I 
 
 EL^INES 
 
(91 I 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 1244.F64 1918 
 
 The flower of the Chapdelalnes 
 
 3 1924 021 995 646 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 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/cu31924021995646 
 
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 THE FLOWER OF 
 THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
Vesterday, for rhe first time, at that same corner, he luid encountered 
 this fair stranger and her urchin escirt, [f*(ig<' 3 
 
THE FLOWER OF 
 THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE W. CABLE 
 
 WITH FRONTISPIECE BV 
 
 F. C. YOHN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1918 
 
Copyright, 1918, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Published March, 1918 
 
 ^..t)0 
 
THE FLOWER OF 
 THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
The Flower of the Chapdelaines 
 
 I 
 
 Next morning he saw her again. 
 
 He had left his very new law office, just 
 around in Bienville Street, and had come 
 but a few steps down Royal, when, at the 
 next corner below, she turned into Royal, 
 toward him, out of Conti, coming from 
 Bourbon. 
 
 The same nine-year-old negro boy was at 
 her side, as spotless in broad white collar 
 and blue" jacket as on the morning before, 
 and carrying the same droll air of consecra- 
 tion, awe, and responsibility. The young 
 man envied him. 
 
 Yesterday, for the first time, at that same 
 corner, he had encountered this fair stranger 
 and her urchin escort, abruptly, as they were 
 making the same turn they now repeated, 
 and all in a flash had wondered who might be 
 
4 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 this lovely apparition. Of such patrician 
 beauty, such elegance of form and bearing, 
 such witchery of simple attire, and such un- 
 Italian yet Latin type, in this antique Creole, 
 modernly Italianized quarter — who and what, 
 so early in the day, down here among the 
 shops, where so meagre a remnant of the old 
 high life clung on in these balconied upper 
 stories — who, what, whence, whither, and 
 wherefore ? 
 
 In that flash of time she had passed, and the 
 very liveliness of his interest, combined with 
 the urchin's consecrated awe — not to men- 
 tion his own mortifying remembrance of one 
 or two' other-day lapses from the austerities 
 of the old street — restrained him ■.from a 
 backward glance until he could cross the way 
 as if to enter the great, white, lately com- 
 pleted court-house. Then both she and her 
 satellite had vanished. 
 
 He turned again, but not to enter the 
 building. His watch read but half past 
 eight, and his first errand of the day, unless 
 seeing her had been his first, was to go one 
 square farther on, for a look at the wreckers 
 tearing down the old Hotel St. Louis. As 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 5 
 
 he turned, a man neat of dress and well be- 
 yond middle age made him a suave gesture. 
 
 " Sir, if you please. You are, I think, Mr. 
 Chester, notary pubhc and attorney at law ?" 
 
 "That is my name and trade, sir." Evi- 
 dently Mr. Geoffry Chester was also an 
 American, a Southerner. 
 
 "Pardon," said his detainer, "I have only 
 my business card." He tendered it: "Marcel 
 Castanado, Masques et Costumes, No. 312, 
 rue Royale, entre Bienville et Conti." 
 
 "I diz-ire your advice," he continued, "on 
 a very small matter neither notarial, neither 
 of the law. Yet I must pay you for that, if 
 you can make your charge as — as small as 
 the matter." 
 
 The young lawyer's own matters were at 
 a juncture where a fee was a godsend, yet 
 he replied: 
 
 "If your matter is not of the law I can 
 make you no charge." 
 
 The costumer shrugged: "Pardon, in that 
 case I must seek elsewhere." He would have 
 moved on, but Chester asked: 
 
 "What kind of advice do you want if not 
 legal.?" 
 
6 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Literary." 
 
 The young man smiled: "Why, I'm not 
 Hterary." 
 
 "I think yes. You know Ovide Landry? 
 Black man .'' Secon'-han' books, Chartres 
 Street, just yonder?" 
 
 "Yes, very pleasantly, for I love old books." 
 
 "Yes, and old buildings, and their his- 
 tories. I know. You are now going down, 
 as I have just been, to see again the con- 
 struction of that old dome they are dim-olish- 
 ing yonder, of the once state-house, pre- 
 viously Hotel St. Louis. I know. Twice a 
 day you pass my shop. I am compelled to 
 see, what Ovide also has told me, that, like 
 me and my wife, you have a passion for the 
 poetique and the pittoresque!" 
 
 "Yes," Chester laughed, "but that's 
 my limit. I've never written a line for 
 print " 
 
 "This writing is done, since fifty years." 
 
 "I've never passed literary judgment on a 
 written page and don't suppose I ever shall." 
 
 "The judgment is passed. The value of the 
 article is pronounced great — by an expert 
 amateur." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 7 
 
 "She?" the youth silently asked himself. 
 He spoke: "Why, then what advice do you 
 still want — how to find a publisher?" 
 
 "No, any publisher will jump at that. 
 But how to so nig-otiate that he shall not 
 be the lion and we the lamb ! " 
 
 Chester smiled again: "Why, if that's 
 the point — " he mused. The hope came 
 again that this unusual shopman and his 
 wish had something to do with her. 
 
 "If that's the advice you want," he re- 
 sumed, "I think we might construe it as legal, 
 though worth at the most a mere notarial 
 fee." 
 
 "And contingent on — ?" the costumer 
 prompted. 
 
 "Contingent, yes, on the author's suc- 
 cess." 
 
 " Sir ! I am not the author of a manu- 
 script fifty years old !" 
 
 "Well, then, on the holder's success. You 
 can agree to that, can't you ?" 
 
 "'Tis agreed. You are my counsel. 
 When will you see the manuscript?" 
 
 "Whenever you choose to leave 'it with 
 me." 
 
8 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 The costumer's smile was firm: "Sir, I 
 cannot permit that to pass from my hand." 
 
 "Oh! then have a copy typed for 
 me." 
 
 The Creole soliloquized: "That would be 
 expensive." Then to Chester: "Sir, I will 
 tell you; to-night come at our parlor, over 
 the shop. I will read you that !" 
 
 " Shall we be alone ? " asked Chester, 
 hoping his client would say no. 
 
 "Only excepting my" — a tender brightness 
 — "my wife !" Then a shade of regret: "We 
 are without children, me and my wife." 
 
 His wife. H'mm ! She? That amazing one 
 who had vanished within a few yards of his 
 bazaar of "masques et costumes" ? Though 
 to Chester New Orleans was still new, and 
 though fat law-books and a slim purse kept 
 him much to himself, he was aware that, 
 while some Creoles grew rich, many of them, 
 women, once rich, were being driven even to 
 stand behind counters. Yet no such plight 
 could he imagine of that bewildering young 
 — young luminary who, this second time, so 
 out of time, had gleamed on him from mys- 
 tery's cloud. His earlier hope came a third 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 9 
 
 time: "Excepting only your wife, you say? 
 Why not also your amateur expert ?" 
 
 "I am sorry, but" — the Latin shrug — 
 "that is — that is not possible." 
 
 "Have I ever seen your wife? She's not 
 a tallish, slender young ?" 
 
 "No, my wife is neither. She's never in 
 the street or shop. She has no longer the 
 cap-acity. She's become so extraordinarily 
 un-slender that the only way she can come 
 down-stair' is backward. You'll see. Well,'* 
 — he waved — "till then — ah, a word: my 
 close bargaining — I must explain you that— 
 in confidence. 'Tis because my wife and me 
 we are anxious to get every picayune we can 
 get for the owners — of that manuscript." 
 
 Chester thought to be shrewd: "Oh! is 
 she hard up ? the owner ?" 
 
 "The owners are three," Castanado calmly 
 said, "and two dip-end on the earnings of a 
 third." He bowed himself away. 
 
 A few hours later Chester received from 
 him a note begging indefinite postponement 
 of the evening appointment. Mme. Cas- 
 tanado had fever and probably la grippe. 
 
II 
 
 Early one day some two weeks after the 
 foregoing incident the young lawyer came 
 out of his pension frangaise, opposite his 
 office, and stood a moment; in thought. In 
 those two weeks he had not again seen Mr. 
 Castanado. 
 
 Once more it was scant half past eight. 
 He looked across to the windows of his office 
 and of one bare third-story sleeping-room 
 over it. Eloquent windows ! Their meanness 
 reminded him anew how definitely he had 
 chosen not merely the simple but the solitary 
 life. Yet now he turned toward Royal Street. 
 But at the third or fourth step he faced about 
 toward Chartres. The distance to the court- 
 house was the same either way, and its en- 
 trances were alike on both streets. 
 
 Thought he as he went the Chartres Street 
 way: "If I go one more time by way of Royal 
 I shall owe an abject apology, and yet to 
 try to offer it would only make the matter 
 worse." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES ii 
 
 He went grimly, glad to pay this homage 
 of avoidance which would have been more 
 to his credit paid a week or so earlier. His 
 frequent failure to pay it had won him, each 
 time, a glimpse of her and an itching fear 
 that prying eyes were on him inside other 
 balconied windows besides those of the un- 
 slender Mme. Castanado. 
 
 Temptation is a sly witch. Down at Conti 
 Street, on the court-house's upper riverside 
 corner, he paused to take in the charm of 
 one of the most picturesque groups of old 
 buildings in the vieiix carre. But there, to 
 gather in all the effect, one must turn, sooner 
 or later, and include the upper side of Conti 
 Street from Chartres to Royal; and as 
 Chester did so, yonder, once more, coming 
 from Bourbon and turning from Conti into 
 Royal, there she was again, the avoided one ! 
 
 Her black cupid was at her side, tiny even 
 for nine years. They disappeared conversing 
 together. With his heart in his throat Chester 
 turned away, resumed his walk, and passed 
 into the marble halls where justice dreamt she 
 dwelt. Up and down one of these, little 
 traversed so early, he paced, with a question 
 
12 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 burning in his breast, which every new sigh of 
 mortification fanned hotter: Had she seen 
 him? — this time? those other times? And 
 did those Castanados suspect ? Was that why 
 Mme. Castanado had the grippe, and the 
 manuscript was yet unread ? 
 
 A voice spoke his name and he found him- 
 self facing the very black dealer in second- 
 hand books. 
 
 "I was yonder at Toulouse Street," said 
 Ovide Landry, "coming up-town, when I 
 saw you at Conti coming down. I have an- 
 other map of the old city for you. At that 
 rate, Mr. Chester, you'll soon have as good 
 a collection as the best." 
 
 The young man was pleased: "Does it 
 show exactly where Maspero's Exchange 
 stood ?" he asked. 
 
 Ovide said come to the shop and see. 
 
 "I will, to-day; at six." Another man 
 came up. "Ah, Mr. Castanado ! How — how 
 is your patient ?" 
 
 "Madame" — the costumer smiled happily 
 ' — "is once more well. I was looking for you. 
 You didn't pass in Royal Street this morn- 
 ing." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 13 
 
 [Ah, those eyes behind those windows be- 
 hind those balconies !] 
 
 "No, I — oh! going, Landry? Good day. 
 No, Mr. Castanado, I " 
 
 "Madame hopes Mr. Chezter can at last, 
 this evening, come at home for that read- 
 ing." 
 
 " Mr. Castanado, I can't ! I'm mighty 
 sorry ! My whole evening's engaged. So 
 is to-morrow's. May I come the next eve- 
 ning after ? . . . Thank you. . . . Yes, at 
 seven. Just the three of us, of course ? 
 Yes." 
 
Ill 
 
 Six o'clock found Chester in Ovide's book- 
 shop. 
 
 Had its shelves borne law-books, or had 
 he not needed for law-books all he dared 
 spend, he might have known the surprisingly 
 informed and refined shopman better. Ovide 
 had long been a celebrity. Lately a brief 
 summary of his career had appeared inci- 
 dentally in a book, a book chiefly about 
 others, white people. "You can't write a 
 Southern book and keep us out," Ovide him- 
 self explained. 
 
 Even as it was, Chester had allowed him- 
 self that odd freedom with Landry which 
 Southerners feel safe in under the plate armor 
 of their race distinctions. Receiving his map 
 he asked, as he looked along a shelf or two: 
 "Have you that book that tells of you — as 
 a slave ? your master letting you educate 
 yourself; your once refusing your freedom, 
 and your being private secretary to two or 
 three black lieutenant-governors?" 
 
 14 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 15 
 
 "I had a copy," Landry said, "but I've 
 sold it. Where did you hear of it ? From 
 Rene Ducatel, in his antique-shop, whose 
 folks 'tis mostly about ?" 
 
 "Yes. An antique himself, in spirit, eh.? 
 Yet modern enough to praise you highly." 
 
 " H'mm ! but only for the virtues of a slave." 
 
 Chester smiled round from the shelves: 
 "I noticed that! I'm afraid we white folks, 
 the world over, are prone to do that — ^with 
 you-all." 
 
 "Yes, when you speak of us at all." 
 
 "Ducatel's opposite neighbor," Chester re- 
 marked, "is an antique even more interest- 
 ing." 
 
 "Ah, yes ! Castanado is antique only in 
 that art spirit which the tourist trade is every 
 day killing even in Royal Street." 
 
 "That's the worst decay in this whole de- 
 caying quarter," the young man said. 
 
 "And in all this deluge of trade spirit," 
 Ovide continued, "the best dry land left of 
 it— of that spirit of art — is " 
 
 "Castanado's shop, I dare say." 
 
 "Castanado's and three others in that one 
 square you pass every day without discover- 
 
i6 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 ing the fact. But that's natural; you are 
 a busy lawyer." 
 
 "Not so very. What are the other three ?" 
 
 "First, the shop of Seraphine Alexandre, 
 embroideries; then of Scipion Beloiseau, 
 ornamental ironwork, opposite Mme. Sera- 
 phine and next below Ducatel — Ducatel, 
 alas, he don't count; and third, of Placide 
 La Porte, perfumeries, next to Beloiseau. 
 That's all." 
 
 "Not the watchmaker on the square 
 above ? " 
 
 "Ah! distantly he's of them: and there 
 was old Manouvrier, taxidermist; but he's 
 gone — where the spirits of art and of wor- 
 ship are twin." 
 
 Chester turned sharply again to the shelves 
 and stood rigid. From an inner room, its 
 glass door opened by Ovide's silver-spectacled 
 wife, came the little black cupid and his 
 charge. Ah, once more what perfection in 
 how many points ! As she returned to Ovide 
 an old magazine, at last he heard her voice — 
 singularly deep and serene. She thanked 
 the bookman for his loan and, with the child, 
 went out. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 17 
 
 It disturbed the Southern youth to un- 
 bosom himself to a black man, but he saw 
 no decent alternative: "Landry, I had not 
 the faintest idea that that young lady was 
 nearer than Castanado's shop !" 
 
 Ovide shook his head: "You seem your- 
 self to forget that you are here by business 
 appointment. And what of it if you have 
 seen her, or she seen you, here — or any- 
 where ? " 
 
 "Only this: that I've met her so often by 
 pure — by chance, on that square you speak 
 of, I bound for the court-house, she for I can't 
 divine where — for I've never looked behind 
 me ! — that I've had to take another street 
 to show I'm a gentleman. This very morn' 
 — oh ! — and now ! here ! How can I explain 
 — or go unexplained ?" 
 
 Ovide lifted a hand: "Will you leave that 
 to my wife, so unlearned yet so wise and 
 good ? For the young lady's own sake my 
 wife, without explaining, will see that you 
 are not misjudged." 
 
 " Good ! Right ! Any explanation would 
 simply belie itself. Yes, let her do it ! But, 
 Landry " 
 
18 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "For heaven's sake don't let her make me 
 out a goody-goody. I haven't got this far 
 into Hfe without making moral mistakes, 
 some of them huge. But in this thing — I 
 say it only to you — I'm making none. I'm 
 neither a marrying man, a villain, nor an 
 ass." 
 
 Ovide smiled: "My wife can manage that. 
 Maybe it's good you came here. It may 
 well be that the young lady herself would 
 be glad if some one explained her to you." 
 
 "Hoh ! does an angel need an explanation r" 
 
 "I should say, in Royal Street, yes." 
 
 "Then for mercy's sake give it ! right here ! 
 you! come!" The youth laughed. "Mercy 
 to me, I mean. But — wait ! Tell me; 
 couldn't Castanado have given it, as easily 
 as you ?" 
 
 "You never gave Castanado this chance."' 
 
 "How do you know that ? Oh, never mind, 
 go ahead — full speed." 
 
 "Well, she's an orphan, of a fine old 
 family " 
 
 "Obviously! Creole, of course, the 
 family?" 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 19 
 
 "Yes, though always small in Louisiana. 
 Creole except one New England grandmother. 
 But for that one she would not have been 
 here just now." 
 
 'Humph! that's rather obscure but — go 
 
 on." 
 
 "Her parents left her without a sou or 
 a relation except two maiden aunts as poor 
 as she." 
 
 "Antiques ?" 
 
 "Yes. She earns their living and her 
 own." 
 
 "You don't care to say how.?" 
 
 "She wouldn't like it. 'Twould be to say 
 where." 
 
 "She seems able to dress exquisitely." 
 
 "Mr. Chester, a woman would see with 
 what a small outlay that is done. She has 
 that gift for the needle which a poet has for 
 the pen." 
 
 " Ho ! that's charmingly antique. But now 
 tell me how having a Yankee grandmother 
 caused her to drop in here just now. Your 
 logic's dim." 
 
 "You are soon to go to Castanado's to 
 see that manuscript story, are you not?" 
 
20 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Oh, is it a story? Have you read it?" 
 
 "Yes, I've read it, 'tis short. They wanted 
 
 my opinion. And 'tis a story, though true." 
 
 "A story! Love story? very absorbing?" 
 
 "No, it is not of love — except love of 
 
 liberty. Whether 'twill absorb you or no I 
 
 cannot say. Me it absorbed because it is 
 
 the story of some of my race, far from here 
 
 and in the old days, trying, in the old vain 
 
 way, to gain their freedom." 
 
 "Has — has mademoiselle read it?" 
 "Certainly. It is her property; hers and 
 her two aunts'. Those two, they bought it 
 lately, of a poor devil — drinking man — for 
 a dollar. They had once known his mother, 
 from the West Indies." 
 
 "He wrote it, or his mother?" 
 "The mother, long ago. 'Tis not too well 
 done. It absorbs mademoiselle also, but 
 that is because 'tis true. When I saw that 
 effect I told her of a story like it, yet dif- 
 ferent, and also seeming true, in this old 
 magazine. And when I began to tell it she 
 said, * It is true ! My Vermont grand' mere 
 wrote that ! It happened to her !' " 
 
 "How queer! And, Landry, I see the con- 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 21 
 
 nection. Your magazine being one of a set, 
 you couldn't let her read it anywhere but 
 here." 
 
 "I have to keep my own rules." 
 
 " Let me see it. . . . Oh, now, why not ? 
 What was the use of either of us explaining 
 if— if ?" 
 
 But Ovide smilingly restored the thing to 
 its stack. "Now," he said, "'tis Mr. 
 Chester's logic that fails." Yet as he turned 
 to a customer he let Chester take it down. 
 
 "My job requires me," the youth said, 
 "to study character. Let's see what a grand' - 
 mere of a Hite-fille, situated so and so, will 
 do." 
 
 Ovide escorted his momentary customer to 
 the sidewalk door. As he returned, Chester, 
 rolling map and magazine together, said: 
 "It's getting dark. No, don't make a light, 
 it's your closing time and I've a strict en- 
 gagement. Here's a deposit for this maga- 
 zine; a fifty. It's all I have — oh, yes, take 
 it, we'll trade back to-morrow. You must 
 keep your own rules and I must read this 
 thing before I touch my bed." 
 
 "Even the first few lines absorb you.?" 
 
22 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "No, far from it. Look here." Chester 
 read out: " 'Now, Maud,' said my uncle — 
 Oh, me ! Landry, if the tale's true why 
 that old story-book pose.''" 
 
 "It may be that the writer preferred to 
 tell it as fiction, and that only something in 
 me told me 'tis true. Something still tells 
 me so." 
 
 "^Noza, Maud,'" Chester smilingly 
 thought to himself when, the evening's later 
 engagement being gratifyingly fulfilled, he 
 sat down with the story. "And so you were 
 grand'mere to our Royal Street miracle. And 
 you had a Southern uncle ! So had I ! though 
 yours was a planter, mine a lawyer, and yours 
 must have been fifty years the older. Well, 
 'Now, Maud,' for my absorption !" 
 
 It came. Though the tale was unamazing 
 amazement came. The four chief characters 
 were no sooner set in motion than Chester 
 dropped the pamphlet to his knee, agape in 
 recollection of a most droll fact a year or 
 two old, which now all at once and for the 
 first time arrested his attention. He also 
 had a manuscript ! That lawyer uncle of 
 his, saying as he spared him a few duplicate 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 23 
 
 volumes from his law library, "Burn that 
 if you don't want it," had tossed him a fat 
 document indorsed: "Memorandum of an 
 Early Experience." Later the nephew had 
 glanced it over, but, like "Maud's" story, 
 its first few lines had annoyed his critical 
 sense and he had never read it carefully. The 
 amazing point was that "Now, Maud" and 
 this "Memorandum" most incredibly — with 
 a ridiculous nicety — fitted each other. 
 
 He lifted the magazine again and, begin- 
 ning at the beginning a third time, read with 
 a scrutiny of every line as though he studied 
 a witness's deposition. And this was what 
 he read: 
 
IV 
 
 THE CLOCK IN THE SKY 
 
 "Now, Maud," said uncle jovially as he, 
 aunt, and I drove into the confines of their 
 beautiful place one spring afternoon of i860, 
 "don't forget that to be too near a thing is 
 as bad for a good view of it as to be too far 
 away." 
 
 I was a slim, tallish girl of scant sixteen, 
 who had never seen a slaveholder on his 
 plantation, though I had known these two 
 for years, and loved them dearly, as guests 
 in our Northern home before it was broken 
 up by the death of my mother. Father was 
 an abolitionist, and yet he and they had 
 never had a harsh word between them. If 
 the general goodness of those who do some 
 particular thing were any proof that that 
 particular thing is good to do, they would 
 have convinced me, without a word, that 
 
 slaveholding was entirely right. But they 
 
 24 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 25 
 
 were not trying to do any such thing. "Re- 
 member," continued my uncle, smiHng round 
 at me, "your dad's trusting you not to bring 
 back our honest opinion — of anything — in 
 place of your own." 
 
 "Maud," my aunt hurried to put in, for 
 she knew the advice I had just heard was 
 not the kind I most needed, "you're going 
 to have for your own maid the blackest girl 
 you ever saw." 
 
 "And the best," added my uncle; "she's 
 as good as she is black." 
 
 "She's no common darky, that Sidney," 
 said aunt. "She'll keep you busy answering 
 questions, my dear, and I say now, you may 
 tell her anything she wants to know; we give 
 you perfect liberty; and you may be just 
 as free with Hester; that's her mother; or 
 with her father, Silas." 
 
 "We draw the line at Mingo," said uncle. 
 
 "And who is Mingo.?" I inquired. 
 
 "Mingo .? he's her brother; a very low and 
 trailing branch of the family tree." 
 
 As we neared the house I was told more 
 of the father and mother; their sweet con- 
 tent, their piety, their diligence. "If we 
 
26 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 lived in town, where there's better chance 
 to pick up small earnings," remarked uncle, 
 "those two and Sidney would have bought 
 their freedom by now, and Mingo's too. Silas 
 has got nearly enough to buy his own, as it 
 is." 
 
 Silas, my aunt explained, was a carpenter. 
 "He hands your uncle so much a week; all 
 he can make beyond that he's allowed to 
 keep." The carriage stopped at the door; 
 half a dozen servants came, smiling, and I 
 knew Sidney and Hester at a glance, they 
 were so finely different from their fellows. 
 
 That night the daughter and I made ac- 
 quaintance. She was eighteen, tall, lithe and 
 as straight as an arrow. She had not one of 
 the physical traits that so often make her 
 race uncomely to our eyes; even her nose 
 was good; her very feet were well made, her 
 hands were slim and shapely, the fingers long 
 and neatly jointed, and there was nothing 
 inky in her amazing blackness, her red blood 
 so enriched it. Yet she was as really African 
 in her strong, eager mind as in her color, and 
 the English language, on her tongue, was 
 like a painter's palette and brushes in the 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 27 
 
 hands of a monkey. Her first question to 
 me after my last want was supplied came 
 cautiously, after a long gaze at my lighted 
 lamp, from a seat on the floor. "Miss 
 Maud, when was de conwention o' coal-oil 
 'scuwud?" And to her good night she 
 added, in allusion to my eventual return to 
 the North, "I hope it be a long time afo' you 
 make dat repass !" 
 
 At the next bedtime she began on me with 
 the innocent question of my favorite flower, 
 but I had not answered three other ques- 
 tions before she had placed me where I must 
 either say I did not believe in the right to 
 hold slaves, or must keep silence; and when 
 I kept silence of course she knew. For a long 
 moment she dropped her eyes, and then, 
 with a soft smile, asked if I would tell 
 her some Bible stories, preferably that of 
 "Moses in de bound'ries o' Egyp'." 
 
 She listened in gloating silence, rarely in- 
 terrupting; but at the words, "Thus saith 
 the Lord God of Israel, 'Let my people go,' " 
 the response, "Pra-aise Gawd!" rose from 
 her lips in such volume that she threw her 
 hands to her mouth. After that she spoke 
 
28 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 only soft queries, but they grew more and 
 more significant, and I soon saw that her 
 supposed content was purely a pious endur- 
 ance, and that her soul felt bondage as her 
 body would have felt a harrow. So I left 
 the fugitives of Egyptian slavery under the 
 frown of the Almighty in the wilderness of 
 Sin; Sidney was trusting me; uncle and aunt 
 were trusting me; and between them I was 
 getting into a narrow corner. After a medi- 
 tative silence my questioner asked: 
 
 "Miss Maud, do de Bible anywhuz capit- 
 ulate dat Moses aw Aaron aw Joshaway aw 
 Cable buy his freedom — ^wid money.?" 
 
 Her manner was childlike, yet she always 
 seemed to come up out of deep thought when 
 she asked a question; she smiled diflSdently 
 until the reply began to come, then took on 
 a reverential gravity, and as soon as it was 
 fully given sank back into thought. "Miss 
 Maud, don't you reckon dat ef Moses had 
 a-save' up money enough to a-boughtened 
 his freedom, dat'd a-been de wery sign mos' 
 pleasin' to Gawd dat he 'uz highly fitten to 
 be sot free widout paying?" To that puzzle 
 she waited for no answer beyond the distress 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 29 
 
 I betrayed, but turned to matters less specu- 
 lative, and soon said good night. 
 
 On the third evening — my ! If I could 
 have given all the topography of the entire 
 country between uncle's plantation and my 
 native city on the margin of the Great Lakes, 
 with full account of its every natural and 
 social condition, her questions would have 
 wholly gathered them in. She asked if our 
 climate was very hard on negroes; what 
 clothing we wore in summer, and how we 
 kept from freezing in midwinter; about 
 wages, the price of food, what crops were 
 raised, and what the "patarolers" did with 
 a negro when they caught one at night with- 
 out a pass. 
 
 She made me desperate, and when the 
 fourth night saw her crouched on my floor 
 it found me prepared; I plied her with ques- 
 tions from start to finish. She yielded with 
 a perfect courtesy; told of the poor lot of 
 the few free negroes of whom she knew, and 
 of the time-serving and shifty indolence, the 
 thievishness, faithlessness, and unaspiring tor- 
 pidity of "some niggehs"; and when I opened 
 the way for her to speak of uncle and aunt 
 
30 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 she poured forth their praises with an ardor 
 that brought her own tears. I asked her if 
 she beheved she could ever be happy away 
 from them. 
 
 She smiled with brimming eyes: "Why, 
 I dunno. Miss Maud; whatsomeveh come, 
 and whensomeveh, and howsomeveh de Lawd 
 sen' it, ef us feels his ahm und' us, us ought 
 to be 'shame' not to be happy, oughtn't us ?" 
 All at once she sprang half up: "I tell you de 
 Lawd neveh gi'n no niggeh de rights to 
 snuggle down an)rwhuz an' fo'git de auction- 
 block!" 
 
 As suddenly the outbreak passed, yet as 
 she settled down again her exaltation still 
 showed through her fond smile. "You know 
 what dat inqui'ance o' yone bring to my 
 'memb'ance ? Dass ow ole Canaan hymn 
 
 "'O I mus' climb de stony hill 
 Pas' many a sweet desiah; 
 De flow'ry road is not fo' me, 
 I follows cloud an' fiah.'" 
 
 After she was gone I lay trying so to con- 
 trive our next conversation that it should 
 not flow, as all before it had so irresistibly 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 31 
 
 done, into that one deep channel of her 
 thoughts which took in everything that fell 
 upon her mind, as a great river drinks the 
 rains of all its valleys. Presently the open 
 window gave me my cue : the stars ! the un- 
 vexed and unvexing stars, that shone before 
 human wrongs ever began, and that will be 
 shining after all human wrongs are ended — 
 our talk should be of them. 
 
At the supper-table on the following eve- 
 ning I became convinced of something which 
 I had felt coming for two or three days, 
 wondering the while whether Sidney did not 
 feel the same thing. When we rose aunt 
 drew me aside and with caressing touches 
 on my brow and temples said she was sorry 
 to be so slow in bringing me into social con- 
 tact with the young people of the neighboring 
 plantations, but that uncle, on his arrival 
 at home, had found a letter whose informa- 
 tion had kept him, and her as well, busy every 
 waking hour since. "And this evening," she 
 continued, "we can't even sit down with 
 you around the parlor lamp. Can you amuse 
 yourself alone, dear, or with Sidney, while 
 your uncle and I go over some pressing 
 matters together ?" 
 
 Surely I could. "Auntie, was the infor- 
 mation—bad news ?" 
 
 "It wasn't good, my dear; I may tell you 
 about it to-morrow." 
 
 32 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 33 
 
 "Hadn't I better go back to father at 
 once?" 
 
 "Oh, my child, not for our sake; if you're 
 not too lonesome we'd rather keep you. Let 
 me see; has Mingo ever danced for you ? 
 Why, tell Sidney to make Mingo come dance 
 for you." 
 
 Mingo came; his leaps, turns, postures, 
 steps, and outcries were a most laughable 
 wonder, and I should have begged for more 
 than I did, but I saw that it was a part of 
 Sidney's religion to disapprove the dance. 
 
 "Sidney," I said, "did you ever hear of 
 the great clock in the sky ? Yes, there's one 
 there; it's made all of stars." We were at 
 the foot of some veranda steps that faced 
 the north, and as she and Mingo were about 
 to settle down at my feet I said if they would 
 follow me to the top of the flight I would tell 
 this marvel: what the learned believed those 
 eternal lamps to be; why some were out of 
 view three-fourths of the night, others only 
 half, others not a quarter; how a very few 
 never sank out of sight at all except for day- 
 light or clouds, and yet went round and round 
 with all the others; and why I called those 
 
34 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 the clock of heaven; which gained, each 
 night, four minutes, and only four, on the 
 time we kept by the sun. 
 
 "Pra-aise Gawd!" murmured Sidney. 
 "Miss Maud, please hoi' on tell Mingo run' 
 fetch daddy an' mammy; dey don't want 
 dat sto'y f'om me secon' haynded!" Mingo 
 darted off and we waited. "Miss Maud, 
 what de white folks mean by de nawth stah ? 
 Is dey sich a stah as de nawth stah ?" 
 
 I tried to explain that since all this seem- 
 ing movement of the stars around us was 
 but our own daily and yearly turning, there 
 would necessarily be two opposite points on 
 our earth which would never move at all, 
 and that any star directly in line with those 
 two points would seem as still as they. 
 
 "Like de p'int o' de spin'le on de spinnin'- 
 wheel. Miss Maud ? Oh, yass, I b'lieve I 
 un'stand dat; I un'stan' it some." 
 
 I showed her the north star, and told her 
 how to find it; and then I took from my 
 watch-guard a tiny compass and let her see 
 how it forever picked out from among all 
 the stars of heaven that one small light, and 
 held quiveringly to it. She hung over it with 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 35 
 
 ecstatic sighs. "Do it see de stah, Miss 
 Maud, like de wise men o' de Eas' see de stah 
 o' Jesus?" 
 
 I tried to make plain the law it was obey- 
 ing. 
 
 "And do it p'int dah dess de same in de 
 broad day, an' all day long ? — Pra-aise Gawd ! 
 And do it p'int dah in de rain, an' in de 
 stawmy win' a-fulfillin' of his word, when 
 de ain't a single stah admissible in de ske- 
 eye ? — De Lawd's na-ame be pra-aise' !" Her 
 father, mother, and brother were all looking 
 at it with her, now, and she glanced from 
 one to another with long headings of rap- 
 ture. 
 
 "Miss Maud," said Silas, in a subdued 
 voice, "dat little trick mus' 'a' cos' you a 
 mint o' money." 
 
 "Silas," put in Hester, "you know dass 
 not a pullite question!" But she was 
 ravening for its answer, and I said I had 
 bought it for twenty-five cents. They 
 laughed with delight. Yet, when I told Sid- 
 ney she might have it, her thanks were but 
 two words, which her lips seemed to drop 
 unconsciously while she gazed on the trinket. 
 
36 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 They all sat down on the steps nearest 
 below me, and presently, beginning where I 
 had begun with Sidney, I went pn to point 
 out the polar constellations and to relate the 
 age-worn story of Cepheus and Cassiopeia, 
 Andromeda and the divine Perseus. 
 
 "Lawd, my Lawd !" whispered the mother, 
 "was dey — was dey colo'd?" 
 
 I said two of them were king and queen 
 of Ethiopia, and a third was their daughter. 
 
 "Chain' to de rock, an' yit sa-ave at las' !" 
 exclaimed Sidney. 
 
 While her husband and children still gazed 
 at the royal stars, Hester spoke softly to me 
 again. "Miss Maud, dass a tryin' sawt o' 
 sto'y to tell to a bunch o' po' niggehs; did 
 you dess make dat up — fo' us ?" 
 
 "Why, Hester," I said, "that was an old, 
 old story before this country was ever known 
 to white folks, or black," and the eyes of all 
 four were on me as the daughter asked: 
 "Ain'titindeBi-ible?" 
 
 As all but Sidney bade me good night, I 
 heard her say; "I don' care, I b'lieb dat be'n 
 in de Bible an' git drap out by mista-ake !" 
 
 In my room she grew queerly playful, and 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 37 
 
 continued so until she had drawn off my shoes 
 and stockings. But then abruptly, she took 
 my feet in her sUm black hands, and with eyes 
 lifted tenderly to mine, said: "How bu'ful 
 'pon de mountain is dem wha' funnish good 
 tidin's!" She leaned her forehead on my 
 insteps: "Us bleeged to paht some day. Miss 
 Maud." 
 
 I made a poor effort to lift her, but she 
 would not be displaced. "Cayn't no two 
 people count fo' sho' on stayin' togetheh 
 al'ays in dis va-ain worl'," and all at once 
 I found my face in my hands and the salt 
 drops searching through my fingers; Sidney 
 was kissing my feet and wetting them with 
 her tears. 
 
 At close of the next day, a Sabbath, my 
 uncle and aunt called all their servants 
 around the front steps of the house and with 
 tears more bitter than any of Sidney's or 
 mine, told them that by the folly of others, 
 far away, they had lost their whole fortune 
 at one stroke and must part with everything, 
 and with them, by sale. Their dark hearers 
 wept with them, and Silas, Hester, and Sid- 
 ney, after the rest had gone back to the 
 
38 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 quarters, offered the master and mistress, 
 through many a quaintly misquoted scrip- 
 ture, the consolations of faith. 
 
 "I wish we had set you free, Silas," said 
 uncle, "you and yours, when we could have 
 done it. Your mistress and I are going to 
 town to-morrow solely to get somebody to 
 buy you, all four, together." 
 
 "Mawse Ben," cried the slave, with 
 strange earnestness, "don't you do dat ! 
 Don't you was'e no time dat a-way ! You 
 go see what you can sa-ave fo' you-all an' 
 yone !" 
 
 "For the creditors, you mean, Silas," said 
 my aunt; "that's done." 
 
 Hester had a question. "Do it all go to 
 de credito's anyhow. Miss 'Liza, no matteh 
 how much us bring?" and when aunt said 
 yes, Sidney murmured to her mother, "I tol' 
 you dat." I wondered when she had told 
 her. 
 
 Uncle and aunt tried hard to find one 
 buyer for the four, but failed; nobody who 
 wanted the other three had any use for 
 Mingo. It was after nightfall when they 
 came dragging home. "Now don't you fret 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 39 
 
 one bit 'bout dat, Mawse Ben," exclaimed 
 Sidney, with a happy heroism in her eyes 
 that I remembered afterward. "'De Lawd 
 is perwide ! ' " 
 
 "Strange," said my aunt to uncle and me 
 aside, smiUng in pity, "how slight an im- 
 pression disaster makes on their minds !" and 
 that too I remembered afterward. 
 
 As soon as we were alone in my chamber, 
 Sidney and I, she asked me to tell her again 
 of the clock in the sky, and at the end of her 
 service and of my recital she drew me to my 
 window and showed me how promptly she 
 could point out the pole-star at the centre 
 of the clock's vast dial, although at our right 
 a big moon was leaving the tree tops and 
 flooding the sky with its light. Toward this 
 she turned, and lifting an arm with the 
 reverence of a priestess said, in impassioned 
 monotone : 
 
 " 'De moon shine full at His comman' 
 An' all de stahs obey.' " 
 
 She kissed my hand as she added good-by. 
 "Why, Sidney!" I laughed, "you mean good 
 night, don't you?" 
 
40 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 She bent low, tittered softly, and then, 
 with a swift return to her beautiful straight- 
 ness, said: "But still. Miss Maud, who eveh 
 know when dey say good night dat it ain't 
 good-by?" She fondled my hand between 
 her two as she backed away, kissed it fer- 
 vently again, and was gone. 
 
 When I awoke my aunt stood in broad 
 though sunless daylight at the bedside, with 
 the waking cup of coffee which it was Sid- 
 ney's wont to bring. I started from the 
 pillow. " Oh ! what — who — wh' — where's 
 Sidney ? Why — how long has it been rain- 
 mg? 
 
 "It began at break of day," she replied, 
 adding pensively, "thank God." 
 
 "Oh ! were we in such bad need of rain ?" 
 
 " They were — precisely when it came. 
 Rain never came straighter from heaven." 
 
 "They?"— I stared. 
 
 "Yes; Silas and Hester — and Sidney — 
 and Mingo. They must have started soon 
 after moonrise, and had the whole bright 
 night, with its black shadows, for going." 
 
 "For going where, auntie; going where?" 
 
 "Then the rain came in God's own hour," 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 41 
 
 she continued, as if wholly to herself, "and 
 washed out their trail." 
 
 I sprang from the bed. "Aunt 'Liza!" 
 
 "Yes, Maud, they've run away, and if 
 only they may get away, God be praised!" 
 
 Of course, I cried like an infant. I threw 
 myself upon her bosom, "Oh, auntie, auntie, 
 I'm afraid it's my fault ! But when I tell you 
 how far I was from meaning it " 
 
 "Don't tell me a word, my child; I wish 
 it were my fault; I'd like to be in your shoes. 
 And, I don't care how right slavery is, I'll 
 never own a darky again!" 
 
 One day some two months after, at home 
 again with father, just as I was leaving the 
 house on some errand, Sidney — ragged, wet, 
 and bedraggled as a lost dog — sprang into my 
 arms. When I had got her reclothed and 
 fed I eagerly heard her story. Three of the 
 four had come safely through; poor Mingo 
 had failed; if I ever tell of him it must be 
 at some other time. In the course of her tale 
 I asked about the compass. 
 
 "Dat little trick ?" she said fondly. "Oh, 
 yass'm, it wah de salvation o' de Lawd 'pen 
 
42 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 cloudy nights; but time an' ag'in us had to 
 sepa'ate, 'llowin' fo' to rejine togetheh on 
 de bank o' de nex' creek, an' which, de Lawd 
 a-he'pin' of us, h-it al'ays come to pass; an' 
 so, afteh all. Miss Maud, de one thing what 
 Stan' us de bes' frien' night 'pon night, next 
 to Gawd hisse'f, dat wah his clock in de ske- 
 eye." 
 
VI 
 
 "Landry," Chester said next day, bring- 
 ing back the magazine barely half an hour 
 after the book-shop had reopened, "that's 
 a true story!" 
 
 "Ah, something inside tells you?" 
 "No need ! You remember this, near the 
 end? 'Poor Mingo had failed [to escape]; 
 if I ever tell of him it must be at another time.' 
 Landry, it's so absurd that I hardly have the 
 face to say it; I've got — ha-ha-ha ! — I've got 
 a manuscript! and it fills that gap!" The 
 speaker whipped out the "Memorandum"; 
 "Here's the story, by my own uncle, of how 
 the three got over the border and how Mingo 
 failed. I'd totally forgotten I had it. I dis- 
 liked its beginning far more than I did 
 * Maud's' yesterday. For I hate masks and 
 costumes as much as Mr. Castanado loves 
 them; and a practical joke — ^which is what 
 the story begins with, in costume, though it 
 soon leaves it behind — nauseates me. Com- 
 
 43 • 
 
44 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 ical situation it makes for me, this 'Memo- 
 randum,' doesn't it — turning up this way?" 
 
 Ovide rephed meditatively: "To lend 
 it, even to me, would seem as though you 
 sought " 
 
 " It would put me in a false light ! I don't 
 like false lights." 
 
 "It would mask and costume you." 
 
 "Why, not so badly as if I were really in 
 society; as, you know, I'm not ! The only 
 place where any man, but especially a so- 
 ciety man, can properly seek a girl's society 
 is in society. The more he's worthy to meet 
 her, the more hopelessly — I needn't say hope- 
 lessly, but completely — he's cut off from meet- 
 ing her any other way. Isn't that a gay situa- 
 tion .? Ha-ha-ha!" 
 
 "You would probably move much in so- 
 ciety, even Creole society, without meeting 
 mademoiselle; she has less time for it than 
 you." 
 
 "Is that so?" 
 
 Cupid, the evening before, had carried a 
 flat, square parcel like a shop's account-books 
 to be written up under the home lamp. Star- 
 ing at Landry, Chester rather dropped the 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 45 
 
 words than spoke them: "Think of it ! The 
 awful pity! For the like of her! Of her! 
 Why, how on earth — ? No, don't tell ! I 
 know what I'd think of any other man follow- 
 ing in her wake and asking questions while 
 hard fortune writes her history. A girl like 
 her, Landry, has no business with a history !" 
 
 "Mr. Chester." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Has that 'Memorandum' never been 
 printed ? I can find out for you, in Poole's 
 Index." 
 
