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 Kings in exle./ 
 
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 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027320328 
 
ALPHONSE DAUDET 
 
 Kings in 
 
 A 
 
 Exile 
 
 
 ifo '* 
 
 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, Limited 
 
 LONDON, GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK 
 
KINGS IN EXILE 
 
ALPHONSE DAUDET 
 
 KINGS IN EXILE 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY BIELER, CONCONI, AND MYRBACH 
 
 SOLE AUTHORISED TRANSLATION 
 
 LAURA ENSOR and E. BARTOW 
 
 ^1 111,*'- .^.i,- h.A, 
 
 i<^*?* 
 
 LONDON 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limited 
 
 BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL 
 GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK 
 1890 
 
 iCopyright\ 
 E.V. 
 

 LONDON 
 BBADBUEY.AOSEW, & CO, L.MD., PE.NTERS, WHITEFEUBS. 
 
- TO 
 
 EDMOND DE GONCOURT, 
 
 WHO HAS ■WRITTEN 
 
 THE HISTOKT OF QUEENS AND FAVOtlP.ITBS, ANB 
 
 THE nOMANCB OF " GEKMINIE LACEETETJX," 
 
 AND THE "FEfiP.BS ZEMGANNO," 
 
 I hVunit, 
 
 WJTH THE SINCEREST ADMtRATION, 
 THIS UOMANOE OF MODERN IIISTUUY. 
 
 ALPHONSE DAUDET. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 I. — THE FIRST DAT . 
 II. — A KOTALIST . 
 III. —THE COUET AT SAINT-MANDlS 
 IV.— THE KING TAKES HIS PLEASITIiE 
 V. — J. TOM LEVIS' FOREIGN AGEKCY 
 VI. — THE BOHEMIAN SIDE OF EXILE 
 VII. — AT THE FAIR 
 VIII. — THE GRAND STROKE 
 
 IX. — A SITTING AT THE ACADlilMIE . 
 X. — THE WKATH OF A QUEEN 
 XI. — THE VIGIL . 
 XII. — THE NIGHT TRAIN 
 XIII. — THE CONDEMNED CELL 
 XIT. — THE ABDICATION . 
 XV. — THE LITTLE KING 
 XVI. — THE DARK ROOM . 
 XVII. — FIDES, SPES .... 
 
 XVIII. — THE LAST OF A RACE . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 37 
 
 77 
 
 105 
 
 150 
 
 187 
 221 
 
 243 
 279 
 
 309 
 328 
 
 364 
 401 
 409 
 430 
 443 
 462 
 
 483 
 
THE FIRST DAY. 
 
 Fri^derique had been sleeping since tlie early 
 morning', — a fevered and weary slumber, liannted 
 by the grievous, mournful dreams of an exiled and 
 dethroned queen, a slumber still agitated by the 
 tumult and anguish of two months' siege, full of 
 Avarlike and blood-stained visions, broken by sobs, 
 shudders and nervous prostration, from which she 
 started up with a feeling of terror. 
 
 "Zara ? Where is Zara ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 Oae of her women came forward, and gently re- 
 
Kings in Exile. 
 
 assured her, H.R.H. the Comte de Zara was quietly- 
 asleep in his room ; Madame E16onore was with 
 him. 
 
 " And where is the king ? " 
 
 He had gone out at noon in one of the carriages 
 belonging to the hotel. 
 
 "What, alone?" 
 
 No. His Majesty was accompanied by the 
 councillor Boscovich. By degrees, as she listened 
 to the servant's Dalmatian dialect, clear and hard 
 like the sound of shingle rolling on a beach, the 
 queen felt her fears vanish, and little by little the 
 peaceful hotel room she had vaguely caught sight 
 of on arriving in the early dawn, revealed itself to 
 her with all its reassuring and luxurious triviality, 
 with its light hangings, tall mirrors, and soft- 
 coloured carpets on which the silent and rapid 
 flight of the swallows fell in shadows thi'ough the 
 blinds, mingling together like the wings of huge 
 night-moths. 
 
 " Already five o'clock ! Come Petscha, do my 
 hair quickly, I am ashamed at having slept so long." 
 
 Five o'clock had struck ; it was the finest summer's 
 day of the year 1872 that had as yet brightened up 
 Paris, and when the queen stepped on to the long 
 balcony which stretched along the fifteen windows 
 of the Hotel des Fyramides, shaded by pink canvas, 
 
77/1? First Day. 
 
 sikiated in the very finest position of the Rue de 
 Rivoll, she was lost in admiration. 
 
 Below, in the wide thoroughfare, the sounds of 
 wheels mingled with the gentle sprinkle of the 
 watering, as an uninterrupted line of carriages 
 flowed onwards in the direction of the Bois de 
 Boulogne, amid a glitter of harness and a pro- 
 fusion of light dresses, dashing by in a whirlwind 
 of speed. Then from the throng pressing round 
 the gilded gates of the Tuileries, the fascinated 
 gaze of the queen wandered to the bright medley 
 of white frocks, fair locks, gaudy coloured silks, 
 and joyous games ; towards all the childish bustle 
 that on a sunny day pervades the terraces of the 
 great Parisian garden ; and from these she caught 
 sight of the charming canopy of greenery, the 
 immense round leafy dome of the chestnut trees 
 which sheltered at that moment a mihtary band, 
 and quivered with the delighted screams of the 
 children and the clang of the brass instruments. 
 The bitter rancour of the exiled queen gradually 
 subsided at the sight of the surrounding happiness, 
 a sensation of warmth and comfort seemed to 
 envelop her like a silken web ; her cheeks, wan 
 and paled by privation and night-watching, once' 
 more assumed a life-like hue, as she thought, " Ah ! 
 how charming and peaceful ! " 
 
 The greatest misfortunes have such moments of 
 sudden and unconscious relief, caused not by persons, 
 
 B 2 
 
Kino;s in Exile. 
 
 but by tlie thousand-tongued eloquence of things. 
 Xo human speech could have brouo-ht consolation 
 to this despoiled queen thrown into exile with 
 husband and child, by one of those upheavings of 
 the people, which, like earthquakes, open yawning 
 abysses and fiery volcanoes. Her low and haughty 
 brow still seemed to bear the weight of one of 
 Europe's noblest crowns ; and now, it is Nature in 
 
 the fi'esh joy- 
 ousness of a 
 , marvellous 
 ■ Parisian sum- 
 mer that brings 
 her soothing 
 thoughts of 
 hope and en- 
 couragement. 
 As she greedily 
 feasts her eyes 
 oil tlie greeii-ciad huiizuu iiiid a gentle calm 
 steals over her, lulling her exhausted nerves, the 
 exile suddenly starts and shudders. At her left, 
 yonder, at tlie entrance nf the garden rises a 
 spectral monument with blackened vvalls, scorched 
 columns, crumbled roof, gaping holes filled with 
 blue space instead of windows, an open-worked 
 fa9ade on a perspective of ruins ; aud, at the 
 furthest end — overlooking the Seine — one remain- 
 ing pavilion, almost untouched, scorched only bv 
 
The First Day. 
 
 S 
 
 the flames that have blackened the raiUugs of its 
 balconies. It is all that remains of the Palace of 
 the Tuileries. 
 
 The sight filled htr with deep emotion and 
 stunned her as tliough she had fallen prostrate on 
 those stones. Ten years ago, no, not even ten — by 
 what uiiUieky and seemingly prophetic chance had 
 
Kings in Exile. 
 
 she happened to lodge in front of these ruins — she 
 had resided there with her husband. It was in the 
 spring of 1864. 
 
 Only three months married, the Comtesse de 
 Zara was then visiting the allied Courts, in all the 
 pride of her new dignities of bride and hereditary 
 princess. She was loved and courted by all, and at 
 the Tuileries especially, fetes and balls succeeded 
 one another. Now from these crumbled walls 
 brilliant visions arose before her ; once more she 
 saw the vast and magnificent halls, the dazzling glit- 
 ter of lights and jewels, the long trains of the court 
 dresses sweeping majestically up the broad stairs 
 between the double rows of glittering breastplates ; 
 and the strains of music from the invisible band 
 she heard at intervals floating upwards from the 
 gardens, recalled to her the orchestra led by 
 Waldteufel to which she had so often listened in 
 the Salle des Marechaux. "Was it not to this lively 
 and tripping measure that she had danced with 
 their cousin Maximilian, a week before he started 
 for Mexico ? Yes, indeed it was the same ! A quad- 
 rille made up of Emperors and Kings, of Queens 
 and Empresses, whose movements and august 
 countenances passed before her eyes in a mirage 
 called up by the air of the Belle Helene now being 
 played. Max, full of gloomy presentiments, 
 nervously gnawing his moustache, Charlotte oppo- 
 site to him, by the side of Napoleon, radiant, 
 
The First Day. 
 
 transfigured in the triumph of her Imperial 
 dignity. Where were they all now, these quondam 
 dancers of the gay quadrille ? Dead, exiled or 
 mad ! Death after death, disaster after disaster ! 
 "Was God then no longer the God of kings ? 
 
 Then she recalled all she had suffered since the 
 death of old King Leopold had placed upon her 
 brow the two-fold crown of Illyria and Dalmatia. 
 Her first-born, a daughter, carried off in the midst 
 of the festivities of the coronation by one of those 
 mysterious diseases which betoken the end of a 
 worn-out race, so that the tapers of the funereal 
 vigil were mingled with the illuminations of the 
 city, and the festive flags in the cathedral could 
 not be removed before the funeral service took 
 place. Then, besides this great sorrow, besides the 
 continual torments of anxiety she endured from the 
 sickly constitution of her son, other griefs were 
 added, griefs known only to herself, hidden away 
 in the most secret recesses of her womanly pride. 
 Alas ! the hearts of nations are not more faithful 
 than those of kings. One day, without apparent 
 reason, Illyria, who had shown so much enthusiasm, 
 suddenly became indifferent to her princes. Then 
 misunderstandings arose, feelings of distrust and 
 stubborn opposition were awakened ; hatred, the 
 horrible hatred of a whole country, was felt in the 
 air, in the silence of the streets, in the cold irony 
 of the glances, in the quivering rebellion of the 
 
8 Kings in Exile. 
 
 still bowed heads, making her dread to show herself 
 at the windows of her palace, and shrink back in 
 her coach during her short and rapid drives. Ah ! 
 as she gazed at the palace of the kings of France, 
 she fancied she still heard the terrible outcries, the 
 horrible threats of death under the terraces of her 
 own palace of Leybach. She remembered the last 
 cabinet council, the pallid faces of her terror- 
 stricken ministers imploring the king to abdicate; 
 then the flight at night, disguised as peasants, 
 across the mountains, the insurgent villages intoxi- 
 cated with liberty as well as the towns, the boniires 
 crowning every hill-top, and the tears that had 
 burst from her one evening in her joy at finding 
 a little milk in a shepherd's cabin for the supper 
 of her boy. Then finally the sudden decision she 
 had induced the king to take, to make the still 
 faithful Ragusa his stronghold, and the two months 
 of privations and anguish endured there ; the town 
 besieged, bombarded, the royal child, her sickly boy, 
 dying almost of hunger ; and, to crown all, the 
 shame of surrender, the lugubrious embarkation, in 
 the midst of the silent and wearied spectators, on 
 board the French ship which was to bear them to 
 further trouble and misfortunes far away into the 
 cold chill of exile, while behind them the flag of the 
 lUyrian Eepublic floated new and victorious over 
 the crumbling walls of the Royal Palace. The ruins 
 of the Tuileries brought back all this to her mind. 
 
The First Day. 
 
 Her musing was suddenly interrupted by a 
 joyous exclamation uttered in a youthful but 
 slightly nasal voice : " Is not Paris lieantiful 'i " 
 
 The king had just appeared upon the 
 balcony, holding the little prince in his 
 arms, and was showing him the horizuii 
 of roofs, domes, and verdure, and the 
 busy bustle of the street in the soft 
 light of the closing day. 
 
 "Oh yes, very beautiful," said the 
 child — a puny little creature five or 
 six years old, with sharp - marked 
 features and almost colourless fair 
 hair cut close to the head, as after a 
 long illness — he looked around him 
 with a sweet, sickly smile, surprised 
 at no longer hearing the roar of the 
 cannon, and happy in the surround- 
 ing joyousness. For him, exile was 
 a pleasant thing ; neither did the 
 king appear overcome with sad- 
 ness ; a couple of hours' stroll on ■• ' 
 the boulevards had imparted to hiui a certain 
 exhilaratiou which contrasted with the depression 
 of the queen. Moreover, these two presented 
 types of a diametrically opjjosite character : the 
 king, a slender man with pale complexion, curly 
 black hair, and a thin moustache, which he 
 constantly twirled between his white and supple 
 
lO Kings in Exile. 
 
 fingers ; soft uncertain eyes, with something irreso- 
 lute and childish in their glance, giving him such 
 an immature appearance, that notwithstanding he 
 was over thirty years of age all who saw him could 
 not help exclaiming : " How very young he is ! " 
 
 The queen, on the contrary, was of the robust 
 Dalmatian type, with an expression of seriousness 
 and strength which made her the real male of the 
 two, despite the exquisite transparency of her skin, 
 and the magnificent auburn tints of her hair, 
 which seemed to have borrowed its flashes of red 
 from Oriental henna. Christian betrayed in her 
 presence the shy attitude of a man who had 
 accepted too much devotion, too many sacrifices 
 from his wife. He timidly inquired after her 
 health, asked whether she had slept off the fatigue 
 of the journey. She answered him with a con- 
 descending gentleness, but was in reality solely 
 occupied with her son, feeling his nose and checks, 
 and watching every one of his movements with the 
 anxious care of a mo.st tender mother. 
 
 '! He is better already," said Christian, in a low 
 tone. 
 
 " Yes, the colour is returning to his cheeks," she 
 answered in the same tone of familiarity which 
 they only adopted when speaking of their child. 
 
 The boy smiled at both, drawing their heads 
 together in a pretty caress, as though he knew his 
 little arms formed the only true link between these 
 
The First Day. 1 1 
 
 two most dissimilar beings. Below, on the pave- 
 ment, a group of bystanders who had heard of the 
 prince's arrival stood gazing up at this King and 
 Queen of Illyria, made famous by their heroic 
 struggle at Eagusa, and whose portraits had 
 figured in their illustrated papers. 
 
 By degrees the numbers increased, gaping with 
 open mouths, and noses in the air, as though they 
 were idly watching some pigeon or escaped parrot 
 on the roof. Soon a large crowd was gathered in 
 front of the hotel, all eyes staring up at this young 
 couple in travelling costumes, with the child's fair 
 head upraised between thom, their countenances 
 beaming with the undying hope of the vanquished, 
 and the joy of still possessing their treasure after 
 the appalling tempest that had swept over them. 
 
 " Are you coming in, Frederique ? " asked the 
 king, embarrassed by the attention of the crowd. 
 
 She, however, stood with head raised high as a 
 Queen accustomed to brave the hostile looks of the 
 rabble. 
 
 " Why ? It is very pleasant here on the 
 balcony." 
 
 " Yes ; but I had forgotten to tell you — Eosen 
 is here with his son and daughter-in-law. He 
 wishes to see you." 
 
 At the name of Eosen, which reminded her of so 
 many loyal services, the queen's eyes brightened. 
 
 " My brave duke ! I was expecting him," 
 
12 
 
 Ki, 
 
 Exile. 
 
 she said, and as she threw a last haughty look on 
 the assembled ei'owd before goinj,^ in, a nian 
 opposite her sprang upon the stonework of the 
 iron i-ailiug (if tlie Tnileries, towering above tlie 
 
 crowd for a moment, exactly as at Leybach when 
 the wiuiluws of the palace had been fired at. 
 Frcderiijnc, \dguely dreading some similar attempt, 
 in8liueti^'ely drew back, but at the same moment, a 
 hat upraised displayed a lofty forehead, with hair 
 streaming back, lit up by the setting sun, and a 
 
The First Dav. 
 
 13 
 
 calm powerful voice cried out " Long live the 
 king." Above the noises of the street, this was all 
 she could catch of the unknown friend, who, in the 
 heart of republican Paris, in face of the crumbling 
 Tuileries, had thus dared 
 to welcome the de- 
 throned sovereigns. 
 This sympathetic cheer, 
 long grown unfamiliar, 
 gave the queen the com- 
 ibrting sensation of a 
 bright fire after a cold 
 long march. It warmed 
 her to the core, and the 
 sight of old Eosen com- 
 pleted the genial and 
 beneficent feeling of 
 reaction. 
 
 The General Duo de 
 Rosen, formerly at the 
 head of the king's house- 
 hold troops, had left 
 
 lUyria three years before, when the king had taken 
 from him his post, which "^'as one of trust, to bestow 
 it on a liberal, thus favouring the new ideas to the 
 prejudice of what was then called at Leybach the 
 queen's party. He had certainly every right to 
 resent this treatment at the hands of Christian, 
 who had deliberatelv sacrificed him, let him go 
 
14 Kings in Exile. 
 
 without an expression of regret or even a farewell, 
 he, the victorious hero of Mostar, of Livno, of the 
 Montenegrin wars. After having sold his houses 
 and estates with an ostentation that was intended 
 as a protest against injustice, the old general had 
 settled in Paris, had established his son there, and 
 after three years of anxious and vain expectation, 
 had felt his anger at the royal ingratitude increase 
 by the addition of the dreariness of absence, and of 
 an unoccupied existence. And yet at the very first 
 news of his princes' arrival he had hastened to 
 them without a moment's hesitation ; and nQ.w, he 
 stood erect in their drawing-room, his immense 
 stature towering up to the chandelier, waiting for 
 the favour of a gracious welcome with such deep 
 emotion, that his great legs trembled and his broad 
 chest heaved under the wide ribbon of his order 
 and the tight-fitting military looking frock-coat 
 which he invariably wore. His head alone, the head 
 of a bird of prey, with its steel glance, its scant, 
 bristling white hair, and the thousand wrinkles of 
 its parched fire-proof skin, remained immoveable. 
 The king, who hated scenes and felt embarrassed by 
 this first interview, tried to turn it off by affecting 
 a sort of playful and off-hand cordiality. 
 
 "Well, general," he said, coming towards him 
 with outstretched hands, " you were right after all. 
 I kept too loose a rein. I have been roughly dealt 
 with, and sharply too." 
 
The First Day. 15 
 
 And, as he saw his old follower bend the knee, 
 he raised him with a gesture . full of nobility and 
 clasped him in a long embrace. Nothing, however, 
 could prevent the duke from kneeling before his 
 Queen, and it was with a singular feeling of 
 emotion, that she felt upon her hand the respectfully- 
 passionate touch of his old moustache. 
 
 " Ah, my poor Kosen ! my poor Rosen ! " she 
 murmured. 
 
 She closed her eyes to hide her tears, but all 
 those she had shed for years past had left their 
 traces upon her soft fair lids, together with the 
 anguish of night-watches and constant anxiety ; — 
 these leave scars that women fancy they can hide 
 in the deepest recesses of their heart, but they will 
 re-appear at the surface, just as the least motion of 
 a lake fuiTows its surface in perceptible ripples. 
 For the space of a moment the beautiful face 
 assumed a tired, mournful expression which did 
 not escape the attention of the old soldier : " How 
 she has suffered," he thought, as he looked at her ; 
 then to conceal his own emotion, he raised himself 
 abruptly, and turning towards his son and daughter- 
 in-law, who had remained at the other end of the 
 room, in the same stern voice in which he used to 
 give the word of command in the streets of Leybach : 
 " Draw swords. Charge the rascals ! " he ordered : 
 " Colette, Herbert, come and salute your queen." 
 
 Prince Herbert of Rosen, almost as tall as his 
 
1 6 Kings in Exile. 
 
 father, with the jaw of a horse, and ronnd babyish 
 cheeks, came forward, followed by his young wife. 
 He walked with diflBculty, leaning on his stick. 
 Eight months before he had broken his leg and a 
 few ribs in a race at Chantilly ; and the general 
 was not sorry for the opportunity of saying that, 
 had it not been for this accident which had put 
 his son's life in danger, they would both have 
 hurried to Ragusa to the aid of their sovereign. 
 
 " I should have followed you, father ! " added the 
 princess, in a heroic tone of voice, which contrasted 
 oddly with her name of Colette, and her funny 
 little cat-like nose and frizzle of fair locks. 
 
 The queen could not help smiling, and held out 
 her hand cordially. Christian, twirling his mous- 
 tache, stared with an amateur's curiosity at this 
 lively little Parisian, this pretty bird, with its Ion" 
 glittering plumage made up of flowers and skirts, 
 whose dainty get-up was such a change from the 
 majestic type and noble features to which he had 
 been accustomed. 
 
 " Lucky dog ! Where can Herbert have picked 
 up such a little gem ? " he said to himself, envying 
 his old playfellow, that great booby with goggle 
 eyes and hair parted and plaistered doAvn on a low 
 narrow forehead ; then it suddenly occurred to him 
 that although in Illyria this type of woman might 
 be rare, it was common in Paris ; and at this 
 thought exile appeared to him decidedly bearable. 
 
The First Day, ly 
 
 Moreover this exile could not possibly be a long 
 one. The Illyrians must soon get tired of their 
 Eepublic. It would be an affair of some two or 
 three months, a sort of royal holiday, which he 
 must try to spend as gaily as possible. 
 
 " Will you believe, General, that it has already 
 been proposed to us that we should purchase a 
 house ? An Englishman came this morning and 
 guaranteed he could procure one for me in forty- 
 eight hours in whatever part of the city I should 
 choose ; a magnificent house, sumptuously fur- 
 nished, with stables full of horses, coach-houses full 
 of carriages, linen, plate, and servants— the whole 
 thing complete." 
 
 " I know your Englishman, Monseigneur ; his 
 name is Tom Levis, a foreign commission agent." 
 
 " Yes, that was it, a name something like that. 
 Have you had dealings with him ? " 
 
 " Oh ! all foreigners who come to Paris receive a 
 visit from Tom. I trust for your Majesty's sake 
 that the acquaintance may go no further." 
 
 The singular attention which Prince Herbert 
 had devoted to his shoe-strings the moment Tom 
 Levis was mentioned, and the furtive looks the 
 princess cast at her husband, warned Christian that 
 if he should stand in need of any information con- 
 cerning the famous agent of the Eue Eoyale, he 
 would know where to turn. But why should he 
 ever stand in need of the services of the Levis 
 
]8 Kings in Exile. 
 
 '&>■' 
 
 agency ? He required neither house nor carriagrs, 
 and fully intended to spend the few months of his 
 stay in Paris at the hotel. 
 
 " Is not that your opinion, Frederique ? " 
 "Oh, yes, certainly it is the wisest plan," 
 answered the Queen, although at the bottom of her 
 heart she did not share her husband's illusions, nor 
 his taste for temporary homes. 
 
 In his turn old Rosen ventured an observation. 
 Life in an hotel hardly seemed to him compatible 
 with the dignity of the royal house of lUyria. 
 Paris was just then full of exiled sovereigns, and 
 all lived in sumptuous style.' The King of West- 
 phalia occupied a magnificent residence in the Rue 
 de Neubourg, with an annexe for the offices of his 
 administration. The mansion of the Queen of 
 Galicia in the Champs Elysees was a true palac^ 
 combining the luxury and pomp of royalty. The 
 King of Palermo had a fine establishment at Saint- 
 Mande, with plenty of horses, and a whole troop of 
 aides-de-cami}. Even the Duke of Palma, in his 
 small house at Passy, held a sort of court, and had 
 always five or six generals dining at liis table. 
 
 " No doubt," said Christian impatiently ; " no 
 doubt, but the case is not the same. They are all 
 settled in Paris, it is an understood, definitive thing, 
 Avhereas we— —Besides, there is one very good reason, 
 friend Rosen, why we should not purchase a palace. 
 All we possessed has been taken from us. A few 
 
The Pirst Day. 19 
 
 thousands at Rothschild's at Naples, aud our poor 
 crown which was rescued by Madame de Silvis and 
 brought away in a baudbox, is all that remains. 
 To think that the Marquise made the long journey 
 into exile, on foot, by carriage or rail, even crossing 
 the sea, always holding her precious bandbox in her 
 hand I Eeally, it was too funny ! " 
 
 And his childishness getting the better of him, 
 he began to laugh over their poverty as if it were 
 the most amusing thing in the world. 
 
 The duke, however, did not laugh. 
 
 " Sire," he said, so deeply moved that all his old 
 wrinkles quivered, "you did me the honour just 
 now of assuring me that you felt some regret at 
 having kept me for so long a time absent from your 
 heart and your council. Well, I now ask you a 
 favour in return. As long as your exile lasts restore 
 me to the post I filled at Leybach in the service of 
 your Majesties^comptroUer of the civil and mili- 
 tary household." 
 
 " Eh ! what ambition ! " said the king gaily. 
 
 Then turning affectionately towards him, he 
 added : 
 
 " My poor general, I have no household now, 
 none, neither civil nor military. The queen has 
 her chaplain and two women. Zara has his 
 governess ; as for me I have brought Boscovich to 
 write my correspondence and Lebeau to shave my 
 chin ; and that is all." 
 
 2 
 
20 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " In that case, I shall still ask for another favour. 
 Will your Majesty consent to take my son Herbert 
 as aide-de-mmp and appoint the princess his wife to 
 the post of reader and lady-in-waiting to the queen." 
 
 " Your request is granted, duke, as far as I am 
 concerned," said the queen, smiling brightly to 
 Colette, who stood bewildered by her new dignity. 
 
 As for the prince, he thanked his sovereign for 
 the title of aide-de-camp he had just conferred upon 
 him in the same gracious manner by a graceful 
 neigh, a trick he had contracted at Tattersall's, 
 where he spent most of his time. 
 
 " To-morrow morning I shall lay the three 
 appointments before His Majesty for his signature," 
 added the general in a respectful but curt tone, 
 thereby intimating that he considered himself as 
 already entered upon his new functions. 
 
 On hearing the voice and formula which had so 
 long and so solemnly haunted him, the young king's 
 face expressed a momentary ennui and discourage- 
 ment ; but he soon consoled himself as he looked 
 at the princess, whose countenance was transfigured 
 and improved by joy, as often happens to pretty 
 insignificant faces whose beauty and piquancy lies 
 in continual mobility of expression. Just fancy 
 Colette Sauvadon, the niece of Sauvadon, wine 
 merchant at Bercy, lady-in-waiting to the Queen 
 Frederique ! What will the inhabitants of the 
 Rue de Varennos and the Rue Saint-Dominique 
 
The First Day. 21 
 
 say, and all those select circles to which her man-iage 
 with Herbert had only admitted her on grand recep- 
 tion days, never on intimate terms. Her imagina- 
 tion was already conjuring up a fanciful court. She 
 thought of the visiting cards she would order and of 
 all the new dresses she would have made ; for instance, 
 she would certainly have one in the colom-s of lUyria, 
 with rosettes to match on her horses' heads. Pre- 
 sently the king's voice recalled her from her dreams. 
 
 " This is our first meal in the land of exile," he 
 said in a half-serious voice to Rosen ; and, in a 
 tone he purposely made emphatic, he added, "I 
 wish the table to be cheerful and smTOunded by all 
 our friends." 
 
 But noticing the scared look of the general at 
 this sudden invitation : 
 
 " Ah, I see, you are quite right. I forgot. "We 
 have dropped all habits of etiquette since the siege, 
 and the comptroller of the household will haAe 
 many reforms to ]uake. Only I request that they 
 shall not begin till to-morrow." 
 
 At this moment the doors were thrown open, 
 and the butler announced their Majesties' dinner. 
 The princess was already preparing to rise, full of 
 importance, to take Christian's arm, but he offered 
 his arm to the queen, and, quietly ignoring his 
 guests, led her into the dining-room. All the 
 ceremonial of the court had not, after all, remained 
 bJiried in the casemates at Ragusa, 
 
22 Kings in Exile. 
 
 The sudden transition from the sunny room to 
 the artificially lighted dining-ropm struck the 
 guests as they entered. Notwithstanding a central 
 chandelier, two side candelabras, and two large 
 lamps placed on the sideboard, it seemed dim, as 
 though the daylight revenged itself for having 
 been thus brutally shut out before its time, by 
 casting a dubious twilight on the scene. The 
 length and disproportion of the table with the small 
 number of guests also added to the appearance of 
 gloom ; it was a table that had been sought for all 
 over the hotel to suit the demands of etiquette, and 
 the king and queen took their places at one end of 
 it, no one sitting opposite, or next to them. This 
 filled the little Princess of Rosen with surprise and 
 admiration. In the last years of the Empire, 
 when she had dined at the Tuileries, she remem- 
 bered having seen the Emperor and Empress seated 
 opposite one another, just like any ordinary married 
 couple at their wedding breakfast. 
 
 " Ah," thought the little cocodette * as she shut 
 her fan with a decided gesture, and placed it near 
 her by the side of her gloves, " Legitimacy, that is 
 the only real thing ! " 
 
 And this thought transformed for her the sparsely 
 attended kind of table d'hfite, which recalled the 
 
 * Nickname given under the Empire to ladies nf tlic 
 fnsliimiable fast society. 
 
The First Day. 23 
 
 splendid dining-voorus along the Italian Corniohe 
 road, between Monaco and San Eemo, at the begin- 
 ning of the season before the tourists begin to pour 
 in. The same medley of people and costumes ; 
 Christian in a shooting-jacket, the Queen in a 
 travelling-dress, Herbert and his wife in fashion- 
 able costumes, fitted for the boulevards ; the Fran- 
 ciscan cassock of Father Alphee, the queen's 
 chaplain, side by side with the military-looking 
 frock-coat of the general, covered with his many 
 decorations. Nothing, in short, could be less 
 imposing. One thing alone lent some grandeur to 
 the scene, — the prayer of the chaplain, invoking a 
 divine blessing on this, the first repast partaken of 
 in exile. 
 
 " Quce, SW71US sumpfwi prima die in exile,''' said 
 the monk, with outstretched hands ; and the words, 
 slowly enunciated, seemed to lengthen out far into 
 the future the short holiday contempkted by King 
 Christian. 
 
 " Amen ! " responded, in a grave voice, the 
 despoiled sovereign, as though in the Latin of the 
 Church, he had at last felt the thousand broken 
 ties which chng with living and quivering hold, 
 like the roots of an uptorn tree, to the banished of 
 all times and places. 
 
 Nevertheless, the strongest impressions did not 
 dwell long in this polished and caressing Slav 
 nature. He was hardly seated, before his natural 
 
24 Kings in Exile. 
 
 gaiety and heedlessness returned, and he began to 
 talk in French, out of regard for the Parisian 
 Colette, correctly, but with a slight Italian lisp that 
 well suited his laugh. In a heroic-comic tone he 
 related different episodes of the siege ; the settling- 
 down of the court in the casemates, and the 
 singular figure cut by the ilarquise Gouvernante 
 Eleonore de Silvis, in her gi'een feathered hat and 
 her plaid. Fortunately, that innocent lady was 
 dining in her pupil's room, and could not hear the 
 laughter caused by the king's description. After 
 her, Boscovich and his herbarium served the king 
 as a butt. With boyish glee he seemed to wish to 
 revenge himself for the gi'avity of the circumstances 
 by turning them into ridicule. The aulic coun- 
 cillor Boscovich, a small middle-aged man, gentle 
 and timorous, with rabbit's eyes looking always 
 askance, wns a learned jurisconsult, passionately 
 fond of botany. The law courts being closed at 
 Eagusa, he spent his time in botanising in the 
 ditches of the fortifications, under fire of the shells, 
 with the unconscious heroism natural to a mind 
 utterly absorbed ia one idea, and who, in the midst 
 of the terrible dis;ister that had befallen his country, 
 was solely preoccupied about the fate of a magnifi- 
 cent herbarium that had been left behind in the 
 hands of the liberals. 
 
 " Fancy, my poor old Boscovich," said the king 
 to frighten him ; " fancy what a jolly bonfire they 
 
The First Day. 25 
 
 will have made of all that heap of dried flowers ; 
 unless, iadeed, the Republic should have decided, 
 out of economy, to cut new capes for its militia 
 out of your great sheets of grey blotting-paper." 
 
 The councillor joined in the general laugh, with 
 scared looks however, and abortive eflfbrts to pro- 
 test : " Ma che 1 Ma che ! " which betrayed his 
 childish apprehensions. 
 
 " How charming the king is ! how witty ! and 
 what eyes ! " thought the little princess towards 
 whom Christian kept bending at every moment, as 
 though lie would fain lessen the distance made 
 between them by the exigences of etiquette. 
 
 It was a pleasure to see her expand under the 
 evident admiration of his august glance, toying 
 with her fan, uttering little cries, and throwing 
 back her supple figure, which shook with rippling 
 and ringing laughter. The queen, by her attitude 
 and her close conversation with her neighbour, the 
 old duke, seemed to isolate herself from the ovei-flow 
 of gaiety. Once or twice when the siege was being 
 spoken of, she had said a few words, speaking 
 emphatically of the king's bravery, his knowledge 
 of strategy, after which she had resumed her own 
 conversation. The general, in a low voice, inquired 
 about the persons of the court he had known, old 
 companions in arms, who, more fortunate than 
 himself, had followed their princes to Eagusa. 
 Many had been left there, and as Rosen mentioned 
 
26 Kings m Exile. 
 
 each name, the queen responded in her serious voice : 
 " Dead, dead," the words sounding like the funereal 
 knell of all those so recently departed. 
 
 However, after dinner, when they returned to the 
 drawing-room, Frederique was more cheerful. She 
 made Colette de Rosen sit heside her on the sofa, and 
 talked to her with the aflfectionate familiarity that 
 attracted the sympathy of all around her ; it was 
 like the pressure of her beautiful hand with its 
 tapered fingers and broad palm, which communi- 
 cated by its firm grasp something of her own com- 
 forting energy. Suddenly she said : 
 
 " Come, princess, let us go and see Zara put to 
 bed." 
 
 At the end of a long lobby, encumbered like the 
 rest of the apartment with piled-up boxes, open 
 trunks overflowing with linen and articles of cloth- 
 ing, all the disorder of a recent arrival, was the ■ 
 room of the little prince, lighted by a lamp, the 
 lowered shade of which threw the light on to the 
 blue bed-curtains at the level of the bed. 
 
 A waiting-woman was sleeping seated on a box, 
 her head wrapped in the white coif and neck- 
 handkerchief bordered with pink that forms the 
 headgear of the Dalmatian women. Xear the 
 table, the governess, resting lightly on her elbow 
 with an open book in her lap, was also undergoing 
 the soporific influence of the story she had been 
 reading, and retained e\-en in her sleep the senti- 
 
The First Day. 
 
 V 
 
 mental and romantic air which had caused the 
 king's mirth and excited his mockery. 
 
 The queen's entrance failed to rouse her, but at 
 the very first movement of the mosquito-net that 
 veiled his bed, the little prince stretched out his 
 
 hands and made an effort to sit up, with wide- 
 open eyes and vacant gaze. For so many months 
 he had been accustomed to sudden wakings, hurried 
 dressings, startings, and flights in tlie middle of the 
 night, to find himself reawakening in new places 
 with new faces around him, that he had lost the 
 deep sleep of childhood — and his was no longer the 
 
28 Kings in Exile. 
 
 ten hours' journeying in the land of dreams, which 
 children accomplish to the accompaniment of the 
 soft and almost imperceptible rhythm of their gentle 
 breathing. 
 
 " Good night, mama," he said in a low voice ; 
 " are we going to start oflF again ? " 
 
 By this resigned and touching exclamation all 
 that the child had suffered was revealed, a suffering 
 far beyond his years and strength. 
 
 " No, no, my darling ; we are in safety at last. 
 Sleep ; you must try to sleep." 
 
 "Oh! very well. I shall go back to the 
 mountain of glass with the giant Eobistor ; I was 
 enjoying myself so much." 
 
 " Madame Eleonore's stories are muddling his 
 brain," said the queen, softly. " Poor little one ! 
 Life is so dark and gloomy for him. Fairy tales 
 are the only things that amuse him. We shall 
 have, nevertheless, to make up our minds to put 
 something else in his head before long." 
 
 As she spoke she arranged the child's pillow and 
 settled him to rest with the caressing gesture of 
 any other mother, which quite upset Colette de 
 Rosen's grandiose ideas about royalty. Then, as 
 she bent down to kiss her son, he asked in a 
 whisper, what was the noise he heard rumbling in 
 the distance, the cannon or the sea. The queen 
 listened for a moment to the confused and constant 
 rolling, which at times made the A\alls crack and 
 
The First Day. 
 
 29 
 
 the windows rattle, emcloping the house from top 
 to bottom, then dying away and bursting out 
 afresh, increasing and losing itself in an infinitude 
 of similar noises. 
 
 " It is nothing, only Paris, my sou. Go to 
 sleep." 
 
 And the little fallen prince, who had heard of 
 Paris as of a refuge, went off to sleep again, full of 
 confidence, lulled by the sounds of the revolutionary 
 city. 
 
 When the queen and the princess returned to 
 the drawing-room they found the king standing 
 
30 Kings in Exile. 
 
 by the side of a young and noble-looking woman, 
 with whom he was talking. The familiar tone of 
 their conversation, the respectful distance the rest 
 of the company maintained, shewed that she was a 
 personage of some importance. The queen uttered 
 a cry of emotion : 
 " Maria ! " 
 " Frederique ! " 
 
 A mutual impulse threw them into each other's 
 arms. In answer to an inquiring glance of his 
 wife, Herbert de Rosen named the visitor. She 
 was the Queeu of Palermo. Somewhat taller and 
 slighter than her cousin the Queen of Illyria, she 
 seemed a few years older. Her black eyes, her 
 dark hair brushed back oflF her forehead, and her 
 pale complexion gave her the appearance of an 
 Italian, although she was born at the Court of 
 Bavaria. There was a certain Germanic look in 
 her long flat figure, and the haughty expression of 
 her smile ; besides the unmistakable dowdiness 
 and want of harmony in dress so peculiar to the 
 other side of the Rhine. Frederique, who had been 
 left an orphan at an early ane, had been brought 
 up at Munich with this cousin, and they had 
 retained a strong alFection for one another. 
 
 " You see, I could not wait," said the Queen of 
 Palermo, holding her hands. " Cecco did not re- 
 turn, so I came without him. I was longing to 
 see you. You have been so constantly in my 
 
The First Day. 31 
 
 thoughts. Oh ! that dreadful camion of liagusa, 
 I fancied I heard it at night from Vincennes." 
 
 " It was but the echo of the cannon of Caserta," 
 said Christian, alluding to the heroic conduct that 
 a few years before had distinguished this poor 
 queen, fallen and exiled like themsehes. 
 
 She sighed : 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Caserta. We were deserted by all, as 
 you were. How i^itiable ; as if all monarchs 
 should not stand by each other. But all that has 
 come to an end. The world hns gone mad I " 
 
 Then turning to Christian, she added : 
 
 " NeTertheless, I must compliment you, cousin ; 
 you have fallen hke a king." 
 
 "Oh ! " he said, pointing to Frederique, " the 
 true king of us two " 
 
 A sign from his wife stopped him. He bowed, 
 smiled, and turning on his heel : 
 
 " Come and smoke, Herbert ! " he said to his 
 aide-de-camp. And they stepped out together on 
 the balcony. 
 
 The evening was balmy and lo\'ely, and the last 
 glimmer of day was fading and disappearing in 
 bluish tints round the brilliant gas-lamps. The 
 dark mass of chestnut trees in the Tuileries main- 
 tained a fanlilce breeze around them and quickened 
 the flashing light of the stars. This backgi-ound 
 of verdure and space imparted to the Rue de Eivoli 
 a less suffocating appearance than is usual to the 
 
32 Kings in Exile. 
 
 streebs of Paris in summer ; but the constant 
 drifting of the population in the direction of the 
 Champs Elysees could be distinctly felt, wending 
 its way ta its open-air concerts under the flaring 
 circles of gas-alights. All the amusements which in 
 winter are confined within warmly-draped window- 
 hangings, now filled the streets ; pleasure sung and 
 laughed freely, in flowering bonnets, fluttering man- 
 tillas, muslin dresses, revealing as they passed under 
 a street-lamp a glimpse of a white neck and black 
 velvet ribbon. The cafes and pastrycook shops 
 overflowed on to the pavement, with sounds of 
 money, clinking of glasses and many calls. 
 
 " Paris is a wonderful place," said Christian of 
 Illyria, puffing the smoke of his cigar out into the 
 darkness. " The very air seems difierent from 
 anywhere else ; it has something exciting and 
 heady about it. Fancy that at Leybach at this 
 hour everything is closed, extinguished, asleep." 
 
 Then in a tone of dehght he went on : 
 
 " I say, my dear aide-de-camp, I trust I am going 
 to be initiated to the pleasures of Paris ; you seem 
 to know all about them, to be quite up in them." 
 
 " Yes indeed, monseigueur," replied Herbert, 
 neighing with gratified vanity. " At any club, at 
 the opera, c^-erywhere, I am called the king of the 
 ffomme / " * 
 
 While Christian made him explain the meaning 
 * Mashers. 
 
Tlie First Day. 33 
 
 of this new word, the two queens, who had gone 
 into Frederique's room to converse more freely, 
 poured forth their sad confidences in low whispers 
 that could be heard behind the half-closed shutters. 
 In the drawing-room Father Alphee and the old 
 duke were also talking in a low tone. 
 
 " He is quite right," said the chaplain ; " it is she 
 who is the king, the real king. If you could have 
 seen her on horseback, at the outposts day and 
 night ! At the fort Saint- An gelo, when the balls 
 were flying thick, in order to encourage the 
 soldiers, she walked twice round the top of the 
 trenches, proud and erect, her riding habit over 
 her arm and her whip in her hand, as though 
 she were quietly going round her own park. 
 You should have seen our sailors when she came 
 down ! He, meanwhile, was gadding about, God 
 only knows where ! Brave he certainly is, as 
 brave as she is, but without conviction or faith ; 
 and to save a throne as to gaia Heaven, Monsieur 
 le Due, we must needs have faith." 
 
 The monk getting excited, seemed to grow taller 
 in his long robe, and Rosen was obliged to calm 
 him. 
 
 "Lower, Father Alphee. Speak lower, please." 
 For he feared lest Colette should hear him. 
 
 Colette had been left to the tender mercies of 
 the Councillor Boscovich, who was entertaining her 
 with an account of his plants, minghng scientific 
 
34 Kings in Exile. 
 
 terms with the minute details of his botanical 
 expeditions. His conversation had an aroma of 
 faded herbs and the dusty atmosphere of an old 
 provincial library. Nevertheless, such is the power- 
 ful attraction of greatness, so delightfully intoxica- 
 ting is its atmosphere to certain little beings eager 
 to breathe it in, that the young princess. Princess 
 Colette, the soul of Paris balls, of its races, and its 
 theatres, ever in the van of all its gaieties, this 
 same Princess Colette bestowed her most fascina- 
 ting smiles upon the councillor, as she listened to 
 his arid nomenclature. It was enough for her to 
 know that a king was talking at the window, that 
 two queens were exchanging confidences in the 
 next room, to make the commonplace hotel room 
 where even her own elegance seemed to be out of 
 its element, assume the air of solemn grandeur and 
 gloomy majesty which throws so melancholy an 
 appearance over the wide balls at Versailles, and 
 their polished floors that glisten as brightly as their 
 mirrors. She could have remained there in an 
 ecstasy until midnight, without stirring, or feeling 
 the least ennui, slightly puzzled however by the 
 lengthy conversation between the king and her 
 husband. "What serious subjeats could they be 
 discussing ? What vast plans for the restoration 
 of monarchy ? Her curiqgity increased when she 
 saw them reappear with flushed faces, bright and 
 resolute eyes. 
 
The First Day. 35 
 
 " I am goiQg out with Monseigneur," said 
 Herbert, in a low tone ; " my father will take you 
 home.' 
 
 The king approached her in his turn : 
 
 "You will not be angry with me, Princess, I 
 hope ; he is entering upon his functions." 
 
 " Every instant of our lives belongs to yonr 
 Majesties," replied the princess, persuaded that 
 they were bent on some important and mysterious 
 business ; perhaps indeed a first meeting of con- 
 spirators. Oh ! if only she could follow them ! 
 
 Christian had taken a step towards the queen's 
 room, but when he reached the door, he paused. 
 
 " They are crying," he said to Herbert, turning 
 back. " Good night, I shall not go in." 
 
 Once in the street he gave way to an explosion 
 of joy and relief, and' took his aide-de-camp's arm, 
 after having lit a fresh cigar in the hall of the hotel. 
 
 " You cannot understand how refreshing it is," 
 he said, " to go alone into the crowd, to walk and 
 mix with the rest of the world, to be master of 
 one's words and actions, and if a pretty girl passes 
 by, to be free to turn and look after her without 
 any fear of upsetting the equilibrium of Europe. 
 This is the advantage of exile. When I came to 
 Paris some eight years ago, I saw it from the 
 windows of the Tuileries, from the seats of the 
 gala-coaches. This time I want to see it all, every 
 corner, by Jove. But I forgot you were lame, my 
 
 D 2 
 
36 
 
 King's ill Exile. 
 
 poor Herbert, and I am making you walk. "Wait, 
 let us hail a cab." 
 
 In vain did the prince strive to protest. His leg 
 was not painful, and he felt quite able to walk. 
 But Ciiristian insisted. 
 
 " No, no, I will not have my guide knocked up 
 on the very first evening." 
 
 He hailed a passing cab that was going in the 
 direction of the Place de la Concorde with a 
 rattle of strained springs and cracking of whip on 
 the bony frame of the wretched horse ; he jumped 
 lightly in and settled himself on the faded blue 
 cloth cushions, rubbing his hands with childish glee. 
 " Where are we going, mon prince 1 " asked the 
 coachman, little aware of how exact was the 
 appellation. 
 
 And Christian of Illyria ansfl'cred in the tri- 
 umphant voice of an emancipated school-boy : 
 '■ To Mabille." 
 
II. 
 
 A liOYALIST. 
 
 Olose-siiavkn and bare-lieadud under a fiae sliarp 
 December drizzle, that rimmed like steel drops 
 their brown woollen cassocks, two monks wearing 
 the girdle and round cowl of the Franciscan tirder, 
 walked with long strides rapidly down the rue 
 Monsieur-le-Prince. In the midst of all the 
 transformations of the Latin quarter, of those wide 
 thoroughfares that have opened out and destroyed 
 all the originality and memorials of ancient Paris, 
 the rue Monsieur-le-Prince still preserves its 
 original student aspect. The booksellers' shops, 
 the coffee-houses, the cook-shops, the old clothes- 
 
38 Kings in Exile. 
 
 dealers, " sale and purchase of gold and silver," 
 succeed one another up to the heights of Sainte- 
 Genevievc, and scholars still stalk up and down at 
 all hours of the day, not indeed the students 
 drawn by Gavarni, with long straggling locks and 
 woollen Scotch caps ; but lawyers of the future, 
 tightly buttoned up in ulsters, carefully gloved, and 
 carrying enormous leathern portfohos under their 
 arms, assuming already the sharp, cold manners of 
 men of business ; or else doctors in perspective, 
 more easy in their gait, retaining from the material, 
 human side of their studies, an expansion of 
 animal life as a compensation for their perpetual 
 struggle with death. 
 
 At this early hour young women in loose 
 wrappers and slippers, their eyes swollen from want 
 of sleep, their hau- rolled up in dangling nets, were 
 already crossing the street to fetch milk for their 
 breakfast from the dairy, some laughing and 
 hastening through the sleet, others on the contrary, 
 with prim dignity, swinging their milk cans, and 
 trailing their slipshod feet and their faded finery 
 with the majestic indifference of pantomime 
 queens ; and as, notwithstanding ulsters and 
 morocco portfolios, youthful hearts are always 
 susceptible, passing students were smiling at the 
 fair ones. " Hullo, L6a." " Good morning, 
 Clemence." They hailed one another across the 
 street, making appointments for the evening : 
 
A Royalist. 39 
 
 " Be at the Medici's to-night," or else " I'll see you 
 at the Louis XIII.'s." Then suddenly at a joke 
 too coarse or misunderstood, one of the girls would 
 break out in astounding indignation, with the 
 invariable retort : " Get along with you, you saucy 
 fellow ! " Imagine how the two monks must 
 have shuddered on coming in contact with all these 
 gay young folk, constantly turning and laughing 
 as they passed. The laugh, however, was speedily 
 checked at the sight of one of the Franciscans, 
 who, lean and lanky, possessed the grim countenance 
 of a pirate under his dark bushy eyebrows, and 
 whose cassock, tightened in coarse folds by a cord 
 at the waist, revealed the sturdy loins and muscular 
 form of an athlete. Neither he nor his companion 
 appeared to notice anything in the street, but strode 
 along hurriedly, gazing straight before them, 
 absorbed in the object of their errand. Before 
 reaching the flight of steps leading to the School of 
 Medicine, the elder said to the other : " It is here." 
 He pointed to a lodging-house of poor aspect at 
 the end of an alley, closed by a belled green 
 gate, situated between a shop full of cheap news- 
 papers, penny ballads, and coloured pictures in 
 which the grotesque hat of Dom Basile figured in a 
 multitude of attitudes, and a low beershop, bearing 
 on its signboard the words : " Brasserie du Rialto," 
 so called no doubt because the waiting was done by 
 young women in Venetian head-dresses. 
 
40 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " Is Monsieur Elys6e gone out ? " inquired one 
 of the Fathers, as they passed the hotel ofiB.ce on 
 the first storey. 
 
 A fat woman, who by her appearance must have 
 roved through many a lodging-house before she 
 became herself the mistress of one, lazily answered 
 from her chair, without even taking the trouble of 
 consulting the rows of keys hanging on the rack, 
 
 " Gone out, at this hour ! You had better say, 
 has he come home ! " 
 
 Then changing her tone at the sight of the 
 cassocks, she indicated Elysee Meraut's room. 
 
 "No. 36, on the fifth floor, at the end of the 
 lobby." 
 
 The Franciscans went up, wandering through nar- 
 row passages, littered with muddy boots and high- 
 heeled shoes of every description : grey, bronze, 
 fantastic, luxurious, or miserable, that told many a 
 tale of the occupier's existence ; but they heeded 
 nothing, sweeping the passage with their rough 
 skirts and the crosses of their long rosaries, scarcely 
 moved even when a handsome young woman in 
 scarlet petticoat, and her bare arms and shoulders 
 thrust into a man's overcoat, crossed the landing on 
 the third floor and leant over the bannisters to scream 
 out some order to the waiter, with a husky voice 
 and laugh issuing from a peculiarly coarse mouth. 
 They exchanged, however, a significative glance. 
 " If he is the man you describe," muttered the 
 
A Royalist. 
 
 41 
 
 corsair in a foreign accent, " he has chosen singnlar 
 company." 
 
 Ok. 
 
 A smile full of malice and priestly indulgence 
 crossed the face of the elder monk, an intelligent 
 and shrewd-looking man. 
 
42 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " Saint Paul among the Gentiles ! " he murmured. 
 
 When they reached the fifth storey, they had a 
 moment's hesitation, the low ceiling of the dark 
 staircase hardly allowing the numbers to be dis- 
 cerned, land several doors being ornamented by 
 cards, such as " Mademoiselle Alice," without any 
 mention of a business, a mention that would in 
 truth have been superfluous, for there were several 
 competitors in that line of trade in the house ; but 
 fancy if these excellent Fathers had by mistake 
 knocked at one of their doors ! 
 
 " We must call his name ! " said the bushy-eye- 
 browed monk, and the hotel rang with a "Mon- 
 sieur Meraut ! " emphasized in a right martial 
 manner. 
 
 Not a whit less vigorous, not a whit less vibrating 
 was the reponse to his call, which issued from a 
 room at the end of the passage. And when they 
 opened the door, the voice continued cheerfully : 
 
 " Ah, it is you. Father Melchior ! I'm out of 
 luck ! I hoped it was a registered letter. Come in 
 all the same, Reverend Father, you are welcome, and, 
 if you can, pray sit down." 
 
 Books, reviews, newspapers were indeed piled up 
 on every article of furniture, hiding the sordid 
 conventionality of a poverty-stricken lodging, the 
 discoloured tiles, the broken-down divan, and the 
 invariable Empire writing-table, and the three 
 faded velvet chairs. On the bed lay scattered in a 
 
A Royalist. 
 
 43 
 
 confused medley : printed papers, clothes, and a 
 thin brown blanket, with files of proofs that the 
 master of the locality, still in bed, slashed with 
 great marks in coloured pencil. The wretched 
 interior, the fireless chimney, the naked dustiness 
 of the walls were lighted np by the neighbouring- 
 
 roofs, the reflection of a rainy sky on glistening 
 slates ; and Meraut's wide brow, his powerfal and 
 passionate face was illumined by it, showing the 
 sad but iutelligent expression that distinguishes 
 certain faces and is met with nowhere but in Paris. 
 " Still in my hovel, you see. Father Melchior ! It 
 cannot be helped. I alighted here on my arrival 
 eighteen yeai-s ago. Since then, T have not budged. 
 
44 Kings in Exile. 
 
 What dreams, what hopes have I not buried in 
 every corner, how many conceits do I not find 
 hidden away in the dust. I am sure that if I left 
 this shabby little room, I should be leaving the best 
 part of myself. I am so convinced of it, that I 
 kept it on when I left to go yonder." 
 
 " Ah, to be sure, and what about your journey ? " 
 said Father Melchior, casting a glance at his com- 
 panion. "I thought you had intended staying 
 away for some time. "What happened ? Did not 
 the situation suit you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! the situation was magnificent," replied 
 Meraut, shaking his mane, "it would have been 
 impossible to have a better berth. The pay of a 
 minister plenipotentiary, lodged in the palace, and 
 horses, carriages, servants at my disposal. Every- 
 body was most kind to me, the Emperor, Empress 
 and Archdukes. Nevertheless I felt dull and bored. 
 In spite of all, I longed for Paris, the Latin Quarter 
 especially, the air we breathe here, so light and full 
 of life. I missed the galleries under the Odeon, 
 the new book turned over standing by the stalls, 
 and the hunt for old books, those musty volumes 
 piled up on the parapets of the quays, like a ram- 
 part sheltering studious Paris from the frivolity 
 and selfishness of its other quarters. And then, 
 that is not all — here his voice grew more serious — 
 you know my ideas, Father Melchior. You know 
 what was my ambition in accepting the position of 
 
A Royalist. 45 
 
 a subaltern. I hoped to make a king of that little 
 fellow, a king really kingly, such as we never see 
 now-a-days. I intended to raise him, form him, 
 prepare him for the grand part that overpowers and 
 crushes them all, like the mediteval armour kept in 
 old castles that shames our narrow chests and 
 shoulders. Ah well, do you know what I found 
 at the Court at X. ? Liberals, my dear friend, 
 radicals, men devoted to all the new ideas. Horrible 
 plebeians who will not understand that if monarchy 
 is condemned, it had better perish fighting, wrapped 
 up in its flag, than die in an invalid's chair rolled 
 towards the grave by some foolish Parliament. Xo 
 later than my first lesson, there was an outcry 
 through the whole palace. "Where did this fellow 
 come from ? What designs had this barbarian ? 
 Then with many soft words I was requested to keep 
 to my duties of pedagogue. An usher in fact ! 
 When I saw that, I took up my hat and said good- 
 bye to their Majesties ! " 
 
 lie spoke in a strong full voice and a southern 
 accent that had a metallic ring in every cord of it ; 
 and as he spoke his face was transfigured. His 
 head, which at rest was large and ugly ; a great 
 bumpy forehead overshadowed by a shock of black 
 hair streaked with one white tuft ; a thick, broken 
 nose ; a powerful mouth devoid of any beard that 
 might have concealed its appearance, for his skin 
 had the wrinkles and cracks and hardness and 
 
46 Kings in Exile. 
 
 sterility of a heated volcanic soil : this became 
 marvellously brightened and lightened by passion. 
 Imagine a veil torn away, the black blower of a 
 grate suddenly raised, displaying a joyous and 
 reviving blaze, a revelation of inborn eloquence 
 flashing from the eyes and mobile features, spread 
 by the rush of heart's-blood over that face worn 
 and marked by every kind of excess and every 
 fatigue. The landscapes in Languedoc, Meraut's 
 native land, bare, sterile, grey like the dusty olive 
 trees, assume in the many-coloured settings of their 
 relentless sun this gorgeous resplendence traversed 
 by fairy-like shadows which seem the decomposi- 
 tioa of a ray, the slow and gradual death of a 
 rainbow. 
 
 "So you are disgusted with grandees?" said 
 the old monk, iu an insinuating and muffled voice, 
 that was in a strong contrast with this explosion of 
 eloquence. 
 
 " Certainly ! " rephed the other, energetically, 
 
 " Nevertheless, all kings are not alike. I know 
 one whom your ideas " 
 
 " No, no, Father jMelchior. That is at an end. I 
 do not wish to try such an experiment again. I 
 should fear lest seeing sovereigns too closely, I might 
 lose all respect for them." 
 
 After a moment's silence, the wily priest sought 
 a subterfuge to carry back his thoughts to the same 
 subject. 
 
A Royalist. 47 
 
 " This six months' absence must have been detri- 
 mental to you, M6raut." 
 
 "No, hardly. First, the uncle Sauvadon has 
 remained faithful to me ; you know Sauvadon, my 
 rich Bercy fellow. As he meets a great many 
 people at his niece's, the Princess of Rosen, and 
 wishes to mix in the conversation, it is I whom he 
 has appointed to give him three times a weelc what 
 he calls ' ideas about things in general.' His 
 confidence and simplicity are delightful, poor man ! 
 ' Monsieur Meraut, what am 1 to think about this 
 book ? ' ' Execrable.' ' Indeed, yet it seemed to me ; 
 I heard some one say the other evening at the 
 
 princess's ' ' If you have an opinion my presence 
 
 here is useless.' ' No, no, my dear friend, you know 
 very well I have no opinion of my own.' The fact 
 s he really has none and blindly adopts any of my 
 suggestions. I am his thinking matter. After I left, 
 he no longer spoke, having no more ideas. And 
 when I returned, you should have seen how he liter- 
 ally threw himself upon me. Then I have a couple 
 of Wallachians whom I instruct in political law. 
 And, besides, I have always some small job on hand. 
 For instance, I am finishing just now a Memorial 
 of the, Siege of Racjusa drawn from authentic docu- 
 ments. There is not much of my scribbling in it, 
 except the last chapter, which I am rather pleased, 
 with. I have the proofs here. Shall I read it to 
 you ? I have called it Europe ivithout Kings I " 
 
48 Kings in Exile. 
 
 While he read his royalist memorial, with an 
 animation that moved him to tears, the awakening 
 of the inmates of the hotel surrounded them with 
 the sounds of mirth and youth, mingled with the 
 clinking of plates and glasses and the wooden clang 
 of an old piano, on which was hammered the tune 
 of a low music-hall ballad, — a strange contrast 
 indeed, of which the Franciscans were hardly 
 cognizant, absorbed and charmed as they were by 
 the sounds of this forcible and brutal defence of 
 royalty. The taller one more especially quivered 
 restlessly, striving to repress his enthusiastic ex- 
 clamations with a gesture of his arms that seemed 
 to crush his very chest. The chapter ended, he 
 drew himself up erect, paced the room impatiently 
 with mighty stride, overflowing with gestures and 
 words : 
 
 " Yes, that is true ; that is the real, legitimate, 
 absolute, divine right" — only he pronounced it 
 lezitime and assolute. " No more parliaments, no 
 more talkers. Throw the whole gang into the 
 fire ! " 
 
 And his glance burnt and blazed like a faggot of 
 the Inquisition. Father Melchior, however, was 
 more calm and congratulated Meraut on his work. 
 
 " I trust you will put your name to this book," 
 he said. 
 
 " Not any more than to the others. You know, 
 Father Melchior, that I am only ambitious for my 
 
A Royalist. 49 
 
 ideas. The work will be well paid. It was through 
 Uncle Sauvadon I got this windfall, but I would 
 willingly have written it for nothing. It is such a 
 grand thing to record the annals of that expiring 
 royalty, to listen to the faihng breath of the old 
 world gasping and dying with the worn-out 
 monarchies. Here, at least, a king fell in a way 
 that gives a haughty lesson to aU. Christian is a 
 hero ! Among those notes jotted down day by day, 
 there is the account of a stroll he took while the 
 shells were bursting around him at the fort Saint- 
 Angelo. It is glorious ! " 
 
 One of the Fathers bowed his head. He, alas, 
 well knew the true story of that heroic manifesta- 
 tion, and that still more heroic lie. But a will 
 more powerful than his had commanded silence ; 
 and he merely made a sign to his companion, who, 
 rising from his chair, said abruptly to M6raut : 
 
 '• Well, it is for that hero's son, that accompanied 
 by Father Alph6e, almoner of the Court of Illyria, 
 I have come to seek you. Will you undertake the 
 education of the royal child ? " 
 
 "You will have neither palaces nor grand 
 coaches with us," added Father Alphee, with a 
 touch of melancholy, " nor the Imperial generosities 
 of the Court of X. You wiU serve dethroned 
 princes around whom an exile that has already 
 lasted more than a year, and that is likely to be 
 prolonged, has thrown a veil of gloomy solitude. 
 
5o Kings in Exile. 
 
 Your ideas are ours. The king, it is true, at one 
 time trifled with radicalism, but after his fall, he 
 recognised its worthlessness. The queen is sublime, 
 you will see her.'' 
 
 " When .' " impetuously inquired the visionary, 
 suddenly replunged into all his wildest dreams of 
 creating a king by his genius, as a writer creates a 
 drama. 
 
 An early interview was at once arranged. 
 
 Whenever Elysee Meraut thought of his child- 
 hood — and he often thought of it, for it was the 
 starting point of his most powerful impressions — 
 this is what his mind always conjured up. A large 
 room with three windows bathed in light, each 
 filled by a silk-weaving Jacquart loom, that 
 stretched its tall frame and interwoven meshes like 
 busy blinds through which was imperfectly seen the 
 sunlight and the view ; a medley of roofs, of houses 
 above houses, every window of which was also fur- 
 nished with a loom, at which sat two men in shirt- 
 sleeves, alternately moving across the weft, like 
 pianoforte players performing a piece for four hands. 
 Between the houses, narrow little gardens wandered 
 up the hill-side, tiny gardens of southern climes faded 
 and burnt up, arid and airless, full of cactus and 
 aloes, of tall bottle-gourds and of great sunflowers 
 turning their full-blown faces towards the west, with 
 the bent attitude of corollas seeking the sun, and 
 filling the atmosphere with the sickly odour of their 
 
A Royalist. 
 
 51 
 
 ripening seed— an odour that Elysce after a lapse 
 of tbirby years still fancied he smelt whenever he 
 
 m^ -,, 
 
 
 thought of his native suburb. The view com- 
 manded by the stony hill on which this stirring 
 hive-like working district was built, was crowned 
 
52 Kings ill Exile, 
 
 by a few old and deserted windmills, ancient pur- 
 veyors of the town, left standing on account of 
 their long services, the skeletons of their sails 
 standing out against the sky like gigantic broken 
 aatennee, their stones slowly loosened and scattered 
 by the wind, the sun, and the stinging dust of the 
 South. Under the protection of these ancestral 
 windmills, the customs and traditions of former 
 days had been safeguarded. The whole hourgade 
 — this suburban quarter was also nicknamed Venclos 
 de Rey'^ — had remained ardently royalist, and in 
 every work-room there might be seen hanging on 
 the walls, the fat, pink portrait — with long fair hair 
 curled and pomatumed in the style usual in 1840 — 
 of him whom the inhabitants of this little borough 
 familiarly termed lou Gdi (the lame one). In 
 Elysee's home under this frame hung a smaller one 
 in which a great red seal with the two words 
 " Fides, Spes" as motto round a Saint Andrew's 
 cross, stood out on a sheet of bluish writing-paper. 
 From his seat, as he threw his shuttle, father 
 Meraut could see the portrait and read the motto : 
 Fait/i, Hope. And his wide massive features, out- 
 lined like some old medal struck under Antony, 
 with also the aquiline nose and rounded contom'S 
 of the Bourbons he loved so well, would swell and 
 redden with emotion. 
 
 This fellow Meraut was indeed a terrible man, 
 
 * The king's enclosure. 
 
A Royalist. 
 
 S3 
 
 violent and despotic, whose voice had become full 
 of the roar and thunder of the storm, in the at- 
 tempt to drown the noise of the shuttle and loom. 
 His wife, on the contrary, retiring and timid, 
 
 -*s|"E* 
 
 imbued with the traditions of submissiveuess which 
 reduce the old-fashioned women of the South to the 
 level of Eastern slaves, had resigned herself to 
 silence. 
 
 It was in this home that Elysee had grown up. 
 
54 Kings m Exile. 
 
 rather less harshly treated than his two brothers, 
 because he was the youngest and most delicate. 
 Instead of setting him to the loom at eight years 
 of age, he was allowed a breath of that freedom so 
 necessary to childhood, — a freedom he employed in 
 running all day about the endos, and fighting in 
 front of the windmills, white against red. Catholics 
 against Huguenots ; for in that part of Languedoc 
 they still clung to the old hatreds ! The children 
 divided into two camps, chose a windmill whose 
 crumbling masonry served as ammunition ; and 
 then insults were exchanged, stones flew from 
 slings, and for hours they engaged in homeric 
 struggles, always tragically ended by some bloody 
 gash across a youthful forehead, or a deep cut 
 through the silken locks — one of those childish 
 wounds that leave a life-long mark on the tender 
 skin, such as the one Ely see, when grown up, still 
 showed on his temples and at the corner of his 
 mouth. 
 
 Oh ! those windmills, how the mother cursed 
 them, when her little lad came home at dusk, 
 covered with blood and tatters. As for the father, 
 he merely scolded for appearance sake, and lest his 
 thunder should become rusty ; but once seated 
 round the table, he would ask all the details of the 
 battle and the names of the combatants. 
 
 " Tholozan ! Tholozan ! Are there still some of 
 that lot ? Ah ! the rascal. I had his father at 
 
A Royalist. 55 
 
 the end of my gun in 1815, 1 should have done 
 well to have laid him low." 
 
 And then would follow a long story told in the 
 Languedocian dialect, rough and full of metaphor, 
 unsparing of phrase or words, of the time when he 
 had enhsted under the Duke d'AngoulSme's orders 
 — a great general, a saint indeed. 
 
 This narrative, heard some hundreds of times, 
 but varied each time by the paternal fervour, left 
 as deep an impress on Elys6e's heart, as the stones 
 of the windmills on his face. He lived surrounded 
 by a Royalist legend, in which St. Henri's day, and 
 the 21st of January, were commemorative dates ; 
 imbued with veneration for martyr-princes who 
 blessed the rabble with uplifted fingers like bishopp, 
 and of dauntless princesses springing on horseback 
 to save the good cause, persecuted, betrayed, and 
 surprised behind the black chimney-slab of some 
 old Breton country house. Then in order to 
 enliven the sad tale of death and exile which might 
 have been too mournful for a child, the story of 
 the Pouh au Pot, and the ballad of the Vert Galant 
 would be introduced, adding the mirth and 
 glorious recollections of ancient France. It seemed 
 to be the Blarseillaise of the Enclos de Rey, this 
 ballad about the Vert Galant ! 
 
 When on Sundays, after vespers, the Merauts 
 dined on a laboriously propped up table in the 
 sloping little garden, in the suffocating atmosphere 
 
56 Kings in Exile. 
 
 engendered by a summer's day, wten the accumu- 
 lated heat emanating from the ground and walls 
 poured forth more powerfully and more unhealthily 
 than in the full glare of the noontide ; when the 
 old weaver struck up in a voice that had become 
 celebrated among his neighbours, the ballad of 
 " Vive Henri Qvatre, vive ce roi vatllant''' all was 
 hushed around them. Nothing broke the silence 
 but the dry cracking of the reed-fence splitting 
 from the heat, the shrill sound of some belated 
 cicala, and the antiquated royalist song majesti- 
 cally rolling forth in all the rigidity of cadence 
 suggestive of puffed hose and hooped skirts. The 
 chorus : A la sante de notre roi — c'est un Henri ds Ion 
 aloi — quifera Is iien de toi, de rnoi," rhythmical and 
 fugue-like, amused Elysee and his brothers, and 
 they joined in, pushing and shoving one another, 
 invariably calling down on their heads a cuff from 
 their father ; but this interlude would not interrupt 
 the song, and it continued in the midst of blows, 
 laughter, and sobs, like some demoniac's hymn, 
 sung over the tomb of the deacon Paris. 
 
 Thus ever mingled with the family merry- 
 makings, the name of king assumed in Elysee's 
 mind, besides the natuiral prestige it still holds in 
 fairy tales or in " histol-y written for young people," 
 a something more intimate and homelike. And 
 what increased this feeling were the mysterious 
 letters on thin foreign paper that came from 
 
A Royalist. 57 
 
 FrohsdorflF two or three times a year, addressed to 
 all the inhabitants of the Enchs, autographs in the 
 delicate wi'iting penned by fat fingers, in which the 
 king spoke to his pec pie and enjoined patience. 
 On those days, father Msraut threw his shuttle 
 more solemnly, and at nignt, with close-shut doors, 
 he would read out loud the circular, — always the 
 same mawkish proclamation, full of vague words of 
 hope : " Frenchmen, you are deceived, and the 
 country is deceived." And ever the same immuta- 
 ble seal : " Fides, Spes ! " Ah, poor folk, it was 
 neither faith nor hope that they lacked. 
 
 " When the king comes back," Meraut used to 
 say, " I shall buy a comfortable armchair. When 
 the king comes back, we will new paper the room." 
 
 Later on, after his journey to FrohsdorfF, the 
 formula was changed. 
 
 " When I had the honour of seeing the king," he 
 would say on every occasion. 
 
 The good fellow had in truth accomplished this 
 pilgrimage, a real sacrifice of time and money for a 
 working man, and never did Hadji returning from 
 Mecca bring back a more dazzling impression. 
 The interview had, indeed, been short. To the 
 faithful subjects introduced into his presence, the 
 pretender had said : " Ah, here you are ! " And 
 not one of them had found a word in reply to this 
 affable greeting ; Meraut less than, the others, for, 
 tuffccated by emotion and tears, he had not even 
 
58 Kings in Exile. 
 
 been able to distinguish the features of the idol. 
 HoweTer, as they were leaving, the Due d'Athis, 
 comptroller of the household, had interrogated him 
 at some length on the state of feeling in France ; 
 and it is easy to imagine how the fanatical weaver, 
 who had never quitted the Endos de Rey, answered : 
 
 " Let him come, let him come quickly, our King 
 Henri. We are all thirsting and pining for him ! " 
 
 Whereupon, the Due d'Athis, delighted at this 
 valuable information, thanked him a great deal, and 
 abruptly inquired : 
 
 " Have you any children. Master Meraut ?" 
 
 " I have three, Monsieur le Dnc." 
 
 " Boys ? " 
 
 " Yes, three children," repeated the old burgher 
 (for in those parts girls were not counted). 
 
 " Very well. I have put that down. His Royal 
 Highness will remember them when the time comes." 
 
 Whereupon the duke had taken out his pocket- 
 book, and era, era. This era, era, by which the 
 worthy fellow described his patron's gesture in 
 taking down the names of his three sons, invariably 
 formed part of the narrative that had become one 
 of the family annals, touching in its faithful repeti- 
 tion. Henceforth, whenever work was at a stand- 
 still, and his wife betrayed any anxiety at her 
 husband's failing health, or diminution of their 
 little savings, this era, era, was considered a suffi- 
 cient answer to calm all her fears. 
 
A Royalist. 59 
 
 " Don't be uneasy ! The Due d'Athis has made 
 a note of it." 
 
 Suddenly grown ambitious for his sons, the old 
 weaver, seeing that the two elder were already 
 started in life on the old family lines, transferred all 
 his hopes of grandeur to Elysee. He was sent to 
 the Papel school, kept by one of those Spanish 
 refugees who invaded the southern towns of France 
 after the capitulation of Marotto. The establish- 
 ment was situated in the quarter des BoucTteries, in 
 a tumble-down house, grown mouldy in the shadow 
 of the cathedral, and revealing its state by the 
 mildewed windows and crevices of its walls. It 
 was reached through a network of narrow, slimy, 
 dirty streets, between rows of shops bristling with 
 gratings and iron hooks, on which hung enormous 
 quarters of meat, surrounded by an unwholesome 
 buzzing of flies. Wheu, later on in life, Elysee 
 recalled those days, it always seemed to him as 
 though he had passed his childhood in the Middle 
 Ages, under the rod and knotted rope of some 
 terrible fanatic, in a gloomy and sordid class-room, 
 where the Latin verbs were only interrupted by 
 the neighbouring bells ringing their blessings or 
 curses over the apse of the old church, over its 
 carved, foliated scroll-work, and strange, weird 
 gargoyles. Papel, a little man with an enormous 
 greasy countenance, shaded by a dingy-white cap 
 rammed down upon his eyes to hide a big, swollen, 
 
6o Kings in Exile. 
 
 blue vein that divided his forehead, resembled a 
 dwarf in one of Velasquez's pictures, minus the 
 bright tunic and the bronzing of time. Withal, 
 brutal and cruel, his large skull contained a 
 prodigious store of ideas, a living and luminous 
 encyclopaedia, locked, so to speak, by a stubborn 
 royalism laid like an iron bar across his brows, and 
 which, indeed, seemed physically revealed by the 
 abnormal swelling of the curious vein on his fore- 
 head. 
 
 It was a common report in the town, that the 
 name of Papel was assumed to hide another and 
 more notorious one, that of a caiecilla of Don 
 Carlos, famous for his mode of waging war, and for 
 the ingenuity of his methods for inflicting death. 
 Living so near the Spanish frontier, his shameful 
 celebrity inconvenienced him and necessitated his 
 living under an assumed name. What truth was 
 there in this story ? Ely see, during the many 
 years he spent at the school, and although he was 
 Monsieur Papel's favourite pupil, never heard the 
 terrible dwarf pronounce a single word, nor receive 
 a single visit or letter that could confirm his sus- 
 picions. Only, when the child became a man, 
 when he had finished his studies, and the Enclos 
 cle Reij had become too cramped a space for his 
 laurels, diplomas, and the paternal ambition, when 
 it was decided to send him to Paris, Monsieur 
 Papel gave him several letters of introduction to 
 
A Royalist. 
 
 6i 
 
 the leaders of the Legitimist party, weighty letters 
 indeed, sealed with mysterious coats of arms, which 
 seemed to confirm the legend of the disguised 
 caVeciHa. 
 
 Master Meraut had insisted on this journey, for 
 he began to think that 
 the king was delaying 
 his return too long. He 
 made every sacrifice, 
 sold his gold watch, his 
 wife's silver chain, and 
 his little vineyard, the 
 patrimony of every 
 burgher, and this he 
 did simply, heroically, 
 for his party. 
 
 " Just go and see 
 what they are about," 
 said he to his youngest 
 son, " what they are 
 
 waiting for ? L'encJos is getting weary of waitiug 
 for ever." 
 
 Elysee Meraut arrived thei'efore in Paris at the 
 age of twenty, brimful of ardent convictions, in 
 which the blind devotion of his father was aug- 
 mented by the militant fanaticism of his Spanish 
 master. 
 
 He was received by the Legitimist party very much 
 like a traveller who gets iuto a first-class carriage 
 
62 Kings in Exile. 
 
 in the middle of the night, at some bye station, 
 when all the previous occupiers are already com- 
 fortably settled for the night. The intruder, his 
 blood warmed by the sharp air and rapid walking, 
 longs to talk, move, and prolong his wakefulness ; 
 but he is greeted by the surly and somnolent bad 
 humour of the other passengers, snugly ensconced in 
 their furs, lulled by the motion of the train, who 
 have even drawn the little blue curtain over the lamp, 
 and who, heavy with sleep and drowsy warmth, 
 dread both the draught and the intruder. 
 
 Such was the aspect presented by the Legitimist 
 clan under the Empire ; shunted travellers on an 
 abandoned siding. 
 
 This black-eyed fanatic, with his thin leonine 
 head, punching out each syllable he uttered, em- 
 phasizing each phrase by an energetic gesture, 
 possessing within himself, ready for any occasion, 
 all the dash of Suleau and daring of Cadoudal, 
 struck the party with a mixed feeling of terror and 
 astonishment. He was put down as a dangerous, 
 restless fellow. Beneath the exaggerated politeness 
 and hypocritical appearance of interest that good 
 breeding can so easily assume, Elysee, with the 
 clear-sightedness which a southern Frenchman ever 
 retains, even in the midst of his most passionate 
 excitement, Elysee quickly discerned all the selfish 
 low cunning of these men. According to them 
 there was nothing to be done for the present ; 
 
A Royalist. 63 
 
 nothing but to wait quietly, above all to cultivate 
 calm, and avoid all excitement and juvenile enthu- 
 siasm. " Look at Monseigneur, what an example 
 he sets us ! " And these cautious and prudent 
 words were in admirable keeping with the old 
 mansions of the noble Faubourg, muffled up in ivy, 
 deaf to the bustle of the streets, wadded with idle- 
 ness and comfort behind the massive gates, heavy 
 with the weight of time and traditions. Politely, 
 they invited him to two or three political meetings 
 held in great mystery, with all sorts of fears and 
 precautions, in one of these retreats full of venom- 
 ous spite. There he met the bearers of the great 
 names illustrious in the Vendean wars, and the 
 massacre of Quiberon ; the whole list of those 
 inscribed on the champ des martyrs, now borne by 
 nice old clean-shaved gentlemen, sleek as prelates 
 in their broadcloth, whose unctuous voices 
 seemed heavy and sticky with luscious sweet- 
 meats. They would arrive with the air of con- 
 spiratoj's, all of them fancying they were followed 
 by the police, who, in truth, made fun of these 
 platonic appointments. 
 
