LADY
THE HISTORY
-TTY
STAIR
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LADY BETTY STAIR
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MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL

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LIBRARY
1837
SCIENTIA
VERITAS
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
PLURIBUS UNUM
SQUAERIS PENINSULAM AMOENAM
CIRCUMSPICE
THE HISTORY OF THE
LADY BETTY STAIR

"I present you with the Cross for Tried Bravery. None has
deserved it more than you.'"
Vor M
THE HISTORY
OF THE LADY
BETTY STAIR
BY
MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL
AUTHOR OF
"THE SPRIGHTLY ROMANCE OF MARSAC,"
"CHILDREN OF DESTINY,' (C THROCK-
MORTON,"
" "LITTLE JARVIS,"
ETC.
Illustrated by
THULE DE THULSTRUP
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1897
་
Copyright, 1897,
BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
Dramatic and all other rights
reserved.
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
་1
}
List of Illustrations
I present you with the Cross for Tried
Bravery. None has deserved it more
than you"
PAGE
Frontispiece
Now, Lady Betty bad in her hand a large
green fan.
"I recollect this young lady well"
Never was there a handsomer couple, or
a more graceful
"Let him go, you wretched bailiffs"
"Dear lady, this is the night I go
“Tell him so, I beg of you"
She was just half a minute too late.
6
16
32
72
82
106
•
130
The History of the Lady
Betty Stair
IN
N the year 1798 the palace of Holy-
rood was inhabited by a swarm of
French people, -his Royal Highness
the Comte d'Artois, who in his youth
had danced so deliciously on the tight-
rope as to be the admiration of the
Little Trianon, and in his old age
was Charles X. of France; his Savoy-
ard princess, Marie Thérèse; and some
gentlemen and ladies in waiting. Among
the suite were four persons whose lives
had been remotely but strangely con-
nected in the old days at Versailles;
and as fate is an adept at such tricks,
all four of them were brought together
in this old haunted palace when the
Comte d'Artois took up his abode there.
I
I
The History of the
-
One of them, the Abbé de Ronceray,
was a brave, gentle old priest, who had
once been a soldier and was a soldier
still at heart; another was De Bour-
mont, a fellow with a fine figure, a
plain face, but irresistible among the
ladies; the third was Bastien, hand-
some, but an arrant scoundrel; and the
fourth was Lady Betty Stair, one of
the sweetest creatures that ever lived.
Years before, in 1789, when Lady
Betty was a mere chit of fifteen, she
knew both De Bourmont and Bastien
well by sight. They were officers in
the Queen's Musketeers, and Lady
Betty's education had been finished at
the palace of Versailles, under the care
of Madame Mirabel, an ancient hanger-
on of the court, so they had a plenty
of chances to meet. But she was so
young
and unformed that De Bourmont
had never noticed the handsome slip of
a girl; and Bastien had a most un-
pleasant recollection of her. In those
days she had a brother, Angus Mac-
2
Lady Betty Stair
donald, an officer in the Scottish Guard
of the King of France, as his father
had been before him. The Macdon-
alds were of those who had poured out
their blood and treasure with a free
hand for the Stuarts, and esteemed
George III. just as much a "Hanove-
rian rat" as George I. They were
also of that remnant of the Highland
families which held to the old religion,
and, being cut off thereby from the
profession of arms in their own coun-
try, they were apt to pass over to
France, in each generation, and see
some service under the fleur-de-lis of
the Bourbons. The old laird himself
had served in Berwick's brigade, and
had married a French girl, who died
young, leaving him a boy and girl.
The son, therefore, following the tra-
ditions of his family, went to France
for the restless years of his youth, and
the old laird sent his only daughter, the
apple of his eye, with her brother to be
"finished" in her mother's land.
The
3
The History of the
brother and sister had the simple ways
of Scotch people, and, in spite of Ma-
dame Mirabel's "finishing"
finishing" process,
Lady Betty, who was the most high-
bred creature imaginable, could never
get over this pretty simplicity. She
and Angus openly kissed each other
quite warmly at parting, no matter who
was present; and one morning it
was that terrible October day in 1789,
when Versailles entertained strange
company, consisting of a hundred
thousand of the "canaille," as the
Versailles people called them —— she
kissed Angus in sight of Bastien, who
did not know they were brother and
sister. Bastien, passing along a few
minutes after, ogled Lady Betty very
odiously, which she responded to by a
cool stare, quite unlike a French girl's
drooping glance; and Bastien, then and
there, made the greatest mistake of his
life. He paid Lady Betty an impudent
compliment and completed his folly by
a motion as if to kiss her.
4
Lady Betty Stair
Now, Lady Betty held in her hand a
large green fan, and when Bastien
thought he was about to gain a kiss,
she raised the fan, and, bringing it down
on his nose with all the strength in her
strong young arm, gave him such a
whack that he was, in a minute, as
bloody as a butcher, and wore court-
plaster for a week.
Lady Betty, having done this timely
act of justice, immediately fled, blush-
ing with the fierceness of insulted
maidenhood, while Bastien stood still
and cursed her and her green fan.
Being a highly accomplished liar, how-
ever, he invented a romance of a baker's
wife having assaulted him while he was
trying, later in the morning, to keep
her out of the Queen's bedroom; and
he really made a very comical story
out of it — only, there was not a word
of truth in it.
But events so terrible followed a few
days after, that for months, and even
years, Lady Betty almost forgot this ad-
5
The History of the
venture.
Besides the outbreak of that
ferocious thirst for freedom called the
Revolution, Lady Betty met with a
dreadful sorrow and loss. Within a
week of the episode of the green fan
and Bastien's nose, Angus Macdonald
was found one evening, shortly after
dark, lying stark and dead in the forest
of Fontainebleau, and he had evidently
lost his life in a duel.
The name of his adversary and the
cause of the quarrel remained a mys-
tery; but there was a suspicion that
the Abbé de Ronceray knew something
about it. It so happened that he had
that very day received ordination as a
priest, after having spent more than
thirty years with the reputation of a
peculiarly dashing beau sabreur, and
having reached the rank of command-
ant of battalion. He had gone to Fon-
tainebleau in the afternoon, at the
urgent request of the old curé, who
happened to be ill and to need the ser-
vices of an assistant. About dusk the
6

Now, Lady Betty had in her hand a large green fan."
Uor M
Lady Betty Stair
new-made priest was sitting with the
curé, when a servant came upstairs
and, with a scared face, told De Ron-
ceray that a gentleman, evidently an
officer, was downstairs in the little salon
and was in deep agitation. Would M.
de Ronceray come at once?
The new-made priest went down,
carrying a lighted candle in his hand,
being unfamiliar with the house. As
he entered the salon a young man in
uniform arose, and, before the priest
could get a look at him, blew out the
candle, leaving them in darkness.
Having been used to danger all his
life, this little occurrence only caused De
Ronceray to say coolly, "Well, my
friend, just as you like. If you prefer
the darkness
The officer's response was to close
and lock the door, to which De Ron-
ceray made no objection. The two
remained locked in the room, and in
darkness, conversing in whispers, for
half an hour, when a knock came at
7.
The History of the
the door. The officer responded by
dropping through the window on the
priest's flower-bed, and then took briskly
to his heels. De Ronceray opened the
door and almost ran into the arms of
young De Bourmont. The two had
known each other, as a subaltern and a
commandant might, and De Bourmont
had come to pay his respects to his old
chief. De Ronceray was charmed to
see him, and the two sat up half the
night conversing. De Bourmont, be-
fore then, had been somewhat irreli-
gious, but a change for the better was
noted in him after that night, and he and
the ex-commandant became fast friends.
When the tragedy of Angus Mac-
donald's death that evening became
known, De Ronceray said nothing about
his mysterious visitor whose face he
had not seen, and whose voice, except
in whispers, he had not heard. But
the servant, like most of her kind, was
unable to hold her tongue and gave a
brilliantly picturesque description of it,
8
Lady Betty Stair
not forgetting the incident of De Bour-
mont's visit. The story, in going from
mouth to mouth, naturally had many
additions and emendations, and it was
whispered abroad that De Bourmont
was the slayer of the young Scotch offi-
cer. But the days of storm and stress
were at hand then, and such a trifle as
the loss of a single life made the less
stir when lives went down before the
red revolution as the ripe wheat before
the sickle.
The story reached the ears of the
broken-hearted young sister, but in such
form that she only knew it was thought
that De Ronceray knew something con-
cerning Angus Macdonald's murderer.
Alone, except for the elderly infant
known as Madame Mirabel, and pre-
paring to return to Scotland through
the storm of the Revolution, Lady Betty
had no means, and indeed no wish, to
know the name of her brother's mur-
derer. Angus could never come back
the rest mattered little.
9
The History of the
Lady Betty
At last the two women
being entitled to be called a woman
for her spirit and sharp intelligence
rather than by reason of her years—
reached the eyry in the Highlands
which was the home of the Macdonalds
of Stair.
It was a melancholy life enough for
the two during the next few years.
Madame Mirabel, with the singular
fortitude that those shallow, trifling peo-
ple of the French court showed gener-
ally in their misfortunes, bore her exile
without a word of complaint. The
climate, the people, the fare, the bag-
pipes, even the heather that made the
towering peaks about them to be
clothed in royal purple, she hated with
all her French soul, but she said no
word. As for Lady Betty, who was as
proud as any Highland chieftain ever
was, she would rather have died than
uttered one complaint. The old laird
was that not uncommon character a
hundred years ago, a Highlandman, half
ΙΟ
Lady Betty Stair
savage and half courtier, who talked
more Gaelic and more French than he
did English, almost found consolation
for the loss of his only son in the charm
and tenderness of his only daughter.
For her sake he even gave up having
those noisy drinking bouts at his house
when a score of Highland gentlemen
would assemble and spend, not hours,
but days, "on the lee side of a bowl
of punch."
On one of these occa-
sions, Sandy Macgowan, one of the in-
ferior gentry, having been observed to sit
perfectly still for several hours, a cur-
sory examination revealed that Sandy
was dead. This trifling accident did
not interrupt the proceedings though,
and the old laird's reply, some days
after, to Madame Mirabel's volubly
expressed horror, was brief and to the
point : —
"Would ye have the pleasure of a
company of gentlemen disturbed for
such a puir creature as Sandy Mac-
gowan?'
*
II
The History of the
Lady Betty, however, cast a glance.
of such reproach at her father that the
laird actually blushed for the first time
in forty years, and left the room. Not
long afterward, though, the laird fol-
lowed Sandy Macgowan, and Lady
Betty was indeed alone in the world.
In the same year, '98, a great event
happened to her, however. The Comte
d'Artois having taken refuge at Holy-
rood, it was thought well in order to
keep the Edinburgh people satisfied
with their visitors, that at least one of
the young ladies of the old Jacobite.
families be asked to attend the Princess
Marie Thérèse, and a shrewd move it
Lady Betty was their choice,
and nothing could have been more
judicious; for, in spite of her readiness
to wield her green fan on impudent
young gentlemen, and the unforgettable
sorrow for her father and brother, the
sweetness, the charm she carried with
her, was irresistible, and the French.
colony needed all the consolatory charm
was.
12
Lady Betty Stair
that could be had, especially the young
De Bourmont.
In the spirit of devotion among the
old nobility to their exiled royalties, a
request was equivalent to a command,
and the Comte d'Artois, having re-
quested De Bourmont's company, that
high-spirited young gentleman, ex-officer
of the Queen's Musketeers, thereupon
had to spend several of the best years
of his life in laboriously watching and
waiting upon a man who did nothing all
day long and half the night. At first
De Bourmont bore it with the fine air of
a martyr; then he yearned and burned
to join the Vendeans, and latterly he
had boldly made up his mind to go over
to the Corsican at the first decent oppor-
tunity. He was thinking about this
one autumn night in 1798, as he leaned
against the wall in the courtyard of
Holyrood, fingering his sword and biting
his lips and muttering grimly to himself,
when up rattled a huge old travelling
chariot, and, the steps being let down, a
13
The History of the
simpering old French lady descended,
and after her the sweetest, freshest,
most laughing, coquettish young girl De
Bourmont had ever seen, Lady Betty
Stair. Now, De Bourmont had little
difficulty in identifying the party. He
knew the Scotch girl was expected, and
had pictured to himself a tall, rawboned,
redhaired girl, in short, a Highland
chief in long petticoats. And Bastien,
who was coming around the corner of
the stone gateway, recognized them and
gave a little start, and changing color
turned back, but presently came for-
ward again. Bastien's claim to being
of the old nobility was a little shady;
consequently, he highly valued his at-
tendance on royalty, and was willing
to stay as long as the Comte d'Artois
wanted him.
Lady Betty, with the eye of an eaglet
in her own mountains, recognized both
men by the light of the flaring flambeaux
carried by the running footmen, Bas-
tien with a thrill of hatred, fear, and
!
14
Lady Betty Stair
disgust, and De Bourmont with a thrill
of a very different sort. She remem-
bered seeing him at Versailles years be-
fore, and she recalled a certain little
girlish, almost childish tenderness she
had felt for him, which suddenly came
to life when she saw him again. As
for Madame Mirabel, forgetting all
about etiquette, which had been the
passion and study of her lifetime, she
rushed up to De Bourmont and fairly
embraced him.
"Oh, my dear De Bourmont," she
cried, “such a happiness to see a French
face once more !"
De Bourmont gallantly and impu-
dently responded to this by giving her a
sounding kiss upon her withered cheek,
at which the delighted old lady protested
loudly.
"And here," continued Madame,
"here is Miladi Betty. don't you re-
member her at Versailles in that dear,
sweet, happy time? — oh me, oh me!”
"Ah, yes," answered De Bourmont,
15
The History of the
:
advancing and bowing to the ground as
he kissed the tips of Lady Betty's fin-
gers, "I recollect this young lady well
as a little demoiselle.
She was SO
pretty, and so proud she reminded
me of a young peacock in the King's
gardens."
Lady Betty blushed more than ever
at this and then some one else came
forward.