 " Do it I It's good enough, and it's named 
 as if to be printed. See? 'The Angel 
 of ' " 
 
 "Then why not have Mr. Castanado, while 
 selecting a publisher for mademoiselle's manu- 
 script, select for both ? " 
 
 Chester shone: "Why — ^why, happy 
 thought ! I'll consider that, indeed I will ! 
 Well, good mor' " 
 
 "Mr. Chester." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Why did you want that new book yes- 
 terday?" 
 
 "I've met that nice old man the book calls 
 
46 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 'the judge/ and he's coaxed me to break my 
 rules and dine with him, at his home up- 
 town, to-night." 
 
 "I'm glad. Madame, his wife, was my 
 young mistress when I was a slave. I wish 
 her granddaughter and his grandson — they 
 also are married — were not over in the war — 
 Red Cross. You'd like them — and they 
 would like you." 
 
 "Do they know mademoiselle ?" 
 
 "Indeed, yes! They are the best of her 
 very few friends. But — the Atlantic rolls 
 between." 
 
 Chester went out. In the rear door 
 Ovide's wife appeared, knitting. "Any 
 close-ter .'"' she asked over her silver-bowed 
 spectacles. 
 
 "Some," he said, taking down Poole's In- 
 dex. 
 
 She came to his side and they placidly con- 
 versed. As she began to leave him, "No," 
 she said, "we kin wish, but we mustn' meddle. 
 AH any of us want' or got any rights to want 
 is to see 'em on speakin' terms. F'om dat 
 on, hands off. Leave de rest to de fitness 
 o' things, de everlast'n' fitness o' things!" 
 
VII 
 
 At the Castanados', the second evening 
 after, Chester was welcomed into a specially- 
 pretty living-room. But he found three other 
 visitors. Madame, seated on a sort of sofa 
 for one, made no effort to rise. Her face, 
 for all its breadth, was sweet in repose and 
 sweeter when she spoke or smiled. Her hands 
 were comparatively small and the play of 
 her vast arms was graceful as she said to a 
 slim, tallish, comely woman with an abun- 
 dance of soft, well-arranged hair: 
 
 "Seraphine, allow me to pres-ent Mr. 
 Chezter." 
 
 She explained that this Mme. Alexandre 
 was her "neighbor of the next door," and 
 Chester remembered her sign: "Laces and 
 Embroideries." 
 
 "Scipion," said Castanado to a short, 
 swarthy, broad-bearded man, "I have the 
 honor to make you acquaint' with my friend 
 Mr. Chezter." 
 
 Chester pressed the enveloping hand of 
 
 47 
 
48 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "S. Beloiseau, Artisan in Ornamental Iron- 
 work." 
 
 "Also, Mr. Chezter, Mr. Rene Ducatel; 
 but with him you are already acquaint', I 
 think, eh?" 
 
 Chester shook hands with a small, dapper, 
 early-gray, superdignified man, recalling his 
 sign: "Antiques in Furniture, Glass, Bronze, 
 Plate, China, and Jewelry." M. Ducatel 
 seemed to be already taking leave. His " an- 
 ceztral 'ome," he said, was far up-town; he 
 had dropped in solely to borrow — showing 
 it — the Courrier des Etats-Unis. 
 
 That journal, Castanado remarked to 
 Chester as at a corner table he poured him 
 a glass of cordial, brought the war, the 
 trenches, the poilu and the boche closer than 
 any other they knew. Beloiseau and Mme. 
 Alexandre, he softly explained, had come in 
 quite unlooked-for to discuss the great strife 
 and might depart at any moment. Then the 
 reading ! 
 
 But Chester himself interested those two 
 and they stayed. When he said that Beloi- 
 seau's sidewalk samples had often made him 
 covet some excuse for going in and seeing 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 49 
 
 both the stock and the craftsman, "That was 
 excuse ab-undant ! " was the prompt response, 
 and Castanado put in: 
 
 "Scipion he'd rather, always, a non-buy- 
 ing connoisseur than a buying Phihstine." 
 
 "Come any day! any hour!" said Beloi- 
 seau. 
 
 Presently all five were talking of the sur- 
 viving poetry of both artistic and historic 
 Royal Street. "Twenty year' ag-o," said 
 the ironworker, "looking down-street from 
 my shop, there was not a building in sight 
 without a romantic story. My God ! for 
 example, that Hotel St. Louis ! " 
 
 Chester — "had heard one or two of its epi- 
 sodes only the evening before, at that up- 
 town dinner, from a fine old down-town 
 Creole, a fellow guest, with whom he was to 
 dine the next week." 
 
 "Aha-a-a! precizely ac-rozzthe street from 
 Mme. Alexandre ! " said the hostess. " M'sieu' 
 et Madame De I'lsle ! Now I detec' that !" 
 
 "Have they no son? — or — or daughter?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Not any," Mme. Alexandre broke in with 
 a significant sparkle;- "juz' the two al-lone." 
 
so THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "They live over my shop," Beloiseau said. 
 "You muz' know that double gate nex' ad- 
 joining me." 
 
 "Oh, that lovely piece of ironwork.'' I 
 took that for a part of your establishment." 
 
 "I have only the uze of it with them. My 
 gratidpere he made those gate', for the father 
 of Mme. De I'lsle, same year he made those 
 great openwork gate' of Hotel St. Louis. 
 You speak of episode' ! One summer, reno- 
 vating that hotel, they paint' those gate' — 
 of iron openwork — in imitation — mon Dieu\! — 
 of marbl' ! Ciel! the tragedy of that! Yes, 
 they live over me; in the whole square, both 
 side' the street, last remaining of the 'igh 
 society." 
 
 When Mme. Alexandre finally rose to go, 
 and had kissed the upturned brow of her 
 hostess, she went by an inner door and rear 
 balcony. And when Chester and Beloiseau 
 began to take leave their host said to Chester: 
 "You dine with M. De I'lsle Tuesday. Well, 
 if you'll come again here the next evening 
 we'll attend to — that business." 
 
 "Wouldn't that be losing time? I can 
 just as well come sooner." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 51 
 
 "No," said madame, "better that Wednes- 
 day." 
 
 Chester was nettled, but he recovered when 
 the ironworker walked with him around into 
 Bienville Street and at his pension door la- 
 mented the pathetic decay of the useful arts 
 and of artistic taste, since the advent of cast- 
 ings and machinery. The pair took such 
 liking for each other's tenets of beauty, 
 morals, art, and life that Chester walked 
 back to the De ITsle gates, and their part- 
 ing at last was at the corner half-way be- 
 tween their two domiciles. 
 
 Meanwhile madame was saying to her 
 spouse, "Aha ! you see .'' The power of 
 prayer ! Ab-ove all, for the he'pless ! By 
 day the fo' corner' of my room, by night the 
 fo' post' of my bed, are " 
 
 "Yes, cherie, I know." 
 
 "Yes, they're to me for Matthew, Mark, 
 Luke, and John ! Since three days every 
 time I heard the cathedral clock I've prayed 
 to them; and now !" 
 
 "Well, my angel ? Now.?" 
 
 "Well, now! He's dining there next Tues- 
 day !" 
 
52 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Truly. Yet even now we can only 
 hope " 
 
 "Ah, no! Me, I can also continue to sup- 
 plicate ! From now till Wednesday, ever)' 
 time that clock, I'll pray those four evan- 
 gelistes! and Thursday you'll see — the power 
 of prayer ! Oh, 'tis like magique, that power 
 of prayer !" 
 
VIII 
 
 On Tuesday evening Chester, a country 
 boy yet now and then, was first at the De 
 I'Isles'. 
 
 Madame lauded him. " Punctualitie ! tha'z 
 the soul of pleasure ! " She had begun to 
 explain why her other guests included but 
 one young lady, when here they came. First, 
 the Prieurs, a still handsome Creole couple 
 whom he nevp. met again. Then that youth- 
 ful-aged up-town pair, the Thorndyke-Smiths. 
 And last— while Smith held Chester captive 
 to tell him he knew his part of Dixie, having 
 soldiered there in the Civil War — the one 
 young lady. Mile. Chapdelaine. As Chester 
 turned toward her she turned away, but her 
 back view was enough to startle him. 
 
 "Aline," the hostess began as she brought 
 them face to face, but whatever she said more 
 might as well have been a thunderbolt 
 through the roof. For Aline Chapdelaine 
 was She. 
 
 S3 
 
54 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 They went out together. What a stately 
 dining-room ! What carvings ! What old 
 china and lace on the board, under what soft, 
 rich illumination ! The Prieurs held the seats 
 of honor. Chester was on the hostess's left. 
 Mademoiselle sat between him and Mr. 
 Smith. It would be pleasant to tell with 
 what poise the youth and she dropped into 
 conversation, each intensely mindful — in- 
 tensely aware that the other was mindful — 
 of that Conti Street corner, of Ovide's shop, 
 and of "The Clock in the Sky," and both 
 alike hungry to know how much each had 
 been told about the other. Calmly they ig- 
 nored all earlier encounter and entered into 
 acquaintance on the common ground of the 
 poetry of the narrow region of decay in which 
 this lovely home lay hid "like a lost jewel." 
 
 "Ah, not quite lost yet," the girl pro- 
 tested. 
 
 "No," he conceded, "not while the poetry 
 remains," and Smith, on her other hand, 
 said: 
 
 "Not while this cluster of shops beneath 
 us is kept by those who now keep them." 
 
 "My faith!" the hostess broke in, "to 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 55 
 
 real souls 'tis they are the wonder — and the 
 poesie — and the jewels ! Ask Aline !" 
 
 "Ask me," Chester said, as if for made- 
 moiselle's rescue; "I discovered them only 
 last week." 
 
 "And then also," quietly said Aline, "ask 
 me, for I did not discover them only last 
 week." 
 
 M. Prieur joining in enabled Chester to 
 murmur: "May I ask you something?" 
 
 "You need not. You would ask if I knew 
 you had discovered them — M. Castanado 
 and the rest." 
 
 "And you would answer?" 
 
 "That I knew they had discovered you." 
 
 "Discovered, you mean, my spiritual sub- 
 stance ?" 
 
 "Yes, your spiritual substance. That's a 
 capital expression, Mr. Chester, your 'spir- 
 itual substance.' I must add that to my 
 English." 
 
 "Your English is wonderfully correct. 
 May I ask something else ?" 
 
 "I can answer without. Yes, I know 
 where you're going to-morrow and for what; 
 to read that old manuscript. Mr. Chester, 
 
S6 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 that other story — of my grand' mere, 'Maud'; 
 how did you like that ?" 
 
 "It left me in love with your grand'mere." 
 
 "Notwithstanding she became what they 
 used to call — you know the word." 
 
 "Yes, 'nigger-stealer.' How did you ever 
 add that to your English ?" 
 
 " My father was one. Right here in Royal 
 Street. Hotel St. Louis. Else he might never 
 have married my — that's too long to tell here." 
 
 "May I not hear it soon, at your home?" 
 
 "Assuredly. Sooner or later. My aunts 
 they are born raconteurs." 
 
 "Oh! your aunts. Hem! Do you know? 
 I had an uncle who once was your grand- 
 father's sort of robber, though a Southerner 
 born and bred." 
 
 "Yes, Ovide's wife told me. Will you 
 permit me a question?" 
 
 "No," laughed Chester, "but I can answer 
 it. Yes. Those four poor runaways to whom 
 your sweet Maud showed the clock in the 
 sky were the same four my uncle helped on 
 — oh, you've not heard it, and it also is too 
 long. I can lend you his 'Memorandum' if 
 you'll have it." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 57 
 
 She hesitated. "N-no," she said. "Ah, 
 no! I couldn't bear that responsibility! 
 Listen; Mr. Smith is going to tell a war story 
 of the city." 
 
 But no, that gentleman's story was yet 
 another too long for the moment even when 
 the men were left to their cigars. Instead 
 he and Chester made further acquaintance. 
 When they returned to the ladies, "I want 
 you to talk with my wife," said Mr. Smith, 
 and Chester obeyed. Yet soon he was at 
 mademoiselle's side again and she was say- 
 ing in a dropped voice: 
 
 "To-morrow when you're at the Casta- 
 nados' to read, so privately, would you be 
 willing for Mme. De I'lsle to be there — just 
 madame alone ? " 
 
 Oh, but men are dull ! "I'd be honored !" 
 he said. "They can modify the privacy as 
 they please." Oh, but men are dull ! There 
 he had to give place to M. Prieur and pres- 
 ently accepted some kind of social invitation, 
 seeing no way out of it, from the Smiths. So 
 ended the evening. Mile. Chapdelaine was 
 taken to her home, "close by," as she said, 
 in the Prieurs' carriage. 
 
S8 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "They are juz' arround in Bourbon Street, 
 those Chapdelaines," said the De ITsles to 
 Chester, last to go. "Y'ought to see their 
 H'r flower-garden. Like those two aunt' 
 that maintain it, 'tis unique. Y'ought to see 
 that — and them." 
 
 "I have mademoiselle's permission," he 
 replied. 
 
 "Ah, well, then! — ha, ha!" The pair ex- 
 changed a smile which seemed to the parting 
 guest to say: "After all he's not so utterly 
 deficient!" 
 
IX 
 
 Again the Castanados' dainty parlor, more 
 dainty than ever. No one there was in eve- 
 ning dress, though with its privacy "modi- 
 fied as the Castanados pleased," it had 
 gathered a company of seven. 
 
 Chester, not yet come, would make an 
 eighth. Madame was in her special chair. 
 And here, besides her husband, were both 
 M. and Mme. De I'lsle, Mme. Alexandre and 
 Scipion Beloiseau. The seventh was M. 
 Placide Dubroca, perfumer; a man of fifty 
 or so, his black hair and mustache inclined 
 to curl and his eyes spirited yet sympathetic. 
 Just entered, he was telling how consumed 
 with regret his wife was, to be kept away — 
 by an old promise to an old friend to go with 
 her to that wonderful movie, "Les Trois 
 Mousquetaires," when Chester came in and 
 almost at once a general debate on Mile. 
 Chapdelaine's manuscript was in full cor- 
 uscation. 
 
 "In the firs' place," one said — though the 
 
 59 
 
6o THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 best place he could seize was the seventeenth 
 — "firs' place of all — competition ! My 
 frien's, we cannot hope to nig-otiate with 
 that North in the old manner which we are 
 proud, a few of us yet, to co«-tinue in the 
 rue Royale. Every publisher " 
 
 Mme. Castanado had a quotation that 
 could not wait: "We got to be 'wise like 
 snake' an' innocent like pigeon' !' " 
 
 " Precizely ! Every publisher approach' 
 mus' know he's bidding agains' every other ! 
 Maybe they are honess men, and if so they'll 
 be rij-oice' !" 
 
 A non-listener was trying to squeeze in: 
 "And sec' — and sec' — and secon' thing — if 
 not firs' — is guarantee ! They mus' pay so 
 much profit in advance. Else it be better 
 to publish without a publisher, and with ad- 
 vertisement' front and back ! Tiff^any, Royal 
 Baking- Powder, Ivory Soap it Float' ! Ten 
 thousand dolla' the page that Ladies' 'Ome 
 Journal get', and if we get even ten dolla' 
 the page — I know a man w'at make that 
 way three hundred dolla' !" 
 
 " He make that net or gross ? " some one 
 asked. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 6i 
 
 "Ah! I think, not counting his time sol- 
 iciting those advertisement', he make it 
 nearly net." 
 
 Chester made show of breaking in and 
 three speakers at once begged him to pro- 
 ceed: "How much of a book," he asked Mme. 
 Castanado, "will the manuscript make ? 
 How long is it ?" 
 
 She looked falteringly to her husband: 
 "'Tis about a foot long, nine inch' wide. 
 Marcel, pazz that to monsieur." 
 
 The husband complied. Chester counted 
 the lines of one of the pages. Madame 
 watched him anxiously. 
 
 "Tha'z too wide.?" she inquired. 
 
 "It isn't long enough to make a book. To 
 do that would take — oh — seven times as 
 much." 
 
 "Ah!" Madame's voice grew in sweet- 
 ness as it rose: "So much the better! So 
 much the more room for those advertise- 
 ment' ! — and picture' !" 
 
 "And portrait of mademoiselle!" said 
 Mme. Alexandre, and Mme. De I'lsle smiled 
 assent. 
 
 Yet a disappointed silence followed, pres- 
 
62 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 ently broken by the perfumer: "All the same, 
 what is the matter to make it a pamphlet ?" 
 
 Beloiseau objected: "No, then you com- 
 pete aggains' those magazine'. But if you 
 permit one of those magazine' to buy it you 
 get the advantage of all the picture' in the 
 whole magazine." 
 
 "Ah!" several demurred, "and let that 
 magazine swallow whole all those profit' of 
 all those advertisement' ! " 
 
 Chester spoke: "I have an idea — " But 
 others had ideas and the floor besides. 
 
 Castanado lifted a hand: "Frien' — our 
 counsel." 
 
 Counsel tried again: "I have a conviction 
 that we should first offer this to a magazine 
 — through — yes, of course, through some in- 
 fluential friend. If one doesn't want it an- 
 other may " 
 
 Chorus : " Ho ! they will all want it ! That 
 was not written laz' night ! 'Tis fivty year' 
 old; they cannot rif-use that!" 
 
 "However," Chester persisted, "if they 
 should — if all should — I'd advise " 
 
 "Frien's," Castanado pleaded, "let us 
 hear." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 63 
 
 "I should advise that we gather together 
 as many such old narratives as we can find, 
 especially such as can be related to one an- 
 other " 
 
 "They need not be ril-ated!" cried Du- 
 broca. " We are not ril-ated, and yet see ! 
 Ril-ated ? where you are goin' to find them, 
 ril-ated ?" 
 
 "Royal Street !" Scipion retorted. "Royal 
 Street is pave' with old narration' !" 
 
 "Already," said Castanado, "we chanze 
 to have three or four. Mademoiselle has that 
 story of her grand'mere, and Mr. Chezter 
 he has — sir, you'll not care if I tell that ? — 
 Mr. Chezter has the sequal to that, and written 
 by his uncle !" 
 
 "Yes," Chester put in, "but Ovide Landry 
 finds it was printed years ago." 
 
 "Proof!" proclaimed Mme. Alexandre, 
 " proof that 'tis good to print ag-ain ! The 
 people that read that before, they are mozely 
 dead." 
 
 "At the same time," Chester responded, 
 rising and addressing the chair, his hostess, 
 "because that is a sequel to the grand'- 
 mere' s story, and because this — this West In- 
 
64 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 dian episode — is not a sequel and has no 
 sequel, and particularly because we ought to 
 let mademoiselle be first to judge whether my 
 uncle's memorandum is fit company for her 
 two stories, I propose, I say, that before we 
 read this West Indian thing we read my 
 uncle's memorandum, and that we send and 
 beg her to come and hear it with us. It's in 
 my pocket." 
 
 Patter, patter, patter, went a dozen hands. 
 
 "Marcel," the hostess cried in French, 
 go! 
 
 "I will go with you," Mme. Alexandre 
 proposed, "she will never come without me." 
 
 "'Tis but a step," said Mme. De I'lsle, 
 "the three of us will go together." They 
 went. 
 
 Those who waited talked on of their city's 
 true stories. The vastest and most monstrous 
 war in human history was smoking and roar- 
 ing just across the Atlantic, and in it they 
 had racial, national, personal interests; but 
 for the moment they left all that aside. "One 
 troub'," Dubroca said, "'tis that all those 
 three storie' — and all I can rim-ember — even 
 that story of M'sieu' Smith about the fall 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 65 
 
 of the city — 1862 — they all got in them some- 
 where, alas ! the nigger. The publique they 
 are not any longer pretty easy to fascinate 
 on that subjec'." 
 
 "Ho!" Beloiseau rejoined, "au contraire, 
 he's an advantage ! If only you keep him for 
 the back-groMni; biccause in the mind of 
 tvery-body tha'z where he is, and that way 
 he has the advantage to ril-ate those storie' 
 together and " 
 
 Mademoiselle came. Her arrival, recep- 
 tion, installation near the hostess and op- 
 posite Chester are good enough untold. If 
 elsewhere in that wide city a like number 
 ever settled down to listen to an unfamed 
 writer's manuscript in as sweet content with 
 one another their story ought to be printed. 
 "Well," Mme. Castanado chanted, "com- 
 mence." And Chester read: 
 
X 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE LORD 
 
 When I was twenty-four I lived at the 
 small capital of my native Southern State. 
 
 My parental home was three counties 
 distant. My father, a slaveholding planter, 
 was a noble gentleman, whom I loved as he 
 loved me. But we could not endure each 
 other's politics and I was trying to exist on 
 my professional fees, In the law office of one 
 of our ex-governors. I was kindly tolerated 
 by everybody about me but had neglected 
 social relations, being a black sheep on every 
 hot question of the time — 1860. 
 
 In the world's largest matters my Southern 
 mother had the sanest judgment I ever knew, 
 and it was from her I had absorbed my no- 
 tions on slavery. It was at least as much in 
 sympathy for the white man as for the black 
 that she deprecated it, yet she pointed out 
 to me how idle it was to fancy that any mere 
 manumission of our slaves would cure us of 
 
 66 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 67 
 
 a whole philosophy of wealth, society, and 
 government as inbred as it was antiquated. 
 
 One evening my two fellow boarders — state- 
 house clerks, good boys — so glaringly left me 
 out of their plan for a whole day's fishing on 
 the morrow, that I smarted. I was so short 
 of money that I could not have supplied my 
 own tackle, but no one knew that, and it 
 stung me to be slighted by two chaps I liked 
 so well. I determined to be revenged in some 
 playful way that would make us better 
 friends, and as I walked down-street next 
 morning I hit out a scheme. They had been 
 gone since daybreak and I was on my way 
 to see a client who kept a livery-stable. 
 
 Now, in college, where I had intended to 
 leave all silly tricks behind me, my most 
 taking pranks had been played in female 
 disguise; for at twenty-four I was as beard- 
 less as a child. 
 
 My errand to the stableman was to collect 
 some part of my fee in a suit I had won for 
 him. But I got not a cent, for as to cash his 
 victory had been a barren one. However, 
 a part of his booty was an old coach built 
 when carriage people made long journeys 
 
68 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 in their own equipages. This he would "keep 
 on sale for me free of charge," etc. 
 
 "Which means you'll never sell it," I said. 
 
 Oh, he could sell it if any man could ! 
 
 I smiled. Could he lend me, I asked, for 
 half a day or so, a good span of horses ? He 
 could. 
 
 "Then hitch up the coach and let me try 
 it." 
 
 He bristled: "What are you going to find 
 out by 'trying' it .? What d'you 'How it'll 
 do ? Blow up ? Who'll drive it ? I can't 
 spare any one." 
 
 I was glad. Any man of his would know 
 me, and my scheme called for a stranger to 
 both me and the coach. I must find such a 
 person. 
 
 "If I send a driver," I said, "you'll lend 
 me the span, won't you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 But all at once I decided to do without 
 the whole rig. I went back to my room and 
 had an hour's enjoyment making myself up 
 as a lady dressed for travel. For a woman I 
 was of just a fine stature. In years I looked 
 a refined forty. My hands were not too big 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 69 
 
 for black lace mitts, my bosom was a success, 
 and my feet, in thin morocco, were out of 
 sight and nobody's business. A httle oil and 
 a burnt match darkened my eyebrows, my 
 wig sat straight, under the weest of bonnets 
 I wore a chignon, behind one ear a bunch of 
 curls, and, unseen at one side of a modest 
 bustle, my revolver. Though I say it my- 
 self, I managed my crinoline with grace. 
 
 ["That was pritty co'rect," the costumer 
 remarked. "Humph!" said Chester. The 
 three mesdames exchanged glances, and the 
 reading went on.] 
 
XI 
 
 Leaving a note on her door to tell our 
 landlady that business would keep me away 
 an indefinite time, I got out at the front gate 
 unobserved, and with a sweet dignity that 
 charmed me with myself walked away under 
 a bewitching parasol, well veiled. 
 
 I knew where to find my two sportsmen. 
 A few hundred paces put the town and an 
 open field at my back; a few more down a 
 bushy lane brought me where a dense wood 
 overhung both sides of the narrow way, and 
 the damp air was full of the smell of penny- 
 royal and of creek sands. From here I pro- 
 posed to saunter down through the woods to 
 the creek, locate my fishermen, and draw 
 them my way by cries of distress. 
 
 On their reaching my side my story, told 
 through my veil and between meanings and 
 clingings, was to be that while on a journey 
 in my own coach, a part of its running-gear 
 
 having broken, I had sent it on to be mended; 
 
 70 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 71 
 
 that through love of trees and wild flowers I 
 had ventured to stay alone meantime among 
 them, and that a snake had bitten me on the 
 ankle. I should describe a harmless one but 
 insist I was poisoned, and yet refuse to show 
 the wound or be borne back to the road, or 
 to let either man stay with me alone while 
 the other went for a doctor, or to drink their 
 whiskey for a cure. On getting back to the 
 road — with the two fellows for crutches — I 
 should send both to town for my coach, keep- 
 ing with me their tackle and fish. Then I 
 should get myself and my spoils back to our 
 dwelling as best I could and — await the issue. 
 If this poor performance had so come off — 
 but see what occurred instead ! 
 
 I had shut my parasol and moved into 
 hiding behind some wild vines to mop my 
 face, when near by on the farther side of the 
 way came slyly into view a negro and negress. 
 They were in haste to cross the road yet quite 
 as wishful to cross unseen. One, in home- 
 spun gown and sunbonnet, was ungainly, 
 shoeless, bird-heeled, fan-toed, ragged, and 
 would have been painfully ugly but for a 
 grotesqueness almost winsome. 
 
72 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "She's a field-hand," was my thought. 
 
 The other, in very clean shirt, trousers, 
 and shoes, looking ten years younger and 
 hardly full-grown, was shapely and hand- 
 some. "That boy," thought I, "is a house- 
 servant. The two don't belong in the same 
 harness. And yet I'd bet a new hat they're 
 runaways." 
 
 Now they gathered courage to come over. 
 With a childish parade of unconcern and 
 with all their glances up and down the road, 
 they came, and were within seven steps of 
 me before they knew I was near. I shall 
 never forget the ludicrous horror that flashed 
 white and black from the eyes in that sun- 
 bonnet, nor the snort with which its owner, 
 like a frightened heifer, crashed oflF a dozen 
 yards into the brush and as suddenly 
 stopped. 
 
 "Good morning, boy," I said to the other, 
 who had gulped with consternation, yet stood 
 still. 
 
 "Good mawnin', mist'ess." 
 
 The feminine title came luckily. I had 
 forgotten my disguise, so disarmed was I 
 by the refined dignity of the dark speaker's 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 73 
 
 mellow voice and graceful modesty. After 
 all, my prejudices were Southern. I had 
 rarely seen negroes, at worship, work, or 
 play, without an inward groan for some way 
 — righteous way — by which our . land might 
 be clean rid of them. But here, in my silly 
 disguise, confronting this unmixed young 
 African so manifestly superior to millions of 
 our human swarm white or black, my un- 
 sympathetic generalizations were clear put 
 to shame. The customary challenge, "Who' 
 d'you belong to V failed on my lips, and while 
 those soft eyes passed over me from bonnet 
 to mitts I gave my head as winsome a tilt as 
 I could and inquired: "What is your name?" 
 
 "Me?" 
 
 "Yes, you; what is it?" 
 
 "I'm name', eh, Euonymus; yass'm." 
 
 "Oh, boy, where'd your mother get that 
 name ?" 
 
 "Why, mist'ess, ain't dat a Bible name?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," I said, remembering Onesimus. 
 With my parasol I indicated the other figure, 
 sunbonneted, motionless, gazing on us through 
 the brush. 
 
 "Has she a Bible name too?" 
 
74 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Yass'm; Robelia." 
 
 Robelia brought chin and shoulder to- 
 gether and sniggered. " Euonymus," I asked, 
 "have you seen two young gentlemen, fish- 
 ing, anjrwhere near here ?" 
 
 "Yass'm, dey out 'pon a san'bar 'bout two 
 hund'ed yards up de creek." The black finger 
 that pointed was as clean as mine. 
 
 "You and this woman," thought I again, 
 "are dodging those men." With a smile as 
 of curiosity I looked my slim informant over 
 once more. I had never seen slavery so flat- 
 tered yet so condemned. 
 
 All at once I said in my heart: "You, my 
 lad, I'll help to escape !" But when I looked 
 again at the absurd Robelia I saw I must 
 help both alike. 
 
 "Euonymus, did you ever drive a lady's 
 coach .>"' 
 
 "Me.'' No'm, I never drove no lady's 
 coach." 
 
 "Well, boy, I'm travelling — in my own 
 outfit." 
 
 "Yass'm." 
 
 "But I hire a new driver and span at each 
 town and send the others back." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 75 
 
 "Yass'm," said Euonymus. Robelia came 
 nearer. 
 
 "My coach is now at a livery-stable in 
 town, and I want a driver and a lady's 
 maid." 
 
 "Yass'm." 
 
 "I'd prefer free colored people. They 
 could come with me as far as they pleased, 
 and I shouldn't be responsible for their re- 
 turn." 
 
 "Yass'm," said Euonymus, edging away 
 from Robelia's nudge. 
 
 "Now, Euonymus, I judge by your being 
 out here in the woods this time of day, idle, 
 that you're both free, you and your sister, 
 h'm?" 
 
 " Ro' — Robelia an' me ? Eh, ye' — yass'm, 
 as you may say, in a manneh, yass'm." 
 
 "She is your sister, is she not.?" 
 
 "Yass'm," clapped in Robelia, with a happy 
 grin, and Euonymus quietly added: 
 
 "Us full sisteh an' brotheh — in a manneh." 
 
 "Umh'm. Could you drive my coach, 
 Euonymus ?" 
 
 "What, me, mist'ess ? Why, eh, o' co'se 
 I kin drive some, but — " The soft, honest 
 
76 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 eyes, seeking Robelia's, betrayed a mental 
 conflict. I guessed there were more than 
 two runaways, and that Euonymus was de- 
 bating whether for RobeHa's sake to go with 
 me and leave the others behind, or not. 
 
 "You kin drive de coach," blurted the one- 
 ideaed Robelia. "You knows you kin." 
 
 "No, mi'ss, takin' all roads as dey come 
 I ain't no ways fitt'n'; no'm." 
 
 "Well, daddy's fitt'n'!" said the sun- 
 bonnet. 
 
 Euonymus flinched, yet smilingly said: 
 "Yass, da's so, but I ain't daddy, no mo'n 
 you is." 
 
 "Well, us kin go fetch him — in th'ee 
 shakes." 
 
 Euonymus flinched again, yet showed gen- 
 eralship. "Yass'm, us kin go ax daddy." 
 
 I smiled. "Let Robelia go and you stay 
 here." 
 
 Robelia waited on tiptoe. "Go fetch him," 
 murmured Euonymus, "an' make has'e." 
 
 "Wait! You're a good boy, Euonymus, 
 ain't you ?" 
 
 "I cayn't say dat, mi'ss; but I'm glad ef 
 you thinks so." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 77 
 
 "Y' is good!" said Robelia. "You knows 
 you is !" 
 
 "Never mind," I said; "do you belong to 
 — Zion ?" 
 
 The dark face grew radiant. "Yass'm, I 
 does !" 
 
 " Euonymus, how many more of you-all are 
 there besides daddy and mammy ?" 
 
 The surprise was cruel. The runaway's 
 eyes let out a gleam of alarm and then, as 
 I lighted with kindness, filled with rapt won- 
 der at my miraculous knowledge : " Be' — be' 
 — beside' — beside' d-daddy an' m-mammy ? 
 D'ain't no mo', m-mist'ess; no'm!" 
 
 "Yass'm," put in Robelia, "da's all; us 
 fo'." 
 
 "Just you four. Euonymus, a bit ago I no- 
 ticed on your sister's ankles some white mud." 
 
 "Yass'm." Another gleam of alarm and 
 then a fine, awesome courage. Robelia stared 
 in panic. 
 
 "The nearest white mud — marl — in the 
 State, Robelia, is forty miles south of here." 
 
 "Is d' — dat so, mist'ess?" 
 
 "Yes, and so you also are travellers, 
 Euonymus." 
 
78 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Trav' — y' — yass'm, I — I reckon you 
 mought call us trav'Iuz, in a manneh, 
 yass'm." 
 
 "Well, my next town is thirty miles north 
 of " 
 
 "Nawth!" Euonymus broke in, thinking 
 furiously. 
 
 "Now, if instead of hiring just your sister 
 and her daddy I should " 
 
 "Yass'm!" 
 
 "Suppose I should take all four of you 
 along, as though you were my slaves " 
 
 "De time bein'," Euonymus alertly slipped 
 in. 
 
 "Certainly, that's all. How would that 
 do.?" 
 
 "Oh, mist'ess ! kin you work dat miracle ?" 
 
 "I can do it if it suits you." 
 
 "Lawd, it suit' us! Dey couldn't be noth'n' 
 mo' rep'ehensible !" 
 
 Robelia vanished. Euonymus gazed into 
 my eyes. 
 
 [Had my disguise failed.?] "What is it, 
 boy?" 
 
 "May I ax you a question, mi'ss.?" 
 
 "You may ask if you won't tell." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 79 
 
 "Oh, I won't tell! Is you a sho' enough 
 'oman ? — Lawd, I knowd you wa'n't ! No 
 mo'n you is a man ! I seen it f'om de be- 
 ginnin' !" 
 
 " Why, boy, what do you imagine I am ? " 
 "Oh, I don't 'magine, I knows ! 'T'uz me 
 prayed Gawd to sen' you. Y' ain't man, 
 y' ain't 'oman ! an' yit yo' bofe ! Yo' de 
 same what visit Ab'am, an' Lot, an' Dan'l, 
 and de motheh de Lawd!" 
 
 "Stop! Stop! Never mind who I am; 
 I've got to put you fifty miles from here be- 
 fore bedtime." 
 
 "Yes, my Lawd. Oh, yes, my Lawd !" 
 "Euonymus! you mustn't call me that!" 
 "Ain't dat what Ab'am called you ?" 
 "I forget! but — call me mistress! — only!" 
 "Yass, suh — yass, mi'ss!" 
 "Good. Now, lad, I can take you alone, 
 horseback, which'll be far swifter, safer, 
 
 surer " 
 
 A new alarm, a new exaltation — "Oh, no, 
 my — mist'ess; no, no ! you knows you on'y 
 a-temptin' o' dy servant!" 
 
 "You wouldn't leave daddy and mammy ?" 
 "Oh, daddy kin stick to mammy, an' her to 
 
8o THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 he ! but Robelia got neither faith nor gump- 
 tion, an' let me never see de salvation o' de 
 Lawd ef I cayn't stick by dat — by — by my 
 po' RobeHa!" 
 
 "But suppose, my boy, we should be mis- 
 taken for runaways and tracked and run 
 down." 
 
 "Yass'm, o' co'se. Yass'm." 
 "Can you fight — for your sister?" 
 "Yass, my La' — yass'm, I kin an* I will. 
 I's qualified my soul fo' dat, suh; yass'm." 
 "Dogs.?" 
 
 "Yass'm, dawgs. Notinstandin' de dawgs 
 come pass me roun' about, in de name o' de 
 Lawd will I lif up my han' an' will perwail." 
 "Have you only your hands?" 
 "Da's all David had, ag'in lion an' bah." 
 "True. Euonymus, I need a man's 
 clothes." 
 
 "Yass'm, on a pinch dey mowt come 
 handy." 
 
XII 
 
 Here Robelia came again, conducting 
 "Luke" and "Rebecca." Luke's garments 
 were amusingly, heroically patched, yet both 
 seniors were thoroughly attractive; not hand- 
 some, but reflecting the highest, gentlest 
 rectitude. One of their children had inherited 
 all that was best from both parents, beau- 
 tifully exalting it; the other all that was 
 poorest in earlier ancestors. They were evo- 
 lution and reversion personified. 
 
 The father was frank yet deferential. Our 
 parley was brief. His only pomp lay in his 
 manner of calling me madam. I felt myself 
 a queen. Handing him a note to the stable- 
 keeper, "You can read," I said, "can't you? 
 Or your son can V 
 
 "No, madam, I regrets to say we's minus 
 dat." 
 
 I hid my pleasure. "Well, at the stable, 
 if they seem to think this note is from a man, 
 or that the coach is owned by a man " 
 
 8i 
 
82 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Keep silent," put in Euonymus, "an' 
 see de counsel o' de Lawd ovehcome." 
 
 Luke went. I pencilled another note. It 
 requested my landlady to give Euonymus a 
 hat, boots, and suit from my armoire and 
 speed him back all she could. (To avoid her 
 queries.) 
 
 Rebecca gazed anxiously after this second 
 messenger. Robelia, near by, munched black- 
 berries. 
 
 "Rebecca, did you ever think what you'd 
 do if both your children were in equal 
 danger ?" 
 
 "Why, yass'm, I is studie' dat, dis ve'y 
 day, ef de trufe got to be tol'." 
 
 Thought I: "If anything else has to be 
 told, Robelia'U be my only helper." I asked 
 Rebecca which one she would try to save 
 first. 
 
 "Why, mist'ess, I could tell dat a heap 
 sight betteh when de time come. De Lawd 
 mowt move me to do most fo' de one what 
 least fitt'n' to" — she choked — "to die. An' 
 yit ag'in dat mowt depen' on de circumstances 
 o' de time bein'." 
 
 "Well, it mustn't, Rebecca, it mustn't !" 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 83 
 
 " Y'— yass'm— no'm'm ! Mustn' it ? " 
 
 "No, in any case you must do as I tell you." 
 
 "Oh, o' co'se! yass'm!" 
 
 "So promise, now, that in any pinch you'll 
 try first to save your son." 
 
 "Yass'm." A pang of dupUcity showed 
 in her uplifted glance, yet she murmured 
 again: "Yass'm, I promise you dat." Nev- 
 ertheless, I had my doubts. 
 
 A hum of voices told us my two anglers 
 were approaching, and with Rebecca's quiet- 
 ing hand on the pusillanimous Robelia we 
 drew into hiding and saw them cross the 
 corner of a clearing and vanish again down- 
 stream. Then, hearing the coach, we went 
 to meet it. 
 
 Both messengers were on the box. Eu- 
 onymus passed me my bundle of stuff. The 
 coach turned round. Bidding Euonymus 
 stay on the box I had Rebecca and Robelia 
 take the front seat inside. Following in I 
 remarked: "Good boy, that of yours, Luke." 
 
 Luke bowed so reverently that I saw Eu- 
 onymus's belief in me was not his alone. "We 
 thaynk de Lawd," Luke replied, "fo' boy an' 
 gal alike; de good Lawd sawnt 'em bofe." 
 
84 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Yet extra thanks for the son wouldn't 
 hurt." 
 
 RobeUa buried a sob of laughter in the 
 nearest cushion, and as we rolled away 
 gaped at me with a face on which a dozen 
 flies danced and played tag. And so we 
 went 
 
 Chester ceased reading and stood up. For 
 Mile. Chapdelaine was rising. All the men 
 rose. 
 
 "And so, also," she said, "I too must go." 
 
 "Oh, but the story is juz' big-inning," 
 Mme. Alexandre protested, and Mme. De 
 risle said: 
 
 "I'm sure 'twill turn out magnificent, 
 yes!" 
 
 Mademoiselle declared the tale fascinat- 
 ing. She "would be enchanted to stay," 
 but her aunts must be considered, etc.; and 
 when Chester confessed the reading would 
 require another session anyhow Mmes. De 
 I'lsle and Alexandre arose, and M. Castanado 
 asked aloud if there was any of the company 
 who could not return a week from that eve- 
 ning. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 85 
 
 No one was so unlucky. "But!" cried 
 Mme. Alexandre, "why not to my parlor?" 
 
 "Because!" said Mme. Castanado, to 
 Chester's vivid enlightenment, "every week- 
 day, all day, you have mademoiselle with 
 
 you." 
 
 "With me, ah, no! me forever down in 
 my shop, and mademoiselle incessantly up- 
 stair' !" 
 
 Mme. Castanado prevailed. That same 
 room, one week later. 
 
 Scipion and Dubroca escorted Mme. De 
 risle across to her beautiful gates, and 
 Chester, not in dream but in fact, with M. 
 De risle and Mme. Alexandre following well 
 in the rear, walked with mademoiselle to the 
 high fence and green batten wicket of her 
 olive-scented garden in the rue Bourbon. 
 So walking, and urged by him, she began to 
 tell of matters in her father's life, the old 
 Hotel St. Louis life before hers began — mat- 
 ters that gave to "The Clock in the Sky" 
 and "The Angel of the Lord " a personal in- 
 terest beyond all academic values. 
 
 "We'll finish about that another time," 
 she said, and with "another time" singing 
 
86 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 in his heart Hke a taut wire he verily enjoyed 
 the rasping of the wicket's big lock as he 
 turned away. 
 
 The week wore round. Except M. De 
 ITsIe, kept away by a meeting of the Athenee 
 Louisianais, all were regathered; one thing 
 alone delayed the reading. Each of the three 
 women had separately asked her father con- 
 fessor how far one might justly — well — lie- 
 to those seeking the truth only for cruel and 
 wicked ends. But as no two had received 
 the same answer, and as Chester's uncle was 
 gone to his reward—or penalty — the ques- 
 tion was early tabled. "Well," Mme. Cas- 
 tanado said: " 'And so we went — ' in the 
 coach. Go on, read." 
 
XIII 
 
 And so we went, not through the town but 
 around it. 
 
 My attendants were heavy with sleep. 
 Seating Rebecca next me I called Euonymus 
 into the coach and let mother, son, and 
 daughter slumber at ease. 
 
 To the few persons we met I paraded my 
 bonnet and curls. Some, in Southern fashion, 
 I questioned. I was a widow who had sold 
 her plantation in order to go and live with 
 a widowed brother. Euonymus too I showed 
 off, who, waking at every halt, presented a 
 face that seemed any boy's rather than a 
 runaway's. So natural to these Africans was 
 the supernatural that I could be one of the 
 men who plucked Lot from Sodom and yet 
 a becurled widow. 
 
 When at noon, at a farmhouse, we had fed 
 horses and dined, I at the planter's board, 
 my "slaves" under the house-grove trees, 
 
 Euonymus took the lines, and for five hours 
 
 87 
 
88 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 Luke slept inside. Then they changed places 
 again, and Euonymus and I, face to face, 
 watched the long hot day wane, and pass 
 through gorgeous changes into twilight. 
 Often I saw questions in the young eyes that 
 watched me so reverently, but I dared not 
 encourage them; dared not be a talkative 
 angel. Also my brain had its questions. How 
 was I to get out of the most perilous trap 
 into which a sane man — if sane I was — ever 
 thrust himself.? There was no sign that we 
 were being pursued, but it was a harrowing 
 puzzle how, without drawing suspicion upon 
 the runaways, to get them once more sepa- 
 rated from me and the coach while I should 
 vanish as a lady and reappear as a gentle- 
 man. 
 