 When they had settled down under the discreet 
 shades of their tall wax-candles, bending their bald 
 heads as shiny as ivory counters, some one would 
 impart news of Frohsdorf, and they would admire 
 the unalterable patience of the exile, and encourage 
 one another to imitate it. In a low whisper, hush 1 
 
64 Kings in Exile. 
 
 They repeated Monsieur de Barentin's last puu on 
 the Empress, or hummed in an undertone the song : 
 " Qaand Napoleon — vous dormant les etrivieres — 
 aura tout de ton — endommage vos derrisres."* 
 Then terrified at their own audacity, the con- 
 spirators would leave one by one, slipping along the 
 walls of the wide and deserted rue de Varennes, 
 which re-echoed with the alarming sound of their 
 timorous steps. 
 
 Elysee soon discovered that he was too young 
 and too active for these ghosts of former days. 
 Moreover France was then basking in the full 
 sunshine of the Imperial epopee ; and the regiments 
 returning from the Italian war were flying their 
 victorious eagles under the decked-out windows of 
 the boulevards. 
 
 The old burgher's son was not long in findiug 
 out that the opiuion of fEnclos de Rey was not 
 that of all France, and that the King's return 
 would not be so speedy as they fancied at his home. 
 His royalism remained staunch, but now that action 
 had become impossible, it expanded into an ideal 
 that was broader and nobler even than the reality. 
 He conceived the project of writing a book, a book 
 in which his convictions and hopes, all that he 
 wished to say and propagate, would stand revealed 
 to that great Paris he longed to convince. His 
 
 * When Napoloon, with a horse-whipping, shall, once for 
 all, have damaged jour breeches. 
 
A Royalist. 65 
 
 plan was at once made : he would gain his daily- 
 bread by giving lessons — he soon found as many 
 pupils as he wished — and he would write his book 
 in his leisure moments, and bestow on it all the 
 time it would require. 
 
 Like all Southerners, Elys6e Meraut was above 
 all a ma,n of speech and gesture. Ideas only came 
 to him standing, at the sound of his own voice, as 
 the peal of bells attracts lightning. Strengthened 
 by reading, by facts, by constant meditation, his 
 thoughts, which flowed from his lips in gushing 
 streams, words following -words in sonorous 
 eloquence, from his pen fell slowly, drop by drop, 
 as though coming from too vast a reservoir for 
 such slow filtration and for the refinements of 
 written composition. 
 
 It was a relief to him to give speech, since he 
 found no other means of communicating his con- 
 victions. He therefore seized every opportunity of 
 speaking, in the cafes, at conferences, more especially 
 however in the cafes of the Quartier Latin, where 
 alone in the crouching Paris of the second Empire, 
 when books and newspapers were gagged, opposi- 
 tion was carried on. Every drinking shop had at 
 that time its orator, its great man. It was then 
 said : " Pesquidoux of the Cafe Voltaire is very 
 powerful, but Larminat of the Procope is even 
 more so." In fact, these cafes were crowded with 
 well-educated and eloquent youths, whose minds 
 
66 Kings in Exile. 
 
 were filled with uoble ideas, and who revived, with 
 even more spirit, the glorious political and philo- 
 sophical discussions carried on in the taverns at 
 Bonn and Heidelberg. 
 
 In these creative centres of ideas, srnokj and 
 noisy, where, if shouting was great, drinking was 
 still greater ; the strange enthusiasm of this tall, 
 ever-excited Gascon, who did not smoke, and was 
 intoxicated without drink, his picturesque and 
 brutal eloquence expressing opinions as old- 
 fashioned as powder and panniers— as discordant 
 with the surroundings in which they were exposed, 
 as an antiquarian amid trumpery gewgaws ; — soon 
 procured Elysee both a reputation and an audience. 
 
 At the hour when the gas is flaring in the 
 crammed and bustling cafes, when his thin lanky 
 form was discerned crossing the threshold, his short- 
 sighted and rather wild eyes seeming in an effort 
 of vision to toss back his hair and hat, and a book 
 or review with an enormous paper cutter ever 
 under his arm, a shout of welcome would greet 
 him : " Here comes Meraut ! " And all crowded 
 together to give him elbow room and space enough 
 to gesticulate freely. These acclamations, this 
 youthful enthusiasm, the heat and light, the heady 
 intoxicating light of the gas, all contributed to 
 excite him. Every topic, whether culled from the 
 day's paper or an open book, glanced at as he 
 passed under the arcades of the Qdeon, served as a 
 
A Royalist. 
 
 67 
 
 themo ; iiiid he dashed off on his snbjecfc, sea-ted or 
 standing, holding his audience spehbonnd with his 
 voice, groupiug his piublic hy a gestnre. The 
 domino players stojiped, the billiard players up- 
 stairs hung over the banisters, pipe in mouth, 
 ivory cue in hand. The window-panes, the glasses, 
 
 the saucers rattled as if a post-chaise were dashing 
 by, and the mistress of the estabhshment seated at 
 her desk would say proudly to the new-comers : 
 " Come in quick, we have Monsieur Merant ! " 
 Ah ! Pesfjuidoux and Larminat might be as power- 
 ful and eloquent as they could, he, Elj'see, was more 
 than a match -for them. He became the orator of 
 the Quartier Latin. This glory that lie had not 
 
 F 2 
 
Kings in Exile. 
 
 sought sufficed for him, and unfortunately arrested 
 his steps towards fame. Such was the fate of many 
 a Larminat of that period ;— great powers were 
 wasted — hke a powerfU machine uselessly and 
 noisily lets off its steam through some defect in the 
 regulator. With Elysee, there was yet another 
 cause : devoid of intrigue or ambition, this 
 Southerner, who had brought from his country 
 nothing but the fervour of his convictions, con- 
 sidered himself the missionary of his own political 
 faith, and he did in truth display the indefatigable 
 proselytism, the strong independent nature of a 
 missionary, the disinterestedness that disdains fees 
 and fat livings and prefers the hard and dangerous 
 life of mission-work. 
 
 Assuredly, during the eighteen years that he had 
 been scattering broadcast his ideas among the 
 youth of Paris, more than one who had made his 
 way, and who now said with contempt : " Oh, yes ! 
 Meraut, an old student ! " had derived the best 
 part of his fame, from the crumbs that this singular 
 fellow had carelessly dropped at many a table. 
 Elysde knew it well, and when he found under the 
 green coat of an academician one of his chimerical 
 ideas toned down in a well-turned phrase, he was 
 happy, with the unselfish affection of a father who 
 sees the daughters of his love richly married, and 
 yet lays no claim to their aflTection. It was the 
 chivalrous abnegation of the old weaver of the 
 
A Royalist. 69 
 
 Enclos de Ray, with something nobler added to it, 
 since he lacked confidence in the success of the 
 cause he served — a confidence which old Meraut 
 retained unshaken to the very last. The day 
 before his death— for he died almost suddenly from 
 a sunstroke, after one of his open-air dinners— the 
 old man still sang at the top of his voice : " Vive 
 Henri IV." And at the last moment, when his 
 eyes were already dim, and his speech dull, he still 
 repeated to his wife : " Quite easy about children 
 — Due d'Athis — made a note." And with his 
 dying hands he strove to write " era — era " on the 
 sheet. 
 
 When Elysee, warned too late of this sudden 
 blow reached his home, his father lay already stiff 
 and cold, his hands folded across his breast, on the 
 bed which stood against the wall of the room still 
 waiting for its new paper. Through the door of 
 the workshop, which had been left open for Death, 
 who scatters, loosens and widens all around him, 
 Elysee saw the silent looms ; his father's, now 
 forsaken, like a stranded vessel against which the 
 wind was henceforth powerless ; then the king's 
 portrait and the red seal which had presided over 
 this laborious and faithful life ; and overhead, high 
 above the Endos de Rey, rising up in bustling tiers 
 on the hill, the old mills ever standing, uplifting 
 their wings against the clear sky, like signals of 
 despair. Never did Elysee forget the sight of that 
 
fo Kings in Exile. 
 
 serene death, cutting ofi' the humble workman at 
 his post, and closins; his eyes uijon his familiaf 
 horizon. He was seized with a longing for deathj 
 he who was, yet filled with dreams of adventure, he 
 who was the living embodiment of the fantastic 
 illusions of the fine old man sleeping there. 
 
 It was after his return from this sad journey, 
 that he was offered the post of tutor at the Court 
 
 of X '-. His disappointment had been so great, 
 
 the petty meannesses, jealousies, and envious 
 slanders in the midst of which he had found 
 himself ; the painted pageantry of monarchy 
 seen too close, from the side-scenes, had so 
 saddened him, that, notwithstanding his admira- 
 tion for the King of lUyria, after the first fever 
 of enthusiasm had cooled and the monks had left, 
 he regretted having accepted so quickly. The 
 recollection of all the .annoyances he had under- 
 gone in his previous post returned to him, with a 
 .feeling of the sacrifice he must make of his liberty 
 and habits. Then his book, that famous book ever 
 seething in his brain ! In short, after a long self- 
 debate, he resolved on refusing ; and on Christmas 
 Day, when the interview was at hand, he wrote to 
 Father Melchoir to announce his decision. The 
 monli did not remonstrate ; he merely wrote the 
 following lines : 
 
 "Come this evening to the rue des Fourneaux 
 for the night service. I hope to convince you." 
 
. A Royalist. 71 
 
 The Franciscan convent of the rue des Four- 
 
 neaux, where Father Melchoir held the office of 
 
 treasurer, is one of the most curious and unknown 
 
 ■corners of Catholic Paris. This mother-house of a 
 
 celebrated order,' mysteriously hidden amid the 
 
 wretched suburb that swarms and grovels behind 
 
 the Montparnasse railway-station, is also called 
 
 " the Commissariat of the Holy Sepulchre." Here 
 
 it is that monks of strange and foreign appearance, 
 
 their travelling-robe mingling with the profound 
 
 poverty of the district, bring — for the trade in 
 
 "relics — bits of the true Cross, chaplets of olive 
 
 stones from the G-arden of Olives, roses of Jericho 
 
 dry and fibrous, awaiting a drop of consecrated 
 
 water, a whole cargo of miraculous goods which 
 
 in the vast invisible pockets of the brethren 
 
 changed into good sound coin, heavy and mute, 
 
 that afterwards found its way to Jerusalem to keep 
 
 in order the Holy Sepulchre. Elysee had been first 
 
 brought to the rue des Fourneaux by a sculptor 
 
 who was his friend, a poor "artist struggling- in a 
 
 garret, named Dreux, who had just executed for 
 
 the convent a Sainte Marguerite d'Ossuna, and who 
 
 took as many people as possible to sec his statue. 
 
 ■'The place was so curious and picturesque, harmon- 
 
 : ized so thoroughly with the convictions of the 
 
 ■ Southerner ' by hnking "them— thus saving them 
 
 " from modern clearness of thought— to the most re- 
 
 "' mote centuries and' countries endeared to him by 
 
 .tradition,-that he often returned thither to the great 
 
72 Kings in Exile. 
 
 joy of friend Dreux, proud, indeed, of the success 
 of his Marguerite. 
 
 It was nearly midnight on the evening of the 
 rendezvous when Elysee M&'aut quitted the swarm- 
 ing streets of the Latin Quartier ; from the general 
 air of festivity of the Boulevard Saint Michel and 
 the rue Eacine, reeking with the odours of the 
 cook shops and beribboned pork butchers, the 
 provision stalls and taverns served by women, the 
 students' lodgings, and the glaring liquor bars, he 
 emerged into the melancholy of the deserted 
 avenues where the passers by, dwarfed by the re- 
 flections from the gas lamps, seemed to crawl rather 
 than to walk. The feeble bells of the various 
 religious communities tinkled behind their walls, 
 above which peered the skeletons of trees ; the 
 noise and the warm odour of straw being stirred, of 
 stables wrapped in sleep, came from the great closed 
 yards of the cow-keepers ; and while in the broad 
 street a vague and trampled whiteness showed 
 where the snow had fallen during the day, the 
 burgher's son walked on in the deepest dream of 
 ardent belief, fancying he recognized up above, 
 among the stars sparkling in the cold, that which 
 guided the kings to Bethlehem. As he gazed at 
 this star he recalled the Christmases of former days : 
 the white Christmas of his youth, celebrated at the 
 Cathedral, and the return through the streets of 
 the butchers' quarter — fantastic with the outlines of 
 roofs against the moonlight — towards the family 
 
A Royalist. 73 
 
 table in the Enclos de Rey where the Christmas 
 supper awaited them ; the traditional three candles 
 set amid the scarlet dotted holly, the estevenons 
 (little Christmas cakes), smelling deliciously of hot 
 dough and the fried bacon. So well did he enwrap 
 himself in these family recollections, that the 
 lantern of a dustman passing along the pavement 
 seemed to him that which was wont to swing irom 
 father Meraut's hand as he marched at the head of 
 the party returning from these midnight masses. 
 
 Alas ! poor father, he would never more see him ! 
 And while he held secret communion with these 
 dear familiar shades, Elysee reached the rue des 
 Fourneaux, a scarcely finished suburb, lighted by 
 one lamp, made up of long factory buildings 
 overtopped by tall chimneys, of wooden hoardings, 
 of walls re-built of old materials. The wind blew 
 violently over the great plains round the city. 
 
 From a neighbouring slaughter-house came 
 mournful sounds, dull blows, a sickening smell of 
 blood and fat ; it is here they kill the pigs that are 
 sacrificed to Christmas, as at the sacred feasts of 
 some Teutates. 
 
 The gateway of the convent standing in the 
 middle of the street was wide open, and in the 
 court yard were two or three carriages with splendid 
 harness that astonished Meraut. The service had 
 begun ; bursts of music from the organ and of 
 chanting issued from the church, which was never- 
 theless deserted and in darkness ; the only light 
 
74 Kings in Exile. 
 
 being that from the little lamp on the altar and the 
 pale reflection of the snow on the phantasmagoria of 
 the painted windows. The nave was almost round, 
 adorned with great banners from Jerusalem bearing 
 the red cross which hung from the walls, and with 
 somewhat barbaric coloured statues ; in the midst 
 of which Marguerite d'Ossuna in pure marble, 
 pitilessly scourged her white shoulders, for — as the 
 monks said with a certain coquetiy — " Marguerite 
 was a great sinner belonging to our order.'" 
 
 The ceiling of painted wood crossed by a network 
 of small timbers, the high altar beneath a sort of 
 canopy supported by columns ; the semi-circle of 
 the choir surrounded by the woodwork of the 
 empty stalls with a ray of moonlight lying across 
 the open page of the plain-song book, all this was 
 indistinctly seen <, but by a great staircase concealed 
 beneath the choir, was the descent into the crypt, 
 where — perhaps as a reminiscence of the cata- 
 combs — the service was being held. 
 
 Quite at the end of the vault, in the white 
 masonry supported by great Roman columns was a 
 reproduction of the tomb of Christ at Jerusalem, 
 with its low doorway, the narrow interior hghted 
 by a quantity of little funereal lamps, blinking-^ 
 from the depths of their stony cells — on a Christ in 
 coloured wax, the size of life, his bleeding wounds 
 showing brightly scarlet where the shroud fell apart. 
 At the other end of the crypt, as a singular 
 antithesis, resuming in itself the whole Christian 
 
A Royalist. ^^ 
 
 epopee, was displayed one of those childish repro- 
 ductions of the Nativity, of which the manger, the 
 animals, and the child hegarlanded with bright 
 colours and greenery in curled paper, are drawn each 
 year from the stock of legends, just as they emerged 
 of yore, more rudely shaped no doubt, but much 
 larger, from the brain of some visionary. 
 ■ Now as then, a group of children and old 
 women, with an eager craving for love and the 
 marvellous — the poor whom Christ loved — crowded 
 round the manger. Among them, to Elysee's sur- 
 prise, in the front row of these humble and faithful 
 souls, two men in well-cut clothes, two elegant 
 women in dark costumes, knelt lowly on the bare 
 flags, one of them holding a little boy around whom 
 she wrapped her two folded arms with a gesture of 
 protection and prayer. 
 
 "They are queens ! " an old woman said to hira 
 in a whisper, breathless with admiration. 
 
 Elysee started. Then,, drawing nearer, he re- 
 cognised the delicate profile and aristocratic 
 appearance of Christian of Illyria, and near him the 
 brown, bony head, and still youthful but bald fore- 
 head, of the King of Palermo. Of the two women 
 nothing could be seen but the black and auburn 
 hair and the attitude of passionately adoring 
 motherhood. Ah ! how well the wily priest, who 
 had thus dramatically arranged the first interview 
 between the young prince and his future tutor, how 
 well he knew Meraut. These dethroned kings 
 
76 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 coming to offer their homage to God, who to 
 receive it seemed to have coacealed himself in this 
 crypt, this assemblage of fallen royalty and religion 
 in distress, the sad star of the exile guiding these 
 impoverished Magi, without retinue and empty- 
 handed towards a suburban Bethlehem, all this 
 swelled his heart to suffocation. The child above 
 all touched him, with his little head bent towards 
 the animals of the manger, the curiosity natural to 
 his age, tempered by a reserve born of suffering. 
 And before this childish brow, wherein the future 
 already lay hid like the butterfly in its golden 
 chrysalis, Elysee fell to thinking how much 
 science, how much tender care would be needed 
 to make it bloom into splendour. 
 
III. 
 
 THE COURT AT SAINT-MANDE. 
 
 The temporary arrangement at the Hulcl des 
 Pyramides had lasted three months, then six 
 mouths, Tvith the half-unpacked trunks, tlie half- 
 unstrapped bags, all the disorder and uncertainty 
 of a camping out. Every day excellent news 
 arrived from Illyria. In a new soil, deprived of 
 roots, without a past or a hero, tlie Piepublic 
 gained no ground. The jjeople were tired of 
 it, regretted their princes, and calculations of in- 
 fallible certainty were brought to the exiles, 
 saying : " Hold yourselves in readiness. To- 
 morrow will be the day." Not a nail was put 
 into the walls, not a piece of furniture Avas moved, 
 without the hopeful exclamation : " It is scarcely 
 worth while." Nevertheless, the exile became 
 
78 Kings in Exile. 
 
 prolonged, and the Queen was not slow to under- 
 stand that this sojourn in an hotel amid a host of 
 strangers, a flight of birds of passage of all kinds, 
 was gradually becoming derogatory to the dignity 
 of their rank. The tent was therefore struck, a 
 house was bought, and they settled down. From a 
 nomad the exile became a settler. 
 
 It was at iSaint-Mande, on the Avenue Dau- 
 mesnil, at the top of the rue Herbillon, in that part 
 which skirts the wood and is bordered with elegant 
 buildings, smart iron- work railings aifording 
 glimpses of well-kept gardens with gravel paths, 
 rounded flights of steps, lawns of close turf that 
 gave the spot the appearance of a corner of the 
 avenue of the Bois de Boulogne. In one of. these 
 houses the King and Queen of Palermo', com- 
 paratively poor, had already sought refuge and 
 seclusion from the turmoil of the luxurious quarters 
 of the fashionable world. The Duchess of MalineB, 
 sister of the Queen of Palermo, had come to join 
 her at Saint-Mandc, and the two easily induced 
 their cousin to settle in the neighbourhood. 
 Putting aside all question of friendship, FrMerique 
 wished to stand aloof from the light-hearted 
 merriment and festivity of Paris, to protest against 
 modern society and the prosperity of the Republic^ 
 and to avoid the curiosity attaching to well-knowa 
 figures, which seemed to her an insult to their fallen- 
 fortunes. The king had at first raised an outcry 
 
Tlie Court at Sarint-Mandc'. 79 
 
 at the distance of their habitation from the rest of 
 the world, but soon he found it a convenient 
 pretext for long absences and tardy returns". 
 Finally, to crown all, living was cheaper there than 
 elsewhere, and their usual con\forfc, could be main- 
 tained, sit little expense. ' 
 
 The, establishment was comfortable. The white 
 bouse, three stories high, flanked by two turrets,, 
 overlooked the wood across the trees of its little 
 park, while facing the rue Herbillon, between the 
 offices and the conservatories opposite each other, 
 was a great gravelled courtyard to which descended 
 the door-steps,, surmounted by a marquee supported 
 like a tent by two long lances. In the stable were 
 ten horses, riding and carriage horses — the (|)aeen 
 rode every day — the liveried servants wore the 
 Illyrian colours, powdered and bag-wigged ; and 
 a hall porter, whose halberd and golden shoulder 
 belt were as legendary at Saint-Mande, and at 
 Vincennes as the wooden leg of old Daumesnil ; 
 gave to all a suitable air of luxury and comfort. In 
 truth it was scarcely more tlian a year since Tom 
 Levis had improvised with all its decorations and 
 accessories, the princely scenario whereon is to be 
 played the historic drama we have to relate. 
 
 Yes, indeed ! Tom Levis. Notwithstanding 
 misgivings and repugnance, it had been necessary 
 to have recourse to him. The Httle fat man was 
 of surprising elasticity and tenacity. He had so 
 
8o Kings in Exile. 
 
 many tricks, so many keys and jemmies to unlock 
 or force all doors, however unwilling or resisting 
 the lock, without counting the innumerable dodges 
 peculiar to himself for gaining the goodwill of the 
 tradesmen, the valets and the women-servants ! 
 " Above all, have nothing to do with Tom Levis." 
 That was what everyone said to begin with. But 
 then nothing got on. The tradesmen did not 
 deliver their wares at the promised time, the 
 servants rebelled, until the day when the man in 
 the cab, with his gold-rimmed spectacles and his 
 heavy watch-chain appeared, and then the hangings 
 fell down of themselves from the ceilings and trailed 
 upon the parquet floors, draped themselves into 
 complicated arrangements of portiferes, curtains, 
 or decorative carpets. The stoves lighted them- 
 selves, the camellias grew and blossomed in 
 the conservatory, and the proprietors, quickly 
 installed, had nothing further to do than to 
 enjoy life and await on the comfortable seats in 
 the drawing room, the bundle of bills which 
 would arrive from all corners of Paris. In the 
 rue Herbillon it was old Eosen, comptroller of the 
 civil and military household, who received the 
 accounts, paid the servants, managed the king's httle 
 fortune, and this so cleverly, that within this gilded 
 frame allowed to their misfortune, Christian and 
 Frederique still lived handsomely. Kings both of 
 them, children of kings, they knew nothing of the 
 
Tlu- Court at Saint- Alandc. 
 
 8 1 
 
 Diice of things, and were only used to see themselves 
 ^n effigy on all the gold pieces, or to coin money 
 according to tlieir good pleasure. Far from being 
 bherefore astonished at tlreir aifiuence, they felt on 
 the contrary everything that was missing in their 
 Qcw existence, to say nothing of the chilly void 
 bhat a faljlen ,, ^ 
 
 crown leaves 
 around heads ac- 
 customed to wear 
 it. The house at 
 Saint-Mande, so 
 simple outside, 
 had in vain 
 adorned itself 
 like a little 
 palace in the 
 interior ; the 
 queen's room 
 exactly recalled 
 that of the castle 
 of Leybach, with its hangings of blue silk damask 
 and old Bruges ; while the prince's study was an 
 exact copy of that he had left behind him ; and 
 on the staircase were reproductions of the statues 
 in their royal residence, and in the conservatory 
 a warm monkey-house, adorned with climbing 
 creepers for the favourite marmosets. What were 
 all these httle details of delicate flattery to the 
 
Kings in Exile. 
 
 possessors of four historic castles, and of those 
 summer residences hanging between sky and sea, 
 the lawns running down to meet the waves, in the 
 green isles called " the gardens of the Adriatic." 
 
 At Saint-Mande, the Adriatic was represented 
 by the little pond in the wood that the queen over- 
 looked from her windows, and gazed at as sadly 
 as the exiled Andromache upon the false Srmois. 
 However restricted their mode of life, it occurred 
 to Christian, more experienced than Frederique, to 
 wonder at this relative comfort. 
 
 " Eosen is a wonderful fellow. I really do not 
 know how he manages to do everything with the 
 very little money we have." 
 
 Then he would add laughing : 
 
 " We may be very sure, however, that not a 
 penny comes out of his own pocket ! " 
 
 The fact is, that in Illyria, Rosen was synon- 
 ymous with Harpagon. Even in Paris, the fame 
 for stinginess had followed the duke, and was 
 confirmed by the marriage of his sou, a marriage 
 arranged by a matrimonial agency and that all the 
 pretty chai-ms of the little Sauvadon could not 
 prevent from being a sordid mesalliance. Eosen 
 nevertheless was rich. The old Pandour who earned 
 all his instincts of rapine and pillage written on his 
 bird of prey face, had not made war against the 
 Turks and Montenegrins solely for love of glory. 
 After each campaign his waggons returned fliU, 
 
Tlie Court at Saint- Mande. 83 
 
 and the splendid mansion he occupied at the 
 extremity of the He Saint-Louis, close to the Hotel 
 Lambert, was overflowing with precious things, 
 oriental hangings, furniture of the middle ages, 
 triptydes of massive gold, sculptures, reliquaries, 
 materials embroidered and splangled with gold, the 
 spoil of convents or harems, piled up in a suite of 
 immense reception-rooms opened only once, for the 
 marriage of Herbert and the fairy-like fete then pro- 
 vided by old Uncle Sauvadon ; but which since that 
 day hoarded their wealth in the mournful locked-up 
 rooms, behind drawn curtains and closed shutters, 
 not even having to fear the indiscretion of a single 
 sunbeam. Here the old man led the existence of 
 an eccentric, confined to one floor of the vast hotel, 
 restricting himself to two servants as his whole 
 establishment and to the fare of a provincial miser ; 
 while the great kitchens in the basement with their 
 motionless spits and unheated ovens remained as 
 hermetically closed as the gala apartments above. 
 
 The arrival of his sovereigns, the nomination of 
 all the Rosens to the appointments of the tiny court, 
 had slightly modified the old duke's habits. In 
 the first place the young people had come to live 
 with him, their house in the Pare Monceaux — a real 
 modern cage with gilt bars — being too far from 
 Vincennes. Every morning at nine o'clock, no 
 matter what the weather, the princess Colette was 
 in readiness for the queen when she rose ; and got 
 
 o 2 
 
84 Kings in Exile. 
 
 into the carriage with the general in that river- 
 side fog, that winter and summer mornings alike 
 leave floating about the point of the island — like a 
 veil upon the enchanted scenery of the Seine. At 
 this hour, Prince Herbert tried to regain a little 
 of the sleep foregone in the somewhat arduous 
 night duty imposed by King Christian, who, having 
 ten years of provincial life and cohjugal curfew to 
 make up for, found it so difiBcult to tear himself 
 away from the charms of nocturnal Paris, that 
 when the theatres and cafes were closed and he had 
 left the club, he thought it delightful to wander 
 along the deserted boulevards, dry and echoing, or 
 shining with rain, between the line of the gas 
 lamps, that like a guard of fire marked the edge of 
 the long perspective. 
 
 The instant she arrived at Saint-Mande, Colette 
 went to the queen's apartments. The duke, on his 
 side, settled himself in a small pavilion communi- 
 cating with the offices, convenient alike for the 
 tradespeople and the servants. It was called the 
 steward's oflice ; and it was touching to see the old 
 giant seated in his leather chair, surrounded by files 
 of papers of all kind and bill cases, receiving and 
 settling petty accounts — he who formerly had under 
 his orders a whole tribe of gold-braided underlings. 
 Such was his avarice that, though he was not 
 making payments on his own account, every feature 
 of his face would contract with pain each time he 
 
The Court at Saint-Mande. 85 
 
 must part with money — there was a nervous move- 
 ment of every wrinkle as if they had been pulled 
 together with the string of a money-bag — his stiff 
 and erect body seemed to protest, as did even the 
 automatic gesture with which he opened the safe 
 let into the wall. Notwithstanding everything, he 
 managed to be always ready, and, with the modest 
 resources of the Prince of Illyria, to provide for the 
 waste inevitable in a large house, for the queen's 
 charities, for the king's gifts, even for his pleasures, 
 no light addition to the budget ; for Christian II. 
 had kept faith with himself and was spending his 
 period of exile right merrily. An assiduous 
 attendant of all Parisian festivities, welcomed in the 
 best clubs, sought after in the drawing-rooms, 
 his delicate and sarcastic profile, appearing in 
 the animated coTifusion of a " first night," or the 
 tumultuous crowd of a race course, had taken its 
 place henceforward among the faces known to " all 
 Paris,'' bet\^'een the extravagant head-dress of a 
 fashionable actress, and the bleared features of that 
 royal prince in disgrace, who haunts the cafes of 
 the boulevards while waiting for the hour to strike 
 that shall make him king. Christian led the idle 
 and yet busy life of the gilded youth of the day. In 
 the afternoon there was the tennis-court or the 
 skating rink, then the Bois, later on a visit to a 
 certain smart boudoir where the extreme luxury and 
 the excessive liberty of speech pleased him. In the 
 
86 Kings in Exile. 
 
 evening, the lighter theatres, the green room, the 
 club, and, abore all, the gambling table, the hand- 
 ling of the cards revealing all his Bohemian origin, 
 with its passion for chance and all its wonderful 
 presentiments. He scarcely ever went out with 
 the queen, except on Sunday to accompany her to 
 the church of Saint-Mande, and only saw her at 
 meal times. He felt in awe of this upright and 
 reasonable nature, always ruled by a sense of duty, 
 and whose contemptuous coldness embarrassed him 
 like a visible conscience. It was a recall to the 
 kingly responsibilities and ambitions that he would 
 fain forget ; and too weak to revolt openly 
 against this silent dominion, he preferred to fly 
 from it, to lie and so avoid it. On her side, 
 Frt'derique knew but too well this Slave tempera- 
 ment, ardent yet yielding, fragile and easily moved ; 
 she had so often had to pardon the escapades of this 
 child-man, who retained all the characteristics of 
 childhood : the grace, the laughter, even child- 
 hood's cruel caprice ; she had so often seen him on 
 his knees before her, after one of those follies in 
 which he had risked his dignity and his happiness, 
 that she was completely out of heart with him, both 
 as husband and as man, though there did still 
 remain to her some regard for him as king. This 
 struggle had lasted nearly ten years, although out- 
 wardly they had seemed a most united couple. In 
 these exalted circles, with vast suites of apartments, 
 
The Coicrt at Saiut-Mand^. 87 
 
 numerous servants, the ceremonial which makes 
 distances greater and suppresses display of senti- 
 ment, this kind of deceit is possible. But exile 
 was about to betray the truth. 
 
 Frederique had at first hoped that this hard trial 
 might ripen the king's mind, awake within him 
 those noble feehngs of revolt that make the hero 
 and the conqueror. But on the contrary, she could 
 see in his eyes a growing intoxication of festivities 
 and excitement, created by the life in Paris, by its 
 diabolic will-o'-the-wisp, by the incognito, the 
 temptations and the facilities for pleasure. Ah ! if 
 she had been willing to follow him, to share his mad 
 career through the Parisian whirlwind, cause her 
 beauty, her horses, her toilettes to be quoted, to 
 lend all the coquetry of a woman to the frivolous 
 vanity of the husband, a reconciliation might have 
 been possible. But she remained more queen than 
 ever, abdicating nothing of her ambitions, her 
 hopes, and, from afar, still eagerly taking part in 
 the struggle, sending letter upon letter to the royal 
 adherents, protesting, conspiring, representing the 
 iniquity of their misfortune to every court in 
 Europe. The councillor Boscovich wrote from her 
 dictation ; and at noon, when the king came down, 
 she herself presented the letters for his signature. 
 He signed ; he would sign anything she liked, but 
 with an ironic twitch at the corner of his mouth. 
 The scepticism of his jesting and chilly surround- 
 ings had infected him ; to the illusions with which 
 
88 Kings in Exile. 
 
 he had started had succeeded, by a reaction common 
 to these extreme natures, a formal conviction that 
 the exile would be indefinitely prolonged. Thus 
 he imported an air of fatigue, of utter ennui, into 
 the conversations in which Frederique tried to 
 raise him to the same fever height as herself, and 
 vainly sought in the depths of his eye the attention 
 she could not succeed in fixing. Absent, haunted 
 by some foolish chorus, there ran for ever in his 
 head a vision of the last night's amusement, the 
 intoxicated and languid bewilderment of pleasure. 
 And what an " ouf" of relief escaped him when he 
 could at length get away, what a renewal of youth 
 and life, that each time left the queen more lonely 
 and more sad. 
 
 After this work of writing in the morning, the 
 despatch of some of those short and eloquent notes, 
 in which she revived the courage and the devotion 
 of those about to waver, Frederique's only amuse- 
 ments were readings chosen among the royal 
 library of books, composed of memoirs, corres- 
 pondences, chronicles of the past or works of high 
 religious philosophy. Then she had the child's 
 games in the garden, and some rides in the Bois de 
 Vincennes, riJus but rarely prolonged to that 
 border of the forest where may be heard the last 
 echoes of Parisian noise, where the vast misery of 
 the suburb draws towards its verge ; for Paris 
 caused her an antipathy, and unconquerable alarm. 
 Sfarcely onoe a month, would she go in state, to 
 
Tlie Court at Saint-Mand^. 89 
 
 make her round of visits among the exiled princes. 
 She started without pleasure, and returned dis- 
 couraged. Beneath these royal misfortunes, 
 decently and nobly borne, she felt the underly- 
 ing abandonment, complete renunciation, exile 
 accepted, undergone with patience, grown into a 
 habit, concealed and cheated by manias, childish 
 fancies or worse. 
 
 The most dignified and proud of all these fallen 
 majesties, the King of Westphalia, a poor, blind 
 old man, who with his daughter, a fair-haired 
 Antigone, was a touching sight, kept up the 
 pomp and outward seeming of his rank, but no 
 longer occupied himself with anything but the 
 collection of snuff-boxes, and the setting up of 
 glass-cases full of curiosities in his drawing-room ; 
 a singular jesting at the infirmity which prevented 
 him from the full enjoyment of his treasures. In 
 the King of Palermo was the same apathetic re- 
 nunciation, complicated by mourning, melancholy, 
 want of money, a disunited household, all ambition 
 killed by the death of the only child. The king, 
 nearly always absent, left his wife to her widowed 
 and exiled hearth ; while the Queen of Galicia, 
 extravagant, adoring pleasure, made no change in 
 her turbulent habits of exotic sovereign ; and the 
 Duke of Palma from time to time un slung his 
 carbine in an attempt to cross the frontier, which 
 each time threw hira back on the miserable idle- 
 ness of his life. In reality, he was far more of a 
 
go Kings in Exile. 
 
 brigand than a pretender, waging war in order to 
 obtain money and women, and making known to 
 his unfortunate duchess all the emotions endured 
 by the wretched girl married to one of those 
 Pyrenean bandits, who, if they delay their return 
 till daylight, are brought home upon a bier. All 
 these dethroned beinus had but one word on their 
 lips, one device to replace the high-sounding 
 mottoes of their royal houses : *' Why do any- 
 thing ? Of what use ? " To the active fervour of 
 Fr^derique, to her outbursts, the more polite 
 replied by a smile ; the women answered by talking 
 of religion, the theatre, flirtation, or fashions ; and, 
 little by little, this tacit lowering of a principle, 
 this disintegration of forces, gained upon the 
 haughty Dalmatian herself. Between this king 
 who no longer wished to be one, and the 
 poor little, backward Zara, who grew so slowly 
 towards manhood, she was overcome by the feeling 
 of her own impotence. Old Rosen said nothing, 
 and was shut up all day in his office. The 
 princess was but a bird, occupied all day in smooth- 
 ing its plumage ; Boscovich, a child ; the marquise, 
 a simpleton. There was Father Alphee, but this 
 rough and stern monk could never have com- 
 prehended the doubts hinted in the queen's conver- 
 sation, and the fears that began to steal upon her. 
 The season had something to do with it too. The 
 woods of Saint-Mande, that in summer were all 
 gi-eenery and flowers, calm and deserted as a park 
 
The Court at Saint-Maud^. 91 
 
 -during the week, on Sunday swarming with a 
 joyous population ; took, in the approaching winter, 
 in the mournfulness of misty and wet horizons, in 
 the fog ever floating over its lake, the desolate 
 and piteous aspect peculiar to forsaken haunts of 
 pleasure. Flocks of crows flew above the black 
 bushes, above the great gnarled trees, to which 
 magpies' nests , and hoary bunches of mistletoe 
 clung, swinging on their leafless summits. It was 
 the second winter Frederique had passed in Paris. 
 Why did it seem to her so much longer, so much 
 more gloomy than the other ? Was it the bustle of 
 the hotel that she missed ? The busy movement 
 of the rich and ever restless city ? No. But in 
 proportion as the queen diminished within her, the 
 weaknesses of the woman overcame her, the 
 troubles of the neglected wife, the nostalgia of the 
 stranger torn from her native land. 
 
 In the glass gallery fo;'ming an annex to the 
 great reception-room, she had made a little winter 
 garden, a comfortable nook removed from all 
 domestic noises, decorated with bright hangings, 
 and green foliaged plants in all the corners, and 
 here she now often remained for whole days, doing 
 nothing, gazing at the rain-soaked garden and the 
 network of slender branches streaking the grey 
 horizon, like an etching, with a mixture of the 
 deep winter evergreen that the holly and yew pre- 
 
92 Kings in Exile. 
 
 serve even beneath the snow, through the whiteness 
 of which their sharp branches pierce a way. 
 
 On the three basins of the fountain, placed one 
 above the other, the sheets of falling water 
 assumed tones of frosted silver, and beyond the 
 high ironwork running beside the Avenue Daumes- 
 nil, the silence and the solitude of the two leagues 
 of wood was occasionally broken by the passage of 
 the steam tramways, whistling as they went, their 
 long line of smoke trailing far behind them, 
 dispersing so slowly in the heavy yellow atmosphere 
 that Fr6derique could follow it for a long time and 
 see it lose itself little by little, slow and aimless like 
 her own life. 
 
 It was on a rainy winter morning that Elysee 
 Meraut gave his first lesson to the royal child in 
 this tiny nook, the home and shelter of the queen's 
 sadness and her dreams, which on this day assumed 
 the aspect of a school-room. Books, exercise books 
 spread on the table, a shaded light like that of a 
 work or class-room, the mother in a simple close- 
 fitting dress of black cloth that set off her tall figure, 
 a little lacquer work-table wheeled in front of her, 
 and the master and pupil, one as nervous and 
 hesitating as the other, over this their first inter- 
 view. The little prince vaguely recognized the 
 great fiery head that had been pointed out to him 
 on Christmas eve in the dim religious light of the 
 chapel, which his imagination, crowded with the 
 fairy tales of Madame de Silvis, had assimilated to 
 
The Court at Saint-Illandi'. 
 
 93 
 
 some apparition of the giant Robistor or the 
 enchanter MerHn. And the impression left upon 
 Elysee was as chimeric and fantastic ; for on his 
 part, he imagined he saw in this delicate little boy, 
 sickly and prematurely old, his forehead already 
 lined as if it bore the whole six hundred years of 
 
 his race — a predestined chief, a leader of men and 
 of nations, and he said to him gravely, in a voice 
 that trembled : — 
 
 " Mouseignem', you will be a king some day. 
 You must learn what a king is. Listen to me, 
 look at me well, and what my lips may not explain 
 clearly enough, the respect of my glance will teach 
 
 you." 
 
94 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Then, bending over this diminutive intelligence, 
 seeking words and figures of speech to suit its 
 grasp, he explained to him the dogma of divine 
 right, of a king's mission upon the earth, standing 
 between God and the people, charged with respon- 
 sibilities and duties that other men have not, and 
 which are imposed upon him from infancy. That 
 the little prince understood what was said to him 
 is not altogether probable ; perhaps he felt himself 
 encircled by that vivifying warmth with which 
 gardeners, tending a rare plant, surround the 
 delicate fibre, the weakly shoot. As for the queen, 
 bending over her embroidery, she listened with iin 
 exquisitely delighted surprise, as words reached her 
 that she had been despairingly awaiting for many 
 years, which answered to her most secret thoughts, 
 calling them forth and rousing them from their 
 torpor : for so long had she dreamed alone 1 How 
 many things there were that she had not known 
 how to say, and which Elysee now expressed for 
 her ! In his presence, from the very first day, she 
 felt as an unrecognized musician, an artist who has 
 not found expression, must do before the masterly 
 executant of his work. Her vaguest sentiments 
 upon this grand idea of royalty were so embodied, 
 and so magnificently yet so simply expressed, that 
 a child, quite a young child, could almost compre- 
 hend them. While she looked at this man, his 
 great rugged features animated with faith and 
 eloquence ; she saw in strong contrast the pretty 
 
The Court at Saint-Maude. 95 
 
 indolent face, the undecided smile of her husband ; 
 she heard the eternal " Of what use ? " of all these 
 dethroned kings, the idle gossip of the princely 
 boudoirs. And it was this plebeian, this ^reaver's 
 son, with whose history she was acquainted, who 
 haid gathered up the lost traditions, preserved the 
 relics and the shrine, the sacred fire, of which the 
 flame was visible on his brow at this moment, 
 communicating itself to others in the fervour of 
 his discourse. Ah ! if Christian could have been 
 like this, they would still be upon the throne, or 
 else both would have disappeared, buried beneath 
 its ruins. It was singular that in the attention 
 she could not prevent herself from bestowing upon 
 him, Elysee's face brought to her an impression of 
 returning recollection. From what shady place ia 
 her memory, from what secret i-eccss of her heart 
 arose this head of genius, these accents that stirred 
 the profoundest depths of her being ? 
 
 Now the master had set himself to question his 
 pupil, not upon what he knew — nothing alas, or so 
 little ! — but to seek out what could be taught him. 
 "Yes, sir; No, sir." The little prince had but 
 these two words ready to his lips, and put all his 
 strength into their pronunciation, with that pretty 
 timidity common to boys brought up by women in 
 a prolongation of their first early childhood. He 
 strove nevertheless, poor little fellow, to unearth 
 from beneath the heap of varied knowledge im- 
 parted to him by Madame de Silvis, some few 
 
9^ Kings in Exile. 
 
 notions of general history from among the adven- 
 tures of dwarfs and fairies that bestarred his Uttle 
 imagination like a stage prepared for a pantomime. 
 From her place the queen encouraged and sus- 
 tained him, bearing him aloft as it were on her 
 own soul. When swallows take their flight, if the 
 smallest one in the nest does not fly well, it is thus 
 the mother aids it on her own wings. When the 
 child hesitated in his answers, Frederique's glance, 
 a golden sparkle in sea-green eyes, dulled as the 
 sea does beneath the passing squall ; but, when his 
 reply w^as correct, it was a beaming smile of 
 triumph she turned upon the master ! 
 
 For many a month she had not experienced such 
 fulness of joy and comfort. The waxen hue of 
 the little Zara, the depressed physiognomy of the 
 sickly child seemed infused with new blood ; even 
 the landscape gained from the magic of this man's 
 speech, the melancholy foregrounds seeming to fade 
 away and leave in sight only what was grand and 
 imposing in the vast barrenness of winter. And 
 while the queen listened in rapt attention, leaning 
 on her elbow, bending heart and soul towards that 
 future where the child-king appeared to her in the 
 triumph of the return to Leybach, Elysee wonder- 
 ing and trembling at a transfiguration of which he 
 did not know himself to be the cause, beheld above 
 the lovely forehead the sheen of the heavy coils of 
 hair crossing and twisting and encircling the head 
 like a kingly diadem. 
 
The Court at Saint-Mandd. 97 
 
 Noon struck and the lesson was not yet ended. 
 In the principal drawing-room where the little 
 court assembled every morning at the hour of 
 breakfast, a whispering began, and astonishment 
 pervaded the group when neither king nor queen 
 appeared. Hunger, and the idleness of the moment 
 while waiting for the repast, caused a certain bad 
 humour to mingle with the murmur of the conver- 
 sations. Boscovich, pale with cold and hunger, 
 who had been searching the copses for the last two 
 hours in the hope of finding some late flowering 
 plant, was thawing his fingers in front of the high 
 white marble chimney, shaped like an altar, on 
 which Father Alphee sometimes said a private mass 
 on Sundays. The Marquise, majestic and stiff, on 
 the edge of a divan, in a green velvet dress, shook 
 her head with a tragic air, at the top of her long 
 thin boa-entwined neck, while she imparted her 
 confidences to the Princess Colette. The poor 
 woman was in despair that her pupil should have 
 been taken away from her and confided to a mere 
 creature — positively a mere creature — she had seen 
 him that morning crossing the courtyard. 
 
 " My dear, he would have frightened you ; hair 
 as long as this, the look of a madman. No one 
 but Father Alphee could have made such a find." 
 
 "They say he is very learned," observed the 
 princess, absently. 
 
 The other pounced on her words. Very learned. 
 Very learned ! Did a king's son require to be 
 
98 Kings in Exile. 
 
 stuffed full of Greek and Latin like a dictionaiy ? 
 " No, no, my dear, these princely educations, you 
 see, require special kinds of knowledge — I had 
 them, I was ready. I had studied the treatise of 
 the Abbe Digaet on the ' Education of a Prince' 
 I know by heart the different methods he indicates 
 for knowing men, those for keeping mere flatterers 
 at a distance. There are six of the first, and seven 
 of the second. This is the order in which they 
 come." 
 
 She began to repeat them to the princess, who, 
 wearied and sulky, did not listen, but sat on a cush- 
 ioned ottoman, the long fashionable train of her 
 pale-blue dress lying behind her, and her eyes fixed 
 like loadstones on the door leading to the king's 
 apartment, with the vexed air of a pretty woman 
 who has composed her whole attitude for some one 
 who does not come. Stiff and upright in his 
 closely-buttoned coat, the old Duke de Eosen 
 walked up and down with automatic step, regular 
 as the pendulum of a clock, and occasionally stop- 
 ping at one or other of the windows overlooking 
 the gai-den or the courtyard, and standing there, his 
 glance raised from under the lines of his forehead, 
 looked like an officer of the watch in charge of the 
 course and responsible for the safety of the ship. 
 And certainly the aspect of the vessel did him 
 honour. The red brick of the offices, the steward's 
 pavilion, gleamed in the rain that splashed upon the 
 great flight of steps at the door, and upon the fine 
 
The Court at Saint-Mand^. 99 
 
 gravel of the approach. Iq the murky daylight it 
 seemed as if a light were reflected within from the 
 mere orderliness of everything, extending even to 
 the great drawing-room still further enlivened by 
 the warmth spread from stoves and carpets, by the 
 Louis XVI. furniture in white and gold, by the 
 classic ornaments reproduced upon the woodwork 
 of the panels and the mirrors, these being very large, 
 on one of which a little gilt dial-piece hung, kept 
 in place by garlands of gilt ribbons. In one corner 
 of the great room, in a glass case, a bracket of the 
 same date supported the diadem saved from the 
 general wreck. Frederique had wished it should 
 be placed there ; " that we may remember ! " she 
 said. And notwithstanding Christian's mockery, 
 for he thought it gave the room the air of a museum 
 of royalty, the splendid jewel of the middle ages 
 with its sparkling stones in the old pierced and 
 chased gold-work, threw a note of antique chivalry 
 in the midst of the coquetry of the eighteenth 
 century, and the complex taste of our own. 
 
 The sound of familiar wheels on the gravel 
 announced the arrival of the aide-de-camp. At 
 last, here was someone. 
 
 " How late you are in coming for orders, 
 Herbert," said the duke, gravely. 
 
 The prince, for big fellow as he was, he always 
 trembled before his father, reddened, stammered 
 some excuses : " Awfully sorry — not his fault — on 
 duty all night." 
 
 Jl -2. 
 
lOO Kings in Exile. 
 
 " Is that why the king is not down yet 'i " asked 
 the princess, drawing near where the two men 
 stood talking, and seeming to poke her dainty 
 nose into^their conversation. 
 
 A severe glance from the duke closed her 
 mouth. The king's conduct was not to be criti- 
 cized by anyone. 
 
 "Gro to him at once, sir; His Majesty is probably 
 awaiting you." 
 
 Herbert obeyed after having tried in vain to 
 obtain a smile from his much-loved Colette, whose 
 bad temper far from being calmed by his arrival, 
 sent her pouting to her seat, her pretty curls dis- 
 arranged, and the blue train crumpled by the grasp 
 of her augry hand. Prince Herbert had, never- 
 theless, endeavoured to transform himself into a 
 smart man during the last few months. His wife 
 had ordained that, in bis capacity of aide-de-camp, 
 he must let his moustaches grow, and this gave a 
 formidably martial air to his honest face, thinned 
 and paled by the late hours and fatigue of his 
 service with the king. Moreover, he still limped 
 a little, and walked leaning on his cane like a 
 veritable hero from that siege of Eagusa, of which 
 he had written a memorial, famous even before 
 publication, and that being read by the author one 
 evening at the Queen of Palermo's, had gained him 
 a brilliant social ovation and the formal promise of 
 a prize from the Academy. Imagine what a posi- 
 tion, what authority all this gave to the husband 
 
Tlie Court at Saint-Mand^. lOi 
 
 of Colette ! But through it all he preserved his 
 air of simple, timid good-nature, above all before 
 the princess, who continued to treat him with the 
 most graceful contempt, which proves that no man 
 is great in the eyes of his wife. 
 
 " Well ! What now ? " said she in an imper- 
 tinent tone, when she saw him reappear with an 
 astounded and agitated countenance. 
 
 " The king has not yet come home ! " 
 
 These few words of Herbert produced the eflfect 
 of an electric discharge in the drawing-room. 
 Colette, very pale, with tears in her eyes, was the 
 first to recover speech : 
 
 " Is it possible ? " 
 
 And the duke in a stern voice added : 
 
 "Not come home ! How is it I was not told ? " 
 
 Madame de Silvis' boa trembled and twisted 
 convulsively. 
 
 " I only hope nothing has happened to him ! " 
 said the princess, in an extraordinary state of ex- 
 citement. 
 
 Herbert was able to reassure her. Lebeau, the 
 king's valet, had been gone an hour or more with a 
 portmanteau. He would certainly have news of 
 him. 
 
 In the silence that followed, the same disquieting 
 thought hovered over all, which the Due de Rosen 
 suddenly gave utterance to. 
 
 " What will the Queen say ? " 
 
 To which Boscovich tremblingly suggested : 
 
I02 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " Her Majesty is probably aware of it." 
 " I am sure she is not," affirmed Colette, " for the 
 Queen said only a short time ago that she would 
 present the new tutor to the king at breakfast." 
 
 And with a nervous tremour, she added between 
 her teeth but loud enough to be heard by everyone : 
 " In her place I know what I should do." 
 The duke turned indignantly, with flashing eyes, 
 to this little plebeian, whom he had never been 
 able to make a lady of, and was probably about to 
 give her a sharp lesson on the respect due to 
 monarchy, when the queen appeared, followed by 
 Elys6e, who led his royal pupil by the hand. All 
 rose. Fr6derique, with a lovely smile of happiness 
 that had long been banished from her face, pre- 
 sented ^Monsieur Meraut. Oh ! what a bow the 
 Marquise had ready for him, distant, haughty and 
 mocking ; she had been a whole week practising it. 
 The princess, on her part, could, scarcely find 
 strength enough for a gesture. From white she 
 turned to crimson, as she recognized in the new 
 master the tall ungainly young man who had 
 breakfasted beside her at her uncle's and who had 
 written Herbert's book. "Was he there by chance, 
 or by some diabolical machination ? What a dis- 
 grace for her husband, what fresh ridicule if his 
 literaiy cheat were discovered ! She was a little re- 
 assured by Elysee's cold bow, for he must certainly 
 have recognized her. " He is a clever man," she 
 thought to herself. Unluckily all was compromised 
 
The Court at Saint-Maude'. 103 
 
 by the naivete of Herbert, his stupefied amazement 
 at the tutor's appearance, and the familiar hand- 
 shake he gave him with a " Good morning, how 
 are you ? " 
 
 " You know Monsieur, then ? " asked the Queen, 
 who had heard through her chaplain of the history 
 of the Memorial and smiled a little maliciously. 
 
 She was hoM'ever too kindly to amuse herself 
 long with a cruel sport. 
 
 "Decidedly the King has forgotten us," she 
 added, " will you go and tell him, Monsieur de 
 Rosen." 
 
 They were obliged to own the truth, that the 
 King was not in the house, that he had passed the 
 night out, and that his portmanteau had been sent 
 for. It was the first time anything of the kind had 
 happened ; every one expected an outburst on the 
 part of this proud and passionate nature, all the 
 more that the presence of a stranger aggravated the 
 offence. But no ; she remained calm. Merely say- 
 ing a few words to the aide-de-camp, inquiring the 
 hour at which he had last seen Christian. 
 
 About three in the morning. His Majesty was 
 walking down the boulevard with Monseigneur the 
 Prince d'Axel. 
 
 " Ah ! true, I forgot, they had some matters to 
 talk over." 
 
 In these tranquil tones she completely recovered 
 her self-possession. But no one was deceived. 
 Everyone knew the Prince dAxel and knew 
 
104 
 
 Kings ill Exile. 
 
 beforehand what kind of coin-ersation there could 
 be with this degraded prince and sliady character. 
 
 " Let ns go to breakfast," said Frederiqne, rally- 
 ing all her little court with a so\'ereign gesture to 
 the calm slie endeavoured herself to show. 
 
 The King nr)t being present to offer his arm, she 
 hesitated for a moment. Then suddenly turning 
 to the Comte de Zara, who with his great eyes 
 and the intelligent lo(jk of a jirecocious and sickly 
 child had been watching all this scene, she said 
 with a deep, tender, almost respectful tone and a 
 grave smile hitherto uidaiown to him ; 
 
 " Come, Sire ! " 
 
fSBi 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE KING TAKES HIS PLEASURK. 
 
 Three o'clock in the morning- strikes at the 
 Church of Saint-Louis-en-l'Ile. 
 
 Enveloped in darkness and silence, the Rosen 
 family mansion sleeps in all the heaviness of its 
 massive old stones sunken down by the weight of 
 years, of its ponderous, arched portals with their 
 venerable knocker ; and behind the closed shutters, 
 the obscured mirrors reflect only the deep sleep of 
 ages, a sleep of which the light paintings on the 
 ceilings seem to be the dreams, and the murmur of 
 the neighbouring river, the fleeting and uneven 
 breath. But the deepest sleep of all in the house. 
 
io6 Kings til Exile. 
 
 is that of Prince Herbert, who has returned home 
 from his club only a quarter of an hour ago. 
 Exhausted, broken-down, cursing the harassing 
 existence he is forced to lead, which deprives him 
 of what he loves best on earth, his wife and his 
 horses : horses, because the king does not care for 
 sport or any sort of out-door exercise ; his wife, 
 because the king and queen, living apart and 
 meeting only at the hours of meals, their aid€-de- 
 camp and lady-in-waiting must follow in the steps 
 of this conjugal separation, and live aloof fi-om 
 each other like confidants iu a tragedy. The 
 Princess goes off to Saint-Mande long before 
 her husband is awake ; at night, when he returns 
 home, she is fast asleep with her door closed and 
 bolted. And if he complains, Colette majestically 
 answers with a little smile which deepens all her 
 dimples : " Wo surely owe this sacrifice to our 
 Princes." A pretty evasion for the love-sick 
 Herbert, who remains alone in his big room on the 
 first story with a ceiling four yards high above his 
 head, paintings by Boucher over his doors, and 
 great mirrors fitted in the walls which send him 
 back the reflection of his own figure in an inter- 
 minable perspective. 
 
 Sometimes, however, when he is completely done 
 up, as he is to-night, the husband of Colette 
 experiences a certain comfort in stretching himself 
 out in bed without having to furnish any conjugal 
 explanations ; resuming his comfortable bachelor 
 
The Kins; takes his Pleasure. 
 
 107 
 
 habits, and to begin with enveloping his head in an 
 cnormons silk handkerchief; before the mocking 
 eyes of his little Parisian wife he never would have 
 dared to make such a figure of himself. Hardly is 
 he in bed, his head upon the embroidered and 
 
 emblazoned 'pillow, than the trap nf restful oblivion 
 opens, into ^^•hich rolls the worn-out noctambulist 
 aide-de-camp ; but he is suddenly snatched from 
 his beatitude by the disagreealile sensation of a 
 light moving before his eyes, while a little shrill 
 voice, pointed as a gimlet, whispers in his ear : 
 
 " Herbert. Herbert." 
 
 " Eh ! What ! Who is there ? " 
 
 " Do be quiet. It is T, Colette." 
 
io8 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Yes, it is Colette standing before his bed, her 
 lace dressing-gown open at the throat, short sleeves 
 displaying her arms, her hair turned up and twisted 
 leaving bare the nape of her neck, a perfect Httle 
 nest of fair curls ; there she stands in the white 
 glimmer of her little lantern, which makes her 
 eyes look larger, widened as they are by a solemn 
 expression, but now suddenly amused as she catches 
 sight of the bewildered Herbert, looking stupid 
 enough with his handkerchief ruffled into menacing 
 points, while his head with its bristling moustaches 
 rose out of his night-gear, voluminous as the 
 raiment of an archangel, making him look like a 
 bourgeois bully surprised out of a bad dream. 
 But the hilarity of the Princess does not last long. 
 Resuming her seriousness, she places her night lamp 
 on the table with the resolute air of a woman who 
 is determined to make a scene ; and without any 
 regard for the prince's continued drowsiness, she 
 folds her arms, her little hands meeting the dimples 
 of her elbows, and begins : 
 
 " Do you really think this sort of life can go on ? 
 Coming home every day at four o'clock in the 
 morning ! Do you think that a proper existence 
 for a married man ? " 
 
 " But, my dear, (he suddenly interrupted himself 
 to snatch off his silk handkerchief and throw it 
 aside) it is not my fault. I should be only too 
 happy to be allowed to come home earlier to my 
 little Colette, my darling wife whom I ." 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 109 
 
 He endeavours, on saying these words, to draw 
 the tempting snow-white dressing-gown nearer to 
 him, but he is harshly repulsed. 
 
 " Ah ! I am not thinking of you, my poor 
 fellow ! I know you well enough, dear old simpleton 
 quite incapable of committing the least — indeed, I 
 should like to see it otherwise — but it is the king. 
 Fancy, what a scandal, such a life, in his position ! If 
 even he were free, a bachelor. We all know young 
 men must enjoy themselves, though in his case, 
 his high rank and the dignity of exile." (Oh ! 
 how little Colette draws herself up on the high 
 heels of her slippers to speak of the dignity of 
 exile.) " But he is married, and I can't under- 
 stand the queen. What in the world can she have 
 in her veins ? " 
 
 " Colette." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I know, you are like yuur father. 
 The queen cannot do wrong ! As for me, I think 
 that she is as much to blame as he is ; by her 
 coldness, her indifference, she has driven him away 
 from her." 
 
 " The queen is not indifferent. She is proud." 
 
 " Come, come ! are we proud when we love ? 
 If she really loved him, the very first night he had 
 spent away from her would have been the last. 
 She would have spoken, threatened, asserted herself. 
 She could not have kept this cowardly silence 
 under the torture she would have endured from 
 the unfaithfulness of a man she loved. The con- 
 
I lo Kings in Exile. 
 
 sequence is that the king spends all his nights at 
 his club, in the low haunts of the boulevards, at 
 the Prince d'Axel's, in comiDany of Heaven knov\s 
 whom ! " 
 
 " Colette, Colette ! " 
 
 But there was no stopping Colette when she was 
 once started off on the rapid flow of speech natural to 
 every little bourgeoise brought up in the exciting 
 atmosphere of Paris, where the very dolls can talk. 
 
 " That woman cares for nothing, I tell you, not 
 even for her son. If she did, would she have con- 
 fided him to that savage ? They exhaust him with 
 study, poor little creature I It seems that even at 
 night he goes on repeating Latin and a lot of 
 other trash in his sleep. The ilarquise told me so. 
 The queen does not miss a lesson. They are 
 banded together against that poor child. And all, 
 that he may be fit to reign ; but they will have 
 killed him first. Oh ! that Meraut of yours ! I 
 hate him ! " 
 
 " He is not such a bad fellow as all that. He 
 might have been very disagreeable about that book, 
 you know, and he never said a word." 
 
 " Oh ! really ? AYell, I can assure you the queen 
 looks at you with a singular smile when you are 
 congratulated upon it before her. But you are so 
 simple, my poor Herbert ! " 
 
 At the annoyed expression of her husband's face, 
 who has flushed up, and pouts out his sulky lips 
 like a child, the princess fears she has gone too far 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 1 1 1 
 
 and may miss her aim. But how can he withstand 
 the charm of the pretty woman seated on his 
 bedside, her head half tm-ned towards him with a 
 coquettish grace that shows off the youthful supple 
 figure under its flowing laces, the soft roundness of 
 the neck, the malicious glance of the eyes between 
 their lashes ! 
 
 The prince's honest face soon resumes its 
 .amiable expression, and even becomes singularly 
 animated as the soft, warm hand approaches his 
 own, and he breathes in the well-known perfume of 
 the beloved one. What in the woiidis little Colette 
 after ? What is it she wants to know ? Nothing 
 much, only this : Has the king a mistress or has 
 he not ? Is it the passion of gambling that carries 
 him aw'ay, or only the love of pleasure, of wild 
 amusement ? The aide-de-camp hesitates before he 
 answers. He feels it is a sort of disloyalty that he, 
 the companion of all his adventures, should betray 
 the king's secrets. But the little hand is so coaxing, 
 so pressing, so full of curiosity, that the aide-de- 
 camp of Christian II. can resist no longer. 
 
 "Well ! yes, the king has a mistress at present." 
 Within his hand the little hand of Colette 
 becomes cold and damp. 
 
 "And what is her name 7 " she asks, breathing 
 hard and short. 
 
 " Amy F^rat, an actress of the Bouffes Theatre." 
 Colette knows this Amy Ferat ; she always 
 thought her atrociously ugly. 
 
112 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " Oh ! " says Herbert by way of excuse, " His 
 Majesty will soon be tired of her." 
 
 And Colette with evident satisfaction exclaims : 
 
 "Eeally!" 
 
 Upon which Herbert, enchanted with his success, 
 ventures to play with a little knot of ribbon that 
 flutters at her throat, and goes on in a light tone : 
 
 " Yes, I am afraid that before long poor Amy 
 Ferat wiU receive her marmoset." 
 
 " A marmoset ? Why ? " 
 
 " Only something I have noticed. All who live 
 in the king's intimacy know as I do that when he 
 begins to tire of a mistress he sends her one 
 of his marmosets P.P.C. — a little way he has of 
 saying good-bye to those he no longer cares for." 
 
 "Oh! how shocking I " cries the indignant 
 princess. 
 
 " Quite true, though ! At the Grand Club they 
 no longer say 'drop a mistress,' but 'send her a 
 marmoset.' " 
 
 He stops, surprised at seeing the princess abruptly 
 rise up, take her lautern, aud walk stiflHy out of the 
 alcove. 
 
 " I say, Colette ! Colette ! " 
 
 But she turns upon him with disdain and disgust. 
 " I have heard quite enough of youi' horrid stories ; 
 they sicken me." 
 
 And raising the door-curtain, she leaves the 
 unfortunate king of h, Gomme amazed and stupe- 
 fied, with heart inflamed and arms outstretched, 
 
TIic King takes his Pleasure. 
 
 "3 
 
 wondering why she came at this unearthly hour, 
 and why she leaves him iu this most startling 
 manner. With the rapid stop of an actress leaving 
 the stage, the floating train of her dressing-gown 
 caught up and crumpled 
 over her arm, Colette 
 returns to her room at 
 the other extremity of the 
 house. On the couch, 
 lying on a cushion covered 
 with oriental embroidery, 
 sleeps the prettiest little 
 animal in the world, its 
 silky grey coat more like 
 feathers than hair, its long 
 tail wound around it, and 
 a httle silver bell tied 
 with a pink ribbon round 
 its throat. It is an exquisite 
 little marmoset the king had 
 sent her some days ago, in a basket of 
 Leghorn straw, and which she had received with 
 pleasure and gratitude. Ah ! if she had only 
 known the meaning of the present I Furiously 
 she snatches up the little creature, a bundle of 
 living and scratching silk in which shine out, now 
 that it is so suddenly awakened, two human-look- 
 ing eyes, and, opening the window on the quay, 
 with a ferocious gesture, she flings it out. 
 " There, dirty beast ! " 
 
1 14 Kings in Exile. 
 
 The little monkey falls headlong on the wharf, 
 and not only does he disappear and perish that 
 night, but also perishes the dream, frail and caprici- 
 ous as himself, of the poor little creature who throws 
 herself upon her bed, and sobs bitterly with her 
 face hidden in the pillows. 
 
 Their love had lasted a year, an eternity in the 
 eyes of the incurably fickle and childish king. He 
 had only had to make a sign. Fascinated and 
 dazzled, Colette de Rosen had fallen into his arms, 
 though, until then, her conduct had been irreproach- 
 able, not because she loved her husband or cared 
 for virtue, but simply because, in this little linnet's 
 brain, there lingered a certain concern for the 
 neatness of its plumage, which had preserved her 
 from the grosser faults ; and also, because she 
 was a Frenchwdman, of a race of women which 
 Moliere had declared long before the advent of our 
 modern physiolouists, to be devoid of temperament 
 and open only to the temptations of their imagina- 
 tion and vanity. 
 
 It was not to C'hristian that the little Sauvadon 
 had given herself, but to the King of Illyria. She 
 had sacrificed herself to an ideal diadem conjured 
 up from the romantic legends of her childhood's 
 readings, and which she fondly believed she saw 
 surrounding like a halo, the person of her selfish 
 and sensual lover. She pleased him as long as he 
 siw in her a new and brightly coloured plaything, 
 a Parisian toy which was to lead him on to more , 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 115 
 
 exciting pleasures. But she had the bad taste to 
 take her r61e as " mistress of the King " in earnest. 
 The figures of the women who, though mere imita- 
 tion, had shone more brilliantly in history than the 
 real gems of the crown, glittered before her eyes in 
 her ambitious dreams. She would not consent to 
 be a Dubarry ; she would fain be the Duchesse de 
 Chateauroux of this stranded Louis XV. ; and his 
 restoration to the throne of Illyria, the coMpiracies 
 she would direct with a wave of her fan, the sudden 
 strokes, the heroic landings on inhospitable shores, 
 were the subjects of all her conversations with the 
 King. She fancied herself stirring up the country, 
 hiding in the corn-fields and farm-houses, like one 
 of the famous women of the Vendean war, whose 
 adventures she had read about in the convent of 
 the Sacred Heart. She had even contrived in 
 imagination a page's costume for herself (dress 
 always played the principal part in her inventions), 
 a sweet little Renaissance costume which should 
 permit of her holding interviews at all hours, and 
 constantly accompanying the King. Christian dis- 
 liked these enthusiastic reveries, for he quickly saw 
 their false and silly sentimentality. He had not 
 taken a mistress to hear her talk politics ; and 
 when he held his little soft kitten, his pretty 
 Colette on his knees in all the graceful unreserve of 
 her love, to be told about the recent resolutions of 
 the Diet of Leybach or the effect of the latest 
 royal proclamation, cast upon his heart just such a 
 
 I 2 
 
1 16 Kings in Exile. 
 
 chill as a sudden change of temperature, an April 
 frost, casts upon the trees of a blossoming 
 orchard. 
 
 Tardy scruples and remorse, the intricate remorse 
 of a Slave and a Catholic, then began to assail him. 
 Now that his caprice was satisfied, his conscience 
 upbraided him with the odium of this intrigue 
 carried on under the very eyes of the Queen ; he 
 saw the danger of the stealthy, brief rendezvous in 
 hotels, where their incognito might so easily be 
 betrayed ; the cruelty of deceiving that poor good 
 creature, Herbert, who always spoke of his wife 
 with insatiable tenderness, and little thought, when 
 the King joined him at the club with the beaming 
 complexion and bright eyes of a successful lover, 
 that he had just left the arms of Colette. But a- 
 still greater embarrassment was the Due de Rosen, 
 terribly suspicious of his young daughter-in-law, 
 whose principles he mistrusted because she was not 
 of his caste. He was uneasy for his son ; he fancied 
 
 he had all the air of a ■ ; he would say the 
 
 word right out like an old trooper that he was, 
 and he could not but feel a certain responsibility in 
 the matter, for it was through his greed of money 
 that this mesalliance had been made. He kept a 
 watchful eye over Colette, accompanied her morn- 
 ing and evening, and would indeed have followed 
 her everywhere if the supple creature had not shpped 
 between his big clumsy fingers. It was % silent 
 strife between these two. 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 117 
 
 From the windows of the steward's house, the 
 duke, seated at his writing-table, could see, not 
 without A'exation, his pretty daughter-in-law 
 ensconced in her carriage, exquisitely dressed in the 
 beautiful costumes that she combined in such con- 
 summate taste with her fashionable tailor ; in the 
 cold weather, pink and white in the warm shelter 
 of her brougham ; or on bright days, shaded by her 
 fringed parasol. 
 
 " You are going out ? " he would enquire. 
 
 " On the queen's service," the little Sauvadon 
 would triumphantly answer from behind her veil ; 
 and it was true. Frederique did not care for the 
 noise of Paris, and readily confided her commissions 
 to her lady-in-waiting ; she had no pleasure in the 
 vainglorious satisfaction of giving her name and 
 title of queen in the fashionable shops, in the midst 
 of the low-bowing clerks and the inquisitorial 
 curiosity of the women. She was not popular in 
 society. The colour of her hair and eyes, the some- 
 what stiff majesty of her figure, the ease with which 
 she wore Parisian fashions, were not the subject of 
 drawing-room discussion. 
 
 One morning the duke remarked in Colette such 
 an expression of seriousness as she started from 
 Saint-Mande, such an air of over-excitement in all 
 her little person, that instinctively — real sportsmen 
 have these sudden inspirations — he determined to 
 follow her. He gave chase for a long time, as far 
 as a restaurant on the Quai d'Orsay. By dint of the 
 
1 1 8 Kings ill, Exile. 
 
 '<b' 
 
 greatest ruse and skill the princess had managed to 
 elude the ceremonious repast at the queen's table, 
 and was about to breakfast with her lover in a 
 private room. They eat, seated before a low 
 window which opened on a lovely view, the Seine 
 golden in the sunlight ; the Tuileries forming a 
 mass of stones and trees, and near at hand the inter- 
 laced masts and cordage of the training-ship lying 
 in the green shadow of the quay. The weather, 
 well suited to a rendezvous, had the softness of a 
 warm day, crossed every noAv and again by sharp 
 fresh breezes. Never did Colette laugh more 
 merrily ; her laugh was the triumph of her grace, 
 and Christian, who adored her as long as she con- 
 sented to remain the joyous creature he loved in 
 her, was thoroughly enjoying his breakfast in the 
 society of his mistress. All of a sudden, Colette 
 caught sight of her father-in-law walking up and 
 down with measured step on the opposite pavement, 
 determined, to all appearance, not to leave his post. 
 The old man was mounting a regular guard before 
 the door, which he knew to be the only exit from 
 the restaurant, and kept a watch over the well-got- 
 up officers from the neighbouring cavalry barracks, 
 as they entered one by one ; for he imagined, being 
 an old general of Pandours, that the uniform was 
 irresistible, and he had not a doubt that spurs and 
 sabretache were the moving spirit of his daughter- 
 in-law's intrigue. 
 
 The perplexity of both Colette and the king was 
 
The Kiiii^- takes his Ph-asurc. 
 
 119 
 
 great ; very much like that of the learned man 
 perched up on a palm-tree, Avith a gaping crocodile 
 at his feet. They were, however, sure enough of 
 the discretion and incorruptibihty of the restaurant 
 people to be certain that the crocodile would not be 
 allowed to come up. But how were they to get 
 down ? For the king it might yet be managed, for 
 
 he had plenty of time, and must surely succeed in 
 wearing out the patience of the animal. But 
 Colette ! the queen would soon be expecting her, 
 and might join her suspicions to those of old Eosen. 
 The master of the establishment who, at the request 
 of Christian, had come up and had been informed 
 of the state of affairs, after having ransacked his 
 brain, found nothing better than to suggest pierc- 
 ing the wall of the neighbouring house — as in times 
 of revolution. However, he suddenly struck upon 
 
I20 Kings in Exile. 
 
 a plan which was far more simple. The princess 
 must disguise herself as a pastry-cook's boy, and 
 carry out on her head her own dress and petti- 
 coats in a flat wicker-basket ; she could in this 
 guise leave the restaurant, take refuge in the bar- 
 maid's room, in a neighbouring street, and there 
 resume her own clothes. At first Colette would 
 not hear of such a thing. What I appear as a 
 scullion before the king ! She must perforce 
 consent, under penalty of causing the most dreadful 
 catastrophe ; so she donned the freshly washed suit 
 of a little lad some fourteen years of age, and the 
 Princesse de Rosen, nee Sauvadon, was transformed 
 into the prettiest, the most coquettish little pastry- 
 cook's boy that ever ran the streets of Paris at the 
 hours when gourmands eat. But how far removed 
 was this white linen cap, these boy's slippers, too 
 large for her tiny feet, this jacket with its pockets 
 full of jingling "tips," from the heroic page's 
 costume, the pearl-hilted dagger, and the knee- 
 boots in which she had longed to follow her Lara ! 
 Without a suspicion the duke saw two little boys 
 pass out, their baskets on their heads exhaling such 
 a .pleasing odour of hot pastry, that he suddenly 
 felt the first pangs of hunger — he was fasting, poor 
 man ! Upstairs the king, still a prisoner, but 
 relieved of his anxiety, read the paper, drank his 
 Eoederer, peeping out every now and then through 
 an uplifted corner of the curtain to ascertain 
 whether the crocodile was still outside. 
 
Tlie King takes his Plea 
 
 121 
 
 That evening, Avhen he retarned to Saint-Mande, 
 the duke was received by the princess with the 
 most artless of smiles. He understood that he had 
 been outwitted and never breathed a word of his 
 
 adventure. It got about nevertheless. Who 
 knows through what drawing-room keyhole, over 
 what half-lowered brougham ^^•indow, by what echo 
 repeated and sent back from deaf ^^'alls to mute 
 doors, a scandalous rumour will spread through all 
 Paris, until it blazes forth in broad daylight, that 
 is in the publicity of society papers ; and from 
 
122 Kings in Exile. 
 
 there is poured into thousands of ears and becomes 
 a pubHc disgrace, after having been only the subject 
 of an amusing anecdote at a club. For a week 
 Paris made meiTy over the story of the little 
 pastry-cook's boy. The names, whispered low, as 
 low as such great names could be, did not penetrate 
 into the thick skull of Prince Herbert. But the 
 queen had some suspicion of the adventure ; for 
 she, who since their terrible scene at Leybach had 
 never made a reproach of any kind to the king, 
 drew him aside shortly after this incident one day, 
 as they were leaving the dinner table ; 
 
 " I hear much," she said gravely, without looking 
 at him, " about a scandalous story in which your 
 name is mixed. Oh ! pray do not excuse yourself. 
 I do not want to know more, only I beg of you to 
 have some regard for the crowu confided to your 
 care (she pointed to the diadem in the veiled 
 radiance of its crystal casket). Do not allow 
 shame or ridicule to attaiii it. It must remain 
 worthy of your son." 
 
 Did she really know the story ? Did she guess 
 the name of the woman whom public slander had 
 only half revealed ? Prederique's nature was so 
 strong, her self-possession so great, that not one of 
 her immediate circle could have answered the 
 question. Christian, however, took the warning 
 to heart, and his horror of scenes, the need his 
 weak nature had of pleasant faces around him, 
 smiUng back to his own careless memment, 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 123 
 
 decided him to draw from its cage the prettiest, 
 the tamest of his marmosets, and send it to 
 Princess Colette. She wrote, but he never 
 answered ; he took no notice of her sighs or her 
 doleful attitudes, but continued to address her in 
 the tone of polite playfulness which attracted 
 women to him ; and no longer burdened by the 
 remorse which he had felt growing heavier as his 
 passion decreased, set free from the tyranny of an 
 affection far more exacting than his wife's, he 
 threw himself headlong into the pursuit of pleasure, 
 thinking of nothing but what "swells" call in 
 their loose and flabby slang : faire, la fete, or, go it ! 
 It was the fashionable expression that year at the 
 clubs ; there is no doubt another now. 
 
 The words change, but the thing remains, 
 immutable and monotonous ; the great restaurants 
 where it is carried on ; the gilt, flower-decked 
 rooms where the fashionable courtesans invite and 
 receive each other ; the enervating triviality of 
 their pleasure sinking invariably into orgy, 
 without the power of renewal. What never 
 changes is the traditional, classical stupidity of 
 this assembly of frail women and pleasure-worn 
 men ; the stereotyped form of their slang and 
 laugh ; the absence of all imagination or fancy in 
 their commonplace, conventional society, quite as 
 conventional as the other under its would-be 
 appearance of mirth and folly ; — it is regulated 
 disorder, a programme of caprices to be followed 
 
124 Kings in Exile. 
 
 out with yawning ennui by its broken - down 
 Tictims. 
 
 The king, at least, went about amusing himself 
 with all the ardour of a youth of twenty. He 
 yielded to that craving for excitement and freedom 
 which had carried him on the very first evening of 
 his arrival to Mabille ; he sought to satisfy the 
 desires, sharpened long beforehand by the accounts 
 he had read in certain Parisian newspapers, which 
 give day by day the appetizing bill of fare of a life 
 of gallantry, and by the plays and novels which 
 relate and idealize such scenes for the delectation 
 of the provinces and foreign countries. His 
 intrigue with the Princesse de Eosen had an-ested 
 him for a while on his descent to this gross debauch, a 
 descent resembling that of the narrow staircases of 
 the night restaurants, flooded with light, and 
 softly carpeted on the upper steps, down which 
 come, step by step, the partially drunk, increasing 
 their pace as the lights diminish and the sharp 
 night air meets them, till at last the steep stairway 
 seems to lead straight to the gutter, in those dai'k 
 hours sacred to the burglar and the vagabond. 
 Christian now abandoned himself to the rapid 
 descent, to the inevitable end ; and, in his fall, 
 it was not so much the excitement of the heady 
 Spanish wines that intoxicated him, as the little 
 court, the clan of courtiers which surrounded him ; 
 ruined noblemen in seaich of royal dupes, 
 Bohemiau journalists, whose paid articles amused 
 
The Kins takes his Pleasure. 
 
 125 
 
 him, and who, proud of their intimacy with the 
 illustrious exile, took him behind the scenes of the 
 theatres, where the women, blushing affectedly 
 under the rouge that covered their enamelled 
 cheeks, had eyes but for him. He had soon 
 become familiar with the boulevard slang, its 
 exaggerations and silly affectations ; he could 
 say hke a perfect (jommew : " Cliic, ires tine. 
 