"Dear, dear Bastien," cried Madame
Mirabel, who had scarcely known
Bastien in the old days, but who would
have been glad to see a dog from
Versailles.
moment
Lady Betty stood for a
throbbing and thrilling as to whether
she should speak to Bastien or not.
But having, with all her grace and
spirit, her own share of hard Scotch
sense, she saw in a moment that she
would be a laughing-stock forever, and
would have to leave Holyrood, if ever
that green fan episode came out, she
wisely determined to ignore it for the
16

"I recollect this young lady well.""
Uor M
Lady Betty Stair
present. Besides, did Bastien really
know her? and had he ever known her
name? Bastien was perfectly familiar
with both, but he did not choose to ac-
knowledge it, and so he made Lady
Betty a low bow, and carefully divested.
his countenance of the smallest recogni-
tion.
"'Tis too late to see their Royal
Highnesses to-night," cried De Bour-
mont, “so there is nothing for it but to
come and sup in my apartment - you,
too, Bastien," thinking from Madame
Mirabel's cordial greeting that they were
bosom friends of long standing.
Bastien, at this, had his moment of
hesitation. Should he risk it with that
beautiful young virago or not? but he
arrived by an instantaneous course of
reasoning at the very same conclusion
that Lady Betty had come to regarding
himself, he thought she did not recog-
nize him, and Bastien devoutly hoped
she never would. And there was some-
thing else—a more serious thing
2
17
The History of the
Bastien tried to put it out of his mind
but he could not; he felt himself shud-
der slightly at the expectation that the
name of Lady Betty's dead brother be
spoken before him he never liked to
hear that name. However, a little
while saw them seated around a supper-
table in De Bourmont's grim, half-fur-
nished room in the old palace, with a
good fire and wax lights and a Scotch-
French supper to cheer them up.
The Lady Betty Stair was distinct-
ively a child of palaces, so that she
would have been perfectly happy but
for Bastien's presence, and even that
could not seriously affect her happiness.
Besides blessed thought he did not
know her! Ah, Lady Betty, Lady
Betty, he knows you well enough, and
he means to make you pay for that
once-skinned nose of his !
Madame Mirabel did an almost
inconceivable amount of eating and
talking, and Bastien, with an eye to
punishing Lady Betty's Scotch pride,
18
Lady Betty Stair
began to complain bitterly of Edinburgh
and Holyrood.
por-
"An old rat-hole, my dear Madame.
And the parties oh, the parties!
Once a week we have levees in an old
hall full of nightmares in canvas,
traits of Scotch kings, — and the great
people from the town are invited. Per-
haps you thought the old nobility of
France proud, but you ought to see
these people. Their pedigrees go back
to Moses, and their pride is as long as
their pedigrees."
Lady Betty would have dearly liked
to box Bastien's ears for this, but De
Bourmont, who was a sharp fellow, said,
very artfully: "I think our levees most
charming and every spot consecrated.
to the memory of Mary Stuart, as this
old castle is, must ever be interesting."
De Bourmont knew, well enough,
that a true Scotchman or a Scotch-
woman bases his or her opinion of a
person upon that person's opinion of
Mary Stuart. So Lady Betty smiled
19
The History of the
brilliantly at De Bourmont, whose for-
tune was made from that onward with
her, and said: "You are worthy, Mon-
sieur, of the hospitality of the Scotch
people."
"And who is in the suite?" asked
Madame Mirabel.
Bastien named several persons, and
among others the Abbé de Ronceray,-
"the best man and the worst bore!
He is always after me about my soul,
when I am thinking about my body,
and he preaches alms-giving to us when
most of us are so devilish poor that we
are afraid to meet our washerwomen."
"He was my old commander,” said
De Bourmont, laughing, "and the first.
thing he did when he became a priest
was to order me to go to confession,
and I was afraid to refuse. I had
merely called to hear the news; it was
the evening of that dreadful October
day at Versailles in 1789, and I was
stationed at Fontainebleau, where we
heard all sorts of wild reports, most
20
Lady Betty Stair
of them turned out to be worse than we
dreamed, and, knowing the Abbé had
come from Paris that morning, I went
to his house ostensibly to pay my
respects. Before I knew it, I was on
my knees in the confessional. I was
his first penitent; and I made him a
confession that kept him awake that
night, I know."
ter.
Madame Mirabel cackled with laugh-
Bastien rose suddenly and went to
the window, which he raised a little.
"Pardon, Madame and Mademoiselle.
-just a breath of air—"
He came back in a moment to his
chair looking much as usual, but in
pouring out a glass of wine, his hand
shook so that the wine was spilled on
the cloth.
At the mention of the Abbé de Ron-
ceray's name Lady Betty turned a little
pale, remembering the vague story which
credited him with knowing who was the
murderer of Angus Macdonald. She
said nothing, however, only wishing in
2 I
The History of the
her heart that some other Abbé were at
Holyrood instead of this one, whose
very name was a painful reminder of a
terrible tragedy in her life. De Bour-
mont, whose eyes were quick, saw that
the subject was an unfortunate one, for
Lady Betty sighed instead of smiling at
his little story; so he turned it very
aptly and began to sing the praises of
Edinburgh and Scotland in general.
Usually, nobody was sharper at finding
out the meaning of words than Lady
Betty; but, being a Scotchwoman, she
fell directly into De Bourmont's trap,
and smiled and blushed with pleasure, to
the vast delight of that young hypocrite.
De Bourmont was so gay and full of
life that he made the evening charming.
In spite of his gayety, though, Lady
Betty saw, plainly enough, a restlessness
in his manner which showed that the
life he was leading did not altogether
suit him. And presently, when Ma-
dame Mirabel and Bastien were deep in
recalling the terrible incidents that had
22
Lady Betty Stair
happened to those left behind in France,
De Bourmont and Lady Betty began to
talk confidentially, and his dissatisfac-
tion was plain.
"We occupy ourselves with trifles
here," he said bitterly, "because else
we should go mad. Think, — almost
every Frenchman is fighting for France,
and here we are, and we can neither
fight for her nor against her. That is
it which keeps me awake at night, and
inspires me to all the desperate schemes.
of amusement that we can find in this
sober town."
Lady Betty, who came of good fight-
ing stock, fully understood this.
"Let me tell you, under the rose,
here,” she said, "I like that Corsican,
General Bonaparte. I believe he will
do greater things for France than he has
done yet."
And De Bourmont, looking very
black, whispered: "It is maddening-
maddening to be here.”
Bastien being a marplot, and seeing
23
The History of the
{
how fast De Bourmont was establishing
himself in Lady Betty's good graces,
was impelled by the devil of mischief-
making to say, laughing: "De Bour-
mont is the only one of us who has any
money, and what he has he won of
me on a wager concerning the beautiful
daughter of Counsellor Mackenzie, the
lawyer in Castle Street."
De Bourmont was not too well
pleased that this escapade with the
lawyer's daughter in Castle Street
should be dragged forth before the
proud Lady Betty Stair; but being a
bold fellow, and believing in the policy
of rashness, he determined to tell the
story on himself.
"Castle Street, you know," said he,
"is in the new town, where the rich
lawyers and doctors and the retired.
tradesmen live; and it is cleaner and
brighter than the old town, with its
great rookeries belonging to the nobles.
But the new town people are not in-
vited to our levees and balls here.
24
Lady Betty Stair
Well, one day I saw the Counsellor
Mackenzie's lily daughter in the street.
Bastien was with me and we both tried
to get a glance from Flora Mackenzie,
fair and stately. But in vain. Then
we very wickedly made a wager - was
it not wicked, Madame Mirabel?
CC
Dreadfully wicked," said Madame,
delightedly, and charmed to be once
more with such gay dogs.
"Our wager was fifty louis, whether
I could or could not get into Coun-
sellor Mackenzie's house and be in-
troduced to his daughter. who is a
pretty girl enough for a lawyer's daugh-
ter, but nothing like the old nobility,"
with which De Bourmont looked mean-
ingly and admiringly at Lady Betty's
highbred beauty.
"It put me to a score of trouble
that cost me more than fifty louis;
but at last it came about in the easiest
way in the world. I saw an advertise-
ment of a French master wanted for
Miss Flora Mackenzie. I presented
25
The History of the
myself. I was ushered into a gloomy
morning-room. The counsellor was
there, who though but a lawyer is a
gentleman if ever I saw one, Madame
and Mademoiselle. I gave my first
lesson, and pocketed fifty louis from
Bastien !"
"And have given about a dozen les-
sons since!" cried Bastien.
De Bourmont colored warmly.
"It is good money earned," he said
angrily.
"And Miss Flora Mackenzie is the
richest heiress in Edinburgh, too!"
continued Bastien, in a bantering tone.
De Bourmont turned still more crim-
son. An indescribable look of haughti-
ness came into Lady Betty's clear, dark
gray eyes. An attorney's daughter in
Castle Street!
Bastien, conscious that he had said
enough and more than enough, dropped
the subject. De Bourmont turned
again to Lady Betty, but found her
rather cold and unresponsive, and, in
26
Lady Betty Stair
some way, the ending of the little
supper was not so gay as its beginning.
Next day, the ladies were presented
to their Royal Highnesses. De Bour-
mont had been wont to see people of
great merit and high birth a little fright-
ened in the presence of very small
royalties; but after seeing Lady Betty's
graceful ease and modest composure in
the presence of those esteemed to be
great, he laughed no more at Scottish
pride.
"Faith, she acted as if she were her-
self only a princess of a lower degree,"
he thought, and then he remembered
that among all the red heads and hard
features and rawboned figures he had
seen at Edinburgh, he had not seen one
toady- so Lady Betty was not so ex-
ceptional after all. The meeting with
the Abbé de Ronceray was painful to
Lady Betty. Nine years had passed
since Angus Macdonald's death, and
every year, so far from wishing to know
the name of his murderer, as she called
.
27
The History of the
She
his adversary, she became less willing to
know it. It could not bring Angus.
back, and it would fill her with grief
and vengeance toward some living per-
son or dead memory. Nevertheless, by
mere dint of thinking on the subject,
she could not refrain from asking a few
guarded questions of the Abbé.
found him not only totally uncommuni-
cative, but from the first word he
dropped she saw he did not suspect that
Angus Macdonald and Lady Betty Stair
were brother and sister. So Lady Betty
determined to ask no more questions on
the subject, and believe simply that
Angus had lost his life in an honorable
quarrel for she knew him too well to
suppose his death a dishonorable one.
And so, without forgetting either Angus
or the stout old Highlander, her father,
Lady Betty chose to think on their
lives rather than their deaths, and was
tolerably happy herself, and helped
many other persons to be happy.
De Bourmont devoted himself pretty
28
Lady Betty Stair
assiduously from the first to Lady Betty,
and tried hard to make her believe he
had never given another thought to the
lawyer's daughter in Castle Street. Of
course he did give her a thought — De
Bourmont was not the man to give up
one lovely girl because there was an-
other lovely girl in the case. But after
he knew Lady Betty he merely fluttered
in Castle Street because Flora Macken-
zie was beautiful, and was cold, and
there was a spice of adventure in the
affair.
Soon, he and Lady Betty began to
talk confidentially in the long hours
they spent together, waiting in the
gloomy corridors or the dreary anterooms
for their Royal Highnesses to walk,
to drive, to play cards
would do nothing at all.
or to say they
De Bourmont
was very restless, and Lady Betty saw
plainly enough that the Comte d'Artois
would soon have to get a new gentle-
man-in-waiting. With this she keenly
sympathized. Her father had been
29
The History of the
•
"out in the forty-five" and her grand-
father in "the fifteen," and for a man's
country to be at war and that man
not in the thick of the fight, seemed to
her the most terrible of hardships. In
her heart, she felt that De Bourmont
would not be wholly a man until he
cast off those false principles of honor
which kept him a gentleman-in-waiting
when he should have been a captain.
of the line, and in a subtle way, pecu-
liarly her own, she communicated this
to him without giving offence.
To De Bourmont, who was used to
the artificial great ladies of France, this
simple, daring, spirited Scotch girl was
a revelation. She taught him the High-
land dances, and actually persuaded the
head of the family to let him wear the
tartan. To carry this out, though,
cost as much diplomacy as to get a
dukedom, so De Bourmont feelingly
complained. But he learned to dance
these national dances beautifully, and
his strong, lithe figure never looked
30
Lady Betty Stair
handsomer than when, in a kilt and
bonnet, he danced the sword dance be-
fore the royal people and their suite in
the grand drawing-room at Holyrood.
"Ah, Mademoiselle," said the Comte
d'Artois, who knew very well how to
pay compliments to Lady Betty, "the
dances of your native land are not those
of courtiers, but of warriors."
Then Lady Betty, smiling and blush-
ing, danced flings and reels and strath-
speys, with De Bourmont for a partner,
- and never was there a handsomer
couple, or a more graceful. De Bour-
mont not only taught his legs to be
Scotch, but even his stomach, and he
ate unflinchingly of haggis and oatcake
and other Scotch delicacies when he
could get them, and never failed to tell
Lady Betty how much he relished them
which was a lie, but told with a
good purpose, that of making head-
way with this charming little High-
lander.
And yet, he continued on the sly to
31
The History of the
He could
give lessons in Castle Street.
scarcely explain why he went there, ex-
cept that he never could resist a pretty
woman; and Flora Mackenzie was as
handsome in her cold, stately way, as
Lady Betty Stair with her ravishing
sprightliness and highbred ease, — for
the lawyer's daughter was much more
formal and reserved than the laird's
daughter. De Bourmont wondered
often if the Mackenzies knew who he
was; but the lines of caste and class
were closely drawn in those days, and
professional classes, to which the Mac-
kenzies belonged, knew little or nothing
of the French colony established at
Holyrood, whose association was with
the highest nobility only. The weekly
levees, held in the long gallery at Holy-
rood, where Rose Bradwardine and Flora
MacIvor had
had danced with Prince
Charlie, were attended by all the great
families in Edinburgh, but by none
others. They were not gay levees,—
there is always something tragic in
32

"Never was there a handsomer couple, or a more graceful."