 "Euonymus, boy, if I should by and by 
 dress as a man could you put these woman 
 things on, over what you're wearing, and 
 be a lady in my place .?" 
 
 "Why, eh, y' — yass'm. Oh, yass'm, ef 
 you say so, my — mist'ess; howsomever, you 
 know what de good book say' 'bout de Ethi- 
 opium." 
 
 'Can't change — yes, I know; but this 
 
 «<( 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 89 
 
 would be only for an hour or two and in the 
 dark." 
 
 "It'd have to be pow'ful dahk," sighed 
 Euonymus, and from Robelia's sunbonnet 
 came— "Unh!" 
 
 Rebecca interposed: "An' still, o' co'se, 
 we all gwine do ezac'ly what you say." 
 
 "Well," I responded, "maybe we won't 
 do that." And we never did. I was still 
 "Mrs. Southmayd," as we came into a small 
 railway station. At the ticket-window I 
 asked if any one had come up in the train 
 of half an hour before, inquiring for a lady 
 in a coach. 
 
 "No, ma'am, nobody got off that train. 
 But there's another train at half past eight." 
 
 "Oh," I whined, "he won't come on that; 
 he's overrated my speed and gone on to the 
 next station, making five miles more going 
 for me ! " 
 
 "Why, no, you can give three of your ser- 
 vants a pass to go on with the carriage, keep 
 your maid and wait for the train." 
 
 "Ah, no ! No lady can choose to travel 
 by rail where she can go in her own coach !" 
 
 They said no more except to warn Luke 
 
90 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 of a bad piece of road about two miles on. 
 Sure enough, in its very middle — crack ! — 
 we broke down. "De kingbolt done gone 
 clean in two!" said Luke, and Robelia re- 
 peated the news explosively. 
 
 "We'll leave the coach," I announced. 
 " Fold the lap-robes on the backs of the two 
 horses, for Rebecca and me. You-all can 
 walk beside us." 
 
 After a while, so going, we passed a large 
 plantation house, its windows ruddy with 
 home cheer. A second quarter-mile brought 
 dimly to view a railroad water-tank and an 
 empty flag-station house, and in the next 
 bit of woods I spoke to Euonymus: "Have 
 you that bundle ? Ah, yes. Luke, this boy 
 and I are going off here a step for me to change 
 my dress. If any passer questions you, say 
 I'll be right back." 
 
 "Yass, madam, but, er, eh — ^wouldn' you 
 sooner take yo' maid, Robelia, instid?" 
 
 "No, for as to dress I'll be as much of a 
 man, when I get back, as Euonymus." 
 
 "Is Euonymus gwine change dress too?" 
 
 "No, these things that I take off, your 
 wife and Robelia may divide between them." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 91 
 
 I started away but Luke lifted a hand. I 
 thought he was going to claim every dud for 
 Robelia. Not so. 
 
 "We all thanks you mighty much, madam, 
 but in fac', ef de trufe got to be tol' — ■ — " 
 
 "It hasn't got to be told me, Luke, if 
 
 "Oh, no, madam, o' co'se. I 'uz on'y gwine 
 say — a-concernin' Euonymus " 
 
 I hurried off while the wife chided her good 
 man: "Why don't you dess hide all dem 
 thing' in yo' heart like dey used to do when 
 d' angel 'pear' unto dem ?" 
 
 Alone with Euonymus, as I whipped off 
 my feminine garb and whirled into the other, 
 I began to say that however suddenly I 
 might leave the fugitives they must rest as- 
 sured that I was not deserting them. To 
 which 
 
 "Oh, my Lawd," Euonymus replied, "us 
 know dat !" 
 
 We reached the pike again. "Rebecca, 
 dismount. Hand me your bridle. Luke, 
 for you-all's better safety I'm going back 
 and return these horses. We may not see 
 one another again " 
 
92 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Oh, Lawdy, Lawdy!" moaned Rebecca. 
 
 "In dis vain worl' you mean," Luke said. 
 
 "That's all. Come, don't waste time. 
 You'd better walk on for a short way in the 
 pike before taking to the woods. Now go 
 all night for all you're worth. Good-by." 
 I turned abruptly. But my led horse was 
 averse to abruptness, and all the family ex- 
 cept the torpid Robelia poured up their bless- 
 ings and rained kisses on my very feet. 
 
 In my half-intelligent plan I intended first 
 to stop at the house we had gone by, and 
 had reached the gate of its front lane when 
 I met one of its household, a lad of sixteen, 
 on the pike. 
 
 "Yes, he had just seen the disabled coach." 
 
 I said that by business appointment with 
 the lady who had just left the coach I had 
 gone to the next railway station northward 
 in order to meet her. That I had come down 
 the turnpike on a hired horse and met her 
 and her servants pushing forward to our ap- 
 pointment as best they could. Now, I said, 
 our business, a law matter, was accomplished 
 and she was gone on on my hired horse. 
 This span I was taking back to the stable 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 93 
 
 whence I had hired them for her in the 
 morning. 
 
 The boy's graciousness shamed me through 
 and through. "Why, certainly! He would 
 have the coach drawn up to the house be- 
 fore sunrise and would keep it as long as I 
 liked." He asked me in, but I went on to 
 the little railway town, repeated my tarradid- 
 dle at its "hotel," and soon was asleep. 
 
 [ " ' TarradiT,' " said Mme. Castanado, 
 "tha'z may be a species of paternoster, I 
 su'pose, eh?" 
 
 "No," said Scipion, "I think tha'z juz' 
 a fashion of speech that he took a drink. I 
 do that myself, going to bed." 
 
 Chester explained, but said that to admit 
 one's untruthfulness by even a nickname im- 
 plied some compunction. Whereat two or 
 three put in: 
 
 "Ah ! if he acknowledge' his compunction 
 he's all right! But we are stopping the 
 story." 
 
 It went on.] 
 
XIV 
 
 I WAS awakened, after the breakfast hour, 
 by a tap on my door. Why it gave me con- 
 sternation I could not have told; I dare say 
 my inveracities of the day before had failed 
 to digest. "Come in," I called, and in stepped 
 my two fishermen. 
 
 Their good mornings were pleasant, but, 
 "Fact is," said one, "we're bothered about 
 your client." 
 
 "The lady who passed through here last 
 evening ? " 
 
 "Yes, it looks as though " 
 
 "Go on while I dress. Looks as though — 
 what.?" 
 
 "As though she wa'n't what you thought, 
 or else " 
 
 I smiled aggressively: "Pardon, I know 
 that lady. 'Or else,' you say.? What else? 
 Go on." 
 
 "Oh, you go on dressing. Do you know 
 them darkies are hers ?" 
 
 94 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 95 
 
 " Hoh ! Are your teeth yours ? Why do 
 you ask?" 
 
 He handed me a newspaper clipping: 
 
 Two Hundred Dollars Reward. Ran away from 
 
 my plantation in county of this State, on the 
 
 day of the following named and described 
 
 slaves; father, mother, daughter, and son: ... A 
 reward 'of fifty dollars will be paid to any person for 
 the capture and imprisonment in any jail, of each or 
 either of the above named. Etc. 
 
 With a laugh I returned the thing and 
 went on dressing. "It doesn't," I said aloud 
 to my busy image in the mirror, "describe 
 my client's darkies at all." I faced round: 
 "Why, gentlemen, if this isn't the most as- 
 tonishing " 
 
 " Ho-old on. Ho-old on ! Finish your dress- 
 ing. We're told it does describe two of them 
 and we thought we'd just come and see for 
 ourselves." 
 
 "And you followed the unprotected lady ?" 
 
 "We followed four runaway niggers, sir! 
 Else why did they take to the woods inside 
 of a mile from that house where you left the 
 coach.? Oh, you're dressed; come along; 
 time's flying!" 
 
96 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 Determined to waste all the time I could, 
 "Wait," I said, strapping on my pistol. 
 "Now, gentlemen, we'll follow this matter 
 to the end, beginning now, instantly. But it 
 must be done as " 
 
 "Oh, as privately as possible ! Certainly !" 
 
 "Certainly. You want the reward and you 
 want it all. But understand, I know you're 
 in error, and I go with you solely to prove 
 you are. Now, by your theory " 
 
 "Oh, come along!" We went. I killed 
 time over my coffee, and in getting a saddle 
 for one of my hired span. "You must excuse 
 us if we're not polite," my friends apologized 
 after another flash of impatience. "Of course 
 those niggers are not on the run in broad 
 day, but their trail's getting cold!" 
 
 "You're not as bad-mannered as I am," 
 I laughed as we mounted, but their allusion 
 to hounds made me enjoy the burden of my 
 six-shooter. 
 
 As we ambled off, "What were you going 
 to say," one asked me, "about our 'theory,' 
 or something .?" 
 
 "Oh! I see you think Mrs. Southmayd 
 must have met up with company and left 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 97 
 
 her servants to follow on to the next station 
 alone." 
 
 "Exactly. We tracked the darkies along 
 the edge of the road; but her horse tracks — 
 we could only see that no horse tracks left 
 the road where any of their man tracks left it." 
 
 When we had gone a mile or so one of the 
 boys turned to leave us by a neighborhood 
 road, saying: "I'll rejoin you, 'cross fields, 
 where you turned back last night. I'm going 
 for the dogs." 
 
 " Stop ! Gentlemen, this is too high- 
 handed. Do you reckon I'll let you run down 
 those four innocent creatures with hounds ? 
 I swear you shan't do it, sirs." 
 
 "See here," said the one still with me, 
 "come on. We'll show you the very spots 
 where those innocents left the road one by 
 one, and if you don't say they've used every 
 trick known to a nigger to kill their trail, we'll 
 just quit and go home. Does that suit you ?" 
 
 "Not by a long chalk!" I retorted as I 
 moved with him up the pike. "Those poor 
 simpletons — alone in a strange land, maybe 
 without a pass, at any moment liable to meet 
 a patrol — how easy for them to make the fatal 
 
98 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 mistake of leaving the road and hiding their 
 tracks!" 
 
 "All right, come ahead; you'll see fair 
 play." 
 
 We passed the scene of the breakdown 
 and then the house to which the coach had 
 been drawn. I saw the coach in a stable 
 door. By and by a turn in the pike revealed 
 the other clerk and a tall, slim horseman just 
 dismounting among four lop-eared, black- 
 and-brown dogs coupled two and two by 
 light steel breast-yokes. With a heavy whip 
 and without a frown this man gave one of 
 them a quick cut over the face as the brute 
 ventured to lift a voice as hollow and melo- 
 dious as a bell. 
 
 "He's a puppy I'm breaking in," said the 
 man. "Now here, you see " — he pointed to 
 the middle of the road — "is where you, sir, 
 met up with the madam and her niggers, 
 and given her yo' boss and taken her span. 
 Here's the tracks o' the span, you takin' 'em 
 back; you can see they're the same as these 
 comin' this way. T'other critter's tracks 
 I don't make out, but no matter, here's the 
 niggers' along here— and here, see ^ and here 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 99 
 
 — here — there." We rode for ten minutes 
 or so. Then halting again: 
 
 " Look yonder in that lock o' fence. There's 
 where one went over into the brush." 
 
 Beyond the high worm fence grew a stub- 
 born tangle of briers, vines, and cane. "Mind 
 you," I began to call after the nigger-chaser, 
 but one of my companions spoke for me: 
 "Mr. Hardy, we got to be dead sure they're 
 runaways before we put the dogs on." 
 
 "No, we ain't," Hardy called through the 
 back of his head. "Dandy and Charmer'll 
 tell us if they're not, before we've gone three 
 hundred yards, and I can call 'em off so quick 
 it'll turn 'em a somerset." He dismounted, 
 and, while unyoking the two older hounds, 
 spoke softly a few words of gusto that put 
 them into a dumb ecstasy. One of the boys 
 pressed his horse up to mine. 
 
 "There's the place," he said. "Now watch 
 the dogs find it." 
 
 As the pair sprang from Hardy's hands one 
 began to nose the air, the other the earth, 
 to left, to right, and to cross each other's 
 short, swift circuits. With stony face while 
 assuming a voice of wildest eagerness he cried 
 
loo THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 in searching whispers: "Niggeh thah, Dandy ! 
 Niggeh thah, Charmer ! Take him, my lady !" 
 
 Skimming the ground with hungry noses, 
 the dogs answered each cry with a single 
 keen yap of preoccupied affirmation. Almost 
 at once Charmer came to the spot pointed 
 out to me, reared her full length upon the 
 rails and let out a new note; long, musical, 
 fretful, overjoyed. Hardy mounted breast- 
 high to the fence's top, wreathed two fingers 
 in the willing brute's collar, lifted her, and 
 dropped her on the other side. There she 
 instantly resumed her search. 
 
 At the same time her yoke-mate's deep 
 bay pealed like a trumpet, from a few yards 
 up the roadway. He had struck the broad, 
 frank trail of the other three negroes. The 
 "puppy," still in leash, replied in a note 
 hardly less deep and mellow, but the whip 
 of cool discipline cut him off. From an ox- 
 horn the master blew a short, sharp recall 
 and at once Dandy returned and began his 
 work over, knowing now which runaway to 
 single out. 
 
 Hardy remained on the fence, watching 
 his favorite, over in the brush. By a stir 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES loi 
 
 of the bushes, now here, now there, we could 
 see how busy she was, and every now and 
 then she sent us, as if begging our patience, 
 her eager promissory yelp. 
 
 Suddenly her master had a new thought. 
 He stepped onward to the next lock of the 
 fence, scrutinized its top rail, moved to the 
 next lock, examining the top rail there, then 
 to the next, the next, the next, and at the 
 seventh or eighth beckoned us. 
 
 "See, here ?" he asked. "Think that ain't 
 a runaway nigger ? Look." A splinter had 
 been newly rubbed off the rail. "What you 
 reckon done that, sir; a bird or a fish ? That's 
 where he jumped. Look yonder, where he 
 landed and lit out." 
 
 The merest fraction of a note from the 
 horn brought the two free dogs to their 
 master, and before he could lift Dandy over 
 the fence Charmer was on the trail. She 
 threw her head high and for the first time 
 filled the resounding timber with the music 
 of her bay. 
 
 ["Mr. Chester," murmured Mile. Chapde- 
 laine, and once more he ceased to read. Mme. 
 
I02 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 Castanado had laid her hands tightly to her 
 face. Yet now she smiHngly dropped them, 
 saying: "Seraphine — Marcel — please to pazz 
 around that cake an' wine. Well, I su'pose 
 there are yet in the worl' — in Afrique — Asia 
 — even Europe — several kin' of cuztom mo' 
 wicked than that. And still I'm sorry that 
 ever tranzpire. But, Mr. Chezter, if you'll 
 resume .?" 
 
 Chester once more resumed.] 
 
XV 
 
 Hardy's incitements were no longer 
 whispers. 
 
 "Dandy! Dandy!" he cried, with wild 
 elation of voice and still no emotion in his 
 face. "Niggeh-fellah thah, Dandy! Ah, 
 Dandy! look him out!" 
 
 The music swelled from Dandy's throat. 
 Away went the pair. The younger couple, 
 in yoke, trembled and moaned to be after 
 them. The two clerks had swung down three 
 or four rails from the fence, and with Hardy 
 were hurrying their horses through, when 
 the youngest dog, nose to the ground and 
 tugging his yokemate along, let go a cry of 
 discovery and began to dig furiously under 
 a bottom rail. His master threw him off and 
 drew from under it "Mrs. Southmayd's" 
 tiny beflowered bonnet. 
 
 "Good God!" exclaimed one of the boys 
 as he held it up, "they've made way with 
 her!" 
 
 "Now, none of that nonsense!" I cried; 
 
 103 
 
104 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "she's given it to one of them and they've 
 feared 'twould get them into trouble!" But 
 the three had spurred off and I could only 
 toss it away and follow. 
 
 The baying had ceased and an occasional 
 half-smothered yap told that the scent was 
 broken. A huge grape-vine end, hanging 
 from a lofty bough, had enabled the run- 
 away to take a long sidewise swing clear of 
 the ground; but as I came up the brutes had 
 recovered the trail and sped on, once more 
 breaking the still air, far and wide, into deep 
 waves of splendid sound. Close after them, 
 as best they might in yoke, scuttled the 
 younger pair, dragging each other this way 
 and that, their broad ears trailing to their 
 feet, and Hardy riding close behind them, 
 reciting their pedigrees and their distinguish- 
 ing whims. 
 
 Presently we issued from the woods, at the 
 edge of wide fields surrounding a plantation- 
 house and slave-quarters, and I hoped to 
 find the trail broken again; but without a 
 pause the chase turned along a line of fence 
 as if to half encircle the plantation. The 
 master of the hounds, in nervy yet placid 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 105 
 
 words, explained that a runaway knew better 
 than to cross open ground by night and set 
 the house-dogs a-barking. It was only on 
 seeing no workers in the fields that I re- 
 membered it was Sunday, and feared in- 
 tensely that the pious fugitives might have 
 shortened their flight. 
 
 From the plantation's farther bound we 
 ran down a long, gentle slope of beautiful 
 open woods. At the bottom of it a clear 
 stream rippled between steep banks shrouded 
 with strong vines. Here the scent had failed 
 and it was wonderful to see the docile faith 
 and intelligence with which the dogs resigned 
 the whole work to their master, and followed 
 beside him while he sought a crossing-place 
 for his horse. This took many minutes, but 
 by and by they scrambled over, he bidding 
 us wait where we were until the dogs should 
 open again; and as he started down-stream 
 along the farther bank the older hounds, at 
 a single word, ran circling out before him in 
 the tangle, electrified by the steel-cold eager- 
 ness of his implorings. 
 
 But now, to my joy, he found their hungry 
 snufflings as futile as his own scrutinizings and 
 
io6 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 divinations, and after following the stream 
 until my companions fretted openly at the 
 delay, he dropped a note from his horn, rode 
 back with the four dogs, recrossed, and passed 
 down on our side with them at his heels, 
 frowning at last and scanning the tangled 
 growth of the opposite bank. 
 
 And now again he came back: "You see, 
 this stream runs so nigh the way they wanted 
 to go that there's no tellin' how fur they waded 
 down it or whether they was two, three, or 
 four of 'em rej'ined together. They're shore 
 to 'a' been all together when they left it, but 
 where that was hell only knows. Come on." 
 
 We plunged across after him and followed 
 down the further bank, and at the point where 
 he had turned back he put the hounds on 
 again. "How do you know there were more 
 than one here?" I asked. 
 
 "Because, if noth'n' else, this trail at first 
 was a fool's trail and now it's as smart as 
 cats a-fight'n' — look 'em out, Dandy! Every 
 time the rascals struck a swimmin'-hole they 
 swum it, the men sort o' tote'n' the women, 
 I reckon — ah, my Charmer! Yes, my sweet 
 lady! take 'em! take 'em!" 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 107 
 
 As the stream emerged into an old field — 
 "Sun's pow'ful hot for you-all!" Hardy 
 added. "Ain't see' such a day this time 6' 
 year fo' a coon's age. Hosses feel'n' it. Hard 
 to say which is hottest, sun or brush." 
 
 We had skirted the branch a full mile, beat- 
 ing its margin thoroughly, and were in deep 
 woods again, when all at once Charmer let 
 out a glad peal. Her mate echoed it and with 
 the stream at their back they were off and 
 away in full cry. The trail was broad and 
 strong and with rare breaks continued so 
 for an hour. Often the dogs made us trot; 
 in open grounds we galloped. Once, in a 
 thickety wet tract where the still air was 
 suffocating and a sluggish runlet meandered 
 widely. Hardy was forced, after long hin- 
 derance, to drop the trail and recover it on a 
 rising ground beyond. 
 
 There once more we were making good 
 speed when we burst into an open grove 
 where about a small, unpainted frame church 
 a saddle-horse was tied under every swinging 
 limb. Before the church a gang of boys had 
 sprung up from their whittling to be our glee- 
 ful spectators. Hardy waved them off with 
 
io8 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 the assurance that we wanted neither their 
 help nor company, and though the trail took 
 us at slackened speed around two sides of 
 the building we passed and were gone while 
 the worshippers were in the first stanza of 
 a hymn started to keep them on their 
 benches. 
 
 Noon, afternoon; we made no pause. "It's 
 ketch 'em before night," said Hardy as we 
 bent low under beech boughs, "or not till 
 
 noon to-morrow." 
 
 About mid-afternoon one of the court- 
 house boys, who had been talking softly with 
 the other, turned back with a bare good-by. 
 His friend explained: 
 
 "Got to be at his desk early in the morn- 
 ing. But I'm with you till you run 'em 
 down." 
 
 Happy for me that he was mistaken. Two 
 hours more were hardly gone when, "My 
 Prince is sick!" he cried, drew in, and under 
 a smoke of his own curses began wildly to 
 unsaddle. Hardy rode on. 
 
 "You'll have to get another mount," I 
 said. 
 
 "Another hell ! I wouldn't leave this 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 109 
 
 horse sick in strange hands for a thousand 
 dollars!" Suddenly he struck an imploring 
 key: "Look here! I'll give you fifty dollars 
 cash to stay with me till I get him out 
 o'this!" 
 
 "Five hundred," I called, trotting after 
 Hardy, "wouldn't hire me." 
 
 Till I was out of earshot I could hear him 
 damning and cursing me in snorts and shouts 
 as a sneak who would wear my coat of tar 
 and feathers yet, and I was still wondering 
 whether I ought to or not, when I overhauled 
 the nigger-chaser cheering on his dogs. Their 
 prey had again tricked them, and again the 
 cry was, "Take him, Dandy!" and "Hi, 
 Charmer, hi !" 
 
 Between shouts: "Is yo' nag gwine to hold 
 out .?" 
 
 "He's got to or perish," I laughed. 
 
 In time we found ourselves under a vast 
 roof of towering pines. The high green grass 
 beneath them had been burned over within 
 a year. The declining sun gilded both the 
 grass and the lower sides of the soaring 
 boughs. Even Hardy glanced back exaltedly 
 to bid me mark the beauty of the scene. But 
 
no THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 I dared not. The dogs were going more 
 swiftly than ever, and there was a ticklish 
 chance of one's horse breaking a leg in one 
 of the many holes left by burnt-out pine 
 roots. The main risk, moreover, was not to 
 Hardy's trained hunter but to my worn-out 
 livery "nag." 
 
 "We've started 'em, all four, on the run," 
 he called, "but if we don't tree 'em befo' 
 they make the river we'll lose 'em after all." 
 
 The land began a steady descent. Soon 
 once more we were in underbrush and pres- 
 ently came square against a staked-and- 
 ridered worm fence around a "deadening" 
 dense with tall corn. Charmer and Dandy 
 had climbed directly over it, scampered 
 through the corn, and were waking every 
 echo in a swamp beyond. The younger pair, 
 still yoked, stood under the fence, yelping 
 for Hardy's aid. He sprang down and un- 
 yoked them and over they scrambled and 
 were gone, ringing like fire-bells. Outside 
 the fence, both right and left, the ground 
 was miry, yet for us it was best to struggle 
 round through the bushy slough; which we 
 had barely done when with sudden curses 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES iir 
 
 Hardy spurred forward. The younger dogs 
 were off on a separate chase of their own. 
 For at the river-bank the four negroes had 
 divided by couples and gone opposite ways, 
 "Call them back!" I urged. "Blow your 
 horn!" But I was ignored. 
 
XVI 
 
 [Chester sat looking at a newly turned 
 page as though it were illegible. 
 
 "I'm wondering," he lightly said, "what 
 public enormity of to-day the next genera- 
 tion will be as amazed at as we are at this." 
 
 "Ah," Mme. Castanado responded, "never 
 mine ! Tha'z but the moral ! Aline and me 
 we are insane for the story to finizh !" And 
 the story was resumed, to suffer no further 
 interruption.] 
 
 At the river we burst out upon a broad, 
 gentle bend up and down which we could see 
 both heavily wooded banks for a good fur- 
 long either way. 
 
 The sun's last beams shone straight up the 
 lower arm of the bend. On the upper bayed 
 Charmer and Dandy, unseen. On the lower 
 we heard the younger pair. On the upper 
 we saw only the clear waters crinkling in a 
 wide shallow over a gravel-bar, but down- 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 113 
 
 stream we instantly discovered Luke and his 
 wife. Silhouetted against the level sunlight, 
 heaving forward with arms upthrown, waist- 
 deep in the main current, they were more 
 than half-way across. At that moment two 
 small dark objects, the two dogs, moved out 
 from the shore, after them, each with its wake 
 of two long silvery ripples. The "puppy" 
 was leading. 
 
 With a curse their master threw the horn 
 to his lips and blew an imperious note. The 
 rear dog turned his head and would have 
 reversed his course, but seeing his leader keep 
 on he kept on with him. Again the angry 
 horn re-echoed, and the rear dog promptly 
 turned back though the other swam on. 
 
 Rebecca threw a look behind and it was 
 pitiful to hear her outcry of despair and 
 terror. But Luke faced about and, backing 
 after her through the flood, prepared to meet 
 the hound naked-handed. Hardy sprang to 
 his tiptoes in the stirrups, his curses pealing 
 across the water. "If you hurt that dog," 
 he yelled, "I'll shoot you dead!" 
 
 Up-stream the other two runaways were 
 out on the gravel-bar, Euonymus behind 
 
114 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAFDELAINES 
 
 Robelia and Robelia splashing ludicrously 
 across the shoal, tearing off and kicking off — 
 in preparation for deep water — sunbonnet, 
 skirt, waist, petticoat, and howling in the 
 self-concern of abject cowardice. 
 
 "Thank heaven, she's a swimmer," thought 
 I, "and won't drown her brother !" For only 
 a swimmer ever cast off garments that way. 
 
 The flight of Euonymus, too, was bare- 
 headed and swift, but it was unfrenzied and 
 silent. Neither of them saw Luke or Re- 
 becca; the sun was in their eyes and at that 
 instant Charmer and Dandy, having met 
 SQme momentary delay, once more bayed 
 joyously and sprang into view. Like Luke, 
 Euonymus faced the brutes. With another 
 fierce outcry Hardy blew his recall of all the 
 four dogs. 
 
 Three turned at once but the youngster 
 launched himself at Luke's throat where he 
 stood breast-high in the glassing current. 
 The slave caught the dog's whole windpipe 
 in both hands and went with him under the 
 flood. Hardy's supreme care for Charmer 
 had lost him the strategic moment, but he 
 fired straight at Rebecca. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 115 
 
 She did not fall and his weapon flew up 
 for a second shot ! but by some sheer luck I 
 knocked the pistol spinning yards away into 
 the river. While it spun I saw other things: 
 Rebecca clasping a wounded arm; Luke and 
 the dog reappearing apart, the dog about to 
 repeat his onset; and Hardy dumb with rage. 
 
 "Call the puppy!" I cried, "you'll save 
 him yet." 
 
 The master winded his horn, and the dog 
 swam our way. At the same time his fellows 
 came about us, while on the farther bank 
 Luke helped his wife writhe up through the 
 waterside vines, and with her disappeared. 
 Only Euonymus remained in the water, at 
 the far edge of the gravel-bar. 
 
 I was so happy that I laughed. "All 
 right," I cried, "I'll pay for the revolver." 
 
 Foul epithets were Hardy's reply while he 
 spurred madly to and fro in search of an open- 
 ing in the vines to let his horse down into the 
 stream. I rode with him, knee to knee. 
 "You'll pay for this with your life !" he yelled 
 down my throat. I'll kill you, so help me 
 God! "Charmer! Dandy! go, take the nigger!" 
 
 The whole baying pack darted off for Eu- 
 
ii6 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 onymus's crossing. " Take the nigger. Char- 
 mer ! Ah! take him, my lady!" We saw 
 that Euonymus could not swim. Still knee 
 to knee with Hardy, I drew and fired. 
 " Puppy's" mate yelped and rolled over, dead. 
 
 "Call them back," I said, holding my 
 weapon high; but Hardy only shrieked curses 
 and cried: 
 
 " Take the nigger. Charmer, take him ! " 
 
 I fired again. Poor Dandy ! He sprang 
 aside howling piteously, with melting eyes 
 on his master. 
 
 "Oh, God!" cried Hardy, leaping down 
 beside the wailing dog, that pushed its head 
 into his bosom like a sick child. "Oh, God, 
 but you shall die for this !" 
 
 He was half right but so was I and I 
 checked up barely enough to cry back: "Call 
 'em off ! Call 'em off or I'll shoot Charmer !" 
 
 With Dandy clasped close and with eyes 
 streaming he blew the recall. Looking for its 
 effect, I saw Euonymus trying to swim and 
 Charrrter quitting the chase. But the young 
 dog kept on. The current was carrying Eu- 
 onymus away. Twice through vines and 
 brush, while I cried: "Catch the fallen tree 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 117 
 
 below you! Catch the tree!" I tried to 
 spur my horse down into the stream, and on 
 the third trial I succeeded. 
 
 The flood had cut the bank from under a 
 great buttonwood. It hung prone over the 
 water, and one dipping fork seized and held 
 the fainting swimmer. The dog was close, 
 but had entered the current too far down 
 and was breasting it while he bayed in pro- 
 test to his master's horn. Now, as Euony- 
 mus struggled along the tree the brute struck 
 for the bank, and the two gained it together. 
 
 Euonymus ran, but on a bit of open grass 
 dropped to one knee, at bay. The dog sprang. 
 In the negro fashion the runaway's head 
 ducked forward to receive the onset, while 
 both hands clutched the brute's throat. Not 
 dreaming that they would keep their hold 
 till I could get there, I leaped down in the 
 shoal to fire; but the grip held, though the 
 dog's teeth sank into legs and arms, and all 
 at once Euonymus straightened to full stat- 
 ure, lifting the dog till his hind legs could but 
 just tiptoe the ground. 
 
 "Right!" I cried; "bully, my boy! Lift 
 him one inch higher and he's whipped !" 
 
ii8 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 But Euonymus could barely hold him off 
 from face and throat. 
 
 "Turn him broadside to me!" I shouted, 
 having come into water breast-deep. "Let 
 me put a hole through him !" 
 
 But the'fugitive's only response was : " Run, 
 Robelia ! 'Ever mind me ! Run! Run!" 
 
 And here came Hardy across the gravel- 
 bar, in the saddle. I aimed at him: "Stand, 
 sir! Stand!" 
 
 He hauled in and lifted the horn. Eu- 
 onymus had heaved the dog from his feet. 
 The horn rang, and with a howl of terror the 
 brute writhed free, leaped into the river and 
 swam toward his master. I sprang on my 
 horse and took the deep water: "Wait, boy! 
 Wait!" 
 
 It was hard getting ashore. When I 
 reached the spot of grass I found only the 
 front half of the runaway's hickory shirt, 
 in bloody rags. I spurred to a gap in the 
 bushes, and there, face down, lay Euonymus, 
 insensible. I knelt and turned the slender 
 form; and then I whipped off my coat and 
 laid it over the still, black bosom. For Eu- 
 onymus was a girl. 
 
XVII 
 
 Her eyelids quivered, opened. For a mo- 
 ment the orbs were vacant, but as she drew 
 a deep breath she saw me. Her shapely hand 
 sought her throat-button, and finding my 
 coat instead she turned once more to the 
 sod, moaning, "Brother! Mingo!" 
 
 "Is he RobeHa?" I asked. "Come, we'll 
 find him." 
 
 Clutching^my coat to her breast, she stag- 
 gered up. I helped her put the coat on and 
 sprang into the saddle. "Now mount be- 
 hind me," I said, reaching for her hand; but 
 with an anguished look: 
 
 "Whah Mingo.?" she asked. "Is dey 
 kotch Mingo.?" 
 
 "No, not yet. Your hand — now spring !" 
 
 She landed firmly and we sped into the 
 woods. 
 
 My merely wounding Dandy was for- 
 tunate. It kept Hardy from following me 
 hotfooted or "rousing the neighborhood. I 
 
 "9 
 
I20 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 dare say he wanted no one but himself to 
 have the joy of killing me. 
 
 At a "store" and telegraph-station I let 
 my charge down into a wild plum-patch, 
 bought a hickory shirt, left my half-dead 
 beast, telegraphed my livery-stable client 
 where to find him, and so avoided the com- 
 plication of being a horse-thief. Then I re- 
 covered Euonymus and about ten that night 
 the five of us met on the bank of a creek. 
 Near its farther shore, on a lonely railroad 
 siding, we found a waiting freight-train and 
 stole into one of its empty cars; and when 
 at close of the next day hunger drove us out 
 our pursuers were beating the bush a hundred 
 miles behind. 
 
 Fed from a negro-cabin and guided by the 
 stars, we fled all of another night afoot, and 
 on the following day lost Mingo. At broad 
 noon, with an overseer and his gang close 
 by in a corn-field, the seductions of a melon- 
 patch overcame him and he howled away his 
 freedom in the jaws of a bear-trap. His fa- 
 ther and mother wept dumb tears and laid 
 their faces to the ground in prayer. Euony- 
 mus was frantic. With all her superior san- 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 121 
 
 ity, she would not have left the region could 
 she have persuaded us to go on without her. 
 
 Well ! Day by day we lay in the brush, 
 and night after night fled on. I could tell 
 much about the sweet, droll piety of my three 
 fellow runaways, and the humble generosity 
 of their hearts. No ancient Israelite ever 
 looked forward to the coming of a political 
 Messiah with more pious confidence than 
 they to a day when their whole dark race 
 should be free and enjoy every right that 
 any other race enjoys. 
 
 "Even a right to cross two races .'"' I once 
 asked Luke, smilingly, though with intense 
 aversion. 
 
 "No, suh; no, suh ! De same Lawd what 
 give' ev'y man a wuck he cayn't do ef he 
 ain't dat man, give' ev'y ra-ace a wuck dey 
 cayn't do ef dey ain't dat ra-ace." I fancy 
 he had been years revolving that into a for- 
 mula; or — he may have merely heard some 
 master or mistress say it. 
 
 "Still," I suggested, "races have crossed, 
 and made new and better ones." 
 
 "I don't 'spute dat, suh; no, suh. But de 
 Lawd ain't neveh gwine to make a betteh 
 
122 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 ra-ace by cross'n' one what done-done e'en-a' 
 most all what eveh yit been done, on to an- 
 otheh what, eh 
 
 Sidney (Onesimus) put in: "What ain't 
 neveh yit done noth'n' !" And her mother 
 sighed, "Amen!" 
 
"] 
 
 c< 
 
 XVIII 
 
 "Yes ?" inquired Mme. Castanado. 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Ah, surely!" cried several, "Tha'z not 
 all?" 
 
 Mme. De I'lsle appealed to her husband: 
 "Even two, three hun'red mile', that di'n' 
 bring the line of Canada, I think." 
 'No, but, I suppose, of the Ohio." 
 
 'And that undergroun' railway!" said 
 Scipion. 
 
 "Yes," Mme. Alexandre agreed, "but that 
 story remain' unfinizh' whiles that uncle of 
 Mr. Chezter couldn' return at his home." 
 
 "Not even his State," ventured made- 
 moiselle. 
 
 "But he did," Chester said; "he came 
 back." 
 
 M. Dubroca spoke up: "Oh, 'tis easy to 
 insert that, at the en' — foot-note." 
 
 "And Hardy?" asked Beloiseau, "him and 
 
 yo' uncle, they di'n* shoot either the other?" 
 
 123 
 
124 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "I believe they did, each the other. I 
 never quite understood the hints I got of it, 
 till now. I know that six months in bed with 
 a back full of somebody's buckshot saved my 
 uncle's life." 
 
 " From lynching ! That also muz' be in- 
 sert' !" 
 
 Chester thought not. "No, centre the in- 
 terest in the runaway family, as in made- 
 moiselle's 'Clock in the Sky.' " And so all 
 agreed. 
 
 A second time he walked home with made- 
 moiselle, under the same lenient escort as 
 before. One thus occupied, by moonlight, 
 can moralize as he cannot with any larger 
 number. "It's hard enough at best," he 
 said, "for us, in our pride of race, to sym- 
 pathize — seriously — in the joys, the hopes, 
 the sufferings of souls under dark skins yet 
 as human as ours if not as white." 
 
 "Yes, 'tis true. Only one man, Mr. 
 Chester, I ever knew, myself, who did that." 
 
 "Your father?" 
 
 "Yes, my dear father." 
 
 "Will you not some day tell me his 
 story 1 
 
 ?" 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 125 
 
 "Mr. Castanado will tell you it. Any of 
 those will tell you." 
 
 "I can't question them about you, and be- 
 sides " 
 
 "Well, here is my gate. 'And besides — ' 
 what .?" 
 
 "Besides, why can't you tell me?" 
 
 "Ah, I'll do that — 'some day,' as you say." 
 The gate-key went into the lock. 
 
 "But, mademoiselle, our 'Clock in the 
 Sky' — our 'Angel of the Lord' — shan't we 
 join them?" 
 
 "Ah, they are already one, but you have 
 yet to hear that first manuscript, and that 
 is so very separate — as you will see." 
 
 "Isn't it also a story of dark skins?" 
 
 "Ah, but barely at all of souls under them; 
 those souls we find it so hard to remember." 
 
 "Chere fille r'—M. De I'Isle had come up, 
 with Mme. Alexandre — "the three will go 
 gran'ly together ! Not I al-lone perceive that, 
 but Scipion also — Castanado — Dubroca. Mr. 
 Chester, my dear sir, the pewblication of 
 that book going to be heard roun' the worl' ! 
 Tha'z going produse an epoch, that book; 
 yet same time — a bes'-seller !" 
 
126 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 Mademoiselle beamed. "Does Mr. Chester 
 think 'twill be that? A best-seller?" 
 
 Chester couldn't prophesy that of any 
 book. "They say not even a publisher can 
 tell." 
 
 "Hah!" monsieur cried, "those cunning 
 pewblisher' ! they pref-er not to tell." 
 
 "Some poetry," Chester continued, urged 
 by mademoiselle's eyes, "doesn't pay the 
 poets over a few thousand a year — per volume; 
 while some novels pay their authors — well — 
 fortunes." 
 
 "That they go," madame broke in, "and 
 buy some palaces in Italic ! And tha'z but 
 the biginning; you have not count' the dra- 
 matization — hundreds the week ! and those 
 movie' — the same! and those tranzlation' !" 
 
 "Well, I think we will be satisfied, Mr. 
 Chester, with the tenth of that, eh?" 
 
 Chester's reply was drowned in monsieur's: 
 "No, my child! But nine-tenth' maybe, 
 yes ! No-no-no ! if those pewblisher' find 
 out you are satisfi' by one-tenth, one-tenth 
 is all you'll ever see !" 
 
 "Ah," said mademoiselle to madame, 
 "even the one-tenth I mustn't tell to my 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 127 
 
 aunts. They wouldn't sleep to-night. And 
 myself — 'publication, dramatization, movies, 
 translation' — I believe I'll lie awake till day- 
 light, making that into a song — a hymn!" 
 
 A wonderful sight she was, pausing in the 
 open gate, with the little high-fenced garden 
 at her back, a street-lamp lighting her face. 
 Chester harked back to that first manuscript. 
 It "ought not to wait another week," he 
 declared. 
 
 "No," monsieur said, "and since we all 
 have read that egcept only you." 
 
 Chester looked to mademoiselle: "Then I 
 suppose I might read it with the Castanados 
 alone." 
 
 "No," madame put in, "you see, you can't 
 riturn at Castanado's immediately to-morrow 
 or next day. That next day, tha'z Sunday, 
 but you don't know if madame goin' to have 
 the stren'th for that fati-gue. Yet same time 
 you can't wait forever! And bisside', yo' 
 Aunt Corinne, Aunt Yvonne — Mr. Chezter 
 he's never have that lugsury to meet them, 
 and that will be a very choice o'casion for 
 Mr. Chezter to do that, if " 
 
 "If he'll take the pains," the niece broke 
 
128 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 in, "to call Sunday afternoon. Then I'll 
 have the manuscript back from Mr. Cas- 
 tanado and we'll read it to my Aunt Corinne 
 and my Aunt Yvonne, all four together in 
 the garden." 
 
 "Yes, yet not in this li'l' garden in the 
 front, but in the large, far back from the 
 house, in the h-arbor of 'oneysuckle and by 
 the side of the li'l' lake, eh.?" So prompted 
 madame. 
 
 "Assuredly," said the smiling girl; "not 
 in the front, where is no room for a place to 
 sit down !" 
 
 Chester's acceptance was eager. Then 
 once more the batten gate closed and the key 
 grated between him and Aline — marvellous, 
 marvellous Aline Chapdelaine. 
 
XIX 
 
 The sunbeams of a tedious Sabbath began 
 noticeably to slant. 
 
 For two days, night, morning, noon, and 
 afternoon, Geoffry Chester had silently 
 speculated on what he was to see, hear, and 
 otherwise experience when, as early as he 
 might in keeping with the Chapdelaine dig- 
 nity and his, he should pull the tiny brass 
 bell-knob on their tall gate-post. 
 
 Chapdelaine ! Impressive, patrician title. 
 Impressive too those baptismal names; im- 
 plying a refinement invincible in the vale 
 of adversity. Killing time up one street and 
 down another — Rampart, Ursuline, Bur- 
 gundy — he pictured personalities to fit them: 
 for Corinne a presence stately in advanced 
 years and preserved beauty; for Yvonne a 
 fragile form suggestive of mother-o'-pearl, of 
 antique lace. Knowledge of Aline justified 
 such inferences — within bounds. With other 
 
 charms she had all these, and must have got 
 
 129 
 
I30 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 them from ancestral sources as truly Mile. 
 Corinne's and Mile. Yvonne's as hers. 
 
 "Oh, of course," he pondered, "there are 
 contrary possibilities. They may easily fall 
 short, far short, of her, in outer graces, and 
 show their kinship only in a reflection of her 
 inner fineness. They may be no more sur- 
 prising than those dear old De ITsles, or the 
 Prieurs, or than Mrs. Thorndyke-Smith. So 
 let it be ! Aline " 
 
 "Aline- Aline !" alarmingly echoed his heart. 
 
 "Aline is enough." Enough .'' Alas, too 
 much ! He felt himself far too forthpushing 
 in— he would not confess more — a solicitude 
 for her which he could not stifle; an inextin- 
 guishable wish to disentangle her from the 
 officious care of those by whom she was sur- 
 rounded — encumbered. "I've no right to 
 this state of mind," he thought; "none." 
 He reached the gate. He rang. 
 