 Cest infect, on se ioril-."'" but. in bis mouth, 
 spoken with his foreign accent, these expressions 
 lost somewhat of their vulgarity, and gave them a 
 flavour of Bohemianism. There was one word he 
 particularly delighted in : " rif/oIoJ' j He used it at 
 every turn : theatrical plays, novels, public events 
 or private adventures, were or were not " rie/olo." 
 It exempted ilonseigneur from all mental exertion. 
 On one occasion, towards the end of a midnight 
 
 * Tip-top— All rot— Splitting fnn. 
 t Equivalent to " awfully i'uiiny." 
 
126 Kings in Exile. 
 
 supper, Amy Ferat, who was drunk, and irritated 
 by the constantly repeated word, cried out : 
 
 "Hi! I say, Rigolol" 
 
 This familiarity pleased him. Here was one, 
 at least, who did not treat him as a king. He 
 made her his mistress, and long after his connec- 
 tion with the actress in vogue was over, the 
 nickname remained to him, as that of " Queue-de- 
 Poule" given to the Prince d'Axel no one knows 
 why, remained in the same way attached to him. 
 
 Eigolo and Queue-de-Poule became fast friends. 
 They were always together, hunting the same 
 quarry, mingling in various boudoirs their similar 
 destinies ; for the disgrace of the hereditary 
 prince was equivalent to an exile. He spent it as 
 agreeably as he could, and for the last ten years he 
 had been playing his freaks in all the night-haunts 
 of the boulevards, wearing always the same dismal 
 face in the midst of the wildest pranks. The 
 King of Illyria had his apartment in Prince 
 d' Axel's mansion in the Champs Elysees. At first 
 he would sleep there only on rare occasions, but he 
 soon took to spending the night there as often as 
 at Saint-Mande. These absences, explained with a 
 certain speciousness, left the queen quite calm, 
 but they threw the princess into the greatest 
 despondency. In her mortification at her deser- 
 tion by the king, she had consoled herself with the 
 hope of regaining his inconstant heart.- She 
 used all hjr skill to do so, a thousand coquettish 
 
TJu King takes his Pleasure. 127 
 
 inventions, new adornments, wonderful combina- 
 tions of colours and shapes, which should bring out 
 more strikingly than ever the peculiar grace of her 
 beauty. And what bitter disappointment when, at 
 seven o'clock in the evening, the king not having 
 appeared, Frederique, in her imperturbable serenity, 
 would have little Zara's chair put in the place of 
 honour, saying : " His Majesty will not dine here 
 to-night." 
 
 Poor nervous Colette, obliged to hide her -vexa- 
 tion in silence, longed for an outburst from the 
 Queen which shduld revenge them both ; but 
 Frederique, hardly paler than usual, retained her 
 sovereign composure, though the princess, with true 
 feminine cruelty and consummate art, tried to 
 insinuate ghastly revelations : as to the life in the 
 clubs of Paris, the coarse conversations of men 
 between themselves, and the still coarser amuse- 
 ments to which their idleness and constant absence 
 from home allured them ; the terrible gambling 
 which left whole fortunes on the card-tables ; the 
 eccentric bets entered in a special register which 
 it would be curious to peruse, true " golden record " 
 of human aberration. But do what she might, she 
 could not succeed in disturbing the queen by her 
 incessant pricks ; the queen did not, or rather 
 would not, understand. 
 
 Only once did she betray herself ; it was one 
 morning during a ride through the woods of 
 Saint-Mande. 
 
128 KtJis^s in Exile. 
 
 It was a. sharp cold day in March ; the wind 
 catching the surface of the lake, ruffled it back 
 towards the hard and still flowerless banks. A few 
 buds only were beginning to show on the tips of 
 the leafless shrubs which still bore the red berries 
 of the winter ; the horses, side by side, followed a 
 pathway strewn with dead branches which crackled 
 
 under their feet, and the noise they made, together 
 with the creaking of new leather and rattling of 
 their curb-chains, were the only sounds that dis- 
 turbed the silence of the woods. The two women, 
 both equally good riders, rode slowly on, absorbed 
 in the stillness of this intermediate season, which 
 prepares for the renewal of spring, in the heavens 
 still hea-vy with rain, and on the earth still black 
 with the winter's snow. Colette, however, soon 
 began on her favourite subject, as she did almost 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 129 
 
 always when alone with the Queen. She did not 
 dare to attack the king openly, but she fell upon 
 his surroundings, the men of the Grand Club, almost 
 all of whom she knew through Herbert, or through 
 Parisian gossip, and whom she showed up in 
 masterly style, the Prince d'Axel first and foremost. 
 
 Eeally she could not understand that anyone 
 could be intimate with such a man ; a man who 
 spent his life in gambling and feasting, who had 
 no pleasure but in low company ; sitting out in the 
 evening with bad women on the boulevards, 
 drinking like a cabman with the first-comer, 
 hail-fellow-well-met with the lowest sort of play- 
 actors. And to think that such a fellow was an 
 hereditary prince ! He seemed to take pleasure in 
 degrading, sullying royalty in his own person. 
 
 And she talked on and on with towering 
 indignation and anger, while the queen, inten- 
 tionally absent-minded, looking vacantly ahead, 
 stroked the neck of her horse, hurrying his pace so 
 as to get away from her lady-in-waiting's stories. 
 But Colette pressed her horse on too. 
 
 " He has, moreover, a good example to follow 
 His uncle's conduct is as bad as his own. A man 
 who flaunts his mistresses with such impudence 
 before his court, before his wife. What a role of 
 sacrificed slave for a queen to play ! What kind of 
 nature can she have to put up with such insults ! " 
 
 This time the thrust had gone home. Cut to 
 the heart, Frederique lowered her eyelids, and, for 
 
130 Kings in Exile. 
 
 a moment, there appeared upon her features, 
 suddenly hollowed and aged, such a worn and 
 painf al expression that Colette could not help being 
 moved on seeing the haughty queen whose heart 
 she had never been able to reach, descend to the 
 level of feminine suffering. But the moment was 
 soon past j she quickly regained possession of her 
 dignit.y : 
 
 " The woman you speak of is a queen," she said 
 sharply, " and you would be committing a great 
 injustice to judge her like other women. Other 
 women can be openly happy or unhappy, shed all 
 their tears, and even cry out if their pain is too 
 great. But queens ! — alas they must hide every- 
 thing : their sorrows as wife, their sorrows as 
 mother ; they must hide and devour them in 
 silence. Can a queen run away when she is 
 outraged ? Can she sue for a separation, rejoicing 
 thereby the hearts of the enemies of her throne ? 
 No, at the risk of appearing cruel, blind and 
 indifferent, she must preserve a lofty brow to uphold 
 her crown. And it is not pride, but the feeling of 
 our dignity that sustains us. It is this feeling that 
 enables us to drive out in an open carriage between 
 husband and child, under the threatening fire of 
 imminent conspiracies, that alleviates the dreariness 
 of the land of exile and its murky skies, that gives 
 us the strength to bear certain cruel afironts of 
 which you ought to be the last to remind me, 
 Princesse de Eosen." 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 13! 
 
 She grew excited as she spoke, and the words 
 came hurried -towards the end ; then she suddenly 
 roused her horse with a vigorous shake of the bridle 
 and dashed off at full gallop through the woods, her 
 blue veil streaming behind her, and the heavy folds 
 of her riding habit flapping in the wind. 
 
 From this time forward Colette left the queen in 
 peace ; but, as her unquiet nerves needed some 
 distraction and relief, she directed her stings and 
 anger against Elysee, and regularly took up the 
 side of the marquise. The royal household was 
 divided into two camps : Elysee had only 
 Father Alphee on his side, and certainly the 
 monk's rugged frankness and ever-ready answer 
 were of immense help in times of need ; but he was 
 often absent on frequent missions to Illyria, where 
 he had to manage the affairs of the Franciscan 
 monasteries of Zara and Ragusa, and their arrange- 
 ments with the mother-house of the rue des 
 Fourneaux. 
 
 This, at least, was the pretext of his temporary 
 absences, which he surrounded with the utmost 
 mystery, and from which he always returned more 
 ardent, mounting the stairs with a more furious 
 tramp, rolling his rosary in his fingers, and mutter- 
 ing a prayer, which he seemed to munch like a 
 musket-ball. 
 
 He would remain for hours shut up with the 
 queen, then start off again, leaving the coterie of 
 the marquise free to work against the preceptor. 
 
 K 2 
 
132 Kings in Exile. 
 
 From the old duke, whose military and worldly 
 instincts were offended by Meraut's shaggy hair 
 and untidy appearance, down to Lebeau, the valet, 
 and the humblest of the grooms and scullions, — in 
 whom all independence creates enemies, — even to 
 the inoffensive Boscovich who, like a coward, 
 followed the others out of respect for numbers, all 
 followed suit, and formed a veritable coalition 
 against the new tutor. This showed itself not so 
 much by overt acts as by words, looks, and atti- 
 tudes in the little daily skirmishes so common 
 among people who live in the same house while 
 detesting each other. Oh ! the indescribable 
 attitudes of Madame de Silvis ! In turn disdainful, 
 haughty, ironical, or bitter, she played her part 
 with Elysee, while, at the same time, she assumed 
 an expression of respectful pity, with smothered 
 sighs and eyes rolled up to the ceiling, whenever 
 she found herself with the little prince : " Are you 
 not suffering, Monseigneur ? " And she would 
 feel his forehead with her long bony fingers, un- 
 manning him with her tremulous caresses. Then 
 the queen in a cheerful tone would reply : 
 
 " Come, come, marquise, you will persuade Zara 
 that he is ill." 
 
 " I find his hands and forehead rather hot.'' 
 
 " He has just come in from walking. It is the 
 cold air." 
 
 And she would take the child away, though 
 slightly disturbed herself at the remarks she so 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 133 
 
 constantly heard repeated around her, and which 
 had created a sort of legend in the house, that 
 Monseigneur was made to study too much. The 
 Parisian portion of the household said so, without 
 believing or attaching any importance to the state- 
 ment ; but not so the servants brought over from 
 Ihyria, the tall Petscha, the faithful old Greb ; they 
 took the affair in earnest, and cast upon Meraut 
 black looks of hatred, harassing him with their 
 tormenting antipathy in the thousand little pin- 
 pricks which their service put it in their power to 
 inflict upon an absent-minded dependent. He 
 again underwent the petty persecutions and 
 jealousies of the palace at X., the same grovelling 
 subservience that creeps around a throne, and 
 which it appears even overthrow and exile have not 
 the power to remove. His generous and affection- 
 ate nature recoiled from the antipathy and resist- 
 ance which surrounded him ; his simple, homely 
 manners, the Bohemian habits of his artist's life 
 were oppressed by the forced ceremonial of the 
 king's household, the imposing candelabras of the 
 brilliantly-lighted dinner-table, where the men in 
 their dress-coats, and the women with bare necks, 
 seated far apart with due formaUty, never spoke 
 or ate before the king and queen had spoken and 
 eaten ; ruled above all by the inexorable etiquette 
 which the Due de Rosen imposed with more and 
 hiore rigour as the term of exile extended day by 
 day into the dim future. It would happen occa- 
 
1 34 Kifigs in Exile. 
 
 sionally bhat the old student of the Rue Monsieur- 
 le-Prince would come to the table with a coloured 
 cravat on, and, forgetting all rules, would speak 
 without permission, pitching head foremost into 
 ■one of the eloquent improvisations so often re- 
 echoed by the walls of the Cafe Voltaire. But 
 soon called to order by the withering glances 
 thrown at him, the repugnance he felt for the 
 importance attached to the smallest infraction of 
 these petty customs became such, that he longed to 
 throw the whole thing over, and return once more, 
 as he had done before, to his old quarters in the 
 Quartier Latin. 
 
 However, his attachment to the queen retained 
 him. As he had become more intimate with 
 Frederique through her child, he had conceived for 
 her a fanatical infatuation, made up of respect, of 
 admiration, and a sort of superstitious faith. For 
 him, she summed up and symbolised in herself the 
 ideal of his monarchical creed, just as, for the 
 Transteverian peasant, the Madonna represents all 
 rehgion. It was for her he remained and en- 
 deavoured to carry his hard task to a successful 
 end. But it was indeed a tax upon his patience. 
 How difficult to get the least thing into the little 
 head of this king's child ! He was a charming 
 little fellow, poor Zara, gentle and good ; his will 
 was not wanting ; the serious, straightforward soul 
 of his mother was in him, but mingled with a sort 
 •of- childishness, of fleeting instability in his ideas 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 135 
 
 which his age hardly accounted for. The mind 
 was evidently undeveloped in this poor, little, old- 
 fashioned, stunted body, never tempted by play, 
 but weighed down by a constant state of dreami- 
 ness, which often went as far as torpor. Lulled by 
 the fantastic tales of his governess during his first 
 years, which had been only a long convalesence, 
 the new life, now imperfectly appearing before his 
 eyes, seemed to strike him only by its analogy with 
 his fairy-tales, where the fairies and magicians were 
 confounded with kings and queens, rescued them 
 from enchanted towers and oubliettes, delivered 
 them by a stroke of their golden wands from snares 
 and persecutions, scattering the dragons who spat 
 fire, and the old witches who changed their victims 
 into beasts, and destroying the terrific ramparts of 
 thorns and walls of ice. At his lesson, in the 
 midst of a difiBcult explanation, he would say : 
 " That is like the story of the little tailor ; " or if 
 he was reading the description of a great battle : 
 " The giant Eobistor killed many more than that." 
 It was this tendency of his mind towards the 
 wonderful which gave him his absent-minded air, 
 and which kept him for hours motionless on the 
 cushions of a sofa, his eyes fixed upon the ever- 
 changing and fleeting phantasmagoria conjured up 
 before them, and dazzled by the blinding light of 
 the fairy scenes in some Rothomago, as they un- 
 folded their wondrous prismatic pictures one after 
 the other in his memory. And this was why he 
 
136 Kings in Exile. 
 
 found it difficult to reason or apply himself to the 
 serious studies which were expected of him. 
 
 The queen assisted at all the lessons, her em- 
 broidery which never made any progress in her 
 hand, and in her beautiful eyes the look of deep 
 attention so flattering to the master, who felt her 
 vibrate to all his thoughts, even to those he did 
 not express. This was the bond that united them, 
 unity of dreams, of hopes, the chimeras that float 
 above our convictions and extend them to others. 
 She had adopted him as her counsellor, her con- 
 fidant, affecting to speak always in the name of the 
 king. 
 
 " Monsieur Meraut," she would say, " His 
 Majesty would be glad to have your opinion on 
 such and such a subject." 
 
 And great was the surprise of Elysee on finding 
 that the king himself never conversed with him 
 upon these subjects that were supposed to interest 
 him so deeply. 
 
 Christian II. treated him with consideration, 
 addressing him in a tone of familiar companion- 
 ship, most kindly but of a superficial sort. At 
 times, as he passed through the schoolroom, he 
 would pause for a moment to assist at the lesson, 
 and then, laying his hand on the young prince's 
 shoulder : 
 
 " Do not press him too much," he would say, in 
 an undertone, which was only an echo of what was 
 thought by all the subordinates of the household. 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 137 
 
 " You surely don't intend to make a scientific man 
 of him ? " 
 
 " I wish to make him a king," Frederique would 
 proudly answer. 
 
 And on seeing her husband's gesture of dis- 
 couragement : 
 
 " Is he not to reign some day ? " 
 
 " Oh ! certainly, certainly." 
 
 And, making a low bow, closing the door behind 
 him to avoid further discussion, he would be heard 
 humming, as he went away, the air of an operetta 
 then in fashion : " // regnera, il regnera, car il est 
 EspagnoV * Altogether Elysee could make nothing 
 of ^ this king, to all appearance so affable, so super- 
 ficial, so capricious ; this perfumed dandy who 
 spent hours lounging, in the weariness of his un- 
 strung nerves, upon the divans of his drawing- 
 room ; the man whom he had been led to believe 
 was the hero of Eagusa, the king whose energetic 
 firmness and bravery were described in his 
 Memorial. However, notwithstanding Frederique's 
 skill in disguising the shallowness and emptiness of 
 this crowned head, and the care she took to keep 
 her own personality concealed behind that of the 
 king's, unforeseen events would crop up and reveal 
 the natures of each in their proper hght. 
 
 One morning after breakfast, just as .they 
 entered the drawing-room, Frederique, on opening 
 
 * From la Pirichole : " He will reign— he will reigu — for 
 he is a Spaniard. " 
 
138 Kings in Exile. 
 
 the paper, the Gourrier cTIllyrie, which she was 
 always the first to read, gave vent to such a loud 
 exclamation of grief, that the king, who was ready 
 to go out, stopped short, and all the persons 
 present grouped themselves in one moment around 
 the queen. Fred&ique handed the paper to 
 Boscovich : 
 
 " Eead," she said. 
 
 It was the account of a sitting of the Diet of 
 Leybach, and a resolution that had been passed by 
 the Republican Government to return to the dis- 
 possessed sovereigns all the domains of the Crown, 
 more than eight millions sterling, on the express 
 condition — 
 
 " Bravo ! " said Christian, with his nasal voice, 
 " that suits me down to the ground." 
 
 " Read on," said the queen severely. 
 
 "On the express condition that Christian II. 
 should give up for himself and his heirs all rights 
 to the crown of Illyria." 
 
 A burst of indignation followed from all sides. 
 Old Rosen was suffocating, the cheeks of Pere 
 Alphee grew deadly white, and his black eyes and 
 beard looked blacker in contrast with the grey 
 pallor that spread over his countenance. 
 
 " This must be answered at once," said the queen ; 
 "we cannot for a moment stand such an insult," 
 and'in her indignation her eyes sought for Meraut, 
 who had been occupied for some minutes writing 
 feverishly at a corner of the table with his pencil. 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. \ 39 
 
 " This is what I should write," he said as he 
 came forward ; and he read, under the form of a 
 letter to a royalist deputy, a spirited proclamation 
 to the people of lUyria, in which the king, scornfully 
 rejecting the insulting proposition made to him, 
 reassured and encouraged his partisans with the 
 impressive accent of a father kept aloof from his 
 children. 
 
 The queen, enraptured, clapped her hands, seized 
 the paper, and, handing it to Boscoyich, said : 
 
 " Quick, translate it and send it off at once. Is 
 not that your opinion ? " she added, remembering 
 all at once that Christian was present, and that they 
 were observed. 
 
 " Xo doubt, yes," said the king, nervously biting 
 his nails in his perplexity. " All that is very fine, 
 only this is the question : shall we be able to stick 
 to it ? " 
 
 She turned upon him, very pale, as though she 
 had received a blow between her shoulders. 
 
 " Stick to it ! You ask whether we shall be able 
 to stick to it. Is it the king who speaks ? " 
 
 He answered very calmly : ; 
 
 " When Eagusa was without bread, at last, with 
 the best will in the world, we were, nevertheless 
 forced to surrender." 
 
 " Yes ; but this time, when we are without bread, 
 we will lay the beggar's sack on our shoulders and 
 beg" from door to door ; but , royalty shall not 
 surrender." 
 
140 Kings in Exile. 
 
 What a scene in that small drawing-room of a 
 suburb of Paris ! This contest between two fallen 
 sovereigns, the one so evidently weaiy of the 
 struggle, broken down by the want of faith in his 
 own destiny, the other burning with ardour and 
 confidence ! How strikingly did their two natures 
 reveal tliemselves ! Yielding versatility written in 
 every line of the king's person, in his very dress, 
 his loose morning suit, his low shirt-collar showing 
 his bare neck ; in the effeminacy of his drooping 
 white hands, and the slightly moistened curls on his 
 pale forehead. The queen, slender and superb in 
 her close-fitting riding habit, with its broad lapels, 
 its little straight collar, the plain cuffs that edged 
 with white the sombre mourning of the costume, 
 and set . off the splendour of her brilliant com- 
 plexion, her flashing eyes and auburn tresses. 
 For the first time Elysee had a rapid and true 
 vision of the real state of things between this royal 
 pair. 
 
 All at once Christian II. turned to the Due de 
 Eosen, who was standing against the mantelpiece, 
 his head bent down : 
 
 " Kosen ! " he said. 
 
 " Sire ? " 
 
 "You alone can tell us that. How do our 
 money matters stand ? Can we hold out ? " 
 
 The comptroller of the household, with a haughty 
 gesture, answered : 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 141 
 
 " How long, do you know ? About how long do 
 you suppose ? " ■ 
 
 " Five years ; I have made the calculation." 
 
 " Without privations for any one ? without any 
 of those we love suffering in any way ? " 
 
 " Exactly so, sire." 
 
 " Are you quite certain ? " 
 
 " Yes, certain," affirmed the old man, straighten- 
 ing himself up to his full height. 
 
 "Well then, all right. Meraut, give me your 
 letter ; let me sign it before I go out." And in an 
 undertone he added, as he took the peu from his 
 hand : 
 
 " Just look at Madame de Silvis ; does she not 
 look as if she were going to sing ' Sombre forU .? ' " 
 
 And indeed the marquise, just then returning 
 from the garden with the little prince, infected by 
 the dramatic atmosphere of the drawing-room, 
 stood in her green-plumed cap and velvet spencer, 
 with her head thrown back and her hand upon her 
 heart, somewhat in the transported and romantic 
 attitude of an opera-singer about to begin the 
 cavatina of the evening. 
 
 The protestation of the king was not only read in 
 Parliament and published in all the papers, but it 
 was also by Elysee's advice autographed and sent in 
 thousands of copies into the country, smuggled 
 through the custom-house by Father Alphee, who 
 concealed them, together with his olive-wood 
 chaplets and roses of Jericho, under the general 
 
142 Kings in Exile. 
 
 name of "articles of piety." The effect was 
 excellent. The royalist party' was not only 
 strengthened but augmented. Dalmatia, more 
 particularly where republican ideas had hardly 
 penetrated, was stirred on hearing the eloquent 
 voice of her king delivered in village pulpits by the 
 mendicant friars of the Order of St. Francis who, 
 at the village doors, opened their wallets and paid 
 for the presents of eggs and butter with little 
 bundles of printed papers. Addresses to the king 
 were soon covered with signatures, and those little 
 crosses of the uneducated peasants so touching in 
 their ignorant affection. 
 
 Numerous pilgrimages were organized. A 
 stream of deputations flowed into the little house at 
 Saint-Mande. Groups of fishermen, street porters 
 from Ragusa wearing black cloaks thrown over 
 theiu bright oriental costumes, half savage Mor- 
 lachian peasants with their sheep-skin opanlces tied 
 on to their feet with straps of straw. They 
 descended in troops from the tramways, where 
 their scarlet tunics, their fringed scarves, and the 
 metal buttons of their waistcoats jarred strangely 
 with the grey uniformity of Parisian garb ; they 
 crossed the courtyard with firm steps, but faltered 
 as they entered the hall, consulting together in 
 whispers in their shyness and emotion. Meraut, 
 who assisted at their presentation to the king, was 
 moved to the heart ; the legend of his childhood 
 rose up again before him as he witnessed, the 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 143 
 
 enthusiasm of these pilgrims from afar ; it recalled 
 to him the visits to Frohsdorf of the villagers of the 
 Enclos de Key, the privations they imposed upon 
 themselves, the preparations for the journey, the 
 concealed disappointment they brought back ; and 
 he bitterly felt the sullen indifference of Christian 
 and the too-evident sighs of relief to which he gave 
 vent at the close of each interview. The king, in 
 truth, hated these visits, which disturbed his every- 
 day habits and pleasures, and obliged him to spend 
 long afternoons at Saint-Mande. Out of consider- 
 ation for the queen, however, he received the tearful 
 protestations of all these faithful creatures with a 
 few commonplace words, and then avenged himself 
 for his trouble by some poor joke or Other — a 
 caricature pencilled on a bit of paper, with that 
 spirit of malicious mockery which lurked in the 
 corners of his mouth. He once made the caricature 
 of the syndic of the Branizza fishermen, a broad 
 Italian face with flabby cheeks and round staring 
 eyes from, which the tears rained down to his chin 
 in the joy and emotion of his interview with the 
 king. The next day this production was circulated 
 round the table amidst the laughter and admiring 
 exclamations of the guests. The Duke himself, in 
 his contempt for the lower classes, puckered up his 
 old face in unrestrained hilarity, and the drawing 
 at last reached Elysee after having passed under the 
 delighted approval of Boscovich, Elysee looked at 
 it in silence, and handed it without a word to his 
 
144 Kings in Exile. 
 
 neighbour ; and when the king called out to him in 
 his impertinent drawling tone : 
 
 " Why don't you laugh, Meraut ? Is not my 
 charming syndic to your taste ? " 
 
 He answered sadly : 
 
 " Monseigneur, I cannot laugh. It is the exact 
 portrait of my father." 
 
 Shortly after Elys^e involuntarily witnessed a 
 scene which enlightened him completely as to the 
 relations of Christian with the queen. It was on a 
 Sunday, after mass. The little house, with an air 
 of unusual festivity, had opened wide its gates 
 upon the rue Herbillon ; all the servants stood in 
 a double row in the hall which had been filled with 
 flowers. The reception of that day was to be one 
 of extraordinary importance. A royalist deputa- 
 tion of the members of the Diet of Leybach 
 was expected, the elite of the party come to 
 pay homage of fidelity and devotion to the king, 
 and consult with him as to the measures to be 
 taken for his restoration to the throne. It was 
 a long-expected event, and the brilliancy of a 
 glorious winter sun lit up the solitude of the great 
 reception-room, where the high arm chair of the 
 king was prepared as a throne ; and threw its 
 radiance upon the sparkling gems, the rubies, 
 sapphires, and topazes of the crown. 
 
 The whole house was in a state of agitation with 
 ceaseless comings and goings, and the rustle of silk 
 dresses on the stairs ; the little prince was repeat- 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 145 
 
 ing the speech that had been taught him for the 
 last week, while his long red stockings, velvet suit, 
 and collar of Venetian point were being put on ; 
 Eosen, in full uniform and all his decorations, stood 
 drawn up taller than ever, ready to receive the 
 deputies ; while Elysee, keeping away from all this 
 stir, alone in the school-room, mused over the possible 
 consequences of the approaching interview, and in 
 the vivid mirage created by his excitable Southern 
 brain, conceived and beheld the triumphal return 
 of his princes to Leybach ; he saw, amid the roar 
 of cannon, the peal of bells, the streets strewn with 
 flowers, the king and queen holding before them 
 like a promise to their people his beloved pupil, 
 little Zara, the grave and intelligent child whose 
 very gravity told of emotions too violent for his 
 age. And the splendour of this bright Sunday, the 
 cheerful sound of the bells clanging in the brilliant 
 midday sun, were for him enhanced by the hope 
 that in the coming triumph the maternal joy of 
 Frederique might stray over the head of her child 
 down to him, and beam upon him in a smile of 
 proud satisfaction. 
 
 Meanwhile, the chief courtyard resounded with 
 the heavy wheels of the gala carriages which had 
 been sent to fetch the deputies at their various 
 houses, and the loud bell at the gate announced 
 the an-ivals one after the other. The carriage 
 doors slammed, subdued sounds of steps as they fell 
 on the carpets of the hall and drawing-room were 
 
146 
 
 Kin^s in Exile. 
 
 succeeded by murmurs of reverent voices. Then a 
 long silence which surprised Meraut, who expected 
 to hear the well-known nasal voice which should 
 deliver the king's speech. What could have 
 happened ? why this hesitation in the appointed 
 order of the ceremony ? 
 
 At this moment he perceived the man he supposed 
 to be in tlie next room presiding over the official 
 reception, skirting the walls, the blackened espaliers; 
 of the cold though sun-lit garden, and walking 
 along with a stiff, uncertain gait. He had 
 
The King takes his Pleasure. 147 
 
 evidently entered by the private door hidden in the 
 ivy of the Avenue Daumesnil, and he was approach- 
 ing the house slowly and laboriously. Elys6e at once 
 imagined there had been some duel or accident, 
 and presently he heard a heavy fall in the room 
 above, which confirmed him in the idea, for long 
 and heavy was it, and accompanied with such a 
 crash of fallen objects, that it sounded like that of 
 a man who had sought to save himself by holding 
 on to the hangings and furniture. He ran up to 
 the king's room. It was a warmly-cushioned nest, 
 situated in the principal wing of the house, hung 
 in dark red, the walls covered with trophies of old 
 weapons, and furnished with divans and low arm- 
 chairs, lions' and bears' skins ; and, in the midst 
 of this oriental effeminacy, a camp-bed in which, 
 according to a tradition in his family, the king slept 
 — a piece of originality and affected simplicity 
 common alike to princes and millionaires. 
 
 The door was wide open. 
 
 Christian stood leaning against the wall, pale 
 and discomposed, with his hat on the back of his 
 head, his long fur coat half opened, and showing 
 underneath his tumbled dress-coat, his white cravat 
 untied, his broad shirt-front creased and soiled, 
 the crumpled linen telling only too plainly of the 
 night's drunken debauch. Before him stood the 
 queen, erect and severe, her stern voice trembling 
 with the violent effort she made to keep calm : 
 
 " You must — you must come." 
 
 L 2 
 
148 Kings in Exile. 
 
 But he, in a low, sheepish voice, replied : 
 
 " I can't ; don't you see I can't ; later, I promise 
 you." 
 
 And he stammered out excuses, with a silly 
 laugh and childish deprecation. It was not that he 
 had drunk. Oh, no ! it was only the air, the cold 
 air as he came out after supper. 
 
 " Yes," said the queen, " I know ; but neverthe- 
 less you must come down ; they must see you, only 
 let them see you. I wiU do the rest. I know what 
 to say to them." 
 
 And as he remained motionless, and a heavy 
 drowsiness began to steal over the ghastly re- 
 laxation of his features, Frederique's anger in- 
 creased. 
 
 " Cannot you understand that your very destiny 
 is in question, that your crown is at stake ? 
 Christian, it is your crown, the crown of your son 
 that you are playing with at this moment. Come- 
 — come — I beseech you. You must — you shall." 
 
 In the force of her powerful will she was superb 
 as she stood galvanizing the king into life, with the' 
 magnetism of her ocean-blue eyes. She picked 
 him up with her mesmeric glance ; steadied him, 
 helped him off with his hat, his pelisse reeking with 
 the fumes of tobacco and drink. He stiffened out his 
 tottering legs for a moment, made a few staggering 
 steps forward, leaniug his burning palms on the 
 marble hands of the queen. But all at once 
 she felt him give way, and, recoiling from his 
 
Tlic Kins: takes his Pleasure. 
 
 149 
 
 feverish contact, she thrust him violently away 
 with disgust, letting him fiill at full length on a 
 divan, and without a look at the crumpled, inert 
 and already snoring mass, she left the room, walk- 
 ing rigidly with eyes half shut, and passed before 
 Elysee without noticing him, murmuring in the dis- 
 ordered, mournful tone of a somnambulist : 
 
 " Alia fine sono stanca ck fare gesti dc quesio 
 monarcacdo , 
 
 I "* 
 
 * " I am weary at last of puUi: 
 puppet of a king." 
 
 the strinr's of this 
 
V. 
 
 J. TOM LliVIS' FOREIGN AGENCY. 
 
 Of all the Parisian deus, of all the thieves' 
 cavei'iis that sap ami nudevniiue the f^Teat city, 
 there is not a more peculiar or more interesting 
 organisxtioii than that of Levis' Agency. It is 
 known to all, at least from the outside. Situated 
 in the nie Hoy ale, at the corner of the Faubourg 
 Siint-Honorj, in full view of the cxrriagej passing 
 
J. Tom Levis Foreign Agency. 151 
 
 to and from the Bois, so that no one can avoid 
 seeing the glaring adyertisement of the sumptuous 
 ground-floor reached by eight steps, with its tall 
 plate-glass windows on which are emblazoned in 
 red, blue, and gold, the escutcheons of tte most 
 important powers in Europe : eagles, unicorns, 
 leopards — a complete heraldic menagerie. At a 
 distance of thirty yards, across the whole street 
 which is as wide as a boulevard, Levis' Agency 
 attracts the attention of the least curious of 
 passers-by. Each one asks himself: "What can 
 they sell there ? " It would be easier to say : 
 " What do they not sell there ? " On each window 
 can be read in beautiful gold letters : " Wines, 
 liquors, pale-ale, kummel, raki, caviare, preserved 
 cod ; " or else : " Ancient and modern furniture, 
 tapestries, hangings, carpets from Smyrna and 
 Ispahan." Further on : " Paintings by old 
 masters, marbles, terra-ootta, arms and armour, 
 medals, panoplies ; " or again : " Money changed, 
 discount, foreign money." Then : " Universal 
 library, newspapers from every country and in 
 every language, sale and lease of houses, shooting, 
 fishing, sea-side residences ; " or : " Private in- 
 quiries quickly and discreetly carried out." 
 
 Thecrowded iascriptions and brilliant escutcheons 
 are so mingled that it is impossible to distinguish 
 what is displayed behind the shop window. A 
 vague glimpse is caught of strange and oddly 
 colom'ed bottles, of carved-wood chairs, of pictures 
 
1-52 Kings in Exile. 
 
 and furs, and, in wooden platters a few half- 
 opened rolls of piastres and bundles of bank-notes 
 are to be seen. But the vast basement of the 
 house, opening on to the pavement by low-grated 
 cellar windows, forms a real solid basis to the 
 garish display of the great flaunting shop, and 
 conveyed the impression of some rich, solid, 
 London warehouse, sustaining the chic and show of 
 a shop -window of the boulevard de la Madeleine. 
 In that basement were piles of rich products of all 
 kinds : rows of barrels, bales of materials, heaps of 
 chests, coffers, boxes of preserves, dizzy depths 
 such as are seen on board a loading steamer 
 through the open hatches. 
 
 Thus placed, firmly stretched in the very midst of 
 the Parisian eddy, the net catches as they pass every 
 kind of fish — large and small, even the merest fiy, 
 the very wariest of all ; and at about three o'clock 
 in the afternoon the shop is nearly always full. 
 
 At the glass door of the rue Eoyale, tall and 
 light, surrounded by a wide pediment of carved 
 wood, stands a hall porter, covered with gold braid, 
 who turns the handle and holds up an umbrella, if 
 need be, for the customers as they step out of their 
 carriages. The front room is an immense hall 
 divided by woodea barriers and grated wickets into 
 a number of compartments, regular horse-boxes, 
 right and left to the very end. The dazzling light 
 is reflected on th3 palishei floor, the wainscoting, 
 the neat frock-coats and artificially-curled looks of 
 
/. Tom Levis' Foreign Agency. 153 
 
 the clerks, all of them stylish, smart-looking men, 
 but betraying in their accent and manner a foreign 
 origin. Among them are olire complexions, 
 pointed skulls, naiTow Asiatic shoulders, light blue 
 eyes and American "goatees," and high-coloured 
 Germans. In whatever language the customer 
 may give his order, he is always certain of being 
 understood, for every language is spoken at this 
 agency, except indeed Russian, which is not 
 necessary, seeing that Russians themselves speak 
 every language except their own. The crowd 
 comes and goes round the wickets, or waits seated 
 on hght chairs ; ladies and gentlemen in travelling 
 costume, a medley of Astrakan caps, Scotch caps, 
 long veils floating- above waterproofs, dust cloaks, 
 check tweeds indiscriminately covering both sexes, 
 with strapped rugs and leathern bags slung across 
 shoulders ; in fact, the crowd of a railway station, 
 gesticulating, talking loud, with the indifference and 
 coolness of people in a strange land, producing by 
 a ceaseless jabber in many languages the same 
 confused motley of sound that is heard at a bird- 
 fancier's. At the same time is heard the sound of 
 drawn corks and the rattle of gold pieces on the 
 counters. Then the ring of interminable elecbric 
 bells, the whistles in the call-tubes, the rustling of 
 some unfolded plans for a house, scales run on a 
 new piano to try it, or the exclamations of a tribe 
 of Samayedes round a gigantic photograph, com- 
 pletes the pandemonium. 
 
154 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 From one compartment to another the clerks 
 call out for information, a number, a name, or a 
 street. Now smiling and eager, and again suddenly 
 
 cold and reserved, appearing completely indifferent 
 to the things of this world, whenever an unfortu- 
 nate and dismayed customer, sent from wicket to 
 wicket, bends o\er to whisper into their ear some 
 mysterious affair, which apparently fills them with 
 
/. Tom Levis Foreign Agency. 155 
 
 astonishment. Sometimes, impatient at being 
 stared at as if he were a "waterspout or an aerolite, 
 the inquirer would ask to see J. Tom Levis 
 himself, who will, he affirms, certainly understand 
 the matter in question. Then with ■ 
 
 a lofty smile he is told that J. Tom 
 Levis is engaged, that he is busy 
 with some important client. 
 Not any paltry little busi- 
 ness like yours, my dear 
 sir ! or such petty folk as 
 you are ! Look over 
 there, at the further 
 end of the hall. A 
 door has just opened, 
 andf or one moment J. 
 Tom Levis is visible. 
 More majestic than 
 all his clerks put 
 together, with his 
 important round 
 stomach and imposing 
 
 ^W-SiLi 
 
 smooth 
 
 skull, as shiny as the polished 
 floor of his office, by the toss of his small head and 
 his distant glance, by the despotic gcstui-e of his 
 short arm, and the solemn and loud voice in which 
 he inquires, with an English accent, if " His Royal 
 Highness the Prince of Wales's parcel has been 
 dispatched," keeping at the same time the other 
 hand on the door that he has hermetically closed 
 
156 Kings in Exile. 
 
 behind him, as though to indicate that the august 
 personage shut in there, is one who may not be 
 disturbed on any pretext whatever. 
 
 Needless to add that the Prince of Wales has 
 never been to this office, and that no parcel has 
 ever been sent to him. But fancy the effect 
 created on the crowd in the hall, and on the 
 solitary customer to whom Tom has just said in 
 his private room : " Excuse me for a moment ; I 
 have something to ask about." 
 
 All is sham ! There is no more Prince of Wales 
 behind the closed door than there is raki or 
 kummel in the strange bottles in the window, nor 
 English or Viennese beer in the casks underground. 
 The emblazoned, gilded, varnished coaches, with 
 J. T. L. on their panels, that pass at a gallop, all 
 the more rapidly that they are empty, dashing 
 along through the finest quarters of Paris, are but 
 a noisy and perambulating advertisement, tearing 
 over the pavement with the aU-devouring activity 
 that in Tom Levis' Agency characterises both man 
 and beast. Should any poor devil, excited by all 
 this gold, break the glass window and ravenously 
 plunge his bleeding hand into the wooden platters, 
 he would only clutch hold of a handful of counters ; 
 if he seized an enormous bundle of bank-notes, he 
 would find himself the possessor of a twenty-five 
 pound note on the top of a quire of common paper. 
 There is nothing in the shop-iront, nothing in 
 the basement, nothing, absolutely nothing ! How 
 
J. Tom Levis' Foreign Agency. 157 
 
 then about the port wine the Englishmen are 
 tasting ? the French coin the boyard has had in 
 exchange for his roubles ? the bronze group care- 
 fully packed up for the Greek lady ? Nothing is 
 easier. The English beer comes from the tavern 
 next door ; the gold from a neighbouring money- 
 changer on the boulevards ; the bronze from 
 "What's his name" in the rue du Quatre-Septembre. 
 Two or three men waiting in the basement, the 
 orders transmitted through the speaking-tubes, 
 have only to dash off as quickly as their legs will 
 carry them to fetch the required objects. 
 
 They go out through a neighbouring courtyard, 
 return in a few minutes and emerge from the 
 spiral staircase, ornamented by a richly-wrought 
 banister and crystal globe that unites the two 
 stories. Here is the article demanded ; warranted 
 and labelled J. T. L. If it does not suit his 
 lordship it is of no consequence, it can be changed. 
 The Agency cellars are well-stocked. Maybe it is 
 a trifle dearer than anywhere else, only the double 
 or treble ; but is not that preferable to running 
 from shop to shop, where not a word of a foreign 
 •language is understood, notwithstanding the 
 alluring promise of '■'■English spohen" or "Man 
 spricht deutsch? " Better than those shops on the 
 boulevards, where the unfortunate stranger, cir- 
 cumvented and deceived, finds only the dregs, 
 remnants, and refuse of Paris fashions, the " last 
 season's," more tarnished by the date of their make 
 
158 Kings in Exile. 
 
 even thaa by the dust and sun of the shop window. 
 The obsequious, sneering, disdainful, and irrepres- 
 sible Parisian shop-keeper's day is over, foreigners 
 will have none of him. They are weary at last of 
 being so ferociously defrauded, not only by the shop- 
 keeper, but at the hotel where they sleep, at the 
 restaurant where they dine, by the cab they pick 
 up in the streets, by the theatrical agent who sends 
 them to be bored at the empty theatres. At least 
 at Levis' Agency, this ingenious agency for 
 foreigners, everything wished for could be found, 
 and that without being cheated ; for was not 
 J. T. Levis an Englishman, and is not English 
 commercial honesty of wide-world fame ? 
 
 Nobody could be more English than J. Tom 
 Levis, from the tips of his square-toed Quaker shoes 
 to his long frock-coat falling over his green plaid 
 trousers, and his tall narrow-brimmed hat, which 
 sets off his round, red, good-natured face so well- 
 British honesty, fed on beefsteaks, can be read in 
 that complexion, in that mouth, slit up from ear to 
 ear, in the flaxen colour of the uneven whiskers, 
 uneven from the habit their possessor has of 
 nibbling one — always the same — whenever he is 
 perplexed ; and in the short hairy fingers covered 
 with rings. How loyal also are those eyes, seen 
 behind a great pair of spectacles, deheately mounted 
 in gold. So loyal indeed that if perchance J. Tom 
 Levis happens to tell a lie — the best men are 
 exposed to such an eventuality — his eyeballs, by a,. 
 
/. Tom Levis' Foreign Agency. 159 
 
 singular nervous tic, turn round rapidly like little 
 wheels twisting and revolving in the vista of a 
 gyroscope. 
 
 The finishing touch of Tom Levis' English 
 physiognomy was his cab, the first vehicle of the 
 
 kind that was seen in Paris, and which seemed the 
 natural shell of this queer being. If at any time 
 he found himself, as often happens in business, 
 hard pressed by some unforeseen complication, 
 Tom would say : " Call the cab ! " and he was 
 certain to find some idea as he drove along. He 
 weighed, commented, devised combinations, whilst 
 the Parisians watched the transparent box roll by 
 with the outline of the absorbed man energetically 
 munching his right whisker. It was in this cab 
 that he had conceived and elaborated his most 
 
i6o Kings in Exile. 
 
 famous strokes of business towards the end of the 
 second Empire. Ah ! that was the good time ! 
 Paris was crowded with strangers, not mere birds 
 of passage, but exotic fortunes settling down, only 
 craving for pleasure and revelry. There was the 
 Turk Husseiu Bey and the Egyptian Mahomet 
 Pasha, two celebrated Orientals, well-known in the 
 Bois ; there was the Princess Verkatscheflf scattering 
 all the silver of the Oural mountains from the 
 windows of her first floor in the boulevard 
 Malesherbes ; and the American Bergson, whose 
 enormous income, derived from his petroleum wells, 
 Paris was then devouring. Since then Bergson 
 has recovered his wealth. And then there were 
 the nabobs, the swarm of nabobs, of all tints : 
 yellow, brown, red, mottling the theatres and 
 parks, eager to spend, to enjoy life, as though they 
 foresaw that they would soon have to quit this 
 great merry carousal before the formidable explo- 
 sion that was about to burst through the roof and 
 shatter the mirrors and window-panes. 
 
 J. Tom Levis was the indispensable middleman 
 in all these pleasures ; not a single napoleon was 
 spent without his having first pared at it. To his 
 foreign customers must be added a few Parisian 
 rakes, amateurs of rare game, poachers of strictly 
 guarded preserves, who applied to Tom as the most 
 shrewd and clever medium, and also because they ' 
 fancied that his uncouth French and difficulty of 
 expression would keep their secrets safer. J. T. 
 
J. Tom Levis' Foreign Agency. i6i 
 
 Levis set his seal on all the scandalous stories at 
 the end of the empire. 
 
 It was in J. Tom Levis' name that the pit box 
 No. 9 at the Opera Comiqae was engaged, behind 
 the grating of which Baroness Mills hid herself an 
 hour every evening to listen to her tenorino, and 
 from which, after the cavatina was over, she would 
 carry away, thrust among the lace of her bodice, 
 his handkerchief, stained with perspiration and 
 white lead. In J. Tom Levis' name too, was the 
 small house hired, Avenue de Clichy, a house that 
 he sublet to the two Sismondo brothers and for the 
 same woman, without their being aware of it, for, 
 as partners in the same bank, they were never free 
 at the same moment. Ah ! the agency ledgers at 
 that time contained many a romance in a few 
 lines ! 
 
 "A house with two entrances on the route de 
 Saint Cloud. Rent, furniture, buying out present 
 tenant— so much. 
 
 And below : 
 
 " GeneraVs Commission — so much. 
 
 " A country house at Petit Valtin, near Plom- 
 iieres s Garden, coachJiouse, two entrances, iuyiruj 
 out tenant — so much. 
 
 Always followed by : " GeneraVs commission." 
 
 The general seemed to hold an important place 
 in the agency's accounts ! 
 
 If, however, Tom made a great deal of money in 
 those dnys, he also spent a great deal, not in 
 
]62 Kings in Exile. 
 
 gambling, nor betting, nor on women, but in 
 satisfying the caprices of a most uncivilised and 
 cliildish nature, of a most fantastic and absurd 
 imagination, which would brook no delay between 
 its dream and the realization. On one occasion 
 he chose to have an avenue of acacia trees at the 
 end of his property at Courbevoie ; but, as trees 
 grow but slowly, during eight days all along 
 the banks of the Seine, very bare and black with 
 factories at this spot, huge trucks could be seen 
 toiling along, each one bearing an acacia, the green 
 foliage of which, rocked by the slow motion of the 
 wheels, was reflected on the water in quivering 
 shadows. This suburban property which accord- 
 ing to the English custom, J. Tom Levis inhabited 
 all the year round, and which, at first was but a 
 mere country box composed of a ground floor and 
 attic, soon became for him a source of tremendous 
 expense. By degi'ees, as his business prospered and 
 extended, he had increased his little estate ; adding 
 one building after another, one bit of land to 
 another bit of land, till he finally found himself 
 the possessor of a park made up of annexes, market 
 gardens, and patches of brushwood ; a strange 
 property, in which his tastes, ambitions, and 
 English eccentricity revealed themselves, deformed 
 and dwarfed still more, it is true, by the vulgarity 
 of his ideas, and his futile attempts at artistic 
 arrangem'^nts. 
 The old house had been heightened by an 
 
/. Tom Levis Foreign Agency. 163 
 
 additional upper story, over which extended au 
 Itahaa terrace with marble balustrade, flanked by 
 a couple of gothic towers, and communicating by 
 a covered bridge with another building, a kind of 
 Swiss cottage, with an open-work carved balcony 
 
 clothed with ivy. All this was built of bricks, 
 plastered in stucco, and looked like a Nuremberg 
 toy, with an abundance of turrets, battlements, 
 weather-vanes, and dormer windows. Then the 
 park bristled all over with kiosks and belvederes, 
 glistened with glass houses, artificial lakes, and the 
 black bastion of an immense reservoir topped by a 
 real mill, the sails of which, stirred by the slightest 
 
164 Kings in Exile. 
 
 breath of air, flapped and turned with the perpetual 
 grinding sound of their axle. 
 
 As the train rushes through the narrow strip of 
 Parisian suburb traversed by the railway, many a 
 grotesque villa no doubt defiles by the carriage 
 window, like some vision or fantastic nightmare, 
 the effort of some shop-keeper's brain and un- 
 controlled imagination running riot. None of 
 them, however, can compare with Tom Levis' 
 folly, except it be the villa of his neighbour 
 Spricht ; the great Spricht, the illustrious ladies' 
 tailor ! This magnificent personage never stays 
 in Paris longer than his business requires, just the 
 three hours in the afternoon, when he holds his 
 consultations (on finery) in his great laboratory on 
 the boulevards ; this over, he at once returns to 
 Com'bevoie. The secret of this enforced retreat, is 
 that dear Spricht, the darling of all his customers, 
 although he possesses in his drawers, tossed among 
 the marvellous patterns of his Lyons silks, 
 specimens of most of the delicate scrawls of 
 the aristocracy of Paris, has been obhged to 
 satisfy himself with this intimacy of correspond- 
 ence ; that he is not received by any of the people 
 he dresses, aud that his fine business connection 
 has destroyed all intercourse with the commercial 
 world to which he belongs. He therefore leads a 
 very retired life, smTOunded only, like all parvenus, 
 by a swarm of poor relatives, and taking a pride in 
 treating them right royally. The only distraction 
 
J. Tom Levis' Foreign Agency. 165 
 
 he finds, that imparts the zest necessary to this 
 kind of tabooed existence, is the neighbourhood 
 and rivahy of Tom Levis, a rivalry made up of the 
 hatred and contempt which they mutually feel for 
 each other, without indeed knowing why, and 
 which therefore is the more irreconcilable. 
 
 Whenever Spricht builds a turret— Spricht is a 
 German — ^he has a passion for the mediasval, for 
 castles, ruins, romantic glades, J. Tom Levis erects 
 a verandah ! When Tom knocks down a wall, 
 Spricht cuts down all his hedges. There is a story 
 of a pavilion built by Tom, which blocked Spricht's 
 view in the direction of Saint Cloud. The tailor 
 thereupon added a gallery to his pigeon-house. 
 The other retorted by an additional story ; Spricht 
 would not be outdone, and the two buildings by 
 dint of stones and workmen continued their 
 ascension, till one fine night, a gust of wind blew 
 them both down, not a diflSoult matter, seeing the 
 lightness of the fragile constructions. On one 
 occasion Spricht brought back from Venice a 
 gondola, a real Venetian gondola, and moored it in 
 the little harbour at the foot of his property ; a 
 week after, puff ! puff ! a pretty little steam-yacht 
 came alongside Tom Levis' quay, stin-ing up in the 
 water all the reflections of the turrets, roofs and 
 battlements of his villa. 
 
 Had the empire lasted for ever, this extravagant 
 style of living might have been kept up, but its 
 last hour had come. The war, the siege, the 
 
1 66 Kings in Exile. 
 
 departure of all foreigners were for these two 
 tradesmen a positive disaster, more especially for 
 Tom Levis, whose property was devastated by the 
 invasion, while that of Sprioht was spared. But 
 with the peace, the struggle recommenced more 
 fiercely than ever between the two rivals ; this 
 time however they did not start fair, for the great 
 tailor saw all his customers come back to him, 
 while poor Tom vainly awaited the return of his 
 clients. The advertisement : " Information, dis- 
 cretion, despatch," brought in next to nothing, and 
 the mysterious general no longer called for his 
 clandestine commissions at the agency. Any other 
 man than Levis would have put the drag on ; 
 but this terrible fellow had contracted irresistible 
 habits of expenditure ; his hands seemed unable to 
 close. And then the Sprichts were there, mournful 
 and lugubrious since the catastrophe, loudly pro- 
 claiming that the end of the world was nigh ; and 
 they had built up at the end of their park, a 
 reduced facsimile of the ruins of the Hdtel de Ville, 
 with its crumbled walls blackened by the flames. 
 On Sunday evenings, it was lighted up with 
 coloured lights, and all the Sprichts raised a chorus 
 of lamentations around it. It was a sinister sight. 
 J. Tom Levis, on the contrary, from hatred of his 
 rival, became a republican, celebrated regenerated 
 France, organized regattas ; crowned rosieres, and 
 at one of these coronations, in a costly explosion of 
 joy, carried off one summer's night at the very 
 
/. Tom Levis' Foreign Agency. 167 
 
 hour of the concerts, the band of the Champs 
 Elysees, and brought it steaming up in his own 
 yacht to Oourbevoie. 
 
 At this rate his debts rapidly increased, but the 
 Englishman did not betray any anxiety. No one 
 better than he, knew how to baffle creditors by cool 
 imposing impudence. No one' — not even his well- 
 trained clerks — came up to him, in his manner of 
 curiously examining his creditor's bills, as though 
 they were some strange old manuscripts, and then 
 tossing them aside in a drawer with an air of 
 superior indifference ; nobody knew such tricks to 
 avoid paying, to gain time. Time ! that was all 
 Tom Levis required to discover some profitable 
 scheme, what he called "a great stroke," in the 
 expressive language of Bohemian financialism. 
 But in vain did he call for his cab, dash feverishly 
 through the streets of Paris, anxiously, hungrily, 
 watching for his prey, years passed by, and the 
 great stroke did not come. 
 
 One afternoon, when the agency was swarming 
 with people, a tall young man, with a languid and 
 haughty mien, a mocking eye, thin moustache and 
 pallid puffy good-looking' face, went up to the 
 principal wicket, and asked to speak with Tom 
 Levis. The clerk, deceived by the peremptory tone 
 of the request, took him for a creditor, and was 
 already assuming his most disdainful manner, when 
 the young man, in a sharp voice, the nasal inflec- 
 
1 68 Kings in Exile. 
 
 tioa of which augmented the impertinent tone, 
 bade the " conceited fool," go at once and tell his 
 master that the King of Illyria wanted to speak to 
 him. '* Ah Monseigneur. Yes, Monseigneur." The 
 cosmopolitan crowd turned with a movement of 
 curiosity towards the hero of Ragusa. A swarm of 
 clerks eagerly rushed from their compartments to 
 escort his Majesty and usher him into Tom Levis' 
 private room. The latter had not yet arrived, but 
 could not fail to come in at any moment. 
 
 It was the first time that Christian came to the 
 agency, the old Due de Rosen having hitherto 
 settled all the accounts of the little court. But to- 
 day the King had to transact such a delicate and 
 private affair, that he had not dared to confide so 
 tender a morsel to the heavy jaws of his aide-de- 
 camp. What he wanted, in fact, was to hire a 
 house for a pretty horse-breaker who had just 
 replaced Amy Ferat in his affections, a furnished 
 pavilion with servants and horses, and certain 
 facilities of access, and all this to be ready within 
 twenty-four hours. A feat that could only be 
 accomplished through Levis' agency. 
 
 The room into which the king had been ushered 
 contained only two arm-chairs in moleskin, a 
 narrow silent gas-stove, the reflector of which 
 seemed to throw back the fii'e from an adjacent 
 room, and a small round table covered with a blue 
 cloth on which lay a Paris Directory. Half 
 the room was cut off by the high grating — 
 
/. Tom Levis' Foreign Agency. 169 
 
 also draped in blue — of a large bureau, elaborately 
 arranged, whereon was displayed above a gi'eat 
 open ledger, with brass-bound corners, surrounded 
 by ink-erasers, sand, rulers and pen-wipers, a long 
 shelf full of books of the same size — the agency 
 ledgers — their green backs forming a straight line 
 like Prussian soldiers on parade. The scrupulous 
 care bestowed on this silent nook, the fresh appear- 
 ance of everything, did honour to the old cashier, 
 absent at that moment, whose existence was 
 evidently passed there. 
 
 While the king waited, stretched out in an arm- 
 chair, his nose peeping out of his furs, suddenly, 
 without a movement of the glass door leading to 
 the public-room, or of the wide Algerian drapery 
 — with a hole in the middle as in a drop scene — he 
 heard behind the grating the slight scratching of a 
 pen. Some one was seated at the desk ; not indeed 
 the old white-headed clerk for whom the den 
 seemed created, but the most delicious little woman 
 that had ever turned over the leaves of a ledger. 
 At Christian's gesture of surprise, she turned round, 
 and enveloped him in a long soft glance, that 
 suddenly drowned the sparkle in her eyes. The 
 whole room was illumined by that look, and filled 
 by the musical diarm of a voice, almost trembling 
 from emotion, that murmured : " My husband is 
 keeping you waiting very long, Monseigneur." 
 
 Tom Levis, her husband ! The husband of this 
 
I/O 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 sweet creature with such a pale, refined profile, such 
 elegant yet rich contours, like one of Tanagra's 
 statuettes ! 
 
 How did she happen to be there, alone in that 
 cage, studying those big books, which threw 
 white reflections on her ivory complexion, and of 
 
 which her little fingers had barely strength enough 
 to turn the pages ? And this on such a bright, 
 sunny day ; one of those February days, when the 
 sun lights up all the lively gracefulness, the dresses, 
 and the smiles of the ladies strolling down the 
 boulevards. He advanced towards her, turning a 
 compliment in which these varied impressions were 
 mingled ; but his heart beat so loudly that he could 
 
/. Tom Levis' Foreign Agency. 171 
 
 hardly speak ; and he was seized with one of those 
 sudden ungovernable longings, such as he, the 
 spoilt and blase child, did not remember ever 
 having felt before. In fact this type of woman, 
 between twenty-five and thirty years of age, was 
 utterly unknown to him. It was as far removed 
 from the roguish curls of little Colette de Kosen, 
 from the cool impudence and bold painted eyes of 
 Amy F6rat, as it was from the noble sadness and 
 embarrassing majesty of the queen. Neither 
 coquetry, boldness, nor proud reserve, nothing that 
 he had ever met with in his own set, or in his rela- 
 tions with the demi-monde. This pretty woman, 
 with her calm and domestic look, her beautiful dark 
 hair, smooth like that of women who dress their 
 hair in the morning for the rest of the day, who, 
 draped in a plain violet-tinted, woollen gown, but 
 for two enormous diamonds in her rosy ears, might 
 have been taken for any ordinary female account- 
 ant ; suddenly appeared to him in her industrious 
 captivity behind her wicket, like a Carmelite nun 
 seen through the iron grating of a cloister, or an 
 Oriental slave imploring help through the gilded 
 trellis of her terrace. And she seemed, indeed, to 
 have the submissive bewilderment, the bent profile 
 of a slave ; and the aniber shade at the roots of her 
 hair, the straight line of her eyebrows, her half- 
 parted lips, imparted an Asiatic stamp to this 
 Parisian woman. Christian stood looking at her. 
 
1/2 Kings in Exile. 
 
 and the figure of the bald-headed, ape-like husband 
 rose up in his mind. How came she in "the power 
 of such a clownish fellow ? "Was it not a shameful 
 robbery, a flagrant injustice ! 
 
 The voice meanwhile went on slowly, softly 
 apologizing : 
 
 " I am so distressed. Tom is so long. If your 
 Majesty would kindly tell me what you require, I 
 might perhaps " 
 
 The king blushed, feeling slightly embarrassed. 
 Never would he dare confide to this candid and 
 obliging creature the somewhat ambiguous estab- 
 lishment he was meditating. She, however, insisted, 
 and said, with a smile : " Oh ! your Majesty can 
 quite trust me. I keep the books of the agency." 
 
 Her authority in business matters was patent, 
 for at every moment, some clerk or another would 
 come to the little round casement that opened from 
 the private office into the public premises, and ask 
 in a whisper for the most anomalous information : 
 " They have sent for Madame Karitides' piano ; " 
 " The individual from the H6tel Bristol has come." 
 She seemed acquainted with everything, answering 
 by one word, or one cypher. 
 
 The king, disconcerted, wondered whether this 
 angel in a shop, this ethereal being was really 
 aware of all the intrigues and swindhng of the 
 Englishman. 
 
 " No, madam, my business is not urgent. At 
 
J, Tom Levis' Foreign Agency. 173 
 
 least, I am no longer in a huriy. My ideas have 
 entirely changed within the last hour." 
 
 He leant towards the grating as he stammered 
 out these words, then suddenly paused, regretting 
 his audacity, as he gazes at the placid activity of 
 the woman, her long lashes almost sweeping the 
 paper, while her pen moves along in regular lines. 
 Oh ! how he longed to tear her from her prison, to 
 bear her off in his arms, far, far away, to whisper 
 in her ears those soothing, tender words with which 
 little children are lulled. The temptation was so 
 strong, that he felt obliged to ran away, and take 
 leave abruptly, without stopping to see J. Tom 
 Levis. 
 
 The night was closing in, foggy and cold. 
 
 The king, usually so chilly, did not perceive it ; 
 but sent away his carriage and went on foot to the 
 Grand Club, through the wide thoroughfares that 
 lead from the Madeleine to the Place Yenddme. 
 His enthusiasm, his delight was so great, that he 
 spoke to himself aloud, his hair flattened down on 
 his eyes, which seemed filled with flickering flames. 
 How many of these exuberant and light-footed 
 joys do we not pass in the streets, and feel as 
 though they left us some of their phosphorescence. 
 Christian arrived at his club in this happy state, 
 and did not notice the melancholy appearance of 
 the long line of reception rooms, which were filled 
 
1/4 Kings in Exile. 
 
 with the gloom of the uncertain, unoccupied hour 
 of twilight, more depressing still in these half- 
 public places where the intimacy of home-life is 
 lacking. The lamps were being brought in. A 
 slow, languid game of billiards was going on at the 
 further end, with the dull sound of the ivory balls 
 upon the cushion ; a rustling of newspapers ; and 
 the heavy breathing of a sleeper stretched out on 
 the divan of the large drawing-room, whom the 
 king, as he entered, disturbed. He turned round 
 with a yawn that displayed his broken teeth, and 
 stretched out his two lean arms, as he inquired in 
 a dismal tone : 
 
 " What is to be the lark to-night ? " 
 Christian gave a cry of delight : 
 " Ah ! prince, I was looking for you." 
 The Prince d'Axel, more familiarly known as 
 Quoue-de-Poule, was evidently better acquainted 
 than he with all the haunts of Parisian life. In 
 the ten years the Prince had spent beating every 
 corner of the boulevards he knew them from top 
 to bottom, in all their length and breadth, from 
 the steps of the Cafe Tortoni to the very gutter, 
 and would no doubt be able to give him the in- 
 formation he required. Well aware of the only 
 way of getting his Highness to speak, to loosen liis 
 dulled and heavy wits, which the wines of France 
 — though he partook of them largely — had never 
 succeeded in rousing ; any more than the fermenta- 
 
/. Tom Levis' Foreign Agency. 1/5 
 
 tioa of a vintage can inflate and send off like a 
 balloon the huge iron-bound tun tliat contains it ; 
 Christian quickly asked for a pack of cards. As 
 the heroines of Moli^re are only witty, fan in 
 hand, so d'Axel could only get up a little spirit in 
 handling his beloved cards. The fallen majesty, 
 and the heir apparent in disgrace, the two celebri- 
 ties of the club, thereupon sat down to a game of 
 Chinese bezique before dinner, the most yommeux 
 of all games, because it needs no brains and per- 
 mits the least skilful player to lose a fortune 
 without making an effort. 
 
 " Tom Levis is married then ? " asked Christian, 
 with assumed negligence, as he cut the cards. The 
 other gazed at him with his lack-lustre, red-edged 
 eyes : 
 
 " Did you not know ? " 
 
 " No. Who is the woman ? " 
 
 " Sephora Leemans, a celebrity." 
 
 The king started at the name of Sephora. 
 
 " Is she a Jewess ? " 
 
 " Probably." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. And indeed the 
 impression left by Sdphora must have been very 
 strong, the smooth, oval face of the fair recluse, 
 her brilliant eyes, her glossy hair must have been 
 very bewitching, to triumph over the prejudice, and 
 to linger in the memory of this Catholic Slave, 
 haunted since the days of his infancy by the petty 
 
176 Kings in Exile. 
 
 pillage, the supposed -witchcraft of the Bohemiau 
 Jews of his country. He continued his questions. 
 Unluckily the prince was losing, and engrossed in 
 his play, growled in his long, yellow beard : 
 " I am awfully bored here — awfully bored." 
 It was impossible to get a word more out of him 
 " Capital ! here is Wattelet. Come here, 
 Wattelet," said the king to a great fellow who 
 just then came into the room as noisy and full 
 of life as a playful puppy. 
 
 This Wattelet, the favourite painter of the 
 Grand Club, and of society generally, good-look- 
 ing enough at a distance, but bearing visibly, on 
 closer inspection, the marks of a life at high 
 pressure, represented very exactly the modem 
 artist who so little resembles the brilliant tradi- 
 tions of 1830: Dressed and curled in the height 
 of fashion, this frequenter of salons and green- 
 rooms had retained nothing of the student, save a 
 certain swing and freedom of gait under the stiffer 
 costume of a society man, and, in his ideas as well 
 as his language, a somewhat similar carelessness ; a 
 curl of mocking indifference lingering around the 
 corners of his mouth. Brought to the club one 
 day to decorate the dining-room, he had made 
 himself so agreeable, so indispensable to all the 
 members, that he remained a fixture, and was 
 dubbed the organiser for life of the hitherto 
 monotonous parties and fetes ; he brought to these 
 
/ Tom Levis' Foreign Agnicy. 177 
 
 pleasares all the freshness of a picturesque imagin- 
 ation, and of an education picked up in his 
 wanderings through every grade of society. It 
 was "My dear AVattelet — my dear fellow," at 
 
 every turn. They could not do without him. lie 
 was the confidant of all the members of the club, 
 of their wives, of their mistresses ; he would draw on 
 one side of a card the costume of the Duchessc de 
 V for the next embassy ball, and ou the other 
 
178 Kings in Exile. 
 
 side of it, the airy skirt that was to flutter above 
 the flesh-coloured tights of Mademoiselle Akire, 
 the duke's plaything of the moment. On 
 Thursday, his studio was open to all his nohle 
 clients, who enjoyed the freedom, the uncere- 
 monious and eccentric gossip of the place, the 
 mingled shimmer of colours proceeding from the 
 tapestries, curiosities, lacquered furniture, and the 
 canvasses of the artist himself ; it was a style of 
 painting essentially resembling the man, elegant, 
 but just a trifle vulgar ; mostly portraits of 
 women, executed with a profound comprehension 
 of the whole scale of Parisian trickery, false com- 
 plexions, impossible heads of hair, a style of art in 
 perfect sympathy with that costly bauble trailing 
 its skirts and billowing its laces and gauzes — the 
 modern woman — causing Spricht to say, with the 
 condescending disdain of the parvenu tradesman for 
 the painter who is just making his mark : " No one 
 paints the women I dress as well as that fellow." 
 
 At the king's first words Wattelet began to laugh. 
 
 " But, Monseigneur, that is little Sephora." 
 
 " You know her ? " 
 
 "Thoroughly." 
 
 " Tell us then." 
 
 And while the game between the two princes 
 continued, the painter seated astride a chair, and 
 full of pride at the intimacy in which he found 
 himself, coughed, settled himself and assuming the 
 
J. Tom Levis' Foreign Agency. 179 
 
 voice of the showman who explains the picture in 
 his booth,. he began : 
 
 " Sephora Leemaiis, bom in Paris about eighteen 
 hundred and forty-five, six, or seven, in an old 
 curiosity shop of the rue Eginhard, in the Marais, 
 a dirty little musty bye-street between the passage 
 Charlemagne and the church of Saint-Paul, the 
 very heart of the Jews' quarter. Some day, as you 
 drive in from Saint-Mande, your Majesty should 
 tell your coachman to drive through that labyrinth 
 of little streets, you would see a wonderful bit of 
 Paris. Such heads ! such houses ! a jargon made 
 up of Alsatian and Hebrew ; shops, dens full of 
 rubbish, with old clothes and rags stacked high 
 before each door ; old hags with hooked noses sort- 
 ing them, or stripping old umbrellas ; and then 
 the dogs and vermin, and smells ! a real Ghetto of 
 the middle ages, swarming with houses of the same 
 period, iron balconies, high windows opening into 
 lofts. Father Leemans however is not a Jew. He 
 is a Belgian from Ghent, a Catholic ; and it is all 
 very fine to call the girl Sephora, she is only a 
 half-breed, with the skin and eyes of the race, but 
 not the vulture nose ; on the contrary, a most 
 charming little straight nose. I don't know where 
 she can have it from ; father Leemans' is a jolly ugly 
 one. My first medal at the Salon, that snout of 
 his. Yes, it is quite true the old feUow shows, in a 
 corner of the disgraceful hovel he calls his shop, 
 
i8o Kings in Exile. 
 
 Ms fall-length portrait, signed AYattelet, and not 
 one of my worst bits of work, either. It was 
 my way of getting inside the place to pay my court 
 to Sephora, for I had a real Ikguin * for her just 
 then." 
 
 " A leguin ? " said the king to whom the 
 Parisian dictionary continually presented some 
 fresh surprise. " Ah, yes ! I see. Go on." 
 
 " I was not the only one in love, I can assure 
 you. All day long there was a procession through 
 the shop in the rue de la Paix ; for I must tell you, 
 Monseigneur, that old Leemans had at that time 
 two shops. The old man was sharp enough to have 
 understood the change that had taken place in 
 curibsity dealing during the last twenty years. 
 The romantic bric-si-brac dealer of poky streets, 
 described by Hoflfmann and even by Balzac, has 
 giA'en way to the dealer in curiosities settled in the 
 midst of the luxurious parts of Paris, with the fine 
 shop front and plenty of lighting. Leemans kept 
 for himself, and real amateurs continued to haunt, 
 his damp and dusty den in the rue Eginhard ; but 
 for the public, the idler, for the Parisian who 
 merely follows the lead and can swallow anything, 
 he opened a superb shop in the rue de la Paix, 
 which, with the deep-hued gold, the dark silver of 
 the antique jewellery and the tanned colour of the 
 laces, made the sumptuous modern jewellers and 
 * Infatuation. 
 
J. Tom Levis' Foreign Agency. l8l 
 
 goldsmiths' shops, in the same street, look pale. 
 Sephora was fifteen then, and her serene youthful 
 beauty was well set off by all these antiquities. 
 And how intelligent she was, how clever at selling 
 a thing, with as quick and certain an eye as her 
 father for the value of a curio. Plenty of 
 connoisseurs came to the shop to have the pleasure 
 of touching her fingers, or the wavy silkiness of her 
 hair, while leaning over the same glass case. 
 
 " The mother was never in the way ; the old hag, 
 so black round the eyes that she looked as if she 
 wore goggles, always sat darning, or poking her 
 nose into some old piece of guipure or old scrap of 
 tapestry, and took no trouble whatever about her 
 daughter. And quite right too ! Sephora was a 
 serious young person who could not be induced to 
 stray from the paths of virtue." 
 
 "Eeally," said the king, appearing enchanted 
 with the information. 
 
 " Your Majesty will judge by this. Old mother 
 Leemans slept at the shop ; the daughter on her 
 part, returned at about ten o'clock to the old den, 
 so that her father might not be alone. Well, this 
 splendid creature, whose beauty was celebrated, 
 praised in all the papers, who could with a nod of 
 her head have caused Cinderella's fairy coach to 
 start up before her, used to wait every evening for 
 the Madeleine omnibus and go direct from that to 
 the nest of the paternal owl. In the morning as 
 
1 82 Kings in Exile. 
 
 she started before the omnibus began to run, she 
 walked, in all weathers, her black dress covered by 
 a waterproof, and I can assure you that amid all 
 the crowd of shop-girls who come pouring down the 
 rue de Rivoli-Saint-Antoine, in hood, hat, or bare 
 head, pale faced or smiling, fresh little throats cough- 
 ing shghtly at the early fog, ever pursued by some 
 gallant, not one of them could compare with her." 
 
 "At what hour does she walk down ? " growled 
 the prince warming up. 
 
 Christian grew impatient. 
 
 " Let him finish. What next ? " 
 
 " Then, Monseigneur, I managed to get a foot- 
 ing in the house of my charmer, and I worked my 
 way gently. On a Sunday they would get up a little 
 family game of loto with a few dealers from the 
 passage Charlemagne. Pretty society I I always 
 came back infested by fleas ! Only I was able to 
 sit beside Sephora, and tread on her toes beneath 
 the table, while she looked at me with such a 
 limpid and angelic gaze that I fully believed in 
 her ignorance, purity and virtue. Then came a 
 day, when looking in at their den rue Eginhard, I 
 found all the place topsy-turvy, the mother in 
 tears, the father furious, rubbing up an old arque- 
 buse with which he vowed he would take vengeance 
 upon the vile ra^■isher. The girl had just gone off with 
 Baron Sala, one of old Leemans' richest customers, 
 and the old fellow — I learnt afterwards — had himself 
 
J. Tom Levis' Foreign Agency. 183 
 
 sold his daughter just like any old jewel or bit of 
 ancient ironwork. For two or three years Sephora 
 concealed herself and her septuagenarian lover in 
 Switzerland, Scotland, on the borders of many a 
 blue lake. Then I heard suddenly, that she had 
 come back and had started ' a family hotel ' at one 
 end of the Avenue d'Antin. I hastened there. I 
 found my former flame just as adorable and as 
 calm as ever, at the head of a most miscellaneous 
 table d'hote— Brazilians, English, and ladies of 
 doubtful virtue — a fine mixture. One half of the 
 guests would still be eating salad while the other 
 was already turning back the table-cloth to play 
 baccarat. Here it was she first met J. Tom Levis ; 
 not handsome, not young, and not a penny to his 
 name into the bargain. How did he attract her ? 
 No one can say. What is certain, however, is that 
 for his sake she sold her estabhshment, married 
 him, helped him to set up the agency — at first 
 prosperous and well-stocked, though now almost 
 gone smash — so that Sephora, of whom one never 
 caught sight, living the life of a recluse in the 
 queer castellated villa Tom Levis had indulged in, 
 made a fresh appearance only a few months ago in 
 the character of a most seductive little book-keeper. 
 By Jove ! the business felt the effect immediately. 
 The pick of the clubs began to meet in the rue 
 Eoyale. There was as much flirtation at the 
 wicket of the office as formerly in the old curiosity 
 
184 Kings in Exile. 
 
 shop, or the office of the ' family hotel.' As for me, 
 I am no longer in it. That woman frightens me. 
 Always the same for the last ten years, not a wrinkle, 
 not a line, with her long curling eye-lashes cast down, 
 the circle of her eyes always young and fresh, and 
 all that for the grotesque husband she adores ! It is 
 enough to puzzle and discourage the most ardent." 
 The king shuffled the cards with annoyance : 
 " Nonsense ! " he said, " that is impossible. 
 An ugly devil, a baboon like Tom Levis, bald, 
 fifteen years older than she is, who talks the slang 
 of a pickpocket." 
 
 " Some women like all that, Monseigneur." 
 Here the Prince Eoyal in his vulgar and drawling 
 accent interrupted : 
 
 " Nothing to be done with that woman. All 
 the signals dead set against one. Not a chance. 
 Line blocked." 
 
 " Oh ! by Jove, d'Axel, we know your way of 
 making signals," said Christian, when he had; 
 mastered the meaning of this expression transferred 
 from the lingo of the engine-driver to that of the- 
 fashionable Gomme of the day. "You have no 
 patience. You like an undefended fortress. Hop, 
 skip and a jump. But I declare that for a man 
 who would give himself the trouble to get a little 
 spoony on Sephora, who would not be put off by 
 silence, disdain, and so on, it would only be the 
 affair of a month, Kot more." 
 
/. Tom Levis Foreign Ageftcy. 185 
 
 " Bet you won't," said d'Axel. 
 
 " How much ? " 
 
 " Two thousand napoleons." 
 
 " I take you. "Wattelet, ask for the book." 
 
 This book, in which were entered the bets of the 
 Grand Club, was as curious and instructive in its 
 way, as that other one in the Levis den. The 
 greatest names of the French aristocracy were here 
 found attached to the most grotesque, foolish, and 
 impossible bets ; that, for instance, of the Duo de 
 Courson-Launay who bet and lost .eveiy hair of 
 his body and was unable for a fortnight to move a 
 step in consequence. There were plenty of other 
 bets yet more extravagant, and the signatures of 
 heroes, inscribed on a hundred glorious deeds, were 
 to be found ill-coupled in this record of folly. 
 
 Around the two parties to the wager, were 
 grouped in respectful curiosity several members of 
 the club. This ridiculous and cynical bet, ex- 
 cusable perhaps amid the laughter and intoxication 
 of a parcel of hair-brained youths, assumed a diffe- 
 rent aspect when sanctioned by the gravity of all 
 these bald heads, the social dignities they repre- 
 sented and the heraldic importance of the signa- 
 tures to be appended, and the looker-on might 
 have been persuaded he was assisting at the conclu- 
 sion of some international treaty, regulating the 
 destinies of Europe. 
 
 Thus it stood recorded : 
 
1 86 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " This third day of February, eiyliteeii hundred and 
 seventy-five, his Majesty Christian II. wagers ivitli 
 H.R.H. the Prince d'Axel two tiioiisand luqwtcons 
 
 he gains tlm good graces of Sejliora L before Urn 
 
 end of llie present month." 
 
 '■ This would, perliaps, have been the occasion on 
 which to sign Rigolo and Queue de Ponle ! " said 
 Wattelet to himself, as he carried the book away, 
 the shadow of an eyil laugh flilting across his 
 society-clown face. 
 
VI. 
 
 THE BOHEMIAN SIDE OF EXILE. 
 
 " Oh yes ! we know all that. You old English 
 Goddam. It is only when you wish neither to pay 
 nor to answer that you use that kind of coin. 
 But that won't serve to bamboozle me any longer. 
 We must sqr.are accounts, you old rascal." 
 
 " Really, Master Lebeau, you speak to me with 
 a vehemence ! " 
 
 And to gi\e vent to this word " vehemence," 
 which he seems proud to include in his vocabulary, 
 for he repeats it three or four times running, J. 
 Tom Levis throws himself back and seems to dis- 
 
1 88 Kings in Exile. 
 
 appear within the vast white choker, of old- 
 fashioned clerical type, that swathes his neck. At 
 the same time his shifty glance turns and twists, 
 masking behind his wide-open eyes his unfathom- 
 able thoughts ; while his adversary's glance 
 flickers and cringes beneath his lowered eyelids 
 and replies to the rascally chatter of the English- 
 man, by the low cunning readable in his narrow 
 weasel-like face. His thin hair, curled and frizzed, 
 his austere black coat close buttoned to the chin, 
 the extreme correctness of his appearance gives 
 Maitre Lebeau something of the air of an official 
 prosecutor at the old Chatelet ; but as there is 
 nothing like argument, the anger bom of interests 
 in danger, to bring out the real character of a man, 
 so it comes about that at this moment the elegant 
 Lebeau, the oily gentlemanly fellow, polished as his 
 own finger nails — the pet of royal ante-rooms, the 
 quondam footman of the Tuileries, betrays himself 
 as the hideous flunkey he really is, eager for gain 
 and prey. 
 