Uor M
Lady Betty Stair
merrymakings at Holyrood,
but the
Scotch people who attended them could
trace their ancestry back to the Picts
and were of the noblest blood of Scot-
land.
The dreary palace, and the dreary
Royal Highnesses, and the weary, weary
suite undoubtedly became brighter after
the advent of Lady Betty Stair at the
palace; and the evenings were not so
long when she would charm them with
her Scotch dancing and touch their
hearts with her Scotch ballads, all done
with her own sparkling grace. But
can any day be short or any night be
quiet to exiles in a strange land, as
these unfortunate French people were?
3
33
The History of the
1
ALL
II
LL this time Bastien and Lady
Betty maintained an armed neu-
trality, though by degrees it grew on
both that "the other one knew." And
a strange thing happened to Bastien:
he began to like Lady Betty a great
deal more than was either convenient
or agreeable. At first he had hated her,
and never looked at her without remem-
bering the blazing wrath that showed
in her eyes when she whacked his nose;
and then there was that secret uneasi-
ness about something else which he al-
ways felt in her company. "Faith,"
he thought to himself sometimes," per-
haps it was a good thing she had no
more dangerous weapon than a fan,
for, sure, she would have used anything
on me that came to her hand." And
then he was a little fearful lest she
34
Lady Betty Stair
should tell the story on him, particu-
larly as Bastien's account of the whack
he got from the baker's wife had passed
into the history of the court, and was
often alluded to. The first time this
happened was soon after Lady Betty's
arrival. They were all assembled for
the evening in the drawing-room, drink-
ing tea after the English fashion.
Bas-
tien was called upon to tell the story,
and he very promptly began the tale,
meaning to stick to it if Lady Betty
should happen to let the truth out; for
he had no great opinion of a woman's
power to keep anything to herself.
However, he had but little fear, because
the lie would have many years' start of
the truth in any event.
By strange luck, Lady Betty, who
was serving tea, sat next Bastien that
night. As he told the story for the
hundredth time, amid shouts of laughter,
Lady Betty, listening very gravely,
apparently minding her business of mak-
ing the kettle boil over the spirit-lamp,
35
The History of the
she could not help blushing; but she
blushed so often and so easily that no-
body noticed it. Just as Bastien wound.
up, though, the kettle, which had not
yet boiled, got a sudden tilt, and about
a gallon of warm water was poured
over Bastien's black silk breeches; and
Lady Betty's voice was heard, in the
tone of great meekness and softness
which she always used when she meant
to be impertinent : —
;
"how un-
"Dear me!" she cried
fortunate! A thousand apologies, M.
Bastien."
Bastien had more than a suspicion
that it was not wholly an accident, but
he was much too astute to show his
suspicion. He bowed and smiled, and,
professing to have an engagement with
the chaplain, went off with a very good
air. De Bourmont, who remained be-
hind, laughed in Lady Betty's demure
face. He was not sorry to see Bastien
discomfited.
This should have made Bastien hate
36
Lady Betty Stair
Lady Betty the more; but so full of
contrariety is the human heart that it
made him look at her more and think
of her oftener, and Lady Betty was
so charming that no man was safe who
came within the circle of her spell.
Moreover, Bastien could have dashed.
his brains out at his own folly when he
thought of it. Lady Betty was as poor
as poverty, for the dowry of a Scotch.
laird's daughter with a castle in the
Highlands was likely to consist of
heather-bells, romantic rocks, and a
large stock of family pride. If there
was anything on earth that Bastien
loved more than his ease and comfort,
it was the money to buy that ease and
comfort. And, as if no element of
contrariness should be lacking, Bastien
felt that Lady Betty hated him. But
there is a fire that warms itself at ice,
and a fancy that loves contradictions,
and such was Bastien's.
As for De Bourmont, Lady Betty
daily grew more charming to him, and,
37
The History of the
likewise, he continued to go to Castle
Street, telling himself quite seriously
that each time would be the last. He
sometimes wondered if Mistress Flora,
or her father the counsellor, suspected
his real rank. In those days, émigrés
were found all over England and Scot-
land, earning their living by all sorts of
trades. The counsellor had said to him
in Castle Street the first time they had
met, "Sir, are you a man of title?"
Now, if he had asked whether De
Bourmont were a man of rank, it might
have been hard to answer; but De
Bourmont could truthfully say he had
no title, in the sense the counsellor
understood titles.
"For, look you, sir," continued the
counsellor," although I respect the
French counts and marquises who
work for their living, yet it has ever
been found that it is not well to intro-
duce them into the houses of plain citi-
zens like me. Our wives and daughters
get to be infatuated with the fellows,
38
Lady Betty Stair
and will not look thereafter at honest,
plain lawyers and doctors and mer-
chants; and I am too proud a man to
wish my daughter to aspire to a rank
she can never reach, and so I would
have her satisfied with her own class,
which is good enough for any woman,
or man either.”
At last, though, Lady Betty Stair's
charms having helped to stiffen up his
resolution, De Bourmont actually deter-
mined that his next visit should be his
last. He felt some natural masculine
interest in knowing how the lawyer's
beautiful daughter would take the news,
and he had enough masculine vanity
to feel very sorry for her in having to
resign his company. Flora Mackenzie
was an unread riddle to him still.
There was a sort of magnetic current
between them, although they never ex-
changed a word except upon the sub-
ject of the French language and the
weather. At every lesson there sat, in
a high-backed chair, Mistress Macken-
39
The History of the
zie, a simple, handsome creature, who
was quite happy in her fine husband,
her fine daughter, her fine house, and
money in the bank.
On this day, therefore, when De
Bourmont meant to make this an-
nouncement, as he was ushered into
the grim drawing-room there sat the
counsellor, a tall, burly man, with
the darkest, deepest, truest eyes De
Bourmont had ever seen. Boys some-
times have such eyes in the white in-
nocence of their youth; but when a
man keeps it through the storms of
his manhood, he must be, as was this
Scotch lawyer, needlessly and superflu-
ously honest.
The counsellor held a great big card
of invitation in his hand, while over
him stood his wife and daughter, and
even the gentle and stately Flora was
in a flutter; and as De Bourmont was
ushered in the counsellor roared out,
in his big, rich voice :
"Well, M. de Bourmont, you see my
40
Lady Betty Stair
womankind all set by the ears over a
trumpery invitation to the castle.”
At this De Bourmont involuntarily
straightened himself up. Although he
had managed to bear himself heretofore
so that his rank and station were only
suspected, not ascertained, he could not
conceal the pride of a noble altogether.
"Sir," he said with dignity to the
counsellor, “an invitation from one of
the royal princes of France is no trump-
ery invitation. The Comte d'Artois
has received much civility from the
gentlemen of Edinburgh, and would
return it as becomes a prince and a
gentleman.”
"Good for you! cried the coun-
sellor, jumping up and slapping De
Bourmont on the back as a butcher
slaps a bullock; while Flora's sweet.
voice echoed, "Good for you!"
De Bourmont was too much of a
gentleman not to know how to take the
counsellor's hearty commendation. He
only laughed and rubbed his shoulder.
41
The History of the
But he had great curiosity about the
invitation. They were strictly con-
fined to the nobility and higher gentry
of the town, and how one got to a rich
lawyer in the new town puzzled him
not a little. He looked at the hand-
writing and he saw in an instant that
it was Bastien's. The whole thing was
revealed in a flash. Bastien wanted to
bring the Mackenzies and Lady Betty
Stair together before De Bourmont's
eyes and for his discomfiture, because
never, since the night of Lady Betty's
arrival, when Bastien had let the Castle
Street cat out of the bag, had there been
good feeling between the two.
Bourmont had not only won Bastien's
money, but had cut him out with the
fair sex; and Bastien was not the fel-
low to miss a chance of getting even.
De
De Bourmont said nothing, though,
but returned the card into Flora's white
hand, which he squeezed upon the sly.
Flora changed color slightly, but her
blue eyes met his with cool composure.
42
Lady Betty Stair
The womenkind were plainly bent on
going to the great ball, and the coun-
sellor at heart felt a secret satisfaction
in the invitation, which was the greater
compliment because so absolutely un-
solicited. Mistress Mackenzie begged
De Bourmont to show her how to ap-
proach royalty, for etiquette was strict
at Holyrood and no man, woman, or
child was allowed to go out of the
presence of the royal princes other than
backward. De Bourmont, in high
good humor, agreed to do this. He
put the fine old counsellor in a huge
chair to represent the Comte d'Artois.
''
"And look you, Mr. Mackenzie,”
he said, "I would not place any un-
worthy man to represent his Royal
Highness."
"I appreciate your handsome com-
pliment, sir," answered the counsellor
with dignity.
Then De Bourmont took Mistress
Mackenzie in hand. She was wonder-
fully quick to learn, and advanced,
43
The History of the
bowed, and retreated, with the tail of
her gown over her arm, so easily that
De Bourmont taxed her with having
been to court.
"Not so much as you, perhaps,"
said the counsellor, very significantly.
De Bourmont took no notice of this,
which convinced the shrewd Scotchman
that the Frenchman was a man of
position, because a vulgarian would
have jumped at such a suggestion with
delight.
But if Mistress Mackenzie was easy
to teach the graces of society, Flora
required no teaching at all, and showed
herself much more apt at French graces
than the French language. Waving
her white hand disdainfully at De Bour-
mont, she said, "I do not need to be
taught how to approach anybody!'
""
At that she made her bow so prettily
and gracefully that De Bourmont cried,
"Bravo!" and the old counsellor
shouted, "Well done, my girl!"
There was no lesson in the language
44
Lady Betty Stair
that day, but when De Bourmont was
leaving, Counsellor Mackenzie went
with him to the door.
«M. de Bourmont," said he, very
positively, "I am under the impression
that you know more about royalties
than you are willing to admit. In
short, I charge you with being a gen-
tleman."
For answer, De Bourmont turned his
pockets, which were quite empty, in-
side out.
"That does not argue that you are
not a gentleman," coolly remarked old
Mackenzie. "On the contrary, your
willingness to show me your poverty
confirms me in my belief.
But if you
were the man I should take you for,
you would be fighting for your country
in these days."
De Bourmont grew quite pale, and
stood for a moment with the shaft rank-
ling in his heart. Then, without an-
other word, he went rapidly down the
street and disappeared from view.
45
The History of the
The afternoon was fast melting into
night and there was a gray pall of mist
and rain over the old town. De Bour-
mont walked on, not feeling the rain
or the wind. In his ears rang Mac-
kenzie's words. He should be fighting
for his country! He could almost see
the Austrians and the Prussians advan-
cing upon French armies and trampling
Frenchmen under their feet and he,
he here in idleness! He ground his
teeth, and walked and walked for hours,
he knew not whither. He did not ap-
pear at dinner that night, and Lady
Betty Stair was sad and distrait. About
ten o'clock, when the solemn game of
ombre was going on in the grand salon,
De Bourmont came in. He looked
haggard, and sat down silently in a
window seat. Presently, Lady Betty
Stair came along and sat down by
him.
"Where have you been, that you
look so sad?" she asked.
"At Saulsbury Crag.”
46
Lady Betty Stair
"On such a night!"
"Yes. A Scotchman asked me to-
day why I was not fighting for France.
I could not come back after that and
play cards with his Royal Highness.”
"I know how you must have felt,"
said Lady Betty, in a low voice.
"Not quite," answered De Bour-
mont, with a smile that was ferocious
in its despair. "No one can know
what a Frenchman suffers, all of whose
ancestors used their swords for France,
while now she is fighting all Europe,
and he stays here in attendance upon
royalty ! "
De Bourmont spoke with such a
concentration of rage that Lady Betty
looked around, fearful that he might be
overheard.
"Don't trouble yourself, Lady Betty
Stair," said he, smiling slightly. "I
wish I could be overheard! I wish this
moment that his Royal Highness would
kick me out of this place. Sometimes,
do you know, I ask myself if those
1
47
The History of the
P
'canaille' in France are not right
after all in thinking the country more
than the king. See how gallantly they
fought the Austrians that we, we, WE,
the royalists, invited into France to
avenge the killing of the king and
queen! I assure you, I have not spent.
a day in peace or slept a night through
since first I began following his Royal
Highness. I thought it was my duty
at first; but there is noblesse oblige'
for one's country as well as one's
sovereign, and I will be hanged, shot,
or guillotined," he suddenly cried,
"if I stay out of France another
month!"
(
"Good, good!" cried Lady Betty.
"There spoke a man!'
>>
"But remember," said De Bourmont,
in a warning voice, "not one word of
this. I am here to stay until the Day
of Judgment, if need be. Nothing
would induce me to desert his Royal
Highness, Charles Philippe, Comte
d'Artois. I have no intention what-
48
Lady Betty Stair
ever of running away." Here De Bour-
mont smiled cunningly.
"I understand you perfectly," gravely
answered Lady Betty. "You want per-
mission offered you by his Royal High-
ness."
And then De Bourmont asked, "Shall
you be sorry when I am gone?"
No,” said Lady Betty, looking him
bravely in the eye, but the blood dropped
swiftly out of her fair face.
Four days after that was the grand
ball. Lady Betty and De Bourmont
were much together in that time, and
they were seen whispering to one an-
other so often and so intimately that
those who could see farther into a mill-
stone than most people, confidently
predicted that "something would come
of it."
De
Bourmont had some qualms
about the coming ball, when Lady
Betty and Flora Mackenzie would be
brought face to face. He was not
vain enough to think for one moment
4
49
The History of the
1
1
that either of them was in love with
him; but he apprehended Lady Betty's
fine scorn when she found out, as she
certainly would, that he had pursued
his acquaintance with the lawyer's
daughter in the new town.
De Bourmont had one of those gen-
erous temperaments that can be upon
the verge of falling in love with two
women at once. And Flora Mac-
kenzie was very beautiful,
even more
so than the daughter of the Macdonalds
of Stair, and De Bourmont was in
love with beauty wherever he found it.