 A footfall of daintiest lightness came run- 
 ning! ["Aline-Aline ! "] So might Allegro 
 have tripped it. The key rasped round, 
 ["Aline-Aline!"] the portal drew in, and he 
 found himself getting his first front view of 
 Cupid, the small black satellite. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 131 
 
 A pleasing object. Smaller than ever. 
 White-collared as ever, starched and brushed 
 to the sheen of a new penny and ugly of face 
 as a gargoyle — ugly as his goddess was beauti- 
 ful. Not merely negroidal, in lips, nose, ears, 
 and tight black wool divided on the absolute 
 equator; not racially but uniquely ugly — till 
 he smiled — and spoke. He smiled and spoke 
 with a joy of soul, a transparency of inno- 
 cence, a rapture of love, that made his ugli- 
 ness positively endearing even apart from the 
 entranced recognition they radiated. 
 
 " Ladies at home ? Yassuh," he said, with 
 an ecstasy as if he announced the world's 
 war suddenly over, all oceans safe, all peoples 
 free. He led the way up*the cramped white- 
 shell walk with a ceremonial precision that 
 gave the caller time to notice the garden. 
 It was hardly an empire. It lay on either 
 side in two right-angled figures, each, say, 
 of sixty by fourteen feet, every foot repeating 
 florally the smile of the child. The rigid beds 
 were curbed with brick water-painted as red 
 as Cupid's gums. The three fences were 
 green with vines, and here and there against 
 them bloomed tall evergreen shrubs. At 
 
132 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 one upper corner of the main path was a 
 cameiha and at the other a crape-myrtle, 
 symbols respectively, to the visitor, of Aunt 
 Corinne and Aunt Yvonne. The brick door- 
 step smiled as red as the garden borders, and 
 as he reached the open door Aline, with her 
 two aunts at her back, received him. 
 
 "Mr. Chester— Mile. Chapdelaine. Mr. 
 Chester — my Aunt Yvonne." Never had 
 the niece seemed quite so fair — in face, dress, 
 figure, or mental poise. She wore that rose 
 whose petals are deep red in their outer circle 
 and pass from middle pink to central white 
 and deepen in tints with each day's age. If 
 that rose could have been a girl, mind, soul, 
 and all, a Creole girl, there would have been 
 two on one stem. 
 
 And there, on either side of her sat the 
 aunts: the elder much too lean, the younger 
 much too dishevelled, and both as sun-tanned 
 as harvesters, betraying their poverty in 
 flimsy, faded gowns which the dismayed 
 youth named to himself not draperies but 
 hangings. Yet they were sweet-mannered, 
 fluent, gay, cordial, and unreserved, though 
 fluttering, twittering, and ultra-feminine. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 133 
 
 The room was like the pair. "Doubtlezz 
 Aline she's told you ab-out that 'ouse. No ? 
 Ah, chere! is that possible ? 'Tis an ancient 
 relique, that 'ouse. At the present they don't 
 build any mo' like that 'ouse is build' ! You 
 see those wall', those floor' ? Every wall 
 they are not of lath an' plazter, like to-day; 
 they are of solid plank' of a thicknezz of two- 
 inch' — and from Kentucky!" 
 
 The guest recognized the second-hand 
 lumber of broken-up flatboats. 
 
 "Tha'z a genuine antique, that 'ouse! 
 Sometime' we think we ought to egspose that 
 'ouse, to those tourist', admission ten cent'." 
 [A gay laugh.] 
 
 "But tha'z only when Aline want' to 
 compel us to buy some new dresses. And 
 tha'z pritty appropriate, that antique 'ouse, 
 for two sizter' themselve' pritty antique — 
 ha, ha, ha ! — as well as their anceztors." 
 
 "I fancy they're from 'way back," said 
 Chester. 
 
 "We are granddaughter' of two emigres of 
 the Revolution. The other two they were 
 decapitalize' on that gui'otine. Yet, still, 
 ad the same time, we don't feel antique. We 
 
134 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 don't feel mo' than ten year' ! And especially 
 when we are showing those souvenir' of our 
 in-fancy. And there is nothing we love like 
 that." 
 
 "Aline, chere, doubtlezz Mr. Chezter will be 
 very please' to see yo' li'l' dress of baptism ! 
 Long time befo', that was also for me, and 
 my sizter. That has the lace and embro'derie 
 of a hun'red years aggo, that li'l' dress of 
 baptism. Show him that ! Oh, that is no 
 trouble, that is a JzV-ight ! and if you are 
 please' to enjoy that we'll show you our two 
 doll', age' forty-three ! — bride an' bri'groom. 
 Go, you, Yvonne, fedge them." 
 
 The sister rose but lingered: "Mr. Chezter, 
 you will egscuse if that bride an' groom don't 
 look pritty fresh; biccause eighteen seventy- 
 three they have not change' their clothingg!" 
 
 "Cherie," said Aline, "I think first we bet- 
 ter read the manuscript, and then." 
 
 After a breath of hesitation — "Yes! read 
 firs' and then. Alway' businezz biffo'!" 
 
 All went into the garden; not the part 
 Chester had come through, but another only 
 a trifle less pinched, at the back of the house. 
 A few steps of straight path led them through 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 135 
 
 its stiff ranks of larkspurs, carnations, and the 
 like, to a bower of honeysuckle enclosing two 
 rough wooden benches that faced each other 
 across a six-by-nine goldfish pool. There 
 they had hardly taken seats when Cupid 
 reappeared bearing to the visitor, on a silver 
 tray, the manuscript. 
 
 It was not opened and dived into with 
 the fine flurry of the modern stage. Its re- 
 cipient took time to praise the bower and 
 pool, and the sisters laughed gratefully, 
 clutched hands, and merrily called their niece 
 "tantine." "You know, Mr. Chezter, 'tan- 
 tine' tha'z 'auntie,' an' tha'z juz' a li'l' name 
 of aff^egtion for her, biccause she takes so 
 much mo' care of us than we of her; you 
 see ? But that bower an' that li'l' lake, my 
 sizter an' me we construe' them both, that 
 bower an' that li'l' lake." 
 
 Without blazoning it they would have him 
 know they had not squandered "tantine's" 
 hard earnings on architects and contractors. 
 
 "And we assure you that was not ladies' 
 work. 'Twas not till weeks we achieve' that. 
 That geniuz Aline ! she was the arshetec'. 
 And those goldfishes — like Aline — are self- 
 
136 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 su'porting ! We dispose them at the apothe- 
 cary, Dauphine and Toulouse Street— ha, 
 ha, ha ! Corinne, tha'z the egstent of com- 
 merce we ever been ab'e to make, eh?" 
 "And now," said AUne, "the story." 
 "Ah, yes," responded Mile. Corinne, "at 
 laz' the manuscrip' !" and Mile. Yvonne 
 echoed, with a queer guilt in her gayety: 
 
 "The manuscrip' ! the myzteriouz manu- 
 scrip' !" 
 
 But there the gate bell sounded and she 
 sprang to her feet. Cupid could answer it, 
 but some one must be indoors to greet the 
 caller. 
 
 "Yes, you, Yvonne," the elder sister said, 
 and Aline added: "We'll not read till you re- 
 turn." 
 
 "Ah, yes, yes ! Read without me !" 
 "No-no-no-no-no ! We'll wait !" 
 "We'll wait, Yvonne." The sister went. 
 Chester smoothed out the pages, but then 
 smilingly turned them face downward, and 
 Aline said: 
 
 "First, Hector will tell us who's there." 
 Hector was Cupid. He came again, mur- 
 muring a name to Mile. Corinne. She rose 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 137 
 
 with hands clasped. "C'est M. et Mme. 
 ReneDucatel!" 
 
 "Well? Hector will give your excuses; 
 you are imperatively engaged." 
 
 "Ah, chere, on Sunday evening! Tha'z 
 an incredibility ! Must you not let me go ? 
 You 'ave 'Ector." 
 
 "Ah-h ! and we are here to read this mo- 
 mentous document to Hector .? " The sparkle 
 of amused command was enchanting to at 
 least one besides Cupid. 
 
 Yet it did not win. "Chere, you make me 
 tremble. Those Ducatel', they've come so 
 far ! How can we show them so li'l' civiliza- 
 tion when they've come so far .'' An' me I'm 
 convince', and Yvonne she's convince', that 
 you an' Mr. Chezter you'll be ab'e to judge 
 that manuscrip' better al-lone. Oh, yes ! 
 we are convince' of that, biccause, you know — 
 I'm sorrie — we are prejudice' in its favor!" 
 
 Aline's lifted brows appealed to Chester. 
 
 "Maybe hearing it," he half-heartedly said, 
 "may correct your aunts' judgment." 
 
 The aunt shook her head in a babe's de- 
 spair. "No, we've tri' that." Her smile was 
 tearful. "Ah, cherie, you both muz' pardon. 
 
138 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 Laz' night we was both so af-raid about that, 
 an' of a so affegtionate curio-zitie, that we 
 was compel' to read that manuscrip' through ! 
 An' we are convince' — though tha'z not ab-out 
 clocks, neither angels, neither lovers — yet 
 same time tha'z a moz' marvellouz manuscrip'. 
 Biccause, you know, tha'z a true story, that 
 'Holy Crozz.' Tha'z concerning an insurreg- 
 tion of slave' — there in Santa Cruz. And 'a 
 slave insurregtion,' tha'z what they ought to 
 call it, yes ! — to prom-ote the sale. Already 
 laz' night Yvonne she say she's convince' 
 that in those Northron citie', where they are 
 since lately so fon' of that subjec', there be 
 people by dozen' — will devour that story!" 
 
 She tripped off to the house. 
 
 "Hector," said Aline, "you may sit down." 
 
 Cupid slid into the vacated seat. Chester 
 dropped the document into his pocket. 
 
 "For what?" the girl archly inquired. 
 
 "I want to take it to my quarters and judge 
 it there. Why shouldn't I .?" 
 
 "Yes, you may do that." 
 
 "And now tell me of your father, or his 
 father — the one Beloiseau knew — Theophile 
 Chapdelaine." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 139 
 
 "Both were Theophile, He knew them 
 both." 
 
 "Then tell me of both." 
 
 "Mr. Chester, 'twould be to talk of my- 
 self!" 
 
 "I won't take it so. Tell the story purely 
 as theirs. It must be fine. They were set, 
 in conscience, against the conscience of their 
 day " 
 
 "So is Mr. Chester." 
 
 "Never mind that, either. We're in a 
 joint commercial enterprise; we want a few 
 good stories that will hang on one stem. Our 
 business is business; a primrose by the riv- 
 er's brim — nothing more ! Although" — the 
 speaker reddened 
 
 The girl blushed. "Mr. Chester, take away 
 the 'although' and I'll tell the story." 
 
 "I take it away. Although " 
 
XX 
 
 THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "A YELLOW primrose was to him " 
 
 Yonder in the parlor with the Ducatels, 
 ignorant of the poet's Hnes as they, the two 
 aunts — those two consciously Irremovable, 
 unadjustable, incarnated interdictions to their 
 niece's marriage — saw the primrose, the 
 "business," as the pair in the bower thought 
 they saw it themselves. Were not Aline and 
 Chester immersed in that tale of servile in- 
 surrection so destitute of angels, guiding 
 stars, and lovers ? And was not Hector with 
 them ? And are not three as truly a crowd 
 in French as in American ? 
 
 "Well, to begin," Chester urged, "your 
 grandfather, Theophile Chapdelaine, was 
 born in this old quarter, in such a street. 
 Royal?" 
 
 "Yes. Nearly opposite the ladies' en- 
 trance of that Hotel St. Louis now perish- 
 
 ing." 
 
 140 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 141 
 "Except its dome. I hear there's a move- 
 
 ment 
 
 "Yes, to save that. I hope 'twill succeed. 
 To me that old dome is a monument of those 
 two men." 
 
 "But if it comes down the home remains, 
 opposite, where both were born, were they 
 not?" 
 
 "Yes. Yet I'd rather the dome. We 
 Creoles, you know, are called very conserva- 
 tive." 
 
 "Yet no race is more radical than the 
 French." 
 
 "True. And we Chapdelaines have al- 
 ways been radical. Grandpere was, though a 
 slaveholder." 
 
 "Oh, none oi my ancestors justified slavery, 
 yet as planters they had to own negroes." 
 
 "But the Chapdelaines were not planters. 
 They were agents of ships. Fifty times on 
 one page in the old Picayune, or in L'Abeille 
 —'For freight or passage apply to the mas- 
 ter on board or to T. Chapdelaine & Son, 
 agents.' Even then there were two Theo- 
 philes, and grandpapa was the son. They 
 were wholesale agents also for French ex- 
 
142 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 porters of artistic china, porcelain, glass, 
 bronze. Twice they furnished the hotel with 
 everything of that kind; when it first opened, 
 and when it changed hands. That's how they 
 came to hold stock in it. Grandpapa, out- 
 door man of the firm, was every day in the 
 rotunda, under that dome." 
 
 "Yes," Chester said, "it was a kind of 
 Rialto, I know. They called it the 'Ex- 
 change,' as earlier they had called Maspero's." 
 
 "You love our small antiquities. So do 
 I. Well, grandpapa did much business there, 
 both of French goods and of ships; and be- 
 cause the hotel was the favorite of the sugar- 
 planters its rotunda was one of the principal 
 places for slave auctions." 
 
 "Yes, they were, I know, almost daily. 
 The old slave-block is shown there yet, 
 if genuine." 
 
 "Ah, genuine or not, what difference.? 
 From one that was there grandpere bought 
 many slaves. He and his father speculated 
 in them." 
 
 "Why! How strange! The son .f' your 
 grandfather ? the radical, who married — 
 'Maud'?" 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 143 
 
 "Yes, the last slave he bought was for her." 
 
 "Why, why, why! He couldn't have met 
 her be' — well — before the year of Lincoln's 
 election." 
 
 "No, let me tell you. You remember 
 'Sidney'.?" 
 
 " * Maud's' black maid ? my uncle's Euony- 
 mus ? Yes." 
 
 "Well, when she came to Maud, at Maud's 
 home, in the North, she was still in agony 
 about Mingo, who'd been recaptured. So 
 Maud wrote South, to her aunt, who wrote 
 back: 'Yes, he had been brought home, and 
 at creditor's auction had been sold to a slave- 
 trader to be resold here in New Orleans.' So 
 then Sidney begged Maud, who by luck was 
 coming here, to bring her here to find him." 
 
 "Brave Sidney. Brave Euonymus." 
 
 "Yes — although — her Southern mistress — 
 I know not how legally — had sent to her her 
 free-paper. That made it safer, I suppose, 
 eh.?" 
 
 "Yes. But — who told you all this so ex- 
 actly — your grand'mere herself, or your grand- 
 peref 
 
 'Ah — she, no. I never saw her. And 
 
 ti 
 
144 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 grandpere — no, he was killed before I was 
 born." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Yes, all that I'll come to. This I'm 
 telling now is from my own papa. He had 
 it from grandpere. Grand'mere and Sidney 
 came with friends, a gentleman and his wife, 
 by ship from New York." 
 
 "And all put up at Hotel St. Louis?" 
 
 "Yes. From there Maud and Sidney 
 began their search. But now, first, about 
 that speculating in slaves: those two Theo- 
 philes, first the father, then both, hated 
 slavery. 'Twas by nature and in everything 
 that they were radical. Their friends knew 
 that, even when they only said, 'Oh, you 
 are extreme!' or 'Those Chapdelaines are 
 extremist.' In those years from about eight- 
 een-forty to 'sixty " 
 
 "When the slavery question was about 
 to blaze " 
 
 "Yes — they voted Whig. That was the 
 most antislavery they could vote and stay 
 here. But under the rose they said: 'All 
 right ! extremist, yet Whig; we'll be extreme 
 Whig of a new kind. We'll trade in slaves.' " 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 145 
 
 Chester laughed. "I begin to see," he 
 said, and by a sidelong glance bade Aline 
 note the rapt attention of Cupid. Her an- 
 swering smile was so confidential that his 
 heart leaped. 
 
 "I'll tell you by and by about that also," 
 she murmured, and then resumed: "While 
 grandpere was yet a boy his father had begun 
 that, that slave-buying. On that auction- 
 block he would often see a slave about to be 
 sold much below value, or whose value might 
 easily be increased by training to some trade. 
 You see ? — blacksmith, lady's maid, cook, 
 hair-dresser, engine-driver, butler?" 
 
 Chester darkened. "So he made the thing 
 pay?" 
 
 "Seem to pay. Looking so simple, so or- 
 dinary, 'twas but a mask for something else." 
 
 " But in a thing looking so ordinary had . 
 he no competitors, to make profits diffi- 
 cult?" 
 
 "Ah, of a kind, yes; but the men who 
 could do that best would not do it at all. 
 They would not have been respected." 
 
 "But T. Chapdelaine & Son were re- 
 spected." 
 
146 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Yes, in spite of that. Their friends said: 
 'Let the extremists be extreme that way.' " 
 
 "The pubhc mind was not yet quite in 
 flames." 
 
 "No. But — guess who helped grandpere 
 'do that." 
 
 "Why, do I know him? Castanado." 
 
 The girl shook her head. 
 
 "Who? Beloiseau?" 
 
 "Ah, you ! You can guess better." 
 
 "Ovide Lan' — no, Ovide was still a slave." 
 
 "Yet more free than most free negroes. 
 'Twas he. He was janitor to offices in the 
 hotel, and always making acquaintance with 
 the slaves of the slave-mart. And when he 
 found one who was quite of the right kind 
 — and Ovide he's a wise judge of men, you 
 know — he would show him to grandpere, 
 and at the auction, if the bidding was low, 
 grandpere would buy him — or her." 
 
 "What was one of 'quite the right kind' ? 
 One willing to buy his own freedom ?" 
 
 "Ah, also to do something more; you 
 see?" 
 
 "Yes, I see," Chester laughed; "to help 
 others run away, wasn't it?" 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 147 
 
 "Not precisely to run, but " 
 
 "To stow away, on those ships, h'm?" 
 There was rapture in crossing that h'm Hne 
 of intimacy. "I see it all! Ha-ha, I see it 
 all! Well! that brings us back to 'Maud,' 
 doesn't it — h'm?" 
 
 "Yes. They met, she and grandpere, at 
 a ball, in the hotel. But" — ^Aline smiled — 
 "that was not their first. Their first was 
 two or three mornings before, when he, 
 passing in Royal Street, and she — ^with Sid- 
 ney — looking at old buildings in Conti 
 Street^ — " 
 
 "Mademoiselle ! That happened to them ? 
 —there .?" 
 
 "Yes, to them, there." With level gaze 
 narrator and listener regarded each other. 
 Then they glanced at Cupid. His eyes were 
 shining on them. 
 
 "Who is our young friend, anyhow?" 
 asked Chester. 
 
 "Ah, I suppose you have guessed. He is 
 the grandson of Sidney." 
 
XXI 
 
 "And another time, on the morning just 
 before the ball," said AHne, returning to the 
 story, "they had seen each other again. That 
 was at the slave-auction. That night, before 
 the ball was over, she and grandpere under- 
 stood — knew, each, from the other, why the 
 other was at that auction; and he had 
 promised her to find Mingo. 
 
 "Well, after weeks, Ovide helping, all at 
 once there was Mingo, in the gang, by the 
 block, waiting his turn to go on it. Picture 
 that ! Any time I want to shut my eyes I 
 can see it, and I think you can do the same, 
 h'm.?" 
 
 Blessed h'm; 'twas the flower — of the Chap- 
 delaines — humming back to the bee. Said the 
 bee, "We'll try it there together some day, 
 h'm ?" and Cupid mutely sparkled: 
 
 "Oh, by all means ! the three of us !" 
 
 The flower ignored them both. "There 
 
 was the auctioneer," she said; "there were 
 
 148 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 149 
 
 the slaves, there the crowd of bidders; be- 
 tween them the block, above them the beau- 
 tiful dome. Very soon Mingo was on the 
 block, and the first bid was from Sidney. 
 She was the only one in a hurry except Mingo. 
 He was trying to see her, but she was hiding 
 from him behind grandpere; yet not from 
 the auctioneer. The auctioneer stopped. 
 
 "'Who authorized you to bid here?' he 
 asked her. 
 
 " 'Nobody, sir; I's free.' She held up her 
 paper. 
 
 "Grandpere nodded to the auctioneer. 
 
 "'Will Mr. Chapdelaine please read it 
 out .?' 
 
 "He read it out, signature and all. 
 
 " 'Anybody know any one of that name ?' 
 the auctioneer asked, and grand' mere said: 
 
 " 'That's my aunt. This free girl is my 
 maid.' 
 
 "'Oh, bidding for you.?' he said; and 
 grand'mere said no, the girl was bidding on 
 her own account, with her own money. 
 
 "'What kind of money? We can't take 
 shinplasters.' For 'twas then 'sixty-one — 
 year of secession, you know. 
 
ISO THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "'Gold!' Sidney called out, and held it 
 up in a black stocking, so high that every 
 one laughed." 
 
 "Not Mingo, I fancy." 
 
 "Ah, no, nor the keeper of the gang." 
 
 " — Wonder how Mingo was behaving." 
 
 "He? he was shaking and weeping, and 
 begging this and that of the man who held 
 and threatened him, to keep him quiet. So 
 then the au. tioneer began to call Sidney's 
 bid. You know how that would be: 'Gentle- 
 men, I'm offered five hundred dollars. Cinq 
 cent piastres, messieurs ! Only five hundred 
 for this likely boy worth all of nine ! Who'll 
 say six .? Going at five hundred, what do I 
 hear?' But he heard nothing till— 'third 
 and last call!' Then the owner of the gang 
 nodded and the auctioneer called out, 'six 
 hundred !' " 
 
 "And did Sidney raise it?" 
 
 "No, she wept aloud. 'Oh, my brotheh!' 
 she cried, 'Lawd save my po' brotheh! I's 
 los' him ag'in ! I done bid my las' dollah 
 at de fust call !' " 
 
 "And Mingo knew her voice, spied her 
 out?" 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 151 
 
 "Yes, and holloed, 'Sidney! sisteh!' till 
 grand'mere wept too and a man called out, 
 'No one bid that six hundred!' But grand- 
 pere said: 'I bid six-fifty and will tell all 
 about this unlikely boy if his owner bids 
 again.' 
 
 "So Mingo was sold to grandpere. 'And 
 now,' grandpere whispered to grand'mere and 
 her friends, 'go pack trunks for the ship as 
 fast as you can.' " 
 
 "And they parted like that ? But of course 
 not!" 
 
 "No, only expected to. In the Gulf, at 
 the mouth of the river, a Confederate priva- 
 teer" — the narrator's voice faded out. She 
 began to rise. Her aunts were returning. 
 
XXII 
 
 Mademoiselle, we say, began to rise. 
 Chester stood. Also Cupid. The aunts drew 
 near, speaking with infantile lightness: 
 
 " Finizh' already that reading .? You muz' 
 have gallop' ! Well, and what is Mr. Chezter's 
 conclusion on that momentouz manuscrip' ?" 
 
 The niece hurried to answer first: "Ah! 
 we must not ask that so immediately. Mr. 
 Chester concludes 'tis better for all that he 
 study that an evening or two in his seclu- 
 sion." 
 
 "And ! you did not read it through to- 
 gether?" 
 
 "No, there was no advantage to -" 
 
 "Oh! advantage! An' you stop' in the 
 mi'r of that momentouz souvenir of the pas' ! 
 Tha'z astonizhing that anybody could do 
 that, an' leas' of all" [confronting Chester] 
 "the daughter of a papa an' gran'papa with 
 such a drama-tique bio-graphie ! Mr. Chez- 
 ter, to pazz the time Aline ought to 'ave tell 
 you that bio-graphie, yes ! — of our marvellouz 
 
 152 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 153 
 
 brother an' papa. Ah, you should some day 
 egstort that story from our too li'l' communi- 
 cative girl." 
 
 "Why not to-day, for the book ?" 
 
 "Oh, no-no-no-no-o ! We di'n' mean 
 that!" The sisters laughed excessively. "A 
 young lady to put her own papa into a book — 
 ah ! im-pos-si-ble !" 
 
 They laughed on. "Even my sizter an' 
 me, we have never let anybody egstort that, 
 an' we don't know if Aline ever be per- 
 suade' " 
 
 "Yes, some day I'll tell Mr. Chezter — 
 whatever he doesn't know already." 
 
 "Ha-ha! we can be sure tha'z not much. 
 Aline. And, Corinne, if he's heard this or 
 that, tha'z the more reason to tell him co'- 
 rec'ly. Only, my soul ! not to put in the book, 
 no ! 
 
 "Ah, no! Though as between frien', yes. 
 And, moreover, to Mr. Chezter, yes, biccause 
 tha'z so much abbout that Hotel St. Louis 
 and he is so appreciative to old building'. 
 Ah, we've notice' that incident ! Tha'z the 
 cause that we egs'ibit you our house — as a 
 relique of the pas' — Yvonne ! we are forget- 
 
1 54 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 ting ! — those souvenir' of our in-fancy — to 
 show them ! Come — all !" 
 
 Half-way to the house — "Ah, ha-ha! an- 
 other subjec' of interess ! See, Mr. Chezter; 
 see coming ! Marie Madeleine ! She's mis' 
 both her beloved miztress' from the house 
 and become anxious, our beautiful cat ! We 
 name' her Marie Madeleine because her great 
 piety ! You know, tha'z the sacred truth, 
 that she never catch' a mice on Sunday." 
 
 "Ah, neither the whole of Lent!" 
 
 In the parlor— "I really think," Chester 
 said, "I must ask you to let me take another 
 time for the souvenirs. I'm so eager to save 
 this manuscript any further delay — " He 
 said good-by. 
 
 Yet he did not hurry to his lodgings. He 
 had had an experience too great, too rapt, to 
 be rehearsed in his heart inside any small, 
 mean room. All the open air and rapid 
 transit he could get were not too much, till 
 at lamplight he might sit down somewhere 
 and hold himself to the manuscript. 
 
 Meantime the Chapdelaines had been but 
 a moment alone when more visitors rang — 
 a pair ! Their feet could be seen under the 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 155 
 
 gate — two male, two female — that is not a 
 land where women have men's feet. Flatter- 
 ing, fluttering adventure — five callers in one 
 afternoon ! "Aline, we are becoming a public 
 institution!" The aunts sprang here, there, 
 and into collision; Cupid sped down the walk; 
 Marie Madeleine stood in the door. 
 
 And who were these but the dear De ITsles ! 
 
 "No," they would not come inside. "But, 
 Corinne, Yvonne, Aline, run, toss on hats 
 for a trip to Spanish Fort." 
 
 One charm of that trip is that the fare is 
 but five cents, and the crab gumbo no dearer 
 than in town. "Come ! No-no-no, not one, 
 but the three of you. In pure compassion 
 on us ! For, as sometimes in heaven among 
 cherubim, we are ennuyes of each other !" 
 
 The small half-hourly electric train in 
 Rampart Street had barely started lakeward 
 into Canal, with the De I'lsle-Chapdelaine 
 five aboard and the sun about to set, when 
 Geoffry Chester entered — and stopped before 
 monsieur, stiff with embarrassment. Never- 
 theless that made them a glad six, and, as 
 each seat was for two, the two with life be- 
 fore them took one. 
 
XXIII 
 
 The small public garden, named for an 
 old redout on the lake shore at the mouth of 
 Bayou St. John was .filled with a yellow sun- 
 set as Chester and Aline moved after the 
 aunts and the De I'lsles from the train into 
 a shell walk whose artificial lights at that 
 moment flashed on. 
 
 "So far from that," he was saying, "a 
 story may easily be improved, clarified, beau- 
 tified, by — what shall I say ? — by filtering 
 down through a second and third generation 
 of the right tellers and hearers." 
 
 "Ah, yes ! the right, yes ! But " 
 
 "And for me you're supremely the right 
 one." 
 
 Instantly he rued his speech. Some deli- 
 cate mechanism seemed to stop. Had he 
 broken it ? As one might lay a rare watch 
 to his ear he waited, listening, while" they 
 stood looking off to where water, sky, and sun 
 met; and presently, to his immeasurable 
 relief, she responded: 
 
 iS6 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 157 
 
 "Grandpere was not at that time such a 
 very young man, yet he still Hved with his 
 father. So when grand'mere and her two 
 friends — with Sidney and Mingo — returned 
 from the privateer to the hotel they were op- 
 posite neighbors to the Chapdelaines and al- 
 most without another friend, in a city — among 
 a people — on fire with war. Then, pretty 
 soon — " the fair narrator stopped and signif- 
 icantly smiled. 
 
 Chester twinkled. "Um-h'm," he said, 
 "your grandpere' s heart became another city 
 on fire." 
 
 "Yes, and 'twas in that old hotel — ^with 
 the war storm coming, like to-day only every- 
 thing much more close and terrible, business 
 dead, soldiers every day going to Virginia — 
 you must make Mr. Thorndyke-Smith tell 
 you about that — 'twas in that old hotel, at 
 a great free-gift lottery and bazaar, lasting 
 a week, for aid of soldiers' families, and in a 
 balcony of the grand salon, that grandpere — " 
 the narrator ceased and smiled again. 
 
 " Proposed," Chester murmured. 
 
 The girl nodded. They sank to a bench, 
 the world behind them, the stars above. 
 
iS8 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Grand' mere, she couldn't say yes till he'd 
 first go to her home, almost at the Canadian 
 line, and ask her family. She, she couldn't 
 go; she couldn't leave Sidney and Mingo and 
 neither could she take them. So by railroad 
 at last he got there. But her family took so 
 long to consent that he got back only the next 
 year and through the fall of the city. Only 
 by ship could he come, and not till he 
 had begged President Lincoln himself and 
 promised him to work with his might to re- 
 turn Louisiana to the Union. Well, of course, 
 he and his father had voted against seces- 
 sion, weeping; yet now this was a pledge 
 terrible to keep, and the more because, you 
 see ? what to do, and when and how to do 
 it " 
 
 "Were left to his own judgment and tact ?" 
 
 "Oh, and honor! But anyhow he came. 
 Doubtless, bringing the written permission 
 of the family, he was happy. Yet to what 
 bitternesses — can we say bitternesses in 
 English.?" 
 
 "Indeed we can," said Chester. 
 
 "To what bitternesses grandpere had to re- 
 turn!" 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 159 
 
 "Aline !" Mme. De I'Isle called; "a table!" 
 "Yes, madame. Tell me — you, Mr. Ches- 
 ter — to your vision, how all that must have 
 been." 
 
 " Paint in your sketch .? Let me try. May- 
 be only because you tell the story, but maybe 
 rather because it's so easy to see in you a 
 reincarnation of your grand'mere — a Creole 
 incarnation of that young 'Maud' — what I 
 see plainest is she. I see her here, two thou- 
 sand miles from home, with but three or four 
 friends among a quarter of a million enemies. 
 I see her on the day the city fell, looking up 
 and down Royal Street from a balcony of 
 the hotel, while from the great dome a few 
 steps behind her the Union fleet could be seen, 
 rounding the first two river bends below the 
 harbor, engaging a last few Confederate guns 
 at the old battle-ground, and coming on, with 
 the Stars and Stripes at every peak. I see 
 
 her " 
 
 "She was beautiful, you know — grand'mere." 
 
 "Yes, I see her so, looking down from that 
 
 balcony, awestruck, not fearstruck, on the 
 
 people who in agonies of rage and terror fled 
 
 the city by pairs and families, or in armed 
 
i6o THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 squads and unarmed mobs swept through 
 the streets and up and down the levee, burn- 
 ing, breaking, and plundering." 
 
 "But that was the worst anybody did, 
 you know." 
 
 "Oh, yes. We never knew till to-day's 
 war came how humane that war was. It 
 wasn't a war in which beauty, age, and in- 
 fancy were hideous perils." 
 
 "Ah, never mind about that to-day. But 
 about grandpere and grand'mere go on. Let 
 me see how much you can imagine correctly, 
 h'm?" 
 
 "Please, mademoiselle, no. Time has 
 made you — through your father's eyes — they 
 say you have them — an eye-witness. So 
 next you see your grandpere getting back at 
 last, by ship — go on." 
 
 "Yes, I see that, in a harbor whose miles 
 of wharfs without ships cried to him: 'Your 
 occupation and your fortune are gone !' Also 
 I see him again in the streets — Royal, Char- 
 tres. Canal, Carondelet — where old friends 
 pass him with a stare. I see him and grand'- 
 mere married at last, in a church nearly 
 empty and even the priest unfriendly." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES i6i 
 
 "Had he no new friends, Unionists?" 
 "Not yet, at the wedding. There he said: 
 'Old friends or none.' And that was right, 
 don't you think ? Later 'twas different. You 
 see, in the navy, both of the rivers and the 
 sea, as likewise the army, grand'mere had 
 uncles and cousins; and when the hotel was 
 made a military hospital she was there every 
 day. And naturally those cousins, whether 
 from hospital or no, would call and even 
 bring friends. Well, of course, grandpere 
 was, at the least, courteous ! And then there 
 was his word of honor, to Mr. Lincoln, as 
 also his own desire, to bring the State back 
 into the Union." 
 
 "Of course. Don't hurry, please." 
 "Was I hurrying? Pardon, but I'm afraid 
 they'll be calling us again." The pair rose, 
 but stood. "Well, when a kind of govern- 
 ment was made of that part of the State held 
 by the Union, and the military governor 
 wanted both grandpere and his father to 
 take some public offices, his father made 
 excuse of his age and of a malady — taken 
 from that hospital — ^which soon occasioned 
 him to die." 
 
i62 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "I've seen his tomb, in St. Louis cemetery, 
 with its epitaph of barely two words — 'Adieu, 
 Chapdelaine.' Who suppHed that ? Old 
 friends, after all ?" 
 
 "A few old, a few new, and one the gov- 
 ernor." 
 
 "Did the governor propose the words ?" 
 "No. If I tell you you won't tell ? Ovide. 
 But grandpere he took the office. And so 
 that put him yet more distant from old friends 
 except just two or three who believed the 
 same as he did." 
 
 "And our Royal Street coterie, of course." 
 "Ah, not those you see now; but their 
 parents, yes. They were faithful; though 
 sometimes, some of them, sympathizing dif- 
 ferently. Well, and so there was grandpere 
 working to repair a piece of the State, when 
 at last the war finished and the reconstruc- 
 tion of the whole State commenced. He and 
 Ovide were both of that State convention 
 they mobbed in the 'July riot.' Some men 
 were killed in that riot. Grandpere was 
 wounded, also Ovide. Those were awful 
 times to grand' mere, those years of the re- 
 construction. Grandpere he — " The girl 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 163 
 
 glanced backward, then turned again, smil- 
 ing. The four chaperons were going in- 
 doors without them. 
 
 "Yes," Chester said, "your grandpere I 
 can imagine " 
 
 "Well, go ahead; imagine, to me." 
 
 "No. No, except just enough to see him 
 with no choice of party allegiance but be- 
 tween a rabble up to the elbows in robbery 
 and an old regime red-handed with the 
 rabble's blood." 
 
 "Ah, so papa told me, after grandpere was 
 long gone, and me on his knee asking ques- 
 tions. ' Reconstruction, my dear child — ' once 
 he answered me, "twas like trying to drive, 
 on the right road, a frantic horse in a rotten 
 harness, and with the reins under his tail!' 
 Ah, I wish you could have known him, Mr. 
 Chester — my father !" 
 
 "I know his daughter." 
 
 "Well, I suppose — I suppose we must go 
 
 in." 
 
 "With the story almost finished ?" 
 "We'll, maybe finish inside — or — some 
 day." 
 
XXIV 
 
 T. CHAPDELAINE & SON 
 
 The seniors were found at a table for four. 
 
 Mme. De I'lsle explained: "But! with 
 only four to sit down there, how was it pos- 
 sib' to h-ask for a tab'e for six ? That wou'n' 
 be logical !" 
 
 When the waiter offered to add a smaller 
 table and make one snug board for six — 
 "No," she said; "for feet and hands that 
 be all right; but for the mind, ah ! You see, 
 Mr. Chezter, M. De ITsle he's also precizely 
 in the miT of a moze overwhelming story 
 of his own " 
 
 "Hiztorical!" the aunts broke in. "Well- 
 known ! abbout old house ! in the vieux 
 carre I 
 
 "And," madame insisted, "'twould ruin 
 that story, to us, to commenze to hear it 
 over, while same time 'twould ruin it to you 
 to commenze to hear it in the miT. And 
 
 beside'. Aline, you are doubtlezz yet in the 
 
 164 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 165 
 
 mi'r of your own story and — waiter ! make 
 there at that firz' window a tab'e for two, 
 and" [to the pair] "we'll run both storie' ad 
 the same time — if not three !" 
 
 "Like that circ' " — the aunts fell into tears 
 of laughter. They touched each other with 
 finger-tips, cried, "Like that circuz of Bar- 
 num!" and repeated to the De ITsles and 
 then to Aline, "Like that circuz of Barnum 
 an' Bailey!" 
 
 At the table for two, as the gumbo was 
 uncovered and Chester asked how it was 
 made, "Ah!" said Aline, "for a veritable 
 gumbo what you want most is enthusiasm. 
 The enthusiasm of both my aunts would 
 not be too much. And to tell how 'tis made 
 you'd need no less; that would be a story 
 by itself, third ring of the circus." 
 
 "Then tell me, further, of ' grandpere.' " 
 
 "And grand' mere ? Yes, I must, as I 
 learned about them on papa's knee. Mamma 
 never saw them; they had been years gone 
 when papa first knew her. But Sidney I 
 knew, when she was old and had seen all 
 those dreadful times; and, though she often 
 would not tell me the story, she would tell 
 
1 66 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 me what to ask papa; you see ? You would 
 have Hked to talk with Sidney about old 
 buildings. Mr. Chester, I think it is not 
 that in New Orleans we are so picturesque, 
 but that all the rest of our country — in the 
 cities — is so starved for the picturesque. 
 Sidney would have told you that story mon- 
 sieur is telling now as well as all the strange 
 history of that old Hotel St. Louis. First, 
 after the war it was changed back from a 
 hospital to a hotel. I think 'twas then they 
 called it Hotel Royal. Anyhow 'twas again 
 very fine. Grandpere and grand'mere were 
 often in that salon where he had first — as 
 they say — spoken. Because, for one thing, 
 there they met people of the outside world 
 without the local prejudices, you know?" 
 
 "At that time bitter and vindictive?" 
 
 "Oh, ferocious ! And there they met also 
 people of the most — dignity." 
 
 "Above, the average of the other hotels?" 
 
 "Well, not so — so brisk." 
 
 "Not so American?" 
 
 "Ah, you know. Well, maybe that's one 
 reason the St. Charles, for example, contin- 
 ued, while the Royal did not. Anyhow the 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 167 
 
 Royal — grandpere had the Hfe habit of it 
 and 'twas just across the street. Daily they 
 ate there; a real economy." 
 
 "But they kept the old home." 
 
 "Yes. 'Twas furnished the same but not 
 *run' the same. 'Twas very difficult to keep 
 it, even with all three stories of the servants' 
 wing shut up, you know ? — like" — a glance 
 indicated the De I'lsles. 
 
 "But you say Hotel Royal was soon 
 closed." 
 
 "Yes, and then, in the worst of those days, 
 it became the capitol. There, in the most 
 elegant hotel for the most elegant planters 
 of the South— anyhow Southwest — sat their 
 slaves, with white men even more abhorred, 
 and made the laws. In that old dome, second 
 story, they put a floor across, and there sat 
 the Senate ! Just over that auction-block 
 where grandpere had bought Mingo." 
 
 "Where was he— Mingo ?" 
 
 "Dead — of drink. Grandpere was in that 
 government ! Long time he was senator. 
 Mr. Chester, for that papa was proud of him, 
 and I am proud." 
 
 The listener was proud of her pride. "I 
 
i68 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 know," he said, "from my own people, that 
 in such an attitude — as your grandfather's — 
 there was honor a plenty for any honorable 
 man. Ovide tells me the negroes never wanted 
 negro supremacy. I wonder if that's so. They 
 were often, he says, madly foolish and cor- 
 rupt; yet their fundamental lawmaking was 
 mostly good. I know the State's constitu- 
 tion was; it was ahead of the times." 
 
 Aline made a quick gesture: "And any of 
 the old masters who agreed to that could 
 help lead!" 
 
 "Mademoiselle, how could they agree to 
 it .'' Some did, I know, but that's the wonder. 
 Those that could not — who can blame 
 them?" 
 
 "Ah ! 'tis no longer a question of blame 
 but of judgment. So papa used to say. Any- 
 how grandpere agreed, accepted, led; until 
 at the last, one day, that White League — 
 you've heard of them, how they armed and 
 drilled and rose against that reconstruction 
 police in a battle on the steamboat landing .'' 
 Grandpere was in that. He commanded 
 part of the reconstruction forces. And papa 
 was there, though only thirteen. Grand- 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 169 
 
 pere was bayonet-wounded. They carried 
 him away bleeding. Only at the State-house 
 a surgeon met them, and there, under that 
 dome, just as papa brought grand' mere and 
 Sidney, he died." Mademoiselle ceased. 
 
 Chester waited, but she glanced to the other 
 table. Monsieur had ended his recital. Ma- 
 dame and the aunts chatted merrily. Smil- 
 ingly the niece's eyes came back. 
 
 "Don't stop," said Chester. "What fol- 
 lowed — for 'Maud' — Sidney — your boy father 
 — your little-girl aunts ? Did the clock in 
 the sky call them North again .?" 
 
 "No." The speaker rose. "I'll tell you 
 on the train; I hear it coming." 
 
XXV 
 
 "There's a train every half-hour," Chester 
 said. 
 
 "Yes, but the day-laborer must be home 
 early." 
 
 On the train — "Well," the youth urged, 
 "your grand' mere stayed in the old home, I 
 hope, with the three children — and Sidney?" 
 
 "Only till she could sell it. But that was 
 nearly three years, and they were hard, those 
 three. But at last, by the help of that Royal 
 Street coterie — who were good friends, Mr. 
 Chester, when friends were scarce — she sold 
 both house and furniture — what was by that 
 time remaining — and bought that place where 
 we are now living." 
 
 "Was there no life-insurance?" 
 
 "A little. We have the yearly interest 
 on it still. 'Tis very small, yet a great help — ■ 
 to my aunts. I tell that only to say that 
 papa would never touch it when he and my 
 aunts — and afterward mamma — were in very 
 
 narrow places." 
 
 170 
 
THE FLOWER. OF THE CHAPDELAINES 171 
 
 Chester perceived another reason for the 
 telling of it; the niece wanted to escape the 
 credit of being the sole support of her aunts. 
 She read his thought but ignored it. 
 
 "Papa was very old for his age," she con- 
 tinued. "You may see that by his being in 
 the battle with grandpere at thirteen years. 
 And because of that precocity he got much 
 training of the mind — and spirit — from grand- 
 fere that usually is got much later. I think 
 that is what my aunts mean when they tell 
 you papa's life was dramatic. It was so, yet 
 not in the manner they mean, the manner of 
 grandpere' s life; you understand?" 
 