 To shelter themselves from a spring shower that 
 was plentifully washing the stones of the court- 
 yard, the two cronies had taken refuge in the great 
 coachhouse with whitened walls freshly washed 
 over, and covered about half-way up with thick 
 matting that protected from the damp the nume- 
 rous splendid carriages standing there side by side, 
 wheel to wheel, from the state coaches, all glass 
 
The Bolicmian Side of Exile. 189 
 
 and gilding, to the unpretending bralce used for 
 going to the meet, to the light mail phaeton of 
 every-day use, and the sledge even, that the queen 
 drove over the ice and snow when there was a frost ; 
 each recallmg, in the repose and the dim light of the 
 coachhouse, the superb steeds that bear them forth 
 — briskly or majestically — as the occasion requires. 
 What completed the impression of comfort and luxu- 
 rious idleness was the neighbourhood of the stables, 
 whence came a sound of snorting, and resonant 
 kicking against the woodwork, and the open saddle- 
 room, showing a well-polished floor and wainscoting, 
 the whips in the racks, the harness and saddles on 
 their blocks, and round the walls the trophies of 
 bridles and bits with their gleam of steel. 
 
 Tom and Lebeau argued in a corner and their 
 voices raised in discussion mingled with the rain 
 pattering on the asphalte paving. The valet in 
 particular, feeling himself at home, talked at the 
 top of his voice. 
 
 " "What a scoundrel this old thief of a Levis was ! 
 Who could have supposed he would play such a 
 trick ? When their Majesties left the Hotel des 
 Pyramides for Saint-Mande, who arranged the whole 
 job ? Was it Lebeau, yes or no ? And that in 
 spite of everyone, in spite of the greatest opposition. 
 What was agreed upon in return ? Were they not 
 to share all the commissions, all the tips of the 
 tradesmen ? Come now, was that so or not ? " 
 
1 90 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " Well, yes. It was like, that." 
 
 " Then why try to cheat ? " 
 
 " No, no, cheat, never," said J. Tom Levis, his 
 hand on his shirt-front. 
 
 " Come, come, yen old humbug. All the trades- 
 people have given you forty per cent. ; I have 
 proofs of it. And you told me you only had ten. 
 So that, on the forty thousand pounds that setting 
 up the house at Saint-Mande cost, I have, for my 
 part five per cent., that is two thousand pounds, 
 and you, your thirty-five per cent., that is to say, 
 seven times two thousand francs, that is to say, 
 fourteen thousand pounds — fourteen thousand 
 pounds — fourteen thousand pounds." 
 
 He was choking with rage, this sum sticking in 
 his throat like a fish-bone. Tom tried to calm 
 him. To begin with, it was all very much 
 exaggerated, and then the agent had had enormous 
 expenses. The rent was raised on his place in the 
 rue Eoyale ; so much money out, so little coming 
 in. Without taking into account that for him it 
 was only a passing affair, could only happen once, 
 while Lebeau was there always, and in a house where 
 the expenses were over eight thousand pounds ster- 
 ling a year, opportunities could not be wanting. 
 
 But the valet would not hear of this view of the 
 case. His own affairs were no one's business, and 
 assuredly, he was not going to be robbed by a 
 wretched Englishman. 
 
Tlic Bohemian Side of Exile. 
 
 191 
 
 " Monsieur Lebeau, you are impertinent. I shall 
 not waste any more time on you." 
 
 Here Tom Levis turned towards the door. But 
 the other blocked up the way. " Go without pay- 
 ing ! Never," His lips were pale. His weasel 
 
 face quivering with rage was pushed close to the 
 Englishman's, who remained perfectly calm and so 
 exasperating cool that at last the valet, enraged 
 beyond measure shook his fist in his face with a 
 coarse expression. With a back-hander, quick as 
 a sword parry, and totally unlike the movement of a 
 boxer, the Englishman knocked his fist away, and in 
 
102 Kings in Exile 
 
 the very purest accent of the Faubourg Saiut- 
 Antoine, said : 
 
 " No more of that, my boy, or I'll strike." 
 
 The effect of 'these few_ words was prodigious. 
 Lebeau, stupefied, looked mechanically around him 
 to see if it could really have been the Englishman 
 who spoke ; then his glance settling on Tom 
 Levis, with his rolling eyes and a sudden crimson 
 overspreading his features, he was seized with a fit 
 of uncontrollable mirth — ^in which yet shook a 
 little of his recent anger — a mirth that finally com- 
 municated itself to the agent himself. 
 
 " Oh, you confounded humbug ! I ought to have 
 suspected you. No Englishman could be so terribly 
 English as you are." 
 
 They were still laughing, without having yet 
 recovered breath, when the door behind them in the . 
 harness-room opened suddenly, and the queen 
 appeared. A few moments ago she had stopped in 
 the neighbouring stable, where she had herself 
 fastened up her favourite mare, and she had not 
 lost a word of the conversation. The treason 
 having so low an origin affected her but little. She 
 had long known what to think of Lebeau, the 
 hypocritical valet, witness of all her humihations, 
 all her misery ; the other, the man of the " cab," 
 she hardly knew — a mere tradesman. But from 
 these people she now learned serious matters. So 
 the establishment at Saint-Mande had cost forty 
 
The Bohemian Side of Exile. 193 
 
 thousand pounds, the existence they fancied so 
 careful, so modest, cost eight thousand a year, and 
 they had but two thousand at the most. How 
 could she have been so long blind to the inadequacy 
 of their real resources to the style in which they 
 lived ? "Who then furnished the money for all 
 these expenses ? Who paid for them, for all this 
 luxury, this house, these horses, carriages, even for 
 her dress and her private charities ? Shame burned 
 in her cheeks at this thought while she went 
 straight across the courtyard in all the rain, and 
 rapidly mounted the little flight of steps to the 
 steward's office. 
 
 Rosen, busy arranging bills on which lay piles 
 of gold, started to his feet in the surprise of seeing 
 her. 
 
 "No, remain seated," she said, abruptly, and, 
 leaning over the writing-table, she laid her hand, 
 still in its riding glove, upon it, with a resolute 
 gesture of authoritative insistance : 
 
 " Eosen, on what have we lived for two years ? 
 Oh ! no subterfuges ! I know that all I thought 
 only hired, is bought and paid for in our name. I 
 know that Saint- Mande alone has cost us more than 
 forty thousand pounds, the forty thousand we 
 brought from lUyria. You must tell me now who 
 it is has helped us since then, and from what hands 
 we are receiving alms." 
 
 The dismayed countenance of the old man, the 
 
194 Kings in Exile. 
 
 piteous quiver of his thousand little wrinkles told 
 Frederique the truth. 
 
 " You ! " she said. " It is you ! " 
 
 She would never have dreamed of that. And 
 the duke, excusing himself, stammered out the 
 words : " duty — gratitude — restitution." 
 
 "Duke," said she, violently, "the king does 
 not take away what he has once given, and a 
 queen is not to be kept like a ballet-dancer." 
 
 Two tears glittered in her eyes like sparks, tears 
 of pride that did not fall. 
 
 " Oh, forgive me, forgive " 
 
 He was so humble and kissed her finger tips with 
 such an expression of sad regret, that she continued 
 somewhat softened : 
 
 " You will draw up a list of all your advances, 
 my dear Rosen. A receipt shall be given you, and 
 the king shall pay it off as soon as possible. As to 
 future expenses, I intend to take charge of them, I 
 will see that they do not exceed our income. We 
 will sell both horses and can'iages. The establish- 
 ment shall be reduced. Exiled princes must be 
 satisfied with little." 
 
 The old duke started. 
 
 " Undeceive yourself, Madam. It is above all in 
 exile that royalty needs all its prestige. Ah ! if I 
 had been listened to, it is not here, in a remote 
 suburb with an establishment only fit for a sojourn 
 at some watering-place that your Majesties would 
 
The Bohemian Side of Exile. 195 
 
 have come to li\'c. I would have had you in a 
 palace, ill the full tide of Parisian life, convinced 
 as I am that what dethroned kings have most to 
 fear is the indifference that gains upon them, when 
 they have made acquaintance with the levelling 
 familiarity, the jostling of the streets. I know I 
 
 have often been thought ridiculous with my points 
 of eti([uette, my childish and superannuated stickling 
 for such things. And yet these forms are more 
 important than ever : they help to keep alive the 
 pride of bearing so easily lost in misfortune. It is 
 the unyielding armour that keeps the soldier erect 
 even when wounded to death." 
 
 Slie remained for a moment without replying, 
 her open brow traversed by a thought that had just 
 
 2 
 
196 Kings in Exile. 
 
 occurred to her. Then she raised her head and 
 said : 
 
 " It is impossible. There is a dignity worth more 
 than this. I intend from this evening that things 
 shall be altered as I have now decided." 
 
 Then he became more pressing, almost sup- 
 plicating : 
 
 "But your Majesty does not reflect— a sale of 
 horses, carriages, a sort of royal bankruptcy, 
 what a commotion it would make ! What a 
 scandal ! " 
 
 "What is going on now is still more scandalous." 
 
 " Who knows it ? Who even suspects it ? How 
 should anyone suppose that Rosen, the old miser — . 
 You yourself hesitated to believe it just now. Oh ! 
 Madame, Madame, I implore you to accept what 
 you are pleased to call my devotion. To begin 
 with, it would be attempting the impossible. If 
 you only knew, — your revenues for the whole year 
 would hardly supply the king with enough to pay 
 his gambling debts." 
 
 " The king shall play no more, duke." 
 
 This was said in such a tone, with such a glance 
 that Rosen dared insist no longer. Nevertheless 
 he permitted himself to add one more remark : 
 
 " I will do what your Majesty wishes. IJut I 
 implore you to remember that all I possess is yours, 
 and that in a case of urgency I have at least 
 deserved to be the lirst person applied to." 
 
The Bohemian Side of Exile. 197 
 
 He was perfectly certain the application must 
 come before long. 
 
 On the morrow the promised reforms began. 
 Half the servants were dismissed, the useless 
 carriages sent to Tattersall's, where they were sold 
 fairly well, with the exception of the state coaches, 
 too showy and startling in appearance to suit 
 private persons. They were got rid of, however, 
 thanks to an American Circus that had just set up 
 in Paris with a great flourish of trumpets ; and the 
 splendid vehicles built by Rosen's orders, to 
 preserve around his princes a little of the vanished 
 pomp, and in the faint hope of a return to Leybach, 
 served to show off the attractions of Chinese dwaifs 
 and learned monkeys, historic processions and 
 apotheoses a la Franconi. Towards the end of the 
 representations, on the trodden and scuflBed sand of 
 the arena, these princely carriages, the coats of 
 arms scarcely effaced from their panels, would be 
 exhibited making the round of the circus to the 
 entrancing strains of the orchestra, while out of 
 the half raised windows leant some grotesque and 
 grimacing figure, or the brutal close-cropped head 
 and massive shoulders encased in pink silk fleshings 
 of some famous gymnast bowing to the crowd, his 
 forehead shining with pomatum and perspiration. 
 What an omen for royalty ! All these cast-off relics 
 of majesty fallen amid the spangles of a circus, be- 
 tween performing horses and wonderful elephants. 
 
1 98 Kings in Exile. 
 
 This sale at Tattersall's, coming on while that of 
 the diamonds of the Queen of Galicia at the Hotel 
 Drouot was still advertised on every wall — the two 
 posters hanging side by side— made some noise. 
 But Paris does not linger long over any one subject ; 
 ideas are as evanescent as the fleeting sheets of the 
 newspapers. The two sales were talked of four-and- 
 twenty hours. The next day, no one gave them a 
 thought. Christian II. accepted Avithout any re- 
 sistance the reforms determined upon by the 
 Queen ; since his last disgraceful freak, he appeared 
 almost confused in her presence, preserving the 
 humble air of a reproved child and even accen- 
 tuating the very childishness that made the excuse 
 for all his follies. And after all what mattered to 
 him the reforms in the house ? His life, given up 
 to dissipation and pleasure, was passed elsewhere. 
 Strange to relate, for six mouths he did not once 
 have recourse to Rosen's purse. This raised him 
 a little in the Queen's eyes, and it was also a relief 
 to her, not to see the fantastic cab of the English 
 agent waiting perpetually in a corner of the court- 
 yard, and no longer to meet on the stair-case the 
 obsequious smile of this courtier-like creditor. 
 
 And yet the King spent a great deal, and 
 plunged into pleasures of all kinds more wildly than . 
 ever. Whence did he procure the money ? It 
 became known to Elysee in the most singular 
 manner, through old Uncle Sauvadon, the honest 
 
The Bohemian Side of Exile. 199 
 
 fellow whose education as to " ideas upon things," 
 he had formerly undertaken, the only one of his 
 former acquaintances he still continued to visit 
 since he had entered the household in the Eue 
 Herbillon. From time to time he would breakfast 
 with him at Bercy, take him news of Colette, 
 whom the worthy soul complained he never saw. 
 Colette was his adopted child, the daughter of a 
 dearly loved penniless brother whom he had 
 supported till his death. Always deeply interested 
 in her, he had paid for her nurses and her christen- 
 ing robe ; later on, for her education in the most 
 fashionable convent in Paris. She was his one 
 vice, the living and moving personification of his 
 vanity, the pretty doll on which he centred all the 
 ambitions that swarmed in his vulgar parvenu 
 millionaire's head ; and when in the parlour of the 
 Sacre-Coeur, the little Sauvadon would say in a 
 whisper to her uncle : " That girl's mother is a 
 baroness, or duchess, or marchioness," the million- 
 aire uncle would reply with a shrug of his big 
 shoulders : " We will make something better of you 
 than that." He made her a princess at eighteen. 
 Princes in search of fortunes are not uncommon in 
 Paris ; the Levis agency has quite an assortment 
 on hand ; all that need be done is to fix the price. 
 And Sauvadon considered eighty thousand pounds 
 was not too much to pay for the privilege of 
 appearing in a corner of the drawing-room on 
 
200 Kings in Exile. 
 
 evenings when the young Princesse de. Eosen 
 received, for the right of enlivening her guests with 
 the broad smile that turned up the edges of his 
 mouth, and made it look like the rim of a 
 porringer between his short, stumpy, old-fashioned 
 whiskers. Little grey eyes, full of vivacity and 
 intelligence — Colette's eyes— in some sort attenuated 
 the ingenuous, ungrammatical stutter that pro- 
 ceeded from the thick, unfinished mouth, with its 
 horny lips, and the too evident vulgarity of those 
 great square hands, which even in lemon kid gloves 
 could not forget they had rolled casks on a quay. 
 
 At first he mistrusted himself, spoke but little — 
 astonished, and even frightened people by his 
 silence. It is not in a warehouse at Bercy, in the 
 traffic of southern wines, doctored with fuscine 
 or logwood, that a man can learn to speak with re- 
 finement. Then, thanks to Mdraut, he acquired a 
 few opinions ready made, a few bold aphorisms on 
 the events of the day, the last new novel. The 
 uncle spoke, and did not make too great an exhibi- 
 tion of himself, except indeed by a few formidable 
 slips, fit to bring down the chandelier upon his 
 head ; and amazement was caused among the guests 
 when this white-waistcoated, lumbering fellow 
 expounded in picturesque language certain theories 
 in the style of de Maistre. But one day the 
 sovereigns of Ulyria deprived him both of his pro- 
 vider of ideas and the means of showing them ofiF. 
 
The Bohemian Side of Exile. 201 
 
 Colette, detained by her functions as lady-in-wait- 
 ing, no longer quitted Saint-Mand6 ; and Sauvadon 
 too well knew the head of the civil and military 
 department to hope for admittance there. He did 
 not even hint at it. Imagine the duke bringing 
 such a man for presentation to the haughty 
 Frdd^rique ! A wine merchant from Bercy ! And 
 not a retired merchant even, but on the contrary, 
 one in full swing of business ; for, notwithstanding 
 his millions, notwithstanding the entreaties of his 
 niece, Sauvadon was still at work, passed his life 
 at the warehouse, on the quay, a pen behind his 
 ear, his white hair all ruffled, in the midst of 
 carters and bargees disembarking and loading up 
 barrels ; or else beneath the huge trees of the park, 
 now mutilated and cut up, in which rows and rows 
 of his wealth, in the shape of innumerable casks, 
 lay piled up in sheds. " I should die if I gave up 
 work," he used to say. And, in fact, the noise and 
 commotion of rolhng barrels, and the good heady 
 smell of wine rising up from these great stores in 
 the damp cellars, where forty-five years before he 
 had started life as journeyman cooper, were to him 
 the very breath of life. 
 
 Here it was that Elysee sometimes came to see 
 his former pupil, and enjoy one of those breakfasts 
 that can only be tasted at Bercy, beneath the 
 trees of the park or the vaulted roof of a cellar, the 
 wine just drawn from the wood, the fish quivering 
 
202 Kings in Exile. 
 
 fresli from the fishpond, and local recipes for 
 dressing them m matelotes, such as exist in the 
 depths of Languedoc or the Vosges, lending them an 
 extra savour. It was no longer now a question of 
 ideas upon current subjects, since there were no 
 longer any soirees to attend at Colette's ; but the 
 worthy man liked to hear Meraut talk, to see him 
 eat and drink freely, for he could never forget the 
 garret in the Eue Monsieur-le-Prince, and treated 
 Elysee as if he were still a waif of humanity, a 
 touching consideration on the part of a man who 
 had known hunger, towards one whom he knew to 
 be poor. Meraut brought him news of his niece, 
 of her life at Saint-Mande, and left him a reflection 
 of the grandeur of which, though it cost the good 
 soul so dear, he was never a witness. No doubt he 
 had the proud consciousness that the young lady-in- 
 waiting dined with kings and queens, moved amid 
 the ceremonial of a court ; but the vexation of not 
 seeing her augmented his bad temper and his 
 grievances against old Rosen. 
 
 " What has he done to be so proud ? His name, 
 his title ? Have I not bought them with my 
 money ? His crosses, his medals, his stars ? 
 Could I not have them if I wished ? That 
 reminds me, my dear Meraut, you don't know. 
 Since I last saw you, a piece of good luck has 
 befallen me." 
 
 "What may that be, uncle ? " 
 
The Bohemian Side of Exile. 203 
 
 He called him "uncle" witli an affectionate 
 familiarity, whieh, thoroughly southern, came from 
 his wish to give some form to the sympathy he 
 felt for this stout merchant, though no similarity of 
 feeling united them. 
 
 " My dear fellow, I have got the Lion of Illyria, 
 
 the commander's cross. So much for the duke who 
 is so proud of his knight's garter. On New Year's 
 day, when I go to pay my respects, I shall put on 
 my star. That will teach him." 
 
 Elysee could not Ijelieve him. The order of the 
 Lion ! One of the most ancient, the most coveted 
 in Europe, given to Uncle Sauvadon, to " my 
 uncle." Why ? For selling adulterated wine at 
 Bercy ? 
 
 " Oh, it is very simple," said the other, blinking 
 
204 Kings in Exile. 
 
 his little grey eyes. " I bought the grade of 
 commander, just as I bought the title of 
 prince. For a little more, I could have had the 
 grand ribbon of the order, for that was for sale 
 too." 
 
 "Where ? " asked Elysee, turning pale. 
 
 " At the Levis agency, to be sure, Rue Royale. 
 There is a little of everything to be found in that 
 confounded Englishman's shop. My cross cost me 
 four hundred pounds. The cordon was priced at 
 six hundred, and I know some one who has 
 purchased it. Guess who. Biscarat, the great 
 hairdresser, Biscarat of the Boulevard des Capu- 
 cines. But, my good fellow, what I am telling you 
 is well known to all Paris. Just go to Biscai'at. 
 At the end of the great hall, where he officiates 
 among his thirty assistants, you will see an immense 
 photograph representing him as Kgaro, razor in 
 hand, ajid the broad ribbon of the order across his 
 chest. The design is reproduced in miniature on 
 all the bottles of the shop. If the general could 
 see that, his moustache would bristle up, I fancy, 
 eh ? Like this, you know." 
 
 He tried to imitate the general's grimace, but as 
 he had no moustache, the attempt was a failure. 
 
 " You have your patent, uncle ? Will you let 
 me see it ? " 
 
 Elysee still cherished a hope that there might at 
 the bottom of this affair be some forgery or cheating 
 
The Bohemian Side of Exile. 205 
 
 trick familiar to the Levis agency. But no ! 
 All was regular, labelled in due form, stamped 
 with the Illyrian arms, signed by Boscovich, and 
 bearing King Christian's autograph. Doubt was 
 no longer possible. A trade was carried on in 
 crosses and cordons with the king's sanction ; 
 besides, to complete his conviction, Meraut had 
 only on returning to Saint-Mande to visit the 
 councillor. 
 
 In the corner of the great hall which took up all 
 the top floor of the house and served as study to 
 Christian — who never studied — as gymnasium, 
 fencing-room, library, he found Boscovich busy 
 over his drawers, with great envelopes of whity- 
 brown paper, sheets laid one above the other, 
 wherein were drying the most lately gathered 
 plants. During his exile the learned councillor had 
 formed the groundwork of a new collection in the 
 woods of Yincennes and Boulogne, which are 
 richly stocked with the flora of France. In 
 addition, he had bought the herbarium of a famous 
 botanist lately dead ; and, lost in the examination 
 of his new riches, his bloodless, ageless head bent 
 over the magnifying glass, he raised one by one 
 with infinite precaution the heavy pages between 
 which appeared flattened plants, their colours lost 
 in pressing, and displayed fully from corolla to 
 root. He uttered a cry of admiration and joy 
 when the specimen was intact and well-preserved. 
 
2o6 Kings in Exile. 
 
 gazing at it loDg, with moist lips, reading aloud its 
 Latin name and the notice written below on a little 
 label. At another moment an exclamation of 
 anger would escape him when he beheld the flower 
 attacked and perforated by that imperceptible wonn 
 well-known to herborists, an atom born of the 
 dust of plants and living upon it, which is the 
 danger, often the destruction of collections. The 
 stem yet held, but when the page was shaken all 
 would fall and flutter away — flowers and roots alike, 
 in a frail whirlwind. 
 
 " It is the worm, the worm," said Boscovich, his 
 glass to his eye, and with an air expressive of 
 grief and pride, he pointed to a tiny perforation 
 similar to that of the worm in wood, indicating 
 the course the monster had taken. Elysee could 
 no longer harbour a suspicion of him. This poor 
 lunatic was incapable of an infamy, but also 
 incapable of the least resistance. At the first 
 mention of decorations he began to tremble and 
 look askance over his magnifier, distrustful and 
 timid. AVhat did he hear ? To be sure the king 
 had lately caused him to prepare a quantity of 
 patents of all grades with a blank for the name, but 
 he knew nothing more, had never allowed himself 
 to ask a question. 
 
 "AVell, monsieur," said Elysee, gravely, "it is 
 right to A\'arn you as councillor that the king trades 
 in decorations with the Le^'is agency." 
 
Tlie Bohemian Side of Exile. 207 
 
 Thereupon he related to him the story of the 
 Gascon barber with which all Paris was just then 
 amused. Boscovich uttered one of his little femi- 
 nine cries, but in reality was not much scandalized, 
 all that did not concern his mania having but little 
 interest for him. The herbarium he had left at 
 Leybach represented to him his country ; that which 
 he was now getting together, exile in France. 
 
 " Just think how shocking, a man like you to 
 lend a hand to such abominable jobbery ! " 
 
 To which the other, annoyed to have his eyes 
 opened for him to what he had no wish to see, 
 replied : 
 
 "Ma die, ma die! What could I do, my good 
 Monsieur Meraut ? The king is the king. When 
 he says, 'Boscovich, write that,' my hand obeys 
 without thinking, above all when his majesty is so 
 kind and generous to me. It is he who, seeing 
 how I grieved over the loss of my herbarium, made 
 me a present of this one. Sixty pounds sterling, 
 a wonderful bargain ! And, besides, into the 
 bargain I got the Hortus Clifforiianus of Liunseus — 
 first edition." 
 
 Quite naively and cynically did the poor devil 
 thus lay his conscience bare. It was dry and dead, 
 the colour of a herbarium. His mania, cruel and 
 heartless as the imperceptible insect that plagues 
 the herborist, had perforated every part of his 
 being, eaten away every fibre. He was unmoved 
 
2o8 Kings in Exile. 
 
 till Elys(5e threatened to tell the queen. Then only 
 the monomaniac pushed his glass aside, and in a 
 low voice, with the great deep sighs of a penitent 
 at confession, he owned all. Many things went on 
 under his eye that he could not prevent, yet that 
 grieved him. The king's surroundings were de- 
 plorable. E foi, die volete ? He had no vocation 
 for being a king, no taste for a throne. He had 
 never had it. For instance, I remember how long 
 ago it is, in the lifetime of the late Leopold, when 
 the king was seized with his first attack as he left 
 the dinner-table, and they came and told Christian he 
 would doubtless soon succeed his uncle, the child— he 
 was barely twelve years old and was playing croquet 
 in the palio (court-yard) of the palace — the child 
 began to cry terribly, a regular nervous attack. 
 He said : " I don't want to be king, I don't want 
 to be king. Let them put my cousin Stanislas on 
 the throne instead of me." I have often recalled 
 since, on seeing it again in the glance of Christian 
 IL, the terrified and bewildered expression that he 
 had that morning, clinging with all his might to 
 his mallet, as if he were afraid he would be carried 
 oif to the throne-room, and crying : " I don't want 
 to be king ! " 
 
 All Christian's character was expressed in this 
 anecdote. No doubt he was not a wicked man, 
 but a child-man, married too young, with seething 
 passions and hereditary vices. The life he led — 
 
The Bohemian Side of Exile. 209 
 
 the nights at the club, the uproarious suppers, the 
 society of loose women, which in certain circles 
 constitutes the normal life of a husband — all this 
 was aggravated in him by his rth oii king, which 
 he was incapable of playing, the responsibilities 
 that were above his strength and conception, and 
 above aU by the exile that was slowly and surely 
 demoralizing him. Firmer natures than his cannot 
 always resist the dissolving effects of broken habits, 
 and constantly renewed uncertainty, combined 
 with the groundless hopes, the anguish, the strain 
 of waiting. Like the sea, exile has its moments 
 of torpor ; it lowers and benumbs. It is a phase 
 of transition. Only by fixed occupations and 
 regular hours of study can the tedium of a long sea 
 voyage be withstood. But how can a king occupy 
 himself who has neither people, nor ministers, nor 
 council ; nothing to decide, to sign ; far too much 
 wit or scepticism to amuse himself with the 
 pretence of all these things, and too much 
 ignorance to attempt any diversion in the direction 
 of any other steady work ? Then exile, if it 
 resembles the sea, resembles also shipwreck, 
 throwing the privileged saloon passengers over- 
 board pell-mell with the- steerage and . deck 
 passengers. A truly haughty spirit, a real kingly 
 temperament is needed to avoid the effects of the 
 famihar and lowering promiscuity which after- 
 wards may cause blushes and shame ; to remain a 
 
 p 
 
^210 Kings in Exile. 
 
 king amid the pxivatioiig and distress that confound 
 all ranks in the uniform misery of humanity. 
 
 Alas ! that Bohemia of exile from which the 
 
 Duo de Rosen had so long, and at the price of such 
 
 sacrifices, preserved the house of Illyria, began to 
 
 -invade it at last. The king had arrived at all 
 
 kinds of expedients to pay the expenses of his 
 
 -constant round of pleasure. He began by floating 
 
 • bills, just like any young fellow, finding it just as 
 
 simple and even easier, with the aid of J. Tom 
 
 Levis, as those " drafts upon our treasury," that 
 
 he used formerly to address to the head of the civil 
 
 and military department. The bills came due, 
 
 were augmented by a host of renewals, until the 
 
 day when Tom Levis, finding himself run dry, 
 
 invented that pretty traffic in patents, since the 
 
 business of a king without either a kingdom or a 
 
 civil list presented no other resource. The poor 
 
 Lion of Illyria, cut up like some common beast for 
 
 the butcher, was divided into quarters and slices, 
 
 sold at the stall and by auction at so much the 
 
 mane, the sirloin, the rib, and the claws. And 
 
 this was only the beginninfi-. Once in Tom Levis' 
 
 cab the king was not likely to pause on so fair a 
 
 road. So said Meraut to himself as he came away 
 
 from Boscovich. He saw well enough that no 
 
 dependence could be placed upon the councillor, 
 
 easy to overrule, as are most people with a mania. 
 
 He himself was too great a stranger, too newly 
 
The Bohemian Side of Exile. 211 
 
 entered into the household to have any influence 
 over Christian's mind. Should he address himself 
 to old Kosen ? But at the tutor's very first words 
 the duke darted upon him the terrible glance of 
 one whose religion is insulted. The king, however 
 low he might fall, was always the king for him. 
 Nothing could be hoped either from the monk, 
 whose wild visage only appeared at long intervals 
 between tw^o journeys, each time thinner and more 
 weather-beaten. 
 
 The queen ? but she was, he had noticed for 
 months past, sad and feverishly anxious, her beau- 
 tiful brow always clouded with care, and when she 
 attended the lessons she only listened abstractedly, 
 with absent mind and hand listlessly drooping over 
 her work. She was filled with grave preoccupa- 
 tions, hitherto unknown to her, that touched her 
 to the quick, coming as they did from so low a 
 source, anxieties about money, the shame of all 
 these outstretched hands that she could no longer 
 fill. Tradesmen, the poor and needy, the com- 
 panions of her exile and misfortune, all remained 
 waiting ; for kingship has its duties, even when it 
 has no longer its rights. Those who had learnt 
 their way to the house in its prosperity, waited 
 now for hours in the ante-rooms, and often, tired 
 of waiting, went away with bitter words, which the 
 queen guessed, without hearing, by their dis- 
 contented step, by the weariness they betrayed, 
 which told of their constant disappointments. She 
 
 p 2 
 
212 Kings in Exile. 
 
 tried in earnest to put some order into their new 
 way of life ; but bad luck attended her efforts, bad 
 investments, shares paying no interest. They 
 must either wait or lose all. Poor Queen 
 Fr^derique, who thought she had known the 
 whole gamut of suffering, had yet to learn those 
 miseries that wither and fade ; the hard wounding 
 contact of common daily life. There were pay- 
 days at the end of the month which kept her 
 awake thinking at night, shivering like a worried 
 business man. Sometimes, when the servants' 
 wages were behindhand, she dreaded to read in the 
 delayed execution of an order, in a glance lees 
 respectful than usual, the dissatisfaction of a 
 domestic. Finally she became acquainted with 
 debt, debt which grows little by little more 
 harassing, and forces open, in the insolence of 
 pursuit, the highest, the most gilded doors. The 
 old duke, grave and silent, watched all the 
 anxieties of his queen, and hovered round her as if 
 to say : " I am here." But she was quite deter- 
 mined to exhaust all other means before taking 
 back her word, before, having recourse to him whom 
 she had crushed with so haughty a reprimand. 
 
 One evening the little court was assembled in 
 the great drawing-room, a monotonous evening as 
 it always was, while the king as usual was absent. 
 Whist began under the lights of the great 
 silver candelabra, — what they called the queen's 
 play ; the duke had the queen for a partner, with 
 
The Bohemian Side of Exile. 213 
 
 Madame Eleonore and Boscovioh for adversaries. 
 The princess played softly on the piano some of 
 those " echoes of Illyria " that Frederique was 
 never weary of hearing, and which at the least 
 sign of satisfaction the musician converted into a 
 war-song or march. These evocations of the father- 
 land that called up on the faces of the card-players 
 a tearful or an heroic expression, were the only 
 breaks in the atmosphere of habitual resignation to 
 exile, that prevailed in the luxurious bourgeois 
 drawing-room that chanced to shelter royalty. 
 
 Ten o'clock struck. 
 
 The queen, instead of retiring to her own rooms, 
 as on other evenings, and thus giving the signal of 
 departure, threw an absent glance around her and 
 said : 
 
 " You can retire. I have some work to do with 
 Monsieur Meraut." 
 
 Elysee, busy reading by the fireside, bowed and 
 shut up the pamphlet he was perusing, went into 
 the schoolroom in search of pens, ink, and paper. 
 
 "When he returned the queen was alone, listening 
 to the carriages rolling out of the courtyard, while 
 the great doors were shut, and the lobbies and stair- 
 cases of the house echoed with the sounds of coming 
 and going, that in a numerous household precede the 
 hour for repose. There was silence at last, silence 
 increased and deepened by two miles of woods, 
 which deadened with the wind and the rustling of 
 the leaves the far-off rumble of Paris. The deserted 
 
?I4 Kings in Exile. 
 
 drawing-room, still blazing with light in this calm 
 solitude, seemed ])repared for some tragic scene. 
 Frederique, her elbow on the table, pushed away 
 with the other hand the blotting-book Meraut had 
 prepared. 
 
 " No, no,'' said she, " we shall not work to-night ; 
 it was only a pretext. Sit down and let us talk." 
 
 Then, still lower, she added : 
 
 " I have something to ask you." 
 
 What she had to say probably cost her a great 
 effort to bring- forth, for she gathered herself 
 together for a few moments, mouth and eyes half 
 closed, with the profoundly painful and aged 
 expression that Elysee had already noticed some- 
 times upon her countenance, and which made the 
 beautiful face yet more beautiful in his sight ; all 
 the self sacrifices, the devotion, the noble senti- 
 ments of the queen and woman engraved on 
 its pure features ; and when she looked thus, she 
 inspired him with a respect that w'as almost 
 religious. At last, summoning all her courage, in 
 low and timid tones, letting her words fall one 
 after the other like fearful footsteps, Frederique 
 asked him whether he knew of one of those places 
 in Paris whore — one of those places where — money 
 could be borrowed on a pledge. 
 
 Imagine such a question put to Elysee, to that 
 thorough Bohemian who knew every pawnshop in 
 Paris, who had made use of them for the last 
 twenty years as store-houses, where he put his 
 
The Bohemian Side of Exile. 2 1 5 
 
 winter clot.hes hi summer and his summer clothes 
 in winter. Did he know the " spout ? " Did he 
 know " mij unch? " In the recollections of youth 
 that rose to his mind, this slang of destitution 
 made him smile for a moment. But the queen 
 went on, trying to steady her Toice : 
 
 " I wished to ask you to take something there 
 for me — some jewels ; there are at times difficult 
 moments." ^,, , 
 
 And in her beautiful eyes, now raised to his face, 
 was revealed the unfathomable depths of a calm 
 but overwhelming grief. 
 
 Kings in such destitution ! so much grandeur 
 humbled to the dust ! Was it possible ? 
 
 Meraut gave her to understand by a bow that he 
 was willing to take charge of anything she pleased. 
 If he had uttered a word he must have sobbed ; 
 if he had permitted himself a gesture, it would 
 have been to fall at the feet of this august distress. 
 And with it all his admiration began to soften into 
 pity. The queen now seemed to him a little less 
 remote, a little nearer drawn to the vulgarities of 
 existence, as if in the sad avowal she had just made, 
 he had felt a touch of Bohemianism that presaged the 
 beginning of a fall, and brought her closer to him. 
 All at once she rose and took from its crystal 
 case, the antique and neglected relic, which when 
 placed on the table-cover, gleamed like a handful 
 of jewels of all colours. 
 
 EJysee started. The crown ! 
 
2i6 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " Yes, the crown ! For six hundred years it has 
 been in the royal house of lUyria. Kings have died, 
 rivers of noble blood have flowed in its defence. 
 Now it must help us to' hve. It is all we have left." 
 
 It was a magnificent closed crown in the finest 
 old gold, the arches of which, enriched with much 
 ornamentation, were united above the crimson 
 velvet cap. Upon the arches, on the lower circlet 
 of wreathed filigree, in the centre of each flower 
 that imitated the leaves of the trefoil, at the points 
 of the festooned work supporting these flowers, were 
 closely set every variety of known precious stone : 
 here figured the transparent blue of the sapphire, 
 the velvety cerulean of the turquoise, the morning 
 gleam of the topaz, the flame of the oriental ruby, 
 emeralds hke drops of water on the foliage, 
 cabalistic opals, pearls of milky whiteness, and 
 surpassing all, diamonds crowded everywhere, 
 catching and reflecting in their facets all these 
 various hues of fire, and like a luminous dust, a 
 cloud crossed by a ray of sunlight, softening and 
 melting together the splendour of the diadem 
 already drilled by the hand of time, yet gleaming 
 with the delicate reflections of a silver-gilt lamp 
 twinkling in the depths of a sanctuary. 
 
 The queen placed her trembling finger upon it, 
 here and there : 
 
 "Some of the stones must be prized out — the 
 biggest." 
 
 " "What with ? " 
 
The Bohemian Side of Exile. 217 
 
 They spoke in low tones like two criminals. 
 But seeing nothing in the drawing-room that 
 would serve their purpose : 
 
 " Bring a light," said Frederique. 
 
 They passed into the glass verandah, where the 
 
 tall lamp held on high threw fantastic shadows 
 and a long trail of light that finally was lost on the 
 lawns, in the black night of the garden. 
 
 " No, no, not scissors," she murmured, seeing him 
 turn towards her work-basket. " They are not 
 strong enough ; I have already tried." 
 
2i8 Kings in Exile. 
 
 At last they discovered the gardener's pruning- 
 shears laid on the tub of a pomegranate shrub, the 
 delicate foliage of which caught the moonlight from 
 behind the glass. Both returned to the drawing- 
 room, and BIysee tried with the points of the in- 
 strument to raise an enormous oval sapphire that 
 the queen pointed out to him ; hut the great uncut 
 jewel, lirmly set, resisted and slipped under the 
 iron, immovable in the claws that held it. More- 
 over, the hand of the operator, fearing to spoil the 
 stone, or to break the setting which already bore 
 scratches on its gold, testifying to former attempts, 
 was neither sure nor steady. The poor royalist 
 suffered torments of indignation at the outrage he 
 was compelled to offer to the crown. He felt it 
 quiver, resist, struggle beneath his touch. 
 
 " I cannot, I cannot," he said, wiping away the 
 perspiration from his brow. 
 
 The queen replied : 
 
 " You must, you must ! " 
 
 " But it will be seen ! " 
 
 A smile of proud irony crossed her face 
 
 " Be seen ! Who so much as glances at it ? 
 Who thinks of it, who cares for it here, but I ? " 
 
 And while he resumed his task, pallor on his 
 bent face, his long locks hanging over his eyes, and 
 held between his knees the royal diadem which his 
 pruning-knife was about to hack and dismember, 
 Frederique, holding the lamp above him, watched 
 the sacrilege, as cold as the stones that gleamed 
 
The Bohemian Side of Exile. 219 
 
 amid scraps of gold on the table-cover, intact and 
 splendid notwithstanding the ^-iolence they had 
 endured. 
 
 The following day Elysee, after being out all the 
 morning, came in after the first summons for 
 breakfast, and seated himself silently at table, 
 troubled and agitated, scarcely mingling in the 
 conversation of which he was habitually the main- 
 spring and enlivener. This agitation at last in- 
 fected the queen without, however, in any way 
 altering her smile or the serenity of her deep con- 
 tralto voice ; and when the meal was ended, it was 
 still a long time before they drew near each other 
 or could talk freely, feeling themselves hemmed in 
 on all sides by the eliquette and rules of custom 
 established in the house, the attendance of the lady- 
 in-waiting, the jealous watchfulness of Madame de 
 Silvis. At last came lesson time. While the 
 little prince got out his books and settled himself : 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked Frederique. 
 " What has happened ? " 
 
 " Oh, madame ! all the stones are false ! " 
 
 " False ! " 
 
 "And most carefully imitated in paste. How 
 can that have been done .' When ? By whom ? 
 There must be a thief in the house ! " 
 
 She had turned horribly pale at the word 
 " thief." Suddenly from between clenched teeth, 
 mth a flash of anger and despair, that smote like a 
 blow in her eyes : 
 
220 
 
 Kiiirs in Exile. 
 
 " True ! There is a tliief liore. You and I 
 know him well." 
 
 Tlien with a feverish gesture, she seized Elysee's 
 wrist in a Tehemeiit grasp, as if to seal a secret 
 compact between them. 
 
 " But we shall never denounce him, you pro- 
 mise ? " 
 
 " Never ! " he answered, turning away his eyes, 
 for with one word they had understood each 
 other. 
 
VII. 
 
 AT THE FAIR. 
 
 It was the afternoon of the first Sunday in May, 
 a glorious bright clay, fully a month in advance of 
 the season and so warm that Queen Frederique, 
 the little jirince and his tutor were driving in 
 an open carriage in the woods of Saint-Mande. 
 The first soft caress of springtide, wafted through 
 the fresh foliage, had cheered the queen's heart 
 
222 Kings 171 Exile. 
 
 and infiised fresh life into her cheeks. She felt 
 happy without knowing why, and forgetting for 
 a few hours amid the universal kindliness of 
 nature the harshness of life, sat ensconced in a 
 corner of the heavy carriage, her child nestling 
 against her, and conversed in an intimate and 
 friendly manner with Elysee Meraut, who sat 
 opposite them. 
 
 " It is strange," she said ; " it seems to me that 
 we have already met before becoming acquainted. 
 Your voice, your face, at once awoke some recollec- 
 tion in my mind. Where can we have met for the 
 first time ? " 
 
 Little Zara remembered well enough that first 
 interview. It was at the convent, far away, in that 
 underground church, where Monsiem* Elysee had 
 frightened him so terribly. And in the gentle 
 timid glance the child cast at his master, there was 
 still a little of that superstitious fear. No ! even 
 before that Christmas night, the queen felt 
 convinced they had met. 
 
 " Unless it was in a former existence," she added 
 half seriously. 
 
 Elysee laughed. 
 
 " It is true, your Majesty is not mistaken. You 
 saw me, not indeed in a former existence, but in 
 Paris, the very day of your arrival. I was in front 
 of the MM des Pyramides, standing on the stone 
 basement of the Tuilerie railings." 
 
At the Fair. 223 
 
 " And you cried out ' Vive U roi ! ' Now I 
 remember. Yes it was you. Oh, I am glad. It 
 was you Avho first welcomed us. If you knew how 
 ' much good your cry did me ! ■" 
 
 " And to me also ! " replied Meraut. " It was 
 
 such a time since I had had an opportunity of 
 
 uttering that triumphant cry: Vive le roi! It 
 
 -had hovered so long upon my lips. It is a family 
 
 ■cry, associated with all the youthful joys of my 
 
 .childhood, in which at home all our emotions and 
 
 all our faith was summed up. That cry, as I 
 
 utter it, recalls to life the southern accent, the 
 
 gesture and voice of my father ; and brings back 
 
 to my eyes the same emotion I have seen so often 
 
 in his. Poor man ! It was an instinctive cry on 
 
 his part, a whole creed contained in one word. 
 
 One day as he was crossing Paris on his return 
 
 from a journey to Frohsdorflf, my father passed on 
 
 the Place du Carrousel just as Louis-Philippe was 
 
 about to come out. A crowd standing close by 
 
 the railings awaited him, — an indifferent, almost 
 
 hostile crowd such as is seen towards the end of & 
 
 reign. My father, hearing that the king is expected, 
 
 ■shoves and pushes till he elbows himself into the 
 
 first rank, in order to have a good stare, and to 
 
 crush by his contemptuous glance that thieving 
 
 rascally fellow Louis-Philippe who has stolen the 
 
 throne from the legitimate king. Suddenly thb 
 
 king appears, crosses the deserted courtyard, amid 
 
224 Kings in Exile. 
 
 a death-like silence, a heavy silence that seems 
 to oppress the whole palace, and through which 
 the sounds of the loading of the insurgents' 
 muskets and the crashing of the throne seem to 
 be distinctly heard. Louis-Philippe, already old 
 and very homely looking, advanced slowly, umbrella 
 in hand, with the little short steps of a fat man, 
 towards the gate. Nothing kingly, nothing regal 
 about him. But my father did not see him thus ; 
 and at the sight of this representative of royalty, 
 crossing the threshold of the great palace of the 
 kings of Trance, so full of glorious mementoes, 
 amid the terrible solitude the hatred of a people 
 creates around a prince, something was stirred 
 and roused within him ; he forgot all his rancour, 
 suddenly and instinctively snatched off his hat, 
 and cried or rather sobbed out a ' Vive h roi^ 
 so heartfelt and enthusiastic, that the old king 
 started and thanked him by a long glance full of 
 emotion." 
 
 " I must have thanked you in the same way," said 
 Fr^derique, and she looked at Meraut with such 
 affectionate gratitude in her eyes that the poor 
 fellow turned pale. Then, absorbed in the nar- 
 rative she had just heard, she added : 
 
 " Your father was not of noble birth, was he ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, madam. He was of the people, a 
 humble weaver." 
 
 " Strange," she said, musing. 
 
At the Fair. 225 
 
 He made some reply, and their eternal discussion 
 was resumed. The queen did not like, could not 
 understand the people, and had a kind of physical 
 horror of that class. She considered them brutal, 
 terrible in their pleasure as well as in their revenge. 
 Even during the festivities of the coronation, in 
 the honeymoon of her reign, she had feared them, 
 and had shrunk from the thousand hands out- 
 stretched to acclaim her, but which she felt held her 
 prisoner. Never had they been able to understand 
 one another ; favours and bounties had fallen from 
 her, but had failed to bring forth gratitude, 
 like the accursed seed that cannot germinate, with- 
 out its being possible to hold the hardness of the 
 soil or the sterility of the grain responsible for the 
 failure. 
 
 Among the many fairy tales with which Madame 
 de Silvis had filled the little prince's imagination, 
 there was one about a young Syrian girl, man'ied to 
 a lion, who felt a dreadful terror of her tawny 
 husband, of his roar and his violent way of shaking 
 his mane. The poor lion, however, was full of 
 delicacy and Jover-like attentions ; he brought 
 honeycombs, and all kinds of choice game to his 
 child-wife, and watched over her while she slept, 
 imposing silence upon the sea, the forest, and the 
 wild beasts. All was in vain ! Her repulsion, her 
 offensive di-ead was incurable ; and at last the lion's 
 anger was roused, and he roared a terrific " Go ! " 
 
 'J 
 
226 Kings in Exile. 
 
 ^ \^\f\/\f\f\J \J V*>\^W\/\/\/\/\/"\/\/'^'' V 
 
 with open jaws and bristling mane, as though more 
 inclined to devour her than to set her free. It was 
 rather the story of Frederique and her people ; and 
 since Elys6e had lived in such close intimacy 
 with her, he had vainly striven to make her 
 comprehend the latent kindliness, the chivalrous 
 devotion, the iierce touchiness of this great lion, 
 who roars so often in play before his wrath 
 breaks forth. Ah ! if only kings had known ! 
 If they had known how to trust their people ! 
 And as Frederique shook her parasol with an in- 
 credulous air : 
 
 "Ah, yes, I am well aware of your dread of the 
 jjeople. You do not like them, or rather you do 
 not know them. But if your Majesty would but 
 look around in those avenues, through those trees, 
 at these simple, good-natured folk, strolling about 
 and amusing themselves, enjoying to their hearts' 
 content a day of rest, and revelling in the sun- 
 light, they are, nevertheless, the inhabitants of 
 that terrible faubourg of Paris, the terrible 
 faubourg that breeds revolutions, and. pours down 
 its infuriated masses through the torn-up streets 
 of Paris." 
 
 From the great avenue through which the 
 carriage was slowly making its way, under the still 
 sparse thickets, sprinkled -violet with the early wild 
 hyacinths, could be seen luncheons spread out on 
 the ground, white plates dotted over the grass, 
 
Ai the Fair. ^2^ 
 
 open-mouthed baskets, and common thick glass 
 from the neighbouriDg wine-shop stuck among the 
 green shoots like great peonies ; shawls and smock- 
 frocks suspended to the boughs ; men in shirt- 
 sleeves, women without cloaks, reading, dozing, or 
 sewing as they leant against the trees ; bright 
 glades flecked by skirts of cheap fabrics, flitting 
 hither and thither in some game of battledore, 
 blind-man's buff, or quadrilles improvised at the 
 sound of an invisible band, the melody of which 
 reached them in gusts. And children, numbers of 
 children, connecting links between the luncheons, 
 and the games, running together from one group to 
 another, leaping, shouting, filling the whole wood 
 with an immense swallow-like twitter, their endless 
 going and coming through the trees, recalling in 
 their rapidity, the caprice of the birds' shadowy 
 flight. Compared with the carefully tended, neatly 
 'kept Bois de Boulogne, and its httle rustic palings, 
 this Bois de Vincennes, with all its avenues un- 
 obstructed, seemed well suited for the pastimes of a 
 people merry-making, with its green trampled turf, 
 its strong arching trees, as though Nature herself 
 had here chosen to be more kindly and more full of 
 hfe. 
 
 Suddenly a turn of the avenue revealed an open 
 space, with a bright lake and grassy green slopes, 
 and drew an exclamation of delight from the royal 
 child. It was lovely, resembling the sudden 
 
 e2 
 
228 Kings til Extle. 
 
 glimpse of the sea through the winding stone walls 
 of a Breton village, bringing its ripples to the very 
 foot of the last steep lane. Boats decked out with 
 flags, full of oarsmen in smart red or blue jerseys, 
 covered the lake in every direction, furrowing the 
 surface with the silvery stroke of the oars, and the 
 white foam of the sparkling little waves. Flocks 
 of ducks quacked and swam about, swans in a more 
 stately manner sailed along the banks, their downy 
 feathers filled, out by the breeze, while in the 
 distance, hidden behind the green foliage of an 
 islet, a band sent to all parts of the wood a joyous 
 rhythm that re-echoed across the surface of the 
 lake. Over all this reigned a merry disorder, the 
 movement of both wind and water, the flapping 
 of the streamers, the shouts of the boatmen, the 
 groups of people seated on the slopes, of children 
 running about, of two little noisy cafes built almost 
 in the water, their wooden floors as resonant as a 
 bridge, and their disjointed plank walls giving them 
 the appearance of something between a bathing 
 machine and a steamer. Few carriages were to be 
 seen round the lake. From time to time a railway 
 cab, loaded with a workman's wedding party, easily 
 recognisable by the new cloth of tlie frockcoats and 
 gaudy colours of the women's shawls ; or trades- 
 men's vans full of stout dames in flowery bonnets, 
 who looked with an air of condescension at the 
 passers-by, dragging their steps through the sand. 
 
At the Fair. 229 
 
 Most of all, little baby carriages, that first outlay of 
 the married workman, perambulating cradles in 
 which the infant faces nod their frilled caps, 
 drowsily gazing at the blue sky through the 
 entwined branches. 
 
 Amid all these modest vehicles the queen's 
 equipage, with the Illyrian coat-of-arms on its 
 panels, its handsome horses and liveries, could not 
 pass without attracting some notice. Frederique 
 had never been there, except on week-days ; the 
 working men's families, silent and awkward in their 
 Sunday attire, nudged each other's elbows, stepping 
 aside at the sound of the wheels, then turned round, 
 unsparing of their admiration for the haughty 
 beauty of the queen, and the aristocratic air of 
 little Zara. Now and again a little daring voice 
 would call out from under the trees : " Good day, 
 Madame." Could it be Elysee's words, or the 
 splendour of the weather, or the joyousness spread 
 even to the horizon, which the silent factories for 
 once left clear and truly rural, or was it the 
 cordiality of these chance greetings'? Frederique 
 could not help feeling a sort of sympathy for 
 these working men on their holiday ; for the 
 cleanliness that, considering their hard labours 
 and their rare moments of leisure, was so praise- 
 worthy. As for Zara, he could hardly contain 
 himself; he stamped and fidgetted in the car- 
 riaige ; he would have liked to get out, roll with 
 
(230 Kings in Exile. 
 
 the other children on the grass, and row about in 
 the boats. 
 
 Presently the carriage reached a less noisy part 
 of the wood, where people were reading or sleeping 
 on benches; and loving couples passed along 
 among the shrubs arm in arm. Here the shade, 
 was deeper and more mysterious ; holding the 
 damp coolness of great forests. The birds twittered 
 in the branches. As they got further from the 
 lake, where the noise of the crowd was concentrated, 
 the echo of another f^te reached their ears : shots 
 fired off, beating of drums, the noise of bells and 
 bugles rising above a great clamour that passed 
 like a cloud across the sun. It sounded like the 
 Backing of a town. 
 
 "What is that ? What sound is that ? " asked 
 the little prince. 
 
 " It is the gingerbread fair, Monseigneur," said 
 the old coachman turning round on his box, and as 
 the queen consented to go in that direction, the 
 carriage left the park and turned down a set of 
 narrow unfinished streets, where new six-storied 
 houses rose by the side of miserable hovels, with a 
 stable gutter on one side and market-gardens on 
 the other. All around small wine booths, with their 
 arbours, little tables, and the stands of swings 
 painted in an ugly uniform green. It was crowded 
 with people, shoals of soldiers, in gunners' shakos 
 and white cotton gloves. But there was little noise. 
 
At the Fair. 231 
 
 An ambulating harpist or violinist was playing 
 between the tables, scraping airs from the FavorUa 
 or the Trovatore ; and the people of Paris listened 
 with interest to the sentimental music it is so fond 
 of, always prodigal of alms to those who give it 
 pleasure. 
 
 Suddenly the carriage stopped. Yehicles were 
 not allowed to go further than the entrance of this 
 broad avenue of Vincennes, along which the fair 
 was estabhshed, and whose background towards 
 Paris was the dusty atmosphere of the suburb with 
 the two columns of the barriere du Trone rising 
 above it. Zara's eyes were lit up with such an 
 intense childish longing at the sight of the happy 
 crowd in that long street of booths that the queen 
 proposed to get out. It was so extraordinary a 
 wish on the part of the proud Frederique to set 
 foot in the dust of this plebeian Sunday, that 
 Elysee hesitated for a moment. 
 
 " Is there any danger ? " said the queen. 
 
 " Oh, not the least, Madam. Only, if we go into 
 the fair, we had better go alone. The servants' 
 liveries would attract attention." 
 
 On receiving the queen's order, the tall footman 
 who was preparing to foUow them, got back on to 
 the coach-box and it was arranged the carriage 
 should wait for them. They would certainly not 
 go through the whole fair, and only intended 
 walking a little and looking at a few of the booths 
 
232 Kings in Exile. 
 
 At the entry they saw small moveable stands, a 
 table covered with a white napkin, shooting galleries 
 with rabbits for prizes, and wheels of fortune. 
 People passed by indifferent and without stopping. 
 Then they came upon open-air frying booths, 
 exhaling a strong smell of burnt fat, great red 
 flames rising up, while scullions dressed in white 
 were busily engaged serving out piles of sugared 
 fritters. Further on was a confectioner, pulling, 
 twisting into gigantic rings the white marsh- 
 maUow paste perfumed with almonds ! The little 
 prince gazed in astonishment. It was all so new 
 to him, poor little caged bird, reared in the upper 
 rooms of a palace, behind the gilt railings of a 
 park, grown up amid terrors and mistrust, who 
 had never gone out unaccompanied, never seen the 
 populace but from some balcony or some carriage 
 surrounded by guards. At first somewhat intimi- 
 dated, he walked close to his mother, pressing her 
 hand tightly in his, but little by little he became 
 excited with the noise, the odour of the f^te, 
 the tunes of the hurdy-gurdies made him long 
 to run wildly about, and he dragged Frederique 
 forward, at the same time that he wanted every 
 moment to stop, divided between the wish to 
 see everything and a desire to push on and reach 
 the spot where the noise was louder, the crowd 
 denser. 
 
 Thus without noticing it, they went further and 
 
At tJie Fair. 233 
 
 farther from their starting-point, imperceptibly 
 and unconsciously, like a swimmer borne away by 
 a current, the more easily too, that among aU the 
 gaudy dresses flaunting about, the queen's neat 
 costume, dress, mantle and bonnet matching in soft 
 fawnlike tints, passed unnoticed, as did also Zara's 
 big turned-down collar, bare legs and short jacket, 
 the quiet elegance of his attire merely drawing the 
 attention of a few old women who remarked : 
 "That's an English boy." He walked between 
 Elysee and his mother, who exchanged smiles over 
 his head. " Oh mother ! " he would exclaim, " look 
 at that ! Monsieur Elysee, what are they doing 
 over there ? Let us go and see ! " From one side 
 of the avenue to the other, describing endless zig- 
 zags, they penetrated deeper and deeper into the 
 crowd, following its onward direction. 
 
 " Shall we go back ? " suggests Elysee ; but the 
 child is drunk with excitement. He implores, tugs 
 at his mother's hand, and she is so happy at seeing 
 her little drowsy child roused from his torpor, she 
 is herself so excited by the pojDular ferment, that 
 they go on advancing. 
 
 g^ The day becomes warmer, as though the sun in 
 going down caught up with the tips of its rays a 
 stormy mist ; and as the sky changes, the f6te with 
 its thousand varied colours assumes a fairy-like 
 aspect. Now is the time for the shows — the whole 
 -staff of the circus and booths are outside, under the 
 
234 Kings in Exile. 
 
 entrance awnings, in front of the painted canvas 
 which, swelling and bulging in the wind, impart a 
 semblance of life to the monstrous animals, gymnasts 
 and Hercules painted on it. Here is the display in 
 front of the great military play : an exhibition of 
 costumes of the time of Charles IX. and Louis 
 XV., arquebuses, guns, periwigs and plumes mixed up 
 together ; the Marseillaise clanged out by the brass 
 ^band, while opposite, the young horses of a circus, 
 with white reins, like bridal horses, prance learnedly 
 about on a platform, count with their hoofs 
 and bow their heads. Next to these a true 
 mountebank show exhibits a clown in motley 
 costume, tiny Astecs in scanty tights, and a big 
 tanned girl in pink ballet-skirt who juggles with 
 gold and silver balls, bottles and glittering tin 
 knives mingling and jingling over her elaborately 
 dressed hair, held together by glass pins. 
 
 The little prince is lost in mute contemplation 
 before this magnificent personage, when a queen, a 
 true queen of fairy tales, with a brilliant crown, a 
 short tunic of spangled gauze, her legs crossed over 
 each other, leans upon the balustrade. Zara would 
 never tire of looking at her, but the orchestra 
 claims his attention ; an extraordinary orchestra 
 this, composed not of French guards, or Hercules 
 in pink tights, but of real ladies and gentlemen ; 
 a gentleman with short whiskers, shining pate and 
 patent leather boots, deigns to play the cornet-?l- 
 
A( (Jie pan: 
 
 23s 
 
 piston ; while a lady, a real lady, almost as solemn 
 as Madame de Silvis herself, in a silk mantle, and 
 nodding- flowers in her bonnet, ban^s on the big 
 drum, looking right and left with an air of 
 
 supreme indifference, lier Tiolent motions mean- 
 while tossing the chenille fringe of her mantle high 
 among the roses of her iDonnct. Who knows ? 
 this may be some royal family' also fallen into 
 misfortune. But the fair presents yet other attrac- 
 tions. 
 
236 Kings in Exile. 
 
 In the infinite and perpetually varying panorama 
 were to be seen bears dancing at the end of their 
 chains ; negroes in cotton drawers, devils — male 
 and female, with narrow red bands round their 
 heads ; gesticulating wrestlers, undaunted com- 
 batants, hand on hip, swinging aloft the tights 
 prepared for any volunteer fighter ; a fencing- 
 mistress in cuirass - bodice, red stockings em- 
 broidered in gold, her face covered by a mask 
 and a leathern gauntlet on her hand ; a man 
 dressed in black velvet who looked like Columbus 
 or Copernicus, describing magic circles with a 
 diamond-headed riding-whip, while from behind 
 the platform, amid a sickening odour of stables 
 and wild beasts, was heard the roar of the lions 
 in Garel's menagerie. All these living curiosities 
 mingled in one confused mass with the painted 
 images, giantesses in ball dress, bare necks, and 
 fat, pink, pillow-like arms displayed from the short 
 sleeves down to the tightly-buttoned gloves ; figures 
 of somnambulists, seated, with bandaged eyes look- 
 ing into futurity, by the side of some black-haired 
 doctor ; monsters, prodigies, every kind of eccen- 
 tricity and phenomenon, often sheltered only by 
 two large sheets fastened up by a cord, with the 
 money-box placed on a chair ready for the 
 spectator's coin. 
 
 And everywhere, at every turn was seen the king 
 of the fair : gingerbread under all aspects, and 
 
At the Fair. 237 
 
 shapes, in shops draped vith red, fringed with gold, 
 wrapped up in shiny picture-paper, tied up with 
 ribbons, ornamented with sugar-plums and burnt 
 ahnonds ; gingerbread flattened and grotesquely 
 shaped like men, representing the Parisian noto- 
 rieties ; Amanda's lover, Prince Queue de Poule 
 and his inseparable companion Eigolo ; ginger- 
 bread hawked about in baskets, sold on deal 
 planks, spreading a good odour of honey and 
 cooked fruit through the tightly packed crowd, 
 which was becoming too dense for circulation. 
 
 It was now impossible for the royal party to 
 retrace their steps. They were obliged to follow 
 the despotic current, to advance or retire, un- 
 consciously pushed first towards one booth, then 
 towards another, for the living stream pressed 
 together in the middle of the fair, seeks to overflow 
 on all sides, without finding any issue. Laughs 
 and jokes burst forth in this continuous and com- 
 pulsory elbowing. Never before has the queen 
 come so closely in contact with the people. 
 Touched almost by their breath and the rough 
 proximity of their powerful shoulders, she is 
 astonished at feeling neither disgust nor terror, 
 and advances with the others, with that hesitating 
 step all crowds have, which resembles the hushed 
 awe of a procession, and retains, even in the 
 absence of vehicles, a kind of solemnity. 
 ■ The good temper of these folk, the exuberant 
 
338 Kings in Exile. 
 
 gaiety of her son, and the quantity of perambu- 
 lators in the thickest of the crowd, all tends to 
 reassure her. " Don't push there. Don't you see 
 there's a child." Not one, but ten, twenty, 
 hundreds of children, carried in arms by their 
 mothers, or on their father's shoulders ; and 
 Frederique exchanges a smile, when she sees a 
 child of the people of the same age as her own 
 son. 
 
 Elysee, however, begins to feel uneasy. He 
 knows what a crowd is, however calm in appear- 
 ance, and the danger of its sudden movements. If 
 one of those threatening clouds should burst into 
 rain, what disorder and panic would ensue ! His 
 imagination, ever on the alert, conjures up the 
 scene : the horrible stifling, the terrible death- 
 struggle on the Place Louis XV., the sinister 
 crowding together of a whole people in the midst 
 of a gigantic Paris, within a stone's-throw of 
 immense, deserted, but inaccessible avenues. 
 
 Between his mother and his tutor, who help and 
 protect him, the little prince gets very hot. He 
 complains that he cannot see anything. Then, 
 hke the workmen who surround them, Elys6e 
 places Zara on his shoulders, and the child bursts 
 into fresh exclamations of dehght, for the sight 
 from up there is really splendid. Against a back- 
 ground of setting sun, streaked with light and 
 floating shadows, on the long perspective before 
 
At the Fair. 239 
 
 them, between the two columns of the barrier, 
 stands out a waviiig mass of flags and streamers, 
 while the canyas flaps iu front of the booths. The 
 light wheels of the gigantic swings raise one by one 
 their little cars full of people ; an immense merry- 
 go-round, three-storied, varnished and coloured like 
 a plaything, turns mechanically with its lions, 
 leopards, and fantastic creatures, upon which the 
 children sit as stiff as little wooden puppets. Near 
 at hand clusters of red balloons fly through the 
 air ; innumerable twirlings of yellow-paper mills 
 look like artificial suns, and above the crowd rise a 
 quantity of little staring eyes and fair-haired heads, 
 just like Zara's. The pale rays of the setting sun 
 illumine the clouds, and lend them metallic hues, 
 lighting ixp or darkening all things by their reflec- 
 tion, and this gives additional movement to the 
 scene. Here they touch up a clown and a 
 columbine, two white patches frisking about oppo- 
 site each other, like a pantomime in white chalk 
 on the background of a black-board ; yonder, a 
 lanky mountebank, his head surmounted by a 
 Phrygian shepherd's pointed cap, bends forward, 
 with a gesture as though shoving dough into an 
 oven, and pretends to push into his booth the 
 black stream of people coming up his steps. The 
 mountebank has his mouth open, he must be speak- 
 ing, roaring indeed, but it is impossible to hear 
 him, any more than the sound of a bell furiously 
 
240 Kings in Exile. 
 
 shaken at the corner of a platform over there, or 
 the firing of an arquebus, from which a puff of 
 smoke is seen issuing. Every sound is drowned in 
 the immense uproar of the fair, a clamour made up 
 of every kind of discordant noise : rattles, reed-pipes, 
 gongs, drums, speaking-trumpets, the roar of wild 
 beasts, hurdy-gurdies, and the whistles of engines. 
 There is a general struggle to attract the crowd — as 
 bees are attracted by noise — and the most inde- 
 fatigable, the most deafening instruments are set 
 going ; from the swings and whirligigs sharp cries 
 are also heard, while every ten minutes the trains 
 of the circular line pass on a level with the fair, 
 break in and overpower by their whistle the 
 maddening uproar. 
 
 All at once, the fatigue and suffocating smell of 
 that human crowd, the dazzling glare of an after- 
 noon sun, slanting and hot, in which so many 
 bright things are turning and twisting, make the 
 queen turn giddy and feel faint. 
 
 She has but time to seize hold of Elysee's arm in 
 order not to fall, and while she leans clingingly on 
 him, pale though erect, she murmurs in a low 
 voice : " It is nothing — nothing." But her head, 
 in which all the ner\'es throb painfully ; her body, 
 which loses all consciousness of existence, for a 
 moment abandons itself. Elysee will never forget 
 that moment. 
 
 It is over. Frederique is herself again. A 
 
At the Fair. 241 
 
 breath of fresh air on her brow has quickly re- 
 vived her, but she does not let go of the protecting 
 arm ; and that queen's step, measured on his own, 
 the pressure of that warm gloved hand, produce in 
 Elysee an inexpressible emotion. Danger, the 
 crowd, Paris, the f^te, he forgets everything. He 
 is in the magic world where dreams become realities 
 with all their extravagant fancies. Lost in the 
 plebeian crowd, he walks on without hearing it, 
 without seeing it, borne along by a cloud that en- 
 velopes him, pushes, carries him onward and insen- 
 sibly brings him out of the avenue. There only 
 does he return to earth and reality. The queen's 
 carriage is far. It is impossible to find it. They 
 are compelled to return on foot to the Rue Her- 
 billon, to follow in the fading daylight the long 
 avenues, the streets lined with wine-shops, full of 
 half tipsy passers-by. It is quite an adventure, 
 but none of them think of the strangeness of their 
 return home. Little Zara talks, rattling on as 
 children do after a treat, eager to relate all the 
 sights, ideas, and events their eyes haA^e beheld. 
 Elysee and the queen are silent. He, quivering 
 still, recalls, and at the same time endeavours to 
 forget, the exquisite and penetrating moment which 
 has revealed to him the secret, the sad secret of 
 his life. Frederique dwells upon all she has just 
 seen and heard that was new to her. For the first 
 time she has felt the throbs of the people's heart, she 
 
242 
 
 Kinsrs in Exile. 
 
 has laid her head upon the lion's shoulder. It has 
 left her an impression of powerful sweetness, like a 
 tender and protecting emljrnce. 
 
lofllflll^ 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE GEAKD STROKE. 
 
 The door, slammed to sharply and autocrati- 
 cally, wafted through the Agency a breath of air 
 that fluttered the blue veils and waterproofs, and 
 waved the invoices in the hands of the clerks, and 
 the feathers in the ladies' hats. Hands were 
 stretched out and heads bowed. J. Tom Levis had 
 just entered the hall. A circular smile, two or 
 three orders briefly given to the accountant, and 
 
 B 2 
 
244 Kings in Exile. 
 
 the question asked in a singularly triumphant tone 
 as to whether the parcel had been sent to H.R.H. 
 the Prince of Wales, and he disappeared rapidly 
 into his private oifice, the clerks signalling to one 
 another by winks that the master was in an extra- 
 ordinary good humour. Something certainly must 
 be up. Even the calm Sephora behind her grating 
 thought so, and softly inquired as she saw Tom 
 come in : 
 
 " What is going on ? " 
 
 " Such things ! " said the other with the wide 
 silent laugh, and the peculiar whirl of eyes habitual 
 to him on great occasions. 
 
 He beckoned to his wife to follow him. 
 
 They went down the fifteen narrow steps, edged 
 with copper, that led to a little boudoir under- 
 groimd, very tastily furnished with a divan, a 
 dressing-table, and lighted by gas ; the little cellar 
 window, that opened on the Rue Eoyale, being closed 
 by ground-glass as thick as a piece of horn. From 
 this room they could communicate with the cellara 
 and the yards, thus allowing Tom to come and go 
 without being seen, to avoid intruders and 
 creditors, those whom in Parisian slang are called 
 the "paves," that is to say, people or things that 
 block the circulation. With such complicated affairs 
 as those the Agency dealt in, these Red Indian sub- 
 terfuges were indispensable. Otherwise life would 
 have been spent in quarrels and wrangling. 
 
 The oldest clerks in Tom's ofiBce, men who had 
 
The Grand Stroke. 245 
 
 been in his employ for five or six months, had 
 never been down into this mysterious basement 
 room, where Sephora alone had right of entry. It 
 was the agent's private nook, his very self, his 
 conscience, the cocoon from which he issued each 
 time a transformed being ; something like the 
 dressing-room of an actor, which at the present 
 moment, indeed, it greatly resembled, with its gas 
 burners lighting up the marble, the flounced trim- 
 mings of the toilet-table, and the strange panto- 
 mime that J. Tom Levis, agent for foreigners, was 
 just then performing. In a trice he opened his 
 long English frockcoat and flung it far away, then 
 he tore off one waistcoat, then another, the many- 
 coloured waistcoats of the circus-rider, unwound 
 the ten yards of white mushn that constituted his 
 cravat, the numberless bands of flannel superposed 
 round his waist, and from the majestic and 
 apoplectic rotundity which rushed all over Paris in 
 the first, the only cab known in those days, there 
 suddenly stood revealed, with an " ow/" of relief, a 
 little dried-up, wiry man, no bigger than an empty 
 reel, a frightful quinquagenarian street-arab, who 
 looked as though he had been saved from a fire, 
 drawn from a lime-kiln, with all the wrinkles, scars, 
 and devastating ravages of scalding ; and notwith- 
 standing all this, an indescribable appearance of 
 youth, the mischievous look of a mobih of '48,* 
 
 A volunteer corps chiefly composed of Parisian youths. 
 
^24^ Kings in Exile. 
 
 the real Tom Levis, no other than Narcisse Poitou, 
 the Eon of a joiner of the Rue d'Orillon. 
 
 After having grown up to the age of ten amid 
 the shavings at the side of the paternal work-bench, 
 and from ten to fifteen received his education in 
 the national school and in the street — that mar- 
 vellous school of outdoor life, Narcisse had soon 
 felt within him a horror for the populace, and for 
 all manual labour, and, at the same time, became 
 conscious that he was gifted with an all-devouring 
 imagination and an experience which the Parisian 
 gutter and all the nameless things it sweeps along 
 had stocked far more thoroughly than a long 
 voyage could have done. As a child he already 
 planned schemes and projects. Later on his ever- 
 Toving imagination prevented his directing his 
 powers towards one settled object, and they re- 
 mained unproductive. He travelled, began a 
 thousand different trades ; a miner in Australia, a 
 squatter in America, an actor in Batavia, a bailiff 
 in Brussels ; after having made debts in the two 
 hemispheres, left creditors at the four corners of 
 the earth, he settled down as agent in London, 
 where he lived for a considerable time, and wherfe 
 he might have succeeded if the terrible insatiability 
 of his imagination, ever in quest of something 
 fresh, the imagination of a voluptuary ever fore- 
 stalling the coming pleasure, had not thrown him 
 back into the deepest and darkest poverty. This 
 time he fell very low, and was picked up one night 
 
The Grand Stroke. 247 
 
 in Hyde Park as he was trying to steal the swans 
 off the Serpentine. A few months of prison life 
 thoroughly disgusted liim with the "land of the 
 free," and he returned like a waif, stranded on the 
 Parisian paYement, whence he had taken his 
 departure. 
 
 It was also a whimsical fancy, added to his 
 instincts of actor and mountebank, that had made 
 him dub himself an Englishman, a thing easy 
 enough for him with his knowledge of the manners, 
 language, and ways of the Anglo-Saxons. It was 
 instinctive, a sudden inspiration on the occasion of 
 his first stroke of business, his first "grand stroke." 
 
 "Who shall I announce ? " had inquired insolently 
 a tall flunky in livery, when he presented himself 
 on this memorable occasion, and Poitou, seeing 
 himself so threadbare, so wretched in the vast 
 ante-room, fearing lest he should be turned away 
 before he was listened to, feeling the imperative 
 necessity of rising above the situation by some- 
 thing abnormal and foreign, had answered : 
 
 " Oh ! announce Mr. Tom Levis ! " 
 
 And he at once felt so imbued \vith confidence 
 under this name, improvised at a minute's notice, 
 and this borrowed nationality, that he took a 
 delight in affecting the peculiarities and manias 
 belonging to it, oarefuUy watching over his accent 
 and manners, correcting his exuberant fancy, and 
 allowing himself time by a hesitation of speech to 
 invent the necessary lies. 
 
248 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Strange as it may seem, of all the innumerable 
 combinations of this inventive brain, this one, that 
 he had the least sought for, was the moat successfal. 
 To it he owed the acquaintance of Sephora, who at 
 that time kept in the Champs Elysees a kind of 
 " Family Hotel^' a pretty three-storied house, with 
 pink curtains and a little flight of stone steps on 
 the Avenue d'Antin, bordered on each side by 
 wide asphalte side-walks, enlivened by trees and 
 flowers. The mistress of the establishment, always 
 neatly attired, displayed her calm seraphic profile 
 at one of the windows on the ground floor, bent 
 over some needlework or ledger. The customers 
 were a strange exotic medley : clowns, bookmakers, 
 circus-riders, horse-dealers, and Anglo-American 
 riff-raff, the worst of aU, scum of the gold-fields 
 and gambling houses. The feminine side was 
 recruited from the quadrilles at Mabille, the 
 violins of which might be heard on summer 
 evenings, mingling with the noisy brawls of the 
 "family " and the clatter of counters and gold 
 pieces, for play ran high after dinner. If 
 perchance some respectable family of foreigners, 
 deceived by the appearance of the place, came to 
 settle at Sephora's, the strange look of the guests, 
 the tone of the conversation, drove them away in 
 dismay, their boxes half unpacked, on the very 
 first day. 
 
 In the midst of these adventurers and swindlers 
 Monsieur Poitou, or rather Tom Levis, the 
 
The Grand Stroke. 249 
 
 insignificaut occupier of an attic-room, soon 
 acquired an important position by his gaiety, his 
 suppleness, his knowledge of business, of all kinds 
 of business. He invested the servants' savings, 
 and through them gained the confidence of their 
 mistress. How could it be otherwise, with his 
 smiling good-natured frank countenance, with the 
 indefatigable high spirits that made him the most 
 valued guest at the table d'hdte, attracting the 
 customers, exciting expense, the life and soul of the 
 betting and drinking parties. The fair hostess, so 
 cold and reserved with everyone else, was free and 
 unrestrained only with Tom. Often in the after- 
 noon, coming in or going out, he would stop at the 
 little office of the hotel, clean and bright with 
 mirrors and matting. Sephora would relate her 
 affairs, show him her jewels and her ledgers, 
 consult him on the bUl of fare, or the care she 
 must bestow on a large arum lily placed by her side 
 in a vase of Minton's earthenware. Together they 
 laughed over the love-letters and proposals of all 
 kinds she received, for she was a woman untouched 
 by sentiment. Of an icy temperament, she kept 
 at all times and under all circumstances an 
 imperturbably cool head, and treated all love 
 affairs in a business-like manner. It is said that a 
 woman's first lover gives the impress to her whole 
 Ufe ; Sephora's lover, a sexagenarian chosen by 
 father Leemans, had frozen her blood and perverted 
 her love. This beautiful creature, bom in an old 
 
250 Kings in Exile. 
 
 curiosity shop, treated cA-erything from a monetary 
 point of view, to which she added the intrigue, 
 cheating, and low cunning acquired by bartering. 
 Little by little a bond was formed between her and 
 Tom, the kind of affection that springs up between 
 guardian and ward. He advised her, guided her, 
 and always with a skill, a fecundity of imagination 
 that charmed her methodical quiet nature, in 
 which Jewish fatalism mingled with the heavy 
 temperament of Flanders. Never did she invent 
 or imagine anything, living only in the present. 
 Tom's fertile brain, his perpetual firework of ready 
 wit therefore completely dazzled her. What put 
 the finishing touch to her conquest was hearing 
 her boarder, one evening after he had been talking 
 the most comical gibberish aU dinner-time, whisper 
 in her ear as he took his key from the office : 
 
 " You know, I am no more English than you 
 are ! " 
 
 From that day she loved him, or rather — for 
 sentiments are known only by their label — she 
 became infatuated with him, like a lady is some- 
 times infatuated with an actor whom she alone 
 knows as he is away from the footlights, the rouge, 
 and the theatrical get-up ; such as he is, and not 
 such as he appears to others ; love ever craves for 
 these privileges. Moreover they both came from 
 the same Parisian gutter. In the same gutter that 
 had soiled the edge of Sephora's skirts Narcisse 
 had also wallowed ; and they both retained alike 
 
The Grand Stroke, 251 
 
 iShe taint and the love of the mire whence they 
 sprang. The low stamp, the vicious instincts that 
 would step in at times and raise the mask of the 
 would-be Englishman, are also displayed in the 
 brief flashes that cross Sephora's biblical features, 
 in the irony and the vulgar laugh of "her Jewish 
 Inouth. 
 