However, he consoled himself with this
reflection: "I shall soon be out of it all.
No more balls for me. I shall soon be
marching and fighting as a true French-
man should be at this time.”
The night of the great ball arrived,
and when De Bourmont and Lady Betty
went together to the anteroom of the
Comte d'Artois and his princess to
attend them, De Bourmont felt very
much in love with Lady Betty's beauty.
50
Lady Betty Stair
She had no fine gowns, but she had the
whitest neck and the brightest eyes,
and across her slender figure was draped
the silk tartan of the Macdonalds, which
she wore as proudly as if it were the
ribbon of the Garter. If Lady Betty
felt any regret at the coming parting,
of which she was the only soul in
Holyrood that knew anything, she very
bravely hid it, for De Bourmont was
chagrined and half offended at the air
of careless happiness that she wore.
A
The company was assembled in the
long ball-room, which blazed with wax
lights. At eight o'clock most of the
guests had arrived, the gentlemen wear-
ing swords as part of their full dress,
and the ladies mostly in ringlets.
dais, covered with crimson cloth, with
a canopy over it, and two armchairs for
the royal pair, was erected at the upper
end of the room. At the lower end a
band was stationed which played Scotch
versions of "L'air Henri Quatre,"
"Gavotte de Louis XI.," and other
51
The History of the
î
-
French compositions that referred to
the Bourbons. Dancing did not begin
until after their Royal Highnesses had-
come and gone; but at ten minutes
past eight precisely the Comte d'Artois,
magnificently dressed in some old finery
that he had saved from Versailles, and
his Savoyard wife, Marie Thérèse, upon
his arm, made a solemn entry, and pro-
ceeded up the long ball-room, bowing
right and left to the ladies and gentle-
men who lined the way to the dais.
They were not a very royal looking
pair, but very good-natured and amiable.
Lady Betty Stair held up the princess's
great train of flowered satin, while De
Bourmont walked next her, after the
Comte d'Artois. De Bourmont was
secretly wondering how this ball would
turn out for him; and no man can be
at ease who has two women in his
mind. Lady Betty looked very demure,
- she was always very demure when
she was not very saucy,
- and she was
not less pretty for a concealed agitation
52
Lady Betty Stair
that she had felt ever since she knew
that De Bourmont was (C
fall" from royal favor.
riding for a
The royal party made a very slow
and stately progress toward the dais, the
jewelled feathers in the princess's head-
dress nodding gravely and incessantly,
and presently they reached the dais and
the princess seated herself, her train
being very carefully spread out by Lady
Betty, who then took her stand behind.
the royal chair. De Bourmont was
behind the Comte d'Artois's chair, and
he and Lady Betty exchanged little nods
and looks that took the place of con-
versation, which etiquette forbade dur-
ing the performance of the solemn and
arduous duty of standing up behind the
chairs of princes and princesses.
Then all the ladies and gentlemen
advanced in the order of their rank and
paid their respects. Most of them
were known to the little circle at Holy-
rood; but presently there was a sort of
hush, the beautiful Flora Mackenzie,
3
53
The History of the
tall, superbly dressed, was approaching
with her father and mother, and scarcely
ten persons in the room knew who she
was. She walked quite calmly and
sedately behind the counsellor, who had
Mistress Mackenzie
upon his arm.
The older woman was finely gowned,
as became a rich man's wife, and blazed
with diamonds Flora had on a rich
white brocaded satin, very unlike the
simple muslins and gauzes that were all
the young girls of the exiled court
could afford, and around her neck was
a great string of pearls. As she ap-
proached, Lady Betty so far forgot eti-
quette as to whisper to De Bourmont:
"Who is she?"
"Miss Mackenzie," answered De
Bourmont, feeling as guilty as if he had
stolen something.
Lady Betty flashed him a look of
scorn and jealousy and pain that was
indescribable. She felt quite sure that
he had got them their invitation; and
Flora's beauty and her noble figure and
54
Lady Betty Stair
her string of pearls went like a dagger
to Lady Betty's quivering heart. The
counsellor and his wife made their bows
with dignity and without any air of
servility; but Flora made hers with
matchless grace, and looked as com-
posedly at their Royal Highnesses as if
she had been a Montmorenci or a De
Rohan, instead of a lawyer's daughter
from the new town. It was a great
sensation. Bastien, who was respon-
sible for it all, sat back in a corner and
smiled like Mephistopheles. He had
paid off several old scores by getting
that invitation, which had required
some diplomacy and some secrecy. He
knew women well enough to understand
that Lady Betty, in her heart, at once
taxed De Bourmont with having got the
Mackenzies to the levee. De Bour-
mont did not know in the least how the
old counsellor would take it that a man
should introduce himself into another
man's house under an assumed charac-
ter, but at the moment that Counsel-
55
The History of the
lor Mackenzie caught De Bourmont's
glance, a twinkle came into the old
Scotchman's eye.
He had found out
that De Bourmont was a gentleman and
had charged him with it, and here
he was, one of the first gentlemen in
the royal suite. De Bourmont's eyes
twinkled, too, as he bowed and smiled
at the counsellor. Mistress Mackenzie
gave him a bow of delighted recognition,
but her heart jumped into her mouth;
here she had been treating a gentleman-
in-waiting on royalty exactly as if he
had been a mere ordinary French
teacher. Only Flora looked at him so
calmly and loftily that no one would
have dreamed that they had ever met
before.
De Bourmont could not leave his
post until the royalties saw fit to retire,
and that was not until nearly midnight.
Lady Betty spoke no more to him
that evening. She often played at
haughtiness with him, and it was a
joke of De Bourmont's to complain to
56
Lady Betty Stair
the princess of Lady Betty's unkindness
to him, when she would be called up
and be gravely admonished; at which
she would say such droll things that
the princess would laugh heartily,
and the poor princess had only too
few things to make her laugh. De
Bourmont whispered to Lady Betty,
therefore :
"If you are so cruel to me, I shall
report you to the princess; " but Lady
Betty flashed him such a look of anger
that he said no more to her.
A man will not stand much of that
sort of thing, so, as soon as their Royal
Highnesses retired, De Bourmont left
Lady Betty and, rather ostentatiously,
sought out the Mackenzies.
counsellor burst out laughing when
De Bourmont appeared.
The
"So, Monsieur de Bourmont," he
said, "you are a gentleman, after all!"
"But it is not my fault," answered
De Bourmont, with his usual air of
well-bred impudence. "I was born
57
The History of the
so, without anybody's asking me if I
wished to be a gentleman or not. I
had no choice at all."
The counsellor was not very deeply
offended with him for masquerading as
a tutor, although De Bourmont ex-
plained to them that the money did
not go amiss, as he was uncommonly
in need of it. And all of them laughed
at De Bourmont's plea of poverty, which,
although very real, he always put in
such an amusing way that people could
not but smile.
Then De Bourmont, who had not
said a word to Flora, asked her to join
in the quadrille which was then being
formed. She simply bowed silently,
and he led her to a place in the dance;
and there, as soon as he looked up, he
saw Lady Betty Stair and Bastien stand-
ing up to dance opposite them.
It was then too late to retreat, and,
besides, De Bourmont would not seem
to run away from either Lady Betty
or Bastien. The two girls looked
58
Lady Betty Stair
haughtily at each other. In Lady
Betty's eyes was a cool, fine-lady air
of scorn which was not wasted on the
lawyer's daughter. Flora asked De
Bourmont carelessly who Lady Betty
was, and, in spite of his cool and
self-possessed manner, she shrewdly
guessed out in an instant something
very near the truth, and returned Lady
Betty's look of haughty contempt with
interest.
The dance began. De Bourmont
noticed Bastien whispering in Lady
Betty's ear and laughing, and he saw the
blood mount slowly but redly into her
clear cheek. Bastien was telling some
story about him— probably more about
the wager to Lady Betty. And he
caught something about "a great for-
tune," in the turn of the dance for
Flora Mackenzie was a very great
fortune. Lady Betty carefully avoided
De Bourmont's eye, and once, when in
the dance their hands met and he gave
her fingers a faint pressure, she looked
59
The History of the
✓
into his eyes with such an air of cold
surprise that he dared not repeat it.
At last the ball was over, and De
Bourmont and Lady Betty, each angry,
chagrined, and burning with love for
the other, parted, after having plagued
each other exquisitely for the whole
evening.
60
Lady Betty Stair
III
re
"I
WILL not forgive him. No, I
will not.
I do not like his con-
duct with the lawyer's daughter who has
forty thousand pounds." So said Lady
Betty Stair to herself many times a
day; yet within a week, after a five
minutes' talk with De Bourmont in the
embrasure of a window, they both came
forth with happy, glorified faces, and
De Bourmont was indeed forgiven. He
had told her that the Comte d'Artois
had “voluntarily " given him permis-
sion to return to France and he only
awaited a chance of a vessel sailing
for Brittany, which was the only coast.
in France where a royalist could land
without being clapped into prison before
he had time to explain why he came.
And then, looking searchingly at Lady
Betty, De Bourmont had said : —
61
The History of the
"I cannot tell the woman I love,
that I love her, until I have my sword
in my hand but then! Lady
Betty, if I leave a letter for you when
I go away, will you read it?"
CC
Yes," answered Lady Betty, blush-
ing and trembling very much.
And so it came that their faces had
This was
a look of Paradise in them.
not the French way of proceeding, but
the Scotch way; and it was De Bour-
mont's fixed opinion that the Scotch
way was best.
Only a few weeks more passed be-
fore De Bourmont left for France, but
in that time many strange things hap-
pened. The first was, the news that
Bastien had been left a considerable
fortune, not in assignats, but in good
English gold. Lady Betty, who could
not forbear once in a while whetting
her wit on Bastien, made him a laugh-
ing-stock the very night the great news
came, while the ladies and gentlemen.
were awaiting in the salon the coming
62
Lady Betty Stair
of their Royal Highnesses. Everybody
was congratulating Bastien, and when
it came to Lady Betty's turn she said,
courtesying low: —
"A thousand congratulations, Mon-
sieur Bastien, and don't be too gener-
ous with your fortune. You are not
called upon to spend it all in the ser-
vice of the royal cause, as the Mac-
donalds of Stair did with the Stuart
cause."
As Bastien was notoriously close with
his money and had got more out of
exiled royalty than he ever gave it,
these words caused a smile to go around
the circle, not even Abbé de Ronceray
being entirely free from suspicion,
and Bastien longed to clap his hand
over Lady Betty's rosy mouth.
A curious thing happened to Bastien
at this time. When he had been nearly
penniless, he had thought it both wicked
and absurd that he should feel so acutely
the fascination of a penniless Scotch
girl like Lady Betty, and when he
63
The History of the
had twenty thousand pounds, it seemed
still more wicked and absurd. And
as money seeks money, his thoughts
turned instantly to Flora Mackenzie.
A few days after this, Counsellor
Mackenzie made his way up the stairs
of the gloomy palace, and on asking for
De Bourmont was shown into the ante-
room reserved for the gentlemen-in-
waiting. There sat De Bourmont, who
was delighted to see the honest coun-
sellor.
"My friend," presently said old Mac-
kenzie, fixing his clear blue eyes on De
Bourmont, "I have startling news in
my family. Monsieur Bastien has asked
for the hand of my daughter Flora."
De Bourmont was surprised; this
was quick work.
>>
"And I have come to ask your
opinion of this same Bastien, who'
-here the counsellor brought his stick
down on the floor with a thwack
" I
believe to be as arrant a knave as God's
sun shines on! "
64
Lady Betty Stair
De Bourmont laughed at this novel
way of asking advice.
"I have nothing against Monsieur
Bastien," he replied, "and if I had, I
could not mention it, being a fellow
exile with him.”
"Not to save my child?"
(
My dear counsellor, I know of no
man better able to take care of your
lovely daughter than you are."
"Then you will say nothing one
way or the other?”
"Not a word."
"That settles it," responded the
counsellor, getting upon his sturdy
legs," he shall not have my child. I
beg your pardon for speaking ill of your
fellow countryman, but, to my mind,
Bastien has the word 'rogue' writ
large all over him
cilious dog besides!
and is a super-
Could you have
seen the air with which he asked for
the honor of paying his addresses to
Miss Mackenzie
well
very well
very
I'll be ready for this Monsieur
5
65
The History of the
Bastien when he comes to-morrow to
get his answer."
My faith! I would not be in
Bastien's shoes," said De Bourmont,
laughing; but becoming grave, he asked,
"How does Miss Mackenzie stand
toward him?”
"Hanged if I know," responded Miss
Mackenzie's candid father; "good-morn-
ing." And the counsellor, being a man
of his word, Bastien got his congé the
very next day.
The ladies and gentlemen in waiting,
having little to amuse them during the
long days and longer evenings, got hold
of Bastien's unsuccessful suit, and gave
him many a sly dig as he walked about,
frowning and abstracted, and always.
thinking about his money. And Lady
Betty, being a rash creature, was not
behindhand in this sly sort of chaff, so
that in a little while Bastien began to
hate her a good deal harder than he had
ever loved her. And then, he was fully
persuaded that he owed his ill luck with
66
Lady Betty Stair
}
Flora Mackenzie to De Bourmont, and
privately resolved to get even with him.
Meanwhile, as Bastien grew richer,
De Bourmont grew poorer, and suddenly
the tradesmen he owed became very
pressing in their attentions. Being igno-
rant of the Scotch law of debtors, De
Bourmont listened very attentively when
Lady Betty described to their Royal
Highnesses in the great salon, one even-
ing, that peculiar institution of Holy-
rood Palace concerning "abbey lairds."
"This palace remains still a sanc-
tuary for debtors," she said, "and any
honest debtor, pursued by his creditors,
who can reach that place outside the
gate called the Strand, is safe from
arrest as long as he remains within the
demesne of Holyrood; and on Sunday
he may walk abroad anywhere he likes,
without fear of molestation. My father
has told me that in his day it was a
common enough thing to claim sanc-
tuary here, and to see a man fleeing
toward Holyrood was sure to start a
67
The History of the
rabble at his heels, all, however, apt to
be partisans of the fugitive, — for the
people rather like to have the bailiffs
outrun. Sanctuary is sometimes claimed
now; but, as my father said, the devil is
not so strong as he was forty years
ago, and debtors are more honest, or
creditors more careful whom they
trust."