 "You mean it was not melodramatic?" 
 
 "Ah ! the word I wanted ! Mr. Chester, 
 when we get over being children, those of us 
 who do, why do we try so hard to live with- 
 out melodrama ? " 
 
 "Oh, mademoiselle, you know well enough. 
 You know that's what melodrama does, it- 
 self? What is it, in essence, but a struggle 
 to rise out of itself into a higher drama, of 
 the spirit ?" 
 
 "A divine comedy ! Yes. Well, that is 
 what my father's life seems to me." 
 
172 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "With tragic elements in it, of course?" 
 
 "Oh ! How could it be high comedy with- 
 out ? But except that one battle the tragedy 
 was not — eh — crude, hke grandpere's; was 
 not physical. Once he said to me: 'There are 
 things in life, in the refined life, very quiet 
 things, that are much more tragic than blood- 
 shed or death or the defying of death.' " 
 
 "In the refined life," Chester said mus- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Yes ! and he was refined, yet never weak. 
 'Strength,' he said, 'valor, truth, they are 
 the foundations; better be dead than with- 
 out them.' Yet one can have them, in crude 
 form, and still better be dead. The noble, 
 the humane, the chaste, the beautiful, 'tis 
 with them we build the superstructure, the 
 temple, of life — Mr. Chester, if you knew 
 French I could tell you that better." 
 
 "I doubt it. Go on, please, time's a-fly- 
 ing." 
 
 "Well, you see how tragic was that life! 
 Papa saw it and said: 'It shall not be tragic 
 alone. I will build on it a comedy higher, 
 finer, than tragedy. That's what life is for; 
 mine, yours, the world's,' he said to me. Mr. 
 
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THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 173 
 
 Chester, you can imagine how a daughter 
 would love a father like that, and also how 
 mamma loved him — for years — before they 
 could marry." 
 
 "Your mother was a Creole, I suppose?" 
 
 "No, mamma was French. After grand' - 
 mere had followed grandpere — above — papa, 
 looking up some of the once employees of T. 
 Chapdelaine & Son, to raise the old concern 
 back to life, arranged with them that while 
 they should reinstitute it here he would go 
 live in France, close to the producers of the 
 finest goods possible. You see .? And he did 
 that many years with a kind of success; but 
 smaller and smaller, because little by little 
 the taste for those refinements was passing, 
 while those department stores and all that 
 kind of thing — you understand — h'm?" 
 
 The train stopped in Rampart Street, and 
 when one aunt, with madame, and one with 
 monsieur, had followed the junior pair out 
 of the snarlings and hootings of Canal Street's 
 automobiles and to the quiet sidewalks of 
 the old quarter 
 
 "Well.?" said Chester, slowing down, 
 and 
 
XXVI 
 
 The week so blissfully begun In the Chap- 
 delaines' garden and at Spanish Fort was 
 near its end. 
 
 The Courier des Etats-Unis had told the 
 Royal Street coterie of mighty doings far 
 away in Italy, of misdoings in Galicia, and 
 of horrors on the Atlantic fouler than all 
 its deeps can ever cleanse; but nothing was 
 yet reported to have "tranzpired" in the 
 vieux carre. The fortunes of "the book" 
 seemed becalmed. 
 
 It was Saturday evening. The streets had 
 just been lighted. Miles. Corinne and 
 Yvonne, dingy even by starlight, were in 
 one of them — Conti. Now they turned into 
 Royal, and after them turned Chester and 
 Aline. Presently the four entered the parlor 
 of the Castanados. Their coming made its 
 group eleven, and all being seated Castanado 
 rose. 
 
 After the proper compliments — "They were 
 called," he said, "to receive " 
 
 "And discuss," Chester put in. 
 176 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 177 
 
 "To receive and discuss the judgment of 
 their " 
 
 "The suggestions," Chester amended. 
 
 "The judgment and suggestion' of their 
 counsel, how tha'z best to pubUsh the literary 
 treasure they've foun' and which has egspand' 
 from one story to three or four. Biccause 
 the one which was firzt acquire' is laztly 
 turn' out to be the only one of a su'possible 
 incompat' — eh — in-com-pat-a-bil-ity — to the 
 others." His bow yielded the floor to Ches- 
 ter. "Remain seated, if you please," he 
 said. 
 
 "In spite of my wish to save this manu- 
 script all avoidable delay," Chester began, 
 "I've kept it a week. I like it — much. I 
 think that in quieter times, with the reading 
 world in a more contemplative mood, any 
 publisher would be glad to print it. At the 
 same time it seems to me to have faults of 
 construction that ought to come out of it 
 before it goes to a possibly unsympathetic 
 publisher. Yet after — ^was Mme. Alexandre 
 about ?" 
 
 "Juz' to say tha'z maybe better those 
 fault' are there. If the publisher be not sym- 
 
178 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 ■pathetique we want him to rif-use that manu- 
 crip'." 
 
 "Yes!" several responded. "Yes! He 
 can't have it ! Tha'z the en' of that pub- 
 lisher." 
 
 "Well, at any rate," Chester said, "after 
 using up this whole week trying, fruitlessly, 
 to edit those faults out of it, here it is un- 
 altered. I still feel them, but I have to con- 
 fess that to feel them is one thing and to 
 find them is quite another. Maybe they're 
 only in me." 
 
 "Tha'z the only plase they are," said Du- 
 broca, with kind gravity. "I had the same 
 feeling — till a dream, which reveal' to me 
 that the feeling was my fault. The manu- 
 scrip' is perfec'." 
 
 "Messieurs," Mme. Castanado broke in, 
 "please to hear Mile. Aline." And Aline 
 spoke: 
 
 "Perfect or no, I think that's what we 
 don't require to conclude. But if that manu- 
 script will join well with those other two — or 
 three, or four, if we find so many — or if it will 
 rather disjoint them — ^'tis that we must de- 
 cide; is it not, M. De I'lsle ?" 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 179 
 
 "Yes, and tha'z easy. That story is going 
 to assimilate those other' to a perfegtion ! 
 For several reason'. Firz', like those other', 
 'tis not figtion; 'tis true. Second, like those, 
 'tis a personal egsperienze told by the person 
 egsperienzing. Third, every one of those per- 
 son' were known to some of us, an' we can 
 certify that person that he or she was of the 
 greatez' veracity ! Fourth, the United States 
 they've juz' lately purchaze' that island where 
 that story tranzpire. And, fifthly, the three 
 storie' they are joint'; not stiff', like board' 
 of a floor, but loozly, like those link' of a chain. 
 They are jointed in the subjec' of friddom ! 
 'Tis true, only friddom of negro', yet still — 
 friddom! An', messieurs et mesdames, that is 
 now the precise moment when that whole 
 worl' is wile on that topique; friddom of 
 citizen', friddom of nation', friddom of race', 
 friddom of the sea' ! And there is ferociouz 
 demand for short storie' joint' on that top- 
 ique, biccause now at the lazt that whole 
 worl' is biccome furiouzly conscientiouz to 
 get at the bottom of that topique; an' bic- 
 cause those negro' are the lowez' race, they 
 are there, of co'se, ad the bottom !" 
 
i8o THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "M. Beloiseau?" the chair — hostess — said; 
 and Scipion, with languor in his voice but a 
 burning fervor in his eye, responded: 
 
 "I think Mr. Chezter he's speaking with 
 a too great modestie— or else dip-lomacie. 
 Tha'z not good ! If fld-elitie to art inspire 
 me a conceitednezz as high" — his upthrown 
 hand quivered at arm's length — "as the flag- 
 pole of Hotel St. Louis dome yonder, tha'z 
 better than a modestie withoud that. That 
 origin-al manuscrip' we don't want that 
 ag-ain; we've all read that. But I think Mr. 
 Chezter he's also maybe got that n?;-ision in 
 his pocket, an' we ought to hear, now, at 
 ones, that m-ision!" 
 
 Miles. Corinne and Yvonne led the ap- 
 plause, and presently Chester was reading: 
 
XXVII 
 THE HOLY CROSS 
 
 This is a true story. Only that fact gives 
 me the courage to tell it. It happened. 
 
 It occurred under my own eyes when they 
 were far younger than now, on a beautiful 
 island in the Caribbean, some twelve hundred 
 miles southeastward from Florida, the largest 
 of the Virgin group — the island of the Holy 
 Cross. Its natives called it Aye-Aye. Co- 
 lumbus piously named it Santa Cruz and 
 bore away a number of its people to Spain 
 as slaves, to show them what Christians 
 looked like in quantity and how they behaved 
 to one another and to strangers. You can 
 hear much about Santa Cruz from anybody 
 in the rum-trade. 
 
 It has had many owners. As with the 
 woman in the Sadducee's riddle, she of many 
 husbands, seven political powers have had 
 this mermaid as bride. Spain, the English, 
 the Dutch, the Spaniards again, the French, 
 
 i8i 
 
1 82 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 the Knights of Malta, the French again, who 
 sold her to the Guiana Company, who in 1734 
 passed her over to the Danes, from whom 
 the English captured her in 1807 but re- 
 stored her again at the close of Napoleon's 
 wars. Thus, at last, Denmark prevailed as 
 the ruling power; but English remained the 
 speech of the people. The island is about 
 twenty-three miles long by six wide. Its 
 two towns are Christlansted on the north 
 and Fredericksted on the south. Christlan- 
 sted is the capital. 
 
 In 1848 I lived in Fredericksted, on Kon- 
 gensgade, or King Street, with my aunts, 
 Marion, Anna, and Marcia, and my grand- 
 mother — whom the servants called Mi'ss 
 Paula — and was just old enough to begin 
 taking care of my dignity. Whether I was 
 Danish, British, or American I hardly knew. 
 When grandmamma, whose husband had been 
 of a family that had furnished a signer of 
 our Declaration, told me stories of Bunker 
 Hill and Yorktown I glowed with American 
 patriotism. But when she turned to English 
 stories, heroic or momentous, she would re- 
 mind me that my father and mother were 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 183 
 
 born on this island under British sway, and — 
 "Once a Briton always a Briton." And yet 
 again, my playmates would say: 
 
 "When you were born the island was 
 Danish; you are a subject of King Chris- 
 tian VIII." 
 
 Kongensgade, though narrow, was one of 
 the main streets that ran the town's full 
 length from northeast to southwest, and our 
 home was a long, low cottage on the street's 
 southern side, between it and the sea. Its 
 grounds sloped upward from the street, 
 widened out extensively at the rear, and then 
 suddenly fell away in bluffs to the beach. 
 It had been built for "Mi'ss Paula" as a bridal 
 gift from her husband. But now, in her wid- 
 owhood, his wealth was gone, and only re- 
 finement and inspiring traditions remained. 
 
 The sale or hire of her slaves might have 
 kept her in comfort; but a clergyman, lately 
 from England, convinced her that no Chris- 
 tian should hold a slave, and setting them 
 free she accepted a life of self-help and of 
 no little privation. She was his only convert. 
 His zeal cooled early. Her ex-slaves, finding 
 no public freedom in custom or law, merely 
 
i84 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 hired their labor unwisely and yearly grew 
 more worthless. 
 
 [The reader lifted his eyes across to Aline : 
 "I had a notion to name that much 'The 
 Time,' and this next part 'The Scene.' What 
 do you think ?" 
 
 "Yes, I think so. 'Twould make the 
 manner of it less antique." 
 
 "Ah!" cried Mile. Corinne, "'tis not a 
 movie ! Tha'z the charm, that antie-quitie !" 
 
 "Yes," the niece assented again, "but 
 even with that insertion 'tis yet as old-fash- 
 ioned as 'Paul and Virginia.'" 
 
 "Or 'Rasselas,' " Chester suggested, and 
 resumed his task.] 
 
XXVIII 
 
 (the scene) 
 
 Yet to be poor on that island did not com- 
 pel a sordid narrowing of life. You would 
 have found our living-room furnished in ma- 
 hogany rich and old. In a corner where the 
 airs came in by a great window stood a jar 
 big enough to hide in, into which trickled 
 a cool thread of water from a huge dripping- 
 stone, while above these a shelf held native 
 waterpots whose yellow and crimson sur- 
 faces were constantly pearled with dew oozing 
 through the porous ware. On a low press 
 near by was piled the remnant of father's li- 
 brary, and on the ancient sideboard were sil- 
 ver candlesticks, snuffers, and crystal shades. 
 
 But it was neither these things nor cherished 
 traditions that gave the room its finest charm. 
 It was filled with the glory of the sea. There 
 was no need of painted pictures. Living 
 nature hung framed in wide high windows 
 through which drifted in the distant boom of 
 
 i8S 
 
186 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 surf on the rocks, and salt breezes perfumed 
 with cassia. 
 
 Outside, round about, there was far more. 
 A broad door led by a flight of stone steps 
 to the couchlike roots of a gigantic turpen- 
 tine-tree whose deep shade harbored birds of 
 every hue. To me, sitting there, the island's 
 old Carib name of Aye-Aye seemed the eternal 
 consent of God to some seraph asking for 
 this ocean pearl. All that poet or prophet 
 had ever said of heaven became comprehen- 
 sible in its daily transfigurations of light and 
 color scintillated between wave, landscape, 
 and cloud — its sea like unto crystal, and the 
 trees bearing all manner of fruits. Grace 
 and fragrance everywhere: fruits crimson, 
 gold, and purple; fishes blue, orange, pink; 
 shells of rose and pearl. Distant hills, clouds 
 of sunset and dawn, sky and stream, leaf and 
 flower, bird and butterfly, repeated the splen- 
 dor, while round all palpitated the wooing 
 rhythm of the sea's mysterious tides. 
 
 The beach ! Along its landward edge the 
 plumed palms stood sentinel, rustling to the 
 lipping waters and to the curious note of 
 the Thibet-trees, sounding their long dry 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 187 
 
 pods like castanets in the evening breeze. 
 By the water's margin, and in its shoals and 
 depths, what treasures of the underworld ! 
 Here a sponge, with stem bearing five cups; 
 there a sea-fan, large enough for a Titan's 
 use yet delicate enough to be a mermaid's. 
 Red-lipped shells; mystical eye-stones; shell 
 petals heaped in rocky nooks like rose leaves; 
 and, moving among these in grotesque leisure, 
 crabs of a brilliance and variety to tax the 
 painter. All the rector told of a fallen world 
 seemed but idle words when the sunset glory 
 was too much for human vision and the young 
 heart trembled before its ineffable sugges- 
 tions. 
 
 I often rode a pony. If we turned in- 
 land our way was on a road double-lined 
 with cocoa palms, or up some tangled dell 
 where a silvery cascade leaped through the 
 deep verdure. On one side the tall mahog- 
 any dropped its woody pears. On another, 
 sand-box and calabash trees rattled their 
 huge fruit like warring savages. Here the 
 banyan hung its ropes and yonder the tam- 
 arind waved its feathery streamers. Here 
 was the rubber-tree, here the breadfruit. 
 
i88 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 Now and then a clump of the manchineel 
 weighted the air with the fragrance of its 
 poisonous apples, the banana rustled, or 
 the bamboo tossed its graceful canes. Be- 
 side some stream we might espy black wash- 
 erwomen beetling their washing. Or, reach- 
 ing the summit of Blue Mountain, we might 
 look down, eleven hundred feet, on the vast 
 Caribbean dotted with islands, and, nearer 
 by, on breakers curling in noble bays or foam- 
 ing under rocky cliffs. Northward, the wilder- 
 ness; eastward, green fields of sugar-cane 
 paling and darkling in the breeze; south- 
 ward, the wide harbor of Fredericksted, the 
 town, and the black, red-shirted boatmen 
 pushing about the harbor; westward, the 
 setting sun; and presently, everjrwhere, the 
 swift fall of the tropical night, with lights 
 beginning to twinkle in the town and the 
 boats in the roadstead to leave long wakes of 
 phosphorescent light. 
 
 Of course nature had also her bad habits. 
 There were sharks in the sea, and venomous 
 things ashore, and there were the earthquake 
 and the hurricane. Every window and door 
 had heavy shutters armed with bars, rings. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 189 
 
 and ropes that came swiftly into use when- 
 ever between July and October the word ran 
 through the town, "The barometer's falling." 
 Then candles and lamps were lighted in- 
 doors, and there was happy excitement for 
 a courageous child. I would beg hard to 
 have a single pair of shutters held slightly 
 open by two persons ready to shut them in 
 a second, and so snatched glimpses of the 
 tortured, flying clouds and writhing trees, 
 while old Si' Myra, one of the freed slaves 
 who never had left us, crouched in a corner 
 and muttered: 
 
 "Lo'd sabe us ! Lo'd sabe us !" 
 Once I saw a handsome brig which had 
 failed to leave the harbor soon enough stagger 
 in upon the rocks where it seemed her masts 
 might fall into our own grounds, and grand- 
 mamma told me that thus my father, though 
 born in the island, had first met my mother. 
 
XXIX 
 
 (the players) 
 
 Si' Myra was a Congo. She believed the 
 Obi priests could boil water without fire, and 
 in many ways cause frightful woes. To her 
 own myths she had added Danish ones. "De 
 wehr-wolf, yes, me chile ! Dem nights w'en 
 de moon shine bright and de dogs a-barkin', 
 you see twelb dogs a-talkin' togedder in a 
 ring, and one in de middle. Dah dem wait 
 till dem yerry [hear] him; den dem take arter 
 him, me chile," etc. 
 
 Strangest, wildest practice of the slaves 
 was the hideous misuse Christian masters 
 allowed them to make of Chrismas Day and 
 week. It was then they danced the bamboula, 
 incessantly. All through the year this Satur- 
 nalia was prepared for in meetings held at 
 night by their leaders. The songs to which 
 they danced were made of white society's 
 scandals reduced to satirical rhyme; and 
 to the rashest girl or man there was power 
 in the warning, "You'll get yourself sung 
 
 I go 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 191 
 
 about at Christmas." Yearly a king, queen, 
 and retinue were elected. The dresses of 
 court and all were a mixture of splendor and 
 tawdriness that exhausted the savings and 
 pilferings of a twelvemonth. Good-natured 
 "missies" often helped make these outfits. 
 They were of velvet, silk, satin, cotton lace, 
 false flowers, the brilliant seeds of the licorice 
 and coquelicot, tinsel, beads, and pinch- 
 beck. Sometimes mistresses even lent — firmly 
 sewed fast — their own jewelry. 
 
 On Christmas Eve, here and there in the 
 town, ground-floor rooms were hired and 
 decorated with palm branches; or palm 
 booths were built, decked with oranges and 
 boughs of cinnamon berries, lighted with 
 candles and lanterns and furnished with seats 
 for the king, queen, and musicians, and with 
 buckets of rum punch. Then the "bulrush 
 man" went his round. Covered with capes 
 and flounces of rushes and crowned with a 
 high waving fringe of them, he rattled pebbles 
 in calabashes, danced to their clatter, pro- 
 claimed the feast, and begged such of us white 
 children as his dress did not terrify, for stivers 
 from our holiday savings. 
 
192 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 Soon the dancers began to gather in the 
 booths; women in gorgeous trailing gowns, 
 the men bearing showy batons and clad in gay 
 shirts or satin jackets, and with a mongrel 
 infant rabble at their heels. When the goom- 
 bay — a flour-barrel drum — sounded, the town 
 knew the bamboula had begun. On two con- 
 fronting lines, the men in one, the women in 
 the other, a leading couple improvised a song 
 and all took up the refrain. The goombay 
 beat time, and the dancers rattled or tinkled 
 the woody seed-cases of the sand-box tree 
 set on long handles and with each of their 
 lobes painted a separate vivid color; rattles 
 of basketwork; and calabashes filled with 
 pebbles and shells. All instruments were 
 gay with floating ribbons. So the lines ap- 
 proached each other by two steps, receded, ad- 
 vanced, and receded, always in wild cadence 
 to the signals of voice and instrument; then 
 bowed so low that they touched — twice — 
 thrice; then pirouetted and resumed the 
 first movement, and now and then, with two 
 or three turns or bows, clashed their rattles 
 together in time. As night darkened, the 
 rude lights flared yellow and red upon the 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 193 
 
 dusky forms bedizened with beads, bangles, 
 and grotesquer trumpery. Faces, necks, arms 
 reeked and shone in the heat, ribbons 
 streamed, gross odors arose, the goombay 
 dominated all, and children of the master 
 race — for even I was permitted to witness 
 these orgies — ^without comprehending, stood 
 aghast. Close outside, the matchless night 
 lay on land and sea; a relieved sense caught 
 ethereal perfumes and was soothed by the 
 exquisite refinement into whose space and 
 silence the faint deep voice of the savage 
 drum sobbed one grief and one prayer alike 
 for slave and master. 
 
 The revel always ended with New Year's 
 Day, The next morning broke silently, and 
 with the rising of the sun the plantation bell 
 or the conch called the bondman and bond- 
 woman into the cane-fields. Then, alike in 
 broadest noon or deepest night, a spectral 
 fear hovered wherever the master sat among 
 his loved ones or rode from place to place. 
 Not often did the hand of oppression fall 
 upon any slave with illegal violence, or he 
 or she turn to slaughter or poison the op- 
 pressor; but the slaves were in thousands, 
 
194 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 the masters were but hundreds, the laws were 
 cruel; the whipping-post stood among the 
 town's best houses of commerce, justice, and 
 worship, with the thumbscrews hard by. 
 As to armed defense, the well-drilled and 
 finely caparisoned volunteer "troopers" were 
 but a handful, the Danish garrison a mere 
 squad; the governor was mild and aged, and 
 the two towns were the width of the island 
 apart. 
 
XXX 
 
 (the rising curtain) 
 
 In that year, 1848, this unrest was much 
 increased. King Christian had lately pro- 
 claimed a gradual emancipation of all slaves 
 in his West Indian colonies. A squad of sol- 
 diers had marched through the streets, halt- 
 ing at corners and beating a drum — "beating 
 the protocol," as it was termed — and reading 
 the royal edict. After twelve years all slaves 
 were to go free; their owners were to be paid 
 for them; • and meantime every infant of a 
 slave was to be free at birth. 
 
 I suppose no one knows better than the 
 practical statesman how disastrous measures 
 are apt to be when designed for the gradual 
 righting of a public evil. They rarely satisfy 
 any class concerned. In this case the aged 
 slaves bemoaned a promised land they might 
 never live to enter; younger ones dreaded 
 the superior liberty of free-born children; 
 
 19s 
 
196 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 and the planters doubted they would be paid, 
 even if emancipation did not bring fire, rap- 
 ine, and death. 
 
 One day, along with all "West-En'," as 
 the negroes called Fredericksted — Christian- 
 sted was "Bass-En' " — I saw two British East- 
 Indiamen sail into the harbor. Such ships 
 never touched at Fredericksted; what could 
 the Britons want ? 
 
 "Water," they said, "and rest"; but they 
 stayed and stayed ! their officers roaming the 
 island, asking many questions, answering 
 few. What they signified at last I cannot 
 say, except that they became our refuge from 
 the black uprising that was near at hand. 
 Likely enough that was their only errand. 
 
 Sunday, the 2d of July, was still and fair. 
 To me the Sabbath was always a happy 
 day. High-stepping horses prancing up to 
 the church-gates brought friends from the 
 plantations. The organ pealed, the choir 
 chanted, the rector read, and read well; the 
 mural tablets told the virtues of the church- 
 yard sleepers, and out through the windows 
 I could gaze on the clouds and the hills. After 
 church came the Sunday-school. Its house 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 197 
 
 was on a breezy height where the wind swept 
 through the room unceasingly, giving wings 
 to the children's voices as we sang, "Now 
 be the gospel banner." 
 
 But this Sunday promised unusual pleasure. 
 I was to go with Aunt Marion to dine soon 
 after midday with a Danish family, in real 
 Danish West Indian fashion, and among the 
 guests were to be some officers of the East- 
 Indiamen. I carried with me one fear — that 
 we should have pigeon-pea soup. Whoever 
 ate pigeon-pea soup. Si' Myra said, would 
 never want to leave the island, and I longed 
 for those ships to go. But in due time we 
 were asked: 
 
 "Which soup will you have — guava-berry 
 or pigeon-pea ?" 
 
 Hoping to be imitated I chose the guava- 
 berry; but without any immediately visible 
 effect one officer took one and another the 
 other. After soup came an elegant king- 
 fish, and by and by the famous callalou and 
 other delicate and curious viands. For 
 dessert appeared "red groat"; sago jelly, 
 that is, flavored with guavas, crimsoned with 
 the juice of the prickly-pear and floating in 
 
198 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 milk; also other floating islands of guava 
 jelly beaten with eggs. Pale-green grana- 
 dillas crowned the feast. These were eaten 
 with sugar and wine, and before each draft 
 the men lifted their glasses high to right and 
 left and cried: "Skoal! Skoal!" As the 
 company finally rose, our host and hostess 
 shook hands with all, these again saluting 
 each other, each two saying: " Vel be komme" 
 — "May this feast do you good." 
 
 There was strange contrast in store for 
 us. Late in the afternoon we started home. 
 On the way two friends, a lady and her 
 daughter, persuaded us to turn and take a 
 walk on the north-side road, at the town's 
 western border. It drew us southward toward 
 "the lagoon," near to where this water formed 
 a kind of moat behind the fort, and was 
 spanned by a slight wooden bridge. While we 
 went the sun slowly sank through a golden 
 light toward the purple sea, among temples, 
 towers, and altars of cloud. 
 
 As we neared this bridge two black men 
 crossing it from opposite ways stopped and 
 spoke low: 
 
 "Yes, me yerry it; dem say sich t'ing' as 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 199 
 
 nebber bin known befo' goin' be done in West- 
 En' town to-night." 
 
 "Well, you look sharp, me frien' " 
 
 Seeing us, they parted abruptly, one 
 troubled, the other pleased and brisk. Our 
 friends drew back: "What does he mean, 
 mother?" 
 
 "Oh, some meeting to make Christmas 
 songs, I suppose." 
 
 "I think not," said Aunt Marion. "Let's 
 go back; my mother's alone." 
 
 Just then Gilbert, young son of an intimate 
 neighbor, appeared, saying to the four of 
 us: "I've come to find you and see you home. 
 The thing's on us. The slaves rise to-night. 
 Some free negroes have betrayed them. At 
 eight o'clock they, the slaves, are to attack 
 the town." 
 
 Our home was reached first. Grandmamma 
 heard the news calmly. "We're in God's 
 hands," she said. "Gilbert, wUI you stop 
 at Mr. Kenyon's" [another neighbor] "and 
 send Anna and Marcia home.?" 
 
 Mr. Kenyon came bringing them and 
 begging that we all go and pass the night 
 with him. But grandmamma thought we had 
 
200 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 better stay home, and he went away to pro- 
 pose to the neighborhood that all the women 
 and children be put into the fort, that the 
 men might be the freer to defend them. 
 
 "Marion," said grandmamma, "let us have 
 supper and prayers." 
 
 The meal was scarcely touched. Aunt 
 Marcia put Bible and prayer-book by the 
 lamp and barred all the front shutters. When 
 grandmamma had read we knelt, but the 
 prayer was scarcely finished when Aunt 
 Marcia was up, crying: "The signal! Hear 
 the signal !" 
 
 Out in the still night a high mournful note 
 on a bamboo pipe was answered by a conch, 
 and presently the alarm was ringing from 
 point to point, from shells, pipes and horns, 
 and now and then in the solemn clangor of 
 plantation bells. It came first from the south, 
 then from the east, swept around to the north, 
 and answered from the western cliffs, spring- 
 ing from hilltop to hilltop, long, fierce, ex- 
 ultant. We stood listening and, I fear, pale. 
 But by and by grandmamma took her easy 
 chair. 
 
 "I will spend the night here," she said. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 201 
 
 Aunt Anna took a rocking-chair beside 
 her. Aunt Marcia chose the sofa. Aunt 
 Marion spread a pallet for me, lay down at 
 my side, and bade me not fear but sleep. 
 And I slept. 
 
XXXI 
 
 (revolt and riot) 
 
 Suddenly I was broad awake. Distant 
 but approaching, I heard horses' feet. They 
 came from the direction of the fort. Aunt 
 Marcia was unbarring the shutters and fas- 
 tening the inner jalousies so as to look out 
 unseen. 
 
 "It's nearly one o'clock," some one said, 
 and I got up, wondering how the world looked 
 at such an hour. All hearkened to the near- 
 ing sound. 
 
 "Ah!" Aunt Marcia gladly cried, "the 
 troopers ! " 
 
 There were only some fifty of them. 
 Slowly, in a fitful moonlight, they dimly 
 came, hoofs ringing on the narrow macadam, 
 swords clanking, and dark plumes nodding 
 over set faces, while the distant war-signal 
 from shell, reed, and horn called before, 
 around, and after them. 
 
 Still later came a knock at the door, and 
 Mr. Kenyon was warily readmitted. He ex- 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 203 
 
 plained the passing of the troopers. They 
 had hurried about the country for hours, 
 assembling their families at points easy to 
 defend and then had come to the fort for 
 ammunition and orders; but the captain 
 of the fort, refusing to admit them without 
 the governor's order, urged them to go to 
 their homes. 
 
 "But," Mr. Kenyon had interposed, "a 
 courier can reach the governor in an hour 
 and a half." 
 
 "One will be sent as soon as it is light," 
 was the best answer that could be got. 
 
 Our friend, much excited, [went on to tell 
 us that the town militia were without am- 
 munition also. He believed the fort's officers 
 were conniving with the revolt. Presently 
 he left us, saying he had met one of our freed 
 servants, Jack, who would come soon to pro- 
 tect us. Shortly after daybreak Jack did 
 appear and mounted guard at the front gate. 
 "Go sleep, ole mis's. Miss Mary Ann" 
 [Marion], "you-all go sleep. Chaw ! wha' foo 
 all you set up all night ? Si' Myra, you go 
 draw watah foo bile coffee." 
 
 The dreadful signals had ceased at last. 
 
204 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 and all lay down to rest; but I remained 
 awake and saw through the great seaward 
 windows the wonderful dawn of the tropics 
 flush over sky and ocean. But presently its 
 heavenly silence was broken by the gallop 
 of a single horse, and a Danish orderly, 
 heavily armed, passed the street-side win- 
 dows, off at last for Christiansted. 
 
 Soon the conchs and horns began again. 
 With them was blent now the tramp of many 
 feet and the harsh voices of swarming insur- 
 gents. Their long silence was explained; 
 they had been sharpening their weapons. 
 
 Their first act of violence was to break 
 open a sugar storehouse. They mixed a barrel 
 of sugar with one of rum, killed a hog, poured 
 in his blood, added gunpowder, and drank 
 the compound — to make them brave. Then 
 with barrels of rum and sugar they changed 
 a whole cistern of water into punch, stirring 
 it with their sharpened hoes, dipping it out 
 with huge sugar-boiler ladles, and drinking 
 themselves half blind. 
 
 Jack dashed in from the gate: "Oh, Miss 
 Marcia, go look ! dem a-comin' ! Gin'ral 
 Buddoe at dem head on he w'ite boss." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 205 
 
 We ran to the jalousies. In the street, 
 coming southward toward the fort, were full 
 two thousand blacks. They walked and ran, 
 the women with their skirts tied up in fight- 
 ing trim, and all armed with hatchets, hoes, 
 cutlasses, and sugar-cane bills. The bills 
 were fitted on stout pole handles, and all 
 their weapons had been ground and polished 
 until they glittered horridly in their black 
 hands and above the gaudy Madras turbans 
 or bare woolly heads and bloodshot eyes. 
 
 "Dem goin' to de fote to ax foo freedom," 
 Jack cried. 
 
 At their head rode "Gin'ral Buddoe," 
 large, powerful, black, in a cocked hat with 
 a long white plume. A rusty sword rattled 
 at his horse's flank. As he came opposite 
 my window I saw a white man, alone, step 
 out from the house across the way and si- 
 lently lift his arms to the multitude to halt. 
 
 They halted. It was the Roman Catholic 
 priest. For a moment they gave attention, 
 then howled, brandished their weapons, and 
 pressed on. Aunt Marcia dropped to her 
 knees and in tears began to pray aloud; but 
 we cried to her that Rachel, a slave woman, 
 
2o6 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 was coming, who must not see our alarm. 
 Indeed, both Rachel and Tom had already 
 entered. 
 
 "La ! Miss Mary Ann, wha' fur you cry- 
 in' ? Who's goin' tech you ?" Rachel held 
 by its four corners a Madras kerchief full of 
 sugar. "Da what we done come fur, to tell 
 Miss Paula" [grandmamma] "not be fright- 
 ened." 
 
 Tom was off again while grandmamma said : 
 "Rachel, you've been stealing." 
 
 "Well, Miss Paula! ain't I gwine hab my 
 sheah w'en dem knock de head' out dem hog- 
 sitt' an' tramp de sugah under dah feet an' 
 mix a whole cisron o' punch?" 
 
 Rachel told the events of the night. But 
 as she talked a roar without rose higher and 
 higher, and I, running with Jack to the gate, 
 beheld two smaller mobs coming round a 
 near corner. The foremost was dragging 
 along the ground by ropes a huge object, 
 howling, striking, and hacking at it. The 
 other was doing the same to something smaller 
 tied to a stick of wood, and the air was full 
 of their cries: 
 
 "To de sea! Frow it in de sea! You'll 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 207 
 
 nebber hole obbe" [us] "no mo' ! You'll be 
 drownded in de sea-watah!" Their victims 
 were the whipping-post and the thumbscrews. 
 
 Tom returned to say: "Dem done to'e 
 up de cote-house and de jedge's house, an' 
 now dem goin' Bay Street foo tear up de 
 sto'es." 
 
 Gilbert came up from the fort telling what 
 he had seen. The blacks had tried to scale 
 the ramparts, on one another's shoulders, 
 howling for freedom and defying the garrison 
 to fire. But the commander had not dared 
 without orders from the governor, and his 
 courier had not returned. A leading mer- 
 chant standing on the fort wall was less dis- 
 creet: "Take the responsibility ! Fire! Ev- 
 ery white man on the island will sustain you, 
 and you'll end the whole thing here!" 
 
 Upon that word off again up-town had 
 gone the whole black swarm, had sacked 
 the bold merchant's store, and seemed now, 
 by the noises they made, to be sacking others. 
 "I come," Gilbert said, "with an offer of 
 the ship-captains to take the white people 
 aboard the ships." 
 
 As he turned away groups of negroes 
 
2o8 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 began to dash by laden with all sorts of 
 "prog" [booty] from the wrecked stores. 
 Grandmamma had lain down, my aunts were 
 trying to make up some sort of midday meal, 
 and I was standing alone behind the jalousies, 
 when a ferocious-looking negro rattled them 
 with his bill. 
 
 "Lidde gal, gi' me some watah." 
 
 "Wait a minute," I said, and left the room. 
 If I hid he might burst in and murder us. 
 So I brought a bowl of water. 
 
 "Tankee, lidde missee," he said, returned 
 the bowl, and went away. Tom was there- 
 upon set to guard the gate, which he did 
 poorly. Another negro slipped in and sat 
 down on our steps. He looked around the 
 pretty enclosure, gave a tired grunt, and 
 said: 
 
 "Please, missee, lemme res'; I done bruk 
 up." He held in his hands the works of a 
 clock, fell to studying them, and became 
 wholly absorbed. 
 
 Rachel asked him who had broken it. He 
 replied : 
 
 "Obbe" [our] "Ca'lina. She no like de way 
 it talkin'. She say: 'Wat mek you say, night 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 209 
 
 und day, night und day?' Un' she tuk her 
 bill un' bruk it up. Un' Georgina chop' up 
 de pianneh, 'caze it wouldn' talk foo her like 
 it talk foo buckra. Da shame!" 
 
 But now came yells and cheers in the 
 street, the rush and trample of hundreds, 
 and the cry: 
 
 "De gub'nor! de gub'nor a-comin' !" 
 
XXXII 
 
 (freedom and conflagration) 
 
 We ran to the windows. In an open car- 
 riage, with two official attendants, surrounded 
 by a mounted guard and clad in the uni- 
 form of a Danish general, the aged governor 
 came. On his breast were the insignia of 
 the order of Dannebrog. His cavalcade could 
 hardly make its way, and when one of the 
 crowd made bold to seize the horses' reins 
 the equipage, just before our house, stopped. 
 The governor sat still, very pale. 
 
 Suddenly he rose, uncovered, and with 
 graceful dignity bowed. Then he unfolded 
 a paper with large seals attached, and in a 
 trembling but clear voice began to read. In 
 the name and by the authority of his Majesty 
 Christian VIII, King of Denmark, he pro- 
 claimed freedom to every slave in the Danish 
 West Indies. 
 
 Our cries of dismay were drowned in the 
 huzzas of the black mob : " Free ! Free ! 
 God bless de gub'nor ! Obbe is free !" 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 211 
 
 The retinue moved again; but the crowd, 
 ignoring the command to disperse to their 
 homes,' surged after it in transports of re- 
 joicing. At the fort the proclamation, with 
 the order to disperse, was read again. But 
 the mob, suddenly granted all its demands, 
 could not instantly return to quiet toils made 
 odious by slavery. Mad with joy and drink, 
 it broke into small companies, some content 
 to stay in town carousing, others roaming 
 out among the island estates to pillage and 
 burn. Here the governor, in failing to em- 
 ploy prompt measures of police, proved him- 
 self weak. 
 
 At evening, leaving our house in care of 
 Jack and Tom, we went to spend the night 
 at Mr. Kenyon's, where several neighbors 
 were gathered, under arms. Our way led us 
 by the ruined court-house, where for several 
 squares the ground was completely covered 
 with torn records, books, and other docu- 
 ments. 
 
 The night wore by in fitful sleep or anxious 
 vigils. Near us all was quiet; but the dis- 
 tant sky was in many places red with incen- 
 diary fires. At dawn Mr. Kenyon, Gilbert, 
 
212 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 and others ventured out, and returned with 
 sad tidings brought by courier from Chris- 
 tiansted. At the signal on Sunday night the 
 negroes had swarmed there by thousands. 
 Next day, when the governor had just de- 
 parted for our town, leaving word to do 
 nothing in his absence, they had attacked 
 the fort as they had ours. But its commander, 
 of a sturdy temper, had opened fire, killing 
 and wounding many. This had only de- 
 fended the town at the expense of the coun- 
 try, into which thousands scattered to break, 
 pillage, and burn. Yet even so no whites had 
 been killed except two or three men who had 
 opposed the blacks single-handed, although 
 the whole island, outside the two towns, was 
 at the mercy of the insurgents. 
 
 However, there was better news. A Danish 
 man-of-war was near by. A schooner was 
 gone to look her up, and another to ask aid 
 in the island of Porto Rico, only seventy miles 
 away and heavily garrisoned with Spaniards. 
 Still it was deemed wise to accept for Fred- 
 ericksted the offer from the ships and send 
 the women and children on board, so that 
 the military might be free to hold the uprising 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 213 
 
 in check until a stronger force could extin- 
 guish it. 
 
 "Tom," Mr. Kenyon said, "is to have a 
 boat at the beach to take us oflf to an Amer- 
 ican schooner. Pack no trunks. Gather 
 your lightest valuables in small bundles. Be 
 quick; if a crowd gets there before you you 
 may be refused." 
 
 We hurried home over a carpet of archives 
 and title-deeds, swallowed a sort of break- 
 fast, and began the hard task of choosing the 
 little we could take from the much we must 
 leave, in a dear home that might soon be in 
 ashes. 
 
 On the schooner we found a kind welcome, 
 amid a throng of friends and strangers, and 
 a chaos of boxes, bundles, and trunks. Chil- 
 dren were crying to go home, or viewing with 
 babbling delight the wide roadstead dotted 
 with boats still bringing the fugitives to every 
 anchored vessel. Women were calling fare- 
 wells and cautions to the men in the return- 
 ing boats, and meeting friends were telling 
 in many tongues the droll or sad distresses 
 of the hour. 
 
 A friend, with his wife and little daughter. 
 
214 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 gave us a thrilling story. Except their house- 
 keeper, a young English girl, they three were 
 the only white persons on their beautiful 
 "North End" estate when on Sunday night 
 their slaves came to them in force demand- 
 ing "freedom papers." 
 
 "Not under compulsion, never!" 
 
 "Den obbe set eb'ryt'ing on fiah ! Wen 
 yo' house bu'n up we try t'ink w'at foo do 
 wid you and de missie !" They rushed away 
 to the sugar-works, yelling: "Git bagasse foo 
 bu'n him out !" 
 
 The household loaded all the firearms in 
 the house, filled all vessels with water, and 
 piled blankets here and there to fight fire. 
 Then they made merry. The wife played 
 her piano till after midnight. Whether moved 
 by this show or not, the blacks failed to re- 
 turn, and next day the family escaped to 
 the schooner. 
 
 To grandmamma and the wife of the Amer- 
 ican consul, the oldest ladies on the vessel, 
 was given, at nightfall, the only sofa on board. 
 The rest dropped asleep on boxes and bundles 
 anywhere. For my couch the boatswain 
 lent me his locker, and for a pillow a bag of 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 215 
 
 something that felt Uke rope ends, and for 
 three successive mornings I was wakened 
 with: 
 
 "Sorry to disturb you, little miss, but I 
 must get to my locker." 
 
XXXIII 
 
 (authority, order, peace) 
 
 Three days of heat, glare, hubbub, and 
 anxious suspense dragged away, and Thurs- 
 day's gorgeous sunset brought a change. 
 The Danish frigate, bright with flags and 
 swarming with sailors, swept in, dropped 
 anchor, and wrapped herself in thunder and 
 white smoke. Soon she lowered a boat, a 
 gUttering officer took its tiller-ropes, its long 
 oars flashed, and it bore away to the fort. 
 But evening fell, a starry silence reigned, and 
 when a late moon rose we slept. 
 
 Next morning we knew that Captain Er- 
 minger, of the frigate, had assumed com- 
 mand over the whole island, declared martial 
 law, landed his marines, and begun opera- 
 tions. Soon the harbor was populous again, 
 with refugees returning home. Tom came 
 with his boat. Just as we started landward 
 a schooner came round the bluffs bringing 
 the Spaniards. At early twilight these landed 
 
 and marched with much clatter through the 
 
 216 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 217 
 
 vacant streets to the town's various points 
 of entrance, there to mount guard, the Danes 
 having gone to scatter the insurgents. 
 
 The pursuing forces, in two bodies, were 
 to move toward each other from opposite 
 ends of the island, spanning it from sea to 
 sea and meeting in the centre, thus entirely 
 breaking up the bands of aimless pillagers 
 into which the insurrection had already dis- 
 persed. This took but a few days. Buddoe 
 was almost at once trapped by the baldest 
 flatteries of two leading Danish residents 
 and, finding himself without even the honor 
 of armed capture, betrayed his confederates 
 and disappeared. 
 
