THE ROSE OF ST. LOUIS
"What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."
But my impatience was of little avail, for before we left Government
House Dr. Saugrain invited me to dinner at Émigré's Retreat, and
restless and impatient as I might be, I did not dare show myself there
until the dinner-hour.
Five o'clock found me sitting in the dear old living-room, awaiting,
with trembling the entrance of madame and Pelagie. It was the same
dear old room I had pictured to myself so often, and all the grand
salons of Paris that I had seen since last I saw it did not make it
look any the less cozy and homelike to my eyes. It was a warm spring
afternoon, and the western windows were open, and the white curtains
were stirring in the breeze, only there was no maiden in white on the
low seat by the window, and no guitar and no Leon.
I had but a moment to wait. The door opened and in came madame, both
hands outstretched and running to meet me, and as I bent low before
her, taking my face in both her hands and putting a kiss on my cheek
and calling me "My son." And behind her came Pelagie, walking slowly
but looking up at me, yes, looking at me at last, with starry eyes and
a great pulse throbbing in her snowy throat, and little tongues of
color coming and going in her cheeks. I was almost of a mind there,
right before madame, to take her in my arms and call her mine, for
mine I was determined she should be; and I looked at her with such a
threatening glance I think she divined my half-purpose and shrank back
a little.
So instead I merely bowed over her hand and said gaily:
"You condescend to look at me at last, mademoiselle; I feared to-day I
was to be forever banished from your friendly glances."
And she, relieved from her first apprehension, answered saucily:
"If monsieur comes unannounced, how can he expect to be recognized
after so many months of absence?"
And then in stalked, majestically Leon, limping very slightly, and
when he caught sight of me coming up to me and sniffing at me a
moment, and then springing upon me with such wild bounds of delight
that I had to call hold, lest his great paws play havoc with my fine
Paris clothes that I had donned in mademoiselle's honor. And to quiet
him I said in a high, small voice, in palpable burlesque of
mademoiselle:
"Taise-toi, mon ange!" and we both laughed merrily.
I was so happy that I was ready to do everything that was foolish,
and I believe mademoiselle was happy, too, for nothing that I did was
too foolish for her to laugh at.
Then in came the little doctor, running up to me and insisting on
embracing me (because I was in his own house), pulling down my head
and kissing me on each cheek, at which I blushed greatly, though I had
not blushed when madame kissed me. And then came my captain and
Captain Lewis, and everyone talked at once, asking all manner of
questions on all manner of subjects, and I had scarcely a chance to
say another word to Pelagie.
And then came dinner. As usual, madame put me beside her, and Pelagie
sat at the other end of the table. But there was no scorning this
time, and I had better chance to look at her than if she sat beside
me, and perhaps that was best, for my eyes could say to her much more
than my lips would dare in such a company.
Narcisse waited on the table, and was all smiles of welcome; and
half-way through dinner, on some pretext or other, in came Clotilde,
and greeted me, half crying through her smiles at memory of our trials
together. And last of all came Yorke, grinning from ear to ear, and
"declarin' to gracious I'd growed a foot sence," whereupon I was of a
mind to thrash him on the spot, and told him so, which made him grin
the more, if that were possible.
It was a grand dinner, and I told Madame Saugrain I had never tasted
in Paris anything half so good as her wild turkey and croquecignolles
and gooseberry wine, which I meant with all my heart, and which
greatly pleased her housewifely soul.
Back in the living-room, when dinner was over, I missed something, and
looked around the room to discover what it was. It was the long French
mirror in which I had once watched Pelagie--the pride of madame's
heart.
"Why, madame," I said, "what have you done with your mirror?"
She shrugged her shoulders and looked ruefully at her husband.
"Antoine," she said, "needed some quicksilver for his experiments.
Voilà! my mirror!"
I glanced at Dr. Saugrain; he blushed and looked guilty, and so, for
some reason, I thought, did Captain Lewis.