Their Royal Highnesses listened and
laughed, as did the Abbé de Ronceray,
with whom Betty, for all her sauciness,
was a great favorite; but the most in-
terested among all the hearers was Bas-
tien. He made so many and such
minute inquiries about it that Betty
asked him very innocently:-
"Why, Monsieur Bastien, are you
thinking of claiming sanctuary?"
It was only a few nights after that
when De Bourmont, walking down the
Cowgate in the moonlight and thinking
of his proposed departure to France and
of Lady Betty, and wondering how long
it would be before he could come back
68
Lady Betty Stair
and claim her, presently found two or
three men slipping out of the dark
"closes" on either side, and apparently
following him. De Bourmont quick-
ened his pace, and his mysterious friends
quickened theirs. De Bourmont broke
into a run so did his unknown
friends.
"Bailiffs, by all that's holy!" said
De Bourmont to himself; and then, re-
membering Lady Betty's story, he laid
his heels to the ground for Holyrood.
A pack of idlers, standing on the street,
suddenly sent up a cry: "Bailiffs! and
he's makkin' for the palace!
Straightway they all started in full
cry after him. Not all of them really
wanted to see him caught, indeed,
they rather impeded the bailiffs in the
chase; they merely wanted to be in at
the dénouement. Windows were flung
up as the scurrying, shouting crowd
followed after De Bourmont's flying
figure. A friendly voice, evidently
belonging to some one who recognized
69
The History of the
one of the exiles of Holyrood, shouted.
ct
Gang it, Frenchy !'
This still further inclined the crowd
toward De Bourmont, as, with swift jus-
tice, it was felt to be a peculiarly un-
handsome thing to molest exiles and
strangers within their gates. De Bour-
mont began to perceive that the mob
was on his side, — always an exhilarat-
ing knowledge, and he ran still faster
toward the great gloomy pile that rose
before him in the white glow of the
moon. Windows in the palace were
being raised, and two heads belonging to
their two Royal Highnesses were seen
at the great windows that face the
Cowgate, watching the flight and the
pursuit, which became exciting enough,
with yells, shrieks, and laughter, — for
these were occasions for public mirth.
The palace courtyard was full of people,
who overflowed beyond the gate, but
who were careful to leave a clear space
for the fugitive, now rapidly approach-
ing. All the ladies-in-waiting had got
70
Lady Betty Stair
permission to run down the stone stairs
to see the sight, which was so excruciat-
ingly humorous from the Edinburgh
point of view, and Lady Betty was
among them.
As the flying figure
neared the line of demarcation a great
cry went up in English, French, and
Scotch: "Hurrah!"" Brava !" "Weel
done!" Everybody, clearly, was against
the bailiffs, one of whom was almost on
De Bourmont's heels,-for Lady Betty,
recognizing him, had shrieked out, "'T is
Monsieur de Bourmont!' The bailiff
put out his arm and caught De Bour-
mont by the shoulder as the two crossed
the line together, and then they both
tumbled over in a heap, De Bourmont's
head and body well within the line, but
his legs outside of it.
A loud groan went up, the crowd
thought De Bourmont had lost, and
some one came running down the palace
stairs laughing stridently. It was Bas-
tien. The other bailiff had then fallen
upon De Bourmont, and all three were
7 1
The History of the
struggling fiercely on the ground. Sud-
denly Lady Betty Stair advanced a step
or two and cried out, in a shrill, sweet
voice:
"Let him go, you wretched bailiffs.
Do you not know the law? If the
debtor's head falls over the line, as this
gentleman's did, he is safe, for the head
is the noblest part of the body. And
let him go, this instant, I say!"
A ringing cheer broke from the
crowd, and a brawny Scotchman, taking
hold of the uppermost bailiff, threw him
aside like a bale of wool, saying gruffly:
"Dinna ye hear the leddy?"
The officers of the law, more out of
respect to the temper of the mob than to
Lady Betty's words, let De Bourmont
rise, who made her a low bow, and then
proceeded to carefully dust his clothes.
At this the crowd sent up a great cheer
for Lady Betty, who, turning a beauti-
ful rosy red, said to De Bourmont :
"Monsieur, you have lost your only
chance of being a laird of Scotland, a
72


"Let him go, you wretched bailiffs!'"
WorM
Lady Betty Stair
not inconsiderable honor. Do you not
know the good old song?" Whereupon
she sang, in a thrilling, sweet voice:
"When, bankrupt frae care,
The fools are set free,
Then we mak' them all lairds
Of the Abbey, you see.
''
The crowd then, quite wild with ad-
miration for her beauty and spirit, shouted
wildly for "Stair's bonny lassie; " until
Lady Betty, redder than the rose, flew
back into the courtyard and up the stairs
to her own room. The people then dis-
persed, well pleased with their evening's
entertainment, and guying the bailiffs,
who went away sheepishly enough, fol-
lowed by the multitude hooting and
“heckling” them.
Next day the town rang with De
Bourmont's adventure and Lady Betty
Stair's share in it. It was rather embar-
rassing for De Bourmont, but Counsellor
Mackenzie, hearing of it, came to the
palace, and after ha-ha-ing over it plen-
tifully with De Bourmont, cried : —
73
The History of the
"Now, let me see the bills of those
rascally tradesmen, who know not how
to treat a stranger and a gentleman that
has fallen upon evil days."
De Bourmont produced his bills,
which the counsellor examined. Every
now and then a great roar of anger would
burst from him, and finally he rose,
shouting: "Thieves! cut-throats! high-
waymen they are! You have been most
cruelly swindled, Monsieur de Bour-
mont, and I will make these villains
abate their overcharges; and I ask the
honor of advancing you the money to
pay what you owe, and you may return
it when you like."
"Sir," replied De Bourmont, "I have
spent my lifetime with kings and princes,
but never saw I a more royal heart and
soul than yours.
And I accept of your
generosity as gladly as you offer it."
The next day the counsellor returned.
with a batch of receipted bills.
"And I can tell you who was at the
bottom of that chase along the Cowgate.
74
Lady Betty Stair
'T was your precious friend Bastien, who
told abroad that you were about leaving
secretly for France."
"The devil!" cried De Bourmont.
He went in hot haste to the anteroom
of the gentlemen-in-waiting, and there
sat Bastien at a table, playing patience,
while two gentlemen of the suite lounged.
in a window. De Bourmont went up to
Bastien and watched him silently while
he worked out his game. Then he said :
“Lend me the cards, Monsieur Bas-
tien. I know a trick worth two of that
you are doing.”
Bastien handed him the cards, and
De Bourmont, collecting them carefully
together, promptly dashed them full in
Bastien's face. “That is for talking
with my tradesmen," he cried.
Of course, next morning, they went
out at sunrise to a quiet place near
Arthur's Seat, and lunged at each other
for the best part of an hour. De Bour-
mont escaped with a scratch or two, but
Bastien came in for a smart rip in his
75
The History of the
!
arm, and worse luck for a slight cut
across his unfortunate nose, after which
the whole party went back to town for
breakfast.
De Bourmont had meant to keep it
all from Lady Betty, but she got it
out of him before twenty-four hours.
She was full of contempt, saying:
"For you to fight Bastien! You
ought to have seen him that morning,
seven years ago, at Versailles!" and
then with blushes and sighs and smiles
and lamentings over her own unruly
temper, she told him the history of her
assault on Bastien's nose. De Bour-
mont laughed until he cried, and then,
looking at Lady Betty, saw her speaking
eyes watching him so gravely-nay, ten-
derly — that he suddenly stopped laugh-
ing and, seizing her hand, cried: —
"Ah, Mademoiselle, nothing but my
duty to my country could drag me away
from this or any other place, were it
the dreariest on earth, so long as you
are there."
76
Lady Betty Stair
Now, Lady Betty was rash, very rash,
and, having decided in her own mind.
that Bastien had long since forgotten
that little encounter with her green fan,
it suited her to say to him, when she met
him alone soon afterward in the corridor:
"La! what has happened to your
poor nose?'
It was only a little thing, but it was
one of a long list that he had against
her, and he hated De Bourmont, and saw
in an instant that Lady Betty knew what
had happened. And an evil thought
came into his mind and straightway left
his lips.
"Lady Betty Stair," he said, “I
believe that you and the gentleman who
gave me this scratch think to be some-
thing more than friends; but you never
can." Lady Betty turned pale with
rage at Bastien's impertinence, and, for
once, her nimble tongue and ready wit
failed her. Bastien followed up his ad-
vantage.
"Do you want to know why? Be-
77
The History of the
cause your brother's blood is on De
Bourmont's hands. Your lover, Ma-
demoiselle, killed your brother."
At this Lady Betty stepped up quite
close to Bastien, and looking him full in
the eye, said quietly:
"I do not believe you, Monsieur
Bastien."
Bastien shrugged his shoulders.
"Do you not remember, Mademoi-
selle, the very first night you came to
this place, while we were at supper in De
Bourmont's room, he said: 'I was the
Abbé de Ronceray's first penitent, and
I made him a confession that kept him
awake, I can tell you'?"
Yes, Lady Betty remembered it per-
fectly, but she would not acknowledge
it to Bastien; she merely turned to go,
with a look of ineffable contempt at him.
Bastien, however, placed himself in her
way so that she could not pass, and con-
tinued speaking: -
"The Abbé de Ronceray's first peni-
tent was a murderer
and the murderer,
78
Lady Betty Stair
as you would call it, of Angus Mac-
donald. You are sharp of wit, Lady
Betty; you can find out all about this
from the Abbé de Ronceray, without
his suspecting what you are trying to
learn. Trust a woman to ferret out
what a man has no mind to tell her!"
"Monsieur Bastien," said Lady Betty,
in the same quiet voice in which she had
first spoken, "you have offered me sev-
eral affronts during the last few minutes,
but the last is the greatest,
as if I
could be induced to follow your advice in
the smallest matter in the world! I shall
lay the matter before their Royal High-
nesses, and you will excuse me for de-
clining your acquaintance hereafter,"
and Lady Betty walked off majestically.
Be-
This threat frightened Bastien.
ing a trickster himself, he did not under-
stand the directness of a straightforward
nature, and could not persuade himself
that Lady Betty would do so daring a
thing as to appeal to the poor royalties
they both served; still, he was unde-
}
79
The History of the
niably nervous about it. As for Lady
Betty, she was in such a storm of rage
that she scarcely knew what she felt;
but after the first palpitations of wrath,
she hit upon one thing which completely
reassured her. De Bourmont knew she
was Angus Macdonald's sister, and
would he, knowing there was a bloody
grave between them, offer her his love?
Never!
But it is one thing to feel sure, and
another thing to be certain. She wished
and longed, with an extreme yearning,
that she could hear some one deny the
story. Of course she would not conde-
scend to take Bastien's advice and ask the
Abbé de Ronceray, and she thought it
a sharp trick of Bastien's to suggest that
she should do this, very well knowing
she would not. At all events, she would
put it out of her mind and never think of
it again. Of that much she was certain.
But of course she did not.
She
thought of it all that day. The thought
walked by her side, and whispered in her
80
Lady Betty Stair
ear, and lay down with her, and rose
with her. Nevertheless, she did not
once lose her courage, and resolving
to show Bastien how little of a coward
she was, that night she dressed her lovely
form in the only splendid gown she had,
-something white and shimmering, -
and with her fair neck. bare, and her
eyes brilliant and restless, she looked so
handsome in her glass that she was
thrilled from head to foot with gratified
vanity.
As she came daintily stepping down
the stair, by the light of two candles in
the lobby, she found De Bourmont wait-
ing at the foot.
"Dear lady," he said, "this is the
night I go. The ship waits at Leith for
the tide, and at midnight I take post to
join her.
And will you, as you prom-
ised, read the letter I shall leave for
you?"
Lady Betty, blushing and trembling,
made him a low courtesy, saying in a
soft voice:
6
81
The History of the
"With pleasure."
"And will you not kindly look out of
your window on the courtyard at twelve
o'clock, when I shall be leaving? And if
I see a light there, 't will be an illumina-
tion to my soul until we meet again."
"Until we meet again," whispered
Lady Betty. At that moment there
was the faint cry of a nightbird outside
under the eaves so faint that only
sharp ears could have heard it at all.
Lady Betty, who was as full of supersti-
tion as a whole clan of Highlanders
might be, turned a little pale.
"It is a bad
"Hear that!" she said.
omen, I am afraid. You know there
never was any fortunate love in this old
palace; there seems to be a blight upon it."
At which De Bourmont, respectfully
taking her hand, for it was in a
ceremonious age, -answered, smiling,
"Well, I have a presentiment - a pre-
sentiment that I shall one day have the
bliss of looking into those dear eyes
again."
82

"Dear lady, this is the night I go,'"
Uor M
Lady Betty Stair
They were getting on quite fast in
the Scotch fashion of courtship, when a
tall figure in a cassock loomed before
them, and the Abbé de Ronceray's
voice called out peremptorily:-
My
"Marie-Pierre- loitering here at
this time of night? Oh, I beg you ten
thousand pardons, Mademoiselle, and
you, too, Monsieur de Bourmont.
eyesight is so bad — I took you at first
for Marie, the maid, who is always
being followed by my footboy, Pierre
the rascal is in love with her."
The Abbé looked around blandly
Lady Betty was blushing, and De Bour-
mont was laughing - it was too bad!
Lady Betty, turning her back on De
Bourmont, walked on toward the salon
and passed through the broad folding
doors and the Abbé followed her. It
was early yet not quite nine o'clock
-when the royalties usually entered.
the salon after dinner. No one was
there but themselves.
