, there came a mist, it seemed, before my
+face, and I dropped on the stone rail, and laughed.
+
+"You are not burned, mademoiselle?"
+
+"I? no, sir! I am not touched; but you--you? oh, your hands! You took it
+in your hands, and they are destroyed! What shall I do?" Before I could
+move she had caught my two hands in hers, and turned the palms up.
+Indeed, they were only scorched, not burned deep, though they stung
+smartly enough; but black they were, and the skin beginning to puff into
+blisters. But now came the tap of a stick on the stone, and Mme. de
+Lalange came hobbling out. "What is this?" she cried, seeing me standing
+so, pale, it may be, with the young lady holding my blackened hands
+still in hers.
+
+"What is the meaning of this scene?"
+
+"Its meaning?" cried Mlle. Valerie; and it was Yvon's self that flashed
+upon her aunt.
+
+"The meaning is that this gentleman has saved my life. Yes, my aunt!
+Look as you please; if he had not been here, and a hero,--a _hero_,--I
+should be devoured by the flames. Look!" and she pointed to the
+fragments of muslin, which were floating off in black rags. "He caught
+it from me, when I was in flames. He crushed it in his hands,--these
+poor hands, which are destroyed, I tell you, with pain. What shall we
+do,--what can we ever do, to thank him?"
+
+The old lady looked from one to the other; her face was grim enough, but
+her words were courteous.
+
+"We are grateful, indeed, to monsieur!" she said. "The only thing we
+can do for him, my niece, is to bind his hands with soothing ointment; I
+will attend to this matter myself. You are agitated, Valerie, and I
+advise you to go to your own room, and let Felice bring you a potion. If
+M. D'Arthenay will follow me into my salon, I will see to these injured
+hands."
+
+How a cold touch can take the colour out of life. An instant before I
+was a hero, not in my own eyes, but surely in those tender blue ones
+that now shone through angry tears, and--I knew not what sweet folly was
+springing up in me while she held my hands in hers. Now, I was only a
+young man with dirty and blackened fingers, standing in a constrained
+position, and, I make no doubt, looking a great fool. The young lady
+vanished, and I followed madame into the little room. I am bound to say
+that she treated my scorched hands with perfect skill.
+
+When Yvon came rushing in a few minutes later,--he had heard the story
+from his sister, and was for falling on my neck, and calling me his
+brother, the saviour of his cherished sister,--I know not what wild
+nonsense,--Mme. de Lalange cut his expressions short. "M. le Marquis,"
+she said, and she put a curious emphasis on the title, I thought; "M. le
+Marquis, it will be well, believe me, for you to leave this gentleman
+with me for a short time. He has suffered a shock, more violent than he
+yet realises. His hands are painfully burned, yet I hope to relieve his
+sufferings in a few minutes. I suggest that you retire to your own
+apartments, where M. D'Arthenay will join you, say in half an hour."
+
+Generally, Yvon paid little heed to his aunt, rather taking pleasure in
+thwarting her, which was wrong, no doubt, yet her aspect invited it; but
+on this occasion, she daunted us both. There was a weight in her words,
+a command in her voice, which I, for one, was not inclined at that
+moment to dispute; and Yvon, after an angry stare, and a few muttered
+words of protest, went away, only charging me to be with him within the
+half-hour.
+
+Left alone with the ancient lady, there was silence for a time. I could
+not think what she wanted with me; she had shown no love for my society
+since I had been in the house. I waited, thinking it the part of
+courtesy to let her begin the conversation, if she desired any.
+
+Presently she began to talk, in a pleasanter strain than I had yet heard
+her use. Was the pain less severe? she asked; and now she changed the
+linen cloths dipped in something cool and fragrant, infinitely soothing
+to the irritated skin. I must have been very quick, to prevent further
+mischief; in truth, it was a great debt they owed me, and she, I must
+believe her, shared the gratitude of her niece and nephew, even though
+her feelings were less vivaciously expressed.
+
+I told her it was nothing, and less than nothing, that I had done, and I
+thought there had been far too much said about it already. I was deeply
+thankful that no harm had come to Mlle. de Ste. Valerie, but I could
+claim no merit, beyond that of having my eyes open, and my wits about
+me.
+
+She bowed in assent. "Your wits about you!" she said. "But that in
+itself is no small matter, M. D'Arthenay, I assure you. It is not every
+young man who can say as much. Your eyes open, and your wits about you?
+You are fortunate, believe me."
+
+Her tone was so strange, I knew not what reply to make, if any; again I
+waited her lead.
+
+"The young people with whom I have to do are so widely different from
+this!" she said, presently. "Hearts of gold, heads of feather! you must
+have observed this, M. D'Arthenay."
+
+I replied with some warmth that I had recognised the gold, but not the
+other quality. She smiled, a smile that had no more warmth in it than
+February sunshine on an icicle.
+
+"You are modest!" she said. "I give you credit for more discernment than
+you admit. Confess that you think our marquis needs a stronger head
+beside him, to aid in his affairs."
+
+I had thought this, but I conceived it no part of my duty to say as
+much. I was silent, therefore, and looked at her, wondering.
+
+"Confess," she went on, "that you saw as much, when he came to your
+estate--of which the title escapes me--in North America; that you
+thought it might be well for him to have a companion, an adviser, with
+more definite ideas of life; well for him, and possibly--incidentally,
+of course--for the companion?"