"I will explain," said my captain. "You must know, my lad, that these
two," indicating the doctor and Captain Lewis with a wave of his hand,
"have been confederates all winter in black art. They have lived in
the laboratory, and the instruments they have evolved for our trip up
the Missouri and over the mountains are fearful and wonderful to
behold. We are each of us provided with a box of little phosphorus
sticks by which we are to do away entirely with all use of tinder. But
much more wonderful than those, out of madame's mirror Dr. Saugrain
has fashioned little glass tubes holding quicksilver, and with a
measure laid off on the side by which we may be able to tell just how
hot or how cold it may be. And more wonderful still, he has fashioned
other little tubes by which we are to tell when it is going to storm
and when it will be fair weather. And I cannot begin to tell you all
the wonderful appliances this magician has fashioned for our comfort
and safety this winter, aided and abetted by his willing slave,
Captain Lewis."
That unloosed the doctor's tongue, and there was no getting away the
rest of the evening from the wonders of science; and so strange were
the things he and Captain Lewis had to tell of what science could do
that I could have greatly enjoyed their talk had I not been longing
for a few words with Pelagie.
I determined that another day should not go by; without my having
them, and so, in the course of the evening, I managed to ask her if
she would ride with me the next afternoon to Chouteau's Pond. A
riding-party of two to Chouteau's Pond was of frequent occurrence in
the village, and I would not have feared a refusal but that Pelagie
had now been living so long where stricter social forms prevailed, so
I awaited her answer with trembling. But she gave a shy assent, and
for me the evening at Émigré's Retreat was a grand success.
Twelve o'clock the next day, March the tenth, saw us all once more at
Government House; and once more the American troops were drawn up
before it, and once more the people filled the streets.
The people were very quiet; there was no longer any rejoicing; but
every eye was lifted to the flag that was so soon to sink from sight.
There were many Indians in the streets,--Delawares, Sacs, Shawnees,
and others,--attracted to the town by the noise of firing the day
before. Captain Stoddard had asked Governor Delassus to speak to them
and explain to them the change of government, and the soldiers had
been sent to gather them up close to the gallery of Government House,
where Don Delassus might speak to them. A dark-faced throng, serious
of countenance, they stood looking up at us, not a muscle of their
countenances changing while the governor spoke to them in the formal
and stately fashion they loved.
"Delawares, Sacs, Shawnees, and others, my red brothers:
"Your old fathers, the Spaniard and the Frenchman, grasp by the hand
your new father, the head chief of the United States. By an act of
their good-will, and in virtue of their last treaty, I have delivered
up to them all these lands. They will keep and defend them, and
protect all the white and redskins who live thereon. You will live as
happily as if the Spaniard were still here.
"I have informed your new father, who here takes my place, that the
Delawares, Shawnees, and Sacs have always conducted themselves well;
that the chiefs have always restrained their young men as much as
possible.
"For several days we have fired off cannon to announce to all the
nations that your father the Spaniard is going, his heart happy to
know that you will be protected and sustained by your new father, and
that the smoke of the powder may ascend to the Maker of life, praying
him to shower on you all a happy destiny and prosperity in always
living in good union with the whites."
There were many guttural "Ughs!" as he finished, and I think, from the
way the dark eyes scanned the faces of the new officers, they
comprehended at least a part of what had been said to them.
Once more a soldier at the corner of the gallery waved his hat toward
the white tower; once more the cannon boomed and slowly the tricolor
of France descended, while the Stars and Stripes rose to meet it.
Half-way up the flagstaff they stopped. For a moment they floated in
the breeze, side by side, and an involuntary cheer sprang from the
people at the friendly sight. Then slowly the tricolor sank, and
slowly rose the starry banner, flinging out its broad bars of white
and crimson, beautiful emblem of liberty and the sovereignty of a free
people, over the little village, nestling among the trees on the
bluffs, that may one day be a mighty city; over the Great River
flowing to the Gulf that a not far future may see bearing the commerce
of a world on its bosom; over the broad prairies stretching to the
distant mountains which coming years will surely see peopled with
happy millions.