"I am afraid I was a little awkward
83
The History of the
just now," began the Abbé, good-
humoredly. "I have spent so much
more of my life in camps than in courts,
that I cannot altogether learn the soft
ways of people about a court. Some-
times I scold Pierre so loudly that I
disturb the slumbers of their Royal
Highnesses themselves."
Here was a chance to ask a question
after having solemnly sworn
or two
she would not.
"Your first duties as a priest must
have seemed strange,
confessions, for
example, Monsieur l'Abbé.”
CC
Very strange they seemed. I was
ordained the morning of the day that
the mob entered Versailles, and before
night I had heard my first penitent con-
fess that he had killed a man.'
Lady Betty knew well enough how
the secrets of the confessional were
guarded, but in spite of herself, she
burst out, leaning toward the Abbé:
"And he killed Angus Macdonald of
the Scottish Guard!"
84
Lady Betty Stair
The Abbé de Ronceray, although
soldier, courtier, and priest in one, was
thoroughly disconcerted. He turned
pale and then red. His lips opened
to speak, but no word came forth.
A duller mind than Lady Betty's
must have seen that she had hit the
white.
"It is not worth while for you to try
and deceive me," cried Lady Betty,
with tears pouring down her pale face,
"I know I know it all- Angus
Macdonald was my brother
brother!
my only
The Abbé, much agitated, sank back
in his chair. It is a very terrible thing
for a priest to reveal, even inadvertently,
the secrets of the confessional. He is
pledged to die first and many have
died rather than reveal confessions.
He was a straightforward man, accus-
tomed to a soldierly plainness of speech.
He knew not what to say, and could
not restrain a slight groan, and this
was the confirmation of Lady Betty's
-
85
The History of the
fears. They had been quite alone until
then, but the folding doors opened and
several persons came in. Seeing the
Abbé and Lady Betty sitting in silence
at the other end of the room and plainly
deeply moved, no one approached them.
Lady Betty, rising quickly, said to him,
in a broken voice :
"You did not mean to tell; it was
one of those dreadful coincidences that
no one can guard against. But for me
it breaks my heart! it breaks my
heart!" and without another word, she
slipped away so quickly and noiselessly
that she might have been one of the
ghosts in that ghostly palace.
It was some hours afterward that
Lady Betty, coming out of a dream
as it were, found herself sitting on
the steps of Queen Mary's Bathhouse,
at a distance from the palace. The
night was raw and damp, and through
a gloomy haze she could see the faint
glimmer of lights below her in the
town, and above her the great sombre
86
Lady Betty Stair
pile of the palace, with here and there
a gleaming window. All was strangely
still, and the only distinct sound was
the regular step of the sentry as he
paced back and forth on the pathway
above her. She wondered dully to her-
self how she managed to elude him,
for her present place was beyond the
confines of the palace proper,-and how
long had she been sitting in that dismal
place? She remembered having on a
white gown, which must have been visi-
ble even in the dusk of night. But to
her surprise, as she came slowly out of
the maze of pain and wonder, she real-
ized that she was wrapped in her plaid,
although her head was bare and she
still had on her white satin slippers.
She drew the plaid around her and cow-
ered where she sat in the gloom, lean-
ing her head against one of the stone
pillars. The palace clock tolled out
eleven. De Bourmont was to leave at
twelve. He would wait as long as he
could in the courtyard, hoping to see a
87
The History of the
light in her window.
he
At that very mo-
ment he was searching for her, to give
her the letter she had promised to take.
And all the time he had known that
Angus Macdonald was her brother! She
could recall a dozen times that she had
spoken of him, and De Bourmont's face
had been so tenderly sympathetic
had seemed to feel so deeply for this
terrible tragedy of her early life; and he
knew, he knew so much more than she
could tell him. As this thought struck
her she uttered a half-articulate cry of
anguish, that broke off suddenly. The
sentry alone paused in his walk, listened
and looked about, then, perfect silence
succeeding, resumed his steady tramp.
No other sound broke the quiet of the
night.
At twelve o'clock the guard would
be relieved, and a few minutes before,
a dark figure crossed the sentry's beat.
The man cried "Halt!" and advancing.
at a run, seized hold of Lady Betty
Stair, who turned on him a face so
88
Lady Betty Stair
white and desperate that he almost
dropped his musket. He recognized
her in a moment, and anything more
awkward for him never happened.
Was he to take Lady Betty Stair to the
guard-house? He began some blunder-
ing questions, holding on to her at the
time, and she, looking into his eyes
quietly, and remaining quite mute, as if
she did not quite understand what he
was saying, suddenly dropped the plaid,
melting, as it were, out of the man's
grasp, and ran quickly and noiselessly
toward the palace. The sentry was
immensely relieved. He picked the
plaid up and determined to make a clean
breast of it to his officer. But he could
not get over the uncanny look on Lady
Betty's face.
"Poor soul!" he said to him-
self over and over again. "Poor soul!
she had the look and the walk of a
ghost, and of a tormented ghost, at
that."
And at that moment de Bourmont
89
The History of the
with a sore heart, was on his way
toward Leith, to embark for France.
For there had been no light in Lady
Betty's window, and there was no letter
of his in her hand.
90
Lady Betty Stair
IT
IV
T was more than a year after, that,
one sunny August day, the Abbé
de Ronceray alighted from the diligence
as it stopped before the great stone gate
of a white-walled convent in Provence.
The air was soft, as Provence air is,
and the sky was of a deep, deep blue,
against which the masses of purplish
woods showed darkly. The road was
white and clean, and over everything
grew roses of a rich red and a richer
white and the palest pink,— all rioting
in the beauty of the summer time.
The abbé had aged a little in that
year, but his eyes were as kind as ever,
and his carriage as soldierlike. He
walked slowly down the avenue lined.
with tall Lombardy poplars, standing in
ranks, like soldiers, toward the low,
rambling convent building. There was
91
The History of the
a sweet stillness over everything, that
peculiar quiet and absence of alarms
which characterizes places from which
the tumultuous world is excluded. The
abbé's thoughts were decidedly optimis-
tic. The country had quieted down
under the rule of the Corsican, and the
abbé had no doubt, like all the rest of
the Bourbon followers, that, after Na-
poleon's day, France would again call
for her rightful king, and he pleased
himself mightily with the notion.
Meanwhile, it was pleasanter living in
France, even under the Corsican's rule,
than anywhere on earth,- for exile is
hard upon your true Frenchman.
had served his term of duty with the
Comte d'Artois, and had been heartily
glad when he was excused from further
attendance, for a time at least, and somet
other patient abbé had taken his place.
He
As he neared the open door in the
middle of the sunny, whitewashed con-
vent walls, he began to be a little eager
respecting the person he was to see.
92
Lady Betty Stair
her
"Who would have thought Lady
Betty Stair would ever be a religious !
She seemed born to be of a court
little feet seemed made for white satin
slippers only, and dancing was more
natural to her than walking. Ah, those
Highland dances she used to do so like
a sprite and De Bourmont
>>
The abbé shook his head and sighed.
That chance word he let fall that night.
at Holyrood lay heavy on his conscience.
He had made a long journey to confess
it, and when told he had committed no
sin, only an unfortunate inadvertence,
his conscience was not altogether eased.
For many years he had harbored no
suspicion of the identity of the man who
came to him that October evening in
1789, and in darkness and in whispers
confessed having run Angus Macdonald
through the body, when called to ac-
count for some slight to the Scotch-
man's young sister. Of late, though,
he was haunted by the thought that it
was Bastien. Lady Betty Stair evi-
93
The History of the
dently knew who it was, but her cry,
(C
My heart is broken!" seemed gro-
tesquely out of place concerning Bastien,
whom she notoriously hated. Being
well skilled in the human heart, the
abbé had seen how things were in the
old days between De Bourmont and
Lady Betty Stair; but, like everybody
else, he was astounded when Lady
Betty quietly left Holyrood, a few days
after De Bourmont's departure, and the
next heard of her, she had entered the
novitiate of the Sisters of Mercy.
Scarcely less of a change had come over
De Bourmont, he, once the most
careless, debonair young spirit in the
world, now, a silent, serious, deter-
mined soldier, without a hope or an aspi-
ration beyond his duty. It was all very
puzzling, and the abbé had not cleared
it up when he pulled the convent bell
and heard it clang through the building
in the quiet of the August afternoon.
The abbé, bowing low to the portress,
asked to see the superior, and was
94
Lady Betty Stair
shown into the convent parlor to await
her. It was so calm, so peaceful — and
there were so many roses! They even
climbed through the window, and their
laughing faces peered over the stone sill.
Presently the superior entered, and she
and the abbé, having known each other
long before the troubles, were delighted
to meet once more; and to show her
appreciation of the honor of the visit
she took him into the convent garden,
where a lay sister served seed cake and
mulberry wine to him. The abbé
crumbled his cake and made a heroic
effort to drink the wine; but it was too
much for his politeness and his charity
combined. However, the superior, in-
tent on hearing of all their mutual
friends, did not remark this. After a
while the abbé said:
"I desire, after paying my respects
to you, dear mother, to see Sister Claire,
who is also an old friend of mine, despite
the difference in our ages. She was in
attendance upon their Royal Highnesses
95
The History of the
+
at Holyrood, and she was then Lady
Betty Stair."
"Ah, Sister Claire! Well, Monsieur
l'Abbé, I can only say that the more of
those fine ladies who come to us, the
better. They have already served so
hard an apprenticeship to the rule of the
world, that ours seems simple enough
to them. They find the hardest life of
a religious easy by comparison with
what society exacted of them. They
always turn out our bravest sisters;
they fear nothing."
The
abbé nodded his head with
pleased approval at this.
"True, very true. It was not of the
world that it was said,
For My yoke is
easy, and My burden is light.""
"And Sister Claire is no exception
to the rest. She is so courageous
ready to do anything, to go anywhere
depend upon it, Monsieur l'Abbé,
there is something in blood, after all."
The mother superior said this as if
it were a highly original remark, and
96
Lady Betty Stair
—
the abbé smiled, he felt sure, whatever
Lady Betty Stair professed to be, she
was that with all her heart. And in a
little while the mother superior arose to
send Sister Claire to him, and pres-
ently he heard a quick, light step trip-
ping down the flagged walk under the
lilac-trees behind him. It gave him a
weird sensation; he felt as if he were
in the long gallery at Holyrood, and
Lady Betty Stair was tripping toward
him in little high-heeled red slippers,
and she would appear before him in a
moment in a gay little white gown, and
make him a low curtesy as in the old
days; and he did not come out of his
day dream until he saw Sister Claire
standing close by him, her face framed
in white, and her graceful figure not
wholly concealed by the habit of the
Sisters of Mercy.
The abbe's first idea was, that Lady
Betty had grown taller and more beau-
tiful than he could ever have dreamed.
In place of her charming prettiness was
7
97
The History of the
Her old
there was the
a lofty and touching beauty.
spirit was not gone,
same gleam in her eyes, the same color
in her cheeks, but glorified by the dig-
nity of self-sacrifice. She was so glad
to see the abbé that she squeezed his
hand tightly in her two small palms;
and then sat down by him on the
bench. Both of them were a little
shaken, and a diamond drop or two
hung upon Sister Claire's lashes.
"How kind you were to come!
she cried; and the abbé noticed, even
in her voice, the magic change. It had
always been sweet, but now it was
thrilling. And he felt sure, in one
minute, that whatever might have been
the storms through which she had
passed, now, at least, she was at
peace.
"Tell me about yourself, my child,"
he asked.
"There is not much to tell only,
that I have to-day obtained the desire.
of my heart. I have always longed to
98
Lady Betty Stair
help our dear, brave soldiers in the field,
and I was so afraid I would be made
to teach, or to nurse the rich when
they are ill, or something really hard.
But to-day it is settled — I am to be
with an ambulance not in charge
for I have no experience yet - but I
am to do what I have longed to do. I
think my fighting blood must make me
yearn to help our poor soldiers, and
God has been so good to me in letting
me do it."
"I congratulate you, my child.
Nothing is nobler or more useful.
You will perhaps find many old ac-
quaintances among the officers, who
will be of help to you."
"I shall make them all help me,"
she cried, nodding her head very much
as of old. Then she began to ask
after the Royal Highnesses both of
them had served, and after many
other persons they both knew. She
could give him news of Madame Mira-
bel, who was well and happy in being
99
UorM
The History of the
still allowed to follow exiled royalty;
and Monsieur Bastien, she said, smil-
ing, had married the widow of a rich
contractor. The abbe's tongue was
well under control, but his countenance
remained expressive. Something in his
look told Sister Claire that the subject
of Bastien was unpleasing; and then
she asked, quite calmly and naturally,
"And Monsieur de Bourmont, what
has become of him?"
The abbé started a little, but, seeing
her quite composed, though a little pale,
answered her in the most matter-of-
fact way imaginable.
“A major of artillery. He frankly
avowed his royalist principles to Gen-
eral Bonaparte, who assured him it
should not stand in the way of his pro-
motion, and it has not.
scarcely know him
changed."
But you would
now, he is so
"How, Monsieur l'Abbé?" asked
Sister Claire, turning still paler, but
not losing her calmness.
100
Lady Betty Stair
"Grave, quiet, taciturn. You re-
member what a gay dare-devil he was
once ? He looks many years older,
and in a little more than a year he has
grown as gray as I am. He is, how-
ever, a useful and brilliant officer."
"A useful and brilliant officer!
repeated Sister Claire, dreamily. "Then
he ought to be content. None of those
who live in the world can hope to be
more than that.”
The
Then there was a little pause.
abbé felt a slight awkwardness in speak-
ing of De Bourmont before her who had
once been the Lady Betty Stair. And
then a new courage leaped into Sister
Claire's glowing eyes, and she said,
after a moment :
"Monsieur l'Abbé, I wish to tell
you something about Monsieur de Bour-
mont, which you may at some time
convey to him, and it may give him
comfort. You will understand that I
ask you to regard what I tell you as a
sacred confidence. You remember, no
ΤΟΙ
The History of the
doubt, the terrible circumstances of the
death of my only brother, Angus Mac-
donald, of the Scottish Guard ?”