 ' This strange love of Beauty and the Beast 
 increased in proportion as the woman penetrated 
 more thoroughly into the nature of this mounte- 
 bank, into the confidence of his tricks, of his 
 iapishness ; from the invention of the cab down to 
 the numerous waistcoats, by the help of which 
 J. Tom Levis, not being able to add to his stature, 
 strove at least to look imposing ; in proportion as 
 she associated with this existence, full of surprises 
 and adventures, schemes, dreams, and great and 
 little strokes of fortune. And this apish fellow 
 was so clever, that after ten years of a legitimate 
 .and commonplace union, he could still amuse her, 
 charm her, as on the first day they had met. It 
 would have been suificient to remove all doubt on 
 the subject to have seen her that day, lying back 
 on the divan of the little boudoir, writhing and 
 convulsed with laughter, as she repeated in an 
 Bcstacy of delight : " What a ridiculous creature 
 you are ! " while Tom, in coloured vest and 
 drawers, reduced to his simplest expression, bald, 
 angular, and bony, danced in front of her a frantic 
 jig, to an . accompaniment of spasmodic gestures 
 
252 
 
 Kings ill Exile. 
 
 and mad stamping. "When they were both tired, 
 she of laughing and he of jumping, he threw 
 himself down by her side on the sofa, drew his 
 monkeyish head close to her angelic face, and 
 breathed his joy into her ear. 
 
 " The Sprichts are squashed ! 
 Down with them all ! I have hit 
 uuuu my stroke, my grand stroke." 
 " Quite sure ? 
 Who is it ? " 
 The name he ut- 
 tered brought 
 to Sephora's 
 lips a pretty 
 disdainful 
 pout. 
 
 "What! that 
 great goose ? 
 But he has not 
 got a penny. 
 We have 
 sheared him and his Illyriau lion. He has not a 
 scrap of wool left on his back." 
 
 " Don't make fun of the lion of Illyria, my dear," 
 said Tom, resuming his habitual seriousness. " His 
 skin alone is worth eight millions sterling." The 
 woman's eyes flashed ! He repeated, emphasizing 
 each syllable : 
 
 " Eight millions sterhng 1 " 
 
 Then coldly, clearly, he explained what he 
 
The Grand Stroke. 255 
 
 meant. The question was to bring Christian II. to 
 accept the proposition of the Diet, and abandon 
 his rights to the throne for the handsome sum 
 offered to him. After all what was it ? merely a 
 signature, nothing more. Christian left to himself 
 would have made up his mind long ago. It was 
 his surroundings, more especially the Queen, that 
 stopped him, and prevented his signing this renun- 
 ciation. Nevertheless he would have to come to 
 that one day or another. They had not a farthing 
 left in the house. They owed to all the trades- 
 people of Saint-Mande, to the butchers, to the 
 forage-dealer — for notwithstanding the poverty of 
 the masters, there were still horses in the stables. 
 The establishment was well kept, the table well 
 supplied, all the appearance of luxury concealing 
 sinister privations. The royal linen, embroidered 
 with the crown, lay full of holes in the press, and 
 could not be renewed. The coach-houses were 
 empty, the largest pieces of plate pawned, the 
 servants left hardly sufficed for the work, and their 
 wages often remained several months unpaid. 
 Tom had aU these details from Lebeau, the valet, 
 who had at the same time told him the story of the 
 eight millions proposed by the Diet of Leybach 
 and the scene this offer had given rise to. 
 
 Since the King knew that eight milhons lay 
 there, within reach of his hand, ready to be 
 exchanged for a penful of ink, he was a changed 
 man ; he no longer laughed, nor talked, keeping 
 
254 Kings in Exile. 
 
 this set idea in his head, like a neuralgic spot 
 aching in one side of his brow. He kept sighing 
 heavily all day, and his temper was that of a surly 
 dog. Nothing however had been changed in his 
 own particular service : he still had secretary, valet, 
 coachman and lacqueys ; the same luxurious and 
 costly furniture and dress. Frederique, in her 
 desperate pride, strove to conceal their distress by 
 dint of haughtiness, and never would allow tliB 
 King to lack anything. When perchance he dined 
 at the Rue Herbillon, she insisted on the table 
 being royally provided for. One thing, however, 
 she could not supply : that was pocket-money for 
 his expenses at the club, gambling and women. 
 Evidently the King would be overcome by that. 
 Some fine morning, after a long night passed 
 at baccarat or bouillote, unable to pay and un^ 
 willing to owe — imagine Christian of Illyria posted 
 up at the club ! — he must take u a pen and sign 
 his abdication. 
 
 The thing would in fact have already taken 
 place, had it not been for old Eosen, who, secretly, 
 notwithstanding Frederique's order, had again 
 begun to advance money to His Majesty. The 
 plan was therefore to lead him into fresh expenses, 
 to make him contract such extravagant debts and 
 numberless liabilities as would be beyond ^le 
 resources of the old duke. This required a con-, 
 siderable amount of money to be laid out. 
 
 " But," said Tom Levis, " the thing is so saf& that 
 
The Grand Stroke. 255 
 
 we are certain of finding the necessary funds. 
 The best plan would be to speak of it to father 
 Leemans, and keep the job in the family. The 
 only thing I am anxious about is the main- 
 spring — the woman ! " 
 
 " What woman ? " asked Sephora, opening wide 
 her ingenuous eyes. 
 
 "The woman who will undertake to put the 
 noose round the king's neck. We must have a 
 spendthrift of the fi.rst class, a minx who will take 
 up the thing seriously, with the digestion of an 
 ostrich, and who won't stick at a large mouthful." 
 
 " Amy Ferat, perhaps ? " 
 
 " No go ! used up ! utterly used up, and besides 
 not greedy enough. She will sing, sup, kick up a 
 row like any young fool. But she is not the 
 woman to swallow up a quiet little million (forty 
 thousand pounds) a month, without having seemed 
 to put a tooth into it ; to hold the jDrize high, 
 dispute every detail, every square inch, and sell it 
 all dearer than a building lot in the Rue de la 
 Paix." 
 
 " Oh ! I feel exactly how the thing should , be 
 done," said Sephora thoughtfully, " but who is to 
 do it ? " 
 . " Ah ! indeed who ? " 
 
 And the laugh that passed between them was 
 equal to a deed of partnership. 
 
 " Come ! since you have begun ! " 
 ., "What ! von know ? " 
 
256 Kings in Exile. 
 
 "Do you suppose I don't see his little game 
 when he gazes at you, and his dawdling by the 
 wicket when he thinks I am out ? Besides, he 
 makes no mystery about it, and tells the story of 
 his love to anyone who will listen. He has even 
 written and put his name to it on the club 
 book." 
 
 On learning the history of the bet, the tranquil 
 Sephora betrayed some emotion. 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! Two thousand napoleons that 
 he would be my lover. Well, that is coming it 
 rather too strong." 
 
 She rose, took a few steps to shake off her anger, 
 and then coming back to her husband's side : 
 
 "You know, Tom, for the last three months I 
 have had that gi-eat simpleton hanging round my 
 chair. Well, look, not so much as that — " 
 
 Here might be heard the smart crack of a dainty 
 finger-nail against a tooth that asked nothing better 
 than to bite. 
 
 She was telling the truth. Notwithstanding the 
 months that had elapsed since the king had first 
 given chase, he was still fain to be content with 
 touching the tips of her fingers, biting the pen- 
 holders she had used, intoxicating himself with the 
 mere brash of her skirts in passing. Never had 
 such a thing happened before to this Prince Charm- 
 ing, spoilt as he was by the women, assailed on aU 
 sides by luring smiles and perfumed billets-doux. 
 His handsome curly head which seemed to bear 
 
TJie Grand Stroke. 257 
 
 the impress of a crown, the heroic legend cleverly 
 spread by the queen, and, above all, the indescrib- 
 able seduction that seems to sm-round those who are 
 loved already, had procured for him unmistakable 
 success among the ladies of the noble faubourg. 
 More than one of these could have shown, curled up 
 on a corner of the sofa of her aristocratic boudoir, a 
 marmoset from the royal cage, and in the theatrical 
 world, almost always of a royalist and conservati'S'o 
 turn of mind, it gave at once a position to an 
 actress to be able to show in her album a portrait of 
 Christian II. 
 
 This man, accustomed to find eyes, lips and hearts 
 fly towards him, never to throw a glance without 
 meeting a quivering response, had wasted his time 
 for months before this cold and tranquil woman. 
 She played the part of the model book-keeper, 
 added up columns, turned over the heavy pages, 
 and offered to her sighing wooer nothing but a 
 view of the velvety roundness of her cheek, and 
 the shadow of a smile at the corners of her lips and 
 eyes. The caprice of the Slave had at first been 
 amused by this struggle, then his self-conceit was 
 aroused, the eyes of the whole G-rand-Club being 
 riveted upon him ; and finally it ended in a real 
 passion, fed by the emptiness of the unoccupied life 
 which permitted the flame to rise straight and 
 high without encountering any obstacle. He came 
 every day at five o'clock, the best moment of the 
 Parisian day, the hour of visits, when the amuse- 
 
258 Kings in Exile. 
 
 ment of the evening is decided upon ; and little by 
 little all the younger members of the club, who 
 lunched at the agency and hovered round Sephora, 
 respectfully made way for him. This desertion, 
 diminishing as it did the figure of the small 
 running accounts, increased the lady's coldness, and 
 as the lion of Illyria brought in nothing, she was 
 beginning to make Christian feel that he was in the 
 way, that he took possession too royally of the half 
 opened angle of her wicket, when suddenly all was 
 changed, and the change took place on the very day 
 after her conversation with Tom. 
 
 "Your majesty was seen last night at the 
 Fantaisiesr 
 
 At this remark, underlined by a sad and 
 anxious glance. Christian II. felt a delightful 
 thrill of emotion . 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I was there." 
 
 " Not alone ? " 
 
 " No, but " 
 
 "Ah ! some women are very fortunate." 
 
 To lessen the provocation of- her remark she 
 hastened to add that for a long time she had had a 
 great wish to go to this little theatre to see that 
 Swedish dancer, you know, " But that her husband 
 never took her anywhere." 
 
 The king proposed to escort her. 
 
 " Oh ! yon are too well known." 
 
 " But if I kept well at the back of a pit-box ? " 
 said the king. 
 
TJie Grand Stroke. 
 
 ^59 
 
 She in front of the 
 
 In short, an appointment was arranged for the 
 next evenino;, since, as luck would have it, Tom 
 would then be out. 
 
 What a delig'htful escapade, 
 box, in a discreet and 
 becoming' gown, expanded 
 into childish joy at the 
 sight of the foreigner who 
 had her little hour of cele- 
 brity in Paris — a Swede, 
 dressed all in blaclc, with ' 
 thin face and angular 
 gestures, while from under li 
 her fair locks gleamed 
 brilliant black eyes, all 
 iris, eating up the whole 
 face, and in her bounds 
 and noiseless springs 
 lurked the wild affright of 
 a startled bat. 
 
 " Oh ! what fan ! how 
 delightful ! " kept repeat- 
 ing Sephora. 
 
 The king sitting motionless behind her, a box 
 of sweets on his knee, could not recall a more 
 delicious sensation than that caused by the bare 
 arm under its laces that brushed against his, while 
 the fresh mouth was turned towards him. He 
 insisted upon escorting her to the Saint-Lazare 
 railway station, for she \vas to return to the 
 
26d Kings in Exile. 
 
 country, and in ^tte carriage, in a moment of 
 transport, he impulsively drew lier within his 
 arms. 
 
 "Oh," said she, sadly, "you will spoil all my 
 pleasure." 
 
 The immense waiting-room on the first floor was 
 deserted and badly lighted. Seated together on a 
 bench Sephora, shivering, sheltered herself in 
 Christian's ample fur cloak. Here she was no 
 longer afraid, and letting herself go, talked un- 
 reservedly to the king in low, tender whispers. 
 From time to time some railway official would pass 
 by, swinging a lantern, or some group of actors 
 living in the suburbs, going home after the 
 play. Amongst them, a couple, closely linked, 
 walked together with an air of pleasurable mystery. 
 
 " How happy they are ! " murmured she. " Xo 
 ties, no duties. Able to follow the promptings of 
 their own hearts. All the rest is a delusion and a 
 snare." 
 
 Alas ! she knew something of this. And sud- 
 denly, as though carried away by an irresistible im- 
 pulse, she described to him her sad life with a candour 
 that touched him : the snares, the temptations of 
 the Paris streets for a girl kept poor by the avarice 
 of her father ; then at sixteen, the sinister bargain, 
 life at an end : the four years passed by the side of 
 that old man to whom she had been nothing but a 
 sick nurse ; afterwards determined not to fall again 
 into the trafBcking clutches of old Leemans, the 
 
Tlie Grand Stroke. 
 
 261 
 
 necessity of finding some guide, some support, had 
 
 induced her to many this Tom Levis, a man who 
 
 thought of nothing but money. She liad given and 
 
 devoted herself entirely to him, was deprived of all 
 
 pleasure, buried alive in the 
 
 country, and then set to 
 
 this clerk's work, and all 
 
 without a word of thanks, 
 
 or recognition from this 
 
 ambitious man, who, wholly 
 
 wrapped up in his att'air.-i, 
 
 at the faintest sign of 
 
 revolt, at the least 
 
 wish to see a little 
 
 more life, crushed her . 
 
 mercilessly by flinging 
 
 in her face her past, 
 
 for which she was not 
 
 responsible. 
 
 " That past," she said, 
 rising, " to which I owe the 
 outrageous insult signed with 
 your name in the book of the Uraud-Olub." 
 
 The bell ringing for the start, put a stop exactly 
 in the right place to this little theatrical effect. She 
 glided away, the light folds of her black draperies 
 following her undulating step, and with a parting 
 salute from eyes and hand, left Christian motionless 
 and stupefied, bewildered by what he had just 
 heard. She knew then ? Ho\v r' Oh ! how he 
 
262 Kings in Exile. 
 
 abused himself for his baseness, for his boastful- 
 ness. He spent the night in writing to ask pardon; 
 his French strewn with all the flowers of his native 
 poetry, in which the beloved was compared to the 
 cooing turtle-dove, or the rosy-tinted fruit of the 
 azarole. 
 
 This reproach aimed at the bet was a splendid 
 idea of Sephora's. It gave her a lasting hold over 
 the king. This too, was a sufficient explanation of 
 her protracted coldness, her almost inimical recep- 
 tion of him, and the crafty bargaining she was 
 about to make of her own person. Must not a man 
 put up with anything and everything from a 
 woman to whom he had offered such an insult ? 
 
 Christian became the timid and obedient cavalier, 
 subservient to all her caprices, the acknowledged 
 lover in the sight of all Paris ; and, if the lady's 
 beauty served as his excuse in the eyes of the 
 world, there was, on the other hand, nothing to be 
 proud of in the friendship and familarity of the 
 husband. " ]\Iy friend, Christian II.," Tom Levis 
 used to say, drawing up his diminutive figure. 
 The fancy once took him to receive the king at 
 ( 'ourbevoie, just to give Spricht one of those fits of 
 jealous rage that must shorten the great tailor-s 
 days. The king was shown through the house 
 and park, went on board the yacht, allowed himself 
 to be photographed on the doorsteps, between his 
 hosts, who wished to immortalize the memory of 
 this never-to-be-forgotten day ; and in the evening, 
 
The Grand Stroke. 263 
 
 while a shower of fireworks was let off, and reflected 
 in the Seine as they fell, Sephora, leaning on Chris- 
 tian's arm, murmured in his ear as they skirted the 
 trim beech groves, all white with the Bengal lights : 
 
 " Ah ! how I could love you, if you were not a 
 king ! " 
 
 It was a first confession, and a very adroit one. 
 Every mistress he had ever had until now, had 
 adored in him the sovereign, the glorious title, the 
 long line of ancestors. This one loved him for 
 himself alone. " If you were not a king." And 
 he was so little a king, he would willingly have 
 sacrificed to her the shred of dynastic purple that 
 barely clung to his shoulders. 
 
 Another time she explained herself yet more 
 clearly. When he expressed uneasiness at finding 
 her pale and tearful. " I am afraid that soon we 
 shall meet no longer," she replied. 
 
 " And why ? " 
 
 " He has just told me that business was too bad 
 in France, and that we must shut up shop here, 
 and start for some other country." 
 
 " What ! Take you away ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I am only an obstacle to his ambition. 
 He said to me : ' Come if you like.' But I must 
 follow him. What would become of me all alone 
 here ? " 
 
 " Oh ! naughty one. Am I not here ? " 
 
 She looked at him fixedly, straight in the eyes. 
 
 " Yes, it is true, you love me, and I too love you. 
 
264 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Would to God I could be yours without shame. 
 But no, it is impossible." 
 
 " Impossible ? " he asked, breathless at the 
 glimpse of paradise. 
 
 "You are too far above Sephora Levis, Mon- 
 seigneur." 
 
 To which he replied, with delightful fatuity : 
 " I will raise you to my level. I will make you 
 a countess, a duchess. Ic is one of the privileges 
 that still remain to me ; and we can easily find 
 somewhere in Paris a luver's nest, where I can 
 establish you in a manner worthy of your rank, 
 where we will live all alone ; no one between us." 
 " Oh ! it would be too much happiness." 
 She seemed lost in a dream, then raising her 
 childish, candid eyes, in which the hushed tears 
 glittered, said, abruptly : 
 
 " Xo, no, you are king. One day, in the midst 
 of happiness, you would leave me." 
 " Never ! " 
 
 " But if they recalled you ? " 
 " Where ? To Illyria ? That is all at an end, 
 broken off for good and all. Last year I missed 
 one of those chances that never come again." 
 
 " Really ? " said she, uith a joy that was not 
 assumed. " Oh, if I were sure of that ! " 
 
 To convince her, a word hovered on his lips, 
 which he did not pronounce, but which she, never- 
 theless, understood ; and in the evening, J. Tom 
 Levis, duly informed by Sephora of all that had 
 
The- Grand Stroke. 265 
 
 passed, solemnly declared that " the moment had 
 come ; the old man must be spoken to at once." 
 
 Allured, like his daughter, by the imagination, the 
 infectious, go-ahead spirit, the inventive jabber of 
 Tom Levis, Leemans had several times put money 
 into the agency speculations. After having gained, 
 he had lost, following in that the hazard of play ; 
 but when he had been " done," as he expressed it, 
 two or three times, tlie good man drew the line. 
 He did not recriminate, did not get into a rage, 
 being too well versed in the chances of business and 
 hating useless words ; only, when his son-in-law 
 began to talk to him about advancing money for 
 one of those marvellous castles in the air that his 
 eloqaence could raise as high as the skies, the 
 dealer smiled gently in his beard, in a significant 
 manner that meant quite clearly, " No go ; no 
 more of that," with a sudden lowering of the eye- 
 lids that seemed to. bring back to reason, to the 
 level of possibility, all Tom's extravagant ideas. 
 
 The other knew this ; and as he had wisely 
 resolved that the lUyrian affair should not go out 
 of the family, he despatched Sephora to interview 
 the dealer, who in his old age developed a sort of 
 affection for his only child, in whom indeed he 
 recognised a second self 
 
 Since the death of his wife, Leemans had given 
 up his curiosity shop in the Rue de la Paix, and 
 contented himself with his den in the Rue Egin- 
 hard. Here Sephora repaired one morning early, 
 
266 Kinzs in Exile. 
 
 ^i>~ 
 
 in order to be sure of finding him, for the old man 
 remained but little at home. Immensely rich and 
 ostensibly retired from business, he continued to 
 grope and ferret about Paris from morning till 
 night, following the sales, seeking the atmosphere, 
 the stir of business, and above all overlooking with 
 marvellous aouteness the host of little dealers, 
 picture and curio sellers, in-whose business he was 
 a sleeping partner, without owning it, lest anyone 
 should suspect his wealth. 
 
 Sephora in a moment of caprice, a reminiscence 
 of her youth, came on foot to ths Eue Eginhard 
 from the Rue Eoyale, following very nearly the 
 same road by which she used formerly to return 
 from the shop. It was not yet eight o'clock. The 
 air was keen, there were few vehicles about, and in 
 the direction of the Bastille there lingered a relic 
 of the dawn, an orange mist, in which the gilt 
 figure of the column seemed to dip its wings. On 
 this side, from all the adjoining streets, issued 
 forth ■ a charming population, all the girls of the 
 faubourg going to their work. If the Prince d'Axel 
 could have got up early enough to see this crowd, 
 he would have been well satisfied this morning. In 
 twos and threes, alert and talking as they walked 
 quickly along, they were going to the crowded 
 workshops of the Rues Saint-Martin, Saint-Denis, 
 Yieille-du-Temple, while a few, more elegant than 
 the others, were bound for the shops on the boule- 
 vards further off, but opening later. 
 
Till' Grand Stroke. 
 
 267 
 
 It was not the animation of the e\'euing, when, 
 the daily task finished, their heads full of the 
 
 exciting Paris atmosphere, they return homewards, 
 with noisy laughter, and may be some wistful regret 
 of the luxury they have witnessed, which made the 
 garret seem higher perched, and the staircase 
 
268 Kings in Exile. 
 
 steeper and more dark. But if some sleep still 
 hung about their youthful eyes, repose had adorned 
 them with' a sort of freshness, completed by the 
 neatly dressed hair, the knot of ribbon tied 
 round the neck, and the careful brushing given 
 before starting to the black frocks. Here and 
 there a sham jewel glittered in a httle ear pink 
 from the cold, a comb gleamed in the plaits, a 
 buckle sparkled at the waist, or a folded newspaper 
 peeped out of the pocket of a waterproof. And 
 what hurry, what courage was there ! Thin 
 cloaks, thinner petticoats, the steps tottering on 
 heels far too high, and trodden away through much 
 usage. In one and all was coquetry innate, not 
 one but had a way of walking along with head 
 erect, eyes ne-s'er at rest, full of curiosity as to what 
 the day might bring ; natures ever ready for what 
 chance might offer, just as their Parisian type — 
 which is no type at all — is open to auy sort of 
 transformation. 
 
 Sophora ^vas not sentimental, and never saw any- 
 thing beyond the thing and the moment present ; 
 yet this confused tramping, this hurried rustling 
 and bustling around her, amused her. Ou all these 
 girlish faces, in this morniug sky, in the quaint, 
 old quarter, where each street at its corner bore on 
 a framed placard the names of the chief shops, and 
 where nothing had changed for fifteen years, she 
 saw her own youth. Passing beneath the black 
 archway that ser\'es as entry to the Eue Eginhai'd, 
 
The Grand Stroke. 
 
 269 
 
 on the side of the Rue Saint-Paul, she caught 
 sight of the long robe of the Eabbi wending his 
 way to the neighbouring synagogue ; two steps 
 further, she met the rat-killer with his pole and 
 board, from which hung the hairy corpses of many 
 rats, a type of old Paris that 
 is only to be found now amid 
 these mouldy dwellings, in 
 whose walls all the rats in 
 Paris hold their resort : fur- 
 ther still, a cabman whom, 
 every morning of her shop- 
 girl's hfe, she had seen going 
 off thus to his work, moving 
 heavily in his big boots, 
 little fitted for walking, and 
 holding carefully in his 
 hand, upright as a communi- 
 cant's taper, the whip, which 
 is to the coachman as the 
 sword is to the soldier, an 
 insignia of his rank, and which never leaves him. 
 At the door of the two or three shops that compose 
 the whole street, and from which the shutters were 
 being taken down, she saw the same old rags hang- 
 ing in masses, heard the same gibberish of mixed 
 Hebrew and German, and when, after passing 
 through the low porch of the paternal house, and 
 the little yard with the four s(eps leading up to the 
 bric-a-bi'ac shop, she pulled the string of the 
 
2/0 Kings in Exile. 
 
 cracked and wheezy bell, it seemed to her that 
 fifteen years were lifted off her shoulders, fifteen 
 years that had not, however, weighed heavily upon 
 her. 
 
 Just as in those days, Darnet came to open the 
 door ; she was a robust Auvergnate, with a ruddy, 
 shiny colour on her dark complexioned face, who, 
 with her spotted shawl tightly tied behind the 
 waist, and black cap edged with white, seemed 
 to be in mourning for some imaginary coalheaver. 
 Her roh in the house was evident, if only from the 
 way she opened the door to Sephora, and from the 
 sour and frosty smile that the two women exchanged 
 as they stood face to face. 
 
 " My father is at home ? " 
 
 " Yes, Madame, in the workshop. I will call 
 him." 
 
 ''Needless. I know where it is." 
 
 She crossed the ante-room and parlour, took three 
 steps across the garden — a black hole Ijetween high 
 walls, in which a few stunted trees vegetated sky- 
 wards, — encumbered in all its narrow paths by 
 countless odds and ends, old ironwork, leadwork, 
 wrought-iron railings, the great chains of which 
 oxidized and blackened metal matched well with 
 the melancholy box-trees and the greenish hue of 
 the old fountain. On one side was a shed over- 
 flowing with rubbish, the carcases of broken 
 furniture of all times and sorts, heaps of tapestry 
 rolled up in every corner ; on the other side, a 
 
The Grand Strukc. 
 
 271 
 
 workshop roofed with ground-glass panes to escape 
 
 prying glances from neighbouring windows. In 
 
 here, in apparent disorder, an assemblage of riches 
 
 was piled to the ceiling, their worth only known 
 
 to the old man himself ; 
 
 lanterns, lustres, old 
 
 torch-stauds, panoplies, 
 
 incense-burners, antique 
 
 or foreign bronzes. At 
 
 the further end were two 
 
 forges and a joiner's and 
 
 locksmith's bench. It 
 
 was here tliat the old 
 
 dealer mended, copied, 
 
 and rejuvenated old 
 
 pieces with marvellous 
 
 skill and the patience of 
 
 a Benedictine. Formerly 
 
 the noise was continuous 
 
 from morning to night, 
 
 and five or six Avorkmen 
 
 surrounded the master ; 
 
 now all that could be heard was the click of a 
 
 hammer upon the metal, the scratching of a hie, 
 
 all lighted up in the evening by a solitary lamp, 
 
 just by way of proof that the old dealer was not 
 
 dead. 
 
 When his daughter entered, old Leemans, a 
 leathern apron in front of him, his shirt sleeves 
 tucked up on red and hairy arms, so that they 
 
272 Kings in Exile. 
 
 looked, as if they had been sprinkled with copper 
 dusfc from the bench, was busy forging, at a vice, a 
 candelabra in the style of Louis XIV., of which the 
 model stood .before him. At the noise of the door 
 he raised his rubicund head, the features buried 
 amid a beard and shock of light red hair, and knit his 
 thick, shaggy eyebrows, whence his glance peered 
 forth as if from under the falling locks of a rough 
 ten'ier. 
 
 " Good morning, pa," said Sephora, pretending 
 not to see the embarrassed gesture of the old man 
 who tried to conceal the candlestick he held ; for 
 he did not care to be disturbed or seen at work. 
 
 " So it is you, little one." 
 
 He rubbed his old face against the delicate 
 cheeks. 
 
 " What has happened ? " he asked, pushing her 
 towards the garden. "Why have you got up so 
 early ? " 
 
 " I have something very important to say to you." 
 
 " Come in then." 
 
 And he hurriedly led tlie way. 
 
 " Oh, but you know I don't want Darnet to be 
 present." 
 
 "All right! All right!" said the old fellow, 
 smiling from under his bushy brows, and as he 
 went in he shouted to the busy servant, who was 
 polishing up a Venetian mirror— for she was for 
 ever rubbing and furbishing, even her own forehead, 
 which was as shiny as a waxed iloor • 
 
The Grand Stroke. 273 
 
 "Darnet, go into the garden and see if I am 
 there." 
 
 The tone in which this was said, proved that the 
 old pasha had by no means abandoned his power to 
 the favourite slave. The father and daughter 
 remained alone in the neat, trim little parlour, 
 where the furniture in its white covers, with little 
 wool mats in front of every chair, contrasted oddly 
 with the dusty wealth piled up in the workshop 
 and shed. Like those first-class cooks who for 
 their own part only relish the plainest food, father 
 Leemans, such an expert in objects of art, did not 
 possess in his own house the least vestige of 
 anything of the kind, and in this stood confessed 
 as the mere trader he was, calculating, exchanging, 
 trafficking without passion or regret, not like those 
 real lovers of curiosities, who before parting with 
 some rarity, are concerned to know in what manner 
 the buyer will set it off and display its beauty. In 
 solitary grandeur on the walls, hung his full length 
 portrait by Wattelet, representing him amid his 
 ironwork, at his forge. It was as like him as ever : 
 a little less grey, perhaps, but unchanged otherwise ; 
 thin, bent, the doglike head with the flat, reddish, 
 coarse beard and hair hanging long and rough over 
 the forehead, leaving nothing of the features 
 visible but a nose reddened by chronic inflammation, 
 which gave to this tea-drinker's face the look 
 of a drunkard's. Besides a mass-book laid on the 
 mantel-piece, this picture was the only characteristic 
 
274 Kings in Exile. 
 
 note' in the room. To this book Leemans owed 
 some remunerative strokes of business ; by it he 
 distinguished himself from his rivals : from that 
 old rascal Schwalbach, mother Esau, and others, 
 with their Ghetto origin, while he was a Christian, 
 married for love to a Jewess, but a Christian for all 
 that — and a Catholic. This stood him in good 
 stead with his best clients, he attended mass in the 
 oratory of such ladies as the Comtesse Malet, or the 
 eldest Sismondo, and showed himself on a Sunday 
 at the fashionable churches of Saint-Thomas 
 d'Aquin, or Sainte-Clotilde, which were frequented 
 by his richest clients, while by means of his wife he 
 kept in touch with all the great Israelitish financiers. 
 As he grew older, this rehgious pretence became 
 a habit, and often in the morning, before starting 
 on his rounds, he would enter Saint- Paul's to get, 
 as he said gravely, a tag end of mass, having 
 noticed that he was always more lucky on those 
 days. 
 
 " AVell, what next ? " he said, looking cunningly 
 at his daughter. 
 
 " A big thing, pa." 
 
 She drew from her bag a bundle of bills 'and 
 drafts bearing Christian's signature. 
 
 "All this has to be discounted. Will you do 
 it?" 
 
 At the mere sight of the writing, the old man 
 made a grimace that puckered up his whole face, 
 and made it almost disappear beneath the shock of 
 
The Grand Stroke. 275 
 
 surrounding hair, with the movement of a hedge- 
 hog on the defensive. 
 
 " Illyrian paper ! Thanks, I know it. Your 
 husband must be mad to send you on such an 
 errand. Do you mean to tell me you have come to 
 that ? " 
 
 Without being put out at this greeting, which 
 she had expected, she answered : 
 
 " Listen," and with her sedate manner she related 
 the affair to him in detail, with proofs in support of 
 it, the number of the Quernaro in which was to 
 be found the account of the sitting of the Diet, 
 letters from Lebeau keeping them informed as to 
 the situation. The king, desperately in love, was 
 preoccupied with the sole care of settling his lady- 
 love in a magnificent mansion, Avenue de Messine, 
 with servants, horses and carriages — he wanted all 
 this, and was ready to sign as many bills as 
 necessary, at any rate of intej'est. Leemans now 
 began to prick up his ears, he raised objections, 
 examined and turned over all the details of the 
 affair so skilfully prepared, 
 
 " When would the biUs fall due ? " 
 
 " In three months ! " 
 
 " Then in three months ? " 
 
 " Yes, in three months ! " 
 
 She made a gesture as of tightening a running 
 noose, compressing her cold lips at the same time. 
 
 "And the interest?" 
 
 " Whatever rate you please. The heavier the 
 
 I 2 
 
276 Rings in Exile. 
 
 better. He must have no other option than to sign 
 his abdication." 
 
 "And once signed ? " 
 
 " The rest is the woman's business. She will 
 have before her the owner of eight millions sterling 
 to nibble at." 
 
 " And if she keeps it all for herself ? We must 
 be quite sure of the woman." 
 
 " We are sure of her." 
 
 " Who is it ? " 
 
 "No one you know," replied Sephora without 
 flinching, putting back all the bundles of papers 
 into her Httle hand-bag. 
 
 " Leave those ])iipers here," said the old man 
 sharply. " It's a lot of money, you know ; a very 
 large outlay. I must talk to Pichery about it." 
 
 " Take care, p'pa. We must not let in too many 
 people. There is already Lebeau, and us, and you. 
 If you let in many others " 
 
 " Only Pichery. You see I am not rich enough to 
 manage it all alone. It is a lot of money — a lot of 
 money.'' 
 
 She replied coldly : 
 
 " Oh ! we shall require a lot moro before we have 
 done." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. The old fellow 
 reflected, concealing his thoughts behind his shaggy 
 hair. 
 
 " Well, then ! " he said at last ; " I will do the 
 business, but on one condition. That house, 
 
The Grand Stroke. 277 
 
 Avenue de Messine, it will have to be stylishly fur- 
 nished ? Well ! I shall be entrusted with the furnish- 
 ing of the works of art ! " 
 
 Under the usurer, the dealer now asserted him- 
 self. Sephora burst into a laugh that displayed all 
 her white teeth. 
 
 " Oh ! you ' old clo' — ' old clo,' " she cried, making 
 use of the common street call suddenly brought 
 back to her mind by her father's bartering, and 
 which jarred with the distinction of her manners 
 and dress. Well, that's agreed pa. You shall fur- 
 nish the knick-knacks ; but mind, nothing from 
 mamma's collection if you please." 
 
 Under this hypocritical title, " Collection of the 
 late Madame Leemans," the second-hand dealer had 
 grouped together a lot of old, damaged, unsaleable 
 things, which; thanks to this sentimental humbug, 
 he sold at enormous prices, never consenting to pai't 
 with a relic of his dear departed one, except for its 
 weight in gold. 
 
 " Tou understood old man, no tricks, no rubbish, 
 the lady knows what she is about." 
 
 "You think she really understands these 
 things ? "■ asked the old dog through his moustaches. 
 
 "As well as you and I, I assure you." 
 
 "Well, but " 
 
 He put his rugged old face close to the fresh, 
 pretty one ; on both the greed of money was 
 written ; on the old dried parchment as well as on 
 the delicate rose leaf. 
 
278 
 
 King's in Exile. 
 
 "Wull, lint who is tliis woman? Yon can tell 
 me now I am in tlie swim." 
 
 "It is " 
 
 She stopped for a moment, fastened the broad 
 ribbon of her bonnet-strings under lier dainty oval 
 face, cast on the mirror the satisfied olance of a 
 pretty wnman, minded with a new and sudden 
 pride. 
 
 " It is the Comtesse de Si^alato," she said gravely. 
 
IX. 
 
 A SITTING AT THE ACADEMIE. 
 
 The classical palace that sleeps under the leaden 
 roof of its cupola, at the end of the Pont des Arts, 
 in the heart of scholarly Paris, had this morning 
 an air of unusual life, and seemed in its animation 
 to step forward on to the quay. Notwitlistanding 
 the rain, a pelting summer rain falling in heavy 
 showers, a crowd was gathered together on the 
 steps of the principal entrance, forming a trail 
 along the iron railing and the Eue de Seine, a 
 discreet, well-dressed crowd that waited patiently, 
 knowing it would in time get in by means of the 
 little cards of various colours which each. one held 
 in his hand. The carriages followed in the same 
 regular file on the deserted Quai de la Monnaie, all 
 that Paris contained in the way of stylish 
 equipages, with magnificent and showy hveries, 
 
28o Kings in Exile. 
 
 powdered wigs and gold facings — democratically 
 sheltered under umbrellas or waterproofs — ex- 
 hibiting on their panels the arms of the greatest 
 houses of France and Europe, even Royal mottoes ; 
 a moving and gigantic Peerage stretching out by 
 the side of the Seine. When a ray of sun shone 
 through the rain, a ray of the Parisian sun, which 
 is like a gracious smile upon a serious face, the whole 
 scene was lit up with a wet sheen ; the harness, the 
 caps of the police, the globe of the cupola, the cast- 
 iron lions at the entrance usually dulled with dust, 
 now beautifully polished black by the rain. 
 
 At long intervals, on solemn reception days, the 
 old Institut suddenly springs into life for the space 
 of a whole afternoon. But this morning there was 
 no reception. 
 
 It was too late in the season, and the new mem- 
 bers vain — like any actors — would never consent 
 to a debUt after the Grand Prix had been run, the 
 Salon closed, and trunks packed ready for de- 
 parture. It was merely a distribution of academic 
 prizes, a ceremony that had never much brilHancy, 
 and which generally attracted only the families of 
 the laureates. The reason of the exceptional and 
 aristocratic affluence at the gates of the Institut, 
 was that among the prize essays was the Memorial of 
 the Siege of Ragusa, by the Prince de Rosen, and the 
 royalist coterie had seized this occasion to make a 
 sort of protestation against the established govern- 
 
A Sitting at the Academie. 281 
 
 ment, under the protection of its own republican 
 police. By an extraordinary stroke of good fortune, 
 or perhaps by means of one of those intrigues that 
 mysteriously sap the oiEcial and academic founda- 
 tions, the perpetual secretary being ill, the report 
 on the prize essays was to be read by the noble Due 
 de Fitz-Eoy, and it was well known that this 
 extreme legitimist would startlingly emphazise the 
 most glowing passages of Herbert's volume, that 
 grand historic pamphlet, which had brought to- 
 gether all the scattered devotion and fervour of the 
 royalist party. In a word, it was to be one of the 
 malicious protestations that the Academie dared 
 even under the Empire, and which the easy good- 
 nature of the Eepublic tolerated. 
 
 Mid-day. The twelve strokes struck by the old 
 clock caused a murmur and a stir in the crowd. 
 The doors opened. Slowly, methodically the crowd 
 advanced towards the entrances of the Place and 
 Rue Mazarine, while the emblazoned carriages turn- 
 ing in the Court deposited their masters — bearers 
 of more favoured cards — under the portico, where 
 amidst the ushers with their silver chains, the 
 affable secretary in his silver-braided coat assid- 
 uously received them, smiling and eager like the 
 worthy steward in the Palace of the Sleeping-Beauty, 
 the day she awoke on her bed of state, after her sleep 
 of one hundred years. The carriage doors slammed, 
 the footmen in their long coats jumped from their 
 
282 Kings in Exile. 
 
 seats ; bows and curtseys are exchanged amid the 
 smiles and whispering of habitual frequenters of 
 the place, and are lost in the noise of the rustling 
 silks as they disappear up the carpeted staircase 
 that leads to the private boxes or in the narrow 
 passage sloping downwards, as if bent with the 
 weight of ages, that leads to the interior of the palace. 
 The amphitheatre is soon filled oa the side set 
 apart for the public. The benches rising in tiers 
 one by one become black with people, till the last 
 rows, standing up, appear in dark outlines against 
 the glass dome above them. Not a single place is 
 empty. It is a surging mass of heads lighted by a 
 dim light like that of a church or a museum, 
 chilled still more by the smooth yellow stucco of the 
 walls, and the marble of the meditating statues ; 
 Descartes, Bossuet, Massillon, all the glory of the 
 " great century " congealed in motionless figures. 
 In front of the overflowing semi-circle, a few 
 unoccupied benches, a small green table with the 
 traditional glass of water, await the Academicians 
 and their officials, who will soon enter by the tall 
 doors surmounted by the gilt sepulchral-looking 
 inscription, " Letters, Sciences, Arts." All this 
 has a cold, shabby, old fashioned look, which 
 contrasts with the fresh spring costumes that deck 
 the hall. Soft light materials, dove-like greys, 
 tender pinks, cut in the newest tight style, and 
 spangled with jet and steel, bonnets that seem but 
 
A Sitting at the Acad^mie. 283 
 
 sprigs of mimosa mingled witli lace, humming 
 birds nestling in velvet knots and gold- coloured 
 straw, and over all the regular, continual flutter of 
 enormous fans, wafting delicate perfumes that made 
 the " eagle of Meaux " (Bossuet) blink his eyes. 
 Because they are the representatives of ancient 
 France, there was no reason they should smell 
 musty or be dressed like frights. 
 
 All that Paris contains of stylish, well-born, well- 
 bred people is gathered together here ; they are 
 smiling to each other with little masonic signs ; 
 the flower of the clubs, the cream of the noble 
 Faubourg, a somewhat exclusive society that does 
 not usually mix with the common herd, is not seen 
 on a first night at the play, only appears on certain 
 days at the Opera or the Conservatoire ; a discreet 
 society, that tightly closes its many hanging cur- 
 tains to keep out the light of day, and the noise of 
 the street from its drawing-rooms ; and is only 
 spoken of from time to time, when a death or a 
 scandalous separation takes place, or when one of 
 its members — hero of the Persil * and la Gomme — 
 makes himself notorious by some eccentric adven- 
 ture. In the midst of this choice set, may be seen 
 a few noble lUyrian families, who have followed 
 their prince into exile, fine specimens of men and 
 
 * "Persil," slang term for tlie fashionable drive in the 
 Bois-de-Bonlo"ne. 
 
284 • Kings in Exile. 
 
 women, perhaps a trifle too loud and exotic for this 
 extremely refined society ; then grouped at certain 
 conspicuous places are the frequenters of the 
 Academic Salons, who long beforehand prepare 
 the elections, count the votes, and whose acquaint- 
 ance is by far more impurtant to a candidate 
 than his weight in genius. Illustrious but beg- 
 gared Imperialists striving to creep in among these 
 old partisans, upon whom they had formerly ex- 
 hausted all the irony of parvenus ; then, select as is 
 the company, a few women known for their princely 
 liaisons have managed to slip in, dressed plainly 
 and quietly it is true, and two or three fashionable 
 actresses, faces known to all Paris, trivial and im- 
 portunate visions, the more so, that other women, 
 indeed, women of every class, tax their ingenuity 
 to imitate them. And the journahsts, reporters of 
 foreign newspapers, armed with note-book and 
 pencil, equipped as though for a journey to the 
 centre of Africa. 
 
 Below, in the smaller reserved circle at the foot 
 of the benches, the little Princesse Colette de Ecsen 
 the laureate's wife, attracts all eyes dressed in a 
 lovely costume of blue-green Indian cashmere and 
 watered silk, looking triumphant, and beaming 
 under the fluffiness of her fair flaxen hair. Near 
 her is a stout man with a vulgar face, old Uncle 
 Sauvadon, very proud to accompany his niece, but 
 who in his ignorant zeal and desire to do honour to 
 
A Sitting at the Acadhnie. 285 
 
 the solemnity of the ceremony, has come in a tail- 
 coat. This makes him very unhappy ; embarrassed 
 by his white tie as by a cangue, he anxiously 
 watches the people coming in, hoping to find a 
 fellow to his coat. There is none ! 
 
 From the glitter of colour and the excited faces 
 a buzzing sound of voices arises, rhythmical but 
 distinct, that sends a magnetic current from one end 
 of the hall to the other. The slightest laugh spreads, 
 and is contagious ; the smallest sign, the mute 
 gesture of two hands spread out ready to applaud 
 is perceived from the top to the bottom of the 
 benches. It is an artificial excitement, the friendly 
 curiosity seen at a first representation when success 
 is certain ; and from time to time as some celebrity 
 comes in, an admiring or curious murmur from the 
 assembly goes towards them, dying away only in 
 their immediate vicinity. 
 
 Yonder, above Sully's statue, two women, accom- 
 panied by a child, have just entered, and have 
 placed themselves in the front of the box. They are 
 the queens of lUyria and of Palermo. The two 
 cousins, proud and erect, dressed in the same mauve 
 silk edged with antique embroidery, the same long, 
 undulating feathers fastened round their diadem- 
 shaped bonnets, the one over fair hair, the other 
 over dark tresses, forming a charming contrast of 
 two difi'erent noble types. Frederique is paler, the 
 sweetness of her smile is saddened by lines that age 
 
286 Kings in Exile. 
 
 her ; and the face of her dark cousin also bears 
 traces of the anxieties and worries caused by exile. 
 Between them, the little Comte de Zara shakes the 
 fair curls of his little head, each day held more 
 vigorously erect, and in which both look and mouth 
 have assumed more firmness. True royal seed 
 beginning to bear flower. 
 
 The old Due de Rosen occupies the back of the 
 box with another personage — not Christian II., 
 who has remained away to avoid too certain an 
 ovation, — but a tall fellow with bushy mane, an 
 unknown man, whose name, which ought to be in 
 every mouth, will, however, not once be pro- 
 nounced. It is in his honour that this fete, is 
 given ; it is he who has called forth this glorious 
 requiem of monarchy, at which the last gentlemen 
 of France and the royal families that have taken 
 refuge in Paris are present ; for all the exiled, de- 
 throned princes have come to do honour to their 
 " cousin" Christian, and it has been no little matter 
 to place these crowns according to etiquette. No- 
 where are questions of precedence more difficult to 
 settle than in exile, where vanity is on the watch, 
 and susceptibilities rankle like old wounds. 
 
 In the Descartes tribune —all the tribunes bear 
 the name of the statue placed under them — the 
 King of AYestphalia maintains a proud attitude, 
 which the fixed stare of his eyes makes still more 
 striking — eyes that look, but do not see. From 
 
A Sitliiig at the Acadt'mie. 287 
 
 time to time he smiles in one direction, bows in 
 another. His constant preoccupation is to conoea 
 his incurable blindness ; and his daughter helps 
 him in the task with unremitting devotion. She 
 is a tall and slender girl ; her head seems to bend 
 under the weight of the golden locks, the colour of 
 which she has always hidden from her father. The 
 blind king likes only dark hair : " If you had been 
 fair," he says sometimes, stroking the princess's 
 hair, " I think that I should have loved you less." 
 Admirable pair, treading with dignity the road of 
 exile, as calmly and haughtily as though they were 
 taking a walk through some royal park. In Queen 
 Frederique's moments of discouragement she thinks 
 of this infirm man guided by this innocent girl, 
 and feels strengthened by the charm of purity 
 that emanates from them. 
 
 Further on the eye catches- sight of a scarlet 
 satin turban ; it is the heavy Queen of Galicia, 
 who, with her massive cheeks and high-coloured 
 complexion, resembles a thick-skinned blood orange. 
 She is in high spirits, puffs, fans herself^ laughs 
 and talks to a woman, still young, who wears a 
 white mantilla, a woman of a kindly but melancholy 
 pliysiognomy, with cheeks that are furrowed by the 
 traces of constant weeping. This is the Duchess of 
 Palma, an excellent creature, little fitted to bear 
 the shocks and terrors constantly occasioned her 
 by the adventuresome monarch of the highway. 
 
Kings in Exile. 
 
 with whose h'fe she is linked. He, too, is there, 
 restless dare-devil, and pokes familiarly between 
 the two women his glossy black beard and conceited 
 face, bronzed ia his last expedition, as costly and as 
 disastrous as the preceding ones. He has played 
 the part of a king : had a court, /etes, women, Te 
 Deums, and triumphal entries strewn with flowers. 
 He had pranced, decreed, danced, spilled ink and 
 blood, burnt powder and sown hatred. And once 
 the battle lost, the suave-qui-peut ordered, he has 
 returned to France, seeking fresh recruits for his 
 cause, more millions to squander, retaining even 
 now the travelling buccaneer costume, the tight- 
 fitting braided frock-coat that gives him the air of 
 a Zingari. A whole set of noisy youths are talking 
 loud in that box over there, with the impudent 
 carelessness of a barbarian court, and their national 
 tongue, harsh and guttural, flies from one to the 
 other like hard iron balls, accompanied by a 
 familiarity of words and manners, the secret of 
 which is whispered through the hall. 
 
 It was a strange thing that, on a day when good 
 seats were so rare, that princes of royal blood were 
 glad to find places in the amphitheatre, one little 
 box, the Bossuet tribune, should remain empty. 
 Everybody wonders who is expected there, what 
 great dignitary, what sovereign passing through 
 Paris, is so long in making his appearance, and 
 letting the sitting begin without him ? Aheady 
 
A Sitting at the Acad^mie. 289 
 
 the old clock has struck one. A sharp word of 
 command is heard outside : " Present arms ! " and 
 amid the automatic clinking of the rifles, through 
 the tall wide-opened doors: Letters, Sciences and 
 Arts make their appearance ! 
 
 A remarkable peculiarity that distinguishes these 
 illustrious beings, all alert and viyacious, — preserved, 
 it would seem, by some principle, some traditional 
 force of will — is that the oldest among them affect 
 a juvenile gait, a frisky animation, while the 
 younger do their best to appear stflemn and serious 
 in proportion as their hair is less grizzly. The 
 general aspect is devoid of grandeur, the close-cut 
 hair ordained by modern fashion, the black cloth 
 and frock-coat of to-day destroying all prestige. 
 Boileau's or Eacan's wig must have had more 
 authority, risen with more dignity under that high 
 cupola. The picturesque part of the business is 
 represented by two or three green palm-embroidered 
 coats, who settle themselves behind the table and 
 the glass of sugar and water ; and it is one of 
 these who pronounces the time-honoured phrase : 
 " Gentlemen, the sitting is opened." But in vain 
 does he declare the sitting opened, no one believes 
 him, nor does he believe it himself. He well 
 knows that the real business of the sitting is not this 
 report on the Montyon prizes, that one of the most 
 discursive members of the assembly is about to give 
 forth in mellifluous and well-modulated tones. 
 
290 Kings in Exile. 
 
 It is indeed a model Academic discourse, writteu 
 in true Academic style, with many " but still's," 
 and " it might almost seem's," which at each 
 moment force the mind to retrace its steps, like a 
 devotee in the confessional, recalling her faults ; a 
 style ornamented with arabesques and flourishes, 
 like those of a writing-master running through the 
 phrases in order to conceal their emptiness — a style, 
 in short, which must be learned, and which every- 
 one here present buckles on at the same time as the 
 greeu-palmed coa'c. Under any other circumstances, 
 the habitual public of the place would have gone 
 into raptures over this homily ; and would have 
 pawed the ground, neighed with delight at all the 
 little tortuous phrases of which it would have 
 (li^'ined the final point. To-day, however, everyone 
 is in a hurry ; they had not come for this little 
 literary treat. With what an air of contemptuous 
 weariness this aristocratic assembly assists at the 
 procession of humble self-devotion, of trusty fidelity, 
 of hidden, jog-trot, bowed down existences, who 
 ^vander through this obsolete, hesitating phraseology, 
 as they have in reality passed their lives in narrow 
 provincial corridors, dark, cold, and fireless, wherein 
 they have concealed their self-sacrifice. Plebeian 
 names, threadbare cassocks, old blue smocks, faded 
 by sun and rain ; corners of distant villages show- 
 ing for a brief moment their pointed steeple, low 
 w.dls built up of cow-dung,— all these feel ashamed, 
 
A Sitting at the Acad^inie. 291 
 
 abashed, at having been conjured up from afar, into 
 the midst of such a refined company, under the 
 cold hght of the Instifcut, as searching as that of a 
 photographer's studio. The noble society is aston- 
 ished there should be so many good folk among 
 the lower classes. What more ! still more ? will 
 they never cease suffering, sacrifiuing themselves, 
 beiag heroic ? The clubmen declare this is an 
 infernal bore. Colette de Rosen sniffs at her 
 scent-bottle ; all these old people, these poor they 
 are bearing about, smell of toil. Ennui is visible 
 on every brow, oozes out from the very walls. The 
 reader begins to understand that he is wearying 
 everyone, and hurries on the humble nomenclature. 
 An ! poor Marie Chalaye of Amberieux-les- 
 Gombes, you ^vhom the people of the country call the 
 Saint, who during iifty years ha^•u nursed your old 
 paralytic aunt, and have brought up from infancy 
 and provided for eighteen little cousins ; and you, 
 worthy Abbe Bourillou, curate of . Saint-Maximin- 
 le-Haut, who used to go in the most bitter weather 
 carrying consolation and help to the cheese-makers 
 on the mountain-tops, you did not suppose that after 
 having crowned your efforts by a public recognition, 
 the Institut would feel shame and contempt for 
 you, and that your names, hurried and muttered, 
 would disappear unheard in the general inattention 
 and hum of impatient or ironical conversations ! 
 The end of the lecture was a positive rout. And 
 
292 Kings 171 Exile. 
 
 as in order to speed his flight, the fugitive soldier 
 throws aside his arms and knapsack, so the reader 
 remorselessly tosses aside into the ditch, records of 
 heroism and of angelic self-abnegation, knowing, 
 moreover, that the papers of the morrow will re- 
 produce his speech in full, and that not one of 
 these delicately wrapped phrases will be lost to the 
 public. At last he has reached the end. A few 
 bravos, and " ah's " of relief greet him. The 
 unfortunate man sits down, sponges his forehead, 
 and receives the congratulations of two or three of 
 his colleagues, — last vestals of the Academic style. 
 Then there is a pause of five minutes, a general 
 buzz in the hall, and, after stretching themselves, 
 the listeners once more settle down. 
 
 All at once a great silence prevails. Another 
 green coat hfis risen. 
 
 It is the noble Fitz-Eoy, and everyone can 
 admire him as he places his papers in order upon 
 the little table. Thin, bent, wizen, with narrow 
 shoulders and awkward gestures, caused by his long 
 elbowy arms — he is only fifty and appears to be 
 seventy. On this wom-out, badly-shaped body is 
 a little head with distorted, pasty-looking features, 
 between two thin whiskers and a few tufts of flufiy 
 hair. He recalls Montefeltro in Lucreiia Borgia, 
 who, it will be remembered, drinks Pope Alexander's 
 poison, and is seen passing at the back of the 
 stage, shivering, broken-down, ashamed to live ! 
 
A Sitting at the Acaddmie. 293 
 
 The noble Fitz-Eoy might well represent that 
 personage. 
 
 Not that he had ever drunk anything, poor man ! 
 neither the Borgia's poison nor anything else ; but 
 he is the heir of a terribly old family, that has 
 never been crossed by a mesalliance, the ofif-shoot of 
 a plant that has exhausted its sap, and which it is 
 too late to revive. 
 
 The green of his coat makes him look still more 
 livid, accentuates the outhne of sick chimpanzee. 
 Uncle Sauvadon tliinlcs he looks divine. Such a 
 fine name ! The women say " How distinguished, a 
 Fitz-Roy ! " 
 
 It is the privilege of this name, of this long 
 genealogy — among whom certainly there has been 
 no lack of fools and contemptible toadies — that has 
 obtained his admission to the Academy far more 
 than his historical studies, a poor compilation, the 
 first volume of which alone showed some talent. It 
 is true that another man had written it for him ; 
 and if the noble Fitz-Roy could see up there in the 
 tribune of Queen Frederique, that powerful, solid 
 head from whence liis best work had sprung, he 
 would not perhaps pick up the notes of his speech 
 with such an air of supreme and disdainful 
 peevishness, and would not begin its perusal with 
 that haughty circular glance that takes in all, but 
 sees nothing. First of all, he skilfully and lightly 
 disposes of the lesser works that the Academy is 
 
294 Kings in Exile. 
 
 crowning ; and in order to show how much this task 
 is beneath him, he takes pleasure in crippling the 
 names of the authors and the titles of the books. 
 Most witty ! At last he reaches the Eoblot prize, 
 reserved for the finest historical work published in 
 the five preceding years. " That prize, gentlemen, 
 you are aware, has been awarded to Prince Herbert 
 de Eosenfor his magnificent ' Memorial of the Siege 
 of Hagusa.' " A formidable burst of applause 
 greets these simple words thrown out in a resonant 
 voice, with the gesture of a good sower. The noble 
 Fitz-Eoy allows this first enthusiasm to subside, 
 then making use of an effective contrast, ingenuous 
 but certain, he calmly, softly resumes : " Gentle- 
 men." He pauses, casts a glance upon the expectan t 
 audience, now wholly his whom he holds at his 
 mercy. He looks as if he would say, " Well ! 
 suppose I did not choose to say anything more 
 now. Who would be caught ? " But it is he who 
 is caught, for, when he prepares to continue, no one 
 listens to him. 
 
 A door up yonder has just slammed to in the box 
 hitherto unoccupied. A woman has entered and has 
 seated herself without seeking to attract attention, 
 but to whom nevertheless the eyes of all present 
 are drawn. Her sober costume, evidently made by 
 the fashionable tailor of the day, embroidered with 
 dark peacock feathers, her bonnet edged with gold 
 lace, set off admirably her supple figure and the 
 
A Sitttns: at t/ic Acadtinie. 
 
 delicate oval of this Esther's pale and lovely face — 
 snre of her Ahasuerus. Her name is whispered 
 from ear to ear ; all Paris knows her, for her luxury 
 and her love have for the last three niontiis Itecn 
 the topic (_if all conversations. 
 Her mansion, Avenue de Mcssine, 
 recalled by the magnificence of 
 its style the most brilliant days 
 of the Empire. The newspapers 
 have given the details of this 
 society scandal, the height 
 of the stables, the price of 
 the paintings in the dining- 
 room, the number of her 
 carriages, the eclipse of tlie , 
 husband, who, more 
 honest than another 
 well-known Meuelaus, 
 not having chosen to 
 live by his dishonour, 
 had gone off to sulk 
 abroad, like a betrayed 
 husband of the " great 
 
 century." It is only tjie name of the pur- 
 chaser that the chronicles have left unmentioned. 
 At the theatre, the lady is always seated alone in 
 front of a stage-box, while a pair of delicate 
 moustaches remain concealed in the back-ground. 
 At the races, at the Bois, ever alone in her carriage. 
 
295 Kings in Exile. 
 
 the empty place by her side filled by a huge 
 bouquet, and oa the panels round an unknown coat 
 of arms, the trivial motto freshly painted, " Mon 
 droit, mon roy,''' which her lover has bestowed on her 
 together with the title of Comtesse. 
 
 Now, there can be no doubt as to her rank as 
 favourite. To have placed her there on such a 
 day, amongst the places of honour reserved to 
 sovereigns, to have given her as escort Wattelet, 
 the liegeman of Christian and the Prince d'Axel, 
 ever ready when some discreditable folly is to be 
 committed, is to recognise her before all the world, 
 and to stamp her publicly with the royal seal of 
 lUyria. And yet her presence excites no feeling of 
 indignation. It is the privilege of kings to enjoy 
 immunity ; their pleasures are as sacred as their 
 persons in the aristocratic society where the 
 traditions of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. have been 
 preserved ; when the mistresses of kings drove 
 in the queen's carriages, and even took her place 
 in the great hunts. A few fastidious humbugs 
 like Colette de Eosen affect prudish airs, whispering 
 their surprise that the Insiitut should admit 
 creatures of that kind ; but it is probable that each 
 of these ladies is in possession of a pretty little 
 marmoset, dying of consumption in her boudoir. 
 On the whole, the impression produced is excellent. 
 The clubmen say, " Quite the thing ; " the 
 journalists, " What cheek ! " 
 
A Sitting at the Academic. 297 
 
 Approval smiles on all sides, and the immortal 
 themselves complacently eye the beautiful creature 
 who sits without aifectation in front of her box, 
 only showing in her velvety eyes the fixed and 
 determined unconcern of women who know them- 
 selves to be the centre of attention. 
 
 Curious glances are also cast in the direction of 
 the Queen of Illyria, to watch how she accepts the 
 situation. Oh ! very well indeed ! Not a feature, 
 not a feather of her bonnet has moved. As she 
 never mixes in society, Frederique cannot know this 
 woman ; she has never seen her, and at first only 
 looks at her in a careless manner. 
 
 " Who is it ? " she asks the Queen of Palermo, 
 who answers very quickly, " I do not know." But 
 in a neighbouring tribune a name pronounced out 
 loud and repeated several times strikes her to the 
 heart, " Spalato, Comtesse de Spalato." 
 
 For several months past this name of Spalato 
 had haunted her. She knows it to be that of 
 Christian's new mistress, who has only remembered 
 that he is king to deck this creature of his pleasure 
 with one of the greatest titles of his absent country. 
 This has made her feel his present infidelity more 
 keenly than a thousand others. But this last drop is 
 the bitterest of all. There, opposite his wife and the 
 royal child, sitsthis creature throning it like a queen : 
 what an outrage ! And hardly aware of the cause, 
 Frederique is stung still more cruelly by the refined 
 
298 Kings til Exile. 
 
 and delicate beauty of her rival. The challenge is 
 too evident in the glance of those beautiful eyes, 
 that smooth insolent brow, the red lips of that 
 mouth which defies her. A thousand torturins^ 
 thoughts rush through her brain : their distress, 
 their daily mortifications ; only yesterday the coach- 
 builder clamouring under her windows, whom 
 Eosen had paid, for fear of a scandal. Where 
 does Christian get the money he gives to this 
 woman ? Since the discovery of the false stones 
 she knows what he is capable of ; and something 
 warns her that this Spalato is to be the dishonour 
 of the king and his race. For one moment, one 
 instant, her ardent nature tempted her to get up 
 and leave the building, holding her child by the 
 hand, to escape violently from this infamous neigh- 
 bourhood, from this degrading rivalry. But she 
 remembers that she is queen, wife and daughter of 
 kings, that Zara is to be king one day ; and she 
 will not give her enemies the joy of such a scandal. 
 A dignity higher than that of the wife — a dignity 
 which she has made the noble, though desperate, 
 rule of her life — keeps her to her rank, here in 
 public, as it does in the privacy of her devastated 
 home. Oh, cruel destiny of these much-envied 
 queens ! The effort she makes is so violent that 
 the tears are about to start from her eyes, as the 
 calm water of a lake splashes up under the stroke 
 of the oar. Quickly, to avoid notice, she seizes her 
 
A Sitting at the Acad^mie. 299 
 
 opera-glass, and steadfastly, obstinately gazes at 
 the gilded and uninteresting inscription : Lettees, 
 Sciences, Arts, which through the glasses dimmed 
 by her tears lengthen out and glitter in rainbow 
 tints, over the head of the orator. The noble Fitz- 
 Eoy continues reading. It is in a style as colour- 
 less as the grey hue of a prison dress, this pompous 
 eulogy of the " Memorial," this eloquent and power- 
 ful history, written by the young prince Herbert 
 ■ de Eosen, " who handles the pen as skilfully as the 
 sword," above all the eulogy of the hero who has 
 inspired it, " the chivalrous Christian II. who, in 
 his own person sums up the grace, the nobility, the 
 strength, the seductive cheerfulness which is ever 
 found around a throne." (Applause and little 
 cries of ecstasy.) Decidedly a kindly,- sensitive, 
 excitable audience, ready to seize the slightest 
 allusions. At times, in the midst of these rounded 
 phrases, a note rings true and striking, a quotation 
 from the Memorial, for which the queen has fur- 
 nished all the documents, everywhere substituting 
 the king's name for her own, sacrificing herself for 
 the benefit of Christian II. Oh, God of Justice, 
 and this is how he rewards her ! The crowd hail, 
 as they are uttered, the careless and haughty words 
 of courage, the heroic acts simply performed, Fet 
 out by the writer in a picturesque prose that reads 
 like an epic tale of the olden times ; and perceiving 
 the enthusiastic welcome given to these quotations, 
 
300 Kings in Exile. 
 
 the noble Fitz-Roy, who is no fool, gives up his 
 own literature and is content to peruse some of the 
 finest pages of the book. 
 
 In the narrow classical building these words are 
 like the vivifying, rapid stroke of a wing ; it seems 
 as if the walls widened out, and that through the 
 uplifted cupola a breath of fresh air had come in. 
 They all breathe more freely ; the fans no longer 
 betray by their rhythmic flutter the inattention of 
 the public. No, indeed, the whole hall is standing, 
 all heads upraised towards Frederique's box ; they 
 cheer, they hail the conquered but glorious 
 monarchy, in the wife and son of Christian II., the 
 last of kings, the last of knights ! Little Zara, 
 intoxicated like all children by the noise and 
 cheers, artlessly applauds, his little gloved hands 
 tossing back his fair hair ; while the queen throws 
 herself slightly back, carried away by the conta^- 
 gious enthusiasm, enjoying the happiness, the 
 moment's illusion it gives her. Thus she has suc- 
 ceeded in surrounding by a halo, this puppet of a 
 king behind whom she lies concealed ; she has 
 been able to endow with a new lustre this crown of 
 Illyria that her son will some day wear — a lustre 
 which no one will ever be able to barter. Then 
 what matter exile, misery or treachery ? There 
 are dazzling moments in life before which all the 
 surrounding gloom vanishes. Suddenly she turns 
 round to render the homage of her joy to him who, 
 
A Sitting at the Academic. 301 
 
 here, quite near her, his head leaning against the 
 wall, his eyes vaguely upturned towards the cupola, 
 listens to these magic sentences, forgetful that he 
 has written them, assisting at this triumph without 
 regret, without bitterness, without for one minute 
 thinking ttat all this fame has been filched from 
 him. Like those monks of the Middle Ages who 
 grew old in erecting anonymous cathedrals, the son 
 of the weaver is content with doing his work, with 
 seeing it stand out boldly and firmly in the full 
 blaze of noon. And, moved by the self-abne- 
 gation and the disinterestedness of his mystic 
 smile, and because also she divines in him some- 
 thing that responds to her own feelings, the queen 
 holds out to him her hand with a soft " Thank 
 you." Eosen, standing near, thinks she is con- 
 gratulating him on his son's success. He seizes 
 the grateful gesture, and rubs against the royal 
 glove his rough bristling moustache, and the two 
 victims happy at the fete are reduced to exchanging 
 from afar in a look those unuttered thoughts which 
 bind souls together by mysterious and everlasting 
 bonds. 
 
 It is finished. The sitting has come to a close. 
 The noble Fitz-Roy, applauded, complimented, had 
 disappeared as through a trap-door ; and " Lettkes, 
 Sciences, Arts " have followed him, leaving their 
 places empty. Through every outlet the crowd 
 that presses out begins to spread those rumours 
 
302 Kings in Exile. 
 
 common to the end of a meeting or a play, and 
 which the following day become the opinion of all 
 Paris. Among the good people who are going out, 
 many, pursuing their retrospective dream, expect' 
 to find their sedan chairs awaiting them at the 
 gates of the Tnslitid, but they find only the rain, 
 pouring down amid the continual rattle of omni- 
 buses and the sound of the tramway horns. Alone 
 a few privileged ones preserve their monarchical 
 illusions as their high-stepping horees bear them 
 rapidly away. 
 
 Under the great colonnade, while an attendant 
 calls up the royal carriages in the wet and glisten- 
 ing court, it is amusing to hear the lively exclama- 
 tions of this aristocratic society as they wait the 
 appearance of the Majesties. " What a success ' 
 What a sitting ! If ever the Eepublic recovers 
 from this." The Priucesse de Rosen especially is 
 much surrounded. '"You must be very happy ! " 
 " Oh, yes, very happy." And prettily she prances, 
 and bows right and left, like a little filly in a circus. 
 Her uncle strives to do his best by her side, but 
 still feels very awkward in his white cravat, and 
 butler's shirt-front, which he endeavours to hide 
 behind his hat ; he is, nevertheless, very proud of 
 the success of his nephew. Certainly he, better 
 that anyone else, knows what a fraud this success 
 is ; he knows that Prince Herbert lias not written 
 one word of the prize essay, but at this moment he 
 
A Sitting at the Academic. 303 
 
 does not think of that ; neither does Colette indeed. 
 She is a true Sauvadon, so far as vanity is con- 
 cerned ; appearances are sufficient for her, and 
 when in the group of gommeux who are congratu- 
 lating her, she perceives the waxed tips of her 
 Herbert's great moustaches, she can hardly help 
 throwing her arms round his neck, there, before 
 everyone, so convinced' is she that he had assisted 
 at the siege of Eagusa, that he has written the 
 Memm'ial, and that his handsome moustaches do 
 not hide the jaw of a simpleton. And if the good 
 fellow is delighted and confused at the ovation and 
 admiring glances cast at him, — the noble Fitz-Roy 
 has just solemnly assured him : " When you choose, 
 prince, you will be one of us '' — nothing is more 
 precious to him than the unhoped for greeting of 
 his Colette, the loving way in which she leans on 
 his arm, a thing that has not happened since their- 
 wedding-day, when they sailed down the nave of 
 Saint-Thomas d'Aquin, amid the burst of sound 
 from the great organ. 
 
 But the crowd parts, respectfully uncovering. 
 The guests of the private boxes are coming down, 
 all those fallen Majesties who are about to return 
 into darkness after their brief resurrection of a few 
 hours. A real procession of royal shades, the old 
 blind man leaning on his daughter, the Galician 
 with her handsome nephew, a rustle of stiff mate- 
 rials as on the passage of some Peruvian Madonna. 
 
304 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Lastly Queen Frederique, her cousin, and her son. 
 A carriage draws up, and she steps into it, amid 
 an admiring and repressed murmur, handsome, 
 radiant, and proud. The left-handed wife has 
 departed before the end with d'Axel and Wattelet, 
 so that nothing jars upon this triumphant 
 departure. Now there is nothing more to say, 
 nothing more to see. The tall footmen rush about 
 with umbrellas. For an hour there is a continual 
 pawing of steeds, rolling of carriages, slamming of 
 doors, mingling with the downpour of rain, the 
 names called out, repeated by the echoes that 
 haunt ancient edifices, and which are not often 
 heard at the old Fi-ench htstitut. 
 
 That evening the coquettish allegories painted 
 by Boucher on the panels of Herbert's room, in the 
 family mansion of the Kosens, must have been 
 roused from their languishing attitudes and rather 
 faded views of life, on hearing a little voice warble : 
 " It is I ; it is Colette." It was in truth Colette, 
 wrapped in a dressing-gown trimmed with float- 
 ing laces, who came to say good-night to her hero, 
 her knight, her genius ! At the same hour, Elysee 
 was strolling alone in the garden of the Rue 
 Herbillon, under the light foliage, faintly lie up by 
 a clear bright sky, one of those June skies, in 
 which the sun still seems to linger, and to cast the 
 
A Sitli/ii^ at the Acadcmie 
 
 30s 
 
 sharp outline of tlie trees on the pallid windings of 
 the patlis, and to bleach the house and its closed 
 shutters to the paleness of death. Alone, on the 
 top story, the king's lamp kept 
 watch. The dropping of water 
 from the fountains, and the 
 thrill of a nightingale to 
 which other nightingales 
 responded, alone broke the 
 silence. These sounds 
 mingled with the penetra- 
 ting perfume of the mag- 
 nolias, roses, and sweet- 
 smelling verbena after the 
 rain. And the fever that 
 for two months, ever since the fair 
 at Yipcennes, had not left Elysce, 
 which burns in his hands, and 
 scorches his forehead, instead of 
 being soothed by the perfumed and 
 musical surroundings, throbs, vibrates, and fills his 
 heart with emotion. 
 
 "Ah, fool, wretched fool," said a voice near him 
 in the grove. Elysee stoj)ped, speechless. It was 
 so true, so precisely what he had Ijeen repeating to 
 himself for the last hour. 
 
 "Fool, miserable maniac that j'ou are! You 
 ought to be thrown into the fire, yon and your 
 dried herbs." 
 
3o6 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " Is that you, councillor ? " 
 
 " Do not call me councillor. I am no longer 
 councillor. I am nothing. I have neither honour 
 nor intelligence. Ah, porco." 
 
 And Boscovich, sobbing with true Italian vehe- 
 mence, shook his grotesque little head, fantastically 
 illumined by the light that fell through the boughs 
 of the lime-trees. The poor man had become some- 
 what crazed of late. At times, gay and talkative, 
 he would bore everyone with his herbarium, his 
 famous herbarium of Leybach, which he was soon 
 to recover, he said ; then, all of a sudden, in the 
 midst of this whirl of talk he would interrupt him- 
 self, throw a side-long glance, and remain motion- 
 less and mute. On this occasion, Elysee thought 
 he was going quite mad, when after this childish 
 explosion, he bounded towards him, and seized his 
 arm in a violent grasp, crying out in the night as 
 though he were calling for help : 
 
 "This is impossible, Meraut. We must prevent it." 
 
 " Prevent what, councillor ? " said Elysee, trying 
 to fi'ee his arm from the nervous clutch. 
 
 Then Boscovich, panting, added in a whisper : 
 
 " The deed of abdication is ready. I drew it up 
 myself. At this very moment, His Majesty is 
 signing it. I ought never to. Ma cJie, ma che. 
 But he is the king ; and then he promised to have 
 my herbarium of Leybach given back to me. 
 Such magnificent specimens ! " 
 
A Sitting at the Acad^inie. 307 
 
 The maniac ran on, but Elysee, stunned by this 
 terrible blow, no longer listened. His first, his 
 only thought, was for the queen. Was this then 
 the reward of her devotion, of her abnegation, the 
 end of this day of self-sacrifice ? How idle all the 
 halo of glory so laboriously wi'eathed round this 
 unconsenting brow ! In the garden, now grown 
 dim, he saw nothing but the glimmer of that lamp 
 up yonder, lighting up the mystery of an imminent 
 crime. What can he do ? How prevent it 1 The 
 queen alone ; but can he get to her .' And indeed, 
 when Elysee presented himself, asking to speak to 
 Her Majesty, the woman-in-waiting, Madame de 
 Silvis already plunged in dreamland, the queen her- 
 self, all thought the house was on fire. In all the 
 rooms was heard a chattering of bustling women, 
 like an aviary startled before dawn. At last 
 Prederique appeared in the boudoir, where the 
 tutor stood awaiting her, wrapped in a long blue 
 dressing-gown, which set off her admirably shaped 
 shoulders and arms. Never had Elysee felt himself 
 so close to her. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked, in a low quick voice, 
 with that nervous blink of eyelids that await a 
 blow and see it coming. At his very first word 
 she bounded forward. 
 
 " That cannot be. That shall not be while I am 
 alive ! " 
 
 The violence of her movement loosened the 
 
 X 2 
 
3o8 
 
 Ki/icrs III ]'.xile. 
 
 phosphorescent tresses of litr hair, and to fasten 
 them up again she raised her arms with a tragic 
 gestnre, allowing her sleeves to slip down to her 
 elbows. 
 
 "Awake his llif^hness," she said in an under- 
 tone, in [lie shadowed softness of the adjoining 
 chamber ; then, withont adding a word, she went 
 np to the king's room. 
 
X. 
 
 THE WRATH OF A (JUEEN. 
 
 Aix the magic beauty of that June night poured 
 in through tlie wide open casement iu the great 
 hall. A single lighted candelabi'a scai'cely dis- 
 turbed the mystery of the moonlight, which 
 streamed in like a '"milky way," touching uj) the 
 polished bar of a trapeze, the arched bow of a 
 suspended gnzla, or the glass door of a half empty 
 bookcase, the vacaut spaces ikjw filled up by 
 Boscovich's new collection, that exhaled the faint 
 faded smell of a cemetery of dried plants. On the 
 table, across some dusty old papers, lay a crucifix 
 of oxydized silver; for if Christian II. did not 
 write much, he remembered his Catholic education, 
 and surrounded himself with objects of piety ; 
 sometimes, iudeed, while lie was amusing himself 
 lu the society of loose women, while around him 
 
3IO Kings in Exile. 
 
 all was noise and revelry, his hand, already 
 unsteady from drink, would steal into his pocket 
 and tell the beads of the coral rosary, that never 
 left him. By the side of the crucifix was a thick 
 broad sheet of parchment, covered with a big and 
 tremulous writing. It was the death-warrant of 
 royalty, wanting nothing but the signature, one 
 stroke of the pen, and a strong and violent effort 
 of will to give this ; and that was the reason why 
 this weak king hesitated, sitting motionless, his 
 elbows resting on the table, by the lighted candles 
 prepared for the royal seaL 
 
 Near him, anxious, prying, yet soft and smooth, 
 like a niglit-moth or the black bat that haunts 
 ruins, Lebeau, the confidential valet, watched 
 him and silently encouraged him ; for they had 
 arrived at the decisive moment that the gang had 
 for months expected, with alternate hopes and 
 fears, with all the trepidation, all the uncertainty 
 attending a business dependent upon such a 
 puppet as this king. Notwithstanding the magne- 
 tism of this overpowering desire, Christian, pen in 
 hand, could not bring himself to sign. Sunk down 
 in his aimchair, he gazed at the parchment, and 
 was lost in thought. It was not that he cared for 
 that crown, which be had neither wished for nor 
 loved, which, as a child, he had found too heavy, 
 and that later in hfe had bowed him down and 
 crushed him by its terrible responsibilities. He 
 had felt no scruple in laying it aside, leaving it in 
 
The Wrath of a Queen. 3 1 1 
 
 the corner of a room which he never entered, 
 forgetting it as much as possible when he was out ; 
 but he was scared at the sudden determination, 
 the irrevocable step he was about to take. How- 
 ever, there was no other way of procuring money 
 for his new existence, no other means of meeting 
 the hundred and twenty thousand pounds' worth of 
 bills he had signed, on which payment would soon 
 be due, and which the usurer, a certain Pichery, 
 picture-dealer, refused to renew. Could he allow 
 a:i execution to be put in at Saint-Mande ? And 
 the queen, the royal child ; what would become of 
 them in that case ? If he must have a scene — for 
 he foresaw the terrible clamour his cowardice must 
 rouse — was it not better to have it now, and brave 
 once for all anger and recriminations ? And then 
 — all this was not really the determining reason. 
 
 He had promised the Gomtesse to sign this 
 renunciation ; and on the faith of this promise 
 Sephora had cousented to let her husband start 
 alone for London, and had accepted the mansion 
 Avenue de Messine, aud the title and name that 
 published her to the world as the king's mistress, 
 reserving, however, anything further till the day 
 when Christian himself would bring her the deed, 
 signed by his own hand. She assigned for this 
 conduct the reasons of a woman in love ; he might, 
 later on, return to lUyria, abandon her for the 
 throne and power ; she would not be the first 
 person whom these terrible State reasons have 
 
3 1 2 Kifi^s in Exile. 
 
 made tremble and weep. D'Axel, Wattelet, all the 
 yommeux of the Grand Club little guessed when 
 the king, quitting the Avenue de Messine, rejoined 
 them at the olub with heavy fevered eyes, that he 
 had spent the evening on a divan, by turns 
 repulsed or encouraged, his feelings played upon, 
 his nerves unstrung by the constant resistance ; 
 rolUng himself at the feet of an unmovable deter- 
 mined woman, who, with a supple opposition, 
 abandoned to his impassioned embrace only the 
 cold little Parisian hands, so skilful in defence and 
 evasion, Avhile she imprinted on his lips the 
 scorching flame of the enrapturing words : " Oh ! 
 when you have ceased to be king, I shall be all 
 yours— all yours ! " She made him pass through 
 all the daugerous j^hases of passion and coldness ; 
 and often at the theatre, after an icy greeting and 
 a rapid smile, would slowly draw off her gloves and 
 cast him a tender glance ; then, putting her bare 
 hand in his, she would seem to offer it up to his 
 ardent kis-;. 
 