+
+"Madam!" I said. I could say no more, being confounded past the point of
+speech.
+
+"It is because of this friendly interest in my nephew," the lady went
+on, taking no notice of my exclamation. "In my _nephew_, that I think to
+give you pleasure by announcing a visit that we are shortly to receive.
+A guest is expected at Chateau Claire in a few days; in fact, the day
+after to-morrow. My nephew has doubtless spoken to you of the Vicomte de
+Crecy?"
+
+I said no, I had heard of no such person.
+
+"Not heard of him? Unpardonable remissness in Yvon! Not heard of the
+vicomte? Of the future husband of Mlle. de Ste. Valerie?"
+
+I took the blow full and fair, my dear. I think my father in me kept me
+from flinching; but I may have turned white as I saw myself an hour
+after; for after one glance the woman turned her eyes away, and looked
+at me no more as she spoke on. "It seems hardly credible that even my
+nephew's featherpate should have kept you a month in ignorance of what
+so nearly concerns his sister and our whole family. The vicomte is a
+charming man, of high polish and noble descent. His estate adjoins ours
+on the south. The match was made by my late brother, the father of Yvon
+and Valerie, shortly before his death. It had been his cherished plan
+for years, ever since Providence removed the vicomtesse to a better
+world than this; but Valerie was very young. The matter was arranged
+while she was still in the convent, and since then the vicomte has been
+travelling, in Russia, India, the world over, and is but just returned.
+The betrothal will be solemnised, now, in a few days."
+
+I feared to speak at the moment. I snuffed the candle, and, finding my
+hand steady, tried my voice, which had a good strength, though the sound
+of it was strange to me.
+
+"Do they--does she know?" I asked.
+
+The lady cleared her throat, and looked--or I fancied it--a trifle
+confused. "I have not yet told my niece and nephew. I--the letter came
+but this evening. There was a letter also for you, M. D'Arthenay; I
+ordered it sent to your room. I think your hands will do well now, and I
+need no longer detain you from your friend."
+
+I stood up before her.
+
+"Madam," I said, "permit me a word. I have to thank you for your
+kindness, and for the hospitality which I have received under this
+kindly roof, whether it were with your will or not. For Mlle. de Ste.
+Valerie, I wish her all joy that earthly life can know. If her--if her
+husband be one half so noble as herself, she cannot fail of happiness.
+It is only a princely nature that should be matched with the purity of
+an angel and the goodness of a saint. For myself"--I paused a moment,
+finding myself short of breath; but my strength was come back to me. I
+sought her eye and held it, forcing her to look at me against her will.
+"For myself, I am no noble, though there is good blood in my veins. I am
+a plain man, the son of a peasant. But God, madam, who sees your heart
+and mine, created, I make bold to remind you, both noble and peasant;
+and as that God is above us, you have done bitter wrong to an honest
+man. There is no heart of a woman in you, or I would commend to it that
+fair young creature, who will need, I think, a woman's tenderness. I
+thank you again for your assistance, and I take my leave. And I pray you
+to remember that, whatever the D'Arthenays may have been in France, in
+my country, in America, madam, they pass for men of honour!"
+
+I bowed, and left her; and now, methought, it was she who was white, and
+I thought there was fear in her eyes when she dropped them. But I turned
+away, and, passing Yvon's door, went to my own room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+
+THE shock of my awakening was so violent, the downfall of my air-castles
+so sudden and complete, that I think for awhile I had little sense of
+what was going on. Yvon came to my door and knocked, and then called;
+but I made no answer, and he went away, thinking, I suppose, that I had
+forgotten him, and gone to bed. I sat on the side of my bed, where I had
+thrown myself, great part of that night; and there was no thought of
+sleep in me. My folly loomed large before me; I sat and looked it in the
+face. And sometimes, for a few moments, it would not seem altogether
+folly. I felt my youth and strength in every limb of me, and I thought,
+what could not love do that was as strong as mine? for now I knew that
+all these quiet weeks it had been growing to full stature, and that
+neither gratitude nor friendship had any considerable part in my
+feeling, but here was the one woman in the world for me. And would it be
+so hard, I asked, to take her away from all this, and make a home for
+her in my own good country, where she should be free and happy as a
+bird, with no hateful watchers about her path? And would she not love
+the newness, and the greatness and beauty of it all, and the homely
+friends whom her brother so truly loved? Could I not say to her, "Come!"
+and would she not come with me?
+
+Ah! would she not? And with that there fell from my eyes as it were
+scales,--even like the Apostle Paul, with reverence be it said,--and I
+saw the thing in its true light. My heart said she would come; had not
+her eyes answered mine last night? Was there not for her, too, an
+awakening? And if she came,--what then?
+
+I saw her, the delicate lady, in my father's house; not a guest, as Yvon
+had been, but a dweller, the wife and daughter of the house, the wife of
+a poor man. I remembered all the work that my mother Marie had done so
+joyfully, so easily, because she was a working-woman, and these were the
+things she had known all her life. This form of grace that filled my
+eyes now was no lighter nor more graceful than hers; but the difference!
+My mother's little brown hands could do any work that they had strength
+for, and make it a woman's work in the doing, because she was pure woman
+in herself; but these white fingers that had caught mine last
+night,--what could they do? What ought they to do, save work delicately
+with the needle, and make cordials and sweets (for in this my young lady
+excelled), and beyond these matters, to play the harp and guitar, and
+tend her roses, and adorn her own lovely person?