(C
Quite well, my child. It was well
impressed upon my memory."
Sister Claire, for the first time, fal-
tered a little, and when she resumed,
her voice was tremulous.
"I never associated Monsieur de
Bourmont with that tragedy of my
youth until until just before I left
Holyrood Palace.
But I found out
quite by accident
one of those terri-
ble accidents of life that that
Monsieur de Bourmont killed my
brother." Sister Claire stopped, sighed,
and passed her hand over her pale face.
"But Monsieur de Bourmont did
not kill your brother," replied the abbé,
quietly.
Sister Claire shook her head, and
said, in a tone of piercing sadness:
"Ah, Monsieur l'Abbé, you have
forgotten. It was from you yourself
I heard the words, My first penitent
(
102
Lady Betty Stair
was a murderer;' and the first time
I ever saw Monsieur de Bourmont at
Holyrood, he said, 'I was the Abbé
de Ronceray's first penitent.'"
"He was wrong.
He was not my
first penitent; he was my second.
I
was locked up alone in the room with
the murderer when Monsieur de Bour-
mont arrived, and the confession was
made me by that miserable man before
Monsieur de Bourmont came near me.
He, too, went to confession for the
first time in many years, and I recall
he said, at the time, that he was my
first penitent, I had been his superior
officer, you may remember,
and I
did not contradict him; but it was a
mistake."
There was a long pause after this,
and the abbé carefully avoided looking
at Sister Claire. Presently he con-
tinued:
"I was not present when he made
the assertion which so misled you, else
I would have contradicted him then."
103
The History of the
A still longer pause followed, and
the abbe heard Sister Claire say to
herself :
"Bastien was the man who killed
my brother."
The old priest seemed not to hear
Sister Claire's words. He only said,
in a mildly vexed tone :
"How well should one guard the
tongue!
And how unguarded was
mine! I think the Evil One must
have been at my elbow when I made
that indiscreet remark. Forget it, my
child!"
He still kindly looked away from
Sister Claire, and began to speak of
resignation under sorrows, and those
other commonplaces which wait upon
human misery. His voice sounded far
away to Sister Claire. It seemed to come
from a great distance, beyond the
convent wall, with its wealth of roses;
beyond the fields and the vineyards,
where the shadows lay long in the de-
clining sun. After a long, long while,
104
Lady Betty Stair
some faint words escaped her. She
tried to speak calmly, but her words
were half-sobbed out :
"I am glad
more glad than I can
say that Monsieur de Bourmont is
not, as I thought, guilty of my brother's
blood. But I think it is right he should
know the mistake the cruel mistake
I was under. Tell him so, I beg of
you; and tell him also that I ask his
pardon for ever suspecting him of such
a thing."
"I will see him and repeat to him
every word you ask me," replied the
abbé.
Then they both rose, and involun-
tarily walked down the flagged path
toward the door. Sister Claire was
struggling with her agitation, but she
was conquering it. Presently she spoke
again.
"When I left Holyrood — suddenly,
Monsieur l'Abbé, you may remember
I wrote a few lines of farewell to
Monsieur de Bourmont. I did not tell
105
The History of the
him why I left, he does not know to
this day."
The old abbé knew well enough
what her incoherent words meant; he
supplied the meaning without the least
trouble. When, at last, he felt it was.
safe to look at Sister Claire, he began to
believe that, after all, nothing could be
better than what was. De Bourmont
had done heroic things, and Sister
Claire would do things equally heroic.
"Remember, my child," he said,
"the believer who puts his hand to
the plough"
"Let him not look back,” continued
Sister Claire, in a thrilling voice.
"Much better much better to go
on. Say to Monsieur de Bourmont
that I hope he will be happy; and I
shall not be- unhappy."
"No; you will not be unhappy,"
replied the abbé. He was exalted
enough to see that Sister Claire had
before her a great and useful life,
and such people are to be envied, not
106

"Tell him so, I beg of you.'"
Vor M

Lady Betty Stair
pitied. They stood together at the
convent door with clasped hands. It
was a solemn parting, for each felt it
was for all time.
"Good-by, my child. You will be
happy," were the abbé's parting words.
Sister Claire did not speåk, but stood
at the door watching his tall, thin, but
still soldierly figure as it disappeared
down the poplar-bordered lane. Purple
shadows were falling upon the land-
scape, and the scent of the roses grew
almost painfully sweet. Sister Claire
lifted a pale, glorified face toward the
opaline sky, where a new moon hung
low, like a silver lamp, and her lips
moved in prayer. Suddenly a bell
clanged loudly four times behind her.
It was her number she was needed.
She turned to go, and met the superior
face to face.
"You look pale, sister," said the
superior, kindly. "These visits from
the outside world are sometimes agitat-
ing. Have you heard bad news?”
107
The History of the
“No, I have not, mother; I have
heard very good news," answered Sister
Claire. "A person whom I deeply
loved, I thought had been guilty of a
crime; and I have this day, this hour,
found that he is innocent," and she
went upon her task with a face like an
angel's.
108
Lady Betty Stair
V
SOME Sisters of Mercy have one
vocation some another. Sister
Claire's was for helping the private sol-
diers, nursing them when they were ill,
binding up their hurts when they were
wounded, comforting them when they
were dying, and even scolding them
very effectively when they were in the
guard-house. This patrician was never
more at home than with Jean Baptiste,
who marched away from home with a
light knapsack and a heavy heart, and
who did not always know enough to
keep out of the sergeant's black books.
It was the Jean Baptistes whom Sister
Claire loved, and she was loved in turn
by them. She was very gentle with
them when they were ill and suffering,
but when drinking and gambling
and other wrongdoings came to her
109
The History of the
notice, who could be more severe than
Sister Claire ?
Sister
"I am ashamed of you, Jean Bap-
tiste," she would say sternly to a vieille
moustache, who had gone through a
dozen campaigns scathless, only to be
floored at last at the wine-shop. "You,
whom I thought one of the best men
in the battalion ! What is to become
of the conscripts if the older men act
like you? I have a great mind to leave
the army and go back to teaching young
ladies the harp in the convent."
Claire had not the remotest idea of
doing this, but the awful threat struck
fear to the heart of Jean Baptiste. The
other sisters were kind-oh, yes
kindness itself but Sister Claire was
the soldier's friend. The officers ad-
mired and respected her, and found
Sister Claire's influence of substantial
benefit in the matter of discipline. But
with these men of her own class she
was more reserved. She was then
more Lady Betty Stair than Sister
-
110
Lady Betty Stair
Claire of the Sisters of Mercy. By
that subtle freemasonry among classes,
the officers knew they were associating
with a person born to rank and position
when dealing with her, and she used
this feeling very artfully for the benefit
of her poor soldiers. This woman,
who would wait on sick Jean Baptiste
as if she were his servant, would, un-
consciously to herself, wear a grand
air when face to face with his officer.
She would ask a favor with the calm
assumption that it must be done for
her, very much as in the old days she
would desire a cavalier to pick up her
fan; and she would accept it with
the graceful condescension of a great
lady. She always made her requests
in person, shrewdly surmising that to
say по was more difficult than to
write " no; and it became a joke
among the officers how completely they
stood in awe of this slight, tranquil
little Sister of Mercy.
She did not
(C
cast down her eyes when she spoke to
1 II
The History of the
1
a man as the French sisters did, but
looked at them so fully and brightly
that the boldest dragoon of them felt
like a schoolboy before her.
The rule of the Sisters of Mercy is
a strict one; nevertheless, they are
very wise women, and if one of their
order displays a great and singular
aptitude for a thing, she is allowed to
follow the path so clearly indicated to
her. So it was that Sister Claire never
more taught polite accomplishments to
young ladies, but worked steadily in
her chosen field.
She
Her first duty almost was with the
army in Egypt. She had then an am-
bulance of her own, and the little
canvas-covered wagon was pretty sure
to be close up to the line of fire.
went through the whole time of the
French occupation of Egypt, including
the terrible retreat from Acre, without
a scratch or a day's illness; but one
of the last shots fired at the retreating
French column struck her. The
I 12
Lady Betty Stair
wound was severe, but she never lost
consciousness while the surgeons were
dressing it. All along the dreary road
lay the wounded, begging to be car-
ried along with the army and not
be suffered to perish on the desert.
And their cries and prayers so affected
Sister Claire, who implored that they
might be taken into her wagon, that
the surgeon in charge gave her a dose.
of opium, which put her to sleep at the
time and made her very angry after-
wards.
The Napoleonic wars gave her plenty
to do. She followed her dear soldiers
to Germany, to Spain, and even a part
of the way to Russia she, who had
seen the sun rise on the day of Auster-
litz, also witnessed the passage of the
Beresina. And by means which she
never understood, but devoutly thanked
God for, she succeeded in getting her
ambulance across the river on that dread-
ful day, and saved the ten wounded men
of whom she had charge. It was in the
8
113
The History of the
days of 1814, though, that she was of
the most service. From the battle of
Leipsic until the surrender of Paris,
there was scarcely a day that she was
not under fire. She was wounded
three times, but all of her wounds
were slight, and she lost little time.
through them. She was at Waterloo,
and after working all night on the
field, in the pouring rain, for the first
time in her life she fainted away, falling
among a heap of dead cuirassiers.
When day broke, and the bodies were
being removed, she was found there.
Groans and sobs of grief went up
when Sister Claire, suddenly sitting up,
asked: —
"Are the English in retreat?'
>>
Alas! they were not — though soon
Sister Claire was, but meanwhile doing
all she could for the wounded among
the fugitives.
All this time, no hardened veteran
stood fire better than Sister Claire.
She adopted that cheerful maxim,
[14
Lady Betty Stair
-
and
"Every bullet has its billet,"
went about her business of binding up
wounds and staunching blood as calmly
under the dropping fire of musketry,
or the roar of artillery, as if she were
hearing a catechism class in the convent
garden.
And how was it with her heart in
all those years? She scarcely knew
herself. Only that, whenever a sudden
wild agony of regret seized her, when
she was tempted to rush up the greatest
height she could find and throw herself
madly from it into the abyss of death,
there was always before her some suf-
fering fellow-creature who needed her
services at that very moment; whose
pain was so great it could not wait,
and she must stay and help that ago-
nized soul and body. She counted
among her blessings that, whenever
these paroxysms of despair had seized
her, there would be the ever-present
sufferer; and she came to believe
silently, and with a tender and reverent
115
The History of the
superstition, that, like the saint of old
who gave his coat to a beggar, and
that beggar revealed himself presently
as the Man of Sorrows, so was she
tending Him in the persons of His
poor.
She had not failed to follow De Bour-
mont's career, and knew every step of
promotion he gained, and thrilled with
pride at it. As for De Bourmont, from
the day he threw his sword into the
scale of the Emperor, he scarcely had
time to think, for fifteen years. In all
those years he had been in active ser-
vice, and it was not until after Water-
loo, where he had been severely wounded,
that the march of events in his career
stopped long enough for him to look
backward and forward at his life. In
the long days of his convalescence in
the country, he began to examine him-
self and what lay before and behind him.
Like the Abbé de Ronceray, he scarcely
recognized himself for what he had
been fifteen years before.
before. He was over
116
Lady Betty Stair
forty, a soldier seasoned in battles, and
too old to learn anything else. He had
been cruelly disappointed in the first and
only deep love of his life, and the
memory of Lady Betty Stair was still
too dear to him for any other woman
to have the mastery of his heart.
had learned from the abbé the whole
story of her sudden flight from Holy-
He
rood, and, manlike, he could not per-
suade himself that she could be happy
after the sacrifice she had made. He
imagined her spending a life of calm
seclusion in a convent, and did not
suspect that she was almost as much of
a soldier as himself; and, like her, he
came in time to feel that there was but
one life before him, a life of duty.
His career in the army had been bril-
liant up to 1815, but he had been too
closely identified with the Emperor to
enjoy the favor of the Bourbons, whom
he had once served. And so, after that,
it was somewhat dull and obscure, until
the French dream of conquest in Africa
117
The History of the
was brought to pass, some years after
Waterloo.
So
In those years Sister Claire went
about from one barrack hospital to an-
other, for soldiers need tending in peace
as well as in war. The years that made
De Bourmont more sombre and taciturn,
made her brighter and calmer.
much brightness and calmness of spirit
could not but be reflected in her face,
and, being beautiful in the beginning,
she seemed to grow more so
as time
went on. Age passed her by. The
activity of her life was such that her
figure retained its airy slightness, and
she continued to walk with the graceful
swiftnesss with which she had moved
through the dismal corridors of Holy-
rood Palace.
In the twenties, France had constant
trouble with Algiers, and Sister Claire
was sent out to Africa, at the head of a
band of sisters, to nurse the sick. She
had a fine hospital, though small, and
government aid, and never, in all her
118
Lady Betty Stair
religious life, was she so comfortable in
certain ways;
but never did Sister
Claire become so nearly dissatisfied.
"I do not understand civilians very
well, dear mother," she wrote to the
superior. "I have been used so long
to nursing Jean Baptiste, to scolding
him, and making him obey the doctor,
and take care of his shoes, and even to
washing his one shirt for him, that I
cannot accustom myself to the dilettante
ways of other people, who know as well
how to take care of themselves as I do."
It
One fine morning in 1827, though, a
great French fleet was seen off the town
of Algiers, and a cannonade began.
cannot be denied that the first batch of
wounded sailors brought into Sister
Claire's hospital caused her to feel at
least twenty years younger; and from
that on, she had her beloved soldiers, as
well as sailors, to nurse, and was corre-
spondingly happy.
When the first advance in force, of
twenty thousand men, was determined
119
The History of the
on, the French surgeon-general, who
was an old acquaintance of Sister
Claire's, came to her and said, bluntly:
"You must come with us.
You are
worth the whole medical staff when it
comes to actual fighting in the field."
"Do you think I would have stayed
behind?" somewhat indignantly asked
Sister Claire.