 Only one small band of blacks made any 
 marked resistance. Under a certain "Moses" 
 they occupied a hill, hurling down stones 
 upon their assailants, but were soon cap- 
 tured. Many leaders of the revolt were con- 
 demned and shot, displaying in most cases 
 a total absence of fortitude. 
 
 In less than a week from the day of flight 
 to the ships quiet was restored, and a meeting 
 of planters was adopting rules and rates for 
 the employment of the freed slaves. Some 
 
2i8 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 estates resumed work at once; on others 
 the ravages of the torch had first to be re- 
 paired. Some negroes would not work, and 
 it was months before all the windmills on the 
 hills were once more whirling. The Span- 
 iards lingered long, but were finally relieved 
 by a Danish regiment. Captain Erminger 
 was commended by his home government. 
 The governor was censured and superseded. 
 The planters got no pay for their slaves. 
 
 The government may have argued that the 
 ex-master should no more be paid for his 
 slave than the ex-slave recover back pay for 
 his labor; and that, after all, a general eman- 
 cipation was only a moderate raising of wages 
 unjustly low and uniform. Both kings and 
 congresses will at times do the easy thing 
 instead of the fair one and let two wrongs 
 offset each other. Make haste, rising genera- 
 tions ! and, as you truly honor your fathers,' 
 bring to their graves the garlandry of juster 
 laws and kinder, purer days. 
 
 To different minds this true story will 
 speak, no doubt, a varying counsel. Some 
 will believe that the lovely island was saved 
 from the agonies of a Haytian revolution 
 only through iron suppression. To others it 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 219 
 
 will appear that the old governor's rashly 
 timorous edict was, after all, the true source 
 of deliverance. Certainly the question re- 
 mains, whether even the most sudden and 
 ill-timed concession of rights, if only backed 
 by energetic police action, is not a prompter, 
 surer cure for public disorder than whole 
 batteries of artillery without the concession 
 of rights. I believe the most blundering 
 effort for the prompt undoing of a grievous 
 wrong is safer than the shrewdest or strongest 
 effort for its continuance. Meanwhile, with 
 what patience doth God wait for man to learn 
 his lessons! The Holy Cross still glitters on 
 the bosom of its crystal sea, as it shone be- 
 fore the Carib danced on its snowy sands, and 
 as it will still shine when some new Colum- 
 bus, as yet unborn, brings to it the Chris- 
 tianity of a purer day than ours. 
 
 Chester shook the pages together on his 
 knee. 
 
 "Oh-h-h!" cried Mile. Corinne to Yvonne, 
 to Aline, to Mme. Castanado, "the en' ! 
 and — where is all that abbout that beautiful 
 cat what was the proprity of Dora ? Ev- 
 erything abbout that cat of Dora — scratch 
 
220 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 out I Ah, Mr. Chezter ! Yvonne and me, 
 we find that the moze am-using part — that 
 episode of the cat — that large, wonderful, 
 mazculine cat of Dora! Ah, madame" [to 
 the chair], "hardly Marie Madeleine is more 
 wonderful than that — when Jack pritend 
 to lift his li'r miztress through the surf of 
 the sea, how he flew at the throat of Jack, 
 that aztonishing mazculine cat ! Ah, M'sieu' 
 Beloiseau ! — and to scradge that!" 
 
 But Beloiseau was judicially calm. "Yes, 
 I rim-ember that portion. Scientific-ally I 
 foun' that very interezting; but, like Mr. 
 Chezter, I thing tha'z better art that the 
 tom-cat be elimin-ate." 
 
 "Well," said the chair, "w'at we want to 
 settle— shall we accep' that riv-ision of Mr. 
 Chezter, to combine it in the book — 'Clock 
 in the Sky,' 'Angel of the Lord,' 'Holy Crozz' 
 — seem' to me that combination goin' to 
 sell like hot cake'." 
 
 "Yes ! Agcept !" came promptly from 
 two or three. 
 
 "Any oppose'? There is not any oppose' 
 — Seraphine — Marcel — you'll be so good to 
 pazz those rif-reshment .?" 
 
XXXIV 
 
 "'Tis gone — to the pewblisher?" 
 
 M. De risle, about to enter his double 
 gate, had paused. In his home, overhead, 
 a clock was striking five of the tenth day 
 after that second reading in the Castanados' 
 parlor. The energetic inquiry was his. 
 
 A single step away, in the door of the iron- 
 worker's shop, Beloiseau, too quick for 
 Chester, at whose elbow he stood, replied: 
 "'Tis gone better! 'Tis gone to the editor 
 — of the greatez' magazine of the worl' !" 
 
 "Bravo! Sinze how long?" 
 
 "A week," Chester said. 
 
 "Hah! and his n>ly?" 
 
 "Hasn't come yet." 
 
 "Ah, look out, now! Look out he don' 
 steal that ! You di'n' write him : ' Wire an- 
 swer ' ? You muz' do that ! I'll pay it myseff ! " 
 
 "I thought I'd wait one more day. He 
 may have other manuscripts to consider." 
 'Mr. Chezter, that manuscrip' is not in 
 
 "1 
 
222 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 a prize contess; 'tis only with itseff ! You 
 di'n' say that ?" 
 
 "I — impHed it — as gracefully as I could." 
 
 "Ah ! graze' — the h-only way to write 
 those fellow, tha'z with the big stick ! 'Wire 
 h-answer !'" 
 
 Beloiseau lifted a finger: "I don' think 
 thad way. Firz' place, big stick or no, that 
 hiztorie is sure to be accept'." 
 
 M. De risle let out a roar that seemed to 
 tear the lining from his throat: "Aw-w-w! 
 tha'z not to compel the agceptanze; tha'z 
 to scare them from stealing it ! And to 
 privend that, there's another thing you want 
 to infer them: that you billong to the 
 Louisiana Branch of the Authors' Protegtive 
 H-union ! Ah, doubtlezz you don't— billong; 
 but all the same you can infer them !" 
 
 Beloiseau's response crowded Chester's out: 
 "Well, they are maybe important, those 
 stratagem'; but to me the chieve danger is 
 if maybe that editor shou'n' have the sag- 
 acitie — artiztic — commercial — to perceive the 
 brilliancy of thad story." 
 
 " Never mine ! in any'ow two days v/e'U 
 know. Scipion ! The day avter those 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 223 
 
 two, tha'z a pewblic holiday — everything 
 shut!" 
 
 "Yes, well?" 
 
 "If that news come, 'accepted,' all of us 
 we'll be so please* that we'll be compel to 
 egsprezz that in a joy-ride! and even if 'rif- 
 used,' we'll need that joy-ride to swallow 
 the indignation." 
 
 "Ah ! but with whose mash-in', so it won't 
 put uz in bankrup'cy?" 
 
 "With two mash-in' — the two of Thorn- 
 dyke-Smith ! He's offer' to borrow me those 
 whiles he's going to be accrozz the lake. 
 You'll drive the large, me the small." 
 
 " Hah ! Tha'z a gran' scheme. At the en', din- 
 ner at Antoine', all the men chipping in ! Cas- 
 tanado — Dubroca — me — Mr. Chezter, eh ? " 
 
 "With the greatest pleasure if I'm in- 
 cluded." 
 
 "Include' — hoh ! By the laws of nature !'* 
 M. De I'lsle went on up-stairs. 
 
 "We had a dinner like that," Beloiseau 
 said, "only withoud the joy-ride and withoud 
 those three Miles. Chapdelaine, juz' a few 
 week' biffo' we make' yo' acquaintanze. That 
 was to celebrade that great victory in France 
 
224 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 and same time the news of savety of our four 
 boys ad the front." 
 
 Chester stood astounded. "What four 
 boys .?" 
 
 "You di'n' know abboud those ? Ah, well, 
 tha'z maybe biccause we don' speak of 
 them biffo' those ladies Chapdelaine. An' 
 still tha'z droll you di'n' know that, but tha'z 
 maybe biccause each one he's think another 
 he's tol' you, and biccause tha'z not a prettie 
 cheerful subjec', eh .? Yes, they are two son' 
 of Dubroca and Castanado, soldier', and 
 two of De risle and me, aviateur'." 
 
 "And up to a few weeks ago they were all 
 well?" 
 
 "Ah, not well— one wounded, one h'arm 
 broke, one trench-fiwer; but all safe, laz' 
 account." 
 
 "Tell me more about them, Beloiseau. 
 You know I don't easily ask personal ques- 
 tions. Tell me all I'm welcome to know, 
 will you .?" 
 
 "I want to do that — to tell you all; but" — 
 M. Ducatel, next neighbor above, was ap- 
 proaching — "better another time — ah, Rene, 
 tha'z a pretty warm evening, eh .?" 
 
XXXV 
 
 For two days more the vast machinery of 
 the United States mail swung back and forth 
 across the continent and the oceans beyond, 
 and in unnumbered cities and towns the letter- 
 carriers came and went; but nothing they 
 brought into Bienville or Royal Street bore 
 tidings from that execrable editor in New 
 York who in salaried ease sat "holding up" 
 the manuscript once the impressionable 
 Dora's, now the gentle Aline's. The holiday — 
 "everything shut up" — had arrived. No 
 carrier was abroad. Neither reason given 
 for the joy-ride held good. Yet the project 
 was well on foot. The smaller car was at 
 the De ITsles' lovely gates, with monsieur 
 in the chauffeur's seat, Mme. Alexandre at 
 his side, and Dubroca close behind her. The 
 larger machine stood at the opposite curb, 
 with Beloiseau for driver, and Mme. Du- 
 broca — a very small, trim, well-coiffed woman 
 with a dainty lorgnette — in the first seat 
 
 22S 
 
226 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 behind him. Castanado waited in the street 
 door at the foot of his stair, down which Mme. 
 Castanado was coming the only way she 
 could come. 
 
 Her crossing of the sidewalk and her ele- 
 vation first to the running-board and then 
 to a seat beside Mme. Dubroca took time 
 and the strength of both men, yet was 
 achieved with a dignity hardly appreciated 
 by the street children, who covered their 
 mouths, averted their faces, and cheered as 
 the two cars, the smaller leading, moved 
 off and turned from Royal Street into Conti 
 on their way to pick up the three Chapde- 
 laines. 
 
 For nearly two hundred years — ever since 
 the city had had a post-office — the post-office 
 had been not too superior to remain in the 
 vieux carre. Now, like so many old Creole 
 homes themselves, it was "away up" in the 
 American quarter — or "nine-tenth' " — at 
 Lafayette Square. On holidays any one 
 anxious enough for his mail to go "away up 
 yondah" between nine and ten a. m., could 
 have it for the asking. And such a one was 
 Chester. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 227 
 
 He had his reward. Twice and again he 
 read the magazine's name on the envelope 
 as he bore it to the Camp Street front of the 
 building, but would not open the missive. 
 That should be her privilege and honor. He 
 lifted his eyes from it and behold, here came 
 the two cars ! But where was she ? Cer- 
 tainly not in the front one. There he made 
 out, in pairs, M. De ITsle and Mme. Alex- 
 andre, Mile. Yvonne and M. Dubroca, M. 
 Castanado, and Mme. De ITsle. Then in 
 the rear car his alarmed eye picked out 
 Beloiseau and Mile. Corinne, with Cupid 
 between them; Mmes. Dubroca and Cas- 
 tanado, especially the latter; and then, oh, 
 then ! Behind the smaller woman a vacant 
 seat and behind the vaster one Aline Chap- 
 delaine. 
 
 "You've heard ?" cried M. De ITsle, slow- 
 ing to the curb. Chester fluttered his prize. 
 "Click, clap!" — he was in without the 
 stopping of a wheel and had passed the letter 
 to Aline. 
 
 "Accepted?" asked several, while both 
 cars resumed their speed up-town. 
 
 "We'll open it in Audubon Park," she 
 
228 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 said to Chester, and Mme. Castanado and 
 Dubroca passed the word forward to Beloi- 
 seau and Mile. Corinne. These soon got it 
 to Castanado and Mme. De I'lsle. 
 
 "Not to be open' till Audubon Park," 
 sped the word still forward till Mile. Yvonne 
 and Dubroca had passed it to Mme. Alex- 
 andre and M. De I'lsIe. 
 
 "Ahah!" he said, as he turned Lee Circle 
 and went spinning up St. Charles Avenue. 
 "Not in the pewblic street, but in Audubon 
 Park, and to the singing of bird' !" 
 
XXXVI 
 
 Out near the riverside end of the park 
 the two cars stopped abreast under a vast 
 live-oak, and Aline, rising, opened the letter 
 and read aloud: 
 
 My Dear Mr. Chester: 
 
 Your manuscript, "The Holy Cross," accompanied 
 by your letter of the — inst., is received and will have 
 our early attention. 
 
 Very respectfully, 
 
 The Editor. 
 
 All Other outcries ceased half-uttered when 
 the Chapdelaine sisters clapped hands for 
 joy, crying: 
 
 "Agcepted ! Agcepted ! Ah, Aline ! by 
 that kindnezz and sag-acitie of Mr. Chezter — 
 and all the rez' of our Royal Street frien' — 
 you are biccome the diz-ting-uish' and lucra- 
 tive authorezz. Mile. Chapdelaine!" 
 
 M. De risle's wrath was too hot for his 
 tongue, but Scipion stood waiting to speak, 
 and Mme. Castanado beckoned attention 
 
 and spoke his name. 
 
 229 
 
230 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Messieurs et mesdames," he said, "that 
 manuscrip' is no mo' agcept' than rij-ect'. 
 That stadement, tha'z only to rilease those 
 insuranze companie' and " 
 
 "And to stop us from telegraphing!" M. 
 De ITsle broke in, "and to make us, ad the 
 end, glad to get even a small price ! Ah, 
 mesdemoiselles, you don't know those razcal' 
 like me!" 
 
 "Oh!" cried the tender Yvonne — orig- 
 inal rescuer of Marie Madeleine from boy 
 lynchers — "you don't have charitie ! That 
 way you make yo'seff un'appie." 
 
 "Me, I cann' think," her sister persevered, 
 "that tha'z juz' for the insuranse. The manu- 
 scrip' is receive' ? Well ! 'ow can you receive 
 something if you don't agcept it ? And 'ow 
 can you agcep' that if you don' receive it ? 
 Ah-h-h!" 
 
 "No," Beloiseau rejoined, "tha'z only to 
 signify that the editorial decision — tha'z not 
 decide'." 
 
 Mile. Corinne lifted both hands to the 
 entire jury: "Oh, frien', I assure you, that 
 manuscrip' is agcept'. And tha'z the proof; 
 that both Yvonne and me we've had a pre- 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 231 
 
 sentiment of that already sinze the biggening ! 
 Ah-h-h!" 
 
 Castanado intervened: "Mademoiselle, 
 that lady yonder" — he gave his wife a cour- 
 tier's bow — "will tell you a differenze. Once 
 on a time she receive' a h-offer of marriage; 
 but 'twas not till after many days thad she 
 agcept' it." [Applause.] "But ad the en', I 
 su'pose tha'z for Mr. Chezter, our legal 
 counsel, to conclude." 
 
 Mr. Chester "thought that although re- 
 ceipt did not imply acceptance the tardiness 
 of this letter did argue a probability that the 
 manuscript had successfully passed some sort 
 of preliminary reading — or readings — and now 
 awaited only the verdict of the editor-in- 
 chief." 
 
 "Or," ventured Mme. Alexandre, "of that 
 editorial board all together." 
 
 M. De risle shook his head and then a 
 stiff finger: "I tell you! They are sicretly 
 inquiring Thorndyke-Smith — lit'ry magnet — 
 to fine out if we are truz'-worthy ! And tha'z 
 the miztake we did — not sen'ing the photo- 
 graph of Mile. Aline ad the biggening. But 
 tha'z not yet too late; we can wire them from 
 
232 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 firz' drug-store, 'Suspen' judgment! Por- 
 trait of authorezz coming!' " 
 
 All eyes, even Cupid's, turned to her. She 
 was shaking her head. "No," she responded, 
 with a smile as lovely, to Chester's fancy, as 
 it was final; as final, to the two aunts' con- 
 viction, as it was lovely. 
 
 "No photograph would be convincing," 
 Chester began to plead, but stopped for the 
 aunts. 
 
 "Oh, impossible!" they cried. "That 
 wou'n' be de-corouz !" 
 
 "Ladies an' gentlemen," said M. Cas- 
 tanado, "we are on a joy-ride." 
 
 "An' we 'ave reason!" his wife exclaimed. 
 
 "Biccause hope!" Mme. Alexandre put in. 
 
 "Yes!" said Dubroca. "That manuscrip' 
 is not allone receive'; sinze more than a 
 week 'tis rittain, whiles they dillib-rate; and 
 the chateau what dillib-rate' — you know, 
 eh .? M'sieu' De I'lsle, I move you we go 
 h-on." 
 
 They went, the De I'lsle car and then 
 Scipion's, back to St. Charles Avenue, and 
 turned again up-town. On the rearmost 
 seat 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 233 
 
 "Why so silent?" Aline inquired of 
 Chester. 
 
 "Because so content," he said, "except 
 when I think of the book." 
 
 "The half-book?" 
 
 "Exactly. We've only half enough stories 
 yet." 
 
 "Though with the vieux carre full of 
 them?" 
 
 "Oh! mostly so raw, so bald, so thin!" 
 
 "Ah, I knew you would see that. As 
 though human life and character were — 
 what would say ?" 
 
 "I'd say crustacean; their anatomy all on 
 the surface. Such stories are not life, life 
 in the round; they're only paper silhouettes 
 — of the real life's poorest facts and mo- 
 ments. I state the thought poorly but you 
 get it, don't you ?" 
 
 The girl sparkled, not so much for the 
 thought as for their fellowship in it. "Once 
 I heard mamma say to my aunts: 'So many 
 of these vieux carre stories are but pretty 
 pebbles — a quadroon and a duel, a quadroon 
 and a duel — always the same two peas in the 
 baby's rattle.' " 
 
234 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "There are better stories for a little deeper 
 search," Chester said. 
 
 "Ah, she said that too! 'And not,' she 
 said, 'because the vieux carre is unlike, but 
 so like the rest of the world.' " 
 
 Thus they spoke, happily — even a bit reck- 
 lessly — conscious that they were themselves 
 a beautiful story without the flash of a sword 
 or the cloud of a misdeed in range of their 
 sight, and not because the vieux carre was 
 unlike, but so like the rest of the world. 
 
 "Where are we going.?" Aline inquired, 
 and tried to look forward around Mme. Cas- 
 tanado. 
 
 "You and I," Chester said, "are going 
 back to your father's story. You said, the 
 other day, his life was quiet, richer within 
 than without." 
 
 "Yes. Ah, yes; so that while of the in- 
 side I cannot tell half, of the outside there 
 is almost nothing to tell." 
 
 "All the same, tell it. Were not he and 
 these Royal Street men boys together?" 
 
 "Yes, though with M. De I'lsle the oldest, 
 and though papa was away from them many 
 years, over there in France. Yes, they were 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 235 
 
 all his friends, as their fathers had been of 
 grandpere. And they'll all tell you the same 
 thing; that he was their hero, while at the 
 same time that his story is destitute of the 
 theatrical. Just he himself, he and mamma 
 — they are the whole story." 
 
 "A sea without a wave?" 
 
 "Ah, no; yet without a storm. And, Mr. 
 Chester, I think a sea without a storm can 
 be just as deep as with, h'm?" 
 
XXXVII 
 
 "Well, they married, your father and 
 mother, over there where her people are fight- 
 ing the Germans right now, and came and 
 Hved in Bourbon Street with your aunts, 
 eh?" 
 
 "Yes, or rather my aunts with them, they 
 were of so much more strong natures than 
 my aunts — more strong and large while just 
 as sweet, and that's saying much, you 
 know." 
 
 "I see it is." 
 
 "Mr. Chester, what you see, I think, is 
 that my aunts are perhaps the two most — 
 well — unworldly women you ever knew." 
 
 "True. In that quality they're childlike." 
 
 "Yes, and because they are so childlike 
 in — above all — the freedom of their speech, 
 what I want to say of them, just this one 
 time, is the more to their honor: that in my 
 whole life I've never heard them speak one 
 
 word against anybody." 
 
 236 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 237 
 
 "Not even Cupid?" 
 
 "Ah-h-h! that's a cruel joke, and false! 
 That true Cupid, he's an assassin; while 
 that child. He's faultless?" 
 
 The speaker really said "faultlezz," and 
 it was a joy to Chester to hear her at last 
 fall unwittingly into a Creole accent. "Well, 
 anyhow," he led on, "the four lived together; 
 and if I guess right your mother became, to 
 all this joy-ride company, as much their 
 heroine as your father was their hero." 
 
 "'Tis true !" 
 
 "But your father's coming back from 
 France — it couldn't save the business ? " 
 
 "Alas, no ! Even together, he and mamma 
 • — and you know what a strong businezz 
 partner a French wife can be — they could 
 not save it. Both of them were, I think, 
 more artist than merchant, and when all 
 that kind of businezz began to be divorce' 
 from art and married to machinery" — the 
 narrator made a sad gesture. 
 
 " Kultur against culture, was it ? and your 
 father not the sort to change masters." 
 
 "True again. But tha'z not all; hardly 
 was it half. One thing beside was the miz- 
 
238 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 conduct of an agent, the man who lately" — 
 a silent smile. 
 
 "What? — sold your aunts that manu- 
 script ?" 
 
 "Yes. But he didn' count the most. Oh, 
 the whole businezz, except papa's, became, 
 as we say — give me the word !" 
 
 "Americanized ?" 
 
 "No, papa he always refused to call it that. 
 Mr. Chester, he used to say that those two 
 marvellouz blessings, machinery, democracy, 
 they are in one thing too much alike; they 
 are, at first — say it, you." 
 
 "Vulgarizing.?" 
 
 "Yes. I suppose that has to be — at the 
 first, h'm ? And with the buying world every 
 day more and more in love with machine 
 work — and seeming itself to become machine 
 work, while at the same time Americanized, 
 papa was like a river town" — another ges- 
 ture — "left by the river!" 
 
 "Yet he never went into bankruptcy? 
 You can point with pride to that, made- 
 moiselle." 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Chester, pride ! Once I pointed, 
 and papa — 'My daughter, there are many 
 ways to go bankrupt worse than in money, 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 239 
 
 and to have gone bankrupt in none of them — ' 
 there he stopped; he was too noble for pride. 
 No, the businezz, juz' year after year it 
 starved to death. In the early days grand- 
 ■pere had two big stores, back to back; whole- 
 sale, Chartres Street; retail. Royal, where 
 now all that is left of it is the shop of Mme. 
 Alexandre. Both her husband and she were 
 with papa in the retail store, until it diminish' 
 that he couldn' keep them, and — in the time 
 of President Roosevelt — some New York men 
 they bought him out. Because a new head 
 of the custom-house, old Creole friend of 
 papa, without solicitation except maybe of M. 
 Beloiseau and those, appointed him super- 
 intendent of customs warehouses, you know ? 
 where they keep all kind of imported goods, 
 so they needn't pay the tariff till they take 
 them out to sell them in the store \ h'm V 
 
 "Yes. And he kept that place — how 
 long?" 
 
 "Always, till he passed, he and mamma; 
 mamma first, he two years avter. Ad the 
 last he said to me — we chanced to be talking 
 in Englizh— 'I've lived the quiet life. If I 
 must go I can go quietly.' 
 
 " 'And still,' I said, 'if your life had been 
 
240 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 as stormy as grandpere's you'd have been 
 always for the right, and ad the last content, 
 I think.' 
 
 " 'Yes,' he said, 'I beheve I never ran away 
 from a storm, while ad the same time I never 
 ran avter one.' And then he said something 
 I wrote down the same night in the fear I 
 might sometime partly forget it." 
 
 "Have you it with you, now, here.?" 
 She showed a bit of paper, holding it low 
 for him to read as she retained it: 
 
 On the side of the right all the storms of life — all the 
 storms of the world — are for the perfection of the quiet 
 life — the active-quiet life — to build it stronger, wider, 
 finer, higher, than is possible for the stormy life to be. 
 Whether for each man or for the nations, the stormy 
 life is but the means; the active-quiet Hfe, without 
 decay of character in man or nation but with growth 
 forever — that is the end. 
 
 The pair exchanged a look. "Thank you," 
 murmured Chester, and presently added: 
 " So you were left with your two aunts. Then 
 what.?" 
 
 "I'll tell you. But" — the Creole accent 
 faded out — "we must not disappoint the De 
 risles, nor those others; we must " 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 241 
 
 "I see; we must notice where we're going 
 and give and take our share of the joy." 
 
 "We mustn't be as if reading the morning 
 paper, h'm ? I think 'tis for you they've 
 come this way instead of going on those 
 smooth shell-roads between the city and the 
 lake." 
 
 The two cars had come up through old 
 " Carrollton," where the Mississippi, sweep- 
 ing down from Nine-Mile Point, had been 
 gnawing inland for something like a century, 
 in spite of all man's engineering could pile 
 against it, and now were out on the levee 
 road and half round the bend above. 
 
 To press her policy, "See!" exclaimed 
 Aline, as a light swell of the ground brought 
 to view a dazzling sweep of the river, close 
 beyond the levee's crown and almost on a 
 level with the eye. They were in a region of 
 wide, highly kept sugar-plantations. What- 
 ever charms belong to the rural life of the 
 Louisiana Delta were at their amplest on 
 every side. Groves of live-oak, pecan, 
 magnolia, and orange about large motherly 
 dwellings of the Creole colonial type moved 
 Aline to turn the conversation upon country 
 
242 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 life in Chester's State, and constrain him to 
 tell of his own past and kindred. So time 
 and the river's great windings slipped by 
 with the De I'lsles undisappointed, and early 
 in the afternoon the company lunched in 
 the two cars, under a homestead grove. Its 
 master and mistress, old friends of all but 
 Chester, came running, followed by maids 
 with gifts of milk and honey. They climbed, 
 in among the company; shared, lightly, their 
 bread and wine; heard with momentary in- 
 terest the latest news of the great war; spoke 
 English and French in alternating clauses; 
 inquired after the coterie's four young heroes 
 at the French front, but only by stealth and 
 out of Aline's hearing; and cried to Cupid, 
 "'Ello, 'Ector! comment ga va-t-il? And 'ow 
 she is, yonder at 'ome, that Marie Made- 
 leine?" 
 
 Cupid smiled to his ears, but it was the 
 absentee's two mistresses who answered for 
 her, volubly, tenderly: "We was going to 
 bring her, but juz' at the lazt she discide' 
 she di'n' want to come. You know, tha'z 
 beautiful, sometime', her capriciouznezz !" 
 
 Indoors, outdoors, the visitors spent an 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 243 
 
 hour seeing the place and hearing its his- 
 tory all the way back to early colonial days. 
 Then, in the two cars once more, with seats 
 much changed about, yet with Aline and 
 Chester still paired, though at the rear of 
 the forward car, they glided citjrward. At 
 Carrollton they turned toward the New 
 Canal, and at West End took the lake shore 
 eastward — but what matter their way ? Joy 
 was with ten of them, and bliss with two — 
 three, counting Cupid — and it was only by 
 dutiful effort that the blissful ones kept them- 
 selves aware of the world about them while 
 Aline's story ran gently on. It had run for 
 some time when a query from Chester evoked 
 the reply: 
 
 "No, 'twas easier to bear, I think, because 
 I had not more time and less work." 
 
 "What was your work, mademoiselle .? 
 what is it now ? Incidentally you keep books, 
 but mainly you do — what.?" 
 
 "Mainly — I'll tell you. Papa, you know, 
 he was, like grandpere, a true connoisseur of 
 all those things that belong to the arts of 
 beautiful living. Like grandpere he had that 
 perception by three ways — occupation, educa- 
 
244 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 tion, talent. And he had it so abboundingly 
 because he had also the art — of that beautiful 
 life, h'm?" 
 
 "The art beyond the arts," suggested the 
 listener; "their underlying philosophy." 
 
 The narrator glowed. Then, grave again, 
 she said: "Mr. Chezter, I'll tell you some- 
 thing. To you 'twill seem very small, but 
 to me 'tis large. It muz' have been because 
 of both together, those arts and that art, 
 that, although papa he was always of a strong 
 enthusiasm and strong indignation, yet never 
 in my life did I hear him — egcept in play — 
 speak an exaggeration. 'Sieur Beloiseau he 
 will tell you that — while ad the same time 
 papa he never rebuke' that in anybody else — 
 egcept, of course — his daughter." 
 
 "But I ask about you, your work." 
 
 "Ah ! and I'm telling you. Mamma she 
 had the same connoisseur talent as papa, 
 and even amongs' that people where she was 
 raise', and under the shadow, as you would 
 say, of that convent so famouz for all those 
 weavings, laces, tapestries, embro'deries, she 
 was thought to be wonderful with the 
 needle." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 245 
 
 Chester interrupted elatedly: "I see what 
 you're coming to. You, yourself, were born 
 needle in hand — the embroidery-needle." 
 
 "Well, ad the least I can't rimember when 
 I learned it. 'Twas always as if I couldn' 
 live without it. But it was not the needle 
 alone, nor embro'deries alone, nor alone the 
 critical eye. Papa he had, pardly from grand- 
 pere, pardly brought from France, a sep'rate 
 librarie abbout all those arts, and I think 
 before I was five years I knew every picture 
 in those books, and before ten every page. 
 And always papa and mamma they were 
 teaching me from those books — they couldn' 
 he'p it ! I was very naughty aboud that. 
 I would bring them the books and if they 
 didn' teach me I would weep. I think I wasn' 
 ever so naughty aboud anything else. But 
 in the en', with the businezz always diclin- 
 ing, that turn' out fortunate. By and by 
 mamma she persuade' papa to let her take a 
 part in the pursuanze of the businezz. 
 But she did that all out of sight of the 
 public " 
 
 "Had you never a brother or sister?" 
 
 "Yes, long ago. We'll not speak of 
 
246 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 that. A sizter, two brothers; but — scariet- 
 fever " 
 
 The story did not pause, yet while it 
 pressed on, its hearer's musing lingered be- 
 hind. Why were the long lost ones not to 
 be spoken of? For fear of betraying some 
 blame of the childlike aunts for the scarlet- 
 fever ? The unworthy thought was put aside 
 and the hearer's attention readjusted. 
 
 "Even mamma," the girl was saying, "she 
 didn' escape that contagion, and by reason 
 of that she was compelled to let papa put me 
 in her place in the businezz; and after getting 
 well she never was the same and I rittained 
 the place till a year avter, when she pas' 
 away, and I have it yet." 
 
 "And who filled M. Alexandre's place?" 
 
 "Oh, that ? 'Tis fil' partly by Mme. Alex- 
 andre and partly by that diminishing of the 
 businezz — till the largez' part of it is ripair- 
 ing— of old laces, embro'deries, and so forth. 
 Madame's shop is the chief place in the city 
 for that. Of that we have all we can do. 
 'Tis a beautiful work. 
 
 "So tha'z all I have to tell, Mr. Chezter; 
 and I've enjoyed to tell you that so you can 
 see why we are so content and happy, my 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 247 
 
 aunts and I- -and Hector — and Marie Made- 
 leine. H'm?" 
 
 "That's all you have to tell?" 
 
 "That is all." 
 
 "But not all there is to tell, even of the 
 past, mademoiselle." 
 
 "Ah! and why not.?" 
 
 "Oh, impossible!" Chester softly laughed 
 and had almost repeated the word when the 
 girl blushed; whereupon he did the same. 
 For he seemed all at once to have spoiled the 
 whole heavenly day, until she smilingly re- 
 stored it by saying: 
 
 "Oh, yes ! One thing I was forgetting. 
 Just for the laugh I'll tell you that. You 
 know, even in a life as quiet as mine, some- 
 times many things happening together, or 
 even a few, will make you see bats instead 
 of birds, eh?" 
 
 "I know, and mistake feelings for facts. 
 I've done it often, in a moderate way." 
 
 "Yes ? Me the same. But very badly, 
 so that the sky seemed falling in, only once." 
 
 Chester thought that if the two aunts, 
 just then telling the biography of their dolls, 
 were his, his sky would have fallen in at least 
 weekly. "Tell me of that once," he said. 
 
248 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 and, knowing not why, called to mind those 
 four soldiers in France, to her, for some 
 reason, unmentionable. 
 
 "Well, first I'll say that the archbishop he 
 had been the true friend of papa, but now 
 this time, this 'once' when my sky seemed 
 falling, both mamma and papa they were 
 already gone. I don't need to tell you what 
 the trouble was about, because it never 
 happened; it only threatened to happen. 
 So when I saw there was only me to prevent 
 it and to " 
 
 "To hold the sky up .?" 
 
 "Yes, seeing that, it seemed to me the 
 best friend to go to was the archbishop. 
 
 " 'Well, my old and dear friend's daughter,' 
 he said, 'what is it ?' 
 
 " ' Most reverend father in God, 'tis my 
 wish to become a nun.' 
 
 "'My child, that is a beautiful senti- 
 ment.' 
 
 "'But 'tis more; even more than my 
 wish; 'tis my resolution. I must do that. 
 'Tis as if I heard that call from heaven to 
 me. Aline Chapdelaine !' 
 
 " 'Ah, but that's not only your name. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 249 
 
 Your mamma, up yonder, she's also Aline 
 Chapdelaine.' 
 
 " 'Yes, but I know that call is to me. Ah, 
 your Grace, surely, surely, you will not for- 
 bid me ?' 
 
 " 'No, my daughter. Yet at the same time 
 that is not a thing to be done suddenly, or 
 in desperation. I'll appoint you a season for 
 reflection and prayer, and after that if your 
 resolution remains the same you shall be- 
 come a nun.' 
 
 " ' But, for the sake of others, will not that 
 season be made short .? ' 
 
 " 'For your own sake, my daughter, as 
 well as for others, I'll make it the shortest 
 possible. Let me see; I was going to say 
 forty but I'll make it only thirty-nine.' 
 
 "'Ah, your Grace, but in thirty-nine 
 days ' 
 
 "He stopped me: 'Not days, my child; 
 years.' What he said after, 'tis no matter 
 now; pretty soon I was kneeling and receiv- 
 ing his benediction." 
 
 "And the sky didn't fall .?" 
 
 "No, but — I can't explain to you — 'twas 
 that very visit prevent' it falling." 
 
XXXVIII 
 
 It was in keeping with the coterie's spir- 
 itual make-up that they should know a 
 restaurant in the vieux carre, which "that 
 pewbHc" knew not, and whose best merits 
 were not music and fresco, but serenity, 
 hospitality, and cuisine — a haven not yet 
 ** Ammericanize'. ' ' 
 
 Where it was they never told a phiHstine. 
 The elect they informed under the voice, as 
 one might betray a bird's nest. It was but 
 a step from the crumbHng Hotel St. Louis, 
 and but another or so from the spires of St. 
 Louis Cathedral. 
 
 In it, at a round table, the joy-riders had 
 passed the evening of their holiday. As the 
 cathedral clock struck nine they rose to part. 
 At the board Chester had sat next the same 
 joy-mate allowed him all day in the car. But 
 with how reduced a share of her attention ! 
 Half of his own he had had to give, at his 
 
 other elbow, to her aunt Yvonne; half of 
 
 250 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 251 
 
 Aline's had gone to Dubroca. The other 
 half into half of his was but half a half and 
 that had to be halved by a quarter coming 
 from the two nearest across the table, one 
 of whom was Mile. Corinne, whose queries 
 always required thought. 
 
 " Mr. Chezter," she said, when the purchase 
 of an evening paper had made the great over- 
 seas strife the general theme, " can you egsplain 
 me why they don' stop that war, when 'tis cal- 
 culate' to projuce so much hard feeling?" 
 
 Explaining as best he could without 
 previous research, Chester had turned again 
 to Mile. Yvonne to let her finish telling — in- 
 spire'd by an incoming course of the menu — 
 of those happy childhood days when she and 
 her sister and the unfortunate gentleman from 
 whom they had bought Aline's manuscript 
 went crayfishing in Elysian Fields street 
 canal, always taking the dolls along, "so not 
 to leave them lonesome"; how the dolls had 
 visibly enjoyed the capture of each crayfish; 
 and how she and Corinne and the dolls would 
 delight in the same sport to-day, but, alas ! 
 " that can-al was fil' op ! and tha'z another 
 thing calculate' to projuce hard feeling." 
 
252 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 Through such riddles and reminiscences 
 and his repUes thereto persistently ran 
 Chester's uneasy question to himself: Why 
 had Aline told him that story of unnamable 
 trouble which had goaded her to seek the 
 cloister ? Why if not to warn him away from 
 a sentiment which was growing in him like a 
 balloon and straining his heart-strings to hold 
 it to its proper moorings ? 
 
 Now the two cars let out their passengers 
 at the De I'lsle gates and at the door of the 
 Castanados. Madame of the latter name, 
 with her spouse heaving under one arm and 
 Chester under the other, while Mme. Alex- 
 andre pushed behind, was lifted to her parlor. 
 Returning to the street, Chester found the 
 motors gone, MM. De I'lsle and Beloiseau 
 gone with them, and only the two Dubrocas, 
 the three Chapdelaines, and Cupid awaiting 
 him. 
 
 And now, with Cupid leading, and sleep- 
 ing as he led, and with a Dubroca beside 
 each aunt, and Aline and Chester following, 
 this remnant of the company approached 
 the Conti Street corner, on the way to the 
 Chapdelaine home. At the turn 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 253 
 
 "Mademoiselle," Chester asked in a des- 
 peration too much like hers before the arch- 
 bishop, "do you notice that, as the old hymn 
 says, we are treading where the saints have 
 trod? Your saints V 
 
 "My — ah, yes, 'tis true. 'Tis here grand' - 
 
 mere 
 « 
 
 Turned that corner in her life where your 
 grandpere first saw her. Al' — Aline." 
 
 "Mr. Chester?" 
 
 "I want this corner, from the day I first 
 saw you turn it, to be all that to you and me. 
 Shall it not ?" 
 
 She said nothing. Priceless moments 
 glided by, each a dancing ghost. Just there 
 ahead in the dark was Bourbon Street, and 
 a short way down among its huddled shadows 
 were her board fence and batten gate. It 
 was senseless to have taken this chance on 
 so poor a margin of time, but what's done's 
 done ! "Oh, Aline Chapdelaine, say it shall 
 be ! Say it. Aline, say it !" 
 
 "Mr. Chester, it is impossible ! Impos- 
 sible!" 
 
 " It is not ! It's the only right thing ! It 
 shall be. Aline, it shall be!" 
 
254 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "No, Mr. Chester, 'tis impossible. You 
 must not ask me why, but 'tis impossible!" 
 
 " It isn't ! Aline, and I ask no why. I 
 see the trouble. It's your aunts. Why, I'll 
 take them with you, of course! I'll take 
 them into my care and love as you have them 
 in yours, and keep them there while they and 
 I live. I can do it, I've got the wherewithal ! 
 Things have happened to me fast since I 
 first saw you turn that corner behind us. I've 
 inherited property, and only yesterday I 
 was taken into one of the best law firms in 
 the city. I'll prove all that to you and your 
 aunts to-morrow. Aline, unspeakable trea- 
 sure, you shall not live the buried-alive life 
 in which you are trying to believe yourself 
 rightly placed and happy, my saint ! My — 
 adored — saint !" 
 
 "Yes, I must. What you ask is impos- 
 sible." 
 
XXXIX 
 
 Long after midnight Chester had not re- 
 turned to his room. He could not tolerate 
 the confinement even of the narrow streets 
 round about it. 
 
 Far out Esplanade Avenue, uncompanioned, 
 he was walking mile after mile beside a belt 
 line of trolley-cars, or more than one, while 
 at home, in Bourbon Street, Cupid slept. 
 
 But now the child awoke, startled. Four 
 small feet were on one of his arms, and Marie 
 Madeleine was purring, at the top of her 
 purr, in his ear. Drowsily he crowded her 
 away. Purring on, she slowly walked across 
 his stomach and dropped to the floor. But 
 soon she leaped up again to that sensitive 
 region and purred into his nose, not at all 
 as if to claim attention, but as though lost 
 in thought. When he pushed her aside she 
 dropped again to the floor, with such a quad- 
 ruple thump that he looked after her, and as 
 she loitered across his view with tail as straight 
 
 2SS 
 
2s6 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 up as Cleopatra's Needle, he observed just 
 beyond her a condition of affairs that ap- 
 palled him. 
 
 Cold from his small fingers and toes to 
 his ample heart, he rose, stole into the next 
 room, and stood by the bed where lay Miles. 
 Corinne and Yvonne as they had lain every 
 night since their earliest childhood. 
 
 "Ah! oh! h'nn!" Mile. Corinne sprang 
 to an elbow, nervously whispering: "What 
 is it ?" 
 
 "My back do'," he murmured, "stan'in' 
 opem." 
 
 "Oh, little boy, no, it cannot be! I bolt' 
 it laz' evening when you was praying. You 
 know.?" 
 
 "Yass'm, but it opem now; Marie Made- 
 leine dess gone out thu it." 
 
 Mile. Yvonne sprang up dishevelled be- 
 side her dishevelled sister: " Mon dieu I where 
 is Aline.?" 
 
 Colder than ever in hands and feet, the 
 wee grandson of the intrepid Sidney re- 
 sponded: "Stay still tell I go see." 
 
 "Yes!" whispered Mile. Corinne, slipping 
 to the floor and tenderly pushing him, "go! 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 257 
 
 safest for everybody ! And if you see a burglar 
 don' threaten him /" 
 
 "No'm, I won't." 
 
 "No, but juz' run quick out the back door 
 and fron' gate and holla 'fire' ! Go !" 
 
 At the crack of the door she listened after 
 him while her sister crowded close, whis- 
 pering: "Ah, pauvre Aline, always wise ! Like 
 us, silent ! And tha'z after all the bravezt !" 
 
 In a moment Cupid was back, less frozen 
 yet trembling: "She ain' dah. Seem' like 
 'tis her leave de do' opem." 
 
 "Her clothes — they are gone ?" 
 
 "No'm, all dah 'cep' de cloak she tuck on 
 de machine. Reckon she out in de honey- 
 sucker bower whah dey sot together Sunday 
 evenin'. Reckon Marie Madeleine gone dah. 
 I'll go see." 
 
 "Ah, fearlezz boy, yes! Make quick!" 
 
 This time both women pushed, single file, 
 all the way to the garden door. There they 
 strained their sight down the path, beyond 
 him, but the bower was quite dark. " Corinne, 
 chere, ought not one of us to go, yo'seff ? — to 
 spare her feelings — from that li'l' negro .? You 
 don' think one of us ought to go, yo'seff?" 
 
2s8 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "No, to sen' him, that is to spare those 
 feel' — listen! . . . Ah, Yvonne, grace au 
 del, she's there !" 
 