My heart swelled within me. I swung my hat high in the air and lustily
led the cheers of our troops and our little party on the gallery. But
we were only a small band, and we made not much noise, and all the
French and Spaniards stood and looked sadly on. And because our hearts
were touched by their sorrow, we cheered no more, but looked up at
our beautiful banner with pride and joy and love in our hearts.
* * * * *
Three hours later I was sitting on the gallery at Émigré's Retreat
waiting for mademoiselle, as I had waited for her on the day of the
picnic at Chouteau's Pond. Narcisse was holding Bourbon Prince by the
driveway below, and I was struggling to preserve a calm exterior, for
my heart was going like a trip-hammer while I listened for my lady's
coming.
Out upon the gallery she stepped, riding-habit and hat and veil of
latest Paris mode--not the little Pelagie of the picnic day, but
Pelagie a princess of Condé, and my heart almost failed me.
I looked at her, and she was smiling at me with a smile I did not
understand. Then she looked away, and my eyes followed hers. Around
the corner of the house Yorke was leading a horse,--a white star on
the forehead and one white foot like Bourbon Prince, but beautiful
chestnut in color. For a moment I forgot my lady. Down the steps I
sprang, and my arm was around the neck of the chestnut mare.
"Sweetheart!" I whispered in her ear. "Do you know me, sweetheart?"
She whinnied with joy and rubbed her soft muzzle up and down my arm,
and whinnied again, while Yorke showed all his teeth in his delight,
and my lady laughed and clapped her hands like a happy child.
I had not thought it possible she could bring Fatima with her and so
had not asked for her, though, truth to tell, I had had but little
chance to ask her about anything.
When I said so to her, "I would not have come without her," she said,
looking shyly at me. "But I hope you do not want her back, for I love
her dearly."
Yes, I wanted her back, I said to myself; but with her mistress, too;
but my only answer to mademoiselle was a smile that I think she
understood, for she looked quickly away from me.
Then I put her on Fatima's back, who bore a Parisian saddle now
instead of a pillion, and out through the stockade we rode, and down
the rough path to La Petite Rivière, and through the ford (deeper now,
from spring freshets, than it had been when I listened to the
whippoorwills), and along the wooded bank on the other side, where we
had raced to get away from the redskin (though that she never knew),
and still I had not said the words I meant to say.
Under the tree that had been the goal for our race I drew up a minute.
Here, I thought, will be a place of happy omen, for here I won my
first dance with her, and here I will win her. But suddenly I recalled
that this was the spot where I had first seen the chevalier; no, it
was of evil omen. "By hairbreadth escapes we always win," he had said.
I feared, the "luck of the Le Moynes" and their baleful motto.
Where we had stopped to look at the lake before, I stopped again. It
was almost more beautiful in its setting of the soft pinks and greens
of early spring than it had been under the golden sun of autumn, and
here, I thought, I will say it. But the glimpse of the ivied mill
tower among the trees, and the beautiful water and its wooded banks,
reminded Pelagie of Ettenheim, and she began to tell me of a letter
she had just received from the Duc d'Enghien, which made her very
anxious.
"He writes," said Pelagie, "that he is being followed everywhere by an
Englishman who, he feels sure, is a spy in the pay of Bonaparte--I
will never call him emperor!" said Pelagie, with fiery eye. "And while
he says he feels no alarm for himself, he is more and more glad to
think that I am so safely away from all dangers."
But the thought of her letter had saddened Pelagie for a while, and I
would not speak then. How little we dreamed that on that very day,
perhaps at that very hour, the young duke was being seized by
Napoleon's emissaries, in violation of all treaties of neutrality, and
hurried to the gloomy fortress of Vincennes, where, ten days later,
after a mock trial of two hours in the dead of night, with no chance
of defense given him, he was taken out and shot and buried in the
trench where he fell. When the dreadful news reached us, weeks later,
it darkened for a while my sweet Pelagie's life, as it was the one
crime not even the friends of Napoleon can excuse or forgive: the one
dark blot on his fame time will never erase.
But that afternoon we were in happy ignorance of what was happening
four thousand miles away, and Pelagie's sadness was but a passing
shadow and in a little while we were both joyous again.