+
+"But," cried the other voice in me, "I am young and strong, and I can
+work! I can study the violin, I can become a musician, can earn my
+bread and hers, so that there will be no need of the farm. It would be a
+few years of study, a few years of waiting,--and she is so young!"
+
+Ah, yes! she was so young! and then that voice died away, and knew that
+it had no more to say. What--what was this, to think of urging a young
+girl, still almost a child, to give up the station of life in which she
+had lived happy and joyous, and go away with a stranger, far from her
+own home and her own people, to share a struggling life, with no certain
+assurance of anything, save love alone? What was this but a baseness, of
+which no honest man could be capable? If,--if even I had read her glance
+aright,--last night,--or was it a year ago? Still, it was but a thing of
+a moment, the light springing up of a tiny fire of good will, that would
+die out in a few days after I was gone, for want of fuel; even if it
+were not snatched out strongly by other hands, as I had put out those
+climbing flames last night. How her startled eyes sought mine! How the
+colour flashed into her face when I spoke. No! no! Of that I must not
+think, if my manhood was to stay in me!
+
+This other, then, who was coming,--this man would turn her thoughts. She
+would yield, as is the custom for young maidens in France, with no
+thought that it might be otherwise. He was no longer young,--he had
+already been once married,--I looked up at this moment, I do not know
+by what chance, and my eyes fell on a long glass, what they call a
+cheval-glass in France, my dear, showing the whole figure. I think no
+harm, seeing this was so long ago, in saying that I appeared to
+advantage in such a view, being well-made, and perhaps not without other
+good points. This will seem strangely trifling to you, my child, who see
+nothing but the soul of man or woman; but I have always loved a good
+figure, and never felt shame to thank God for giving me one. My clothes
+were good, having been bought in Paris as we came through. I have never
+made any claim to pass for a gentleman, Melody, but yet I think I made a
+fair enough show of one, that night at least. And being so constituted,
+I sat staring at my image in the mirror, and wondering like a fool if
+the other man were as good-looking. This would be like a slight crust of
+contentment,--sad enough at that,--forming for a moment over the black
+depth of sorrow that was my heart; and next moment the pain would stab
+through it again, till I could have cried out but for the shame of it;
+and so the night wore by, and the morning found me still there. I had
+learned little, save the one thing that was all the world,--that I could
+not commit a baseness.
+
+It was strange to me, coming down to breakfast, to find Yvon unchanged,
+his own gay self simply. I was grown suddenly so old, he seemed no more
+than a child to me, with his bits of song that yesterday I had joined in
+with a light heart, and his plans for another day of pleasure, like
+yesterday and all the days. Looking at him, I could have laughed, had
+there been any laughter in me, at the thought of his aunt that I had
+come over with a view to bettering myself at his expense. It seemed a
+thing of so little moment; I had half a mind to tell him, but held my
+peace, wishing her really no evil, since what she had done had been
+through love and care for her own. There might be such men as she had
+thought me; I have since found that there are indeed.
+
+Yvon was full of plans; we were to ride this afternoon, to such and such
+a place; it was the finest view in the country, there was nothing to
+approach it. Pierre should drive over and meet us there, with peaches,
+and cream, and cakes, and we would sup, we three together, and come home
+by moonlight. It would be the very thing! if I really could hold the
+bridle? it was the very thing to remove the recollection of last night
+from his sister's mind, impressionable, as youth always is. (He said
+this, Melody, with an air of seventy years, and wisdom ineffable, that
+was comical enough.) "From my own mind," he cried, "never shall the
+impression be effaced. Thy heroism, my Jacques, shall be inscribed in
+the annals of our houses. To save the life of a Demoiselle de Ste.
+Valerie is claim sufficient for undying remembrance; to save the life of
+my sister, my Valerie,--and you her saviour, the friend of my
+heart,--the combination is perfect; it is ideal. I shall compose a poem,
+Jacques; I have already begun it. '_Ciel d'argent_--' you shall hear it
+when it has progressed a little farther; at present it is in embryo
+merely."
+
+He sent for his sister, that they might arrange their plans before she
+passed to her lessons, which were strictly kept up. She came, and my
+heart spoke loud, telling me that all my vigil had brought to me was
+true, and that I must begone. There was a new softness in her sweet
+eyes, a tone in her voice,--oh, it was always kind,--but now a
+tenderness that I must not hear. She would see my hands; could not
+believe that I was not seriously wounded; vowed that her aunt was a
+magician; "though I prayed long, long, last night, monsieur, that the
+wounds might heal quickly. They are really--no! look, Yvon! look! these
+terrible blisters! but, they are frightful, M. D'Arthenay. You--surely
+you should not have left your room, in this condition?"
+
+Not only this, I assured her, but I was so entirely well that I hoped to
+ride with them this afternoon, if the matter could be arranged. She
+listened with delight while Yvon detailed his plan; presently her face
+fell a little.
+
+"Walk back!" she said. "Yes, Yvon, what could be more delightful? but
+when I tell you that the sole is sprung from my walking-shoe, and it
+must go to the village to be mended! How can I get it back in time?"