 They frankly wept. "Thangg the good 
 God!" 
 
 "Yvonne, chere, you know, we are the 
 cause of this. 'Tis biccause juz' — you and 
 me. And she's gone yonder juz' for one thing 
 to be as far from her miserie as she can." 
 
 "Yes, chere, I billieve that. I think even, 
 she muz' not see us when she's riturning.' 
 No footfall sounded, but the cat came in 
 tail up, purring. Back in their chamber 
 with wet cheeks on its unlatched door, the 
 sisters listened. 
 
 "I know what we muz' do, Yvonne, as 
 soon as to-morrow. Tha'z strange I never 
 saw that biffo'!" 
 
 Cupid came and was let in. "She was 
 al-lone, of co'se?" the pair asked from the 
 edge of their bed. 
 
 "Oh, yass'm, o' co'se; in a manneh, 
 yass'm." 
 
 " Mon dieu ! li'l' boy. In a manner ? But 
 how in a manner ? Al-lone is al-lone ! What 
 she was doing ? " 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 259 
 
 "Is I got to tell dat?" 
 
 "Ah, 'tit garqon! Have you not got to 
 tell it ?" 
 
 "Well, she 'uz — she 'uz prayin'." 
 
 "And tha'z the manner she was not al- 
 lone?" 
 
 "Yas'm, dass all." The little fellow 
 dropped to his knees, clutched a knee of either 
 questioner, and wept and sobbed. 
 
XL 
 
 M. Beloiseau reached across his work- 
 bench and hung up his hammer and tongs. 
 The varied notes of two or three remote 
 steam-whistles told him that the hour, of the 
 day after the holiday, was five. 
 
 He glanced behind him, through his shop 
 to the street door, where some one paused 
 awaiting his welcome. He thought of Chester 
 but it was Landry, with an old broad book 
 under his elbow. 
 
 "Ah, come in, Ovide." 
 
 As he laid aside his apron he handed the 
 visitor the piece of metal he had been making 
 beautiful, and waved him to the drawing 
 whose lines it was taking. 
 
 "But those whistles," the bookman said, 
 "they stop the handworkman too." 
 
 "Yes. In the days of my father, the days 
 of handwork, they meant only steamboat', 
 coming, going; but now swarm' of men and 
 women, boys, and girl', coming, going, living 
 
 by machinery the machine-made life." 
 
 260 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 261 
 
 "'Sieur Beloiseau," Landry good-naturedly 
 said, "you're too just to condemn a gift of 
 the good God for the misuse men make of it." 
 
 Scipion glared and smiled at the same 
 time: "Then let that gift of the good God 
 be not so hideouzly misuse'." 
 
 But Ovide amiably persisted: "Without 
 machinery — plenty of it — I should not have 
 this book for you, nor I, nor you, ever have 
 been born." 
 
 Chester, entering, found Beloiseau looking 
 eagerly into the volume. "All the same, 
 Landry," the newcomer said, "you're no 
 more a machine product than Mr. Beloiseau 
 himself." 
 
 The bookman smiled his thanks while he 
 followed the craftsman's scrutiny of the 
 pages. "'Tis what you want ?" he asked, and 
 Chester saw that it was full of designs of 
 ironwork, French and Spanish. 
 
 Scipion beamed: "Ah, you've foun' me 
 that at the lazt, and just when I'm wanting 
 it furiouzly." 
 
 "Mr. Beloiseau," said Chester, "has a 
 beautiful commission from the new Pan- 
 American Steamship Company." 
 
262 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Thanks to Mr. Chezter," said Beloiseau, 
 "who got me the job. Hence for this book 
 spot cash." He turned aside to a locked 
 closet and drawer. 
 
 "You had a pleasant holiday yesterday," 
 said Landry to Chester. 
 
 "Who told you.?" 
 
 " Mesdemoiselles, the two sisters Chapde- 
 laine. I chanced to meet them just now at 
 the house of the archbishop, on the steps, 
 they coming out, I going in. I had a book 
 also for him." 
 
 "Why! What's taking them to the arch- 
 bishop.?" Chester put away a frown: "Did 
 they reflect the pleasure of the holiday?" 
 
 "Mr. Chester, no." There was an ex- 
 change of gazes, but Scipion returned, count- 
 ing and tendering the price of the book. 
 
 "Well, good evening," Landry said, willing 
 to linger; but "good evening," said both the 
 others. 
 
 Chester turned: "Beloiseau, I want to 
 talk with you. Go, give yourself a dip, brush 
 some of that hair, and we'll dine alone in 
 some place away from things." 
 
 "A dip, hah ! Always I scrub me any'ow till 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 263 
 
 I come to the skin. Also I'll put a clean shirt. 
 You can wait ? I'll leave you this book." 
 
 Chester waited. When presently, with 
 Scipion still picturesque though clean-shirted, 
 they left the shop together, he gave the book 
 a word of praise that set its owner off on the 
 history of his craft. "But hammered into 
 a matrix" — he drew his watch and halted: 
 "Spanish Fort, juzt too late; half-hour till 
 negs train; I'll show you an example, my 
 father's work." They turned back. 
 
 Thus they lost a second train, and dined 
 in the same snug nook as on the day before 
 with Aline and the rest. At twilight they 
 took seats in Jackson Square on a cast-iron 
 bench "hardly worthy of the place," as 
 Chester suggested. 
 
 And Scipion flashed back: "Or, my dear 
 sir, of any worthy place ! But you was ask- 
 ing me " 
 
 "About those four boys over in France, 
 one of them yours." 
 
 " Biccause sinze all day yesterday ?" 
 
 "That's it. I can't help thinking that 
 mademoiselle is somehow the cause of their 
 going." 
 
264 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Ah, of three she is, but of my son, no. 
 My son he was already there when that war 
 commence', and the cause of that was a very 
 simple and or-din-zry in him, but not in the 
 story of my father. I would Hke to tell you 
 ab-out that biccause tha'z also ab-out that 
 house where we was juz' seeing all that open- 
 work on those balconie', and biccause so in- 
 terested, you, in old building', you are bound 
 to hear ab-out that some day and probably 
 hear it wrong." 
 
 "Let's have it now; she told me yester- 
 day to ask you for it." 
 
XLI 
 
 THE LOST FORTUNE 
 
 <«i 
 
 'Mights- solid," the ironworker said, 
 "that old house, so square and high. They 
 are no Creole brick it is make with, that old 
 house." 
 
 Chester began to speak approvingly of 
 the wide balconies running unbrokenly 
 around its four sides at both upper stories, 
 but Beloiseau shook his head: "They don't 
 billong to the firz' building of that house, 
 else they might have been Spanish, like here 
 on the Cabildo and that old Cafe Veau-qui- 
 tete. They would not be cast iron and of 
 that complicate' disign, hah ! But they are 
 not even a French cast iron, like those and 
 those" — he waved right and left to the wide 
 balconies of the Pontalba buildings flanking 
 the square with such graceful dignity. "Oh, 
 they make that old house look pretty good, 
 those balconie', but tha'z a pity they were 
 
 not wrought iron, biccause M. Lefevre — he 
 
 26s 
 
266 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 was rich — sugar-planter — could have what 
 he choose, and she was a very fashionable, 
 his ladie. They tell some strange stories 
 ab-out them and that 'ouse; cruelty to slave', 
 intrigue with slave', duel' ab-out slave'. 
 Maybe tha'z biccause those iron bar' up and 
 down in sidewalk window', old Spanish 
 fashion; maybe biccause in confusion with 
 that Haunted House in Royal Street, they 
 are so allike, those two house'. But they 
 are cock-an'-bull, those tale'. Wha's true 
 they don't tell, biccause they don' know, 
 and tha'z what I'm teUing you ad the pres- 
 ent. 
 
 "When my father he was yet a boy, fo'- 
 teen, fiv'teen, those Lefevre' they rent' to the 
 grand'mere' of both Castanado and Dubroca, 
 turn ab-out, a li'l' slave girl so near white 
 you coul'n' see she's black ! You coul'n' 
 even suspec' that, only seeing she's rent', 
 that way, and knowing that once in a while, 
 those time, that whitenezz coul'n' be av- 
 void'. Mysefif, me, I've seen a man, ex-slave, 
 so white you woul'n' think till they tell you; 
 but then you'd see it — ^black ! But that li'l' 
 girl of seven year', nobody coul'n' see that 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 267 
 
 even avter told. Some people said: 'Tha'z 
 biccause she's so young; when she's grow' 
 up you'll see. And some say, 'When she get 
 chil'ren they'll show it, those chil'ren — an' 
 some be even dark!' 
 
 "Any'ow some said she's child of mon- 
 sieur, and madame want to keep her out of 
 sight that beneficent way. They would bet 
 you any money if you go on his plantation 
 you find her slave mother by the likenezz. 
 She di'n' look like him but they insist' that 
 also come later. Any'ow she's rent' half- 
 an'-half by those grand'mere' of Castanado 
 and Dubroca, at the firzt just to call 'shop' ! 
 at back door when a cuztomer come in, and 
 when growing older to make herself many 
 other way' uzeful. And by consequence she 
 was oft-en playmate with the chil'ren of all 
 that coterie there in Royal Street. Excep' 
 my father; he was fo'teen year' to her 
 seven." 
 
 "Was she a handsome child?" Chester 
 ventured. 
 
 "I think no. But in growing up she bic- 
 came" — the craftsman handed out a pocket 
 flash-light and an old carte-de-visite photo- 
 
268 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 graph of a black-haired, black-eyed girl of 
 twenty or possibly twenty-three years. "You 
 shall tell me," he said: 
 
 "And you'll trust me, my sincerity?" 
 
 " Sir ! if I di'n' truzt you, ab-so-lutely, you 
 shoul'n' touch that with a finger." 
 
 "Well, then, I say yes, she's handsome, 
 trusting you not to gild my plain words with 
 your imagination. She's handsome, but in 
 a way easily overlooked; a way altogether 
 apart from the charms of color and texture, 
 I judge, or of any play of feeling; not floral, 
 not startling, not exquisite; but statuesque, 
 almost heavily so, and replete with the vir- 
 tues of character." 
 
 "Well," said Beloiseau, putting away the 
 picture, "sixteen year' she rimain' rent' to 
 mesdames that way, and come to look lag 
 that. And all of our parent' — gran'parent' — 
 living that simple life like you see us, their 
 descendant', now, she biccame like one of 
 those familie' — Dubroca — Castanado — or of 
 that coterie entire. 
 
 "So after while they want' to buy her, 
 to put her free. But Mme. Lefevre she rif- 
 use' any price. She say, 'If Fortune' — that 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 269 
 
 was her name — 'would be satisfi' to marry 
 a nize black man like Ovide, who would buy 
 his friddom — ah, yes ! But no ! If I make 
 her free without, she'll right off want to be 
 marrie' to a white man. Tha'z the only ar- 
 rengement she'll make with him; she's too 
 piouz for any other arrengement, while same 
 time me I'm too piouz to let her marry a white 
 man; my faith, that would be a crime ! And 
 also she coul'n' never be 'appy that way; 
 she's too good and high-mind' to be marrie' 
 to any white man wha'z willin' to marry a 
 nigger.' 
 
 "So, then, It come to be said in all those 
 card-club' that my father he's try to buy 
 Fortune so to marry her. An' by that he 
 had a quarrel with one of those young Le- 
 fevre', who said pretty much like his mother, 
 only in another manner, pretty insulting. 
 And, same old story, they fought, like we 
 say, 'under those oak,' Metairie Ridge, with 
 sharpen' foil'. And my father he got a bad 
 wound. And he had to be nurse' long time, 
 and biccause all those shop' got to be keep 
 she nurse' him more than everybody elze. 
 
 "Well, human nature she's strong. So, 
 
270 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 when he get well he say, 'Papa, I can' stay 
 any mo' in rue Royale, neither in that vieux 
 carre, neither in that Louisiana.' And my 
 grandpere and all that coterie they say: 'To 
 go at Connect-icut, or Kanzaz, or Californie, 
 tha'z no ril-ief; you muz' go at France and 
 Spain, wherever 'tis good to study the iron- 
 work, whiles we are hoping there will be a 
 renaissance in that art and that businezz; 
 and same time only the good God know' 
 what he can cause to happen to lead a child 
 of the faith out of trouble and sorrow.' 
 
 "So my father he went, and by reason of 
 that he di'n' have to settle that queztion of 
 honor what diztress all the balance of the 
 coterie ; whether to be on the side of Louisiana, 
 or the Union. He di'n' run away to ezcape 
 that war; he di'n' know 'twas going to be, 
 and he came back in the mi'l' of it, whiles 
 the city was in the han' of that Union army. 
 Also what cause him to rit-urn was not that 
 war. 'Twas one of those thing' what pro- 
 juce' that saying that the truth 'tis mo' 
 stranger than figtion. 
 
 "Mr. Chezter, 'twas a wonderful! And 
 what make it the mo' wonderful, my father 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 271 
 
 he wasn' hunting for that, neither hadn' ever 
 dream' of it. He was biccome very much a 
 wanderer. One day he juz' chance' to be in 
 a village in Alsace, and there he saw some 
 chil'ren, playing in the street. And he was 
 very thirzty, from long time walking, and he 
 request' them a drink of water. And a li'l' 
 girl fetch' him a drink. But she was modess 
 and di'n' look in his face till he was biggening 
 to drink. Then she look' up — she had only 
 ab-out seven year', and my father he look' 
 down, and he juz' drop that cup by his feet 
 that it broke — the handle. And when she 
 cry, and he talk' with her and say don' cry, 
 he can make a cem-ent juz' at her own house 
 to mend that to a perfegtion, he was astonizh' 
 at her voice as much as her face. And when 
 he ask her name and she tell him, her firz' 
 name, and say tha'z the name of her grand'- 
 were, he's am-aze' ! But when he see her 
 mother meeting them he's not surprise', he's 
 juz' lightning-struck. 
 
 " Same time he try to hide that, and whiles 
 he's mixing that cem-ent and sticking that 
 handle he look' two-three time' into the front 
 of the hair of that li'l' girl, till the mother 
 
272 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 she get agitate', and she h-ask him: 'What 
 you're looking ? Who told you to look for 
 something there ? Ma foi ! you're looking 
 for the pompon gris of my mother and gran'- 
 mother ! You'll not fine it there. Tha'z 
 biccause she's so young; when she's grow' 
 up you'll see; but' — she part' as-ide her own 
 hair in front and he see', my father, under 
 the black a li'l' patch of gray, and he juz' 
 say, ' Moti dieu ! ' while she egsclaim' — 
 
 "'If you know anybody's got that pompon 
 in Louisiana, age of me, or elze, if older, the 
 sizter of my mother, she's lost yonder sinze 
 mo' than twen'y-five year'. My anceztor' 
 they are name' Pompon for that li'l' gray 
 spot.' 
 
 "Well, then they — and her 'usband, com- 
 ing in — they make great frien'. My father 
 he show' them thiz picture, and when he tell 
 them the origin-al of that also is name' For- 
 tune, like that child an' her mother, and been 
 from in-fancy a slave, they had to cry, all of 
 them together. And then they tell my father 
 all ab-out those two sizter', how they get 
 marrie' in that village with two young men, 
 cousin' to each other, and how one pair, a 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 273 
 
 year avter, emigrate' to Louisiana with li'l* 
 baby name' Fortune, and — once mo' that old 
 story — they are bound to the captain of the 
 ship for the prise of the passage till somebody 
 in Ammerica rid-eem them and they are 
 bound to him to work that out. And coming 
 accrozz, the father — ship-fever — die', and ar- 
 riving, the passage is pay by the devil know' 
 who'. 
 
 "Then my father he tell them that chile 
 muz' be orpheline at two-three year', biccause 
 while seeming so white she never think she 
 wasn' black. 
 
 "And so my father, coming ad that village 
 the moz' unhappy in the worl', he went away 
 negs day the moz' happy. And he took with 
 him some photo' showing that mother and 
 chile with the mother's hair comb' to egspose 
 that pompon gris; and also he took copy 
 from those record' of babtism of the babtism 
 of that li'l' Fortune, emigre. 
 
 "Same time, here at home, our Fortune 
 she was so sick with something the doctor 
 he coul'n' make out the nature, and she coul'n' 
 eat till they're af-raid she'll die. And one day 
 the doctor bring her father confessor, there 
 
274 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 where she's in bed, and break that gently 
 that my father he's come home, and then 
 that he's bring with him the perfec' proof 
 that she's as white as she look'. Well, negs 
 day she's out of bed; secon' she's dress — and 
 laughing ! — and eating ! And every day my 
 father he's paying his intention', and Mme. 
 Lefevre she's rij-oice, biccause that riproach 
 is pass' from monsieur her 'usband and pritty 
 quick they are marrie', and tha'z my 
 mother." 
 
 After a reverent silence Chester spoke: 
 "And lived long and happily together.?" 
 
 "Yes, a long, beautiful life. Maybe that 
 life woul'n' be of a diztinction sufficient to 
 you, but to them, yes. They are gone but 
 since lately." 
 
 "And that Lefevre house?" 
 
 "Ah, you know! Full of Italian' — ten- 
 twelve familie', with washing on street ve- 
 randa eight day ev'ry week. Pauvre vieux 
 carre 1 
 
XLII 
 
 MfiLANIE 
 
 "I SUPPOSE," Chester said, breaking an- 
 other silence, "you and that mother, and 
 your father, have sat in the flowery sunshine 
 of this old plaza together " 
 
 "A thousan' time'," the ironworker re- 
 plied, mused a bit, and added: "My frien', 
 you are a so patient listener as I never see. 
 Biccause I know you are all that time waiting 
 for a differen' story. And now — I shall tell 
 you that .?" 
 
 "Yes, however it hits me I've got to know 
 it." 
 
 "Well, after that, a year and half, I am 
 born. I grow up. I 'ave brother' and sizter'. 
 We all get marrie', and they, they are scatter' 
 over the face of Louisiana. But me, I'm the 
 oldest and my father take great trouble in 
 educating me to sugceed him in his busi- 
 nezz, and so I did, like you see. And the 
 same with Dubroca and with Castanado — 
 
 27S 
 
276 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 Ducatel he's differen'; he's come into that 
 antique businezz by his mizfortune and he's — 
 oh, he's all right only he's not of the same 
 inspiration to be of that li'l' clique. He's 
 up-town Creole and with the up-town Creole 
 mind. And those De I'lsle' they also got a 
 son, and Mme. Alexandre she have a very 
 amiable daughter; and, laz', not leazt, you 
 know, those Chapdelaine' " 
 
 "I certainly do," Chester murmured. 
 
 "Yes, assuredlie," said Beloiseau. "Well, 
 now: In those generation' befo' there was 
 in Royal Street — and Bourbon — and Dau- 
 phine — bisside' crozz-street' — so many of our 
 — I ignore the Englizh word for that — our 
 afinite, that our whole market of mat-rm-ony 
 was not juz' in one square of Royal; but 
 presently, it break out like an epidemique, 
 ammongs' our chil'ren, to marry juz' accrozz 
 and accrozz the street; a Beloiseau to a Cas- 
 tanado, a Castanado to a Dubroca, and so 
 forth — even fifth ! " The speaker smiled be- 
 nignly. "Hah! many year' they work' my 
 geniuz hard to make iron candlestick' — orig- 
 in-al diz-ign — for wedding-present'. The moze 
 of them, they marrie' without any romanze. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 277 
 
 egcep' what cann' be av-oid', inside the heart, 
 when both partie' are young, and in love 
 together, and not rich neither deztitute. But 
 year biffo' laz' we have the romanze of that 
 daughter of Mme. Alexandre and son of De 
 risle and son of Dubroca." 
 
 "Is that Melanie, whom you all mention 
 so often but whom I've never seen?" 
 
 "Yes. Reason you don't see her — But 
 I'll tell you that. Mr. Chezter, that would 
 make a beautyful story to go with those other' 
 in that book of Mile. Aline — but of co'se by 
 changing those name', and by preten'ing that 
 happen' at Hong Kong, or Chicago, or Bo- 
 gota. Presently 'tis too short, but you can 
 easy mazk and coztume that in a splendid 
 rhetorique till it's plenty long enough." 
 
 "H'mm!" said Chester, wondering at the 
 artisan's artlessness off his beaten track. 
 "Go on." 
 
 "Well, she's not beautyful, Melanie; same 
 time she's not bad-looking and she's kindess 
 of the kind, and whoever she love' — her 
 mother, for example — and Mile. Aline — tha'z 
 pretty touching, to see with what an inten- 
 city she love'. 
 
278 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Now, what I tell you, tha'z a very sicret 
 bitwin you and me. Biccause eVen those 
 Dubroca', pere and mere, and those De I'lsle', 
 pere and mere, they do' know all that; and 
 me I know that only from Castanado, who 
 know' it only from his wife; biccause she, 
 she know' it only from Mlle.'Aline, and none 
 of them know that I know egcep' those Cas- 
 tanado'. 
 
 "Well! sinze chilehood those three — Me- 
 lanie, De I'lsle, Dubroca, — they are playmate' 
 together, and Dubroca he's always call' Me- 
 lanie his swit-heart. But De I'lsle, no. Al- 
 ways biffo', those De I'lsle' they are of the, 
 eh, the beau monde and though li'l' by li'l' 
 losing their fortune, keeping their frien', some 
 of them rich, yet still ad the same time nize 
 people. And that young De I'lsle he's a 
 good-looking, well-behave', ambitiouz, and 
 got — what you call — dash ! 
 
 "That was the condition when they are all 
 graduate' from school and go each into his 
 o'cupation, or hers, up to the eyebrow'. Me- 
 lanie and Mile. Aline they work' with Mme. 
 Alexandre, though not precizely together, 
 biccause Melanie she show' only an ability 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 279 
 
 to keep those account' and to assist keeping 
 shop, whiles Mile. Aline she rimain' always 
 up-stair' employing that great talent tha'z 
 too valu'ble to be interrup'." 
 
 "Doesn't she keep the books now?" 
 "Yes, but tha'z only to assist Melanie* 
 whiles Melanie she's, eh, away. Dubroca 
 he go' into businezz with his father, likewise 
 Castanado with his father; but De I'lsle 
 he's made a secretary in City-hall. So he 
 have mo' time than those other' and he go' 
 oft-en into society, and he get those manner' 
 and cuztom' of society. And then that young 
 Dubroca biggen very plain to pay his inten- 
 tion' to Melanie, and we are all pretty glad 
 to notiz that, biccause whiles he don't got 
 that dash of De I'lsle, he's modess, yet still 
 brave to a perfegtion; and he's square and 
 got plenty sense, and he's steady and he's 
 kind. Every way they are suit' to each other 
 and we think — if that poor old rue Royale 
 con-tinue to run down, that will even be good 
 to join those two businezz' together. And 
 bisside', sinze a li'l' shaver Dubroca he ain't 
 never love nobody else, only Melanie. 
 
 "But also De I'lsle, like Dubroca, he was 
 
28o THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 always pretty glad of every egscuse to drop 
 in there at Mme. Alexandre and pass word 
 with Melanie. 'Twas easy to see 'tis to Mile. 
 Aline he's in love and he come talk to Melanie 
 biccause tha'z the nearess he can reach to 
 Mile. Aline egcep' juz' saying good-day whiles 
 passing on street or at church door. Oh, he 
 behave the perfec' gen'leman, and still tha'z 
 one reason she get that li'l' 'Ector. Yes, we 
 all see that, only Melanie she don't. So Mile. 
 Aline she ezcape' him all she could, but, with 
 that dash he's got, he persevere' to hang on. 
 And tha'z the miztake they both did, him 
 and Melanie, in doing that Am'erican way, 
 keeping that to themselve' instead of — French 
 way — telling their parent'. 
 
 "Then another thing tranzpire'. My son 
 and that son of Castanado bigin, both — but 
 that come' mo' later. Any'ow one day Me- 
 lanie she bring Mile. Aline a note from De 
 risle sol-iciting if she and Melanie will go 
 at matinee with him and Dubroca. And 
 when mademoiselle bigin to make egscuse' 
 Melanie implore' her to go, biccause Mme. 
 Alexandre say no Creole girl cann' go juz' 
 with one man, or even with two. 'And 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 281 
 
 mamma she's right,' Melanie say — with tear', 
 — 'even in that Am'erican way they got a 
 limit, and same time I'm perishing to go ! ' 
 
 And when mademoiselle hear' what that 
 play is about she consent' at the lazt to go. 
 Biccause tha'z ab-out a girl what billieve' a 
 man's in love to her, biccause he pay her those 
 li'l' galanterie of high life — li'l' pol-ite fig- 
 tion' — ^what every man — unless he's marrie' 
 — egspect to pay to every girl, to make thing' 
 pleasant, you know ? 
 
 "And that play turn out a so egcellent that 
 many people, paying admission ad the door, 
 find they got to pay ag-ain, secon' time, ad 
 their seat, in tear' that they weep; and that 
 make it not so hard for Melanie, who weep 
 ab-out ten price'. Negs day, Sunday, avter 
 church and dinner, she come yonder ad the 
 home of mademoiselle, you know, Bourbon 
 Street, and sit with her in the gol'fish bower 
 of that li'l' garden behine. And she's very 
 much bow' down. And she h-ask mademoiselle 
 if she ain't notiz sinz long time how De I'lsle 
 is paying intention to her, Melanie. But 
 mademoiselle di'n' have to be embarrazz' 
 what to answer, biccause Melanie she's so 
 
282 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 rattle' she don't wait to hear. And Melanie 
 she say tha'z one cause that she was wanting 
 De risle to see that play; biccause sinz lately 
 she's notiz he's make himseff very compli- 
 mentary also to mademoiselle, and she, Me- 
 lanie, she want' him to notiz how that way 
 he's in danger to make mizunderstanding 
 and diztress to himsefiF and — all concern'. 
 
 "And she prod-uce' a piece pzper fill' with 
 memorandum' of compliment' he's say to 
 her one time and other, what she's wrote 
 down whiles frezh spoken and what she bil- 
 lieve' are proof that he's in love to her and 
 inten' to make his proposition so soon he's 
 got good sign' he'll be accept'. 'But I ain't 
 never give' him sign,' she say, 'biccause a 
 girl she cann' never be too careful. And so 
 I think I'm bound to show that to you, bic- 
 cause I muz'n' be careful only for mysefiF, 
 and if he's say such thing' likewise to you, 
 then tha'z to be false to both of us together. 
 But, I think,' she say, 'M. De I'lsle he coul'n' 
 never do that !'" 
 
 "How did she say all that, angrily or 
 meekly ?" 
 
 "Oh ! meek and weeping till mademoiselle 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 283 
 
 she's compel' to weep likewise. And ad the 
 end she's compel' to tell Melanie yes, De 
 risle he's pay her those same kind of senti- 
 mental plaisanteries; rosebud' to pin on 
 the heart outside, a few minute', till the negs 
 cavalier. Castanado, she say, Beloiseau, 
 they do the same— even more. 'Ah!' Me- 
 lanie say, 'but only to you ! and only biccause 
 to say any mo' they are yet af-raid ! Made- 
 moiselle, those both, they are both in love to 
 you!* 
 
 "And when Melanie say that. Mile. Aline 
 take the both hand' of Melanie in her both 
 han' and ask her if she ain't herseff put them 
 both, Castanado, Beloiseau, up to that — to 
 fall in love to her. And pretty soon Melanie 
 she's compel' to confezz that; not with word', 
 but juz' with the fore-head on the knee of 
 mademoiselle and crying like babie. And 
 she say she's sin'. And yet same time while 
 she h-ask' mademoiselle to pray the good 
 God and the mother of God to forgive that 
 sin, she h-ask her to pray also that they'll 
 make De I'lsle to love her. 
 
 "Biccause, she say, 'tis those unfortunate 
 rosebud' of sentimental plaisanterie he give 
 
284 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 her what firz' make her to love him. And 
 mademoiselle she ag-ree' to that if Melanie 
 she'll tell that whole story also to her mother; 
 biccause mademoiselle she see what a hole 
 that put them both in, her and Melanie, when 
 she, mademoiselle, is bound to know he's 
 paying, De I'lsle, all his real intention' to 
 herseff. And Melanie she's in agonie and say 
 no-no-no ! but if mademoiselle will tell it, 
 yes ! And by reason that she's kep' that 
 from her mother sinze the firz', she say tell 
 not Mme. Alexandre but Mme. Castanado, 
 even when mademoiselle say if Mme. Cas- 
 tanado then also monsieur; biccause madame 
 she'll certainly make that condition, and bic- 
 cause monsieur he can assist her to commenze 
 that whole businezz over, French way. And 
 same time Melanie she take very li'l' stock 
 in that French way, by reason that, avter 
 all, those De I'lsle, though their money's 
 gone, are still pretty high-life. 
 
 "And tha'z how it come that those Cas- 
 tanado' have to tell me. Biccause madame 
 she cann' skip ar-ound pretty light, you know, 
 and biccause they think my, eh — pull — ^with 
 those De I'lsle' is the moze of anybody, and 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 285 
 
 biccause I require to know how they are sure 
 'tis uzeless any mo' for my son, or their son, 
 than for the son of De i'lsle, to sed the heart 
 on Mile. AUne. Also tha'z to egsplain me 
 why Mile. Ahne say if all those intention' 
 to her don't finizh righd there, she got to 
 stop coming ad Mme. Alexandre. And of 
 co'se ! You see that, I su'pose .'"' 
 
 "And where was young Dubroca in all 
 this .?" 
 
 "Ah, another migsture ! He was nowhere. 
 Any'ow, tha'z how he feel; and those other 
 three boy' they di'n' feel otherwise. You 
 see ? We coul'n' egsplain them anything 
 — ab-out Mile. Aline, — all we can say: 'Road 
 close' — stim-roller.' So ad the end Dubroca 
 he have, slimly, the advantage; for him, to 
 Melanie, the road any 'ow seem' open; yet in 
 vain. So there, all at same time, in that 
 li'l' gang, rue Royale, was five heart' blidding 
 for love, and nine other' blidding for those 
 five and for Mile. Aline. 
 
 "Well, of co'se — you see ? — nobody cann' 
 stand that ! Firzt to find his way out of that 
 is Melanie. Melanie's confessor he think 
 tha'z a sin to keep any longer those fact' 
 
286 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 from her mother, and she confezz them to 
 Mme. Alexandre, and ad the end she say: 
 ' Mamma, in our UT coterie I cann' look any- 
 body in the face any mo', and I'm going to 
 biccome train' nurse. Tha'z not running 
 away, yet same time tha'z not every evening 
 to be getting me singe' in the same candle.' 
 
 "Then, almoze while she saying that, that 
 son of De I'lsle he say to my son — who he's 
 fon' of hke a brother, and my son of him like- 
 wise, though the one is a so dashing and the 
 other a so quiet — ' 'Oiseau,' he say, — biccause 
 tha'z the nickname of my son, — 'papa and 
 me we visit' the French consul to-day and 
 arrange' a U'l' affair.' 
 
 "And when he want' to tell some mo* my 
 son he stop' him: 'Enough! I div-ine that. 
 Why you di'n' take me al-ong ? You'll ar- 
 range to go at that France, of my grand'- 
 mere, and that Alsace, of her mother, to be 
 fighting aviateur, and leave 'Oiseau behine 1 
 Ah, you cann' do that !' And when that 
 young Dubroca and Castanado get the win' 
 of them, the all four, all of same sweet maladie, 
 they go together; two to be juz' poilu\ two, 
 aviateur . That old remedie, you know; if 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 287 
 
 they can't love — they'll fight ! They are 
 yonder, still al-ive, laz' account." 
 
 Mainly to himself Chester said. "And I 
 am here, my land still at peace, last ac- 
 count." 
 
 "And also you, you've h-ask' mademoiselle, 
 I think," said the ironworker, "and alas, she's 
 say aggain, no, eh .?" 
 
 The reply was a gaze and a nod. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Chezter, I'm sorrie! Her 
 reason — you can't tell. 'Tis maybe juz' bic- 
 cause those hero' are yonder. 'Tis maybe 
 only that those two aunt' are here. Maybe 
 'tis biccause both, maybe neither. You can't 
 tell. Maybe you h-ask too soon. Ad the 
 present she know' you only sinze a few week'. 
 She don't know none of yo' hiztorie, neither 
 yo' familie — egcep' that h-angel of the Lord. 
 Yo' chzT-acter, she may like that very well 
 yet same time she know' how easy that is 
 for women to make miztake' ab-out. Maybe 
 y'ought to 'ave ask' M'sieu' Thorndyke-Smith 
 to write at yo' home-town and get you recom- 
 men'. Even a cook he's got to 'ave that — 
 or a publisher, eh ?" 
 
 'I've got that — ^within reach; my law 
 
 "1 
 
288 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 firm has it. But, pshaw ! / think, Beloiseau, 
 while all your maybe's may be right the thing 
 that explains mademoiselle's whole situation 
 is that she's never seen a man worthy to touch 
 a hem of her robe; and the only argument 
 a lover can lay at her feet is that she never 
 will." 
 
 "And you'll lay that, negs time?" 
 "Not till that manuscript business is 
 settled, don't you see ? Come, you must go 
 to bed." 
 
XLIII 
 
 Shrimps, rice, and watered wine for a 
 sunset dinner. At its end the three Chapde- 
 laines, each with her small cup of black coffee, 
 left the table and its remnants to the other 
 two members of the household, and passed out 
 as usual to the bower benches and the gold- 
 fish pool. 
 
 Humming-birds were there, drinking 
 frenziedly from honeysuckle cups to the 
 health of all things beautiful and ecstatic. 
 Mile. Yvonne stood at a bench's end to watch 
 one of them dart from bloom to bloom. "Ah, 
 Corinne," she sighed, "if we could all be juz' 
 humming-bird' ! " 
 
 "Cherie" cried her sister, "you are spilling 
 yo' coffee !" 
 
 Whether for the coffee, for the fact that 
 we can't all be humming-birds, or for some 
 thought not yet spoken. Mile. Corinne's eyes 
 
 were all but spilling their tears. As the trio 
 
 289 
 
290 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 sat down. Aline said in gentlest accusation 
 to the younger aunt: 
 
 "You are trembling. Why is that?" 
 
 The younger sister looked appeaHngly to 
 the elder. ''^Chere," Mile. Corinne said to the 
 girl, "we are anxiouz to confezz you some- 
 thing. We woul'n' never be anxiouz to con- 
 fezz that, only we're af-raid already you've 
 foun' us out !" 
 
 "Yes. I came this evening by Ovide's 
 shop to return a book " 
 
 "An' he tell you he's meet us ?" 
 
 "On the steps of the archeveche." 
 
 "Ah, cherie," Yvonne tearfully broke in, 
 "can you ever pardon that to us?" 
 
 Aline smiled: "Oh, yes; in the course of 
 time, I suppose. That was not like a drink- 
 ing-saloon." 
 
 "Ah-h! not in the leas'! We di'n' touch 
 there a drop — nobodie di'n' offer us!" 
 
 The niece addressed the other aunt: "Go 
 on. Tell me why you were there." 
 
 "Aline, we'll confess us ! We wend there 
 biccause — we are orphan' ! Of co'se, we know 
 that biffo', sinze long time, many, many year'; 
 but only sinze a few day' " 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 291 
 
 "Joy-ride day," Aline put in, a bit tensely. 
 
 "Ah, no! Cherie, you muz' not su- 
 pose " 
 
 "Never mind; 'last few days' — ^go on." 
 
 "Well, sinze those laz' few day' we bigin 
 to feel like we juz' got to take step' ab-oud 
 that!" 
 
 "So you took those steps of the arche- 
 veche." 
 
 " Chere, we'll tell you ! Yvonne and me, 
 avter all those many 'appy year' with you, 
 we think we want — ah, cherie, you'll pardon 
 that .'' — we want ad the laz' to live indepen- 
 dent ! So we go ad the archbishop. And he 
 say, 'How 7'w going to make you that ^ You 
 think to be independent by biccoming Sizter' 
 of Charitie — of Mercy — of St. Joseph .? ' 
 
 " *Ah, no,' we say, *we have not the geniuz 
 to be those; not even to be Li'l'-Sizter'-of- 
 the-Poor. All we want — and we coul'n' make 
 ourselv' the courage to ask you that, only 
 we've save' you so large egspenses not ask- 
 ing you that already sinze twenty-thirty 
 year' aggo — we want you to put us in orphan 
 asylum.' We was af-raid at firz' he's goin' 
 to be mad; but he smile very kine and say: 
 
292 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 'Yes, yes; you want, like the good Lord say, 
 to biccome like liT chii'ren, eh ? ' 
 
 " *Ah, yes!' we tell him, 'tha'z what we 
 be glad to do. They got nothing in the worl' 
 we can do, Yvonne and me, so easy like that ! 
 And same time we be no egspense, like those 
 li'r oTpheline' ; we can wash dish', make 
 bed', men' apron'; and in that way we be 
 independent!' Well, he scratch his head; 
 yet same time he smile', while he say, 'Go, 
 li'r chii'ren, to yo' home. I'll see if Mere 
 Veronique can figs that, and if yes, I'll san' 
 for you.' And, cherie, juz' the way he said 
 that, we* are sure he's goin' to san'." 
 
 With her tears running freely Aline softly 
 laughed. She rose, took a hand of each aunt, 
 laid the two together, bent low, and kissed 
 them, saying: "He will not, for he shall not. 
 Nothing shall ever part us but heaven." 
 
XLIV 
 
 One evening M. Castanado sat reading to 
 his wife from a fresh number of the weekly 
 Courier des Etats-Unis. 
 
 It was not long after the incident last men- 
 tioned. Chester had become accustomed to 
 his new lift in fortune, but as yet no further 
 word as to the manuscript had reached him; 
 he had only just written a second letter of 
 inquiry after it. Also that summons to the 
 two aunts, from the archbishop, of which 
 the pair were so sure, was still unheard; no 
 need had arisen for Aline to take any counter- 
 step. We could name the exact date, for it 
 was the day of the week on which the Courier 
 always came, and the week was the last in 
 which a Canal Street movie-show beautifully 
 presented the matchless Bernhardt as a wid- 
 owed shopkeeper — ^like Mme. Alexandre, but 
 with a son, not daughter, in love. 
 
 The door-bell rang. Castanado went down 
 to the street. There, letting in a visitor, he 
 
 293 
 
294 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 spoke with such animation that madame, 
 listening from her special seat, guessed, and 
 before the two were half up-stairs knew, who 
 it was. It was Melanie Alexandre. 
 
 No one answered her mother's bell, she 
 said, kissing madame lingeringly, twice on 
 the forehead and once on either vast cheek. 
 She was short and square, with such serene 
 kindness of face and voice as to be the last 
 you would ever pick out to fall into a mis- 
 take of passion, however exalted. Of course, 
 that serenity may have come since the mis- 
 take. Both Castanados seemed to take note 
 of it as if it had come since, and she to be 
 willing they should note it. 
 
 "No," they said, "Mme. Alexandre had 
 gone with Dubroca and his wife to that movie 
 of Sarah." 
 
 "And also with M. Beloiseau ?" asked Me- 
 lanie, with a lurking smile, as she sat down 
 so fondly close to madame as to leave both 
 her small hands in one of her friend's. 
 
 "Ah, now," madame exclaimed, "there is 
 nothing in that! You ought to be rijoice' if 
 there was." 
 
 The new look warmed in Melanie's eyes. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 295 
 
 "I'll be very glad if that time ever comes," 
 she said. 
 
 "Then you billieve in the second love?" 
 
 "Ah, in a case like that ! Indeed, yes. In 
 their first love they both were happy; the 
 second would be in praise of the first." 
 
 "And to separate them there is only the 
 street," Castanado suggested, "and Royal 
 Street, street of their birth and chilehood, 
 and so narrow, it have the effect to join, 
 not separate. But!" — he made a wary mo- 
 tion — "kip quite, elze they will not go into 
 the net, those old bird', hah!" 
 
 There was a smiling silence, and then — 
 "Well," madame said, "they are all to stop 
 here as they riturn. Waiting here, you'll see 
 them all." 
 
 "Yes, and beside', I have some good news 
 for you; news anyhow to me." 
 
 The pair smiled brightly: "You 'ave an- 
 other letter from Dubroca!" 
 
 "Yes. He's again wounded and in hos- 
 pital." 
 
 "Oh-h, terrible ! tha'z to you good news ?" 
 
 "Yes. Look, monsieur; he has, at the 
 front, the chance to be hit so many times. 
 
296 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 If he's hit and only wounded his chances to 
 be hit again are made one less, eh ? And while 
 he's in hospital they are again two or three 
 less. Shall we not be glad for that ? And 
 moreover, how he got his wound, that is 
 better. He got that taking, by himself, nine 
 Boches ! And still the best news is what he 
 writes about his friend Castanado." 
 
 "Ah, Melanie! And you hold that back 
 till now ? And you know we are without news 
 of him sinze a month ! He's promote' ? He's 
 decorate' .?" 
 
 "He's found a treasure. I think maybe 
 you'll get his letter to-morrow. Me, I got 
 mine soon; passing the post-office I went 
 in and asked." 
 
 "But how, he found a treasure.? and what 
 sort.?" 
 
 "He just happened to dig it up, in a cellar, 
 in Rheims. He's betrothed." 
 
 "Melanie! What are you saying.?" 
 
 "What he says. And that's all he says. 
 I hope you'll hear all about that to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 "Oh, any'ow tha'z the bes' of news !" Cas- 
 tanado said, kissing his wife's hand and each 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 297 
 
 temple. "Doubtlezz he's find some lovely 
 orphan of that hideouz war; we can trus' 
 his good sense, our son. But, Melanie, he 
 muz' have been sick, away from the front, 
 to make that courtship." 
 
 "I do not know. Everything happens 
 terribly fast these days. I hope you'll hear 
 all about that to-morrow." 
 
 Castanado playfully lifted a finger: "Me- 
 lanie, how is that, you pass that poss-office, 
 when it is up-town, while you — ?" The 
 question hung unfinished — maybe because 
 Melanie turned so red, maybe because the 
 door-bell rang again. 
 
 Enlivened by the high art they had been 
 enjoying and by the fresh night air, a full 
 half-dozen came in: M. and Mme. De I'lsle, 
 whom the others had chanced upon as they 
 left the theatre; Dubroca and his wife; Mme. 
 Alexandre; and finally Beloiseau. "Me- 
 lanie !" was the cry of each of these as he or 
 she turned from saluting madame; this was 
 one of madame's largest joys; to get early 
 report from larger or smaller fractions of the 
 coterie, on the good things they had seen or 
 heard, from which her muchness otherwise 
 
298 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 debarred her. The De I'lsles, however, were 
 not such a matter of course as the others, 
 and Mme. De I'lsle, as she greeted Mme. Cas- 
 tanado, said, in an atmosphere that trembled 
 with its load of mingled French and English : 
 "We got something to show you!" 
 
