The little lady shrugged her shoulders. "That made nothing to her. She
was as good as the King. She was a _grande_ princess. Not an
every-day princess, like me."
"Are _you_ a princess?" Elinor asked in surprise.
"Yes, an ordinary princess--the common, every-day kind. But _she_
was a _princesse royale_. And so he did this." With a comprehensive
gesture of both her hands she indicated the tapestries, paintings,
busts, furniture, and the entire contents of the house.
"You mean he brought his own possessions off here, across the water?"
"Precisely."
"And did he bring the Princess with him?"
"What a question! It is evident, Mademoiselle, that you were not
acquainted with my father, the Duc de Fontrevault."
"Then this princess was your mother?"
"Yes."
"And that is her grave out there, beneath the pines, next to his?"
The Princess nodded, and blinked, but smiled: "Poor mamma! She only
lived a few years after that; I was nine when she died."
"Were you born here?"
"In there." And she glanced toward Elinor's chamber.
"You must have had a lonely childhood."
"No. In those days we had a servant--and a cow."
"But why should your father and mother escape to this wilderness? Surely
a woman may marry whom she pleases in these days."
"Certainly. But an agent was sent to arrest my father--on a legal
pretext--and in the quarrel this agent--also a gentleman of high
rank--was killed. So that was murder. Just what his Majesty wished,
perhaps. And my father, in haste, packed a few things on a ship and
disappeared."
"A few things!"
"The King never knew where he went. Nor did any one else. But enough of
myself and family. Tell me of your coming here. And of your friend. Is
she still here?"
"My friend was a man."
"Ah!"
The Princess raised her eyebrows, involuntarily. "Pardon me if I am
indiscreet, but you are not married?"
"No."
Now this Parisian, with other Europeans, had heard startling tales about
American girls; of their independence and of their amazing freedom. She
leaned forward, a lively curiosity in her face. To her shame be it said
that she was always entertained by a sprightly scandal, and seldom
shocked.
"How interesting! And this gentleman, was he young?"
But the American girl did not reply at once. She had divined her
companion's thoughts and was distressed, and provoked. This feeling of
resentment, however, she repressed as she could not, in justice, blame
the Princess--nor anybody else--for being reasonably surprised. So, she
began at the beginning and told the tale: of the stupid error by which
she was left with a man she hardly knew on this point of land; of their
desperate effort to escape in September, by taking to a raft and
floating down the river; how they failed to land and were carried out to
sea, nearly perishing from exposure. She described their reaching shore
at last, several miles to the east. And when she spoke of the early
snow, in October, of the violent storms and the long winter, the
Princess nodded.
"Yes, I remember those winters well. But we were happy, my father and
I."
"And so were we," said Elinor.
"Then this stranger turned out well? A gentleman, a man of honor?"
"Yes, oh, yes! And more than that. He gave his life for mine."
From the look which came into Elinor's face, and from a quiver in the
voice, the sympathetic visitor knew there was a deeper feeling than had
been expressed. She said, gently:
"You are tired now. Tell me the rest of the story later."
"No, no. I will tell you now. One morning, about a month ago, the first
pleasant day after a week of rain, we started off along the bank of the
river to see if the flood had carried away our raft--the new one. Just
out there, in the woods, not far from here, I stepped to the edge of the
bank and looked down at the water. The river was higher than we had ever
seen it,--fuller, swifter, with logs and bushes in it. Even big trees
came along, all rushing to the sea at an awful speed."
"Yes, I know that river in spring. The water is yellow, and with a
frightful current,--fascinating to watch, but it terrifies."