+
+A thought came to me. "If mademoiselle would let me see the shoe?" I
+said. "Perhaps I can arrange it for her." Yvon frowned and pshawed; he
+did not like any mention of my shoemaking; this was from no unworthy
+feeling, but because he thought the trade unsuited to me. I, however,
+repeated my request, and, greatly wondering, the young lady sent a
+servant for the shoe. I took it in my hand with pleasure; it was not
+only beautiful, but well made. "Here is an easy matter!" I said,
+smiling. "Will mademoiselle see how they mend shoes in my country?" A
+hammer was soon found, and sitting down on a low bench, I tapped away,
+and soon had the pretty thing in order again. Mademoiselle Valerie cried
+out upon my cleverness. "But, you can then do anything you choose,
+monsieur?" she said. "To play the violin, to save a life, to mend a
+shoe,--do they teach all these things in your country? and to what
+wonderful school did you go?"
+
+I said, to none more wonderful than a village school; and that this I
+had indeed learned well, but on the cobbler's bench. "Surely Yvon has
+told you, mademoiselle, of our good shoemaker, and how he taught me his
+trade, that I might practise it at times when there is no fiddling
+needed?" I spoke cheerfully, but let it be seen that I was not in jest.
+A little pale, she looked from one of us to the other, not
+understanding.
+
+"All nonsense, Valerie!" cried Yvon, forcing a laugh. "Jacques learned
+shoemaking, as he would learn anything, for the sake of knowledge. He
+may even have practised it here and there, among his neighbours; why
+not? I have often wished I could set a stitch, in time of need, as he
+has done to-day. But to remain at this trade,--it is stuff that he
+talks; he does not know his own nature, his own descent, when he permits
+himself to think of such a thing. Fie, M. D'Arthenay!"
+
+"No more of that!" I said. "The play is over, _mon cher_! M. D'Arthenay
+is a figure of your kind, romantic heart, Yvon. Plain Jacques De
+Arthenay, farmer's son, fiddler, and cobbler, stands from this moment on
+his own feet, not those of his grandfather four times back."
+
+I did not look at my young lady, not daring to see the trouble that I
+knew was in her sweet face; but I looked full at Yvon, and was glad
+rather than sorry at his black look. I could have quarrelled with him or
+any man who had brought me to this pass. But just then, before there
+could be any more speech, came the sour-faced maid with an urgent
+message from Mme. de Lalange, that both the young lady and the marquis
+should attend her in her own room without delay.
+
+Left alone, I found myself considering the roses on the terrace, and
+wondering could I take away a slip of one, and keep it alive till I
+reached home. In the back of my head I knew what was going on up-stairs
+in the grim lady's room; but I had no mind to lose hold on myself, and
+presently I went for my fiddle, which was kept in the parlour hard by,
+and practised scales, a thing I always did when out of Yvon's company,
+being what he could not abear. To practise scales is a fine thing,
+Melody, to steady the mind and give it balance; you never knew, my
+child, why I made you sing your scales so often, that night when your
+aunt Rejoice was like to die, and all the house in such distress. Your
+aunt Vesta thought me mad, but I was never in better wits.
+
+So I was quiet, when after a long time Yvon came down to me. When I saw
+that he knew all, I laid my violin away, agitation being bad for the
+strings,--or so I have always thought. He was in a flame of anger, and
+fairly stammered in his speech. What had his aunt said to me, he
+demanded, the night before? How had she treated me, his friend? She
+was--many things which you know nothing about, Melody, my dear; the very
+least of them was cat, and serpent, and traitress. But I took a cool
+tone.
+
+"Is it true, Yvon," I asked, "about the gentleman who comes to-morrow?
+You have already known about it? It is true?"
+
+"True!" cried Yvon, his passion breaking out. "Yes, it is true! What,
+then? Because my sister is to marry, some day,--she is but just out of
+her pinafores, I tell you,--because some day she is to marry, and the
+estates are to join, is that a reason that my friend is to be insulted,
+my pleasure broken up, my summer destroyed? I insist upon knowing what
+that cat said to you, Jacques!"
+
+"She told me what you acknowledge," I said. "That I can be insulted I
+deny, unless there be ground for what is said. Mme. de Lalange did what
+she considered to be her duty; and--and I have spent a month of great
+happiness with you, marquis, and it is a time that will always be the
+brightest of my life."
+
+But at this Yvon flung himself on my neck--it is not a thing practised
+among men in this country, but in him it seemed nowise strange, my blood
+being partly like his own--and wept and stormed. He loved me, I am glad
+to believe, truly; yet after all the most part was to him, that his
+party of pleasure was spoiled, and his plans broken up. And then I
+remembered how we had talked together that day in the old grist-mill,
+and how he had said that when trouble came, we should spread our wings
+and fly away from it. And Ham's words came back to me, too, till I could
+almost hear him speak, and see the grave, wise look of him. "Take good
+stuff, and grind it in the Lord's mill, and you've got the best this
+world can give." And I found that Ham's philosophy was the one that
+held.