"Rock Spring," I thought, "beloved of lovers, will be the place." But
at Rock Spring I could think of nothing but Yorke astride the
chevalier's back, the grimy spectacle the chevalier presented when
Yorke was dislodged, and then the fearful peril Pelagie had been in
when I fled with her in my arms on Fatima's back. No, Rock Spring was
not the place.
And so we were once more back at the ford, almost home, and the long
shadows lying on the cool water, and a thrush singing his evening-song
in the wooded crests behind us, and my tale had not been told. We had
had much sweet converse, and many times the words were on my lips, but
somehow--I know not how--Pelagie always managed to turn me aside. At
least I think she did, for with the words on my lips I would find
myself talking of something else.
Now, as our horses swashed their noses in the cool water, and sent the
bright drops in showers about us, I looked down upon her, the dark
green of her riding-habit making a rich foil to the soft glow of her
cheek, and the drooping plume of her hat falling over her snowy neck
and mingling with the dark ringlets, and one little hand from which
she had drawn the glove playing with Fatima's tawny mane--and I took a
sudden resolution.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "do you know that to-day you are no longer a
proud lady of France, but a simple American maiden?"
She looked up at me, startled. I think she knew what was coming, but
she answered bravely, though softly:
"Yes, monsieur," and then dropped her eyes and fell to playing with
Fatima's mane again.
"Mademoiselle, do you remember on La Belle Rivière the wager you would
not let me make?"
"Yes, monsieur," still more softly.
"Mademoiselle, if I had made that wager then I would have won it
to-day. You taught me better, and I would not win you by a wager now
if I could. But oh, mademoiselle, you said by worth and deeds of
prowess a maiden's hand should be won; and there is no one in the
world--least of all I--worthy of you, mademoiselle, and no deeds of
prowess could be grand enough to deserve you, and I have nothing to
win you with but my great love; will that avail me,--Pelagie?"
She did not answer for a moment; she was all rosy and drooping, and
with a happy smile about her lips, as she had been in the cabinet of
the First Consul.
I put my great hand on her little one, still playing with Fatima's
mane, and clasped it tight, though it fluttered like a bird at first
and then lay quiet.
"Pelagie, Pelagie, look up at me," I whispered. "I may call you
Pelagie, may I not?"
Swiftly and shyly she looked up into my eyes, and I looked down into
heaven.
"Yes, monsieur," she whispered.
Suddenly she broke into a low laugh, and tried to draw her hand away
from mine.
"My name is not Pelagie," she said.
"Not Pelagie!" I exclaimed, thinking she was playing me some merry
trick, and wishing she had chosen some other time to play it.
"No, monsieur," she said soberly. "They named me Pelagie when they
brought me over sea, but my name is Louise Adelaide, for my aunt the
Abbess of Remiremont."
I was silent for a moment, for I liked not to think of little Pelagie
by any other name. Then I gently took her hand again and raised it to
my lips:
"Louise Adelaide," I said, "may do for a princess of Condé, but you
will always be my little Pelagie to me," and so great was the love in
my heart that my voice trembled as I spoke, and we were both very
still for a little, while her hand lay quietly in mine.
Suddenly a thought struck me:
"Pelagie," I said, "you have never spoken my name; I do not believe
you know what it is."
"Yes, I do, monsieur." She looked up at me saucily. "Shall I tell you
what it is?"
"Call me by it!" I implored her softly.
For answer she lifted her arms and drew my head down toward her and
whispered it in my ear.
And I, what did I do?
What would any man have done whose heart was running over with love
for the most adorable maiden in the world, and her sweet face so
near?
* * * * *
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romances."--_Gazette-Times, Pittsburg._ "A slap-dashing day
romance."--_New York Sun._
THE FAIR GOD; OR, THE LAST OF THE TZINS. By Lew Wallace. With
illustrations by Eric Pape.