 "Tlien you say, Lebeau, that Pichery will not 
 renew ? " 
 
 " He will not, Sire. If the bills are not paid, the 
 liailiUs will be jmtin." 
 
 How well he emphasized with a despairing moan 
 tiie word "bailiffs," so as to convey the feeling of 
 all the sinister fomiaUties that would follow : bills 
 ]jrotested, an execution, the royal hearth dese- 
 crated, the l-iiuily turned out of doors. Christian 
 
The Wrath of a Queen. 313 
 
 saw nothing of all tliis. His imagination carried 
 him far away to the A^'euue de Messiue, he saw 
 himself arriving there in the middle of the night, 
 eager and quivering ; ascending with stealthy and 
 hurried step the heavily-carpeted stairs, entering 
 the room where the night-light burned mysteri- 
 
 ously veiled under lace : "It is done — I am no 
 longer king. Yon are mine, mine." And the 
 loved one held out her hand. 
 
 "Come," he exclaimed, starting out of his fleet- 
 ing dream. 
 
 And he signed. 
 
 Tlie door opened and the ipieen appeared. Her 
 presence in Christian's rooms at such an hour, was 
 so unforeseen, so unexpected, they had lived so long 
 
314 Rings in Exile. 
 
 apart, that neither the king,, in the act of signing 
 his infamy, nor Lebeau, who stood watching him, 
 turned round at the sHght noise she made. They 
 thought it was Boscovich coming up from the 
 garden. GHding lightly like a shadow, she was 
 already near the table, and had reached the two 
 accomplices, when Lebeau saw her. With her 
 finger on her lips she motioned him to be silent 
 and continued to advance, wishing to convict the 
 king in the very act of his treacheiy, and avoid all 
 evasion, subterfuge, or useless dissimulation ; but 
 the valet set her order at defiance, and gave the 
 alarm : " The queen, Sire ! " The Dalmatian, 
 furious, struck straight in the face of this 
 malevolent caitiff with the powerful hand of a 
 woman accustomed to handle the reins ; and draw- 
 ing herself up erect, waited till the wretch had 
 disappeared before she addressed the king. 
 
 " What has happened, my dear Frederique ? and 
 to what am I indebted for — ? " 
 
 Standing bent over the table that he strove to 
 hide, in a graceful attitude that showed off his silk 
 jacket embroidered in pink, he smiled, and although 
 his lips were rather pale, his voice remained calm, his 
 speech easy, with that polished elegance which never 
 left him when addressing his wife, and which placed 
 a baiTier between them like a hard lacquer-screen 
 adorned with fiowery and intricate arabesques. 
 With one word, one gesture she put aside the barrier 
 behind which he would fain have sheltered himself. 
 
Tlie Wrath of a Queen. 315 
 
 " Oh ! no phrases, no grimacing — if you please. 
 I know what you were writing there. Do not try 
 to give me the lie." 
 
 Then drawing nearer, overwhelming his timorous 
 objection by her haughty bearing : 
 
 " Listen to me, Christian," and there was some- 
 thing in her tone that gave an impression of 
 solemnity to her words ; " listen to me : you 
 have made me suffer cruelly since I became your 
 wife. I have never said anything, but once — the 
 first time, you remember. After that, when I saw 
 that you had ceased to love me, I left you to your- 
 self. Not that I was ignorant of anything you 
 did — not one of. your infidelities, not one of your 
 follies remained unknown to me. For you must 
 indeed be mad, mad like your father who died of 
 ■sxhaustion, mad with love for Lola ; mad like your 
 grandfather John, who died in a shameful de- 
 lirium, foaming and framing kisses with the death- 
 rattle in his throat, and uttering words that made 
 the Sisters of Charity grow pale. Yes, it is the 
 same fevered blood, the same hellish passion that 
 devours you. At Eagusa, on the nights of the 
 sortie, it was at Fcedora's that they sought you. I 
 knew it, I knew that she had left her theatre to 
 follow you. I never uttered a single reproach. 
 The honour of your name was saved. And when 
 the king was absent from the ramparts, I took care 
 his place should not be empty. But here in 
 Paris—" 
 
3 1 6 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Till now, she had spoken slowly, coldly, in a 
 tone of pity and maternal reproof, as though in- 
 spired thereto by the downcast eyes and pouting 
 mouth of the king, who looked like a -^'ioious child 
 receiving a scolding. But the name of Paris 
 exasperated her. A city without faith, a city 
 cynical and accursed, its blood-stained stones ever 
 ready for sedition and barricades !- What possessed 
 these poor fallen kings, that they came to take 
 refuge in this Sodom ! It was Paris, it was its 
 atmosphere tainted by carnage and vice that com- 
 pleted the ruiu of the historical houses ; it was 
 this that had made Christian lose what the 
 maddest of his ancestors had always known how to 
 presei've : the respect and pride of their race. 
 Oh ! When on the very day of their arrival, the 
 first night of their exile, she had seen him so 
 excited, so gay, while all around him were secretly 
 weeping, Frederique had guessed the humiliation 
 and shame she would have to undergo. Then, in 
 one breath, without pausing, with cutting words 
 that lashed the pallid face of the royal rake, and 
 striped it red as with a whip, she recalled one after 
 the other all his follies, his rapid descent from 
 pleasure to vice, and vice to crime. 
 
 " You have deceived me under my very eyes, in 
 my own house ; adultery has sat at my table, it has 
 brushed against my dress. When you were tired 
 of that dollish little face who had not even the 
 grace to conceal her tears, you went to the gutter , 
 
The Wrath of a Queen. 317 
 
 wallowing shamelessly in the slime and mud of the 
 streets, and bringing back the dregs of your orgies, 
 of your sickly remorse, all the pollution of the 
 mire. Remember how I saw you totler and 
 stammer on that morning when, for the second 
 time, you lost your throne. "What have you not 
 done, Holy Mother of angels ! "What have you 
 not done ! You have traded with the royal seal, 
 you have sold crosses and titles." 
 
 And in a lower tone, as though she feared lest 
 the stillness and silence of the night might hear, 
 she added : 
 
 " You have stolen, yes, stolen ! Those diamonds, 
 those stones torn from the crown — ^it was you who 
 did it, and I allowed my faithful Greb to be 
 suspected and dismissed. The theft being known, 
 it was necessary to find a sham culprit to prevent 
 the real one ever being discovered. For this has 
 been my one, my constant preoccupation : to 
 uphold the king, to keep him untouched ; to 
 accept everything for that purpose, even the shame 
 which in the eyes of the world will end by sullying 
 me. I had adopted a watchword that sustained 
 me, and encouraged me in my hours of trial : ' All 
 for the crown ! ' And now you want to sell it — 
 that crown that has cost me such anguish and such 
 tears ; you want to barter it for gold, for the 
 lifeless mask of that Jewess, whom you had the 
 indecency to bring face to face with me to-day." 
 
 Crushed, bending low his head, he had hitherto 
 
3i8 Kings in Exile. 
 
 listened without a word, but the insult directed 
 against the woman he loved roused him. Looking 
 fixedly at the queen, his face bearing the traces of 
 her cutting words, he Raid politely, but very 
 firmly : 
 
 " Well, no, you are mistaken. The woman yon 
 mention has had nothing to do with the determina- 
 tion I have taken. What I am doing is done for 
 you, for me, for our common happiness. Tell me, 
 are you not weary of this life of privations and 
 expedients ? Do you think that I am ignorant of 
 what is going on here ; that I do not suffer when 
 I see you harassed by a pack of tradespeople and 
 duns ? The other day when that man was shouting in 
 the yard I was coming in and heard him. Had it 
 not been for Rosen I would have crushed him under 
 the wheels of my phaeton. And you — you were 
 watching his departure behind the curtains of your 
 window. A nice position for a queen. We owe 
 money to everyone. There is a universal outcry 
 against us. Half the servants are unpaid. The 
 tutor even has received nothing for the last ten 
 months. Madame de Silvis pays herself by majesti- 
 cally wearing your old dresses. And there are 
 days when my councillor, the keeper of the royal 
 seals, borrows from my valet the wherewithal to 
 buy snufF. You see I am well acquainted with the 
 state of things. And you do not know my debts 
 yet. I am over head and ears in debt. Every- 
 thing is giving way around us. A pretty state of 
 
The Wrath of a Queen. 319 
 
 things, indeed ; you will see that diadem of yours 
 sold one day at the corner of a street with old 
 knives and forks." 
 
 Little by little, gradually carried away by his 
 own scoffing nature, and the jesting habits of his 
 set, he dropped the moderate tone he commenced 
 with and in his insolent little snuffling voice began to 
 dwell upon the ludicrous side of the situation, with 
 jeers and mockery, borrowed no doubt from Sephora, 
 who never lost an opportunity of demolishing by 
 her sneering observations the few remaining scruples 
 of her lover. 
 
 " You will accuse me of making phrases, but it 
 is you who deafen yourself with words. What 
 after all is that crown of Illyria that you are 
 always talking about. It is worth nothing except on 
 a king's head ; elsewhere it is obstruction, a useless 
 thing, which for iiight is carried hidden away in a 
 bonnet-box or exposed under a glass shade like the 
 laurels of an actor or the blossoms of a concierge's 
 bridal wreath. You must be convinced of one 
 thing, Frederique. A king is truly king, only on 
 the throne with power to rule ; fallen, he is nothing, 
 less than nothing, a rag. Vainly do we cling to 
 etiquette, to our titles, always bringing forward our 
 Majesty, on the panels of our carriages, on the 
 studs of our cuffs, hampering ourselves with an 
 empty ceremonial. It is all hypocrisy on our part, 
 and mere politeness and pity on the part of those 
 who surround us — our friends and our servants. 
 
320 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Here I am King Christian II. for you, for Rosen, 
 for a few faithful ones. Outside I become a man 
 like the rest. Monsieur Christian Two. Not 
 even a surname, only ' Christian,' like an actor of 
 the Gaite." 
 
 He stopped, out of breath ; he did not remember 
 having ever spoken so long standing. The shrill 
 notes of the night-birds, the prolonged trills of the 
 nightingales broke the silence of the night. A big 
 moth that had singed its wings at the liglits 
 flew about, thumping against the walls. This flut- 
 tering distress and the smothered sobs of the queen 
 were the only sounds to be heard ; she knew how to 
 meet rage and violence, but was powerless before 
 this scoflRng banter, so foreign to her sincere nature ; 
 it found her unarmed, like the valiant soldier who 
 expects straight blows and feels only the harassing 
 stings of insects. Seeing her break down, Christian 
 thought her vanquished, and to complete his 
 victory he put the finishing touch to the burlesque 
 picture he had drawn of kings in exile. What a 
 pitiful figure they cut all these poor princes in 
 pariibus, figurants of royalty, who drape themselves 
 in the frippery of the principal characters, and 
 declaim before the empty benches without a farthing 
 of receipts. Would they not be wiser if they held 
 their peace and returned to the obscurity of 
 common life ? For those who have money there is 
 some excuse. Their riches give them some right 
 to chng to these grandeurs. But the others, the 
 
The Wrath of a Queen. 321 
 
 poor cousins of Palermo for instance, crowded 
 together in a tiny house with their horrid Italian 
 cookery. It smells of onions when the door is 
 opened. Worthy folk certainly, but what an 
 existence ! And those are not the worst off. The 
 other day a Bourbon, a real Bourbon, ran after an 
 omnibus. ' Full, sir,' said the conductor. But 
 he kept on running. ' Don't I tell you it is full, 
 my good man.' He got angry, he would have 
 wished to be called ' Monseigneur,' as if that 
 should be known by the tie of his cravat ! " 
 
 " Operetta kings, I tell you, Frederique. It is 
 to escape from this ridiculous position, to ensure a 
 dignified and decent existence, that I have made 
 up my mind to sign this." 
 
 And he added, suddenly revealing the tortuous 
 Slavonic nature moulded by the Jesuits : 
 
 " Moreover, this signature is really a mere farce. 
 Our own property is returned to us, that is all, 
 and I shall not consider myself in the slightest 
 degree bound by this. Who knows ? These very 
 thousands of pounds may help us to recover the 
 throne." The Queen impetuously raised her head, 
 looked him straight in the eyes for a moment, then 
 shrugged her shoulders, saying : 
 
 " Do not make yourself out viler than you are. 
 You know that when once you have signed — but no. 
 — The truth is, you lack strength and fortitude, 
 you desert your kingly post at the most perilous 
 moment, when a new society, that will acknowledge 
 
322 Kings in Exile. 
 
 neither God nor master, pursues with its hatred the 
 representatives of divine right ; makes the heavens 
 tremble over tlaeir heads and the earth under their 
 steps. The assassin's knife, bombs, bullets, all 
 serve their purpose. Treachery and murder are 
 on every side. In the midst of our pageantry or 
 our festivities, the best of us as well as the worst, 
 not one of us does not start if only a man steps 
 forward out of the crowd. Hardly a petition that 
 does not conceal a dagger. On leaving his palace 
 what king is certain of returning alive ? And 
 this is the hour you choose to leave the field ! " 
 
 '•' Ah ! if fighting could do it," eagerly said 
 Christian II. " But to struggle as we do against 
 ridicule, against poverty, against all the petty 
 meannesses of life, and feel that we only siuk deeper 
 every day — ." 
 
 A ray of hope lit up her eyes : 
 " Is it true, would you fight ? then listen." 
 Breathlessly, she related in a few rapid words, 
 the expedition she and Elys<5e had been preparing 
 for the last three months, by letters, proclamations 
 and despatches, ^Yhich Father Alph6e, ever on the 
 move, carried from one mountain village to the 
 other ; this time it was not to the nobility they 
 appealed, but to the people ; the muleteers, the 
 porters of Ragusa, the market-gardeners of Breno, 
 of la Brazza, the islanders who go to market in 
 their feluccas, the nation which had remained 
 faithful to the monarchical tradition, which was, 
 
TJte Wrath of a Queen. 323 
 
 ready to rise and die for its king, on condition that 
 he should lead them. Companies were forming, 
 the watchword was ah-eady circulating, only the 
 signal now remained to be given. The Queen 
 hurling her words at Christian to rout his weakness 
 by a vigorous charge, had a cruel pang when she 
 saw him shake his head, showing an indifference 
 which was even greater than his discouragement. 
 Perhaps at the bottom of his heart lie was annoyed 
 that the expedition should have been so far 
 organized! without his knowledge. But he did not 
 believe in the feasibility of the plan. It would not 
 be possible to advance into the country ; they would 
 be compelled to hold the islands, and devastate a 
 beautiful country with very little chance of success ; 
 a second edition of the due de Palma's adventure, a 
 useless effusion of blood. 
 
 "No really, my dear Frederique, you are led 
 away by the fanaticism of your chaplain and the 
 wild enthusiasm of that hot-headed Gascon. I 
 also have my sources of information, far more 
 rehable than yours. The truth is, that in Dalmatia 
 as in many other countries, monarchy has had its day. 
 They are tired of it, they will have no more of it." 
 
 " Oh ! I know the coward who will have no more 
 of it," said the Queen. 
 
 And she went out hurriedly, leaving Christian 
 much surprised that the scene should have ended so 
 abruptly. He hastily thrust the deed into his 
 pocket, and prepared to go out in his turn, when 
 
 Y 2 
 
324 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Fred6rique reappeared, accompanied this tiiae by 
 the little prince. 
 
 Eoused out of his sleep and hnmedly dressed, 
 Zara, who had passed from the hands of his nurse 
 to those of the queen without a word having been 
 uttered, opened wide his bewildered eyes under his 
 auburn curls, but asked no questions ; he remem- 
 bered confusedly in his poor httle dizzy head, 
 similar awakenings for hasty flights, in the midst 
 of pallid faces, and breathless exclamations. It was 
 thus that he had acquired the habit of passive 
 obedience ; that he allowed himself to be led any- 
 where provided the queen called Mm in her gi-ave 
 and resolute voice, and held ready for his childish 
 weakness the shelter of her tender arms and the 
 support of her strong shoulder. She had said : 
 " Come ! " and he had come with confidence, sur- 
 prised only at the surrounding silence, so different 
 from those other stormy nights, with their visions 
 of blood and flames, roar of cannon, and rattle of 
 musketry. 
 
 He saw the king standing, no longer the careless 
 good-natured father, who at times surprised him in 
 his bed or crossed the school-room with an encour- 
 aging smile, but a stern father, whose expression of 
 annoyance became more accentuated as he saw them 
 enter. Freddrique, without uttering one word, led 
 the child to the feet of Christian II. and abruptly 
 kneeling, placed him before her, crossing his httle 
 fingers in her joined hands : 
 
The Wrath of a Queen. 325 
 
 " The king will not listen to me, perhaps he will 
 listen to you, Zara. Come, say with me, ' Father '." 
 The timid voice repeated, " Father." 
 
 " My father ! my king ! I implore ! do not 
 despoil your child ; do not deprive him of the 
 crown he is to wear one day. Remember tliat it is 
 not yours alone, it comes from afar, from God him- 
 self, who gave it six hundred years ago to the House 
 of Illyria. God has chosen me to be a king, father. 
 It is my inheritance, my treasure, you have no 
 right to take it from me." 
 
 The little prince accompanied his fervent mur- 
 mur with the imploring looks of a supplicant ; but 
 Christian turned away his head, shi-ugged his 
 shoulders, and furious though still polite, he mut- 
 tered a few words between his teeth : " Exaggera- 
 tion ! most improper ; turn the child's head." 
 Then he tried to withdraw and gain the door. 
 With one bound the queen was on her feet, caught 
 sight of the table from which the parchment had 
 disappeared, and comprehending at once that the 
 infamous deed was signed, that the king had it in 
 his possession, gave a despairing shriek : 
 
 " Christian ! " 
 
 He continued to advance towards the door. 
 
 She made a step forward, picking up her dress 
 as if to pursue him ; then suddenly said : 
 
 "Well, be it so." 
 
 He stopped short, and turned round. She was 
 standing before the open window, her foot upon 
 
326 Kings in Exile. 
 
 the narrow stone balcorty, with one arm clasping 
 her son ready to bear him into death, the other 
 extended menacingly towards the cowardly deserter. 
 The moon lit up from without this dramatic group. 
 
 " To an operetta king, a queen of tragedy," she 
 said stern and terrible. " If you do not burn this 
 instant what you have just signed, and swear on 
 the cross that it will never be repeated, your race is 
 ended, crushed, wife and child, there, on the stones." 
 
 Such earnestness seemed to inspire her vibrating 
 tone, her splendid figure bent towards the emptiness 
 of space as though to spring, that the king, terri- 
 fied, dashed forward to stop her. 
 
 " Frederique ! " 
 
 At the cry of his father, at the quiver of the arm 
 that held him, the child — who was entirely out of 
 the window — thought that all was finished, that 
 they were about to die. He never uttered a word 
 nor a moan ; was he not going with his mother ! 
 Only, his tiny hands clutched the queen's neck 
 convulsively, and throwing back his head with his 
 fair hair hanging down, the little victim closed his 
 eyes before the appalhng horror of the fall. 
 
 Christian could no longer resist. The resigna- 
 tion, the courage of this child, who of his future 
 kingly duties already knew the first : to die well, 
 overcame him. His heart was bursting. He threw 
 upon the table the crumpled parchment which for 
 a moment he had been nervously holding in his 
 hand, and fell sobbing in an armchair. Frdderique, 
 
Tlie Wrath of a Queen. 
 
 2,^7 
 
 still suspicious, read the deed through from the 
 first line to the very signature, then going up to a 
 candle, she burned it till the flame scorched her 
 fingers, shaking the ashes upon the table ; she then 
 left the room, carrying off her son, who was 
 already falling asleep in her arms, in his heroically 
 tragic attitude. 
 
XI. 
 
 THE VIGIL. 
 
 A MEAL is just over in the bric-a-brac dealer's 
 parlour. Old Leemans, wlien alnne, was accustomed 
 to gobble up a crust at one end of the kitchen 
 table, opposite to la Darnet, without either table- 
 cloth or napkin ; when he had company, as on this 
 evening, the careful Auvergnate grumblingly took 
 off the white covers of the furniture, put away the 
 little squares of carpet, and set the table in front 
 of the portrait of " Monsieur " in the little room, as 
 peaceful and tidy as a cures parlour, which for a 
 few hours is filled with the odours of garlic, and 
 
The Vigil. 329 
 
 resounds with vehement discussions carried on in 
 the slang of low and sordid bartering. 
 
 Ever since the " grand stroke" has been in pre- 
 paration, these dinners at the dealer's shop have 
 been frequent. 
 
 It is advisable in aflfairs of this kind, where 
 profits are shared, that the parties concerned in 
 them should meet frequently and plan their schemes 
 together ; and nowhere else could it be done as 
 securely as in the depths of this little street 
 Eginhard — forgotten amid the remains of old Paris. 
 Here, at any rate, talk might be as loud as they 
 pleased, discussion and combination as lively as 
 they fancied. They are drawing near the goal. 
 
 In a few days, nay ! in a few hours, the deed of 
 renunciation will be signed, and the affair which 
 has already swallowed so much money, will in its 
 turn begin to produce some. The certainty of 
 success kindles the eyes and voices of the guests 
 with a golden hue of joyousness, and makes the 
 table-cloth look whiter, the wine taste better. A 
 real wedding banquet, presided over by old 
 Leemans and Pichery, his fidus Achates — a stiff 
 barber's block of a head well anointed with 
 pomatum, and appearing above a buckram stock, 
 something military, yet not quite above-board 
 about it, the air of an officer degraded from his 
 rank. His profession : usurer in pictures, a new 
 and complicated trade well suited to the art mania 
 of our time. When a young fellow is completely 
 
330 Kings in Exile. 
 
 cleared out, and has not a shilling left, he goes: to 
 Pichery, picture dealer, in his sumptuous gallery of 
 the rue Lafitte. 
 
 " Have you got a Corot ? A real good one ? " he 
 says. " I am quite cracked about that painter.'' 
 
 " Ah ! Corot ! " Pichery replies, closing his dead 
 fish-like eyes with rapt admiration ; then all at 
 once, changing his tone ; " I have the very thing 
 for you," and rolling forward a great easel, he dis- 
 plays a very pretty Corot, a morning scene all 
 tremulous with silvery mists and nymphs dancing 
 under the willows. The fashionable youth puts up 
 his eyeglass, pretends to admire and says : 
 
 " Good ! very good ! How much ? " 
 
 " Two thousand pounds," says Pichery, without 
 wincing. The other does not wince or blink either. 
 
 "At three months?" 
 
 " Three months, with security." 
 
 The fool puts his name to the bill, carries ofiE the 
 picture to his own rooms or those of his mistress, 
 and during a whole day, gives himself the pleasure 
 of boasting at the club and on the boulevard of the 
 wonderful purchase he has made of a " stunning 
 Corot." Next day, he sends his Corot to be put 
 up at auction, and Pichery buys it again through 
 old Leemans at four or five hundred pounds, its 
 real value. It is usury, and at an exorbitant rate ; 
 but it is not illegal, and therefore without danger. 
 Pichery, for his part, is not bound to know 
 whether the amateur has bought in good faith or 
 
The Vigil. 331 
 
 •••Ki\/\j\/\.f\JKi 
 
 not. He sells his Corot very dear ; has thoroughly 
 " fleeced " his client ; and he is within his rights : 
 for the value of an artistic object is arbitrary and 
 changeful. Moreover, he takes care only to deal 
 in thoroughly authentic merchandize, warranted by 
 father Leemans, who furnishes him into the 
 bargain with the whole of his artistic vocabulary, 
 which sounds surprising enough in the moutli of 
 this painted-up old soldier, who stands on the best 
 of terms with the gilded youth and the whole frail 
 population of the Quartier de I'Opera, whose 
 patronage he courts for the sake of his traffic. 
 
 On the other side of the patriarch Leemans, sat 
 Sephora and her husband, their chairs and their 
 glasses drawn close together as if they were two 
 lovers. They see each other but rarely since 
 the beginning of this affair ! , J. Tom Levis, who 
 is supposed to be in London, lives shut up in his 
 castellated villa at CourbevoiCj spends his days in 
 fishing with rod and line for lack of dupes to lay 
 snares for, or occupies himself by playing atrocious 
 practical jokes on the Sprichts. Sephora, watched 
 more strictly than a Spanish queeii, obliged to be 
 ever in readiness for the king, at all hours in full 
 war-paint and ceremony, leads the life of the select 
 demi-lnonde — a life so filled with nothings and yet 
 so empty, that these ladies nearly always live 
 two together, in order to be able to endure the 
 long, aimless drives, and the wearisome leisure. 
 But the Comtesse de Spalato has not ,h?r equal in 
 
333 Kings in Exile. 
 
 the town. She cannot associate with the mixed com- 
 pany of this border-land ; nor will respectable women 
 visit her, and Christian II. would not tolerate 
 around her the fluttering crowd of idlers who fill 
 the drawing-rooms frequented only by men. Thus 
 she must remain for ever alone in her boudoirs, amid 
 the painted ceilings, the mirrors garlanded with roses 
 and cupids, that never reflect any other image than 
 her o\vn indolent figure, bored to death with all 
 the insipid sentiment the king pours forth at her 
 feet, like pastilles for sick headaches wasting slowly 
 on golden burners. Ah ! how quickly and joyfully 
 would she not exchange this life of princely melan- 
 choly for the little low room in the rue Royale, with 
 her merry-andrew beside her, executing his famous 
 jig of the " Grand Strokes." She could hardly even 
 find means to write to him, to keep him informed of 
 the progress of the affair and the turn it was taking. 
 Thus it was that she was very happy this evening, 
 pressed close to him, excited him, stirred him up to 
 amuse her I " Come, make me laugh." And indeed 
 Tom bestirred himself well ; but his mirth was 
 forced and fell after each burst, gnawed by a 
 tormenting thought that he did not avow, and 
 that no one could have guessed. Tom Levis was 
 jealous ! He knew well there could be nothing as 
 yet between S6phora and Christian, and that she 
 was far too crafty and clever to give anything 
 without value received ; but the psychological 
 moment was drawing near, and when once the paper 
 
The Vigil. 333 
 
 was signed, execution could be no longer delayed. 
 And our friend Tom was seized with scruples and 
 qualms that were strange indeed in a man so com- 
 pletely free from all superstition or prejudice. Never 
 had his wife appeared to him so charming, and the 
 title of Comtesse seemed to make her eyes brighter, 
 her features more dainty, while a coronet of pearls 
 almost appeared to his fancy to rest on her bright 
 hair. Evidently J. Tom Levis is not equal to his 
 part, his shoulders are not broad enough for the 
 business. A mere nothing would be enough to 
 make him take back his wife and leave the whole 
 afiFair stranded. But a feehng of shame holds him 
 back, a fear of ridicule, and then so much money 
 is invested in the speculation. The unlucky wretch 
 struggles with himself, torn by these various 
 scruples of which the Comtesse his wife would 
 never have thought him capable ; he aflfects the 
 wildest gaiety, gesticulates with the dagger twisting 
 in his heart all the while, keeps the table alive with 
 excellent stories of the tricks of the trade, and 
 finally puts old Leemans and even the glacial 
 Pichery himself into such good spirits that they 
 bring forth their best anecdotes, the finest mystifi- 
 cations of the unlucky amateur. 
 
 Here, among associates, pals, and in the free and 
 easy atmosphere of after-dinner, anything may be 
 related, all the under-currents of the auction-room, 
 its bye-ways and pit-falls, the ring formed by the great 
 dealers, rivals in appearance only, their greedy 
 
334 Kings in Exile. 
 
 exchanges and traffic, the mysterious freemasonry 
 that puts a real barrier of gi-easy collars and thread- 
 bare coats between the rare curio and the buyer's 
 caprice, forcing him to ridiculously high prices. It 
 was a tournament of cynical anecdotes, a tilting to 
 show forth who was the most adroit, the most 
 rascally of them all. 
 
 " Did I tell you the story of my Egyptian lantern 
 and Mora ? " asks father Leemans, sipping his coffee 
 in little gulps ; and for the hundredth time he begins 
 to relate— like aa old soldier his favourite campaign 
 — the story of the lantern that a Levantine in 
 difficulties sold to him for eighty pounds and that 
 he sold again the same day for sixteen hundred 
 pounds to the President of the Council, with a 
 double commission — twenty pounds from the 
 Levantine and two hundred pounds from the duke. 
 But what constituted the charm of the story were 
 the ruses, the dodges, the way in which he had 
 inflamed the fancy of the rich and vain buyer. 
 " Yes, a fine piece, to be sure, but too dear — much 
 too dear. I should really recommend you. Monsieur 
 le Due, to leave such a piece of foUy to someone 
 else. I feel sure that Sismondi ! Ah ! it is pretty 
 work too, this chasing and this wrought chain." 
 And the old fellow, excited by the laughter that 
 shook the table, turns over the leaves of a little 
 pocket-book, with dog's-eared corners that he lays 
 upon the table-cloth, and from whence he renews his 
 inspiration, A\ith a date, a number, an address. In 
 
The Vigil. 335 
 
 it, all famous amateurs are classed, like heiresses 
 of large fortunes on the books of the famous matri- 
 monial agent, Monsieur Foy : with all their pecu- 
 liarities and manias, dark or fair: those who require 
 a little bullying, those who only believe an object 
 valuable when its price is high, the sceptical 
 amateur, the naif amateur to whom you may say, 
 as you sell him an utter fraud : " And you know 
 you should never be persuaded to part with this." 
 In itself this book was a small fortune. 
 
 " Look here, Tom," says Sephora to her husband 
 in the wish to make him shine, " suppose you tell 
 them that story of when you first arrived in Paris, 
 you know, your first affair, in the rue Soufflot.'' 
 
 Tom needs no urging, pours himself out a httle 
 brandy to give himself a stronger voice, and relates 
 how a dozen years or so ago, on returning from 
 London, ruined and threadbare, one last half- 
 crown in his pocket, he learned through an old 
 comrade he met in an English tavern close to the 
 station, that the matrimonial agencies were at that 
 very moment occupied with a great affair, the 
 marriage of Mademoiselle Beaujars, the daughter of 
 a contractor, who had twelve millions of francs 
 (four hundred and eighty thousand pounds) as her 
 fortune, and had taken into her head that nothing 
 would serve her but to marry some great nobleman. 
 A magnificent commission was promised, and the 
 bloodhounds were many on the scent. Tom, 
 nothing disconcerted, entered a reading-room. 
 
336 Kings in Exile. 
 
 turned over all the pedigrees of France, the 
 almanac of Gotha, the directory Bottin, and finally 
 discovered an ancient, very ancient family allied to 
 the greatest houses, and lodged in the rue Soufflot. 
 The disproportion of the title with the name of the 
 street seemed to point to some blemish in the 
 family or to impoverished fortunes. " On what 
 floor does Monsieur le Marquis de X. live ? " He 
 sacrificed his last coin and obtained the necessary 
 information from the concierge. Yes, in truth a 
 title of great antiquity — a widower, a son just 
 leaving Saint-Cyr, and a daughter of eighteen very 
 well brought up. "Eighty pounds a year rent, 
 including gas, water, and carpeted stairs," added the 
 concierge, for whom all this added to the dignity 
 of his tenant. " Just the thing for me," thought 
 J. Tom Levis, and up he went, a trifle nervous all 
 the same at the well-to-do look of the staircase — a 
 statue at the entrance, armchairs on every landing, all 
 the luxury of a modern house, with which strongly 
 contrasted his own threadbare coat, his shoes that 
 let the water in, and his very indelicate commission. 
 " Half-way up," continues the narrator, " I was 
 tempted to go down again. But it seemed to me 
 only plucky to make the attempt. I said to 
 myself : ' You are sharp and cool, and have to earn 
 your living, so here goes. Fortune favours the 
 brave ! ' and up I went, two steps at a time. I 
 was shown into a great drawing-room, of which the 
 inventory could have been quickly taken. Two or 
 
The Vigil. 337 
 
 three fine antiques, pompous remains of grandeur ; 
 a portrait by Largilli&'e ; but under all poverty 
 was visible : the worn-out divan, the barely-stuffed 
 chairs, the chimney-piece cold as its own marble. 
 The master of the house appeared at last, a 
 majestic old fellow in the best style — Samson in 
 Mademoiselle de la Seiglihre. ' You have a son. 
 Monsieur le Marquis ? ' At the first words 
 ' Samson' rises indignant ; I name the figure, four 
 hundred and eighty thousand pounds ! and he 
 calms down, seats himself, and we talk. He begins 
 by owning to me that he has not a fortune equal 
 to his name, twenty thousand francs (eight hundred 
 pounds) at the utmost, and that he would not be 
 sorry to have wherewithal to regild his escutcheon. 
 The son would have a hundred thousand francs 
 (four thousand pounds) on his wedding-day. ' Oh ! 
 Monsieur le Marquis, the name would be enough ! ' 
 Then we fix the rate of my commission, and I 
 hurry away in great haste, being expected at my 
 office. That was good ! my ofBce ! I did not 
 even know where I should sleep that night. 
 But at the door the old fellow drew me back, and 
 said in a confidential tone : ' Come now ! you seem 
 to me a clever fellow. I have something else to 
 propose to you. You ought to find me a husband 
 for my daughter as well. She has no fortune ; for 
 to tell the truth, I exaggerated just now in speak- 
 ing of an income of eight hundred a year. Take 
 off the largest half. I have, however, a title of 
 
338 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Count of the Holy Roman Empire at my disposal 
 for my son-in-law. And, moreover, if he is in the 
 army, my influence and relationship withtheMinister 
 of War will enable me to ensure his speedy promotion 
 and advancement.' When I 
 had finished taking my notes : 
 ' llely upon me, Jlonsieur le 
 ^Marquis,' said I and was 
 about to 
 was laid 
 shoulder. 
 ' Samson ' 
 
 go, when a hand 
 heavily upon my 
 I turned round : 
 was looking at me, 
 and laughing with a comical 
 air. ' And then there is my- 
 self,' said he. ' AVhat you, 
 Monsieur le Marquis ! ' ' Yes, 
 indeed ; I am not so totally 
 played out, and if I could 
 
 find a good opportunity .' 
 
 He ended by confessing to me 
 that he was overwhelmed with 
 debts, and not a penny to 
 By JoA-e ! my dear Monsieur 
 Torn, if you can imearth me some good lady in 
 business, owning fair savings, old maid or widow, 
 send her to me, money-bag and all : I will make 
 a marquise of her.' When I left that room, my 
 education was finished. I understood all that 
 could be made out of Parisian society ; and the 
 Levis agency was virtually founded." 
 
 pay them \\\\X\. 
 
The Vigil. 339 
 
 The story was a marvel narrated or rather 
 acted, by Tom Levis. He rose, sat down again, 
 imitated the majestic air of the old nobleman, with 
 its touch of cynical Bohemianism, and the way in 
 which he spread his handkerchief over one knee 
 before crossing his legs, and the disclosure made in 
 three confessions of the real poverty of his re- 
 sources. It might have been a scene from the 
 Neveu de Baincau, only a Eameau's nephew of the 
 19th century, without powder, grace, or violin, 
 and with something hard and fierce in the intona- 
 tion Dt this EngHsh bulldog merged in the jesting 
 loafer of the faubourgs. The others laughed, 
 enjoyed the joke, and drew from Tom's story 
 reflections both philosophical and cynical. 
 
 "D'ye see, my dears," said old Leemans, "if 
 dealers could agree among themselves, they would 
 be the masters of the world. Every mortal thing 
 is sold sooner or later, now-a-days. Everything 
 must come to us in time, must pass through our 
 hands, leaving some of its substance behind. Only 
 to think of all the business done for the last forty 
 years in this hole of a shop in the rue Eginhard — 
 of all I have melted, sold, exchanged, patched up. 
 The only thing that had never passed through my 
 hands was a crown, and now I have got that." He 
 rose, glass in hand, with eyes fiercely glittering : 
 "Jobbing for ever, my boys ! " 
 
 In the background, la Darnet's black Cantal 
 headgear nodded attentively, watching all, listen- 
 
 z 2 
 
340 Kings in Exile. 
 
 ing to everything, drinking in information on 
 bartering and haggling : for she hoped to establish 
 a business for herself whenever "Monsieur " should 
 die, and deal in curiosities on her own account. 
 
 Suddenly the cracked door-bell was violently 
 agitated, wheezing like a cold of long standing. 
 Everyone started. Who could it be at such an 
 hour ? 
 
 " It is Lebeau," said the old father. " It can be 
 no one else." 
 
 Loud exclamations welcomed the valet, who had 
 not been among them for some time, and who. now 
 entered with set teeth, pale and haggard, looking 
 knocked up and in the worst of tempers. 
 
 " Sit there, old chap," said Leemans, making 
 room for him between himself and his daughter. 
 
 " The deuce ! " said Lebeau, glancing at their 
 flushed faces, at the table, and remains of the 
 dinner. "You seem to be amusing yourselves 
 famously here." 
 
 The observation, and the funereal tone in which 
 it was made, caused them all to look uneasily at 
 each other. 
 
 Certainly they are amusing themselves, having 
 great fun. And why not ! why should they be 
 melancholy ? 
 
 Monsieur Lebeau seems stunned with amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " What ! you don't know ? When did you last 
 see the king then, comtesse ? " 
 
The Vigil. 
 
 341 
 
 " Why this morning, yesterday, every day ! " 
 " And he said nothing to you of the terrible row 
 tlicre has been ? " 
 
 Then, in a few Words he described the scene, the 
 burnt parchment, the affair thus reduced to ashes. 
 
 " Ah ! the wretch, I am done ! " said Sephora. 
 
 Tom with great uneasiness gazed into the depths 
 of bis wife's eyes. Had she by any chance been 
 
342 Kings in Exile. 
 
 imprudently weak ? But the lady was iu no 
 humour to give explanations, being wholly given 
 over to her rage and indignation against Christian, 
 who for the last week had been entangling himself 
 iu a labyrinth of lies to explain how it was that 
 the act of abdication was not yet signed. 
 
 Oh ! coward ! coward and liar ! But why had 
 not Lebeau warned them ? 
 
 " Ah ! indeed why ? " said the vajet with his 
 hideous smile. " Simply because I could not. For 
 the last ten days I have been running hither and 
 thither, five hundred leagues without breathing 
 time, without drawing rein. Not even the chance 
 to write a letter, for I was watched incessantly by 
 an awful monk, a Franciscan Father, who had the 
 scent of a wild beast, and fingered a dagger like a 
 bandit. He watched my every movement, never 
 took his eye off me for a moment, under the 
 pretext that he did not know enough French to get 
 about alone and make himself understood. The 
 truth is, they suspect me at Saint-Maude, and have 
 taken advantage of my absence to work a big 
 thing." 
 
 " What is it ? " asked all eyes. 
 
 " An expedition in Dalmatia, I fancy. It is that 
 demon of a Gascon who has worked them up to it. 
 Oh ! I was right when I said at the very first that 
 we ought to have got rid of that fellow to begin 
 with." 
 
 It was in vain they had tried to hide what was 
 
The Vigil. 343 
 
 going on from the valet ; he had for some time 
 scented preparations in the wind — letters leaving 
 at aU hours, mysterious councils frequently held. 
 One day, opening an album of water-colour 
 sketches, which that little fool the Princesse de 
 Rosen had left about, he had seen designs of 
 uniforms, various costumes : Ilhjrian Volunteers, 
 Dragoons of the. Faith, Blue Garibaldians, Cuiras- 
 siers of the Divine Right. Another day, he over- 
 heard a grave discussion between Madame de Silvis 
 and the princess on the shape of the cockades. 
 From all this, from fragments of words he 
 concluded some great expedition was in contempla- 
 tion ; and the journey he had been made to take 
 had in all probability something to do with it. 
 
 The little dark man, a sort of hunchback, whom 
 he had been sent to fetch from the mountains of 
 Navarre, must be some great chief destined to lead 
 the army under the orders of the king. 
 
 " What ! The king goes too ?• " cried father 
 Leemans with a contemptuous glance towards his 
 daughter. 
 
 A confused torrent of words followed this ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 " And how about our money ? " 
 
 " And the bills he has signed ? " 
 
 " It is a shame." 
 
 " It is a theft." 
 , And as, nowadays, politics represent the 
 famous dish of ^sop, and are mixed in everything. 
 
344 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Pichciy, very Imperialist, stiff as his own buckram 
 stock, apostrophizes the Eepublic : 
 
 "Under the Empire such a menace to the 
 tranquillity of a neighbouring state could never 
 have been prepared." 
 
 " Certainly," says Tom Levis, gravely, " you may 
 be sure, if this were known at the Presidency, it 
 would not be allowed. We must give notice, we 
 must bestir ourselves." 
 
 " Yes, I had thought of that," replied Jjebeau ; 
 " unfortunately I know nothing precise, nothing for 
 certain. They would not listen to me. And then our 
 people up there are on their guard, all their precau- 
 tions are taken to turn aside suspicion. For instance, 
 this evening is the Queen's birthday. There is to be 
 a great /efe at the Eosen's mansion. Not much use 
 going to tell the authorities that all those dancers are 
 busy conspiring and preparing for battle ! All the 
 same, there is something unusual about this ball." 
 
 Then only did they remark that the valet was in 
 evening dress, thin shoes, white tie ; he had the 
 management of the refreshment tables at the ball, 
 and must retiira as quickly as possible to the Ile- 
 Saiiit-Louis. Suddenly the Comtesse, who had been 
 thinking deeply for a few moments, said : 
 
 " Look here, Lebeau, if the king does go, you 
 would know, would not you ? You would be called 
 if only to pack his portmanteau. Well, let me 
 know, only an hour beforehand, and I swear to you, 
 the expedition shall not come off." 
 
Tlie Vis:il. 
 
 345 
 
 She said this in iier most tranquil voice, with a 
 slow but decided fivmness. And while J. Tom 
 Levis dreamily asked himself by what means 
 Sephora would prevent the king from starting ; 
 while the other associates, all crestfallen, were 
 calculating what the failure of the affair would cost 
 them, Master Lebcau, returning to his ball. 
 
 hastened along on the points of his pumps through 
 the labyrinth of little dark streets, with old- 
 fashioned roofs and escutcheoned doors, that com- 
 posed this quarter, which in the last century was 
 aristocratic, but is now transformed by workshops 
 and manufactories ; and tremulous all day from 
 the passage of heavy drags and the constant move- 
 ment of the swarming and wretched population, 
 resumes at night its curious appearance of a dead 
 city. 
 
346 Kings in Exile. 
 
 The/efe could be heard and seen from afar in the 
 sammer night, and sent over both banks of the 
 Seine widespread echoes of sound, while the lights 
 streamed forth like the red and misty glare of a 
 conflagration from that extreme point of the island 
 which, jutting out into mid-stream, seems to be the 
 rounded and lofty poop of some huge vessel at 
 anchor. On a nearer approach could be dis- 
 tinguished the tall windows gleaming beneath their 
 hangings, the myriad-coloured lights iu girandoles 
 attached to the shrubs and venerable trees of the 
 garden, and on the Quai d'Anjou, generally asleep 
 at this hour, the lamps of the carriages pierced the 
 darkness with their little motionless beacons. Since 
 Herbert's marriage, the Rosen's mansion had not 
 witnessed a similar festivity, and that now going on 
 was even more splendid, more overflowing, than the 
 former ; all the doors and windows stood open to 
 the splendour of the starry night. 
 
 The ground floor was formed of a long gallery of 
 saloons opening one out of the other ; lofty as a 
 cathedral, and adorned with paintings and antique 
 gilding ; chandeliers of Dutch and Venetian make 
 and lanterns of mosques hung from the ceilings 
 and shed their light upon strange decorations ; 
 hangings shimmering with gleams of red and green 
 gold ; heavy shrines of massive silver, deeply carved 
 ivories set in frames, old min-ors with blackened 
 faces, rehquaries, standards, treasures from Monte- 
 negro and Herzegovina that Parisian taste had 
 
The Vigil. 347 
 
 known how to assemble and group together without 
 anything appearing too striking or barbaric. The 
 orchestra was ranged upon the tribune of an 
 ancient oratory that caUed to mind that of 
 Chenonceaux, and was surrounded by streamers 
 that sheltered armchairs reserved for the king and 
 queen ; and in contrast with these relics of the past, 
 these magnificent antiques reflected on every side 
 which would have delighted the heart of father 
 Leemans, circled and fluttered the whirlwind of the 
 modern waltz, seductive and dreamy, a vision of 
 long embroidered trains, of fixed and briUiant eyes 
 flashing amid the mist of flufly tresses, passing and 
 repassing like a challenge of youth — a delicate 
 vision of fair beauty and dark creamy pallor. Every 
 now and again, out of this circling net-work of 
 dances, of this medley of silken stuffs that adds a 
 coquettish and mysterious murmur to the music of 
 a ball-room, a couple would detach themselves, and 
 stepping out through the lofty French window 
 would receive upon their receding heads, the white 
 glare of the illuminated pediment where the Queen's 
 cipher figured in flaming gas, and advancing 
 through the alleys of the garden, they would 
 continue with some hesitation, caused by the in- 
 creasing distance from the music, the rhythm of 
 the dance, and finish their waltz in a cadenced step, 
 an harmonious walk among the great balmy clumps 
 of magnolias and roses. Indeed, putting aside the 
 richness and strangeness of the setting, and a few 
 
348 Kings in Exile. 
 
 foreign women with wild locks, and the indolent 
 supple movements peculiar to Slavonians, it seemed 
 at first sight to be only one of those fashionable 
 mixed entertainments such as the Faubourg Saint- 
 (rermain, represented at the Eosen's mansion by its 
 most ancient and pompous names, sometimes gives 
 in its old gardens in the rue de I'Universite, where 
 the dance passes from waxed floors to green lawns, 
 where black coats may be found enhvened by light 
 grey trousers — open air fetes fit for summer 
 weather — freer, and more exuberant in gaiety than 
 others. 
 
 In his bedroom on the second floor the old duke, 
 a martyr for a week past to an attack of sciatica, 
 listened to the echoes of his ball, and smothered 
 between his blankets the exclamations of pain and 
 the barrack-room objurgations that escaped him, 
 on the ironic cruelty of the illness that pinned him 
 to his bed on such a day, making it impossible for 
 him to join all this assemblage of youth about to 
 start on the morrow. The word had been given, 
 the posts in the struggle fixed, and this ball was a 
 farewell, a kind of bravado, a defiance offered to 
 the chances of war, at the same time a precaution 
 against the curiosity of the French police. If the 
 duke could not accompany the volunteers, he had 
 the consolation of reflecting that his son Herbert 
 would take part in the affair, and his good gold 
 pieces as well, for their Majesties had graciously 
 permitted him to defray the cost of the expedition. 
 
The Vigil. 
 
 349 
 
 On his bed, mixed with ordnance maps and 
 strategical plans, were strewn bills for stores, cases 
 of guns, boots, 
 blankets, provi- 
 sions, all of which 
 he carefnlly 
 checked, with 
 terrible frowns 
 and twistings 
 of his mous- 
 tache ; the 
 heroic feelings 
 of the royalist 
 warring with 
 his parsimoni- 
 ous niggardly 
 instincts. Some- 
 times a num- 
 ber or a fact 
 was wanting ; 
 then he sent 
 for Herbert — a 
 pretext to keep i 
 
 at his side for a ^ i 
 
 few minutes the 
 
 great son who was to leave him to-morrow for the 
 first time, whom he would perhaps never see again, 
 and for whom he experienced an immense affection, 
 ill-concealed beneath a stately manner and chilly 
 silence. But the prince could not remain long. 
 
350 Kings ill Exile. 
 
 being in haste to go down again to do the honours 
 of the house, and above all to lose as little as 
 possible of the brief hours he could still pass in the 
 society of his beloved Colette. Standing at his 
 side in the first saloon, she helped him to receive 
 his father's guests, prettier and more elegant than 
 ever in her close-fitting dress, draped with the 
 antique lace of a Greek alb, of which the creamy 
 tint well set off her delicate beauty, marked this 
 evening by an almost serious air of mystery. It 
 gave repose to her features, depth to her eyes, 
 bringing them to the hue of the blue cockade 
 displayed among her curls beneath a diamond 
 aigrette. Hush ! low be it spoken, a cockade 
 for an Illyrian volunteer, a pattern adopted for 
 the expedition and designed by the princess. She 
 had not been wanting in activity any more than 
 the rest during the last three months, the dear 
 little soul. Copying proclamations, carrying them 
 secretly to the convent of the Franciscans, 
 designing costumes and banners, keeping the 
 police — whom she believed to be ever at her heels 
 —off the scent, thus inspired by her readings at 
 the Sarre-Ca'W did she play her role as a great 
 royalist lady. One detail only was wanting in this 
 programme of Vendean brigandage : she could not 
 start with the others or follow her Herbert. For 
 now it was Herbert, nothing but Herbert ; by a 
 beautiful provision of nature she thought no more 
 of the other than of the unfortunate marmoset so 
 
The Vigil. 35 1 
 
 cruelly crushed on the neighbouring pavement. 
 The joy of putting on a man's costume, and of 
 wearing miniature jack-boots was denied to Colette 
 for two reasons : one the duty that kept her at the 
 queen's side, the other, quite personal and intimate, 
 had been whispered the evening before into the 
 aide-de-camp's ear. Yes ! if it was not a delusion, 
 in a space of time easily calculated from the day 
 of the academic seance, the race of Rosen would be 
 increased by one little representative the more, 
 and it was out of the question to expose so dear 
 and precious a hope to the fatigues of an expedi- 
 tion that could not be expected to terminate 
 without some few rough and bloody sword-thrusts, 
 any more than it was advisable to take a turn of 
 waltz round the splendid rooms. Here were many 
 secrets for the little woman to keep, and notwith- 
 standing the mystery she preserved in speech, her 
 delightfully tell-tale eyes and the languid manner 
 in which she leant on Herbert's arm, betrayed it 
 all without an effort on her part. 
 
 Suddenly the orchestra was silent, the dance 
 stopped ; everyone stood up for the entry of 
 Christian and Fred^rique. They have crossed the 
 three saloons resplendent with national treasure?, 
 where the queen may read her cypher everywhere, 
 arranged in flowers, lights, jewels, and see on all 
 sides the souvenirs of her country and its glories ; 
 and now they stop at the entrance to the garden. 
 Never had the monarchy been represented more 
 
352 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 dvess, and round her 
 as her only jewel a 
 
 bravely, with greater brilliance ; truly a couple to 
 imprint on the coinage of a nation, on the 
 pediment of a dynasty. The queen in particular 
 was magnificent, looking' younger by ten years in a 
 white 
 neck 
 
 magnificent necklace 
 of amber, whence hnng 
 a cross. Blessed and 
 presented by the Pope, 
 this necklace had its 
 ,,, legend, related in whis- 
 
 pers by the faithful. 
 Fredcrique had worn 
 it all through the siege 
 of Ragusa ; twice it 
 had been lost and miraculously 
 found during sorties, under fire. 
 She held a superstition about it 
 herself, a queenly vow was asso- 
 ciated with it, and she wore it 
 [i without troubling herselfas to the 
 
 charming effect these pearls of 
 mellow and transparent gold produced so near to her 
 tresses, of which they seemed to catch a reflection. 
 While the RoTcreigns stood here radiant, admiring 
 the fete and the garden with its fairy illuminations, 
 three notes sounded from a Tiolin concealed amid a 
 clump of I'liododendrons, three Avild, strange, soul- 
 stirring notes. Every drop of Slav blood in the 
 
The Vio-il. 
 
 353 
 
 assembly quivered and leapt at the sound of its 
 national giizJas, with their long necks peeping 
 through the dark verdure. They began with a 
 prelude full of movement, murmuring, humming, 
 ringing with the gradually 
 approaching overflow of 
 far-off waves, sonorous in 
 their advance as they rise 
 and spread. It was like 
 some heavy cloud, full of 
 electricity, that from time 
 to time was torn into zig- 
 zag flashes by the keenest 
 note of the bow, and from 
 whence presently poured 
 forth the stormy, voluptu- 
 ous, heroic national air, 
 hymn and dance at one 
 and the same time ; that 
 air of Kodoitza, which in 
 its country is part of every 
 
 fete, of every battle, and well represents the two-fold 
 character of its ancient legend : Eodoitza, fallen into 
 the hands of the Turks, simulates death to escape. 
 They light fire on his chest, the hero stirs not. They 
 place a serpent in his bosom, they drive nails beneath 
 his finger-nails, he preserves a stone-like immobility. 
 Then they bring Haikouna, the finest, most lovely 
 girl in Zara, who begins to dance while singing the 
 
 A A 
 
 9' J 
 
354 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Illyrian national air. At the first bars, when 
 Eodoitza hears the sequins of the dancer's necklace 
 chink, and the fringes of her sash rattle and shake, 
 he smiles, opens his eyes, and would be lost were it 
 not that the dancer approaching him, in one 
 bound, throA\s over the face whose animation will 
 betray him, the silken kerchief with which she 
 accentuates and marks the rhythm of her dance. 
 Thus the hero was sa^■ed, and this is why for two 
 hundred years the national air of lUyria is called 
 the Eodoitza march. 
 
 Hearing it thus, beneath the skies of exile, all 
 the Illjrians, both men and women, turned pale 
 with emotion. This cry from the guzlas with a 
 soft accompaniment from the orchestra in the back- 
 ground within the house, like a murmuring of 
 waters above which resounds the shrill cry of the 
 stormy-petrel, was as the voice of the country 
 itself, overflowing with memories and tears, 
 regrets and unspoken hopes. The huge bows, 
 heavy and shaped like the bow of the archer, were 
 not drawn across commonplace strings, but upon 
 nerves strained to lireaking-point, upon the most 
 delicately vibrating and responsive fibres. These 
 young men of proud and hardy temperament, with 
 the stature and figure of heroes, all feel capable of 
 the indomitable courage of Eodoitza, who thought 
 himself M'ell paid by a woman's luve ; these hand- 
 some Dalmatians, all tall as Haikouua, have, like 
 
The Vigil. 355 
 
 her, a tender spot in their hearts for heroes. And the 
 elders, in thinking of the far-distant country ; the 
 mothers, as they watched their sons, — all could have 
 sobbed ; and all, but for the presence of the king 
 and queen, would have joined their voices to the 
 shrill and strident cry that the guzla-players sent 
 forth with all the force of their lungs as they 
 finished playing, amid a last clash of chords that 
 rose with it towards the stars. 
 
 Directly afterwards, dancing was resumed with a 
 vigour and spirit surprising in circles where to 
 amuse oneself is a polite fiction. Decidedly, as 
 Lebeau had said, there was something unusual 
 about this file. Something feverish, passionate, 
 full of ardour, expressed in the closer pressure of 
 the dancers as they swung round together, the 
 sparkling glances that flew and crossed, even the 
 cadence of the waltzes and mazurkas, in which some- 
 times came a note like the clink of stirrups and 
 spurs. Towards the end of most balls, when morn- 
 ing begins to shine through the windows, the last 
 hour of pleasure is mai'ked by this eager haste, these 
 drugged languors. But here the ball had barely 
 begun, and already all hands burned within the 
 gloves that covered them, all hearts beat beneath 
 the flowers of the bodice or the diamonds of the 
 orders ; and Avhen a couple passed by, intoxicated 
 by love and the rhythm of the dance, long in- 
 terested glances followed them with tender and 
 
 A A 2 
 
3S6 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Softened smiles. And, indeed, everyone knew tbat 
 all these fine young men, — scions of Illyrian nobility 
 exiled in company with their prince, French 
 nobility always ready to shed its blood in a good 
 cause — were to start at sunrise on a venturesome 
 and perilous expedition. Even in case of ™tory, 
 how many of these proud young fellows, -nho have 
 enlisted without taking count of their numbers, 
 will return ? How many in a week's time will be 
 biting the dusfc, laid low on the mountain sides 
 while the maddening tune of the last mazurka still 
 rings in their ears, mingling with the confused 
 throbbing of the fast-ebbing blood ! It is the 
 approach of danger that adds to the spirit of the 
 ball the anxiety of .a night under arms, brings 
 tears and lightning glances to shine in the eyes, 
 with so much languor, and so much audacity. 
 'What can a woman refuse to him who is leaving 
 her perhaps for speedy death ? And this said 
 death, liovering over all, the rustle of whose wings 
 can l)e heard almost touching tlieni in the swell of 
 the Aioliiis, hoAv it hastens confessions and draws 
 closer the embrace ! Light and fugitive loves, 
 chance meeting of ephemerae crossing the same 
 sunbeam ! Perhaps they have never met before, 
 doubtless will ne^er meet again ; j-et here are two 
 hearts fallen under the spell. A few, the more 
 haughty, try to smile notwithstanding their 
 emotion ; but how much sweetness is there beneath 
 
The Vigil. 357 
 
 this irony. And all this crowd turns and turns, 
 each couple fancying itself alone, shut off from the 
 rest, bewildered amid the magic entanglement of a 
 waltz by Brahms or a mazurka of Chopin's. 
 
 Not less moved than the rest was Meraut, in 
 whom the music of the guzlas, by turns of dreamy 
 softness or wild energy, awoke the adventurous 
 gipsy spirit that lies dormant in the depths of all 
 these temperaments of the sunny south, a wild 
 desire to rush away through unfamiliar ways 
 towards light, adventures, battles, to do some 
 valiant and brave action for which women would 
 admire him. He who never danced, and would 
 not have known any better how to fight, was 
 possessed by the witchery of this heroic ball ; and 
 to reflect that all these youths were about to start, 
 to give their blood, to run the gauntlet of glorious 
 and dangerous enterprise while he remained behind 
 with the old men, the women and children, to 
 think that having organized this crusade he must 
 see it set forth without him, all this caused him an 
 inexpressible sadness and discomfort. The thought 
 that had conceived felt shame before the action 
 that executed. And perhaps what contributed 
 something to this discouragement, this wish for 
 death inspired by the Slav songs and dances, was 
 the radiant pride of Frederique as she leant on 
 Christian's arm. How self-evident was her happi- 
 ness on finding again the king and warrior . in her 
 
358 Kings in Exile. 
 
 husband ! Haikouna, Haikouna ! at the ring and 
 clatter of arms you can forget all, pardon all — ■ 
 treasons and lies alike ! What you love above all 
 things is physical bravery, it is to that you will 
 always throw the handkerchief hot with your tears 
 and the delicate perfume of your own fair face. And 
 while he thus mourned within himself, Haikouna, 
 perceiving in a corner of the drawing-room the poet's 
 wide brow over which fell in unfashionable style 
 the abundant and rebellious locks, Haikouna smiled 
 and made a sign to him to approach. One might 
 suppose she had guessed the cause of his sadness. 
 " What a charming ffite, Monsieur Meraut." 
 Then lowering her voice, she added : 
 " I owe even this to you. But we owe you so 
 much, it is difficult to know how to thank you." 
 
 It was he indeed whose robust and vivifying 
 faith had breathed upon all these extinct embers, 
 brought back hope to despair, and prepared the 
 risiug by which they were to profit on the morrow. 
 The queen did not forget it, and there was no one 
 in the illustrious assembly to whom she would have 
 spoken in the presence of all, with that kindly 
 deference, those glances of gratitude and gentleness, 
 in the centre of the respectful circle traced around 
 the sovereigns. But Christian II. drew near, and 
 offering his arm to Frederique : 
 
 "The Marquis de Hezeta is here," he said to 
 Elysde. " Have you seen him ? " 
 
The Vigil. 359 
 
 " I do not know him, Sire." 
 
 " He declares, however, that you are very old 
 friends. Stay, here he is." 
 
 This Marquis de Hezeta was the chief who in the 
 absence of the old General de Eosen was to com- 
 mand the expedition. He had shown in the last 
 bold coup of the Due de Palma's astounding 
 qualities as commander of an army corps, and had 
 he been listened to, the sMrmish would never have 
 ended so shamefully and pitiably. When he saw 
 his efforts were in vain and that the pretender him- 
 self gave the example and signal for flight, the 
 cabeciUa, overcome with disappointment and mis- 
 anthropy, had fled to the depths of the Basque 
 mountains and lived far from the rumour of childish 
 conspiracies, of false hopes, of sword-thrusts in 
 water, that wasted his moral forces. He wished to 
 die obsc.urely in his own country, but was tempted 
 once more to the game of adventure by the alluring 
 royalism of Father Alpliee and Christian II. 's 
 renown for bravery. High rank and ancient 
 family, a romantic existence composed of exile and 
 persecution, chequered with great and startling 
 coups de main and the habitual jjractice of the 
 cruelties of a fanatic, all conspired to surround the 
 Marquis Jose Maria de Hezeta with an almost 
 legendary interest and to make him the chief per- 
 sonage of the evening. 
 
 " How do you do, Ely ? " said he, advancing 
 
360 Kings in Exile. 
 
 towards Elys^e with outstretched hand, and calling 
 him by his childhood's name — that by which he 
 was known in the mclos de.Rey. "Yes, it is I. 
 Your old schoolmaster, Monsieur Papel." 
 
 The evening-dress, covered with orders and 
 crosses, and the white cravat made no change in 
 him, nor yet the twenty years that had passed over 
 the huge dwarf's head, so burnt by the smoke of 
 battle and the keen weather of his mountain home, 
 that the great vein of the forehead, frightful and 
 characteristic as it was, could scarcely be seen. 
 "With it seemed to have faded the royalist fervour, 
 as if the cabecilla had left in the crown of the 
 Basque biretta, thrown into a torrent at the end of 
 the campaign, a portion of his ancient beliefs, of 
 the illusions of his youth. 
 
 Elysee was strangely surprised to hear the voice 
 of his old master, he who had made him what he 
 was. 
 
 " You see, my little Ely " 
 
 Little Ely was a good two feet taller than his 
 old master, and his locks were plentifully sprinkled 
 with grey. 
 
 " It is all over ; there ai'e no more kings. The 
 principle exists still, but the men are wanting. 
 Not one of these dismounted horsemen is capable 
 of getting into the saddle again ; not one really 
 wishes it. Ah ! what I have seen, what I have 
 seen, during the war ! " 
 
The Vigil. 361 
 
 A gory mist seemed to float round his head, and 
 filled his fixed and stony eyes, which, growing- 
 larger and larger, appeared to gaze upon visions of 
 shame, cowardice, and treasons. 
 
 " But all kings are not alike," protested Meraut, 
 " and I am sure that Christian " 
 
 " Yours is worth no more than ours — a child, a 
 mere dabbler. Not an idea, not a vestige of will 
 in those pleasure - loving eyes. Only look at 
 him ! " 
 
 He indicated the king, who just then waltzed 
 into the saloon, his little round head bent with 
 swimming eyes over the bare shoulder of his 
 partner, that his lip seemed on the point of touch- 
 ing. In the increasing animation of the ball the 
 couple passed without noticing them, so close that 
 they almost felt the warmth of their panting 
 breath ; and as the gallery filled rapidly to watch 
 Christian II. dance — for he was the best waltzer in 
 his kingdom — Hezeta and M6raut took refuge in 
 one of the deep recesses of the great open windows 
 overlooking the Quai d'Anjou. There they re- 
 mained a long time, half-way between the noise 
 and commotion of the ball and the refreshing dark- 
 ness, the calm silence of the night. 
 
 " Kings no longer believe in themselves ; kings 
 no longer have any strength of will. Why should 
 we give ourselves any trouble about them ? " said 
 the Spaniard, gloomily. 
 
362 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " You no longer have faith in them, and yet you 
 go?" 
 
 " Yes, I go." 
 
 "Without hope?" 
 
 "One only. That of breaking my head, my 
 poor head, that I no longer know where to lay." 
 
 "And the king?" 
 
 " Oh ! that fellow ! I am quite easy about 
 him ! " 
 
 Did he mean to say that Christian II. was not 
 yet in the saddle, and that like his cousin, the 
 Duke of Palma, he would always be sure of return- 
 ing safe and sound from the battle ? He did not 
 explain himself further. 
 
 Around them the ball continued to whirl in mad 
 circlings, but Elysee now looked at it through the 
 discouraged vision of his old master and his own 
 disillusions. He felt a boundless pity for all this 
 valiant troop of youths, who were so gaily pre- 
 paring to fight under chiefs devoid of faith in their 
 undertaking ; and already the fete, its confused 
 buBtle, its shaded lights, seemed to him to ' dis- 
 appear in the smoke of the battlefield, the vast 
 scuffle of disaster in which the unknown dead are 
 gathered up. Once, for a moment, to escape this 
 sinister vision, he leant upon the window-sill, 
 turning towards the deserted quay, whereon the 
 palace threw lengthened squares of light that 
 stretched away to the Seine. And the water, as he 
 
The Vinl. 
 
 363 
 
 listened to it tossing and tumnltuous at this point 
 of the island, mingled the noise of its currents, its 
 furious shocks against the arches of the bridges, 
 with the sighs of the Tiolins, the thrilling cry of 
 the guzlas ; and sometimes bounded onwards with 
 short gasping sounds, like the sobs of an afflicted 
 spirit ; and sometimes spread itself forward in 
 great exhaustive waves, like the blood welling from 
 a wide-open wound, 
 
IIV 
 
 ~wfi'' 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE NIGHT TRAIN, 
 
 " We start this evening at eleven o'clock from 
 tbe Gare de Lyons. Destination nnknown. Pro- 
 bably Cotte, Nice, or Marseilles. Bo as you think 
 best." 
 
 "When this note, rapidly pencilled by Lebean, 
 reached the Rue deMessine, the Comtesse de Spalato, 
 fresh, sweet, and snpple, had jnst left her bath, and 
 was busy in her room and her lioudoir, watering 
 
The Night Train. 365 
 
 and tending her flowers and hothouse plants, with 
 light Suede gloves drawn up to the elbow, for this 
 her daily walk through her artificial garden. She 
 was not in any degree affected by the news, but 
 paused a moment to reflect, in the softened light 
 admitted through the lowered blinds, and with a 
 little decided gesture, a shrug of her shoulders 
 which meant ; " Pooh, who wants the end takes 
 the means ; " she rang for her maid that she 
 might be ready to receive the king. 
 
 "What dress does madame wish to put on ? " 
 Madame threw an inquiring glance at her 
 mirror. 
 
 " None," she said ; " I will remain as I am." 
 Nothing, indeed, could be more becoming than 
 the long clinging pale flannel robe with its soft 
 pleats, the large neckerchief crossed on her 
 bosom and tied behind her waist, and the cm'ly 
 tresses of her black hair, twisted and raised high 
 in heavy coils on her head, revealing the curve of" 
 her neck and she line of her shoulders, which were 
 evidently of a darker hue than her face,— -of the 
 warm, smooth tint of amber. 
 
 She thought, with good reason, that no amount 
 of dressing could equal this simple negligee, that 
 set off the ingenuous, childhke air which the king 
 liked so well in her ; but this obliged her to break- 
 fast in her room, for she could not go down into 
 the dining-room in such a costume. She had put 
 her household on an eminently respectable foot- 
 
366 Kings in Exile ^ 
 
 ing ; ifc was no longer the fanciful Bohemian style 
 of Courbevoie. After breakfast, she settled herself 
 in her boudoir, from which a covered verandah 
 gave a prolonged view of the avenue, and began 
 her watch for the king, peaceably seated under 
 the rosy-tinted blinds, just as in former days she 
 had sat at the window of the "family hotel." 
 Christian never visited her before two, but from 
 that moment began an anguish of waiting quite 
 new to this placid nature ; an expectation, which 
 was no more at first than the tremor of water 
 that is about to boil, but which presently becomes 
 fevered, agitated, persecuting. Hardly any car- 
 riages passed at this hour on the quiet avenue, 
 with its double rows of plane-trees bathed in sun- 
 light, and of new mansions coming to an end at the 
 gilded gates, and sparkling lamp-posts of the Pare 
 Monceaux. At every sound of wheels, Sephora 
 drew aside the blind to look out, and the disap- 
 pointment of each new hope was aggravated by the 
 luxurious serenity and provincial calm of the 
 avenue. 
 
 AVhat could have happened ? Would he really 
 leave Avithout seeing her ? 
 
 She sought for reasons, for pretexts ; but expecta- 
 tion is a state that keeps the whole being in 
 suspense ; our very ideas float undecided, and 
 remain as unfinished as the words that hover on 
 stammering lips. The Comtesse endured this 
 torment, the sickly faintness in which the nerves 
 
The Night Train. 367 
 
 are in turn strained and relaxed. Once more she 
 raised the rose-tinted blind. A soft breeze was 
 rustling in the green tufts of the branches, a fresh 
 air rose from the avenue, which was washed in 
 sharp and rapid jets by the water-carts, interrupted 
 at every moment by the passing carriages, now 
 more numorous, going up towards the Bois de 
 Boulogne for the five o'clock drive. She now 
 began to be seriously alarmed at the desertion of 
 the king, and sent off two letters, one addressed to 
 the house of Prince d'Axel, the other to the club. 
 Then she dressed herself, for she could not remain 
 tin evening in the costume of a little girl who has 
 just left her bath ; and she resumed her walk 
 from her room to her boudoir, to her dressing- 
 room, and soon throughout the whole house, in her 
 attempt to baffle the torment of waiting by dint of 
 agitation. 
 
 It was not a mere bijou residence the Spalato 
 had bought, nor one of those huge mansions that 
 millionaire financiers have crowded into the 
 aristocratic new quarters of the Parisian West- 
 end, but an artistic home worthy of the names 
 borne by the surrounding streets : Murillo, 
 Velasquez, Van Dyck ; and very unlike its neigh- 
 bours from the top of its fajade to the knocker 
 on the door. Built by Comte Potnicki for his 
 mistress, an ugly woman to whom he every day 
 presented a thousand franc note (forty pounds) 
 which he placed folded in four on the marble 
 
368 Kings in Exile. 
 
 toilet- table, this maryellous dwelling had been sold 
 for eighty thousand pounds with all its artistic 
 furniture at the death of the rich Pole, who had 
 left no will, and Sephora had purchased it with all 
 its treasures. 
 
 The Comtesse Spalato descends the massive 
 staircase of sculptured wood fit to support a coach 
 and pair, which gives to the severe beauty of 
 the lady the dark background of a Dutch picture ; 
 she enters the reception rooms of the ground floor : 
 the first is called the Dresden china-room, a small 
 Louis XV. room, which contains an exquisite 
 collection of enamelled vases and statuettes in 
 the fragile style of the 18th century, looking as 
 if it were kneaded by the rosy finger-tips of the 
 king's favourites and animated by the fascination 
 of their smile ; the second, called the Ivory room, 
 where, within glass cases lined with crimson, 
 collections of Chinese carved ivories are displayed, 
 representing human figures, trees laden with 
 jewelled fruits, fishes with eyes of jade, by the 
 side of ivory crucifixes of the middle ages with 
 passionately mournful expression of face, and red 
 wax imitation of blood looking like a stain on the 
 pallor of a human skin ; the third, lighted up like 
 a studio and hung with Cordova leather, is as yet 
 incomplete and awaits father Leemans' finishing 
 touch. 
 
 The heart of the hrk-d-'brac dealer's daughter 
 habitually exults in the midst of these her precious 
 
The Night Train. 369 
 
 possessions, made more precious in her eyes by the 
 wonderful bargain she had made, but to-day she 
 goes and comes without looking at them ; she gees 
 nothing, for her thoughts are far away, lost amid a 
 thousand irritating reflections. What ! he would 
 leave her thus. Did he not love her then ? she 
 who thought she had so successfully caught and 
 captivated him. 
 
 The footman returns. No news of the king. 
 He has not been seen anywhere. That was just 
 like Christian. Aware of his own weakness he had 
 fled. A fit of uncontrollable rage for a moment 
 seizes hold of the woman and breaks down her 
 wonderful self-control. 
 
 She would have dashed to pieces all that sur- 
 rounds her in an instant if her long habit of 
 traflicj which mentally labelled the price of every 
 separate article, did not restrain her. Plunged in 
 an arm-chair, while the closing day draws its veil 
 over her newly-acquired riches, she sees them all 
 vanish and disappear together with her colossal 
 dreams of fortune. Suddenly the door opens, and 
 the servant announces : 
 
 " Dinner is on the table." 
 
 She must sit at her table alone in the majestic 
 dining-room, its light panels filled with portraits by 
 Franz Hals valued at thirty-two thousand pounds, 
 pale and solemn figures in their stiff ruffles, not so 
 solemn, however, as the butler in his white cravat, 
 who carves at the side-table the dishes that are 
 
570 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 handed to the Comtesse by two impassive flunkeys 
 in gorgeous livery. The irony of this pompous 
 service, coutrasting with the solitude and deser- 
 tion that menace Madame de Spalato, wrings her 
 heart with vexation ; it might even be thought 
 that the servants suspect 
 something, for they accen- 
 tuate more than usual the 
 ceremonious attitude of dis- 
 dain with which they wait 
 on her till she has finished, 
 standing motionless and 
 severe, like 
 <% a photogra- 
 pher's assist- 
 ant after 
 ha^'ing fixed 
 
 the customer 
 in front of the 
 camera. Little by 
 little, however, the 
 deserted woman cheers up and returns to her 
 normal condition. No, she will not allow her- 
 self to be cast off like this. Not that she 
 cares for the king. But the scheme, the grand 
 stroke, the good opinion of her associates, all her 
 self-love is at stake. Her mind is soon made up ! 
 She goes to her room, writes a letter to Tom ; 
 then, while the servants in the basement are 
 dining and gossiping about the lonely and agitated 
 
The Night Train. 371 
 
 day their mistress has spent, the Comtesse with 
 her clever little hands prepares a travelling-bag 
 that has often made the journey to and fro between 
 the agency and Courbevoie, throws a grey woollen 
 cloak over her shoulders as a protection against 
 the cold night air, and furtively quits her palace, 
 going off in the direction of the nearest cabstand 
 on foot, her little bag in her hand, just like 
 a lady's-companion who has been dismissed from 
 her place. 
 
 On his side, Christian II. had passed a no less 
 anxious day. He had, with the queen, remained 
 very late at the ball, and had awoke with his head 
 and heart re-echoing with the heroic strains of the 
 guzlas. The preparations for the expedition, his 
 arms to look over as well as the costume of 
 lieutenant-general that he had not put on since 
 Ragusa, all this took up his time till eleven o'clock, 
 under the watchful and anxious gaze of the per- 
 plexed Lebeau, who did not dare to hazard too 
 many questions or insinuations. At eleven the 
 court assembled to assist at a low mass said 
 by Father Alphee in. the drawing-room, trans- 
 formed into a chapel for the occasion, the mantel- 
 piece being turned into an altar and its velvet 
 draperies covered over by an embroidered altar- 
 cloth. The Rosens were absent, the old duke 
 still in bed, and the princess having accompanied 
 Herbert as far as the station, whence he had 
 started with some young men. Hezeta was to 
 
 jj B 2 
 
3/2 Kings in Exile. 
 
 follow by the next train, and the little band 
 was thus to leave ia detachments throughout the 
 day in order not to attract attention. This secret 
 mass, that recalled the former troubled times, the 
 fanatical face of the monk, the martial energy of 
 his voice and gesture, all seemed to call up a 
 mingled smell of iacense and powder — a religious 
 ceremony solemnized by the approach of battle. 
 
 All these mixed emotions cast a gloom over the 
 breakfast-table, although the king afiected a certain 
 coquetry in leaving nothing but pleasant recollec- 
 tions behind him, and adopted a respectfully 
 tender attitude towards the queen, which, how- 
 ever, was received with a suspicious coolness by 
 Frederique. The child glanced timidly from one 
 to the other, for the terrible scene of that other 
 night haunted his young memory, and gave him a 
 nervous intuition above his age. The Marquise 
 de Silvis heaved beforehand deep sighs of farewell. 
 As for Elysee, all his faith had returned, and he 
 could not contain his joy as he thought of the 
 counter-revolution he had so long dreamed of, 
 made by the people ; of the insurrection which 
 would break open the gates of a palace to reinstate 
 a king. For him success was not doubtful. 
 Christian, however, did not feel the same confi- 
 dence ; but except for a certain feeling of uneasi- 
 ness that accompanies every departure, when a 
 sudden sensation of sohtude is cast over all, the 
 premature separation from the beings and sur- 
 
The Night Train. 373 
 
 roundings habitual to every-day life, he felt no 
 sinister apprehensions, rather a sort of release from 
 a false position, oppressed as he was by pecuniary 
 embarrassments and debts of honour. In case of 
 victory, the civil list would settle everything. 
 Defeat, on the contrary, ■would bring with it a 
 general collapse : death, a bullet through the head 
 while facing his enemies ! He thought of this, as 
 a definite solution for his monetary and love affairs, 
 and his careless indifference did not jar too much 
 with the preoccupations of the queen, and the en- 
 thusiasm of Elysee. However, while they were 
 talking together, all three in the garden, a footman 
 happened to pass by. 
 
 "Tell Samy to bring the carriage round," 
 ordered Christian. Frederique started. 
 
 " You are going out ?" she inquired. 
 
 " Yes, I think it more prudent," he replied. 
 " Yesterday's ball must have set all Paris talking. 
 I must show myself, be seen at the club, on the 
 boulevards. Oh ! I shall return and dine with 
 you." 
 
 He ran up the steps, joyous and free, like a 
 schoolboy leaving the class-room. 
 
 "I shall be anxious till he is gone ! " said the 
 queen ; and Meraut, knowing as much as she did, 
 could not find a word of encouragement. 
 
 The king had, nevertheless, taken strong re- 
 solutions. During mass, he had vowed to himself 
 that he would not see Sephora again, knowing well 
 
374 Kings in Exile. 
 
 that if she chose to detain him, if she passed her 
 arms round his neck, he would be powerless to 
 leave her. In all good faith he had himself driven 
 to the club, found there some bald-pates absorbed 
 in silent whist, or slumbering majestically round 
 the great library table. Everything looked deserted 
 and dead ; the more so, that play had run high on 
 the previous night. In the morning, as the whole 
 set of clubmen were leaving H.H. Prince d'Axel 
 at their head, a troop of she-asses passed in front 
 of the club, trotting and jingling their bells. 
 Monseigneur had sent for the driver, and the whole 
 party, after having drank the warm milk in cham- 
 pagne glasses, had mounted the poor beasts in spite 
 of their kicks and the driver's vociferated remon- 
 strances, and had ridden the most ridiculous races 
 all along the Rue de la Paix. 
 