+
+There was no more question of the gay party that afternoon. Mlle. de
+Ste. Valerie did not dine with us, word coming down that her head ached,
+and she would not go out. Yvon and I went to walk, and I led the way to
+my tower (so I may call it this once), thinking I would like to see it
+once more. All these three months and more (counting from the day I
+first met Yvon de Ste. Valerie at the priest's house), I had played a
+second in the duet, and that right cheerfully. Though my own age, the
+marquis was older in many ways from his knowledge of society and its
+ways, and his gay, masterful manner; and I, the country lad, had been
+too happy only to follow his lead, and go about open-eyed, seeing all he
+would show, and loving him with honest admiration and pride in him. But
+it was curious to see how from this moment we changed; and now it was I
+who led, and was the master. The master in my own house, I thought for a
+moment, as we sat on the shelf under the great round window, and looked
+out over the lands that had once belonged to my people. Here once more
+the dream came upon me, and I had a wild vision of myself coming back
+after years, rich and famous, and buying back the old tower, building
+the castle, and holding that sweet princess by my side. The poet
+Coleridge, my dear, in describing a man whose wits are crazed, makes use
+of this remarkable expression:
+
+          "How there looked him in the face
+             An angel beautiful and bright,
+           And how he knew it was a fiend,
+             That miserable knight."
+
+This knowledge was also mercifully mine. And I was helped, too, by a
+thing slight enough, and yet curious. Being in distress of mind, I
+sought some use of my hands, as is the case with most women and some
+men. I fell to pulling off the dead leaves of ivy from the wall; and so,
+running my hand along the inside of the window, felt beneath it a
+carving on the stone. I lifted the leaves, which here were not so thick
+as in most places, and saw a shield carved with arms, and on it the
+motto I knew well: "_D'Arthenay, tenez foi!_"
+
+I told my friend that I must be gone that night; that I knew his aunt
+desired it, and was entirely in her right, it being most unfitting that
+a stranger should be present on such an occasion as this. Doubtless
+other friends would be coming, too, and my room would be wanted.
+
+Here he broke out in a storm, and vowed no one should have my room, and
+I should not stir a foot for a hundred of them. And here had she kept
+him in the dark, as if he were a babe, instead of the head of the house.
+It was an affront never to be forgiven. If the vicomte had not been the
+friend of his father, he would break off the match, and forbid him the
+house. As it was, he was powerless, tied hand and foot.
+
+I interrupted him, thinking such talk idle; and begged to know what
+manner of man this was who was coming. Was he--was he the man he should
+be?
+
+He was a gallant gentleman, Yvon confessed; there was no fault to find
+with him, save that he was old enough to be the girl's father. But that
+was all one! If he were twenty viscounts, he should not turn out his,
+Yvon's friend, the only man he ever cared to call his brother,--and so
+on and so on, till I cut him short. For now I saw no way, Melody, but to
+tell him how it was with me; and this I did in as few words as might
+be, and begged him to let me go quietly, and say no more. For once, I
+think, the lad was put to such depth of sorrow as was in him. He had
+never guessed, never thought of this; his sister was a child to him, and
+must be so, he supposed, to all. How could he tell? Why had he brought
+me here, to suffer? He was a criminal! What could he do? And then there
+struck him a thought, and he glanced up sharply at me, and I saw not the
+face of my friend, but one cold and questioning. Had I spoken to his
+sister? Did she--
+
+I cut him short at the word. Of that, I said, he could judge better than
+I, having been in my company daily for three months. He fell on my neck
+again, and implored my pardon; and said, I think, that twenty viscounts
+were less noble than I. I cared little for my nobility; all I asked was
+to get away, and hide my wound among my own friendly people.
+
+And so it was arranged that I was to go that night; and we walked back
+to the chateau, speaking little, but our hearts full of true affection,
+and--save for that one sting of a moment--trust in each other.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+
+THE disturbance of my mind had been so great, that all this while I had
+forgotten the letter of which Mme. de Lalange had spoken the night
+before. I had seen it when I first went to my room, but was in no mood
+for village news then; I saw that it was in the large round hand of Ham
+Belfort, and thought it kind in him to write, seeing that it cost him
+some effort; then I forgot it, as I said. But now, going again to my
+room, and with nothing much to do save wait the hour of my departure, I
+took the letter up, idly enough, thinking I might as well do this as
+another thing. This is what I read, Melody. No fear of my forgetting the
+words.
+
+          FRIEND JAKEY:
+
+          I am sorry to have bad news to send you this first
+          time of my writing. Father says to prepare your
+          mind, but I never found it work that way myself,
+          always liking to know straight out how things was,
+          and I think you are the same. Your father has been
+          hearty, for him, till about a week ago. Then he
+          begun to act strange, and would go about looking
+          for your mother, as if she was about the place.
+          Abby kep watch on him, and I happened in once or
+          twice a day, just to pass the word, and he was
+          always just as polite, and would read me your
+          letters. He thought a sight of your letters,
+          Jakey, and they gave him more pleasure than likely
+          he'd have had if you'd have ben here, being new
+          and strange to him, so to speak. He was a perfect
+          gentleman; he like to read them letters, and they
+          done credit to him and you. Last night Abby said
+          to me, she guessed she would take her things over
+          and stay a spell at the house, till your father
+          was some better, he was not himself, and she owed
+          it to you and your mother. I said she was right,
+          I'd gone myself, but things wasn't so I could
+          leave, and a woman is better in sickness, however
+          it may be when a man is well. She went over early
+          this morning, but your father was gone. There
+          warn't no hide nor hair of him round the house nor
+          in the garding. She sent for me, and I sarched the
+          farm; but while I was at it, seems as if she
+          sensed where he was, and she went straight to the
+          berrin-ground, and he was layin on your mother's
+          grave, peaceful as if he'd just laid down a spell
+          to rest him. He was dead and cold, Jakes, and you
+          may as well know it fust as last. He hadn't had no
+          pain, for when I see him his face was like he was
+          in heaven, and Abby says it come nearer smiling
+          than she'd seen it sence your mother was took. So
+          this is what my paneful duty is to tell you, and
+          that the Lord will help you threw it is my prayer
+          and alls that is in the village. Abby is real
+          sick, or she would write herself. She thought a
+          sight of your father, as I presume likely you
+          know. We shall have the funeral to-morrow, and
+          everything good and plain, knowing how he would
+          wish it from remembering your mother's. So no
+          more, Friend Jakey; only all that's in the village
+          feels for you, and this news coming to you far
+          away; and would like you to feel that you was
+          coming home all the same, if he is gone, for there
+          aint no one but sets by you, and they all want to
+          see you back, and everybody says it aint the same
+          place with you away. So I remain your friend,
+
+                                               HAM BELFORT.