"The story tells of the love of a native princess for Alvarado, and it
is worked out with all of Wallace's skill * * * it gives a fine
picture of the heroism of the Spanish conquerors and of the culture
and nobility of the Aztecs."--_New York Commercial Advertiser._
"_Ben Hur_ sold enormously, but _The Fair God_ was the best of the
General's stories--a powerful and romantic treatment of the defeat of
Montezuma by Cortes."--_Athenæum._
THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS. By Louis Tracy.
A story of love and the salt sea--of a helpless ship whirled into the
hands of cannibal Fuegians--of desperate fighting and tender romance,
enhanced by the art of a master of story telling who describes with
his wonted felicity and power of holding the reader's attention * * *
filled with the swing of adventure.
A MIDNIGHT GUEST. A Detective Story. By Fred M. White. With a
frontispiece.
The scene of the story centers in London and Italy. The book is
skilfully written and makes one of the most baffling, mystifying,
exciting detective stories ever written--cleverly keeping the suspense
and mystery intact until the surprising discoveries which precede the
end.
THE HONOUR OF SAVELLI. A Romance. By S. Levett Yeats. With cover and
wrapper in four colors.
Those who enjoyed Stanley Weyman's _A Gentleman of France_ will be
engrossed and captivated by this delightful romance of Italian
history. It is replete with exciting episodes, hair-breath escapes,
magnificent sword-play, and deals with the agitating times in Italian
history when Alexander II was Pope and the famous and infamous Borgias
were tottering to their fall.
SISTER CARRIE. By Theodore Drieser. With a frontispiece, and wrapper
in color.
In all fiction there is probably no more graphic and poignant study of
the way in which man loses his grip on life, lets his pride, his
courage, his self-respect slip from him, and, finally, even ceases to
struggle in the mire that has engulfed him. * * * There is more tonic
value in _Sister Carrie_ than in a whole shelfful of sermons.
DARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES. By Irving Bacheller. With illustrations
by Arthur Keller.
"Darrel, the clock tinker, is a wit, philosopher, and man of mystery.
Learned, strong, kindly, dignified, he towers like a giant above the
people among whom he lives. It is another tale of the North Country,
full of the odor of wood and field. Wit, humor, pathos and high
thinking are in this book."--_Boston Transcript._
D'RI AND I: A Tale of Daring Deeds in the Second War with the British.
Being the Memoirs of Colonel Ramon Bell, U. S. A. By Irving Bacheller.
With illustrations by F. C. Yohn.
"Mr. Bacheller is admirable alike in his scenes of peace and war.
D'ri, a mighty hunter, has the same dry humor as Uncle Eb. He fights
magnificently on the 'Lawrence,' and was among the wounded when Perry
went to the 'Niagara.' As a romance of early American history it is
great for the enthusiasm it creates."--_New York Times._
EBEN HOLDEN: A Tale of the North Country. By Irving Bacheller.
"As pure as water and as good as bread," says Mr. Howells. "Read 'Eben
Holden'" is the advice of Margaret Sangster. "It is a forest-scented,
fresh-aired, bracing and wholly American story of country and town
life. * * * If in the far future our successors wish to know what were
the real life and atmosphere in which the country folk that saved this
nation grew, loved, wrought and had their being, they must go back to
such true and zestful and poetic tales of 'fiction' as 'Eben Holden,'"
says Edmund Clarence Stedman.
SILAS STRONG: Emperor of the Woods. By Irving Bacheller. With a
frontispiece.
"A modern _Leatherstocking_. Brings the city dweller the aroma of the
pine and the music of the wind in its branches--an epic poem * * *
forest-scented, fresh-aired, and wholly American. A stronger character
than Eben Holden."--_Chicago Record-Herald._
VERGILIUS: A Tale of the Coming of Christ. By Irving Bacheller.
A thrilling and beautiful story of two young Roman patricians whose
great and perilous love in the reign of Augustus leads them through
the momentous, exciting events that marked the year just preceding the
birth of Christ.
Splendid character studies of the Emperor Augustus, of Herod and his
degenerate son, Antipater, and of his daughter "the incomparable"
Salome. A great triumph in the art of historical portrait painting.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, NEW YORK
PRINCESS MARITZA
A NOVEL OF RAPID ROMANCE.