 In the same atmosphere — "And how got 
 you away from yo' patient?" Mme. Alex- 
 andre asked her daughter as they embraced 
 a second time. 
 
 "I tore myself," said Melanie, while Cas- 
 tanado, to all the rest, was saying: 
 
 "And such great news as Mel' " 
 
 But a sharp glance from Melanie checked 
 him. " Such great news as we have receive' ! 
 Our son is bethroath' ! — to a good, dizcreet, 
 beautiful French girl; which he foun, in a 
 cellar at Rheims!" When a drum-fire of 
 questions fell on him he grew reticent and 
 answered quietly: "We have only that by 
 firz' letter. Full particular' pretty soon, 
 perchanze to-morrow." 
 
 "Then to-morrow we'll come hear ab-out 
 it," Beloiseau said, "and tell ab-out the 
 movie. Mme. De I'lsIe she's also got fine 
 news, what she cann' tell biffo' biccause" — 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 299 
 
 he waved to Mme. De I'lsle to say why, but 
 her husband spoke for her. 
 
 "Biccause," he said, "'tis all in a pigture, 
 war pigture, on a New York Sunday paper, 
 and of co'se we coul'n' stop under street lamp 
 for that; and with yo' permission" — to Mme. 
 Castanado — "we'll show that firz' of all to 
 Scipion." 
 
 Beloiseau put on glasses and looked. 
 "'General Joffre — '" he began to read. 
 
 "No, no ! not that ! This one, where you 
 know the general only by the back of his 
 head." 
 
 "Ah — ah, yes; 'Two aviateur' riceiving 
 from General Joffre' — my God ! De I'lsle — 
 my God ! madame," — Scipion pounded his 
 breast with the paper — "they are yo' son and 
 mine !" 
 
 The company rushed to his elbows. "My 
 faith ! Castanado, there are their name' ! 
 and 'For destrugtion of their eighteenth en- 
 emy aeroplane, under circumstance' calling 
 for exceptional coolnezz and intrepid-ity !' " 
 
 There was great and general rejoicing and 
 some quite pardonable boasting, under cover 
 of which Melanie and her mother slipped out 
 
30O THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 by the inside way, without mention of the 
 young^ Dubroca, his prisoners, sickness, or 
 letter, except to his father and mother, who 
 told of him more openly when the Alexandres 
 were safely gone. That brought fresh glad- 
 ness and praise, a fair share of which was 
 for Melanie. 
 
 , So presently the remaining company 
 vanished, leaving Mme. Castanado free to 
 embrace her kneeling husband and boast 
 again the power of prayer. 
 
XLV 
 
 The cathedral that year was undergoing 
 repairs. 
 
 Its cypress-log foundations, which had 
 kept sound from colonial days in a soil al- 
 ways wet, had begun to decay when a new 
 drainage system began to dry it out. Fact, 
 but also allegory. 
 
 It may have been in connection with this 
 work, or with some change in the house of 
 the Discalceated Sisters of Mt. Carmel, or 
 of the archbishop, or of St. Augustine's 
 Church, that a certain priest of exceptional 
 taste, Beloiseau's father confessor, dropped 
 in on him to order an ornamental wrought- 
 iron grille for the upper half of a new door. 
 While looking at patterns he asked: 
 
 "And what is the latest word from your 
 son?" 
 
 i^Scipion showed him that picture — he had 
 bought one for himself — the dear old unmis- 
 takable back of "Papa Joffre," and the dear 
 
 301 
 
302 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 young unmistakable faces of the two boys, 
 Beloiseau and De I'lsle. 
 
 A talk followed, on the conflict between 
 a father's pride and his yearning to see his 
 only son safely dehvered from constant deadly 
 peril. They spoke of Aline. Not for the 
 first time; Scipion, unaware that the good 
 father was her confessor also, had told him 
 before of his son's hopeless love, to ask if 
 it was not right for him, the father, to help 
 Chester win the marvellous girl, since winning 
 would win the two boys home again. 
 
 Patterns waited while the ironworker said 
 that to the tender chagrin of all the coterie 
 Chester was refused — a man of such fineness, 
 such promise, mind, charm, and integrity, 
 and so fitted for her in years, temperament, 
 and tastes, that no girl, however perfect, 
 could hope to be courted by more than one 
 such in a lifetime. 
 
 In brief Creole prose he struck the highest 
 key of Shakespeare's sonnets: "Was she 
 not doing a grievous wrong to herself and 
 Chester, to the whole coterie that so adored 
 her, especially to the De I'lsles and himself, 
 and even to society at large ? Her reasons," 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 303 
 
 he said, shifting to English, "I can guess 
 at them, but guessing at 'alf-a-dozen con- 
 vinze' me of none!" 
 
 "Have you guess' at differenze of rilligious 
 faith ?" the priest inquired. 
 
 "Yes, but — nothing doing; I 'ave to guess 
 no. 
 
 "Tha'z a great matter to a good CathoHc." 
 
 "Ah, father ! Or-Jzn-arily, yes. Bud this 
 time no. Any'ow, this time tha'z not for 
 us Catholic' to be diztress' ab-out. . . . Ah, 
 yes, chil'ren. But, you know ? If daughter', 
 they'll be of the faith and conduc' of the 
 mother; if son', faith of the mother, conduc' 
 of the father; and I think with that even 
 you, pries' of God, be satizfie', eh .? 
 
 " My dear frien', you know what I billieve ? 
 Me, I billieve in heaven they are waiting im- 
 patiently for that marriage." 
 
 The priest may have been professionally 
 delinquent, but he chose to leave the argu- 
 ment unrefuted. He smilingly looked at his 
 watch. "Well," he said, "I choose this 
 design. Make it so. Good evening." He 
 turned away. Beloiseau called after him, 
 but the man of God kept straight on. 
 
304 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 The ironworker loitered back to where the 
 chosen pattern lay, and stood over it still 
 thinking of Chester. Presently a soft voice 
 sounded so close by that he turned abruptly. 
 At his side was an extremely winsome 
 stranger. His artistic eye instantly remarked 
 not only her well-preserved beauty, but its 
 gentle dignity, rare refinement, and untypical 
 quality. Whether it was Creole or Americain, 
 Southern, Northern, or Western, nothing be- 
 trayed; on the surface at least, the provincial, 
 as far as the ironworker could see, was wholly 
 bred out of her. He noted also the unim- 
 paired excellence of her erect and girlish 
 slightness and, under her pretty hat and early 
 whitened hair, the carven fineness of her 
 features. Her whole attire pleasantly be- 
 fitted her years, which might have been any- 
 thing short of fifty; and yet, if Scipion was 
 right, she might have dressed for thirty. 
 
 "Are you Mr. Beloiseau V she inquired. 
 
 "I am," he said. 
 
 "Mr. Beloiseau, I'm the mother of Geoffry 
 Chester. You know him, I believe ?" 
 
 " Oh, is that possible 1 He is my esteem' 
 frien', madame. Will you" — he began to 
 dust a lone chair. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 305 
 
 "No, thank you; I came to find Geoff ry's 
 quarters, I left the hotel with my memo- 
 randum, but must have dropped it. I re- 
 member only Bienville Street." 
 
 "He's not there any mo'. Sinze only two 
 day' he's move'. Mrs. Chezter, if you'll 
 egscuse me till I can change the coat I'll show 
 you those new quarter'. Whiles I'm chang- 
 ing you can look ad that book of pattern', 
 and also — here — there's a pigtorial of New 
 York; that — tha'z of my son and the son of 
 my neighbor up-stair', De I'lsle, ric'iving 
 medal' from General Joffre " 
 
 "Why, Mr. Beloiseau can it be!" 
 
 "But you know, Mrs. Chezter, he's not 
 there presently, yo' son. He's gone at St. 
 Martinville, to the court there." 
 
 "Yes, to be back to-morrow or next day. 
 They told me in his office this forenoon. I 
 reached the city only at eleven, train late. 
 He didn't know I was coming. My telegram's 
 on his desk unopened. But having time, I 
 thought I'd see whether he's living comfort- 
 ably or only fancies he is." 
 
 On their way Mrs. Chester and her guide 
 hardly spoke until Scipion asked: "Madame, 
 when you was noticing yo' telegram on the 
 
3o6 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 desk of yo' son you di'n' maybe notiz' a letter 
 from New York ? We are prettie anxiouz 
 for that to come to yo' son. I do' know if 
 you know ab-out that or no, but M. De I'Isle 
 and madame, and Castanado and his madame, 
 and Dubroca and his madame, and Mme. 
 Alexandre and me, and three Chapdelaine', 
 we are all prettie anxiouz for that letter." 
 
 " Yes, I know about it, and there is one, 
 from a New York publishing-house, on 
 Geoffry's desk." 
 
 "Well, madame, Marais Street, here's the 
 place. Ah! and street-car — or jitney — pass- 
 ing thiz corner will take you ag-ain at yo' 
 hotel" 
 
XLVI 
 
 Satisfied with her son's quarters, Mrs. 
 Chester returned to her hotel and had just 
 dined when her telephone rang. 
 
 "Mme. — oh, Mme. De I'lsle, I'm so 
 please' " 
 
 The instrument reciprocated the pleasure. 
 "If Mrs. Chezter was not too fat-igue' by 
 travelling, monsieur and madame would like 
 to call." 
 
 Soon they appeared and in a moment whose 
 brevity did honor to both sides had estab- 
 lished cordial terms. Rising to go, the pair 
 asked a great favor. It made them, they said, 
 "very 'appy to perceive that Mr. Chezter, 
 by writing, has make his mother well ac- 
 quaint' with that li'l' coterie in Royal Street, 
 in which they, sometime', 'ave the honor to 
 be include'." "The honor" meant the modest 
 condescension, and when Mrs. Chester's 
 charming smile recognized the fact the pair 
 took fresh delight in her. "An' that li'l' 
 
 307 
 
3o8 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 coterie, sinze hearing that from Beloiseau 
 juz' this evening, are anxiouz to see you at 
 ones; they are, like ourselve', so fon' of yo' 
 son; and they cannot call all together — my 
 faith, that would be a procession ! And bi- 
 side', Mme. Castanado she — well— you under- 
 stan' why that is — she never go' h-out. Same 
 time M. Castanado he's down-stair' wait- 
 ing " 
 
 " Shall I go around there with you ? I'll 
 be glad to go." They went. 
 
 Through that "recommend' " of Chester, 
 got by Thorndyke-Smith for the law firm, 
 and by him shown to M. De I'lsle, the coterie 
 knew that the pretty lady whom they wel- 
 comed in Castanado's little parlor was of a 
 family line from which had come three State 
 governors, one of whom had been also his 
 State's chief justice. One of her pleasantest 
 impressions as she made herself at ease among 
 them, and they around her and Mme. Cas- 
 tanado, was that they regarded this fact as 
 honoring all while flattering none. She found 
 herself as much, and as kindly, on trial be- 
 fore them as they before her, and saw that 
 behind all their lively conversation on such 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 309 
 
 comparatively light topics as the World War, 
 greater New Orleans, and the decay of the 
 times, the main question was not who, but 
 what, she was. As for them, they proved at 
 least equal to the best her son had ever writ- 
 ten of them. 
 
 And they found her a confirmation of the 
 best they had ever discerned in her son. 
 In her fair face they saw both his masculine 
 beauty and the excellence of his mind better 
 interpreted than they had seen them in his 
 own countenance. A point most pleasing to 
 them was the palpable fact that she was in 
 her son's confidence. Evidently, though ar- 
 riving sooner than expected, her coming was 
 due to his initiative. Clearly he had written 
 things that showed a juncture wherein she, 
 if but prompt enough, might render the last 
 great service of her life to his. Oh, how su- 
 perior to the ordinary American slap-dash 
 of the matrimonial lottery ! They felt that 
 they themselves had taken the American 
 way too much for granted. Maybe that was 
 where they were unlike Mile. Aline. But 
 she was not there, to perceive these things, 
 nor her aunts, to be seen and estimated. The 
 
3IO THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 evening's outcome could be but inconclusive, 
 but it was a happy beginning. 
 
 Its most significant part was a brief talk 
 following the mention of the Castanado sol- 
 dier-boy's engagement. His expected letter 
 had come, bringing many pleasant particulars 
 of it, and the two parents were enjoying a 
 genuine and infectious complacency. "And 
 one thing of the largez' importanze, Mrs. 
 Chezter," m idame said with sweet enthu- 
 siasm, "—the two they are of the one ril- 
 ligion !" 
 
 Was the announcement unlucky, or astute ? 
 At any rate it threw the subject wide open 
 by a side door, and Mrs. Chester calmly 
 walked in. 
 
 "That's certainly fortunate," she said. 
 Every ear was alert and Beloiseau was sud- 
 denly eager to speak, but she smilingly went 
 on: "It's true that, coming of a family of 
 politicians, and being pet daughter — only 
 one — of a judge, I may be a trifle broad on 
 that point. Still I think you're right and to 
 be congratulated." 
 
 The whole coterie felt a glad thrill. "Ah, 
 madame," Beloiseau exclaimed, "you are co'- 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 311 
 
 rec' ! But, any'ow, in a caze where the two 
 faith' are con-tra-ry 'tis not for you Protes- 
 tant' to be diztres' ab-out ! You, you don' 
 care so much ab-out those myzterie' of bil-ief 
 as about those rule' of conduc'. Almoze, I 
 may say, you run those rule' of conduc' into 
 the groun' — and tha'z right ! And bis-ide', 
 you 'ave in everything — poUtic', law, trade, 
 society — so much the upper han' — in the bes' 
 senze — ah, of co'se in the bes' senze ! — that 
 the chil'ren of such a case they are pretty 
 sure goin' to be Protestant ! " 
 
 Mrs. Chester, having her choice, to say 
 either that marriages across differences of 
 faith had peculiar risks, or that Geoffry's 
 uncle, the "Angel of the Lord," had married, 
 happily, a Catholic, chose neither, let the 
 subject be changed, and was able to assure 
 the company that the missive on Geoffry's 
 desk was no bulky manuscript, but a neat 
 thin letter under one two-cent stamp. 
 
 "Accept'!" they cried, "that beautiful 
 true story of 'The 'Oly Crozz' is accept'! 
 Mesdemoiselles they have strug the oil!" 
 
 Mme. Castanado had a further conviction: 
 "'Tis the name of it done that ! They coul'n' 
 
312 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 rif-use that name ! — and even notwithstand- 
 ing that those publisher' they are maybe 
 Protestant !" 
 
 The good nights were very happy. The 
 last were said five squares away, at the hotel, 
 to which the De ITsles brought her back afoot. 
 "And to-morrow evening, four o'clock," ma- 
 dame said, "I'll come and we'll go make 
 liT visite at those Chapdelaine'." 
 
 Mrs. Chester had but just removed her 
 hat when again the telephone; from the hotel 
 office — "Your son is here. Yes, shall we send 
 him up ?" 
 
XLVII 
 
 With hands under their gray sleeves two 
 white-bonneted religieuses turned into Bour- 
 bon Street and rang the Chapdelaines' street 
 bell. 
 
 Mile. Yvonne flutteringly let them into 
 the garden, Mile. Corinne into the house. 
 The conversation was in English, for, though 
 Sister Constance was French, Sister St. Anne, 
 young, fair, and the chief speaker, was Irish. 
 They came from Sister Superior Veronique, 
 they said, to see further about mesdemoiselles 
 entering, eh 
 
 Smilingly mesdemoiselles fluttered more 
 than ever. "Ah, yes, yes ! Well, you know, 
 sinze we talk ab-out that with the archbishop 
 we've talk' ab-out it with our niece al-jo, 
 and we think she's got to get marrie' befo' 
 we can do that, biccause to live al-lone that 
 way she's too young. But we 'ave the 'ope 
 she's goin' to marry, and then !' 
 
 "Have you made a will.'"' 
 
 313 
 
 I" 
 
314 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Will ! Ah, we di'n' never think of that ! 
 Tha'z a marvellouz we di'n' never think of 
 that — when we are the two-third' owner' of 
 that lovely proprity there! And we think 
 tha'z always improving in cozt, that place, 
 biccause so antique an' so pittoresque. And 
 if Aline she marrie' and we, we join that asylum 
 doubtlezz Aline she'll be rij-oice' to combine 
 with us to leave that lovely proprity ad the 
 lazt to the church ! Biccause, you know, to 
 take that to heaven with us, tha'z impos- 
 sible, and the church tha'z the nearez' we 
 can come." Odd as the moment seemed for 
 them, tears rolled down their smiling faces. 
 
 "But" — they dried their eyes — "there's 
 another thing also bisside'. We are, all three, 
 the authorezz' of a story that we are prettie 
 sure tha'z accept' by the publisher'; an' of 
 co'ze if tha'z accept' — and if those publisher' 
 they don' swin'le us, like so oftten — we don't 
 need to be orphan' never any mo', and we'll 
 maybe move up-town and juz' keep that 
 proprity here for a souvenir of our in-fancy. 
 But that be two-three days yet biffo' we can 
 be sure ab-oud that. Maybe ad the laz' we'll 
 'ave to join the asylum, but tha'z our hope. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 315 
 
 to move up town into the quartier nouveau 
 and that beautiful 'garden diztric'.' But 
 we'll always con-tinue to love the old 'ouse 
 here. 'Tis a very genuine ancient relique, 
 that 'ouse. You see those wall' .? Solid plank 
 of two inch' and from Kentucky !" They 
 went through the whole story — ^the house, the 
 relics of their childhood — " Go you, Yvonne, 
 fedge them!" 
 
 The meek religieuses did their best to be 
 both interested and sincere, but somehow 
 found diplomacy to escape the "li'I' lake" 
 and its goldfish, and even took the piety of 
 the cat with a dampening absence of mind. 
 Their departure was almost hurried. There 
 was nothing to do on either side, the four 
 agreed, but to wait the turn of events. 
 
 The two gray robes and white bonnets 
 had but just got away when the bell rang 
 again and Mile. Yvonne let in Mme. De I'lsle 
 and Mrs. Chester. 
 
 But these calls were in mid-afternoon. 
 The evening previous — "Show Mr. Chester 
 to three-thirty-three," the hotel clerk had 
 said, and presently Mrs. Chester was all but 
 perishing in the arms of her son. 
 
3i6 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 " Geoff ry! Geoffry! you needn't be fero- 
 cious !" 
 
 They took seats facing each other, low seats 
 that touched; but when they joined hands 
 a second time he dropped to his knees, asking 
 many questions already answered in her 
 regular and frequent letters. News is so dif- 
 ferent by word of mouth when the mouth's 
 the sweetest, sacredest ever kissed. "And 
 how's father.?" 
 
 As if he didn't know to the last detail! 
 
 All at once — " Why didn't you say you 
 were coming.?" he savagely demanded. 
 
 "No matter," his mother replied, "I'm glad 
 I didn't, things have happened so pleasantly. 
 I've seen your whole Royal Street coterie, ex- 
 cept, of course " 
 
 "Yes, of course." 
 
 The mother told her evening's experience. 
 
 "And you like my friends.?" 
 
 "Why, Geoffry, you're right to love them. 
 But, now, how came you back so soon from 
 St. What's-his-name.?" 
 
 "Opposing counsel compromised the case 
 without trial. Mother, it's the greatest pro- 
 fessional victory I've ever won." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 317 
 
 "Oh, how fine ! Geoff ry, how are you get- 
 ting on, professionally, anyhow?" 
 
 "Better than my best hope, dear; far 
 better. I've shot right up ! " 
 
 "Then why do you look so weary and care- 
 worn ?" 
 
 "I don't. I'm older, that's all, dear." 
 
 "Oh! Prospering and care-free, and yet 
 you'd drop everything and go to France, to 
 war." 
 
 "No, dearie, no. I'm sorry I wrote you 
 what I did, but I only said I felt like it. I 
 don't now. I envied those Royal Street boys, 
 who could do that with a splendid conscience. 
 I — I can't. I can't go killing men, even mur- 
 derers, for a remote personal reason. I must 
 wait till my own country calls and my pa- 
 triotism is pure patriotism. That's higher 
 honor — to her, isn't it.'"' 
 
 "It is to you; I'm not bothering about 
 her." 
 
 "You will when you see her, first sight. 
 To-morrow afternoon, you say. Wish I could 
 be there when your eyes first light on her ! 
 Mother, dearie, isn't it as much she as I you've 
 come to see ? " 
 
3i8 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "Well, if it is, what then?" 
 
 "I'm glad. But I draw the hne at seeing. 
 Help, you understand, I don't want — I won't 
 have !" 
 
 "Why, Geoff ry, I !" 
 
 "Oh, I say it because there isn't one of 
 that kind-hearted coterie who hasn't wanted 
 to put in something in my favor. I forbid ! 
 A dozen to one — I won't allow it ! No, nor 
 any two to one, not even we two. Win or 
 lose, I go it alone. 'Twould be fatal to do 
 otherwise if I would. You'll see that the 
 minute you see her." 
 
 "Why, Geoff ry! What a heat!" 
 
 "Oh, I'll be the only one burned. Good 
 night. I can't see you to-morrow before eve- 
 ning. Shall we dine here?" 
 
 "Yes. Oh, Geoff ry— that New York letter \ 
 Manuscript accepted?" 
 
 A shade crossed the son's brow. "Don't 
 you think I ought to tell her first ?" 
 
 "Her first," the mother — the mother — re- 
 peated after him. "Maybe so; I don't care." 
 They kissed. "Good night." 
 
 "Good night . . . good night . . . food 
 night, dear, darling mother. Good night!" 
 
XLVIII 
 
 At the batten door of her high, tight 
 garden-fence Mile. Yvonne, we repeat, let 
 in Mme. De I'lsle and Mrs. Chester. 
 
 "Mother of — ah-h-h!" Her rapture was 
 mated to such courteous restraint that din- 
 giness and dishevelment were easily over- 
 looked. "And 'ow marvellouz that is, that 
 you 'appen to come juz' when he — and us — 
 we're getting that news of the manu' " 
 
 "What! accepted?" 
 
 "Oh, that we di'n' hear yet! We only hear 
 he's hear' something, but we're sure tha'z 
 the only something he can hear!" She had 
 begun to close the gate, but Mrs. Chester 
 lingered in it. 
 
 "That fine large house and garden across 
 the way," she said; "are they a Creole 
 type ?" 
 
 "Yes, bez' kind — for in the city. They 
 got very few like that in the vieux carre, but 
 
 up yonder in that beautiful garden diztric' 
 
 319 
 
320 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 of the nouveau quartier are many, where we'll 
 perchanze go to hve some day pritty soon. 
 That old 'ouse we're inhabiting here, tha'z — 
 like us, ha, ha ! — a pritty antique. Tha'z 
 mo' suit' for a relique than to live in, espe- 
 cially for Tantine — ha, ha ! — tha'z auntie, yet 
 tha'z what we call our niece, Aline — juz' in 
 plaisanterie ! — biccause she take' so much 
 mo' care of us than us of her." 
 
 Mrs. Chester had stopped to look around 
 her. "Whenever you move," she said, "you'll 
 have to leave this delightful little garden 
 behind; it won't fit out of these quaint sur- 
 roundings." 
 
 "Ah ! We won't want that any mo' !" 
 
 They pressed on. "That 'ouse acrozz 
 street," said Mme. De I'lsle, "I notiz there 
 the usual sign." 
 
 "Ah, yes, yes! 'For Sale or Rent'; tha'z 
 what always predominate' in that poor vieux 
 carre. But here is my sizter. Corinne, Mrs. 
 Chezter, the mother of Mr. Chezter — as you 
 see by the image of him in the face ! I can 
 have the boldnezz to say that, madame, bic- 
 cause never in my life I di'n' see a young man 
 so 'andsome like yo' son !" 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 321 
 
 The mother blushed — a lifelong failing. 
 "At home," she said, "he's called his father's 
 double." 
 
 "Is that possible .? But tha'z the way with 
 people. Some people they find Aline the 
 image of Corinne, and some of me. Yet Co- 
 rinne and me — look!" 
 
 The four went in — to the usual entertain- 
 ment: the solid plank walls, the fine absence 
 of lath and plaster, Aline's " liT robe of bap- 
 tism," and the bridegroom and bride who had 
 gone a lifetime without a change of linen. 
 They passed out into the rear garden and 
 told wonderful stories of those gifted little 
 darlings the goldfish. Hector, unfortunately 
 absent, had a mouth-organ, to whose strains 
 the fishes would listen so motionless that you 
 could see they were spellbound. Yvonne 
 ran back into the house to get it, but for some 
 cause returned with nerves so shaken that 
 the fishes would do nothing but run wildly 
 to and fro. Still, that was just as startling 
 proof of their amazing whatever-it-was ! 
 
 Seats were not taken in the bower. The 
 declining sun filled it. Mrs. Chester moved 
 fondly from one flower-bed to another, and 
 
322 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 while the sisters eagerly filled her hands with 
 their choicest bloom Yvonne privately got 
 a disturbed glance to Corinne that drew the 
 four indoors again. There the outside quaint- 
 ness tempted Mrs. Chester at once to a front 
 window, with Mile. Yvonne at her side. 
 
 The front garden was not as the visitor 
 had seen it shortly before while entering. 
 She turned silently away, while mademoiselle, 
 as though surprised, cried to her sister and 
 Mme. De ITsle: "Ah! Aline she's arrive'! 
 Mrs. Chezter, 'ow tha'z fortunate for us all !" 
 
 So with the other three Mrs. Chester looked 
 out again. Half-way up the walk stood 
 Aline. Her back was to the house. Cupid 
 was just inside the gate, and between them, 
 closely confronting her, was a third figure — 
 Geoffry Chester. The indoor company could 
 see his face, but not its mood, so dazzling 
 was the low sun behind him; but certainly 
 it was not gay. Her hand lay in his through 
 some parting speech, but fell from it as both 
 returned toward the gate. Which Cupid 
 opened — sad irony — for Chester, and while 
 the child locked him out Aline came forward 
 wrapped in sunlight. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 323 
 
 By steps, as she came, her beauty of form, 
 face, and soul grew on Mrs. Chester's sight, 
 and when, in the house, with her sunset halo 
 quenched and her presence more perfectly 
 humanized, her smile and voice crowned 
 the revelation, it happened as Geoffry had 
 said it would; the mother's heart went out 
 to her in fond and complete acceptance. 
 
 To the four women taking seats with her 
 the laying of a graceful hat off her dark hair 
 was the dissolving of one lovely picture into 
 another unmarred by the fact that a letter 
 which she held in her fingers was the pub- 
 lishers' latest word to Chester. ] But now, as 
 her own silent gaze fell on it held in her [lap 
 in both hands, so did theirs, till her fingers 
 shook and she bit her lip. Then — "Never 
 mind to read it, chere" Mme. De I'lsle said, 
 "juz' tell us. We are prepare' for the worz'. 
 They want to poz'pone the pewblication, or 
 they don't want to pay in advanz' ?" 
 
 Aline lifted so bright a smile through her 
 tears that every heart grew lighter. "They 
 don't want it at all," she said. "They have 
 sent it back!" 
 
 "Oh-h-h ! Impossible !" exclaimed the two 
 
324 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 sisters, their eyes filling. "The clerk he's put 
 the wrong letter — letter for another party !" 
 
 Aline smiled again. "No; Mr. Chester, 
 he has the manuscript. Ah, you poor" — 
 again she smiled, biting her lip and wiping 
 her tears. Then she turned, looked stead- 
 fastly into Mrs. Chester's face, and suddenly 
 handed her the missive. "Read it out." 
 
 Mrs. Chester did so. As history, it said, 
 the paper's interest was too merely encyclo- 
 paedic for magazine use, while as romance 
 it was too much a story of peoples, not 
 persons; romantic yet not romance. As to 
 book form the same drawbacks held, besides 
 the fact that there was not enough of it, not 
 one-fifth enough, for even a small book. 
 
 When the reader would have handed the 
 letter back it was agreed instead that she 
 should give it to her son. "What does he 
 purpose to do.?" she inquired. "This is 
 the judgment of but one publisher, and there 
 are 
 
 "In the North," Mme. De I'lsle broke in, 
 "they got mo' than a dozen pewblisher' !" 
 
 "Whiles one," the sisters pleaded, "tha'z 
 all we require !" 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 325 
 
 "I know that," said Aline to the four. 
 "'Twas of that we were speaking at the gate. 
 But" — to Mrs. Chester — "that judgment of 
 the one publisher is become our judgment 
 also. So this evening he will bring you the 
 manuscript, and in two or three days, when 
 we come to see you, my two aunt' and me — 
 I, you can give it me." 
 
 "May I read it .? I've been to Ovide's and 
 read 'The Clock in the Sky.' " 
 
 "Yes ? Well, if later we have the good 
 chance to find, in our vieux carre, we and our 
 coterie, and Ovide, some more stories, true 
 romances, we'll maybe try again; but till 
 then — ah, no." 
 
 Mrs. Chester touched the girl caressingly. 
 "My dear, you will! Every house looks 
 as if it could tell at least one, including 
 that large house and garden just over the 
 way." 
 
 "Ah," chanted Mile. Yvonne, "how many 
 time' Corinne and me, we want' to live there 
 and furnizh, ourseff, that romanz' !" 
 
 The five rose. Mrs. Chester "would be 
 delighted to have the three Chapdelaines 
 call, I'm leaving the hotel, you know; I've 
 
326 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 taken a room next Geoffry's. But that's 
 nearer you, is it not ? " 
 
 "A li'l', yes," the sisters replied, but Aline's 
 smiling silence said: "No, a Httle farther off." 
 
 The aunts thanked Mme. De I'lsle for 
 bringing Mrs. Chester and kissed her cheeks. 
 They walked beside her to the gate, led by 
 Cupid with the key, and by Marie Made- 
 leine crooking the end of her tail like a floor- 
 walker's finger. Mrs. Chester and Aline 
 came last. The sisters ventured out to the 
 sidewalk to finish an apology for a significant 
 fault in Marie Madeleine's figure, and Mrs. 
 Chester and Aline found themselves alone 
 
 "Au revoir," they said, clasping hands. 
 Cupid, under a sudden inspiration, half-closed 
 the gate, the pair stood an eloquent moment 
 gazing eye to eye, and then 
 
 What happened the mother told her son 
 that evening as they sat alone on a moonlit 
 veranda. 
 
 "Mother!" 
 
 "Yes," she said, "and on the lips." 
 
XLIX 
 
 Beginning at dawn, an all-day rain rested 
 the travel-wearied lady. But the night 
 cleared and in the forenoon that followed 
 she shopped — for things, she wrote her hus- 
 band, not to be found elsewhere in the forty- 
 eight States. 
 
 The afternoon she gave to two or three 
 callers, notably to Mrs. Thorndyke-Smith, 
 who was very pleasing every way, but in 
 nothing more than in her praises of the Royal 
 Street coterie. Next morning, in a hired car, 
 she had Castanado and Mme. Dubroca, 
 Beloiseau and Mme. Alexandre, not merely 
 show but, as the ironworker said, pinching 
 forefinger and thumb together in the air, 
 " elucidate " to her, for hours, the vieux carre. 
 The day's latter half brought Miles. Corinne 
 and Yvonne; but Aline — no. 
 
 "She was coming till the laz' moment," 
 
 the pair said, "and then she's so bew2y she 
 
 327 
 
328 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 'ave to sen' us word, by 'Ector, 'tis impossib' 
 to come — till maybe later. Go h-on, juz' 
 
 we two." 
 
 They sat and talked, and rose and talked, 
 and — sweetly importuned — resumed seats and 
 talked, of infant days and the old New Or- 
 leans they loved so well, unembarrassed by 
 a maze of innocent anachronisms, and grow- 
 ingly sure that Aline would come. 
 
 When at sunset they took leave Mrs. 
 Chester, to their delight, followed to the side- 
 walk, drifted on by a corner or two, and even 
 turned up Rampart Street, though without 
 saying that it was by Rampart Street her son 
 daily came — walked — from his office. It had 
 two paved ways for general traffic, with a 
 broad "space between, where once, the sisters 
 explained, had been the rampart's moat but 
 now ran the electric cars! "You know 
 what that is, rampart ^ Tha'z in the ' Star- 
 Spangle' Banner' ab-oud that. And this high 
 wall where we're passing, tha'z the Carmelite 
 convent, and — ah ! ad the last ! Aline ! 
 Aline!" Also there was Cupid. 
 
 The four encountered gayly. "Ah, not 
 this time," Aline said. " I came only to meet 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 329 
 
 my aunts; they had locked the gate ! But 
 I will call, very soon." 
 
 They walked up to the next corner, the 
 sisters confusingly instructing Mrs. Chester 
 how to take a returning street-car. Leaving 
 them, she had just got safely across from 
 sidewalk to car-track when Cupid came 
 pattering after, to bid her hail only the car 
 marked "Esplanade Belt." 
 
 As he backed off — "Take care!" was the 
 cry, but he sprang the wrong way and a 
 hurrying jitney cast him yards distant, where 
 he lay unconscious and bleeding. The packed 
 street-car emptied. 
 
 "No, he's alive," said one who lifted him, 
 to the two jitney passengers, who pushed into 
 the throng. "Arm broke', yes, but he's hurt 
 worst in the head." 
 
 There was an apothecary's shop in sight. 
 They put him and the four ladies into the 
 jitney and sent them there, and the world 
 moved on. 
 
 At the shop he came to, and presently, 
 in the jitney again, he was blissfully aware of 
 Geoffry Chester on the swift running-board, 
 questioning his mother and Aline by turns. 
 
330 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 He listened with all his might. Neither the 
 child nor his mistress had seen or heard the 
 questioner since the afternoon he was locked 
 out of the garden. 
 
 Nearing that garden now, questions and 
 answers suddenly ceased; the child had 
 spoken. Limp and motionless, with his head 
 on Aline's bosom and his eyes closed, "Don't 
 let," he brokenly said, "don't let him go 
 'way." 
 
 To him the answer seemed so long coming 
 that he began to repeat; then Aline said 
 
 "No, dear, he shan't leave you." 
 
 The sisters had telephoned their own 
 physician from the apothecary's shop, and 
 soon, with Cupid on his cot, pushed close to 
 a cool window looking into the rear garden, 
 and the garden lighted by an unseen moon, 
 Mrs. Chester, at the cot's side awaited the 
 doctor's arrival. The restless sisters brought 
 her a tray of rusks and butter and tea, though 
 they would not, could not, taste anything 
 themselves until they should know how 
 gravely the small sufferer — for now he began 
 to suffer — ^was hurt. 
 
 "Same time tha'z good to be induztriouz" 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 331 
 
 — this was all said directly above the moan- 
 ing child — "while tha'z bad, for the sick, to 
 talk ad the bedside, and we can't stay with 
 you and not talk, and we can't go in that 
 front yard; that gate is lef open so the doc- 
 tor he needn' ring and that way excide the 
 patient; and we can't go in the back gar- 
 den" — they spread their hands and dropped 
 them; the back garden was hopelessly pre- 
 empted. 
 
 They went to a parlor window and sat 
 looking and longing for the front gate to 
 swing. They had posted on it in Corinne's 
 minute writing: "No admittance excep on 
 business. Open on account sickness. S. V. 
 P. Don't wring the belle! ! !" 
 
 Cupid lay very flat on his back, his face 
 turned to the open window. He had ceased 
 to moan. When Mrs. Chester stole to where, 
 by leaning over, she could see his eyes they 
 were closed. She hoped he slept, but sat 
 down in uncertainty rather than risk waking 
 him. In the moonlit garden Aline and Geof- 
 fry paced to and fro. To see them his mother 
 would have to stand and lean over the cot, 
 and neither good mothers nor good nurses 
 
332 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 do that. She kept her seat, anxiously hoping 
 that the moonhght out there would remain 
 soft enough to veil the worn look which day- 
 light betrayed on her son's face whenever 
 he fell into silence. 
 
 The talk of the pair was labored. Once 
 they went clear to the bower and turned, 
 without a word. Then Geoffry said: "I 
 know a story I'd like to tell you, though how 
 it would help us in our project — if we now 
 have a project at all— I don't see." 
 
 "'Tis of the vieux carre, that story ?" 
 
 "It's of the vieux carre of the world's 
 heart." 
 
 "I think I know it." 
 
 "May I not tell it?" 
 
 "Yes, you may tell it — although — yes, 
 tell it." 
 
 "Well, there was once a beautiful girl, as 
 beautiful in soul as in countenance, and wor- 
 shipped by a few excellent friends, few only 
 because of conditions in her life that almost 
 wholly exiled her from society. Even so, 
 she had suitors — ^good, gallant men; not of 
 wealth, yet with good prospects and with 
 gifts more essential. But other conditions 
 seemed, to her, to forbid marriage." 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 333 
 
 "Yes," Aline interrupted. "Mr. Chester, 
 have you gone in partnership with Mr. Cas- 
 tanado — ' Masques et Costumes ' ? Or would 
 it not be maybe better honor to me — and 
 yourself — to speak " 
 
 " Straight out ? Yes, of course. Aline, 
 I've been racking my brain — I still am — and 
 my heart — to divine what it is that separates 
 us. I had come to believe you loved me. I 
 can't quite stifle the conviction yet. I be- 
 lieve that in refusing me you're consciously 
 refusing that which seems to you yourself 
 a worthy source of supreme happiness if it 
 did not threaten the happiness of others 
 dearer than your own." 
 
 "Of my aunts, you think .?" 
 
 "Yes, your aunts." 
 
 " Mr. Chester, even if I had no aunts " 
 
 "Yes, I see. That's my new discovery: 
 you've already had my assurance that I'd 
 study their happiness as I would yours, ours, 
 mine; but you think I could never make 
 your aunts and myself happy in the same 
 atmosphere. You believe in me. You be- 
 lieve I have a future that must carry me — 
 would carry us— into a world your aunts 
 don't know and could never learn." 
 
334 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 "'Tis true. And yet even if my aunts " 
 
 "Had no existence — yes, I know. I know 
 what you think would still remain. You 
 can't hint it, for you think I would promptly 
 promise the impossible, as lovers so easily 
 do. Aline, I would not ! 'Twouldn't be im- 
 possible. It shall not be. My mother is 
 helping to prove that even to you, isn't she — 
 without knowing it ^ I promise you as if it 
 were in the marriage contract and we were 
 here signing it, that if you will be my wife 
 I never will, and you never shall, let go, or 
 in any way relax, your hold — or mine — on 
 the intimate friendship of the coterie in Royal 
 Street. They are your inheritance from your 
 father and his father, and I love you the more 
 adoringly because you would sooner break 
 your own heart than forfeit that legacy." 
 He took one of her hands. "You are their 
 'Clock in the Sky'; you're their 'Angel of 
 the Lord.' And so you shall be till death do 
 you part." He took the other hand, held 
 both. 
 
 Cupid turned his face from the window and 
 audibly sobbed. 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 335 
 
 "Oh, child, what is it ? Does it pain so ?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "Doesn't it pain? Is it not pain at all? 
 Why, then, what is it?" 
 
 "Joy," he whispered as the doctor came 
 in. 
 
The child's hurts were not so grave, after 
 all. 
 
 "He may sit up to-morrow," the doctor 
 said. The fractured arm was put into a 
 splint and sling, and a collar-bone had to 
 be wrapped in place; but the absorbent 
 cotton bandaged on his head was only for 
 contusions. 
 
 "Corinne!" Mile. Yvonne gasped, "con- 
 tusion' ! Ah, doctor, I 'ope tha'z something 
 you can't 'ave but once!" 
 
 "You can't in fatal cases. Mrs. — eh — 
 those scissors, please .'' Thank you." 
 
 "Well, Aline, praise be to heaven, any'ow 
 his skull, from ear to ear 'tis solid ! Ah, I 
 mean, of co'se, roun' the h-outside. Inside 
 'tis hollow. But outside it has not a crack ! 
 eh, doctor.?" 
 
 "Except the sutures he was born with. 
 
 Now, my little man " 
 
 336 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 337 
 
 "Ah, ah, Corinne ! Born with shuture' ! 
 and we never suzpeg' that !" 
 
 "Ah, but, Yvonne, if he's had those sinz' 
 that long they cann' be so very fatal, no!" 
 
 Partly for the little boy's sake three days 
 were let pass before Aline made her announce- 
 ment. There was but one place for it — the 
 Castanados' parlor. All the coterie were 
 there — the De I'lsles, even Ovide — butler 
 pro tern. 
 
 "You will have refreshments," he said, 
 with happiest equanimity; "I will serve 
 them"; and the whole race problem van- 
 ished. Melanie too was present, with an 
 announcement of her own which won ecstatic 
 kisses, many of them tear-moistened but all 
 of them' glad. As for Mme. Alexandre and 
 Beloiseau, they announced nothing, but every 
 one knew, and said so in the smiling fervency 
 of their hand-grasps. 
 
 All of which made the evening too hope- 
 lessly old-fashioned to be dwelt on, though 
 one point cannot be overlooked. It was the 
 last proclamation of the joyous hour, and was 
 Chester's. He had bought — on wonderfully 
 
338 THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 
 
 easy terms — vieux carre terms — the large house 
 and grounds opposite the Chapdelaine cot- 
 tage, and there the aunts were to dwell with 
 the young pair. 
 
 "Permanently?" 
 
 "Ah, only whiles we live!" 
 
 The coterie adjourned. 
 
 Already the sisters had begun to move 
 in. Mrs. Chester helped them "marvel- 
 louzly." Also Aline. Also Cupid — that was 
 now his only name. The cat really couldn't; 
 she was too preoccupied. The sisters touched 
 Mrs. Chester's arm and drew a curtain. 
 
 "Look! . . . Eight! Ah, thou unfaith- 
 ful, if we had ever think you are going to so 
 forget yo'seff like that, we woul'n' never 
 name you Marie Madeleine ! And still ad 
 the same time you know, Mrs. Chezter, we 
 are sure she's trying to tell us, right now, 
 that this going to be the laz' time!" 
 
 "And me," Yvonne added, "I feel sure 
 any'ow that, as the poet say — I'm prittie 
 sure 'tis the poet say that — she's mo' sin' 
 ag-ainz' than sinning." 
 
 At length one evening so many relics of 
 
THE FLOWER OF THE CHAPDELAINES 339 
 
 the Chapdelaine infancy had been gathered 
 in the new home that the sisters went over 
 there to pass the night, and took puss and 
 her offspring along. But not a wink did 
 either of them sleep the night through, and 
 the first living creature they espied the next 
 morning was Marie Madeleine, with a kitten 
 in her teeth, moving back. 
 
 "Aline," they sobbed as soon as they could 
 find her, "we are sorry, sorry, sorry, to make 
 you such unhappinezz like that, and so soon; 
 continue, you and Geoffry, to live in that 
 new 'ouse; but whiles we live any plaze but 
 heaven we got to live in that home of our 
 in-fancy." 
 
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