+
+          P.S. I'd like you to give my regards to Eavan, if
+          he remembers the grist-mill, as I guess likely he
+          doos. Remember the upper and nether millstones,
+          Jakey, and the Lord help you threw.
+
+                                                      H. B.
+
+It is sometimes the bitterest medicine, Melody, that is the most
+strengthening. This was bitter indeed; yet coming at this moment, it
+gave me the strength I needed. The sharp sting of this pain dulled in
+some measure that other that I suffered; and I had no fear of any
+weakness now. I do not count it weakness, that I wept over my poor
+father, lying down so quietly to die on the grave of his dear love. In
+my distraction, I even thought for a moment how well it was with them
+both, to be together now, and wished that death might take me and
+another to some place where no foolish things of this world should keep
+us apart; but that was a boy's selfish grief, and I was now grown a man.
+I read Ham's letter over and over, as well as I could for tears; and it
+seemed to me a pure fruit of friendship, so that I gave thanks for him
+and Abby, knowing her silent for want of strength, not want of love. I
+should still go home, to the friendly place, and the friendly people who
+had known my birth and all that had fallen since. I had no place here; I
+was in haste to be gone.
+
+At first I thought not to tell Yvon of what had come to me; but he
+coming in and finding me as I have said, I would not have him mistake my
+feeling, and so gave him the letter. And let me say that a woman could
+not have been tenderer than my friend was, in his sympathy and grieving
+for me. I have told you that he and my poor father were drawn to each
+other from the first. He spoke of him in terms which were no more than
+just, but which soothed and pleased me, coming from one who knew
+nobility well, both the European sense of it, and the other. Upon this,
+Yvon pressed me to stay, declaring that he would go away with me, and we
+would travel together, till my hurt was somewhat healed, or at least I
+had grown used to the sting of it; but this I could not hear of. He
+helped me put my things together, for by this time night was coming on.
+He had found his sister so suffering, he told me, that she felt unable
+to leave her bed; and so he had thought it best not to tell her of my
+departure till the morrow. And this was perhaps the bitterest drop I had
+to drink, my dear, to leave the house like a thief, and no word to her
+who had made it a palace of light to me. Indeed, when Yvon left me, to
+order the horses, a thought came into my mind which I found it hard to
+resist. There was a little balcony outside my window, and I knew that my
+dear love's window (I call her so this once, the pain coming back sharp
+upon me of that parting hour) opened near it. If I took my violin and
+stepped outside, and if I played one air that she knew, then, I thought,
+she would understand, at least in part. She would not think that I had
+gone willingly without kissing her sweet hand, which I had counted on
+doing, the custom of the country permitting it. I took the violin, and
+went out into the cool night air; and I laid my bow across the strings,
+yet no sound came. For honour, my dear, honour, which we bring into this
+world with us, and which is the only thing, save those heavenly ones,
+that we can take from this world with us, laid, as it were, her hand on
+the strings, and kept them silent. A thing for which I have ever since
+been humbly thankful, that I never willingly or knowingly gave any touch
+of pain to that sweet lady's life. But if I had played, Melody; if it
+had been permitted to me as a man of honour as well as a true lover, it
+was my mother's little song that I should have played; and that, my
+child, is why you have always said that you hear my heart beat in that
+song.
+
+          "Il y a longtemps que je t'aime;
+           Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"
+
+Before we rode away, Mme. de Lalange came out to the door, leaning on
+her crutched stick; the horses being already there, and I about to
+mount. She swept me a curtsey of surprising depth, considering her
+infirmity.
+
+"M. D'Arthenay," she said, "I think I have done you an injustice. I
+cannot regret your departure, but I desire to say that your conduct has
+been that of a gentleman, and that I shall always think of you as noble,
+and the worthy descendant of a great race." With that she held out her
+hand, which I took and kissed, conceiving this to be her intention; that
+I did it with something the proper air her eyes assured me. It is a
+graceful custom, but unsuited to our own country and race.
+
+I could only reply that I thanked her for her present graciousness, and
+that it was upon that my thought should dwell in recalling my stay here,
+and not upon what was past and irrevocable; which brought the colour to
+her dry cheek, I thought, but I could say nothing else. And so I bowed,
+and we rode away; my few belongings having gone before by carrier, all
+save my violin, which I carried on the saddle before me.