BY PERCY BREBNER
With Harrison Fisher Illustrations in Color.
Offers more real entertainment and keen enjoyment than any book since
"Graustark." Full of picturesque life and color and a delightful
love-story. The scene of the story is Wallaria, one of those mythical
kingdoms in Southern Europe. Maritza is the rightful heir to the
throne, but is kept away from her own country. The hero is a young
Englishman of noble family. It is a pleasing book of fiction. Large 12
mo. size. Handsomely bound in cloth. White coated wrapper, with
Harrison Fisher portrait in colors. Price 75 cents, postpaid.
Books by George Barr McCutcheon
BREWSTER'S MILLIONS
Mr. Montgomery Brewster is required to spend a million dollars in one
year in order to inherit seven millions. He must be absolutely
penniless at that time, and yet have spent the million in a way that
will commend him as fit to inherit the larger sum. How he does it
forms the basis for one of the most crisp and breezy romances of
recent years.
CASTLE CRANEYCROW
The story revolves around the abduction of a young American woman and
the adventures created through her rescue. The title is taken from the
name of an old castle on the Continent, the scene of her imprisonment.
GRAUSTARK: A Story of a Love Behind a Throne.
This work has been and is to-day one of the most popular works of
fiction of this decade. The meeting of the Princess of Graustark with
the hero, while travelling incognito in this country, his efforts to
find her, his success, the defeat of conspiracies to dethrone her, and
their happy marriage, provide entertainment which every type of reader
will enjoy.
THE SHERRODS. With illustrations by C. D. Williams
A novel quite unlike Mr. McCutcheon's previous works in the field of
romantic fiction and yet possessing the charm inseparable from
anything he writes. The scene is laid in Indiana and the theme is best
described in the words, "Whom God hath joined, let no man put
asunder."
Each volume handsomely bound in cloth. Large 12 mo. size. Price 75
cents per volume, postpaid.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers
52 DUANE STREET :: NEW YORK
GET THE BEST OUT-DOOR STORIES
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GROSSET & DUNLAP EDITIONS
THE BLAZED TRAIL
Mingles the romance of the forest with the romance of man's heart,
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THE SILENT PLACES
A powerful story of strenuous endeavor and fateful privation in the
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THE CLAIM JUMPERS
A tale of a Western mining camp and the making of a man, with which a
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THE WESTERNERS
A tale of the mining camp and the Indian country, full of color and
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THE MAGIC FOREST: A Modern Fairy Story.
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_THE GROSSET AND DUNLAP SPECIAL EDITIONS OF POPULAR NOVELS THAT HAVE
BEEN DRAMATIZED_.
BREWSTER'S MILLIONS: By George Bar McCutcheon.
A clever, fascinating tale, with a striking and unusual plot. With
illustrations from the original New York production of the play.
THE LITTLE MINISTER: By J. M. Barrie.
With illustrations from the play as presented by Maude Adams, and a
vignette in gold of Miss Adams on the cover.
CHECKERS: By Henry M. Blossom, Jr.
A story of the Race Track. Illustrated with scenes from the play as
originally presented in New York by Thomas W. Ross who created the
stage character.
THE CHRISTIAN: By Hall Caine.
THE ETERNAL CITY: By Hall Caine.
Each has been elaborately and successfully staged.
IN THE PALACE OF THE KING: By F. Marion Crawford.
A love story of Old Madrid, with full page illustrations. Originally
played with great success by Viola Allen.
JANICE MEREDITH: By Paul Leicester Ford.
New edition with an especially attractive cover, a really handsome
book. Originally played by Mary Mannering, who created the title role.
These books are handsomely bound in cloth, are well-made in every
respect, and aside from their unusual merit as stories, are
particularly interesting to those who like things theatrical. Price,
postpaid, seventy-five cents each.
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* * * * *
Transcriber's notes:
The list of Illustrations was not part of the original book.
Page 97: droping changed to dropping (cook was droping still
more into the kettle of boiling fat).