 It was amusing to listen to the pompously 
 affected account of ilonsieur Bonoeil, the manager 
 of the Grand Club : " No ! it was too funny ! 
 Monseigneur was on a tiny she-ass, obliged to tuck 
 up his long legs — for Monseigneur is admirably 
 gifted in legs ; and his imperturbable coolness. 
 Ah ! if his Majesty had been there." 
 
 His ]\Lijesty indeed regretted having missed such 
 a delightful madcap freak. Lucky Prince d'Axel ! 
 On bad terms vnth the king his uncle, turned out 
 of his country by some court intrigues, he will 
 probably never reign, since the old monarch talked 
 of marrying again some young woman, who would 
 
Tlie NigJit Train. 
 
 375 
 
 bear him a host of Kttle presumptive heirs. All 
 this did not distm-b his equanimity. To amuse 
 himself in Paris seemed far more interestiu"; to 
 
 him than being engaged in politics at home. And 
 little by little the bragging, sceptical, scoffing spirit 
 once more took possession of Christian, as he lay 
 back on the divan on which the Prince Eoyal had 
 left the impress of his contagious indolence. In 
 the idle atmosphere of the club, all the heroic 
 
3/6 Kings m Exile. 
 
 impulses of the previous day and the morrow's 
 expedition appeared to him equally devoid of glory, 
 magic, and grandeur. The longer he remained 
 there, the more he became demoralized ; and to 
 escape the torpor that seemed to invade his whole 
 being like a stupefying poison, he rose and went 
 down into the living, active, bustling life of the 
 boulevards. 
 
 Three o'clock ! The hour at which he usually 
 went off to the Avenue de Messine, after having 
 breakfasted at the club or at Bignon's. Mechani- 
 cally his footsteps led him in the habitual direction 
 of that summer quarter of Paris, larger but less 
 heady than the other, full of such charming 
 views, such airy perspectives, with its green masses 
 against stoneiwalls, and the shadows of foliage cast 
 on the white asphalt of the avenues. 
 
 What a nmnber of pretty women glide under 
 the trees, half hidden by their parasols, with all 
 the gracefulness and seductive charm of their 
 sparkling good-humour ! What other women can 
 walk, drape themsehcs in the grace of their very 
 step, talk, dress, or undress themselves like these ? 
 Ah ! Paris, Paris, city of pleasure and fleeting 
 hours ! To think that to make more sure of losing 
 all this, he ^\as, perchance, going to have a bullet 
 put through his head ! And yet what a good time 
 he had had ! what thorough and complete 
 voluptuousness he had enjoyed ! 
 The fei-vour of his gratitude threw a bright look 
 
The Night Train. 2)77 
 
 into the Slav's eyes as he gazed at all these 
 passing women, who by one flutter, one fan-like 
 sweep of their dress, captivated him. There was a 
 vast difference between the knightly king who that 
 morning, by the side of his wife and child, bent 
 low in his oratory before starting for the conquest 
 of his kingdom, and this pretty lady-killer, with 
 his nose in the air, and his hat placed with a con- 
 quering swagger on his round, curly head, fevered 
 by the pursuit of pleasure. Frederique was not 
 wrong in cursing the Parisian hotbed, in dreading 
 its effect upon this vacillating nature, ever in fer- 
 mentation, like certain wines that have no body. 
 
 At the corner of the Boulevard Haussmann and 
 the Avenue de Messine Christian paused for a 
 moment, and let several carriages p9,ss by. Here, 
 reason recalled him to himself. How had he got 
 there, so quickly ? 
 
 The Hotel Potuicki stood out in the vaporous 
 sunset with its two Httle turrets and its balcony 
 draped like an alcove. What a temptation ! Why 
 should he not go in ? why should he not see once 
 more the woman who would henceforth remain in 
 his life as the dry, parched remembrance of an 
 unsatisfied desire ? 
 
 At last, after a moment's terrible debate, after a 
 hesitation visibly betrayed by the reed-like swaying 
 of his weak body, he took an heroic decision, 
 jumped into an open cab that was passing by, and 
 gave the address of his club. Never would he 
 
3/8 Kings in Exile. 
 
 have had this courage, if it had not been for the 
 oath he had taken that very morning during mass. 
 For his effeminate, pusillanimous soul this was 
 stronger than anything. 
 
 At the club he found Sephora's letter, which by 
 its odour of musk, communicated the fever that 
 had dictated it. The prince handed him her other 
 note : a few hurried, imploring phrases, written in 
 a very different handwriting from that of Tom 
 Levis's ledgers. But here Christian II., sustained 
 by the observant looks around him, felt stronger : 
 for he was one of those whose attitude depends 
 very much upon an audience. He crumpled up 
 the letters into his pocket. The fashionable youth 
 of the club were now arriving, full of the story of 
 the donkey race, that had been given at full length 
 in one of the morning papers. The paper passed 
 from hand to hand, and it was greeted with the 
 weak, foolish laugh of unamused and worn-out men. 
 
 " Are we going to have a lark to-night ? " in- 
 quired these young scions of nobility as they 
 absorbed soda-water or the mineral waters with 
 which the club was as well stocked as a chemist's 
 shop. 
 
 Carried away by their high spirits, the king con- 
 sented to dine with them at the Cafe de Londres : 
 not in one of the saloons which had so often been 
 witnesses of their drunken debauchery, whose 
 mirrors bore their names written, crossed, and 
 mixed like a winter's frost upon window-panes ; 
 
TJie Night Train. 379 
 
 but in the cellars, those admirable catacombs of 
 casks and bottles which stretch out their long 
 regular lines of bins marked with china labels, as 
 far underground as the Opera Comique. All the 
 vintages of France slept there. The table had been 
 laid at the further end, amid the Chi,teau-Yquem, 
 whose greenish recumbent bottles, spangled by the 
 reflection of the gas and coloured glass chandeliers, 
 softly glistened in their bins. This fancy had 
 been inspired by Wattelet, who wished to mark, by 
 an original repast, the departure of Christian II., 
 which was known only to him and to the prince. 
 But the effect was lost by the dampness of the walls 
 and the ceilings, which soon penetrated the guests, 
 wearied by the preceding night's gaieties. Queue- 
 de-Poule could hardly keep his eyes open, and every 
 now and then awoke with a start. Kigolo spoke 
 little, laughed, or rather pretended to laugh, and 
 pulled out his watch every five minutes. He might, 
 perhaps, be thinking of the queen, and of the 
 anxiety she must be undergoing at his delay. 
 
 At dessert there appeared a few women who had 
 been dining at the Cafe de Londres, and who, hear- 
 ing that the princes were downstairs, had left their 
 tables, and, guided by the waiters carrying lighted 
 candelabras, crept down into the cellars, holding 
 their long skirts over their arms, with the little 
 screams and the frightened airs usual on these 
 frolicksome occasions. Nearly all were bare- 
 shouldered. 
 
380 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Ill five minutes they were all coughing and 
 shivering with cold by the side of the men, who at 
 least had the collars of their coats to turn up. " A 
 freak fit to send them all into a galloping consump- 
 tion," said one of them, more chilly or less of a 
 madcap than the others. It was decided to go and 
 take coffee upstairs in the saloons, and, during the 
 move, (^Jhristian disappeared. It was barely nine 
 o'clock. He found his brougham waiting at the 
 door. 
 
 "Avenue de Messine," he said, in a low tone, 
 through his clenched teeth. 
 
 The craze had seized upon him like a sudden 
 fever. During the whole of the dinner he had been 
 haunted by her, only her, breathing in the rapturous 
 vision conjured up by the naked shoulders of the 
 women around him. Oh ! to clasp her in his arms, 
 deaf to her tears and prayers. 
 
 " Madame is gone out." 
 
 The words fell like a cold douche on a fiery 
 brazier. Madame had gone out! The sight of 
 the house, left to the discretion of the servants 
 whom Christian had seen flying in every direction 
 at his entrance, could leave him no doubt. He 
 asked no further questions, and suddenly recalled 
 to his senses, he realized the appalling depth of the 
 abyss into which he had so nearly fallen. A 
 perjurer to his God ! a traitor to his crown 1 His 
 burning fingers met his little rosary. He muttered 
 Aves to return thanks for his escape, while the 
 
The Night Train. 
 
 381 
 
 caiTiage rolled off in the direction of Saint-Mande, 
 throiioli the fantastic vic^YS and mysterions 
 nocturnal aspects of the wood. 
 
 "The king," cried Elysce, "who was watching at 
 
 the drawing-room waldo\^'s and saw the two lamps 
 of the brougham dash into the courtyard like 
 flashes of lightning. The king ! It was the first 
 word that had been uttered since dinner. As by 
 magic all faces brightened, all tongues were loosed. 
 The queen herself, notwithstanding her self-control 
 and ajjparent calm, could not keep back her cry of 
 
382 Kings in Exile. 
 
 joy. She had thought that all was lost ; that 
 Christian had been taken possession of by that 
 woman ; that he had abandoned his friends, and 
 had dishonoured himself for ever. And there was 
 not a being around her who, during those three 
 mortal hours of suspense, had not had the same 
 thought, the same anxiety ; even little Zara, whom 
 she had kept sitting up, and who, comprehending 
 the anguish, the dramatic meaning of the general 
 silence, never ventured a question, — those cruel, 
 telling questions, which children will make in their 
 sweet clear voices. Sheltered behind the leaves of 
 a large album, lie suddenly raised his pretty face 
 when the king was announced, a face bathed with 
 the tears that had been flowing silently for the last 
 hour. Later on, when he was questioned as to this 
 great grief, he confessed that he was in despair at 
 the thought that the king had left without embrac- 
 ing him. Loving little soul, to whom this young, 
 witty, ever-smiling father appeared like a big 
 brother, a delightful brother whose wild pranks, 
 however, caused the despair of their mother. 
 
 Christian's voice was heard, sharp and hurried, 
 giving his last orders. Then he went up into his 
 room, and five minutes later appeared ready 
 equipped for the journey in a little round hat with 
 blue band and coquettish buckle, and dainty gaiters, 
 like one of those sea-side tourists painted by 
 Wattelet. The monarch was, however, to be dis- 
 cerned beneath the garb of the dandy, by his air of 
 
The Night Train. 383 
 
 authority, and the ease of manner he showed under 
 every circumstance. He approached the queen, 
 and murmured an apology for his dilatoriness. 
 Still white with emotion, she said, in a low voice : 
 
 " If yon had not come, I should have gone with 
 Zara in your stead." He felt that she spoke the 
 truth, and for a moment there flashed across his 
 brain the vision of the queen with the child in her 
 arms, in the midst of the bullets, just as on the 
 balcony during that last terrible scene, when the 
 little fellow had so resignedly closed his eyes before 
 impending death. Without saying a word, he 
 raised Frederique's hand fervently to his lips ; then 
 with a youthful impetuosity, drew her towards him, 
 saying : " Forgive me, forgive me ! " 
 
 The queen no doubt would still have forgiven 
 him, but she caught sight of Lebeau, the knavish 
 valet, the confident of his master's pleasures and 
 faithlessness, standing near the door ready to 
 accompany the king ; and a horrible idea at once 
 crossed her mind while she quietly freed herself 
 from his embrace. " If he lied. If he were not 
 starting after all ! " Christian divined her thought, 
 and turning to Meraut said : " You will accom- 
 pany me to the station, Samy will bring you back." 
 Then as time pressed, he hurried his adieux, said 
 an amiable word to each, to Boscovich, to the 
 Marquise, took Zara on his knee, spoke to him of 
 the expedition that he was undertaking to re- 
 conquer his kingdom, bade him never be a subject 
 
384 Kings in Exile, 
 
 of grief to the queen, and if he should never see 
 his father again, to remember that he had died for 
 his country fulfilling his kingly duty. Quite a 
 little speech in Louis XIV. 's style, really well 
 turned, which the little prince listened to gravely, 
 rather disconcerted at the solemn words issuing 
 from the lips hu had always seen smiling. But 
 Christian was indeed the man of the present 
 moment, changeable, and fickle beyond measure, 
 and now full of his leavetaking, of the chances of 
 the expedition, more moved than he wished to 
 show, he hurriedly tore himself away from the 
 emotion of the last minute. He waved an " Adieu ! 
 adieu ! " with his hand to all around, bowed low 
 before the queen, and went out. 
 
 Truly, if Blysee Meraut had not known what 
 had taken place in the royal household for the last 
 three years, if he had not seen the profligacy and 
 disgraceful weakness of Christian II., he would 
 have found it difiicult to recognize the Rigolo of 
 the Grand Club, in the proud and heroic prince 
 who explained to him his plans, his schemes, his 
 intelligent and liberal political views as they rolled 
 rapidly along in the direction of the Lyons station. 
 The royalist and somewhat superstitious faith of 
 the tutor, saw in this a divine intervention, a 
 privilege of caste, a king necessarily always return- 
 ing to kingly sentiments at the supreme moment, 
 by the grace of God and by the immutable laws of 
 heredity ; and, without being able to explain to 
 
The Nig/it Train. 
 
 38S 
 
 himself the reason, this moral regeneration of 
 Christian, preceding and presaging the other that 
 was nigh at hand, caused him an inexpressible 
 feeling of discomfort, a haughty jealousy, the 
 motives of which he would not analyse. "While 
 
 Leheau took the tickets and booked the luggage, 
 they paced up and down in the great waiting- 
 room, and in the solitude of this nightly depar- 
 ture, the king could not help thinking of Sephora, 
 and the tender farewells at the Saint-Lazare 
 station. Under the influence of these thoughts, 
 a woman passed by and attracted bis notice, tlie 
 
386 Kings in Exile. 
 
 same figure, a touch of that staid but coquettish, 
 step. 
 
 Poor Christian, poor king in spite of himself ! 
 
 At last he is in a carriage, of which Lebeau 
 holds the door open for him, an ordinary first- 
 class carriage, in order not to attract attention. 
 He throws himself into a corner, anxious to get oflj 
 to have finished with it all. This slow process of 
 tearing himself away is very painful to him. The 
 engine whistles, the train begins to move, to draw 
 out to its full length, darts noisily over the 
 bridges, through the sleeping suburbs, dotted by 
 long lines of lamps, and dashes off into the open 
 country. Christian II. breathes again, he feels 
 strong, safe, sheltered ; he could almost hum a 
 tune if he were alone in his compartment. But 
 over there at the opposite window, a little shadowy 
 figure buried in black, shrinks back modestly in 
 the corner, with the obvious intention of avoiding 
 notice. It is a woman ; young, old, ugly, pretty ? 
 The king, a matter of habit, casts a sidelong glance 
 at her. Nothing stirs but the two little wings in 
 the hat, which seem to turn back and fold together 
 for sleep. "She sleeps. I wiU do the same." He 
 stretches himself out on the seat, wraps himself up 
 in a rug, looks out vaguely at the confused soft 
 outlines of the trees and bushes, which seem to run. 
 one into the other as the train passes them ; at the., 
 signal posts ; the drifting clouds in the balmy sky ; 
 and his eyelids heavy with sleep are about to close 
 
The Nizht Train. 
 
 387 
 
 when he foels on his cheek a caress of soft hair, of 
 long eyelashes, of a violet-scented breath, and of 
 two lips, murmuring close to his own lips : " Cruel 
 man ! Leaving me without saying good bye ! " 
 Ten hours later, Christian II. awoke to the roar 
 
 of cannon, in the dazzling light of a resplendent 
 sun, softened by the surrounding verdure. He 
 was just dreaming that at the head of his troops, 
 under a storm of grape shot, he was scaling the 
 rapid ascent leading from the port at Eagusa to the 
 citadel. But he found himself lying motionless in 
 a large bed, his eyes and brain confused, and his 
 
388 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 whole being exhausted by a delicious languor. 
 What had happened ? Little by little he roused 
 himself and remembered. He was at Fontaine- 
 bleau, at the Hotel du Faisau, in front of the 
 forest, its close green 
 summits rising up 
 against the blue sky ; 
 the cannon was the sound 
 of the artillery practice. 
 And the living reality, 
 the visible link of his 
 ideas — Sephora — 
 seated in front of a 
 writing desk, such as 
 is always to be found 
 in an hotel but never 
 anywhere else, was 
 writing diligently with 
 a bad, scratchy pen. 
 She saw in the 
 mirror the admiring, grateful 
 look of the king, and replied to it, 
 without turning round or betraying the slightest 
 emotion, by a tender glance of her eyes and a 
 motion of her pen, then went on quietly writing, 
 with a smile hovering at the corner of her seraphic 
 mouth. 
 
 " A despatch I am sending home to reassure 
 them," she said, rising ; and the telegram given, 
 the waiter gone, relieved from some secret anxiety, 
 
The NinrJu Tra 
 
 389 
 
 she opened the window to the golden rays of the 
 Sim that poured into the room like the water from 
 a sluice. " Oh dear ! AVhat beautiful weather." 
 She came and sat down on the edge of the bed by 
 the side of her lover. She laughed, delighted at 
 the idea of finding herself in the country, of 
 
 rambling through the wood on such a lovely day. 
 They had plenty of time till the night train that 
 had brought them should pick up Christian the 
 following night ; for Lebeau, who had continued 
 the journey, was to warn Hezeta and his 
 companions that the landing was to Ijc delayed for 
 a day. The enamoured Slave ^vould fain have 
 remained indoors, and have drawn the great 
 cui'tains over a happiness that he would willingly 
 
3 go Kings in Exile. 
 
 have prolonged to the last hour, the last minute. 
 But women are gifted with more ideality, and 
 directly breakfast was over, an open carriage 
 carried them off through the magnificent avenues, 
 bordered by lawns, and clumps of trees that give to 
 the forest a look of some glade in the park at 
 Versailles, before the rocks are reached that divide 
 it into bold, wild sites. It was the first time they 
 had gone out together, and Christian revelled in 
 this brief joy, which was to have such a terrible 
 morrow of battle and death. 
 
 They rolled on under immense arches of verdure, 
 under the delicate foliage of the beech-trees, 
 spreading out light and motionless, the distant sun 
 barely penetrating the dense greenery. Sheltered 
 from all eyes, without any other horizon than the 
 profile of the loved one, without any other hope, 
 any other souvenir or desire but that of her 
 caresses, the poetical side of the Slave's character 
 overflowed. Oh ! to live there together all alone 
 they two, in a keeper's tiny cottage, covered with 
 thatch and mosses, and luxuriously furnished with 
 every comfort ! Thi'n he wanted to know how long 
 she had loved him, what impression he had made 
 on her the first time they had met. He translated 
 for her the poetry and songs of his country, 
 rhythmically showering kisses on her neck and on 
 her eyes ; and she listened, pretended to understand 
 and answer him, her eyelids, meanwhile, closing, 
 heavy and sleepy after her broken night's rest. 
 
The Night Train. 391 
 
 The eternal discordance of love-duets ! Christian 
 wished to plunge into the isolated, unexplored parts 
 of the forest ; Sephora, on the contrary, sought out 
 aR the famous spots, the labelled curiosities of the 
 forest, with the inevitable tea-gardens, booths fall 
 of carved juniper wood, and guides who show the 
 rocking stones, the lightening-struck trees : a 
 whole tribe of nondescripts, who dash out from 
 huts or caverns at the least sound of a wheel. She 
 hoped in this manner to escape from the wearisome 
 and monotonous love-ditty ; and Christian admired 
 the kindly patience with which she listened to the 
 interminable stories of the worthy country folk, 
 who always seem to have both time and space for 
 all they do. 
 
 At Franchart, she insisted on di-awing water 
 from a renowned well of the old monks, so deep 
 that the bucket is nearly twenty minutes coming 
 up. Most entertaining for Christian ! There, a 
 good woman covered with medals like an old 
 dragoon, showed them the beauties of the place, 
 the old ponds, on the banks of which the deer used 
 to be cut up and served to the hounds ; having 
 told the same story for so many years past in 
 exactly the same words, she fancied she had 
 herself lived in the convent, and, three hundred 
 years later, had been present at the sumptuous 
 picnics given under the First Empire when the 
 court came to reside here : " It was here, ladies 
 and gentlemen, that the great Emperor sat in the 
 
392 Kings in Exile. 
 
 evening, surrounded by Ms court." She pointed 
 to a stone beucli in the midst of the heather. 
 Then, in a proud tone, she added : " Opposite, the 
 Empress with her ladies." There was something 
 sinister in this evocation of imperial pomp in the 
 midst of fallen rocks, distorted trunks of trees, and 
 burnt-up broom. " Are you coming, Sephora ? " 
 inquired Christian ; but Sephora was looking at an 
 esplanade, where according to the cicerone, the 
 little King of Kome used to be carried by his 
 nurse, to kiss his hand from afar to his august 
 parents. This vision of the child-prince reminded 
 the King of Illyria of his little Zara. He seemed 
 to stand up in front of him in the aiid landscape, 
 held aloft in Frederique's arms, watching and 
 gazing sadly at him, as though to ask what he was 
 doing there. It was, however, but a vague 
 reminder quickly repressed ; and they continued 
 their stroll under the great fantastic oak-trees — 
 hunting rendezvous, dubbed with high-sounding 
 names — through the green vales, on the ledges that 
 overlooked fallen masses of granite and sand-pits, 
 where the pine-trees furrowed the red ground with 
 their powerful projecting roots. 
 
 Now they followed a dark avenue of impenetrable 
 shade, ploughed by deep, damp ruts. On each 
 side rows of trees like the pillars of a cathedral 
 formed silent naves, through which was heard only 
 the step of a startled deer, or the fall of a golden- 
 tinted leaf. An immense sadness fell fi-om these 
 
The Niirlit Train. 
 
 393 
 
 high archways, these branches without birds, 
 resonant and hollow like deserted houses. As the 
 day wore on the enamoured Christian felt his 
 
 passion deepened, with a sliadc of melancholy at 
 the approaching separation. He told her how he 
 had made his will before starting, and the emotion 
 he had felt at writing when in the full vigour of 
 life words that would only be read after his death. 
 
394 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " Yes, it is very tirescirac," said Sephora, in the 
 absent tone of a person thinking of something else. 
 But he fancied himself so beloved, he was so 
 accustomed to be loved, that he did not notice her 
 abstraction. Indeed, he even consoled her before- 
 hand in case anything should befall him, tracing 
 out her existence fur her : she must sell her house 
 and retire into the country, and live on the 
 recollection of their love. All this was delightfully 
 conceited, naive, and sincere : for he felt his heart 
 seized with the sadness of farewells, which he 
 mistook for the presentiment of death. In a low 
 whisper, their hands entwined, he spoke of a fliture 
 life. He wore round his neck a little medal of the 
 Virgin, which never left him ; he took it off, and 
 gave it to her. Fancy how delighted Sephora 
 must have been ! 
 
 Shortly after, they came upon an artillery camp, 
 and the glimpse caught through the trees of rows 
 of grey tents, light smoke, and horses unbridled, 
 hobbled for the night, gave the king's thoughts 
 another direction. The moving hither and thither 
 of uniforms, the fatigue parties, all the activity of 
 life carried on in the open air in the warm light of 
 the setting sun, the merry aspect of the soldier's 
 encampment, roused the instincts of his wandering 
 and warlike race. The carriage, as it rolled over 
 the green moss-covered avenue, aroused the atten- 
 tion of the soldiers occupied in pitching the tents 
 or making their soup. They laughingly followed 
 
The Night Train. 395 
 
 the pretty couple with their eyes, aud Christian 
 longed to speak to them, to harangue them, as he 
 examined the camp under the trees to its furthest 
 extremity. A bugle sounded, aud others answered 
 from afar. Before an officer's tent, a little aside 
 from the others, on rising ground, a beautiful Arab 
 horse, with nostrils open and flowing mane, pranced 
 and neighed at the sound of the bugles. The 
 Slave's eyes sparkled. Ah ! what grand days were 
 now before him ! What mighty sword-thrusts he 
 Would give I But what a pity Lebeau had gone 
 on to Marseilles with his luggage ; he would have 
 been so proud to show himself to her in his 
 uniform of lieutenant-general. And in his excited 
 iniagination he saw the gates of the town forced 
 open, the republicans routed, his own triimiphant 
 entrance into Leybach through the gaily-decked 
 streets. She should be there, by Gad ! He would 
 have her there, and give her a superb palace at the 
 gates of the town. They would continue to see 
 each other as freely as in Paris. To all these 
 wonderful plans Sephora did not answer much. 
 No doubt she would hare preferred to keep him 
 all to herself ; and Christian admired her silent 
 abnegation, which so well befitted her position as 
 mistress of the king. 
 
 Ah ! how he loved her, and how quickly that 
 evening passed at the Hotel du Faisan, in their 
 crimson-hung room, with the great curtains drawn 
 upon the fading light of a summer's evening ; in 
 
396 Kings in Exile. 
 
 the little, sparsely-lit town, buzzing with the hum 
 of the conversations before the doors and of the 
 passers-by, dispersing at the sound of the drums 
 and bugles of the garrison. How many kisses, and 
 follies, and passionate vows went to rejoin the 
 kisses and vows exchanged the previous night. In 
 their delicious languor and their close embrace 
 they listened to the quick beating of their own 
 hearts ; while a soft breeze shook the curtains after 
 having murmured in the trees, and a fountain 
 played, like in a Moorish court, in the middle of 
 the little garden of the hotel, where the only light 
 was the red and flickering reflection of the ofiBce 
 lamp. 
 
 One o'clock ! It is the hour of parting. Chris- 
 tian dreaded the wrench of the last moment for he 
 thought he would have to struggle against the 
 caresses and prayers of Sephora, and would have to 
 summon up all his courage. 
 
 But she was ready before he was, and insisted on 
 accompanying him to the station, placing the 
 honour of her royal lover before his love. If he 
 could have heard the sigh of relief the cruel crea- 
 ture gave, when, alone on the platform, she 
 watched the two green eyes of the train winding 
 away in the distance ; if he could have known how 
 happy she was at the idea of finding hereelf alone 
 in the hotel ; while as the empty omnibus rattled 
 her over the old pavement of Fontainebleau, she 
 said to herself in a quiet tone free from all thrill of 
 
The Nis-ht Tm 
 
 397 
 
 passion : " If only Tom has done tlie needful in 
 time ! " 
 
 Yes, most assuredly tlie needful had been done, 
 for when the train reached Marseilles, great was 
 the surprise of Christian II. when he alighted from 
 the railway car- 
 riage with his 
 little portman- ,- . 
 
 teau in his 
 hand, to see a 
 flat silver- 
 braided cap 
 approach him and va-y 
 politely beg him to 
 step for one moment 
 into his office. 
 
 "What for ? Who are you ': 
 asked the king, haughtily. 
 
 The flat cap bowed and replied : 
 
 " Government inspector ! " 
 
 In the office, Christian found the 
 prefect of Marseilles, a former journalist, 
 with a red beard and bright and witty countenance. 
 
 " I am sorry to have to inform your Majesty 
 that your journey must end here," said he in a tone 
 of exquisite politeness. " My Government cannot 
 allow a prince to take advantage of the hospitality 
 afforded to him by France, to conspire and arm 
 against a friendly power." 
 
 The king tried to protest, but the prefect was 
 
398 Kings in Exile. 
 
 acquainted with the minutest details of the expedi- 
 tion. 
 
 " You were to embark at Marseilles, and your 
 companions at Cette on a Jersey steamer. The 
 place chosen for the general landing was the shore 
 of Gravosa, the signal two rockets, one from the 
 ship the other on land. You see we are well in- 
 formed. They are the same at Eagusa, and I am 
 saving you from a regular trap." 
 
 Christian II. was astounded, and wondered who 
 could have betrayed secrets known only to himself, 
 to the queen, to Hezeta, and one other, whom he 
 certainly did not dream of suspecting. The prefect 
 smiled in his fair beard*. 
 
 " Come, Monseigneur, you must make the best 
 of it, you have failed this time. On the next occa- 
 sion you will be more fortunate and more prudent 
 also. Now I beg your Majesty will accept the 
 shelter of the p)-efecture. Anywhere else you 
 would be the object of a troublesome curiosity, for 
 your projected expedition is known all over the 
 town." 
 
 Christian did not answer immediately. He 
 looked around the little official room, filled by a 
 green armchair, green portfolios, an earthenware 
 stove, and great maps marked with the lines of 
 railway, the miserable corner in which his heroic 
 dream, and the last echoes of the March of 
 Eodoitza lay stranded. He was like a traveller in 
 a balloon, who, having started for dizzy heights. 
 
77/1? Night Trian. 
 
 399 
 
 had fallen down at once npon a peasant's hut, with 
 his empty balloon, a mere l)undle of crnmpled silk, 
 cast aside under a stable roof. 
 
 He, however accepted the invitation, and found 
 
 the prefect's home a truly Parisian one ; his Avife a 
 charming woman and a thorough musician, who 
 after dinner, when tliey had talked o\'er all the 
 topics of tlie day, seated herself at the i)iano, and 
 ran through the newest opera. She had a pretty 
 voice and knew how to sing ; so after a while 
 
400 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Christian drew near her and discussed music and 
 operas. T]ie Eclioes of lUyria were lying on the 
 music-stand Jjctween the Rcine de Saha and the 
 JoKe rarfummse. The lady asked the king to 
 show her the rhythm and style of the ballads of his 
 country. And Christian II. hummed one or two 
 popular airs : " Beaux yeux, Mens comme lui del 
 iViti:" * and again : " Jeunes filJes qui m'koidez en 
 tressant des tiaftes." 
 
 And while this cajitivating king stood leaning 
 against the piano affecting the melancholy tones 
 and attitudes of an exile ; far away, on the lUyrian 
 Sea, of whose foam-tipped waycs and flowered shore 
 the Echoes sang, a troop of young and enthu- 
 siastic men, whom liCbeau had calmly neglected to 
 warn, scudded joyously towards the fatal shores, 
 into the \ery jaws of death, to the cry of : " Long 
 hve Christian II. 1 '' 
 
 * "Be.iutiful eyes, blue as a stimmei-'s sl;y. " "Young 
 maidens wlio hearken to my song while weaving mats." 
 

 XIII. 
 
 THE CONDEMNED CELL. 
 
 " My darling wife, we have just been brought 
 back to tlie citadel of Kagusa, Monsieur de Hezeta 
 and I, after ten hours passed in the theatre of the 
 Corso, where a court-martial has been sitting upon 
 us. We have been unanimously condemned to 
 death. 
 
 " I confess that I prefer this. At least we now 
 know what to expect, and are no longer in solitary 
 confinement. I can read your dear letters and 
 can write to you. The complete silence utterly 
 crushed me. I was without any news of you, of 
 my father, of the king whom I fancied killed, the 
 
402 Kings in Exile. 
 
 victim of some ambush. Fortunately His Majesty- 
 is spared, and has but the failure of the expedition 
 and the lives of a few loyal servants to deplore. 
 Things might have been worse. 
 
 " The newspapers, no doubt, have told you what 
 took place. Owing to some incredible fatality, the 
 king's counter-order had not reached us, and at 
 seven o'clock in the evening we were to leeward of 
 the islands at the appointed rendezvous. Hezeta 
 and I were on deck, the others in the cabin, all 
 armed and ready, your pretty little cockade stuck 
 in our hats. We cruised about for two or three 
 hours. There was nothing within sight but some 
 fishing smacks and some big feluccas belonging to 
 the coasting trade. Xight fell, and with it a sea- 
 fog, adding to the difficulties of our meeting with 
 Christian II. After waiting about a long time, we 
 came to the conclusion that his Majesty's steamer 
 had probably passed by without seeing -us, and that 
 the king had landed. Just then, from the shore 
 where they were to await our signal, a rocket was 
 fired into the air. That meant : ' Land at once.' 
 We had no more doubts, the king was evidently 
 there. And we started to join him. 
 
 "As I am thoroughly acquainted with the 
 country — I have so often shot wild-duck in that 
 neighbourhood— I was put in command of the first 
 launch, Hezeta was in the second, and Monsieur de 
 Miremont was in the third with our Parisian 
 adherents. In my boat we were all Iljyrians, and 
 
The Condemned Cell. 403 
 
 how our hearts beat high. It was our motherland 
 that lay before us, that dark coast rising through 
 the fog, bearing the little red revolving light of the 
 Gravosa lighthouse. The complete silence on the 
 beach, however, astonished me. Nothing was to be 
 heard but the waves breaking on the shore, a long 
 rippling, clapping sound, nothing of that mysterious 
 sound that arises from the most silent crowd, that 
 always resembles a clink of arms, or the panting of 
 subdued respirations. 
 
 " ' I see our men ! ' said San-Giorgio in a whisper 
 to me. 
 
 " We perceived on landing that what we had 
 taken for the king's volunteers were clumps of 
 cactus, and Barbary fig-trees planted in rows on 
 the beach. I advanced. Nobody. But there 
 were the footmarks of a trampling crowd, and 
 furrows in the sand. I said to the Marquis : 
 ' This looks very suspicious. Let us get back to 
 the boats.' 
 
 " Unfortunately, the Parisians had just landed ; 
 you know how impossible it is to hold them. They 
 scattered themselves all along the shore, beating 
 the bushes and thickets. All at once there was a 
 line of fire, the cracking of musketry. The cry is 
 raised : ' Treason ! treason ! To the boats ! ' "We 
 rush towards the launches ; jostling, and hustling like 
 a herd of mad, bewildered cattle, through sand and 
 water. There was a moment of terrible panic when 
 the moon shone out and showed us the sailors 
 
 D D 2 
 
404 Kings in Exile. 
 
 pulling away as hard as they could to the steamer. 
 However, that did not last long. Hezeta dashed 
 forward, revolver in hand. 'Avanti! Avanti!' 
 What a voice ! The whole shore echoed again 
 with the sound. We followed on his heels. Fifty 
 against a whole army. We had but to die. And 
 that is what our men did with true courage. Pozzo, 
 M61ida, young Soris your admirer of last winter, 
 Henri de Tr6bigne who in the midst of the scuffle, 
 called out to me : 'I say, Herbert, this lacks 
 guzlas! ' And Jean de Veliko, who, while he 
 slashed right and left sang the ' Eodoitza ' at the 
 top of his voice ; all fell, and I saw them stretched 
 out on the sand, their faces turned towards the 
 heavens. It is there that the rising tide will have 
 ingulfed and shrouded them, the gay dancers of 
 our last ball ! Less fortunate than our comrades, 
 the marquis and I alone survived that hailstorm 
 of bullets ; we were seized, bound, fastened on to 
 mules' backs and carried to Ragusa, your unhappy 
 Herbert howling with impotent rage, while Hezeta 
 calmly repeated : ' It was fated. I knew this would 
 happen.' What a strange fellow ! How could he 
 know that we should be betrayed, abandoned to 
 our enemies, and on landing be received by musket 
 and grapeshot ; and if he did know it, why did he 
 lead us on ? However, the result is the same, the 
 thing is a failure, and when another attempt is 
 made, greater precautions must be taken. 
 
 " I understand now, by your deai- letters that I 
 
The Condemned Cell. 
 
 405 
 
 never tire of reading and re-reading, why our trial 
 has been put off for so long, and the meaning of all 
 the going and coming of the lawyers' gowns 
 through the citadel, the haggling over our lives, all 
 the ups and downs, all the dulay. The wretches 
 were treating us like hostages in hopes that the 
 king, who refused to renounce the tlirone for 
 millions, would - 
 give way when 
 the lives of two 
 of his faithful 
 servants were at 
 stake. Blinded 
 by your affec- 
 tion, you are surprised and 
 exasperated, my darling, 
 that my father refused to 
 say a word to save his son. 
 A Rosen could not betray such weakness I He 
 loves me no less dearly, poor old man, and my 
 death will be a terrible blow to him. As for 
 our sovereigns, whom you accuse of cruelty, we 
 must not judge them : we have not the same 
 high standpoint they have, which enables them to 
 govern men. They have duties and rights beyond 
 those of the common herd. Ah ! how eloquently 
 Meraut would discourse on this theme. As for 
 me, I feel all these things but am unable to express 
 them ; the words stick in my throat. I do not 
 know how to bring them out ; my jaws are too 
 
406 Kings in Exile. 
 
 heavy. How often have I felt this diflBculty with 
 you, whom I love so tenderly, and to whom I have 
 never known how to tell it ! Even here, when I 
 am separated from you by hundreds of miles and 
 such thick iron bars, the thought of your pretty 
 grey eyes, your arch smile, and your little nose 
 turned up in laughing mockery, intimidates and 
 paralyses me. 
 
 "And yet, before leaving you for ever, I must try 
 and make you understand, once for all, that I have 
 never loved anybody in the world but you, and 
 that my life only began from the day I first met 
 you. Do you remember, Colette ? It was at the 
 agency Kue Eoyale; at that fellow, Tom Levis'. 
 We were supposed to be there by chance. You 
 tried a piano ; you played, sang something very 
 lively that, without knowing why, almost made me 
 weep. I was caught ! Who would have thought 
 it ? " A marriage made through a matrimonial 
 agency become a love match ! And since that I 
 have never, never met, either in or out of society, 
 a woman half as charming as my Colette. You 
 may rest easy, you have always been present in my 
 heart, even when absent from me ; the very 
 thought of your pretty Uttle face kept me happy. 
 I laughed alone as I recalled it. It is true, your 
 image is always associated with the joyousness of 
 laughter. At this moment our situation is terrible, 
 and nothing has been spared to increase its horror. 
 Hezeta and myself are «w chwpelh, that is to say, i ji 
 
The Condemned Cell. 407 
 
 the little cell with its whitewashed walls an altar 
 has been prepared for our last mass, a coffin has 
 been placed in front of each bed, and on the walls 
 are hung cards inscribed with the words ' Dead- 
 Dead.' Well, notwithstanding all this, the room 
 seems to me very cheerful. I take refuge from these 
 .gloomy threats by thinking of my Colette ; and 
 when I raise myself up to our grated window, the 
 sight of this lovely country, the road that leads 
 down from Eagusa to Gravosa, the aloes, the 
 .cactus rising against the blue sky and sea, all 
 recalls to me our wedding trip, the Corniche road 
 between Monaco and Monte-Carlo, and the tinkle 
 of the mule bells bearing along our happy love, 
 joyous and light-hearted as those bells. Oh ! my 
 dear little wife, how pretty you were, how I should 
 have wished the journey through life to have lasted 
 longer with such a companion ! 
 
 " You see that your image remains triumphant, 
 even on the threshold of death, even in death 
 itself ; for it will be on my heart as a scapulary, 
 over there at the Porte de Mer, where in a few 
 hours we are to be taken ; and it will enable me to 
 meet death with a smile. Therefore my loved one, 
 do not grieve too much. Think of the little one, 
 the child who will soon be born. Keep yourself 
 for him, and when he is at an age to understand, 
 tell him that I died like a soldier, erect, with two 
 names on my lips : my wife and my king. 
 
 " I should have wished to leave you a souvenir 
 
4o8 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 of this last moment, but I have been robbed of 
 every jewel, watch, wedding-ring-, and pin. I 
 have nothing left but a pair of white gloves that I 
 meant to wear on our entry at Eagusa. I shall 
 put them on presently to do honour to my ex- 
 ecution ; and the chaplain of the prison has faith- 
 fully promised me to send them to you when all 
 is over. 
 
 "And now, farewell, my darhng Colette. Do 
 not weep. I tell you not to weej), and my tears 
 are blinding me. Comfort my father. Poor old 
 man ! He who so often scolded me for coming 
 late for the orders of the day. Well, I shall never 
 come again now. Farewell, farewell ! And yet I 
 had so much more to say to you. But no, I must 
 die. Alas ! Cruel destiny. Colette, good-bye ! 
 
 " Herbert de Eosen." 
 
XIV. 
 
 THE ABDICATION. 
 
 "There is still one course left open to yon, 
 Sire." 
 
 " Speak, my dear Merant. I am ready to make 
 any sacrifice." 
 
 Merant hesitated. What he was abont to say 
 seemed to him too serious a matter to be discussed 
 in the billiard-room, whither the king had brought 
 him to play a game after breakfast. But the 
 strange irony that presides over the destiny of 
 dethroned sovereigns required that the fate of the 
 royal race of Illyria should be decided there, before 
 
4IO Kings in Exile. 
 
 the green cloth on which the balls rolled with a 
 hollow and sinister sound amid the silence and 
 mourning of the Saint-Mande establishment. 
 
 " Well ? What is it ? " asked Christian II., 
 stretching himself over the table to strike the ball. 
 
 "Well, Monseigneur," replied Elysee, and he 
 paused till the king had made his cannon, till 
 Councillor Bosoovich had piously marked it, and 
 then continued in a slightly embarrassed tone : 
 
 "The people of Illyria are like other peoples. 
 Sire. They admire success and power, and I fear 
 lest the fatal issue of our last enterprise " 
 
 The king turned round, his cheeks aglow. 
 
 "I asked you for the plain truth, my dear 
 Meraut, do not try to disguise it." 
 
 "Sire, you must abdicate," said the Gascon, 
 bluntly. 
 
 Christian stared at him with astonishment. 
 
 " Abdicate what ? " he said. " I have nothing 
 left. A fine present to make to my son. I think 
 he would prefer a new bicycle to the vague promise 
 of this crown at his majority." 
 
 Meraut quoted the precedent of the Queen of 
 Galicia. She too had abdicated in favour of her 
 son during her exile, and if Don Leonce was on the 
 throne now, it was owing to that abdication. 
 
 " Eighteen to twelve ! " said Christian, sharply. 
 " Councillor, you are not marking." 
 
 Boscovich bounded like a startled hare, and 
 
The Abdication. 411 
 
 rushed up to the board, while the king, his whole 
 body and mind intent on a difficult stroke, appeared 
 absorbed in his play. EIys6e watched him, and 
 his royalist faith was put to a rude test as he 
 looked at this specimen of the used-up dandy, this 
 inglorious victim — his thin long neck displayed by 
 the wide-open collar of his flannel shirt, his eyes, 
 mouth, and nostrils still tinged with the jaundice 
 that he had but just recovered from, and which 
 had kept him for about a month in bed. The 
 disaster at Gravosa, the terrible death of all those 
 young men, the fearful scenes the trial of Herbert 
 and Hezeta had given rise to at Saint-Mande ; 
 Colette dragging herself on her knees before her 
 former lover to obtain her husband's life ; the days 
 of anguish and dread expectation, in which he was 
 ever haunted by the sound of the platoon firing, 
 for which he seemed himself to give the word of 
 command ; and added to this, money cares, Pichery 's 
 bills coming to maturity ; the restlessness of his 
 €vil destiny, all this without being able to overcome 
 the careless indiiference of the Slave, had neverthe- 
 less physically prostrated him. 
 ^ He stopped after making a cannon, and chalking 
 his cue most carefully, asked Meraut, without 
 looking at him : 
 
 "What does the queen say about this plan of 
 abdication ? Have you mentioned it to her ? " 
 
 " The queen is of my opinion. Sire." 
 
412 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " Ah ! " he said drily, with a slight stare. 
 
 Strange inconsistency of human nature ! He 
 did not love this woman, whose cold distrust and 
 sharp glance he feared ; this woman whom he 
 reproached with having treated him too much as a 
 king, and wearied to death by her continual 
 reminders of duty and prerogatives, and yet he 
 was indignant now at the idea that she no longer 
 believed in him, at her abandonment of him for 
 the benefit of the child. He felt — not a blow to 
 his love, not one of those stabs at the heart that 
 make it cry out, but the chill of a treacherous 
 thrust on the part of a friend, of confidence lost. 
 
 " And you, Boscovich, what do you think of it ?" 
 he suddenly asked, as he turned to his councillor, 
 whose smooth anxious face reflected convulsively 
 the various phases of his master's countenance. 
 
 The botanist made a slight pantomimic gesture 
 expressing doubt, his arms wide open, his head 
 sunk between his shoulders, a mute " Chi lo sa ? " 
 so timid, so little compromising, that the king 
 could not help laughing. 
 
 "With the advice of our council," he said 
 scoffingly, in his nasal tones, "we will abdicate 
 whenever we are requested to do so." 
 
 Whereupon His Majesty returned with greater 
 eagerness than ever to his billiards, to Elysee's 
 intense despair, who was dying to go and inform 
 the queen of the success of a negociation she had 
 
The Abdication. 413 
 
 not ventured upon herself, for this shadow of 
 royalty still overawed her, and it was with a 
 trembling hand that she dared take up this crown 
 he refused to wear. 
 
 The abdication took place a short time after. 
 Stoically the chief of the civil and military house- 
 hold proposed that the ceremony, which is usually 
 surrounded with as much solemnity and authen- 
 ticity as possible, should take place in the splendid 
 galleries of the Eosen mansion. But the catas- 
 trophe of Gravosa was too recent for these recep- 
 tion halls, still re-echoing with the music of the 
 last ball ; it would have been too sad and evil an 
 omen for the new reign. It was therefore resolved 
 to invite to Saint-Mande the few noble Illyrian or 
 French families whose signatures were necessary at 
 the foot of such an important document. 
 
 At two o'clock the carriages began to arrive, the 
 rings at the bell succeeded each other, while on the 
 long carpets rolled from the door to the bottom of 
 the stairs the guests slowly ascended, and were 
 received at the entrance of the drawing-room by 
 the Due de Rosen, tightly buttoned up in his 
 general's uniform, wearing all his decorations, and 
 around his neck the broad ribbon of Illyria, which 
 he had laid aside without a word, when he had 
 learned that the barber Biscarat wore the same 
 insignia as himself over his Figaro's vest. Around 
 his arm and on his sword hilt the general wore a 
 
414 Kings in Exile. 
 
 fresh crape bow, and what was Still more significant 
 than the crape, was the senile shake of his head, 
 a sort of unconscious protest, " no, no," which he 
 had kept ever since the terrible debate that had 
 taken place in his presence with regard to 
 Herbert's reprieve, a debate in which he had 
 energetically refused to take part, notwithstanding 
 Colette's entreaties and the revolt of his paternal 
 love. It seemed as though his little, shaky, hawk- 
 like skull paid the penalty of his inhuman refusal, 
 and was condemned henceforth to say no to eveiy 
 impression, every sentiment, even to life itself; for 
 nothing more now could ever interest him, nothing 
 exist for him after the tragical end of his son. 
 
 Princess Colette was also there, wearing a 
 fashionable mourning that became her fair hair, her 
 widowhood somewhat consoled by the hope 
 apparent in her slower gait and heavier appearance. 
 Even in the midst of her sincere grief, her little 
 frivolous mind, ever taken up with trifles, and 
 which the cruelty of fate had not modified, was 
 still occupied with a variety of coquetish trifles for 
 her cliild if not for herself. The ribbons, laces, 
 and magnificent trousseau she was having made 
 for her infant and embroidered with an original 
 monogi-am under her coronet, mitigated her 
 sorrow. The baby should be called Wenceslas or 
 Witold, Wilhelmine if it were a girl, but certainly 
 its name should begin with a W., because it was 
 
The Abdication. 415 
 
 an aristocratic letter and looked pretty embroidered 
 on linen. She was explaining her ideas on the 
 subject to Madame de Silvis, when the doors were 
 thrown open, and preceded by a blow of the 
 halberd on the floor, the names of the guests were 
 called out : the Princes and Princesses de Trebigne 
 and de Soris, the Due de San-Giorgio, the Duchesse 
 de Mflida, the Comtes Pozzo, de Miremont, de 
 Veliko, etc. It sounded like the death roll, re- 
 echoed from the bloody strand, of all those youthful 
 victims fallen at Gravosa. And what lent a 
 terrible, fatal, and funereal aspect to the ceremony, 
 notwithstanding all the precautions taken, the 
 sumptions liveries and the state hangings, was that 
 all the new comers were in deep mourning, dressed 
 and gloved in black, smothered in those woollen 
 materials that impart such a dreary look, seeming 
 to place a restraint upon the women's gait and 
 gestures, the mourning of old people, fathers and 
 mothers, sadder, more heartrending, and more 
 unjust than any other mourning. Many of these 
 unhappy creatures had come out to-day for the 
 first time since the catastrophe, drawn from their 
 solitude and seclusion by their devotion to the 
 dynasty. They straightened themselves as they 
 entered, summoning up all their courage ; but as 
 they gazed at one another, sinister reflections of 
 the same grief, with bowed heads and quivering 
 shoulders, they felt their eyes fill with the tears 
 
41 6 Kings in Exile. 
 
 thab welled in those of the others, while to their 
 lips rose the sighs that were so painfully restrained 
 at their side ; soon the nervous tension hecame 
 contagious, and the room waa filled with a long, 
 broken sigh, a stifled exclamation of grief. Old 
 Eosen alone did not weep, erect and inflexible he 
 continued to shake his head, as though saying : 
 
 " No, no. He must die ! " 
 
 That evening, at the Cafe de Londres, H.E.H. 
 the Prince d'Axel, who had been invited to 
 sign the abdication, related that he might have 
 fancied he was attending a first-class funeral, all 
 the family assembled and waiting for the corpse to 
 be taken away. In truth the royal prince cut a 
 sorry figure when he made his entrance there. He 
 felt chilled, embarrassed by the silence and despair, 
 and looked with terror at all those old women, till 
 he caught sight of the little Princesse de Eosen. 
 He quickly went and sat near her, curious to know 
 the heroine of that famous breakfast of the Quai 
 d'Orsay ; and while Colette, at heart very much 
 flattered by his attention, received His Highness 
 with a sad and sentimental smile, she little sus- 
 pected how those dull lifeless eyes bent on her, were 
 considering the exact fit of the little pastry-cook 
 costume moulding her inviting little person. 
 " Gentlemen, the king ! " 
 
 Christian II., Aery pale and careworn, walked in 
 first, holding his son by the hand. The little 
 
The Abdication. 417 
 
 prince had a befitting air of gi'avity which suited 
 him well, heightened by the black jacket and 
 trousers which he wore for the first time with the 
 pride and serious gracefulness of a youth. The 
 queen followed, looking very handsome in a magni- 
 ficent mauve dress covered with lace, too sincere to 
 be able to conceal her joy, which contrasted with 
 the surrounding sadness, as the bright colour of 
 her dress with that of the mourning garments 
 around her. She was so happy, so egotistically 
 happy, that she had not a look of sympathy for the 
 sublime affliction which encompassed her, any more 
 than she noticed the desolation of the garden, the 
 moisture on the window-panes, and the sombre 
 November fog, floating under the dark and lower- 
 ing sky, full of misty torpor. For her this gloomy 
 day was to remain in her memory warm and 
 luminous. So true is it that all lies within us, and 
 that the exterior world is transformed for us by our 
 own impressions, and assumes the colour that our 
 passions lend it. 
 
 Christian II. placed himself in front of the fire 
 place in the centre of the drawing-room, with the 
 Comte de Zara on his right and the queen on his 
 left ; a little further ofT Boscovich, in his ermine 
 cloak as Aulic Councillor, was seated at a small 
 writing-table. When each one had taken his place, 
 the king, in a low voice, announced himself ready to 
 sign his abdication and give his motives for so doing 
 
41 8 Kins^s in Exile. 
 
 to his subjects. Upon which Boscovich rose, and 
 in his Httle, weak, indistinct voice read Christian's 
 manifesto to tlie nation, the brief history written 
 in broad lines, of the expectations of the first years 
 of his reign, of the disappointments, the misunder- 
 standings that had followed, and finally the king's 
 resohition to retire from public affairs, and confide 
 his son to the generosity of the lllyrian people. 
 
 This short letter, in which the hand of Elysee 
 j\Ieraut was visible in every line, was read so badly, 
 and sounded so much hke a tiresome botanical 
 nomenclature, that it allowed full time for reflec- 
 tion, and for the hearers to see all that was vain 
 and derisive in this abdication of an exiled prince, 
 this transmission of a power that did not exist, of 
 rights that were disowned and unheeded. The 
 document itself which was read by the king ran as 
 follows : — 
 
 "/, CIdistian II., King of Illyria and Dalmatia, 
 Grand Duke of Bosnia and Herzegovina, etc., etc., 
 hereby declare that of my own free will, and not 
 yielding to any foreign pressure whatever, I leave 
 mid transfer to my son Charles- Alexis- Leopold, 
 Count of Goetz and Zara, all my political rights, 
 reserving only my civil rights as his father and 
 guardian." 
 
 Then at a sign from Eosen, all those present 
 approached the table and signed. For a few 
 minutes only a sound of shuflBing of feet and 
 
The Abdication. 419 
 
 rustling of dresses was heard, and the scratching 
 of trembling or heavy pens, with pauses every now 
 and again necessitated by the ceremonial. Then 
 the ceremony of kissing hands began. 
 
 Christian II. opened the ball, and acquitted 
 himself of his delicate task — the homage of a father 
 to his son — with more sprightly grace than respect. 
 The queen on the contrary kissed her child's frail 
 hand with a passionate, almost reverential effusion ; 
 the protecting mother had become the humble 
 subject. Now Prince d'Axel's turn came, and 
 that of the noble lords, who came forward in an 
 order of precedence which the little king soon 
 found very tedious ; but he maintained a charming 
 air of dignity in his candid eyes as he held out his 
 little white transparent hand, the square nails and 
 disproportioned wrist of which betrayed the child 
 whose playing days are not yet over. Notwith- 
 standing the gravity of the occasion and the sinister 
 preoccupation of their mourning hearts, all these 
 nobles were still full of the importance of their 
 rank, and jealously guarded their rights of prece- 
 dence, which were measured according to their titles 
 and their dignities ; and when Meraut made an 
 attempt in his enthusiasm to rush up to his pupil, 
 he found himself stopped by a stern, " By your 
 leave, sir ! " which made him step back and find 
 himself face to face with the indignant Prince of 
 Trebigne, a terribly asthmatic old fellow, who 
 
 E E 2 
 
420 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 breathlessly opened his eyes like round balls, as if 
 he were trying to breathe through them. Elysee, 
 ever respectful of tradition, deferentially gave way 
 before this remnant of the past, and came up the 
 
 last to knVs hands. As he was retiring, Frederi(jue, 
 standing lieside her son, like the mother of a young 
 bride, who in the vestry receives her share of the 
 surrounding homages and smiles, said in a low but 
 exultant tone : 
 
 " 'Tis done ! " 
 
 There was in her intonation an unutterable 
 
The Abdication. 421 
 
 relief and a fulness of joy that was almost 
 ferocious. 
 
 " 'Tis done ! " That is to say the diadem was 
 henceforth safe, beyond the reach of traiSc and con- 
 tamination. Now she could sleep, breathe, live free 
 from the terrible apprehensions which seemed to 
 warn her in advance of the approaching catastrophes, 
 and would have enabled her to say like Hezeta 
 after each fatal denouement, " I knew it." Her 
 son would not be despoiled, her son would be king. 
 What ! was he not king already by his majestic 
 attitude, his affable and condescending kindliness. 
 
 However, as soon as the ceremony was over, the 
 child's nature asserted itself, and Leopold V. darted 
 joyfully towards old Jean de Veliko to announce 
 his great news : " You know, godfather, I have 
 got a pony, a dear little pony, all to myself. The 
 general is going to teach me to ride, and mamma 
 also." All eagerly flocked around the child, and 
 bent upon him looks of adoration ; while Christian, 
 somewhat lonely and deserted, felt a strange, 
 indefinable impression, as though his brow v^ere 
 lightened, as if the removal of his crown left a 
 chill. He actually felt light-headed. And yet he 
 had longed for this hour, he had cursed the 
 responsibilities of his position. Then what was 
 the meaning of this uneasiness, this depression, 
 now that he saw the shore recede, and new per- 
 spectives open before him ? 
 
422 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " Well, my poor Christian, 1 am afraid you have 
 received your marmoset." 
 
 This was Prince d' Axel's whispered consolation. 
 
 " You are a lucky dog, indeed ! Would not I 
 be happy if the same lot fell to me ; if I could be 
 exempted from the obligation of lea^•ing this 
 charming Paris to go and reign over my people, a 
 set of white-stomached seals ! " 
 
 He went on for a moment in the same tone ; 
 then, taking advantage of the tumult and inatten- 
 tion of the assembly, they both disappeared. The 
 queen saw them go out, she heard the sound of the 
 phseton wheels as they rolled away, those light 
 wheels she had never heard before without a pang. 
 But what matter now ? It was no longer the 
 King of lUyria those women of Paris were leading 
 astray. 
 
 After Gravosa, in the first moment of his shame, 
 Christian had sworn he would never again see 
 Sephora. As long as he was in bed, with the 
 dread of illness so common to the Southerner, he 
 never thought of his mistress but to curse her, and 
 inwardly accuse her of all his faults ; but when he 
 became convalescent, and his blood flowed more 
 freely through his veins, his recollections, mingling 
 with his dreams during his enforced idleness, 
 changed the course of his ideas. He first began to 
 
The Abdication. 423 
 
 excuse the woman, timidly ; and then only saw in 
 what had happened a fatality, one of the thousand 
 designs of Providence, on whom true Catholics 
 throw the whole burden of responsibility. 
 
 One day, at last, he ventured to ask Lebeau if no 
 letters had come from the Comtesse. The valet 
 answered by bringing him a quantity of little note's 
 which had arrived during his illness ; tender, 
 passionate, timid notes ; a shower of white turtle- 
 doves cooing lo\'e. 
 
 Christian's heart was aglow in a moment ; he 
 answered at once from his bed, longing to resume 
 the romance interrupted at Fontaincbleau. 
 
 Meantime, J. Tom Levis and his wife were 
 enjoying themselves in their mansion, Avenue de 
 Messine. The foreigners' agent had not been able 
 to endure the dulness of Courbevoie. He missed 
 the bustle of business, of traffic, and, above all, the 
 admiration of Sephora. 
 
 Moreover, he was jealous, — a stupid, obstinate, 
 throbbing jealousy that stuck like a fish-bone in 
 his throat. He fancied it gone, and yet felt the 
 prick ; and not a person to whom he could complain 
 and say : " Just look at what I have here stick- 
 ing in my throat." Unfortunate Tom Levis, caught 
 in his own trap, inventor and victim of his Grand 
 Stroke ! Sephora's journey to Fontaincbleau caused 
 him the most uneasiness. On several occasions he 
 tried to lead her to the subject, but she would 
 
424 Kings in Exile. 
 
 always stop him with such a natural burst of 
 laughter ; " What is the matter with you, my poor 
 Tom ? How funny you look ! " Then he was 
 forced to laugh also, for he knew that between 
 them there could be no deep feeling, only fun and 
 nonsense, and that Sephora's fancy for him, the 
 fancy of a circus girl for a clown, would quickly 
 cease if she thought him jealous and sentimental — 
 a plague like the rest. 
 
 In reality he suffered at being away from her, 
 and went so far as to write verses. Yes, the man 
 of the cab, the imaginative Narcisse, had discovered 
 this solace for his anxieties, a poem to Sephora, one 
 of those queer lucubrations, scanned with pre- 
 tentious ignorance, such as are often found at 
 Mazas on the table of a prisoner. Truly, if 
 Christian II. had not fallen ill, Tom Levis would 
 have done so. 
 
 The joy of the clown and his love at spending 
 these few weeks together, may be imagined. Tom 
 danced his most fantastic jigs, and stood on his 
 head on the carpets. He was like a monkey in a 
 good humour : like Auriol the clown, let loose in 
 the house, Sephora writhed with laughter, though 
 made somewhat uncomfortable by the servant's 
 hall, where " the husband of Madame " was 
 decidedly disapproved of. The butler had indeed 
 declai'ed that if " the husband of Madame " ate at 
 table, he would decHne to serve him ; and as he was 
 
The Abdication. 425 
 
 quite an exceptional servant, given and chosen by 
 the king, she did not press the point, but had the 
 meals brought up to her boudoir by a housemaid. 
 "When she received a visitor — Wattelet, or the 
 Prince d'Axel for instance — J. Tom would dis- 
 appear and hide himself in a dressing-room. Never 
 did a husband find himself more strangely situated ; 
 but he adored his \yife, and had her all to himself 
 in a setting that made her appear ten times prettier 
 in his eyes. In short he was the happiest of the 
 whole set, for the constant delays and evasion were 
 beginning to cause much disquietude amongst them. 
 
 Each one felt a knot, a hitch in this affair that 
 had been so well started. The king never paid 
 the bills that fell due, but on the contrary kept 
 drawing fresh ones, to the dismay of Pichery and 
 father Leemans. Lebeau endeavoured to keep up 
 their courage : " Patience, have patience ; we 
 shall succeed, it is a dead certainty." But he was 
 not out of pocket, while the others had piles of 
 reams of IDyrian paper in their deslvs. The poor 
 " father," who had lost a great deal of his confi- 
 dence, would come every morning to the Avenue de 
 Messine in search of reassuring words from his 
 daughter and son-in-law. 
 
 "Then you still think we shall succeed?" and 
 he went on discounting bills, again and again, 
 since the only way to recover his money, was to 
 throw more after it. 
 
426 Kings in Exile. 
 
 One afternoon, the Comtesse was getting ready 
 for a drive in the Bois ; tripping from her room to 
 her dressing-room under the paternal eye of J. 
 Tom, who lounging on a sofa, cigar in mouth and 
 thumbs in armholes, enjoyed the pretty spectacle of 
 a lovely woman dressing, putting on her gloves 
 before her mirror, and studying her attitudes. She 
 was bewitching in her pretty autumnal dress and 
 her hat, with the veil stopping short just below her 
 eyes, while the jingle of her bracelet, the sparkle of 
 the jet trimming on her cloak, harmonised with 
 the appearance of the carriage waiting under the 
 windows, with the click of the harness and the 
 pawing of the horses, the whole forming part and 
 parcel of the King of lUyria's establishment. 
 
 She was going out with Tom for a drive round 
 the lake, taking ad^'antage of a fine day in the 
 already advanced season, under the low sky which 
 brings into relief the new fashions, and the faces 
 refreshed by a long stay in the country or seaside. 
 
 Tom, elegantly dressed in English fashion, was 
 charmed at the prospect of this drive in the close 
 luxurious brougham, half-hidden by his pretty 
 Comtesse, like a pair of lovers. 
 
 Madame is ready, they are about to start, after a 
 last loving look cast at the mirror, when suddenly 
 the hall door opens, the bell rings hurriedly : 
 " The king ! " And while the husband dashes into 
 the dressing-room, with his eyes rolling savagely, 
 
The Abdication. 427 
 
 Sephora runs to the window just in time to see 
 Christian II. coming up the stone steps with a 
 conquering air. He soars, he has wings. " How 
 happy she is going to be ! " he says to himself as he 
 rapidly enters the house. 
 
 The fair one guesses that something has 
 happened, and prepares to receive the news. To 
 begin with, she utters a cry of joyful surprise on 
 seeing him, falls into his arms and allows herself 
 to be carried to an armchair, in front of which he 
 falls down on his knees and exclaims : " Yes, it is 
 I, it is I, for ever yours ! " 
 
 She gazes at him with wide open eyes, frantic 
 with love and hope. And he, bathed, drowned in 
 her glance, says : 
 
 " The deed is done. It is no longer the King of 
 lUyria who loves you, but a man who will give up 
 his whole life to you ! " 
 
 " Ah ! this is too much happiness ! I dare not 
 believe it.'' 
 
 " Look, read ! " 
 
 She took the parchment, and slowly unfolded it . 
 
 " Then it is true, my Christian, you have re- 
 nounced- " 
 
 " I have done more than that." 
 
 And while she perused the deed, he stood twirl- 
 ing his moustache, and looked at Seiphora with an 
 air of triumph ; then, finding that she did not 
 understand fast enough, he explained to her the 
 
428 Kings i7i Exile. 
 
 difference between a renunciation and an abdica- 
 tion, — that he would be just as free from his 
 duties and responsibilities, without in any way 
 comprising his son's future. It is true, the money 
 
 but they did not require so many millions to 
 
 be happy. 
 
 She stopped reading, and listened to him with 
 lips apart, her pretty teeth showing in an acrid 
 smile, as though to seize what he was telling her. 
 She had understood, however ; oh yes, indeed ; she 
 saw at a glance the ruin of their ambition, the 
 total loss of all the piles of gold invested in the 
 affair ; the rage of Leemans, of Pichery, of all the 
 set : robbed by the wrong manoeuvre of this fool. 
 She thought of all the useless sacrifices, of the six 
 months of dreary ennui she had undergone, made 
 up of sickening dissimulation and mawkishness ; 
 of her poor Tom, even now holding his breath in 
 the dressing-room, while that other fellow in front 
 of her awaited an explosion of tender feeling on 
 her part, certain of being loved, — an irresistible, 
 overpowering conqueror. The situation struck 
 her as absurd : the irony was so complete, so 
 absolute. She rose, seized with a fit of un- 
 controllable laughter — an insulting and scornful 
 laugh, which brought to her cheeks a transient 
 red, all the dregs of her coarse nature stirred up ; 
 and passing before Christian, who remained stupe- 
 fied : " You fool ! " she cried out to him, as she 
 
77^1? Abdication. 
 
 429 
 
 dashed into licr room and drew all the bolts 
 behind her. 
 
 Without a pcnn)', without a crown, without a 
 wife or a mistress, he looked indeed a pitiful object 
 as he went down the stairs. 
 
XV. 
 
 THE TJTTLK KIXO. 
 
 Oh, the magic of \^•Ol■(ls ! No sooner had 
 Mcraut's pujiil exchanged the name of C'omte de 
 Zara for tliat of Ijcopokl V. than a complete trans- 
 formation took phice in him, as if the four letters 
 of the ^ord Icing possessed a cabalistic power. 
 The painstaking, attentive cliild, tractable and 
 ready to receive any imprt'SS, ^^•ithout, liowevcr, 
 showing any superiority of intelligence, seemed 
 suddenly to shako off all drowsiness, to be roused 
 
The Little King. 431 
 
 by some singular mental excitement ; his body 
 even appearing to gain strength from the interior 
 flame that quickened him. His natural indolence, 
 his lazy habit of lying about on sofas and chairs 
 while he was read to, or while stories were related 
 to him ; that craving for other people's thoughts, 
 to which he idly listened, was changed into an 
 activity that the mere games of his age failed to 
 satisfy. The old General de Eosen, crippled with 
 rheumatism, had to summon up all his strength to 
 give him his first lessons in fencing, shooting, and 
 riding ; and it was a touching sight, every morning 
 at nine o'clock, to see the former Pandour, dressed 
 in a blue coat, whip in hand, standing in the 
 middle of an open space transformed into a 
 lunging-ring, and with the manners of an old 
 Franconi respectfully, but persistently, correct his 
 pupil's errors, and perform all the duties of a 
 riding-master. Little Leopold trotted and galloped, 
 proud and serious, attentive to the smallest obser- 
 vation ; while the queen looked on from the top of 
 tiie stone steps, occasionally throwing in a word of 
 advice : " Hold yourself straight, Sire. Slacken 
 the reins." And sometimes, in order to be more 
 quickly understood, the mother — herself a splendid 
 horsewoman — would run down and join example to 
 pTecept. How happy she was the first day they 
 rode out together, regulating her mare's step or- 
 that of the prince's pony ; they went as far as the 
 neighbouring wood, the child's figure overshadowed 
 
432 Kings in Exile. 
 
 by the mother's, who, ignoring any maternal fears, 
 urged on the animals at full speed, and galloped 
 off with her son till they reached Joinville ! She, 
 too, had undergone a great change since the 
 abdication. In the eyes of this superstitious 
 believer in divine right, the title of king henceforth 
 protected and defended the child. Her tenderness, 
 strong and deep as ever, no longer manifested itself 
 outwardly, or in affectionate caresses ; and if in 
 the evening she still entered his room, it was no 
 longer to " see Zara put to bed," nor to tuck him 
 up. A valet now attended to all this, as though 
 Frederique feared to make her son effeminate and 
 retard his manliness by keeping him too much 
 under her gentle care. She only came to hear him 
 repeat the beautiful prayer, taken from "The 
 Book of Kings," that Father Alphee had taught 
 him : 
 
 " Lofrd, my God, Thou hast ^ilaced Thy servant 
 on the throne ; iut I am only a child, Mowing not 
 how to guide myself, and charged with the guidance 
 of the people Thou hast given unto me. Vouchsafe 
 to me, Lord, tlie necessary wisdom and in- 
 telligence. . . ." 
 
 The small voice of the prince would rise clear 
 and firm, with a tinge of authority and conviction, 
 which, in his present state of exile, in the corner of 
 a suburb far away from the problematic throne 
 beyond the seas, was most touching. But in the 
 eyes of Frederique, her Leopold reigned already. 
 
The Little King. 433 
 
 and she threw into her evening kiss a proud 
 subjection, an indefinable respect and adoration, 
 that reminded Elys^e, when by chance he observed 
 this strange mixture of maternal feelings, of the 
 old carols of his country, in which the Virgin 
 sings, as she rocks Jesus in the stable : " / am 
 Thy servant, and Thou art my God." 
 
 Several months passed in this way, indeed the 
 whole winter, during which the queen felt only one 
 shadow pass over the serenity of her life. And it 
 was Meraut who unconsciously was the cause. 
 Dreaming ever the same dream, mingling their 
 onward glances and aspirations, walking together 
 closely united towards the same goal, a certain 
 familiarity and community of thought and life had 
 arisen, which suddenly gave to Frederique, without 
 well knowing why, a sense of uneasiness. When she 
 found herself alone with him she was embarrassed, 
 and startled at the influence this stranger had 
 acquired over her most private decisions. Did she 
 divine the feelings that agitated him ? the passion 
 smouldering so close to her ? which each day 
 became more absorbing and more dangerous. A 
 woman is seldom mistaken in such matters. She 
 would have wished to protect herself, to regain her 
 impassibiHty ; but how ? In her doubt and 
 emotion she had recourse to the guide, the adviser 
 of a Catholic wife — to her confessor. 
 
 When he was not wandering all over the country 
 on his royalist propagandism, Father Alphee was 
 
434 Kings in Exile. 
 
 the queen's director. To see the man, was to 
 recognize him at a glance for what he was. This 
 Illyrian priest, with his pirate's countenance, had 
 something of the blood, appearance, and features 
 of one of those birds of prey and tempest who 
 formerly swept the Latin seas. The son of a 
 fisherman of Zara, brought up amongst sailors, in 
 the midst of tar-brushes and fishing-nets, he had 
 one day been picked out by the Franciscans for his 
 pretty voice, and from cabin-boy had beea raised 
 to the rank of chorister. He grew up in the 
 convent, and became one of the heads of the 
 confraternity ; but he had retained the impetuosity 
 of the sailor and the complexion tanned by the 
 sea-breeze, which the cloisters of the convent had 
 not been able to bleach. Moreover, neither bigoted 
 nor over - scrupulous, ready to draw his knife 
 [coUllata) in the good cause ; the monk, when 
 political aifairs pressed upon him, would despatch 
 at early morning in a lump all the orisons of the 
 day, and even of the morrow : " to get ahead," as 
 he would gravely say. Ardent in his affection as 
 well as in his hatred, he had vowed a boundless 
 admiration to the tutor he had himself introduced 
 into the royal establishment. 
 
 To the queen's first avowal of the agitation of 
 her soul, of her scruples, the good priest turned a 
 deaf ear ; but when she insisted, he got angry, and 
 rebuked her harshly, as if she were an ordinary 
 penitent, some rich shopkeeper's wife of Eagusa. 
 
The Little King. 435 
 
 Wa3 she uot ashamed to bring forward such 
 childish nonsense in face of the great things at 
 stake ? What did she complain of ? Had anyone 
 been wanting in respect towards her ? Fancy 
 letting this man go — this man whom God had 
 certainly sent to their aid for the triumph of 
 royalty — on account of some foolish scruples, or 
 the sentimentality of a woman who thinks herself 
 irresistible ! And in his sailor-like language, and 
 his Italian emphasis toned down by a priestly smile, 
 he added : " Pray do not let us cavil at the fair 
 wind that is blown to us from heaven. We must 
 set our sail and go ahead." The most upright of 
 women will always give in to such plausible argu- 
 ments. Conquered by the casuistry of the monk, 
 Frederique persuaded herself that she had no right 
 to deprive her son of such a powerful auxiliary. It 
 now depended upon herself alone to be strong and 
 wary. What did she risk after all ? Soon she 
 became thoroughly convinced that she was mistaken 
 about Elysee's devotion, about his enthusiastic 
 friendship. The truth was that he loved her pas- 
 sionately. A strange deep love, which he had often 
 thrust aside, but which each time had returned 
 more ardent than ever, and which now asserted 
 itself with all the despotism of a conqueror. 
 
 Hitherto Elysee Meraut had thought himself in- 
 capable of love. There had been moments when, 
 stirred by the fire of his royalist speeches, some girl 
 of the Quartier Latin, without understanding a 
 
 F F 2 
 
436 Kings in Exile. 
 
 word of his harangue, would fall desperately in love 
 with him, attracted by the music of his voice, the 
 flash of his fiery glance, the passion of the ideal 
 that emanated from him — the magnetic fascination 
 of a Magdalen for an apostle. He would smilingly 
 and condescendingly bend down to her, pluck the 
 proffered flower, veiling with kindness and gentle 
 affability the incorrigible contempt for women that 
 lies at the bottom of every southerner's heart. For 
 love to penetrate into his heai't, it had first to take 
 possession of his powerful mind ; and it was thus 
 that his admiration for the haughty beauty of 
 Frederique, for that royal adversity so nobly borne, 
 had slowly but surely become a real passion, 
 heightened by the narrow existence and famili- 
 arity enforced by exile, by the daily, hourly inter- 
 course, and the anxieties they had shared, — a 
 humble, discreet, hopeless passion, which was con- 
 tent to burn at a distance, like the poor man's 
 taper lighted on the lowest step of the altar. 
 
 Life went on, however, in appearance much as 
 usual, heedless of this mute drama, and the firet 
 days of September arrived. Bathed in the rays of- 
 a wai-m sun that seemed to harmonize with the 
 happy disposition of her mind, the queen was 
 taking her daily stroll after breakfast, followed by 
 the duke, Elysce and Madame de Silvis, who re- 
 placed the little princess as lady-in-waiting during 
 her enforced absence. They allfoUowed in the shady 
 ivy-bordered paths in the 'little park, and every now 
 
The Little King. 437 
 
 and then the queen would turn round to throw 
 them a word or phrase, with the graceful decided 
 air which, however, took away nothing of her 
 feminine charm. On that day she was particularly 
 bright and lively. Good news from lUyria had 
 been received that morning, telling of the excellent 
 effect which had been produced by Christian's ab- 
 dication, and the popularity of Leopold V., already 
 far spread among the country people. Elysee 
 Meraut was triumphant. 
 
 " Did I not tell you. Monsieur le Due, that they 
 would soon adore their little king ? Childhood, 
 you see, has the power of re-awakening love. We 
 have infused into their hearts a new religion, with 
 all its simplicity and fervour." 
 
 And, pushing back his hair with his two hands, 
 by a violent gesture familiar to him, he dashed into 
 one of the eloquent improvisations that always 
 transfigured him ; just as the dejected Arab, 
 cowering in his rags on the ground, becomes 
 transformed into a spirited cavalier when oa horse- 
 back. 
 
 "We are in for it," whispered the marquise, 
 with a bored look, while the queen seated herself on 
 the edge of the path under a weeping ash, in order 
 to hear him better. The others stood respectfully 
 around her, but by degrees the audience diminished. 
 Madame de Silvis was the first to go, ostensibly to 
 protest, as she never failed to do ; presently the 
 duke was called away for some detail of his service. 
 
438 Kings in Exile. 
 
 They remained alone. Elysee was not at first aware 
 of this, and continued his discourse, standing in the 
 sunlight, which brought out the irregularities of his 
 noble features like the angular surfaces of a hard 
 stone. He was handsome thus, with an intelligent, 
 taking, irresistible beauty, which struck Frederique 
 so forcibly that she had not time to conceal her 
 admiration. Did he read her thoughts in those 
 sea-green eyes ? Did he receive in return the 
 electric shock communicated by this sentiment so 
 vivid and so near ? He stammered at first, then 
 stopped short, his whole being trembling with 
 emotion, and threw upon the queen's head, upon 
 her golden hair spangled with a shimmer of light, a 
 long look, burning with love — almost an avowal. 
 Frederique felt the warmth of this flame run 
 through her, like a more blinding, more dazzling 
 sun than the one in the heavens, but she had not 
 the strength to turn away. And when, terrified at 
 the thoughts that were rising to his lips, Elysee 
 tore himself away from her, she remained penetrated 
 to the very core by the magnetic power of this man 
 and felt as if life were leaving her ; her soul fainted 
 within her, and she sat there, on that bench, help- 
 less and crushed. Pale shadows floated over the 
 gravel of the winding paths. The water trickled 
 over the edges of the fountain, refreshing the lovely 
 summer's day. Nothing could be heard in the 
 flower-garden but a far-spread murmur of wings 
 and the buzz of insects over the fragrant flower- 
 
TJtR Little King. 439 
 
 beds, and the sharp crack of the little priuce's rifle 
 at the further end of the park, near the wood. 
 
 In the midst of this silence the queen recovered 
 herself, first in a movement of anger and revolt. 
 She felt the offence, the outrage of that look. Was 
 it possible ? Had she not been dreaming ? She, 
 the proud Frederique who, in the dazzling 
 brilliancy of courts, had disdained the homage of 
 the most noble, the most illustrious hearts ; she, 
 who had so jealously guarded her own, throw it 
 thus to a man of nought, to this sorf of the people ! 
 Tears of wounded pride blinded her eyes. And in 
 the whirl of her thoughts, the prophetic words of 
 old Kosen rang in her ears : " The Bohemia of 
 Exile." Yes, exile alone, with its dishonouring 
 promiscuities, could have emboldened this under- 
 ling. But as she overwhelmed him with her 
 contempt, the recollection of the services he had 
 rendered rose before her. What would they have 
 done without him ? She remembered her emotion 
 on their first meeting, how her hopes had revived 
 as she listened to him. Since then, while the king 
 took his pleasure, who had taken the direction of 
 their destiny, repaired the blunders and the crimes ? 
 And the indefatigable devotion of each day, all the 
 talent, the ardour, the genius that he had applied 
 to the self-sacrificing task he had undertaken, 
 devoid of all profit and glory for himself! Was 
 not the result her little king, so truly king, of 
 whom she was so proud, the future master of 
 
440 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Illyria ! An invincible gush of tenderness and 
 gratitude filled her heart, recalling that moment of 
 the past when at the Vincennes fair, she had 
 leaned upon the strong arm of Elysee ; she closed 
 her eyes now, as she had done then, and abandoned 
 herself to delicious thoughts of him, of the great, 
 devoted heart which she almost fancied she could 
 feel beating against her own. 
 