+
+Coming to the Tour D'Arthenay, we checked our horses, with a common
+thought, and looked up at the old tower. It was even as I had seen it on
+first arriving, save that now a clear moonlight rested on it, instead of
+the doubtful twilight. The ivy was black against the white light, the
+empty doorway yawned like a toothless mouth, and the round eye above
+looked blindness on us. As I gazed, a white owl came from within, and
+blinked at us over the curve. Yvon started, thinking it a spirit,
+perhaps; but I laughed, and taking off my hat, saluted the bird.
+
+"_Monsieur mon locataire_," I said, "I have the honour to salute you!"
+and told him that he should have the castle rent free, on condition that
+he spared the little birds, and levied taxes on the rats alone.
+
+Looking back when we had ridden a little further, the tower had turned
+its back on me, and all I saw was the heaps of cut stone, lying naked in
+the moonlight. That was my last sight of the home of my ancestors. I had
+kept faith.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+
+HERE ends, my dear child, the romance of your old friend's life; if by
+the word romance we may rightly understand that which, even if not
+lasting itself, throws a brightness over all that may come after it. I
+never saw that fair country of France again, and since then I have lived
+sixty years and more; but what I brought away with me that sorrowful
+night has sweetened all the years. I had the honour of loving as sweet a
+lady as ever stepped from heaven to earth; and I had the thought that,
+if right had permitted, and the world been other than it was, I could
+have won her. Such feelings as these, my dear, keep a man's heart set on
+high things, however lowly his lot may be.
+
+I came back to my village. My own home was empty, but every house was
+open to me; and not a man or a woman there but offered me a home for as
+long as I would take it. My good friend Ham Belfort would have me come
+to be a son to him, he having no children. But my duty, as he clearly
+saw when I pointed it out, was to Abby Rock; and Abby and I were not to
+part for many years. Her health was never the same after my father's
+death; it was her son I was to be, and I am glad to think she found me
+a good one.
+
+Father L'Homme-Dieu made me kindly welcome, too, and to him and to Abby
+I could open my heart, and tell them all that had befallen me in these
+three life-long months. But I found a strange difference in their manner
+of receiving it; for whereas the Father understood my every feeling, and
+would nod his head (a kind hand on my shoulder all the while), and say
+yes, yes, I could not have done otherwise, and thus it was that a
+gentleman should feel and act,--which was very soothing to me,--Abby, on
+the other hand, though she must hear the story over and over again,
+could never gain any patience in the hearing.
+
+"What did they want?" she would cry, her good homely face the colour of
+a red leaf. "An emperor would be the least that could suit them, I'll
+warrant!" And though she dared not, after the first word, breathe
+anything against my sweet young lady, she felt no such fear about the
+old one, and I verily believe that if she had come upon Mme. de Lalange,
+she would have torn her in pieces, being extraordinary strong in her
+hands. Hag and witch were the kindest words she could give her; so that
+at last I felt bound to keep away from the subject, from mere courtesy
+to the absent. But this, as I have since found by observation, was the
+mother-nature in Abby, which will fill the mildest woman with desire to
+kill any one that hurts or grieves her child.
+
+For some time I stuck close to my shoemaker's bench, seeking quiet, as
+any creature does that is deeply wounded (for the wound was deep, my
+dear; it was deep; but I would not have had it otherwise), and seeing
+only those home friends, who had known the shape of my cradle, as it
+were, and to whom I could speak or not, as my mind was. I found solid
+comfort in the society of Ham, and would spend many hours in the old
+grist-mill; sometimes sitting in the loft with him and the sparrows,
+sometimes hanging over the stones, and watching the wheat pour down
+between them, and hearing the roar and the grinding of them. The upper
+and nether millstones! How Ham's words would come back, over and over,
+as I thought how my life was ground between pain and longing! One day, I
+mind, Ham came and found me so, and I suppose my face may have showed
+part of what I felt; for he put his great hand on my shoulder, and
+shouted in my ear, "Wheat flour, Jakey! prime wheat flour, and good riz
+bread; I see it rising, don't you be afeard!" But by and by the
+neighbours in the country round heard of my being home again; and
+thinking that I must have learned a vast deal overseas, they were set on
+having me here and there to fiddle for them. At first I thought no, I
+could not; there seemed to be only one tune my fiddle would ever play
+again, and that no dancing tune. But with using common sense, and some
+talk with Father L'Homme-Dieu, this foolishness passed away, and it
+seemed the best thing I could do, being in sadness myself, was to give
+what little cheer I could to others. So I went, and the first time was
+the worst, and I saw at once here was a thing I could do, and do, it
+might be, better than another. For being with the marquis, Melody, and
+seeing how high folks moved, and spoke, and held themselves, it was
+borne in upon me that I had special fitness for a task that might well
+be connected with the pleasure of youth in dancing. Dancing, as I have
+pointed out to you many times, may be considered in two ways: first, as
+the mere fling of high spirits, young animals skipping and leaping, as
+kids in a meadow, and with no thought save to leap the highest, and
+prance the furthest; but second, and more truly, I must think, to show
+to advantage the grace (if any) and perfection of the human body, which
+we take to be the work of a divine hand, and the beauty of motion in
+accord with music. And whereas I have heard dancing condemned as
+unmanly, and fit only for women and young boys, I must still take the
+other hand, and think there is no finer sight than a well-proportioned
+man, with a sense of his powers, and a desire to do justice to them,
+moving through the figures of a contra-dance. But this is my hobby, my
+dear, and I may have wearied you with it before now.
+
+I undertook, then, as my trade allowed it,--and indeed, in time the
+bench came to hold only the second place in the arrangement of my
+days,--to give instruction in dancing and deportment, to such as desired
+to improve themselves in these respects. The young people in the
+villages of that district were honest, and not lacking in wits; but
+they were uncouth to a degree that seemed to me, coming as I did from
+the home of all grace and charm, a thing horrible, and not to be
+endured. They were my neighbours; I was bound, or so it seemed to me, to
+help them to a right understanding of the mercies of a bountiful
+Providence, and to prevent the abuse of these mercies by cowish gambols.
+I let it be understood wherever I went that whoever would study under me
+must be a gentleman; for a gentleman is, I take it, first and last, a
+gentle man, or one who out of strength brings sweetness, as in the case
+of Samson's lion. To please, first the heart, by a sincere and cordial
+kindness, and next the eye, by a cheerful and (so far as may be)
+graceful demeanour; this disposition will tend, if not to great deeds,
+at least to the comfort and happiness of those around us. I was thought
+severe, and may have been so; but I lived to see a notable change
+wrought in that country. I remember the day, Melody, when a young man
+said to me with feeling, "I cannot bear to see a man take off his hat to
+a woman. _It makes me sick!_" To-day, if a man, young or old, should
+fail in this common courtesy, it would be asked what cave of the woods
+he came from. But let fine manners come from the heart, I would always
+say, else they are only as a gay suit covering a deformed and shapeless
+body. I recall an occasion when one of my pupils, who had made great
+progress by assiduous study, and had attained a degree of elegance not
+often reached in his station, won the admiration of the whole room by
+the depth and grace of his bow. I praised him, as he deserved; but a few
+minutes after, finding him in the act of mimicking, for the public
+diversion, an awkward, ill-dressed poor lad, I dismissed him on the
+instant, and bade him never come to my classes again.
+
+In these ways, my child, I tried, and with fair measure of success, to
+ease the smart of my own pain by furthering the pleasure of others; in
+these ways, to which I added such skill as I had gained on the violin,
+making it one of my chief occupations, when work was slack, to play to
+such as loved music, and more especially any who were infirm in health,
+or in sorrow by one reason or another. It was a humble path I chose, my
+dear; but I never clearly saw my way to a loftier one, and here I could
+do good, and think I did it, under Providence. As an instance,--I was
+sent for, it may have been a year or two after my trouble, to go some
+distance. A young lady was ill, and being fanciful, and her parents
+well-to-do, she would have me come and play to her, having heard of me
+from one or another. I went, and found a poor shadow of a young woman,
+far gone in a decline, if I could judge, and her eyes full of a trouble
+that came from no bodily ailment, my wits told me. She sent her people
+away, saying she must have the music alone. I have seldom found a better
+listener, Melody, or one who spoke to me more plain in silence, her
+spirit answering to the music till I almost could hear the sound of it.
+Feeling this, I let myself slip into the bow, as it were, more than I
+was aware of; and presently forgot her, or next thing to it, and was
+away in the rose-garden of Chateau Claire, and saw the blue eyes that
+held all heaven in them, and heard the voice that made my music harsh.
+And when at last I brought it down to a whisper, seeing the young
+woman's eyes shut, and thinking she might be asleep, she looked up at
+me, bright and sharp, and said, "You, too?"
+
+I never saw her again, and indeed think she had not long to live. But it
+is an instance, my dear, of what a person can do, if the heart within
+him is tender to the sorrows of others.
+
+After Abby's death,--but that was years after all this,--I found it wise
+to leave my native village. I will not go into the cause of this, my
+child, since it was a passing matter, or so I trusted. There was some
+one there who had great good will to me, and, not knowing my story, may
+have fancied that I was one who could make her happy; I thought it right
+to tell her how I had fared, and then, she being in distress, I left my
+home, and from that time, I may say, had many homes, yet none my own. I
+have met with rare kindness; no man of my generation, I would wager, has
+the number of friends I can boast, and all kind, all hearty, all ready
+with a "welcome to Rosin the Beau." And now here, at your aunts' kind
+wish and your prayer, my dearest Melody, dear as any child of my own
+could be, I am come to spend my last days under your roof; and what
+more could mortal man ask than this, I truly know not. My violin and
+your voice, Melody; they were made for each other; everybody says that,
+my dear, and neither you nor I would deny it. And when the _obligato_ is
+silent, as shortly it must be in the good course of nature, it is my
+prayer and hope that you will not miss me too much, my dear, but will go
+on in joy and in cheer, shedding light about you, and with your own
+darkness yielding a clear glory of kindness and happiness. Do not grieve
+for the old man, Melody, when the day comes for him to lay down the
+fiddle and the bow. I am old, and it is many years that Valerie has been
+dead, and Yvon, too, and all of them; and happy as I am, my dear, I am
+sometimes tired, and ready for rest. And for more than rest, I trust and
+believe; for new life, new strength, new work, as God shall please to
+give it me.
+
+          "I've travelled this country all over,
+             And now to the next I must go;
+           But I know that good quarters await me,
+             And a welcome to Rosin the Beau."
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+
+Obvious punctuation errors corrected.
+
+Page 20, "our" changed to "her" (clapping her hands)
+
+Page 63, " ather" changed to "father" (how my father)
+
+Page 74, "couple" changed to "couples" (a few couples)
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSIN THE BEAU***
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