 Suddenly, after a shot which had sent the birds 
 flying through the branches, a terrible ciy, one of 
 those cries that mothers hear in their dreams when 
 harassed with anxiety ; a fearful cry of distress 
 darkened the heavens, expanded the garden to the 
 measure of an immense grief. Hurried steps were 
 heard in the alleys ; the hoarse, altered voice of 
 the tutor was heard calling near the shooting- 
 range. In one bound Frederique was there. 
 
 It was at the end of the park, against a wall of 
 verdure made up of hops, vines, wistaria and the 
 tall vegetation of rank soil, in the green shade of 
 an arbour. The targets hung against the trellis- 
 work, pierced with little round regular holes. She 
 saw her child stretched on his back motionless on 
 the ground, his white face stained with red near 
 the right eye, which let fall from under its closed 
 lids drops of blood like tears. Elysee on his knees 
 beside him, was wringing his hands and crying : 
 " It is I ! It is I ! " He was passing. Mon- 
 seigneur had begged him to try his rifle, and by a 
 horrible fatality the ball had rebounded from some 
 
The Little King. 441 
 
 bit of iron in the trellis. But the queen did not 
 hear him. Without a cry, -without a word, wholly 
 given up to her maternal instinct, to the, one 
 thought of saving her child, she snatched him up 
 in her arms, carried him wrapped in her dress to 
 the fountain, then waving away the people of the 
 ho"nse who hurried to help her, she placed her knee 
 on which the little king lay inert, against the stone 
 ledge, and held under the overflowing basin the 
 beloved little pale face with the fair hair clinging 
 to it in long damp locks, and allowed the water to 
 stream down on to the discoloured eyelid, on the 
 sinister red stain that the water washed away, but 
 which continued to ooze out, brighter and brighter, 
 from between the lashes. She did not speak, she 
 did not even think. In her rumpled, dripping 
 cambric dress, that clung to her beautiful form, she 
 looked like a marble naiad as she bent over her 
 child and watched. 
 
 What a moment of anguish ! Little by little, 
 revived by the immersion, the wounded child 
 moved, stretched his limbs as if awaking, and began 
 to moan. 
 
 " He li-\'es ! " she cried in a delirium of joy. 
 
 Then as she raised her head, she perceived 
 Meraut standing opposite to her, who by his pallor 
 and dejection seemed to crave for pardon. The 
 recollection of all she had felt on the bench in the 
 garden mixed with the terrible shock of the 
 catastrophe, the thought of her weakness so quickly 
 
442 
 
 Ki Iters in Exile. 
 
 followed by chastisement on her child, roused in 
 her a fearful rage against this man and against 
 herself. 
 
 " Go ! go ! Let me never see your face again ! " 
 she cried with a terril)le glance. It was her love 
 that she confessed before all, to punish and cure 
 herself at the same time ; the love which she threw 
 as an affront in his face in tlie insulting tyranny of 
 her command, 
 
 ^;^^ 
 
 -v^^ 
 
XVI. 
 
 THE DARK ROOir. 
 
 "Once upon a time, there lived in the Duehy of 
 Oldenburg, a Countess Ponikau, who on her 
 wedding-day had received three little golden loaves 
 from the elves " 
 
 It is Madame de Silvis who is thus relating a 
 fairy tale, in a dark room, with windows and 
 shutters hermetically closed, and heavy curtains let 
 down to the floor. The little king is stretched on 
 his small bed, while the queen, seated near him 
 pale as a ghost, applies to his bandaged brow, pieces 
 of ice which she has renewed every two minutes, 
 day and night, for the last week. How has she 
 managed to live without sleep, almost without food, 
 seated by that narrow bedstead, holding her son's 
 hands in her own whenever not busied in tending 
 him, passing from the alternative of icy cold to the 
 
444 Kings in Exile. 
 
 fever heat, which she anxiously watches for and 
 dreads to feel in that poor little weak pulse ? 
 
 The little king wants his mother near him, 
 always by his side. , The darkness of the great room 
 is for him peopled with sinister shadows, terrifying 
 apparitions. Then the impossibility in which he 
 finds himself of reading or playing with his toys has 
 thrown him into a torpor that alarms Fredcrique. 
 
 " Are you in pain ? " she asks at every moment. 
 
 " Xo. But it is so dull," replies the child in a 
 spiritless voice ; and it is to drive away this 
 dulness and fill the gloomy shades of the room 
 with brighter visions that Madame de Silvis has 
 reopened the fairy-tale book full of old German 
 castles, of sprites dancing at the foot of the turreted 
 keep where a princess spins with her glass distaff 
 and awaits the arrival of the blue bird. 
 
 The queen is in despair as she listens to these 
 interminable stories ; it seems to her that the 
 work she has so laboriously accomplished is being 
 slowly undone, and that she assists at the 
 crumbling, stone by stone, of an upright triumphal 
 column. It is this she sees before her in the 
 darkened chamber during her long hours of seclu- 
 sion, more troubled at the idea that her child has 
 fallen back into women's hands, has returned to 
 his childish little Zara days, than anxious about the 
 , wound itself, the full gravity of which she is not 
 yet aware of. When the doctor, lamp in hand, 
 disperses for a moment the surrounding gloom, 
 
The Dark Room. 445 
 
 takes off the bandage, and tries by a drop of 
 atropine to revive the sensibility of the injured 
 eye, the mother is reassured at seeing that the 
 little patient does not utter a cry, does not put 
 his hand up to repel the doctor. Nobody dares 
 to tell her that this insensibility, this quietude of 
 the nerves, betokens the complete death of the 
 organ. The bullet in its rebound, although it had 
 spent a good deal of its strength, had struck and 
 loosened the retina. The right eye is iiTetrievably 
 gone. All the remedies now applied are directed 
 solely to the preservation of the other eye, threat- 
 ened on account of the organic co-relation which 
 makes sight like a single instrument with double 
 branches. Ah ! if the queen knew the extent of 
 her misfortune ! — she who firmly believes that thanks 
 to her care, her tender vigilance, the accident 
 will leave no traces, and who already speaks to her 
 , child of their first drive. 
 
 " You will be pleased to take a nice long drive 
 in the forest, will you not, Leopold ? " 
 
 Yes, Leopold will be very pleased. He asks to 
 be taken again to that fair where he went once 
 with his mother and his tutor. Then suddenly 
 interrupting himself, he inquires : 
 
 " Where is Monsieur Elysee ? Why does he 
 never come to see me ? " 
 
 They tell him that his tutor is away, on a long 
 journey. This explanation satisfies him. It tires 
 him to think, even to speak ; and he falls back into 
 
446 Kings in Exile. 
 
 a dull indifference ; returns to the vague misty 
 country that envelopes the sick, mingling their 
 dreams and surroundings with those actualities of 
 life, the noise and movement of which are so 
 dreaded for them by those who tend them. People 
 come and go ; whispers and soft steps glide 
 about. The queen hears nothing, heeds nothing 
 but bathing the wound. At times Christian 
 pushes open the door, ever ajar on account of 
 the heat in the confined room, and in a voice 
 that he strives to render joyous and careless, 
 comes and tells his son some funny story, some- 
 thing to make him laugh or talk. But his voice 
 rings false in this recent catastrophe, and the 
 father intimidates the child. The young memory, 
 smothered, filled with confusion by the gun-shot, has 
 retained some strange recollections of past scenes, 
 of the despairing expectations of the queen, of her 
 revolt and indignation that evening when, she had 
 been so near throwing herself with him from the 
 window. He answers the king in a low tone, 
 through his clenched teeth. Then Christian turns 
 to his wife ; " You should take a little rest, 
 Frederique ; you will kill yourself. In the interest 
 of the child himself." Imploringly the little 
 prince presses his mother's hand, who reassures 
 him in the same mute and eloquent manner. " No, 
 no, do not fear. I shall not leave you." She 
 exchanges a few cold words with her husband and 
 leaves him to his own gloomy thoughts. 
 
The Dark Room. 447 
 
 The accident that has happened to his son is 
 for Christian the final blow after a long series of 
 misfortunes. He feels stunned and despairing, 
 alone in the world. Ah ! if his wife would only 
 try him again ! He has the craving the weak feel in 
 misfortune to lean on someone, the longing for some 
 friendly bosom on which to lay his head and pour 
 out his tears, his remorse ; only to return afterwards 
 more light-hearted than before to new pleasures 
 and new faithlessness. But Frederique's heart is 
 for ever lost to him, and now the child in his turn 
 repulses his caresses. He says all this to himself 
 as he stands at the foot of the bed in the gloom 
 of the dark room, while the queen, counting the 
 minutes, takes ice from a bowl, applies it to the 
 wet bandage, raises and kisses the little sick brow 
 in order to ascertain its temperature, and Madame 
 de Silvis gravely goes on with the story of the 
 three little golden loaves to amuse the legitimate 
 sovereign of lUyria and Dalmatia. 
 
 Without his exit being more noticed than his 
 entry. Christian leaves the room, wanders sadly 
 about the silent, orderly house, kept up to its usual 
 ceremonial by old Eosen, who is to be seen coming 
 and going from the pavilion to the mansion, ever 
 erect, notwithstanding the perpetual shake of his 
 head. The hothouse, the garden, continue to 
 bloom ; the marmosets, revived by the warmer 
 atmosphere, fill their cage with chatter and capers. 
 The little prince's pony, led up and down by a 
 
448 Kings in Exile. 
 
 groom in the courtyard strewn witli litter, stops at 
 the steps, and sadly turns its hazel eyes in the 
 direction from whence the little king formerly 
 used to issue forth. The aspect of the mansion is 
 still elegant and comfortable ; but an air of 
 expectancy hangs over all, there is a suspense 
 in its very life, a silence such as reigns after the 
 blast of a great storm. The most striking spectacle 
 are the three closed shutters up yonder, her- 
 metically sealed, even when all else opens to fresh 
 air and hght, shutting in behind them the mystery 
 of suffering and disease. 
 
 Meraut, who, dismissed from the royal house- 
 hold, has taken lodgings hard by, ceaselessly 
 prowls round, and despairingly watches these 
 closed windows. It is his torture and his con- 
 demnation. Hither he returns each day, dreading 
 lest he may one morning find them wide open, 
 with the last vapour of an extinguished wax-taper 
 floating out upon the air. The inhabitants of that 
 quarter of Saint-Mande begin to know him. The 
 woman who sells the cakes drops her rattle when the 
 big unhappy-looking fellow passes by, the players 
 on the bowling-green, the tramway clerk shut up in 
 his small wooden hut, think he is slightly crazed ; 
 and in truth there is madness in his despair. It 
 is not the lover who suffers. The queen has done 
 well to dismiss him, he deserved that, he thinks ; 
 and his passion vanishes iu the greatness of the 
 disaster that has engulfed all his hopes. To have 
 
llie Dark Room, 
 
 449 
 
 dreiimed of making- a king, to Iiave devoted his 
 life to such a magnificent task, and to have broken 
 and destroyed everything with liis own hands ! 
 
 The father and the mother, more cruelly struck in 
 their tenderness, were not more desperately afBicted 
 than he. He had not even the consolation of 
 tending and devoting himself at all hours to the 
 sufferer ; hardly could he obtain news, the servants 
 
450 Kings in Exile. 
 
 bearing deep resentment since the accident. One 
 of the forest-rangers, however, who had access to 
 the house, repeated to him the gossip of the. 
 servants' hall, magnified by that love of the terrible 
 that is innate in the people. At times, the little 
 king was said to be blind, at others, he had brain- 
 fever, and the queen, it was added, had resolved to 
 let herself die of hunger ; and the unhappy Elysee 
 would live a whole day musing over this dismal 
 rumour, wandering through the wood as long as 
 his legs would carry him, and then returning to 
 his watch at the edge of the grounds, amid the tall 
 flowery grass, so trampled on Sundays, but which, 
 deserted on the weekdays, resumed its rural and 
 picturesque aspect. 
 
 One evening, as the night was falling, he had 
 stretched himself down in the fresh meadow, his 
 eyes turned towards the house, on which the rays 
 of the setting sun were dying away among the 
 entwined branches. The bowlers were leaving the 
 green, the keepers beginning their evening round, 
 and the swallows flew in gi'eat circles above the 
 tallest grasses, in pursuit of the gnats that had 
 descended lower with the setting sun. It was a 
 melancholy hour. Elysee seemed overwhelmed, 
 weary both in mind and body ; and all the re- 
 collections, all the anxieties of his past life were 
 awakened within him, as though, in the silence of 
 nature, his inward struggle found vent more easily. 
 
The Dark Room. 451 
 
 Suddenly, his vague glance was arrested by the 
 sight of the awkward gait, the Quaker hat, the 
 white waistcoat, and gaiters of Boscovich. The 
 councillor walking rapidly, with little, hurried 
 feminine steps, looked very agitated, and held an 
 object carefully wrapped up in his pocket-handker- 
 chief. He did not appear surprised at seeing Elysee, 
 but went up to him as if nothing had happened, and 
 said to him, in the most natural manner in the 
 world : 
 
 " My dear Meraut, you see a very happy man." 
 
 " Ah ! Good Heavens ! What ! Is Mon- 
 seigneur's state ? " 
 
 The botanist's face assumed a serious expression 
 suitable to the occasion, and replied that Mon- 
 seigneur was in just the same condition : kept in 
 bed, in a dark room. Oh ! a very painful state of 
 suspense, very painful indeed ! Then, abruptly 
 changing his tone, he said : 
 
 " Gruess what I have got here. Take care, it is 
 very delicate, you might loosen the earth. A 
 clematis root ; not the common clematis of our 
 gardens, but the Glematis Dalmatim, a particular 
 dwarf kind only found in my country. When I 
 first saw it, I had doubts. I have watched it grow 
 ever since the early spring. But look at the stalk, 
 the corolla ; smell the perfume of crushed almonds." 
 
 He opened his handkerchief with infinite pre- 
 cautions, and produced a weak, crooked, milky- 
 
 G G 2 
 
452 Kings in Exile. 
 
 white flower, shaded gi-een, the blossom hardly 
 distinguishable from the pale leaves. M^rant 
 strove to question him, to obtain other news ; but 
 the eccentric old fellow was completely absorbed by 
 his discovery. It was, indeed, a strange thing that 
 this little plant should — the only one of its kind — 
 have grown six hundred miles from its native soil. 
 Flowers have their history, and also their romance ; 
 and it was the probable romance that the old man 
 repeated to himself, thinking the while that he was 
 relating it to Merant. 
 
 " By what peculiarity of the soil, what geological 
 mystery, has this little wandering seed germinated 
 at the foot of an oak at Saint-Mande ? Such cases 
 are sometimes met with. A friend of mine, a 
 botanist, found, I remember, a Lapland flower in 
 the Pyrenees. It is no doubt due to atmospherical 
 currents, to some stray vein of soil pecuhar to the 
 spot. But the wonderful thing in the present case 
 is that the plant should have grown in the 
 immediate neighbourhood of its compatriots, exiles 
 also. And look how it has thriven ! A little pale, 
 no doubt, from its exile, but its tendrils are all 
 ready to climb up." 
 
 He stood there, in the twilight, his clematis in 
 his hand, motionless and happy in his admiration. 
 Suddenly he said : 
 
 " The deuce ! It is getting late. I must go in. 
 Good bye." 
 
The Dark Room. 453 
 
 " I will come with you," said Elysee. 
 
 Boscovich was thunderstruck. He had witnessed 
 the scene, known how the tutor had been dismissed, 
 although, however, he attributed his dismissal only 
 to the accident. But what would be thought ? 
 What would the queen say ? 
 
 "No one will see me, Monsieur the Councillor. 
 You will let me in by the avenue, and I can creep 
 up quietly as far as the room." 
 
 " What ! you want to ? " 
 
 " To be near Monseigneur, to hear his voice for 
 one moment, without his even guessing that I am 
 there." 
 
 Boscovich remonstrated and weakly opposed 
 him, but he still walked on, urged on by Elysee's 
 desire, who eagerly followed, regardless of his 
 protestations. Oh ! what cruel emotion Meraut 
 felt when the little door on the avenue opened 
 amid the thick ivy, and he found himself once 
 more on the spot where his whole hfe had 
 foundered ! 
 
 "Wait here for me," said the councillor, trem- 
 bling ; " I will come and tell you when the servants 
 are at table. In that way you will avoid meeting 
 anyone on the stairs." 
 
 No one had ventured back to the shooting- 
 ground since the fatal day. The trampled borders 
 and paths still bore the impress of the distracted 
 footsteps. The same pierced targets hung to the 
 
_4S4 Kings in Exile. 
 
 trellis, the water flowed from the basin like an 
 inexhaustible spring of tears, grey in the sad hour 
 of twilight, and it seemed to Elysee that he agaia 
 heard the voice of the queen sobbing, and the 
 " Go, go ! " which ever re-echoed through his 
 memory, bringing with it the sensation of a wound 
 and a caress. When Boscovich returned, they 
 glided along the shrubbery as far as the house. In 
 the glass gallery opening on to the garden, which 
 they used as a schoolroom, the books still lay upon 
 the table, the two chairs for master and pupil 
 stood ready, waiting for the next lesson with that 
 cruel inertia of inanimate objects. It all wore a 
 poignant aspect, the aspect of a place that a child 
 brightens with his presence, dashing about in his 
 narrow circle, filling it with laughter and songs, 
 and which when the child is gone seems desolate 
 and mournful. 
 
 Boscovich, followed by Elysee, went up the 
 brilliantly-lighted stairs, and led him into the 
 room which preceded the king's, and which, in 
 order that not the slightest ray of light should 
 penetrate his chamber, was also kept in obscurity. 
 A night-light alone burned in a recess, and shone 
 through the surrounding physic bottles and 
 draughts. 
 
 "The queen and Madame de Silvis are with 
 him. Mind you do not utter a word, and come 
 back quickly." 
 
The Dark Room. ■ 455 
 
 Elysee no longer heard him, his foot was already 
 on the threshold, and his heart beat with a feeling 
 of awe. His eyes, unaccustomed to the darkness, 
 could not pierce the gloom. He could distinguish 
 nothing ; but from the further end of the roomj 
 a childish voice arose, repeating the evening 
 prayers — a voice that he could hardly recognize as 
 that of the little king, so weary, dismal, and tired 
 did it sound. After one of the numerous " Amens," 
 the child paused, and said : 
 
 " Mamma, must I also say the king's prayer ? " 
 
 " Yes, darling," replied a noble, grave voice, the 
 tone of which was very much changed too, waver- 
 ing, like a metal that has had its edges worn by the 
 constant dripping of a corrosive acid. 
 
 The prince hesitated, and said : 
 
 " T thought — it seemed to me that it was hardly 
 worth while now." 
 
 The queen asked sharply : 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Oh ! " said the child-king thoughtfully, in the 
 tone of an old man, " I think there are many 
 other things I have to ask of God than what are 
 in that prayer." 
 
 But, his kindly little nature reasserting itself, he 
 added: 
 
 " I will say it at once, mamma, at once, as you 
 wish it." 
 
 And slowly he began in a resigned and shaky voice. 
 
4S6 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " Lord, my God, Thou hast placed Thy 
 servant on the throne, hut I am only a child, know- 
 ing not hoiv to guide myself, and charged with the 
 guidance of the people Thou hast given unto me." 
 
 A stifled sob was heard at the end of the room. 
 The queen started : 
 
 " Who is there ? Is it you, Christian ? " she 
 added, as she heard the door shut. 
 
 At the end of the week, the doctor announced 
 that the little patient was no longer to he 
 condemned to a dark room, and that the time had 
 come to admit a little light. 
 
 " Already ? " said Frederique. " You had said 
 that this darkness must last for a month." 
 
 The doctor dared not tell her that the eye being 
 dead, irretrievably lost, without the slightest chance 
 of recovery, the confinement became useless. The 
 queen did not understand, and no one had the 
 courage to tell her the truth. They awaited Father 
 Alphee's return, religion being the solace of all 
 wounds, even of those that it cannot cure. In his 
 rough, gruff' manner, the monk, who was in the habit 
 of using God's word like a cudgel, dealt her the 
 terrible blow which was to crush and annihilate all 
 rred(irique's pride. The mother had suffered on 
 the day of the accident, all her maternal fibres 
 wrung by the cries, the fainting, the blood that ran 
 
The Dark Room. 457 
 
 from the poor little fellow. This second grief fell 
 more directly on the queen. Her son disfigured, 
 mutilated ! She who had longed for him to be 
 handsome for the day of triumph, was she to 
 present this cripple to the Illyrians ? She could 
 not forgive the doctor for having so deceived her. 
 Thus, even in exile, Iqngs are always the victims of 
 their own grandeur and of human cowardice ! 
 
 In order to avoid too abrupt a transition from 
 darkness to light, the windows had been covered 
 with green baize bhnds ; later on full daylight was 
 admitted, and when the actors of the melancholy 
 drama could once more see each other in the full 
 light of day, they perceived the terrible changes 
 wrought by this sad seclusion. Fred6rique had 
 grown old, and was obliged to change the style of 
 doing her hair, to smooth it down on her brow to 
 hide the gTey locks. The little prince, very pallid, 
 wore a bandage over his right eye, and his whole 
 face, marked with premature wrinkles, seemed to 
 bear the weight of this bandage. How strange too, 
 was this new existence of an' invalid ! At table he 
 had once more to learn how to eat ; his spoon or 
 his fork, awkwardly handled, touched his forehead 
 or his ear, the deficiency of one sense affecting all 
 the others. 
 
 He would laugh a sick, weakly laugh, and the 
 queen at each moment turned away her head to 
 hide her tears. 
 
458 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 As soon as he could go into the gardens, fi-esh 
 anxieties assailed her. He would hesitate, stumble 
 at every step, walk askew instead of in a straight 
 line, fall even ; or else draw back timidly at the 
 least obstacle, clinging to his mother's hands or 
 
 skirts ; turning round the familiar angles of the 
 park as though they were so many ambushes laid 
 for him. The queen strove to rouse his mind, but 
 no doubt the shock had been too great ; and with 
 the sight of one eye, a ray of intelligence seemed 
 also lost. He understood, poor little fellow, how 
 painful his state was for his mother ; and in speak- 
 
The Dark Room. 459 
 
 ing to her, he raised his head with an effort, cast- 
 ing a timid and awkward glance at her, as though 
 to implore pity for his weak state. He could not, 
 however, overcome certain instinctive terrors. 
 Thus, the sound of a shot fired on the edge of the 
 wood, the first he had heard since his accident, 
 nearly brought on an attack of epilepsy. The 
 first time they spoke to him about riding his pony, 
 he trembled from head to foot. 
 
 " No, no, I entreat you," he said, pressing close 
 to Frederique's side. " Take me with you in the 
 carriage. I am too afraid." 
 
 "Afraid of what?" 
 
 " I'm afraid — dreadfully afraid." 
 
 Neither reasoning nor entreaties could prevail. 
 
 " Well then," said the queen, with subdued 
 anger, " get the carriage ready." 
 
 It was a beautiful autumnal Sunday, very like 
 that Sunday in May when they had gone to Vin- 
 cennes. In contradistinction, however, to that day, 
 Fr^derique felt harassed by the plebeian crowd 
 spread over all the avenues and grass plots. This 
 open-air rejoicing, the smell of the victuals nau- 
 seated her. Now she saw but the poverty and 
 distress that lay beneath tlie laughter and holiday 
 clothes. In vain did the child strive to bring a smile 
 on the beautifiil face, which he thought he had 
 saddened, and to propitiate his mother with pas- 
 sionate, yet timid coaxings. 
 
460 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " You are angry with me, mamma, because I 
 would not ride the pony ? " 
 
 N"o, she was not angry with him. But how 
 would he manage on the day of his coronation, 
 when his subjects should have recalled him ? A 
 king ought to know how to ride. 
 
 The little wrinkled face turned round to look 
 inquiringly at the queeu, with his only eye. 
 
 " Do you really think they will care to have me 
 as I am now ? " 
 
 He looks Nery puny, A'ery wizen. Frederique, 
 however, was indignant at the doubt, and men- 
 tioned the King of Westphaha, who was quite 
 bhnd. 
 
 " Oh ! lie is not a real king. They sent him 
 away." 
 
 Then she related to him the story of John 01 
 Bohemia, at the battle of Crecy, how he charged 
 his knights to lead him far enough into the battle 
 to strike with his sword ; and so far had they led 
 him, that the following day they were all found 
 dead side by side, their bodies stretched out, and 
 their horses fastened together. 
 
 " Oh ! that was terrible — terrible ! " said 
 Leopold. 
 
 And he shuddered, pondering over the heroic 
 deed, as though it were one of Madame de Silvis's 
 fairy-tales ; a poor, weak child, with little of a 
 king about him ! At that moment the carriage 
 
Tlie Dark Room. 
 
 461 
 
 left the shores of the lake, and turned down a 
 narrow road, where there was barely room for it to 
 pass. Someone quickly drew back — a man, whom 
 the child, hindered by his bandage, did not notice, 
 but whom the queen recognized at once. Grave, 
 with a hard look, with a motion of her head, she 
 showed him the poor cripple, nesthng in her skirts, 
 their master-piece shattered ; this fragment and 
 wreck of a great race. It was their last meeting ; 
 after this, Meraut definitively left Saint-Mande. 
 
 
 '!■ ! 
 
XVII. 
 
 FIDES, SPES. 
 
 The Dakc of Rosen was the first to enter. 
 
 "It is a little damp," he said gravely. "It has 
 not been opened since my son's death." 
 
 And indeed a great chilliness filled the air ; the 
 cold damp of a tomb struck upon the senses in this 
 magnificent suite of rooms, where the guzlas had 
 
Fides, Spes. 463 
 
 sounded so proudly, and where nothing had 
 changed place since the night of the ball. The 
 two carved chairs of the king and queen still 
 presided over the scene from their place by the 
 musician's gallery, magnificent desks in wrought 
 iron standing beyond them. Armchairs set 
 together in circles formed aristocratic nooks. 
 Eibbons, scraps of flowers, crumpled gauze, the 
 dust of the dance, lay scattered on the floors. It 
 was evident that the decorators had hurriedly taken 
 down the hangings and the garlands of flowers, 
 and had hastened to shut both doors and windows 
 upon these saloons which recalled scenes of fes- 
 tivity only in this house of mourning. The same 
 neglect was visible in the garden littered with dead 
 leaves, over which had passed first the winter, and 
 then an uncared-for and uncontrolled springtime 
 with its invasion of weeds. ^In his grief, which 
 insisted that all around him should be as mournful 
 and barren as his own life, the duke had allowed 
 nothing to be touched, any more than he would 
 himself consent to occupy his magnificent home. 
 
 Since the affair of Gravosa, and since Colette, in 
 very delicate health after the birth of her little W., 
 had gone off to Nice with the child for change of 
 air, he had given up his solitary home-life at the 
 Quay d'Anjou, and had caused a bed to be put up for 
 him at the oflBce. It was evident he would one 
 day or other sell the family mansion, and even now 
 was preparing the way by getting rid of the 
 
464 Kings in Exile. 
 
 sumptuous relics of antiquity with which it was 
 crowded. The Venetian mirrors, which had 
 reflected the images of loving couples whirling in 
 Hungarian mazourkas, the flashes darted by bright 
 eyes and sparkling chandeliers, had nothing else to 
 reflect to-day in the grey chill light of a Parisian 
 sky but the queer profiles, the lucre-loving eyes and 
 greedy lips of old Leemans and of Pichery his 
 acolyte, with side curls and moustaches stiff with 
 cosmetics on the dirty pallor of his face. 
 
 Truly it needed all the long force of habit on 
 the dealer's part, his constant experience of trade 
 and of those comedies which bring into play every 
 expression of the human countenance, to keep back 
 the cry of joy and admiration that almost escaped 
 him when the general's servant, as old and stiflBy 
 upright as his master, had opened the tall shutters, 
 throwing them back against the northern wall with 
 -a noisy clatter, letting in the light upon the 
 precious treasures of a collection gleaming with all 
 the subdued hues of wood, ivory, and bronze, not 
 labelled or cared-for like that of Madame de 
 Spalato, but in far more luxurious abundance, of a 
 more barbaric kind, though of more recent date. 
 Not a flaw anywhere ! Old Rosen had not looted 
 at random, after the fashion of those generals who 
 pass througli a summer palace like a hurricane, 
 carrying off with the same violence bell-turreted 
 roofs and bits of straw. Here were none but marvels 
 of taste. And it was curious to note the dealer's 
 
Fides, Spes. 465 
 
 decisions, as he fixed his glass on first one object 
 then another, tenderly scratching the enamels, 
 ringing the bronzes, with an air of indifference^ 
 even of contempt, while all the time, from head to 
 foot, from the tips of his fingers to the point of his 
 flat beard, every nerve within him vibrated and 
 quivered as if put in communication with an 
 electric battery. Pichery was no less amusing to 
 watch. Having no notion of art himself, he 
 modelled his impressions upon those of his comrade, 
 paraded the same scornful airs, quickly turned to 
 stupefaction when Leemans whispered low in his 
 ear, as he bent over the pocket-book in which he 
 unceasingly made notes : " Worth four thousand 
 pounds, if it's worth a farthing." Here was an 
 unique opportunity for both to recoup themselves 
 from the effects of that " grand stroke " in which 
 they had been so ignominiously done. But it was 
 necessary to be well on guard, for the old general 
 of Pandours, just as suspicious and as impenetrable 
 as the whole bric-a-brac-dealing community put 
 together, followed them step by step, and planted 
 himself behind them, not for a moment duped by 
 their antics and gestures. 
 
 Thus they reached at last the end of the 
 reception-rooms, and stopped before a httle room 
 raised two steps, and charmingly decorated in the 
 Moorish style, with very low divans, and carpets 
 and cabinets of the most genuine antiquity. 
 
 " Is this included ? " asked Leemaus.- 
 
 n It 
 
4.66 Kings in Exile. 
 
 The general hesitated imperceptibly before 
 replying. It was Colette's favourite boudoir, the 
 refuge to which she resorted in her rare moments 
 of leisure to write her letters. For a moment the 
 thought occurred to him to save these Eastern 
 decorations she had liked ; but he did not linger 
 over the idea ; all must be sold. 
 
 "Yes, included," he said coldly. 
 
 Leemans, attracted at once by the rarity of a 
 piece of Moorish furniture, carved, gilt, with 
 miniature arcades and galleries, began to examine 
 its endless drawers and secret-hiding places, open- 
 ing one out of another by means of concealed 
 springs, narrow little drawers smelling freshly of 
 orange flowers and sandal wood as their polished 
 surfaces met the air. Plunging his hand into one 
 of them, something crackled beneath his touch. 
 
 " There are some papers here," he said. 
 
 The inventoiy finished, the two dealers shown to 
 the door, the duke bethought him of these papers 
 forgotten in the dainty piece of furniture. There 
 was a whole packet of letters, tied round with a 
 well-worn ribbon and impregnated with the delicate 
 perfume of the drawer. Mechanically he glanced 
 at them and recognised the writing, the large, fan- 
 tastic, irregular writing of Christian, which for 
 many mouths he had had ample opportunities of 
 studying on bills and drafts. No doubt they were 
 letters from the king to Herbert. Alas, no ! 
 " QoMte, my darling:' With an abrupt gesture he 
 
Fides, Spes. 467 
 
 tore off the band and scattered the bundle on a 
 divan ; some thirty notes, appointments of rendez- 
 vous, thanks, delays, all the correspondence of an 
 intrigue in its sad sameness, terminating finally in 
 excuses for appointments not kept, in missives 
 growing cooler and scarcer like the last fluttering 
 papers on the tail of a kite. In all and every one of 
 these letters were numerous allusions to a tiresome 
 and persecuting bore, whom Christian jestingly 
 called " Courtier of misfortune," or merely " C. of 
 misfortune," and on whom the duke was unable 
 to put a name until, on the turn of one of these 
 mocking pages, invariably more libertine than sen- 
 timental, he beheld a caricature of himself, his tiny 
 pointed head perched above long stilt-like legs and 
 claws. It was himself, his wrinkles, his eagle nose, 
 his blinking eyes ; and beneath, in order to leave 
 no room for doubt : Courtier of misfortune keeping 
 guard on the Quai d' Or say. 
 
 The first surprise over, the outrage compre- 
 hended in all its baseness, the old man ejaculated 
 " Oh!" and remained motionless and stunned. 
 
 That his son had been betrayed was not what 
 astonished him. But that this Christian, for whom 
 they had sacrificed everything, for whom Herbert 
 had given his life when only twenty-eight years of 
 age, for whom he was in a fair way of ruining 
 himself, on the point of selling even his trophies of 
 victory that the royal signature should not be dis- 
 honoured . Ah ! if he could only avenge him 
 
 H H 2 
 
468 Kings in Exile. 
 
 self, if hecould only take dowu from those panoplies of 
 arms two weapons, no matter which. But he was the 
 king- ! And suddenly the magic of the sacred word 
 cooled his anger, and he reflected that, after all, his 
 Majesty, in trifling with one of his fair subjects, 
 was not so culpable as he, the Due de Rosen, who 
 had married his son to a Sauvadon. He must now 
 pay the penalty of his cupidity. All those reflec- 
 tions lasted but a minute. Putting the letters 
 under lock and key he went out, and returned to 
 his post at Saint-jMandt' in the pavilion, where 
 notes and papers of all sorts were awaiting him, 
 among which he recognised more than once the 
 large, irregular hand-writing of the love-letters ; 
 and Christian could not ha\'e guessed that the old 
 man was aware of all that had taken place, when, 
 passing through the yard on the following days, he 
 perceived behind the window panes the tall, gaunt 
 proflle, ever upright, devoted and watchful, of the 
 " Courtier of misfortune." 
 
 It is the privilege of kings, with the halo of 
 national traditions and superstitions which sur- 
 rounds them, to inspire devotion such as this, even 
 when totahy unworthy of it. Now that his child 
 was out of danger, Christian II. plunged afresh 
 into dissipation rnore madly than ever. He had 
 at first tried to regain Sephora. Yes, even after 
 having been brutally and cynically turned away, 
 after ha\ing had every proof of her treachery, he 
 still loved her enough to fly to her feet at the least 
 
Fides, Spes. 469 
 
 sign. The fair lady was at this moment wholly 
 given up to the joys and dehghts of a renewed 
 honeymoon. Cured of her ambitions, fallen back 
 into the wonted tranquillity of her nature from 
 which the alluring bait of millions had drawn her, 
 she would fain have sold her mansion, have realised 
 everything, and have gone to live at Courbevoie with 
 J. Tom as wealthy retired tradespeople, and have 
 satisfied her vanity by crushing the Sprichts with 
 her superior luxury. J. Tom Levis on the contraiy 
 dreamed of new speculations ; the pompous grandeur 
 of his wife's surroundings gave him little by little 
 the idea of another agency, under a more luxurious 
 and worldly form, business in white kid gloves, amid 
 the flowers and music of balls and parties, around 
 the lake, on the race-course ; the cab, now out of 
 date and relegated to the ranks of hired vehicles, 
 should be replaced by a handsome carriage with 
 servants in livery, and bearing the motto and 
 monogram of the countess. He had not much 
 difficulty in persuading Sephora, in whose house he 
 had now definitively taken up his abode. The 
 reception rooms of the Avenue de Messine were, in 
 consequence opened for a series of balls and dinners, 
 the invitations for which were sent out in the 
 names of the Comte and Comtesse de Spalato. At 
 first the guests were few and far between. Then, 
 after a while, the female element,- rebellious in the 
 beginning, ended by treating J. Tom Levis and his 
 wife as one of those wealthy foreign couples come 
 
470 Kings tn Exile. 
 
 from far lands, whose luxury and splendour cause 
 their exotic origin to be forgiven. All the gilded 
 youth pressed round Sephora, whom her adventures 
 had made the fashion of the day, and Monsieur le 
 Comte from the very first winter was able to put 
 some excellent affairs in hand. 
 
 It was impossible to refuse Christian admission 
 to the salons that had cost him so dear. At first, 
 this title of king lent 6clat to the house and gave it 
 a certain standing. He came there like a coward, 
 with the vague hope of once more reaching the 
 Comtesse's heart, not by the grand staircase but by 
 the back stairs. After having for awhile displayed 
 himself in this r61e of dupe or victim, having 
 shown his pale face, white as his shirt-front, once a 
 week in the gilded recess of a window where the 
 whirling eyes of Tom Levis riveted him to the spot 
 with their ceaseless watch, he became discouraged, 
 came no longer, and to divert his thoughts, took 
 to bad company and low women. Like all men in 
 search of a type once lost, he wandered everywhere, 
 lost himself often, descended lower and lower, 
 guided by Lebeau, a fellow well inured to Parisian 
 vice, who thought nothing of taJiing his master's 
 portmanteau in the morning to very strange haunts 
 indeed. It was a real descent of Avernus, easier 
 day by day to this weak soul, made weaker still by 
 the voluptuary's life he had led ; and the melan- 
 choly calm of his home was not calculated to turn 
 him from it. There was very little gaiety in the 
 
Fides, Spes. 4^1 
 
 Eue Herbillon now that neither M^raut nor the 
 princess were there. Leopold V. was recovering 
 gradually, confided during his convalescence to the 
 care of Madame de Silvis, who was thus at last 
 able to apply the precepts of the Abbe Diguet on 
 the six methods of knowing men, and the seven 
 methods of turning aside flatterers. Sad lessons 
 they were, the child's attention distracted by the 
 bandage which covered one side of his head, and 
 the queen presiding as she had been used to do, but 
 with a heart-broken glance directed towards the 
 Clematis Dalmatica, the little flower of exile, pining 
 ' away its life against the glass of the conservatory. 
 For some time past the Franciscans had been in 
 search of another tutor ; but it was not easy to find 
 two Elysee M^rauts among the youth of the day. 
 Father Alph^e for his parb had a definite idea, 
 which he took care to keep to himself for the 
 present, for the queen would not permit the former 
 tutor's name to be mentioned in her presence. 
 Once, however, under circumstances of great 
 gravity, the monk ventured to speak of his friend. 
 " Madame, Elyste Meraut is dying," he said as 
 they left the table, after grace had been said. 
 
 During the whole time he was at Saint-Mandd, 
 Meraut had kept on his room in the Eue Monsieur- 
 le-Prince, being moved thereto by a sort of super- 
 stition, just as a man sometimes keeps on the top 
 shelf of a wardrobe some old-fashioned garment of 
 
472 Kings in Exile. 
 
 his youth that he will never wear again. He never 
 came there, allowing forgetfulness to fold over the 
 books and papers, and the mystery of this retreat 
 ever silent and closed in the midst of the noisy 
 furnished lodgings which surrounded it. One day at 
 last he returned to it, aged, weary, his locks almost 
 white. The fat landlady, roused from her torpor 
 by hearing a searching among the keys hung on 
 their hooks, scarcely recognised her former lodger. 
 
 " What have you done to yourself, my poor 
 Monsieur Meraut ? Wliat a shame to ruin your 
 health in this way ? It should not be allowed." 
 
 " It is true, I am rather used up ; " answered 
 Elysee smiling, and up he mounted to his fifth 
 story with rounded stooping back, utterly crushed. 
 
 The room was unaltered ; the same melancholy 
 horizon appeared through its dull windows — the 
 roofs of the square courtyards of the monastery, of 
 the 'Booh de Medecine, the amphitheatre, chilly 
 jnonuments, communicating to the gazer something 
 of the melancholy of their destined uses ; and on the 
 right, towards the Eue Racine, the two great water 
 reservoirs of the city, gleaming in their vast stone 
 basins and reflecting the wan sky and smoky 
 ' chimneys. Nothing was changed, but for him was 
 lost for ever the noble ardour and vivacity of youth 
 that gives colour and warmth to all things and only 
 increases in face of difficulties and distress. He 
 tried to set himself steadily to work, to read, he 
 shook the dust from the unfinished work. But 
 
Fides, Spes. 473 
 
 between his thoughts and the page before him, 
 glided the queen's look of reproach, and it seemed 
 to him as if his little pupil was seated at the other 
 end of the table waiting for his lesson and listening 
 to him. He felt too lonely, too heart-broken, and 
 hurriedly went down stairs again and hung his key 
 on its nail. From that time he was to be seen, as 
 m bygone days, with his great ungainly figure, his 
 hat well at the back of his head, a bundle of books 
 and reviews under his arm, wandering about the 
 Quartier Latin, beneath the arcades of the Odeon, 
 on the Quai Voltaire, bent over the odour of fresh 
 print and the great clumsy cases of second-hand 
 literature, reading as he passed along the streets, or 
 the alleys of the Luxembourg, or gesticulating as 
 he leant against some statue in the garden in the 
 keenest weather, in front of the fountain's frozen 
 basin. In this centre, of study and of inteUigence, 
 which the hand of the demolishers of old Paris 
 has not yet reached nor driven away, he regained 
 his ardour and spirit. Only his audience was no 
 longer the same, for the stream of students changes 
 and is often renewed in this home of birds of 
 passage. The meetings, too, had changed their 
 head-quarters ; the political cafes were now deserted 
 . for the taverns where the attendants are girls 
 dressed in fancy costumes : Swiss, Italian, Swede, 
 in spruce tinselled garb designed by some fashion- 
 able artist. Of Elys^e's old rivals, of the fine orators 
 of his time, Pesquidoux of the Voltaire, Larminat 
 
474 Kings in Exile. 
 
 of the Procope, there remained nothing but a vague 
 souvenir in the minds of the waiters, as of actors 
 long since withdrawn from the footlights. Some 
 few had mounted high and were now in power, well 
 to the front in public life ; and sometimes as Elysee 
 strolled along among the shops, his hair streaming 
 in the wind, from a passing caiTiage some illustrious 
 member of the Senate or the Chamber of Deputies 
 would call to him : " Meraut, Meraut." Then 
 they would talk together : " What are you doing ? 
 are you working ? " Meraut, with knitted brow, 
 talked vaguely of some great undertaking that 
 "had not succeeded." Not a word more. They 
 would gladly have drawn him out, utilised this lost 
 power thrown away. But he remained faithful to 
 his monarchical ideas and his hatred of the 
 Kevolution. He asked for nothing, had need of no 
 one ; nearly all the money he had gained in his 
 tutorship was still untouched, he did not even seek 
 to give lessons, and wrapped himself up in a disdain- 
 ful sorrow, too great, too profound to be comprehen- 
 sible, without any other distractions than a few 
 visits to the convent of the Franciscans ; there he 
 had news of Saint-Mande, and he loved the quaint 
 chapel with its Jerusalem cavern and bleeding and 
 highly coloured Christ. This naive mythology, 
 these almost pagan representations delighted him 
 — a christian of the first centuries of faith. 
 " Philosophers place God too high," he would say 
 sometimes, " they have made him invisible." He, 
 
Fides, Spes. 475 
 
 for his part, could see Him well in the dark gloom 
 of the crypt, and among all the images undergoing 
 barbaric penance, beside the. Margaret d'Ossuna 
 scourging the marble of her shoulders, he recalled 
 the vision of that Christmas Eve — the Queen 
 of Illyria, before the manger with clasped hands 
 and outstretched arms that held her son, with a 
 gesture that was imploring and protecting at the 
 same time. 
 
 One night Elysee was awakened with a start by 
 a singular sensation of heat mounting upwards 
 from his chest slowly like a rising tide, without 
 shock or pain, but with a sensation of approaching 
 death, and in his mouth an insipid taste of blood. 
 It was a mysterious and sinister aj^proach of 
 disease after the fashion of an assassin who steals 
 in noiselessly in the dark. He was not alarmed, 
 but consulted the young medical students of his 
 table d'h6te. They told him he must be very ill. 
 "What is the matter with me ?" "Everything." 
 He had reached forty years, that climacteric of 
 Bohemia, when infirmities lie in wait, and watch 
 their man, making him pay dear for the excesses or 
 privations of his youth ; a terrible age, above all 
 when the moral spring is broken, when the wish to 
 live no longer exists. Elysee led the same existence, 
 always out in rain and wind ; passing from the over- 
 heated rooms, the vitiated atmosphere of gas-lit 
 rooms, to the cold of the street in mid-winter, 
 continuing — long after all lights were out — to 
 
476 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 'J^ 
 
 discuss on the edge of the pavement, and walking 
 half through the night. The haemorrhages became 
 more frequent ; fearful languor followed them. In 
 order not to take to his bed, for the melancholy 
 solitude of his room weighed upon him, he settled 
 himself at the Fiiallo, a tavern next door to the 
 hotel, and there read his papers and dreamed his 
 
 dreams in a 
 
 pn^^r— J , comer. The 
 
 spot was quiet 
 enough till 
 the evening, 
 and bright 
 with its fur- 
 niture in pol- 
 ished oak, its 
 walls covered 
 with frescoes 
 representing 
 Venice, with 
 bridges and cupolas in perspective over a liquid 
 rainbow. The Venetian attendants themselves, 
 who in the evening were so alert, swinging their 
 leather money bags between the benches, while 
 their coral necklaces were reflected in the glasses, 
 were at this hour asleep with their heads on 
 the table, crumpling their high lace caps and 
 their puffed cambric sleeves, or else were seated 
 around the stove at work upon their sewing, 
 which they left every now and then to drink with 
 
Fides, Spes. 477 
 
 some student. One of them, a tall powerful girl, 
 had thick auburn hair twisted on the top of 
 her head, and her hands moved with grave, slow 
 gestures over her embroidery while she paused 
 at times in the act of listening. Meraut watched 
 her for hours till she spoke, when a hoarse and 
 vulgar voice broke the spell. But soon strength 
 failed him even for these hours spent behind the 
 tavern curtain. He could no longer come down- 
 stairs, but was obliged to remain in bed surrounded 
 by books and papers, leaving his door wide open, 
 so that some echo of life, some of the swarming 
 busy movement of the hotel might reach him. 
 
 Above all he was forbidden to speak. Then the 
 Southerner resigned himself to writing, and with 
 fevered and trembling hand took up his book again, 
 the famous book upon monarchy, and worked at it 
 while shakeu by a cough that scattered the pages 
 wide over the bed. Now he only dreaded one 
 thing — that he should die before he had finished, 
 and steal away from life as he had lived, hidden, 
 unknown and unexpressed . 
 
 Sauvadon, the old uncle at Bercy, whose coarse 
 vanity suffered a shock in seeing his old master in 
 such a garret, visited him often. Directly after the 
 catastrophe he had, hastened to Elysee's side, with 
 open purse, in search as before, of "ideas upon 
 things." " Uncle, I have no longer any," Elysee 
 had answered wearily. To draw him from his 
 apathy, the worthy man talked of sending him to 
 
478 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 the South, to Nice, to share the sumptuous quarters 
 of Colette and her little W. 
 
 "It will cost me no more," he said naively, "and 
 it may cure yon." 
 
 But Elysee was not anxious to be cured, wishing 
 only to finish his book in the same spot where 
 
 the idea of it had ger- 
 li* Ml- 1'' I i'lHIlBiii,.,,.,..,. minated, amid those pro- 
 found murmurs of Paris 
 in which each hears 
 the dominant note that 
 he seeks. While 
 he Avrote, Sau- 
 vadon, seated at 
 the foot of the 
 bed, maun- 
 dered on about 
 his pretty niece, 
 and worked himself into fur- 
 ther irritation against that old 
 lunatic the (iencral who was about to sell his house 
 of the He Saint-Louis. 
 
 "AVhat in the world can he do with all that 
 money ? He must hide it away in holes, in little 
 heaps. After all, it is his own look out. Colette 
 is rich enough to do without him." 
 
 And the wine-merchant slapped a side pocket 
 on the tight and drum-like rotundity of his 
 stomach. 
 
 Another time, throwing on the bed the bundle 
 
Fides, Spes. 479 
 
 of daily papers lie brought to Elysee, he said : " It 
 seems they are making a stir in Illyria again. 
 They have just returned a royalist majority to the 
 Diet of Leybach. Ah ! if they only had a man 
 there ! But that poor little Leopold is very young 
 yet, and Christian sinks lower and lower every day. 
 Now he frequents the lowest dancing saloons and 
 houses with his valet." Elysee heard, and shivered 
 all over. Poor queen ! The other went on, with- 
 out noticing the pain he caused : 
 
 " They go a rare pace, our noble exiles. There 
 is the Prince d'Axel horribly compromised in that 
 disgraceful aifair of the Avenue d'Antin. You 
 know, that ' family hotel ' which, with its patri- 
 archal name, serves as a shelter for debauched 
 young girls. What a scandal ! An heir pre- 
 sumptive. One thing however about it puzzles 
 me. At the very moment of the ' family ' scandal, 
 Colette wrote me word that Monseigneur was at 
 Nice, and that she had been at the regatta in a 
 yacht hired for her by his Highness. There must 
 be a mistake somewhere., I should be very glad of 
 it, for between ourselves, my dear Meraut " 
 
 Here the good soul with great mystery confided 
 to his friend that the prince royal "had been paying 
 great attention to Colette, and as she was not a 
 
 woman to , as you can suppose, it might be, 
 
 that before long " 
 
 The wide peasant face of the parvenu lighted up 
 with a smile : 
 
480 Kings in Exile. 
 
 " Just think of that : Colette, Queen of Finland ! 
 and Sauvadon of Bercy, her old uncle, becoming 
 uncle to a king. But I am tiring you." 
 
 " Yes, I should like to sleep," said Elysee, who 
 had for some moments lain with closed eyes, a 
 polite way of getting rid of this worthy, but vain 
 chatterbox. 
 
 The uncle once gone, he gathered his papers 
 together, and settled himself to write, but without 
 being able to trace a single line, so overcome was 
 he by extreme weariness and disgust of life. All 
 these hideous stories made his heart sink. In face 
 of the pages lying scattered over his bed, this 
 pleading for royalty, in which he was using up the 
 little life-blood that remained to him, looking upon 
 himself in that sordid room with the whitened hair 
 of an aged scholar, reviewing the lost ardour, the 
 spent forces, he for the first time- doubted, and 
 asked himself if he had not been all his life a dupe. 
 A defender, an apostle ! Of what ? Of these kings 
 who were wallowing in degraded pleasures, and 
 deserted their own cause. And while his eves 
 wandered sadly over the bare walls, within which 
 the setting sun reached him only by reflections 
 from the windows opposite, he beheld in its dusty 
 old frame the red seal " Fides, Spes," that he had 
 taken from his father's bedside. Suddenly the fine 
 old Bourbon head of father Meraut appeared to him 
 as he had last seen it, rigid and calm in the slumber 
 of death, fallen asleep in the midst of his sublime 
 
Fides, Spes. 481 
 
 contidence and fidelity ; and then rose before him 
 too, the narrow and steep lanes, the horizon of 
 crumbling windmills standing high between the 
 dry sunburnt rock of the hill side, and the implac- 
 able deep blue of the southern sky. It was a 
 moment of hallucinations ; the enclos de Be//, all 
 his youth floated through a memory over which the 
 mists were already stealing. 
 
 All at once the door opened with a murmuring 
 of voices and rustling of skirts. He thought it was 
 some neighbour, some kindly attendant of the 
 Rialto, bringing a refreshing drink for his parched 
 mouth. Quickly he shut his eyes, that readily 
 feigned sleep that dismissed unwelcome visitors. 
 But little hesitating footsteps drew near over the 
 cold, polished floor of the narrow room. A soft 
 voice murmured : " Good morning, Monsieur 
 Meraut." Before him stood his pupil, a little 
 grown, gazing with his sickly and constitutional 
 timidity at the poor pale tutor, so sadly changed, 
 stretched on his wretched bed. In the background, 
 by the door, a woman, proud, erect, and deeply 
 veiled, stood awaiting. She had come ; she had 
 mounted the five stories, passed up the staircase 
 alive with sounds of debauchery, brushed with her 
 immaculate skirts by the doors labelled : " AHce — 
 Clemence." She could not let him die without 
 seeing his little Zara again ; and, without entering 
 the room herself, sent him her forgiveness by the 
 little hand of her child. That hand Elysee Meraut 
 
4^2 
 
 Kind's in Exile. 
 
 took and pressed against his lips ; then, turning 
 towards the august apparition whose presence he 
 guessed upon his threshold, he summoned his 
 remaining strength, and, with his last breath, his 
 last effort of life, he said, in a low voice and for 
 the last time : " Long live the King |" 
 
XVIII. 
 
 THE LAST OF A liACE. 
 
 There was a well-coiitesfced match goin^- on thiit 
 morning at the tennis-court. Around the immense 
 court, the well-beaten and trodden arena was 
 enclosed by a great net which with its narrow 
 meshes protected the evolutions of six players in 
 white jackets and tennis shoes, bounding, shouting, 
 and striking at the balls with their heavy rackets. 
 The light falling from the ceiling, the stretched net, 
 the hoarse cries, the jumps and erratic springs of 
 the white jackets, the cool, impassive manner of 
 the attendants — every one of them English — slowly 
 pacing the surrounding gallery, all contributed to 
 give the impression of a circus during the rehearsal 
 of the gymnasts' or clowns' performance. Among 
 
484 Kings in Exile. 
 
 the clowns, His Koyal Highness the Prince d'Axel, 
 to whom the noble game of tennis had been 
 recommended by the doctors to counteract his 
 habitual state of coma, was one of the noisiest 
 players. He had only arrived the previous day from 
 a month spent at Nice at Colette's feet, and this 
 game was his re-entry into Parisian life. He 
 struck the ball each time with a " han " that seemed 
 to proceed from a butcher-boy's lungs, and a 
 display of muscles that would have excited admira- 
 tion in a slaughter-house ; when, at the very 
 height of the game, he was informed that some one 
 wanted to speak to him. 
 
 " Go to the devil ! " answered the heir presump- 
 tive, without even turning his head. 
 
 The attendant insisted, and whispered a name in 
 his Highness's ear, at which he calmed down and 
 showed a certaiu astonishment. 
 
 " All right ; ask him to wait ; I will come directly 
 this game is over." 
 
 When at last he went into one of the bath-rooms 
 arranged round the gallery, fm'nished with bamboo 
 seats and daintily hung with Japanese matting, he 
 found his friend Eigolo sunk down on a divan look- 
 ing the picture of dejection. 
 
 " Oh, my dear Prince, such an affair," began the 
 ex-King of Illyria, raising a face that betrayed his 
 extreme agitation. 
 
 He stopped at the sight of the servant laden 
 
The Last of a Race. 485 
 
 with towels and horsehair gloves who was preparing 
 to sponge and curry his highness, streaming with 
 perspiration like a Mecklenburg horse that has 
 just reached the top of a hill. When the operation 
 was over, Christian continued with pale, trembling 
 lips : 
 
 " This is what has happened. You have heard of 
 the adventure at the Family Hotel "i " 
 
 His Highness turned his dull gaze on him 
 and inquired : " Caught ? " 
 
 The king nodded affirmatively, and turned his 
 handsome, shifty eyes aside. Then, after a pause, 
 he resumed : 
 
 " You can fancy the scene : the police coming in, 
 in the middle of the night ; the girl crying, rolling 
 on the ground, resisting the police, clinging to my 
 knees: ' Monseigneur, Monseigneur, save me.' I 
 tried to make her hold her tongue ; too late. 
 When I gave the first name I could think of, the 
 police agent laughed in my face : ' It is useless ; 
 my men have recognised you. You are the Prince 
 d'Axel!'" 
 
 " That's good ! " growled the prince from his 
 basin, " and then ? " 
 
 " By Jove ! my dear fellow, I was so taken aback, 
 so surprised.... Other motives which I wiU also tell 
 you.... In short, I let the man believe that I was 
 you, being persuaded that the affair would not go 
 any further. But nothing of the kind. They are 
 
486 Kings in Exile. 
 
 beginning to work it up, and as you might be called 
 before the Jvge d' Instruction, I have come to beg 
 you " 
 
 " To stand in the dock in your place ? " 
 
 " Oh, it won't come to that. Only the news- 
 papers are sure to get hold of it, names will be 
 meiitioned. And just now, with the royalist move- 
 ment preparing, in Illyria, our possible restoration, 
 this scandal would have a most disastrous eflFect." 
 
 Poor Rigolo presented a truly piteous appear? 
 ance, as he stood awaiting his cousin d'Axel's 
 decision, while the latter silently combed his sparse 
 yellow looks over his prematurely bald. head. At 
 last the royal prince condescended to speak : 
 
 "You really think the papers ?" then 
 
 suddenly in his weak, sleepy ventriloquist voice he 
 addfed : " Capital ; awfully funny ! My uncle 
 will be in a fine rage when he hears of it ! " 
 
 By this time he was dressed ; he took up his 
 stick, stuck his hat on one side, and said : " Let us 
 go and breakfast." Arm in arm, they went across 
 the terrasse des Fcuillants, and got into Christian's 
 phaeton that was waiting at the gates of the 
 Tuilerie Gardens, wrapped themselves up in their 
 furs, for it was a fine winter morning, illuminated 
 by a cold rosy light, and the elegant equipage 
 started oif like the wind, bearing the inseparable pair 
 towards the cafe de Londres ; Rigolo relieved and 
 beaming, Queue-de-Poule less drowsy than usual, 
 
The Last of a Race. 487 
 
 exhilarated by his tennis and the thought of this 
 last freak of which all Paris would believe him to 
 be the hero. As they crossed the Place Vendome, 
 at this hour nearly deserted, a young and elegant 
 woman holding a child by the hand, stopped at the 
 edge of the pavement and seemed to be examining 
 the numbers. His Royal Highness, who from his 
 seat stared at all the women with the avidity of a 
 townsman famished by three weelfs of provincial 
 life, caught sight of her and started : " Look 
 
 Christian, how like " But Christian did not 
 
 hear him, his attention entirely absorbed by his 
 mare, which was very frisky that morning ; and 
 when they turned round in the narrow carriage to 
 look at the fair passer-by, she and her child had 
 disappeared under the archway of one of the houses 
 in the neighbourhood of the Minisfere de la Justice. 
 
 The lady walked hurriedly, her veil down, 
 hesitating and timid, as if going to a first rendez- 
 vous ; if, however, the sombre and somewhat too 
 handsome dress and the mysterious gait were 
 calculated to arouse suspicions, the name she 
 inquired from the porter, the deep sadness of her 
 voice when she pronounced it — the name of the 
 most celebrated man in the medical world — dissi- 
 pated all ideas of a, love affair. 
 
 " Doctor Bouchereau ? " replied the porter. 
 "First floor, door facing the stairs. If you have 
 not an appointment it is useless going up." 
 
488 Kings in Exile. 
 
 She did not answer, but dashed up the stairs, 
 dragging the child after her, as though she were 
 afraid of being recalled. On the first floor they 
 told her the same thing : " If Madame did not 
 send in her name yesterday — ." 
 
 " I will wait," she said. 
 
 The servant did not insist, but led them first 
 through an ante-room, crowded with people seated 
 on the boxes where the firewood was kept, then 
 through a second room likewise filled, and lastly he 
 solemnly opened the door of a large drawing-room, 
 which he closed immediately after the mother and 
 child had entered as though to say : " You choose 
 to wait ; well, wait." 
 
 It was an immense room, very high, like all the 
 first floors of the place Vendome, sumptuously 
 decorated with painted panels, wainscoting and 
 ceiling. The sparse, old-fashioned crimson velvet 
 farniture scattered about the room, the curtains 
 and hangings of the same colour, and a few chairs 
 and settees in worsted work, jarred with the 
 surroundings. A chandelier in Louis XV. style 
 hung over a small table dating from the First 
 Empire, on the mantelpiece a common clock sur- 
 mounted by a group stood between two candle- 
 sticks, and a complete absence of taste and of any 
 artistic objects revealed the character of the 
 modest, hard-working doctor who had suddenly 
 become the fashion, and had made no efforts either 
 
The Last of a Race. 489 
 
 to attaiu or to retain it. And what renown it was ! 
 It was, indeed, the renown that Paris alone can 
 confer, extending to all classes, from the highest 
 to the lowest strata of society, overflowing the 
 provinces, foreign lands, all Europe in fact ; and 
 this had already lasted ten years, without slacken- 
 ing, without diminishing, with the unanimous 
 approbation of his colleagues, who admitted that 
 this time, for once, success rewarded true merit, and 
 not quackery in disguise. Bouchereau owed this 
 fame, these extraordinary crowds of patients, less to 
 his marvellous skill as an operator, his admirable 
 lectures on anatomy, and his knowledge of the 
 human frame, than to the light, the species of 
 divination which guided him more clearly and 
 more surely than the steel of his instruments ; and 
 to the genial eye common to all great thinkers and 
 poets, which endows science with a magical power 
 of seeing into the very depths and beyond ! He 
 was consulted like a Pythoness, with a blind, un- 
 reasoning faith. When he says, " It is nothing," 
 the lame walk, the dying go away cured ; hence 
 his popularity, the tyrannical pressure of the crowd, 
 which gives this great man neither rest nor peace. 
 Consulting physician to a large hospital, each 
 morning he makes a long, slow, and minute exam- 
 ination of the patients, followed by an attentive 
 escort of students, who watch the master as a god, 
 wait on him, hand him his instruments, for 
 
490 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Bouchereau never carries his case, but borrows 
 from anyone at hand the instrument he may 
 require, and as invariably forgets to return it. 
 When he quits the hospital, he pays a few visits. 
 Then returns quickly to his study, without stopping 
 to snatch a mouthful, and at once begins his consult- 
 ations, which last far into the evening. 
 
 That day, although it was but twelve o'clock, the 
 drawing-room was already full of anxious, gloomy 
 faces, seated round the walls, or grouped near 
 the table, bending over the books and illustrated 
 papers, and hardly turning when the door opened 
 to note the fresh-comers, so absorbed is each one 
 in himself and his ailments, so anxious are they 
 to know what the oracle will say. 
 
 The silence of these patients is sinister, and their 
 countenances furrowed with suffering lines, their 
 dull, hstless eyes are at times lighted up with cruel 
 glances. The women still betray a kind of 
 coquetry, some, indeed, wore a mask of haughtiness 
 to hide their sufferings ; but the men, torn away 
 from their toil, from the physical activity of life, 
 seem more depressed, more struck down and 
 dejected. Among all this selfish misery, the mother 
 and her little companion form a touching group ; 
 he looks so frail, so pale, with his little face void of 
 expression and colour, in which only one eye seems 
 alive ; she, so motionless, transfixed by a terrible 
 anxiety. One moment, weary with waiting, the 
 
The Last of a Race. 491 
 
 child rose to fetch an engraving or two on the 
 table : with the timid, awkward movements of a 
 cripple as he stretched out his arm he touched a 
 patient, and received such an angered, ill-tempered 
 look in return, that he went back to his place 
 empty-handed, and remained there without stirring, 
 his head bent on one side, in that uneasy attitude of 
 a bird on a branch, so often seen in blind children. 
 These long hours of waiting at the door of the 
 physician's study are like a suspension of life, a 
 state of hypnotism, interrupted only by an occasional 
 sigh, a cough, the rustling of a skirt, a smothered 
 groan, or the ringing of the bell which at each 
 moment heralds some fresh arrival. Sometimes 
 the newcomer opens the door and as quickly shuts 
 it again, horrified at finding the room so croAvded, 
 then,, after a short colloquy and a slight remon- 
 strance, he returns again, resigned to await his 
 turn. No favour is ever shown at Bouchereau's. 
 The only exceptions made are for any of the 
 Parisian or country doctors when they themselves 
 accompany their patient. These alone have the 
 right to send inr their card and pass in before their 
 turn. They can be recognised by a certain 
 familiar, authoritative air, as they pace nervously 
 up and down the drawing-room, pulling out their 
 watches, wondering that it is already past twelve, 
 and that nothing as yet stirs in the physician's 
 study. More and more people continue to pour in. 
 
492 
 
 Kings in Exile. 
 
 people of all classes, from the fat heavy banker 
 who, in the early morning, has sent a servant to 
 keep two chairs for him, down to the humble 
 clerk, who says to himself : "Whatever it costs, T 
 must consult Bouchereau." All kinds of costumes, 
 all sorts of attire, fashionable bonnets, and linen 
 caps, shabby little black dresses by the side of rich 
 
 satins ; but the 
 same equality 
 reigns in the red- 
 dened eyelids, the 
 careworn brows, 
 the anguish and 
 sadness that haunt 
 those who wait in 
 the drawing-room of 
 the great doctor, 
 ^.inongst the last comers, a 
 fair -haired, tanned peasant, 
 broad faced and wide shouldered, 
 accompanies a small puny child who leans upon him 
 on one side and on the other upon a crutch. The 
 father takes touching precautions, bends his back, 
 already arched with tilling the ground, under his 
 new smock, and strives with his big fingers to 
 handle and seat the child comfortably : " Are you 
 comfortable like that?" he says. "Steady yourself ; 
 wait, I'll put this cushion under you." He speaks 
 in a loud tone, unmindful of the other people, and 
 
Tlie Last of a Race. 493 
 
 disturbs everybody to get a chair or a stool. The 
 child abashed, refined by his sufferings, remains 
 silent, his whole body awry, holding his crutches 
 between his legs. At last, when he is settled, the 
 peasant begins to laugh, but there are tears in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Well ! here we are ! He is a wonderful 
 man this doctor ! You'll see he will soon cure 
 you." 
 
 Then he smiles round at the company, a smile, how- 
 ever, that meets with nothing but an icy hardness on 
 all faces. The lady in black, accompanied also by a 
 child, alone looks at him kindly ; and although she 
 has a somewhat haughty air, he speaks to her, tells 
 her his story ; that his name is Raizou, market- 
 gardener at Valenton, that his wife is almost always 
 ailing, and that unfortunately their children take 
 after her, and not after him, a strong, healthy man. 
 The three eldest have died of a disease they had in 
 the bones. The last one looked as if he were going 
 to grow up all right, but a few months ago, his hip 
 had got bad like the others. So they had put a 
 mattrass in the cart and had come off to see 
 Bouchereau. 
 
 He says all this quietly, in the slow, methodical 
 manner of country folk, and while his neighbour 
 listens kindly, the two little iniirm children 
 examine each other with curiosity, drawn together 
 by their suffering, which throws, for the moment, 
 
494 Ki?igs in Exile. 
 
 over the little fellow in his smock and woollen 
 comforter, and the child wrapped up in rich furs, 
 the same tinge of melancholy. A shiver suddenly 
 runs through the assembled patients, faces redden, 
 and all heads are turned towards a door behind 
 which is heard a sound of steps, and of chairs scrap- 
 ing the floor as they are moved. The doctor is there, 
 he has at last arrived. The steps draw nearer. 
 On the threshold of the suddenly opened door 
 appears a thick-set man of medium height, square 
 shouldered, bald headed, with hard features. In a 
 glance that meets all these anxious looks, his eyes 
 run round the room and scrutinize all the new or 
 old sufferers. Some one goes in with him and the 
 door closes again. "He does not look veiy 
 inviting," whispers Raizou, and to reassure himself, 
 lie looks at all the people who will pass in before 
 him to the consulting room. A crowd indeed, and 
 the weary hours of waiting are only broken by the 
 slow, resounding strokes of an old provincial clock, 
 ornamented by a figure of Polyhymnia, and the rare 
 apparitions of the doctor. Each time he appears 
 one turn is gained ; there is a movement, a little 
 life in the room, and then once more everything 
 resumes its dull, motionless aspect. 
 
 From the moment of her entry the mother has 
 not spoken a word nor raised her veil, and there is 
 something so imposing in her silence, perhaps in 
 her mental prayer, that the peasant does not dare 
 
The Last of a Race. 495 
 
 to address her again, but remains mute, and heaves 
 deep sighs. At one moment he draws from his 
 pocket, indeed, from the multitude of his pockets, 
 a little bottle, a goblet, and a biscuit wrapped up 
 in paper, that he carefully and slowly undoes to 
 give a " sippet " to his boy. The child moistens 
 his lips, and pushes aside the glass and biscuit : 
 " No, no, I'm not hungry," and as he gazes at the 
 poor worn out little face, Eaizou thinks of his 
 three eldest children, who, like this one, were never 
 hungry. His eyes grow dim, his cheeks twitch 
 nervously at this thought, and he says abruptly : 
 " Don't move, my pet. I'll just go down and see if 
 the cart is all right." How often he goes down tu 
 see if the cart is stiU waiting on the square, by the 
 side of the pavement ! And when he comes back 
 smiling and beaming, he fancies that no one can 
 notice his swollen, red eyes, and his cheeks purple 
 from the rubbing and violent blows he has given 
 them to drive back his tears. 
 
 The hours pass on slowly and sadly. In the 
 drawing-room, which is getting dark, the faces 
 appear paler, more anxious, more supplicatingly 
 turned towards Bouchereau, as he impassively 
 appears at regular intervals. The man from 
 Valenton is in despair, as he begins to fear it will 
 be night before they reach home again, that his 
 wife will be anxious, and that the little one will 
 catch cold. His concern is so great, and expressed 
 
496 Kings in Exile. 
 
 aloud with Buch touching simplicity, that, ivhea 
 after five mortal hours of expectation, the mother 
 and child's turn is come, they give it up in favour 
 of Eaizou. "Oh, thank you, Madame." His 
 effusiveness has not the time to become intruding, 
 for the door has just opened. Quickly he catches 
 up his son, gives him his crutch, so upset and 
 confused that he does not see that the lady has 
 slipped something into the hand of the poor cripple 
 saying : " It is for you, for you." 
 
 Oh ! how long both mother and child find this 
 last waiting, made more dreary by the coming 
 night and the apprehension that chills them to the 
 heart. At last their turn has come, and they enter 
 a large study, lighted by a tall, wide window, which 
 opens on to the square, and which, notwithstanding 
 the late hour, still admits a good deal of hght. 
 Bouchereau's table is placed in front, — a simple un- 
 ornamented piece of furniture such as a country 
 doctor or registrar might have. He sits down, the 
 light at his back falling on the faces of the new 
 comers ; — on the woman, whose uplifted veil 
 reveals a youthful and energetic countenance, a 
 briUiant complexion and eyes fatigued with con- 
 stant watching, and on the little fellow ^vho bends 
 down his head as though the light in front were 
 painful to him. 
 
 " What is the matter with the child ? " inquires 
 Bouchereau kindly, drawing the b oy to\vards him 
 
The Last of a Race. 
 
 497 
 
 with a fatherly gesture ; for the rugged features 
 conceal an exquisite tenderness that forty years' 
 practice have not yet blunted. Before answering, 
 the mother motions to the child to leave them, 
 then, in a grave voice and foreign accent, she 
 relates how her son had lost his right eye, a year 
 ago, by acci- 
 dent. A short 
 time ago some 
 perturbations 
 have been no- 
 ticed in the 
 left eye, the 
 sight has be- 
 come misty, 
 with flashes 
 every now and 
 again, the 
 visual power 
 seeming to decrease. To avoid complete Diiiidness, 
 she has been advised the extraction of the right 
 eye. Is the operation feasible ? Is the child in a 
 fit state to bear it ? 
 
 Bouchereau listens attentively, leaning forward 
 in his arm-chair, his two keen eyes fixed on the 
 scornful mouth, on the full blood-red lips, unsullied 
 by any paint. Then, when the mother has finished 
 all she has to say, he replies : 
 
 " The ablation that has been recommended. 
 
498 Kings in Exile. 
 
 Madame, is of daily occurrence, and entirely devoid 
 of danger, unless there are some exceptional cir- 
 cumstances in the case. Only once in the twenty 
 years I practised ^t the hospital Lariboisike did 
 I have a case that did not survive the operation. 
 It is true that he was an old man, a rag-gatherer, 
 badly fed, addicted to drink. Here the case is 
 different. Yom- son does not look very strong, but 
 his mother is a iine healthy woman, who has no 
 doubt given him a good constitution. "We shall 
 soon ascertain this, however." 
 
 He called the child, placed him between his 
 knees, and to occupy his attention while he 
 examined him, asked him with a smile : 
 " What is your name ? " 
 " Leopold, Monsieur." 
 " Leopold who ? " 
 
 The child looks at his mother without answering. 
 " "Well, Leopold, you must take off your jacket 
 and waistcoat," continues the doctor ; " I must 
 examine and sound you all over." 
 
 The child slowly and awkwardly undresses, 
 assisted by his mother's trembling hands, and by 
 the fatherly old Bouchereau, who is more handy 
 than either of them. 
 
 Oh ! what a poor, puny, rickety little body, what 
 narrow shoulders drawn in towards the flat chest, 
 like the wings of a bird folded before its flight, 
 and what flesh ! so pallid, so bloodless, that the 
 
The Last of a Race. 499 
 
 scapukry and medals hanging from the neck stand 
 out in the evening light as on a plaster ex-voio 
 tablet. The mother casts down her eyes, as though 
 ashamed of her child, while the physician sounds 
 and listens, pausing occasionally to ask a question. 
 " The father is an old man, is he not ? " 
 " No, Monsieur. About thirty-five years of age." 
 " Often ill ? " 
 " No, hardly ever." 
 
 " All right ; you may put on your clothes, my 
 little man." 
 
 He leans back in his great arm-chair thought- 
 fully, while the child, after having put on his blue 
 velvet jacket and furs, goes back to his seat at the 
 further end of the room without being told. For a 
 year he has been surrounded by so much mystery, so 
 many whispered conversations have been held around 
 his sick bed, that he no longer minds them, no longer 
 tries to understand, but abandons himself to his fate. 
 Who, however, can describe the anguished look the 
 mother casts upon the physician ! 
 " Well, doctor ? " 
 
 " Madame," replies Bouchereau in a low voice, 
 - emphasizing each word, "your child is in truth 
 threatened with the total loss of his sight. And 
 yet — if he were my son — 1 would not operate upon 
 him. Without quite understanding as yet his 
 constitution, I notice such strange organic dis- 
 orders, such a perturbation in his whole "being, 
 
 K K 2 
 
500 Kings in Exile. 
 
 above all such worn-out, vitiated, impoverished 
 blood " 
 
 " Say royal blood ! " exclaims Fr^derique, abruptly 
 rising in an outburst of indignation. She has a 
 sudden recollection, a vision of the pale face of her 
 little first-born lying in its tiny coffin covered with 
 i'oses. Bouchereau also has risen, suddenly enlight- 
 ened by these three words, and recognises in the 
 woman before him the Queen of lUyria, whom he 
 has never seen, as she goes nowhere, but whose 
 portraits are in every shop window : 
 
 " Oh, Madame, had I known " 
 
 " Do not apologize," says Frederique, already 
 calmer. 
 
 " I came here to hear the truth — that truth 
 we never hear, even in exile. Ah ! Monsieur 
 Bouchereau, how unhappy queens are ! To think 
 that everybody is persecuting me to allow my child 
 to be operated upon ! And yet they know his life 
 is at stake ! But State reasons ! In a month, 
 perhaps in a fortnight, or sooner even, the Diets 
 of Illyria will be sending a deputation. They 
 want to be able to show them a king. As he is at 
 present, he might do ; but blind ! Nobody will 
 have him. Therefore, at the risk of killing him, 
 he must be operated upon ! Eeign or die ! And I 
 had almost become accomplice of this crime. My 
 poor little Zara ! My God, what matter if he reigns 
 or not 1 Let him live, my child, let him live ! " 
 
The Last of a Race. 501 
 
 Five o'clock ! The night is closing in. In the 
 Eue de Rivoli, crowded by the carriages returning 
 from the Bois de Boulogne and the approaching 
 hour of dinner, the vehicles slowly follow each 
 other along the side of the Tuileries iron railings, 
 which, lighted by the quickly setting sun, seems to 
 cast long dark iron bars over the passers-by. On 
 the side of the Arc de Triomphe the sky is still 
 bathed in a red boreal Ught, while in the opposite 
 direction it is of a dark mom-ning violet, thickened 
 and shaded black at the edges. It is in this direc- 
 tion that the heavy carriage with the Illyrian arms on 
 its panels rolls off. At the turn of the Eue de 
 Castiglione the queen suddenly catches sight of 
 the Hotel des Pyramides and remembers all the 
 illusions of her first arrival in Paris, singing and 
 surging like the music of the brass band that 
 resounded on that day through the dense foliage. 
 Since then, what deceptions ! what struggles ! 
 Now it is all over, quite over. The royal race is 
 ended. A deathlike chill . falls upon her shoulders 
 as the carriage plunges deeper into the shadow, 
 ever going deeper into gloom. She does not 
 therefore see the tender, timid, imploring look 
 that the child turns towards her. 
 
 " Mamma, if I am not a king any more will you 
 love me just the some ? " 
 
 " Oh ! my darling ! " 
 
 She passionately grasps the little hand out- 
 
S02 
 
 Kins:s ill Exile. 
 
 stretched towards hers. The sacrifice is made ! 
 Warmed and comforted )jy that clasp, Fredcrique 
 becomes nothing l)ut a mother, and while the 
 Tuileries, their solid ashes gilded by a ray of the 
 setting sun, rise suddenly before her as though to 
 recall the past, she gazes at them without emotion, 
 ■without a remembrance, looking at them as at 
 some ancient monument of Assyria or Egypt — 
 mute witness of men and manners long since 
 disappeared — some grand old thing — now dead. 
 
 bKAlJbUUV, A0N1;\V, li: CU. LIM1>., I'KINTKiiS, WlllTKtKIAKS. 
 
ALPHONSE DAUDET 
 
 X V.- 
 
 > ~ ''I 
 
 ■"^ 
 
 Tartarin 
 
 on the 
 
 ROSSI, ARANDA MYRBACH 
 MONTENARD, DE BEAUMONT 
 
ALPHONSE DAUDET 
 
 Thirty Years 
 of Paris