On a June evening, the French col-
umn started for the plateau, where it
was well understood that the Algerians.
meant to give battle. It was a fine
sight, and as Sister Claire sat in her little
white-covered cart, watching the beauti-
ful precision with which cavalry, infantry,
and artillery took their place in line, she
felt more excited than she had since
1815. As the second division, headed
by the artillery, was about to move, a
general officer rode out from among the
group of officers around the commander-
in-chief and took his place at the head
of the column. A tremendous cheer
greeted him, which he acknowledged
120
Lady Betty Stair
Several
by lifting his chapeau and bowing cere-
moniously. He was a long distance
away from Sister Claire; but when the
fading light fell upon his head, which
was quite gray, and his bronzed features,
she suddenly caught her breath and
turned white. She did not need to ask
his name; the thirty years of their
separation melted away in one instant.
of time; it was De Bourmont.
hours passed before the little ambulance
brought up the end of the rear guard.
As the wagon jolted over the rough
road, sometimes brilliantly illuminated
for a moment by the moon, which
sailed high in the heavens, and, again,
lost in the impenetrable darkness of
wood and ravine, Sister Claire sat quite
silent. Usually, like an old soldier, she
was gay at the prospect of going into
battle; but on this June night, under an
African sky, she scarcely spoke to her
companion, another white-capped sister,
who, like herself, placid and silent,
awaited the labors of the morrow.
!
I2 I
The History of the
Sister Claire's retrospection was keen,
but not unhappy. She knew De Bour-
mont's reputation in the army well,-in-
trepid, devoted to his duty, idolized by
his men; he might have been happier,
he could not have been better. For her-
self, she had felt from the beginning the
peace which follows the putting away
of self and the devotion of one's life to
those who suffer.
The stars seemed large, and very
near to her, as she looked out of the
hooded wagon up at the blue-black sky.
It was not her first night-march, by any
She remembered them among
means.
the snows of Russia; she recalled the
night after Waterloo, and the drenching
rain, and all the horrors of that time.
Near by was the steady tramp of thou-
sands of feet, and afar off, the rolling
sound of the field guns on the rocky
road. The columns climbed upward
steadily toward the plateau. It was
only a few leagues away; Sister Claire.
knew they would make it before day-
122
Lady Betty Stair
light. Then she must be ready for
work, getting the ambulance in order,
so it would be well for her to sleep.
She lay down in the bottom of the
cart with her companion, and in five
minutes was sleeping peacefully. But
she had said, with fervor, the little
prayer she made every night for De
Bourmont; and she had done this for
more than thirty years.
The gray sky of dawn was chan-
ging to an all rose and opal tint when
the cart halted, and Sister Claire,
with the surgeon-in-chief, surveyed the
field with an eye to establishing her
ambulance. On one side the torrent
Midiffla flowed noisily, while rugged
ravines and rocky hills and dales were
before the French troops. Already
the ferocious tribesmen were seen,
hovering in great numbers on the
horizon, while the distant roll of
wheels over the stony ground showed
that the Algerians were provided with
artillery.
123
The History of the
Sister Claire chose her position with
a soldier's eye.
'
"It is here, I think, Monsieur le
Docteur," she said, pointing to a little
hollow well up the side of the plateau,
but protected from the probable range
of fire. "Our brave enfants' will
make a stand here; and, you see, there
is a fairly good road to a spot lower
down, where the wounded may be
transported after their wounds. are
dressed, and be quite safe."
The doctor shrugged his shoulders.
"It will be pretty hot up here," he
said.
"Of course," replied Sister Claire,
coolly; "but where it is hot, is where
we are needed.”
"Well, sister," responded the doctor,
laughing, "you are an old campaigner,
and have been under fire oftener than I
have and for the honor of my pro-
fession I will not ask for a safer place."
Scarcely had the bright lances of the
June sunrise lit up the plain than thirty
124
Lady Betty Stair
thousand Algerians were seen, formed
in a long, crescent-shaped line, with the
artillery in the middle, advancing. The
red-legged French soldiers awaited the
order to advance in high spirits,
laughing, singing, and indulging in that
horse-play which French discipline
allows until the actual moment of go-
ing into action. They were formed
into three divisions, and Sister Claire
had no trouble in picking out, among
the brilliant staff that was assembled
under the shade of an ilex grove, the
figure of De Bourmont. The French
paid no attention to the great bodies of
Kabyle horsemen who, dashing up close
to their lines, would fire a volley, then
turn and fly. Their fire did little dam-
age, and when they grew bolder, and
came nearer, a volley from the French
muskets scattered them. When, how-
ever, the Algerian centre advanced upon
the plateau, then the French went to
work in earnest. As the first line of
the French moved forward, the infantry
125
The History of the
on the run, the artillery on the trot, and
at the first dash gained a quarter of a
mile, Sister Claire turned to the doctor,
giving him back his field-glass, which
she had been using. "We shall have
work soon, monsieur," she said, calmly.
As
And work they had. Outnumbered
two to one, the disciplined troops of
France had to defend themselves on all
sides. The clouds of dust raised by the
multitude of Arab horsemen obscured
them so that they were upon the French
bayonets before they knew it. The
Arabs left scarcely any wounded.
long as an Arab breathes, he can sit in
his queer, box-like saddle, and the
trained horses knew well enough when
to turn and gallop back to their own
line. The French had established
themselves on a ledge of rocks, just
rising above the plateau; but they could
not remain there, they must retreat or
advance. If they advanced, so small
was their force, they were in danger of
being surrounded and cut to pieces;
126
Lady Betty Stair
-
and if they retreated but they had no
thought of retreat. Sister Claire, in
the intervals of her work, saw De Bour-
mont's figure plainly, when he dis-
mounted and, drawing his sword, headed
what the expressive French phrase calls
"les enfants perdus " as they made a
dash for the hill where the Algerian
guns thundered. She did not stop for
one moment from dressing the hideous
wound of a vieille moustache, who had
groaned and shrieked horribly until he
recognized Sister Claire; but she kept
on praying while she was talking.
well.
"Come, now," said she, "it is very
bad indeed; but
I've seen worse ones than this. Did
you
will get
we not make the passage of the Bere-
sina together?"
"True, sister," answered the poor
creature, "and the pain is not so bad
after all."
And meanwhile, on the abrupt slope
of the hill, the Algerian guns were
thundering, and the masses of French
127
The History of the
infantry, each regiment led by its colo-
nel, were moving steadily toward the
circle of guns, from which the red death
poured in sheets of flame and smoke,
making the June morning dark. And
every step they advanced, they left be-
hind them men writhing on the stony
ground.
"We must go farther on," cried
Sister Claire, suddenly; "we cannot
get those wounded men here; we must
go to them. You stay here, sister,"
she said to her companion. “Come,
doctor; come, Pierre and Auguste, let
us go!" and seizing a basket of lint
and bandages, she started briskly up the
hill, quickly followed by the doctor and
two or three bearers; and then the
men began to bring the wounded to her,
and soon she and the doctor were sur-
rounded by a circle of bleeding crea-
Never was she more active or
more helpful, but in the fearful struggle
going on before her eyes, scarcely half
a mile's distance, she could see, at inter-
tures.
128
Lady Betty Stair
vals, De Bourmont's martial figure on
foot, and always heading the line. They
had reached the Algerian batteries now,
and there was hand-to-hand fighting, the
Algerians being bayoneted at their guns,
while another column of red legs moved
steadily up the incline to support De
Bourmont's column.
In the midst of it all, the sharp
screech of a shell was heard above the
spot where the doctor and Sister Claire
worked side by side among a crowd of
wounded men, and the next moment
it dropped among them. The doctor,
the bearers, and even the
the sufferers
themselves were paralyzed, for the
fuse was still burning. Not so Sister
Claire. She quickly picked up the
shell and ran with the activity of a girl
of twenty down the hillside. A cheer
broke from the doctor and the bearers,
and even the poor wounded men joined
faintly in the cry. Sister Claire had
gone nearly a hundred yards, when she
laid the shell down carefully and turned
9
129
The History of the
to run back. She was just half a
minute too late. A deafening report
was heard, and she was seen to fall to
the ground, bleeding from a dozen
wounds; and at the same moment a
shout went up from thousands of throats
as De Bourmont, mounting his horse,
dashed forward in pursuit of the flying
Algerians.
The hospital of the Sisters of Mercy
at Algiers was a pleasant place; and
when, many days after this, Sister Claire
awoke to consciousness, there was re-
joicing, not only in the hospital, but
among the soldiers, too. Every day the
gate had been besieged by men coming
to inquire after her, and when at last it
was known that she would recover, the
joy of the Jean Baptistes was touching.
Many officers had sent to ask after
her, but they did not cry, as the soldiers
did, when told at first that she could
not get well, and laugh some days after,
when told that she could.
130

"She was just half a minute too late."
Vor M
Lady Betty Stair
Many months passed on.
The
French were everywhere victorious,
and by October, the rainy season be-
ginning, all of the troops were recalled
to the neighborhood of the city of
Algiers.
By that time Sister Claire was quite
well, and apparently her terrible experi-
ence had done her no harm at all. She
was deeply interested in the results of
the campaign, and heard with delight of
the rescue of Christian captives, and the
chances that the nation of corsairs was
likely to be no more a scourge to civili-
zation. She also knew that the general
in command had gone back to France
on sick leave, and General de Bourmont.
was temporarily in command.
one morning, sitting in the garden and
looking toward the glorious Bay of
Algiers, she saw a smart French frigate
drop her anchor, and one of the con-
valescent officers said to her:
And
"That is 'La Minerve.' She brings
out the decorations for the campaign.
131
The History of the
General de Bourmont is sure
made lieutenant-general."
to be
A day or two after that, one morn-
ing, the superior came to Sister Claire's
room - for she was a guest of her own
order then and said, smiling proudly:
"What think you, sister?
We are
especially invited to attend at the distri-
bution of decorations to-morrow morn-
ing. Here is a letter from General de
Bourmont; and he particularly wishes
you to be present, he says, on account
of your services to the army. But the
rest of us are not forgotten either, and
the general speaks in the kindest man-
ner of what little we have been able to
do for our poor soldiers."
The superior did not offer to show
Sister Claire the letter from General de
Bourmont, and Sister Claire did not ask
to see it; but, like the superior, she
glowed with natural pride at the com-
pliment paid their order.
All that day the sisters were in a
flutter; and among themselves, when
132
Lady Betty Stair
1
Sister Claire was not present, they said :
"How glorious! how honorable to our
order! We must give especial thanks
to the Blessed Lady for this."
Sister Claire, however, was purposely
kept in the dark; and the next morning
she was the least excited of the party of
twenty sisters who took their way, two
and two, toward the great plain on the
south of the city.
Never was the scene more beautiful.
The rains had begun, and in a few days
the face of the earth had become green
with the most luxuriant foliage. The
ships in the little harbor were dressed in
honor of the occasion, and the French
frigate, anchored in the bay, was covered
with flags. On the great plain were
found ten thousand men, on three sides
of a square. The fourth side was left
open, and facing it was General de
Bourmont and a splendid staff. Upon
the surrounding heights were greal mul-
titudes of people, — French, Arabs,
Jews, Turks, all watching the scene.
<
1
133
The History of the
A blare of military music smote the
morning air, as all the bands in the
French-African army crashed out.
Sister Claire's heart beat; yes, De
Bourmont was to have the reward of
valor; it was just. And he had that
other reward, the esteem and love
which waits upon a commander who
loves his men like his children.
Sister Claire had supposed that they
would simply be given good positions
where they could see the ceremonies of
the day, and was rather surprised when
the superior, with whom she was walk-
ing, moved directly toward the opening
in the hollow square; and she was still
more surprised when a young aide
dashed up, and, dismounting, respectfully
led the little band of white-capped nuns.
to a position very near the staff. And,
strangely enough, she began to be agi-
tated, and to feel as if some crisis in her
life were at hand. General de Bour-
mont would probably come up after the
ceremonies were over and speak to
134
Lady Betty Stair
them and would he recognize her?
And then the bands stopped suddenly,
and Sister Claire, looking up, heard the
young officer who had escorted them
saying, with a smile: "Sister, I believe
it is your turn first to be decorated.”
Sister Claire looked at him in dumb
amazement, and then looked toward the
superior.
"It is true, sister," said the superior,
who was also smiling, but whose eyes
were moist. "You are to be decorated.
We knew some time ago that you had
been recommended, and your decoration
arrived yesterday, and we have arranged
this as a glorious surprise to you."
Sister Claire's face grew a rosy red.
She hesitated a moment, but the aide,
bowing low, and pointing to the waiting
group of officers, where a number of
soldiers of all ages who were to be
decorated were assembled near them,
she advanced with him toward the com-
mander-in-chief. It was some distance
across the sand, glowing with the morn-
135
The History of the
ing sun, and the fierceness of the glare
and the emotion that she feared showed
in her usually calm face, kept her eyes
to the ground. But when she reached
the general and his staff, and had
paused, a voice rang out that thrilled
her to the soul. It was that of General
de Bourmont, as he said: -
"Sister Claire !
At that she raised her eyes, and her
gaze met De Bourmont's. For some
moments each forgot everything in the
world except the other. They forgot
the stretch of more than thirty years
since last they had looked into each
other's eyes. They forgot the waiting
thousands of troops, the vast multitude
of spectators. The white sand and
fierce sun of Algiers melted into the
gloomy old palace of Holyrood. They
were once more De Bourmont and Lady
Betty Stair.
As they stood thus, each
reading the other's soul through the
eyes, some keen inner sympathy told
them that, however much their hearts
136
Lady Betty Stair
had suffered, their souls had thriven on
that nobler life that each had led. And
as they felt clearly and more clearly
every moment, that in those years of
self-sacrifice, and of that agony of sep-
aration, their newer and better selves
had been born and lived and suffered,
so did the dazzling happiness of the life
they might have lived together reveal
itself in all its splendid beauty. Those
moments of solemn exaltation seemed
like an age to Sister Claire and De
Bourmont; but, in truth, it was only
long enough to make the gorgeous group
of waiting officers wonder at De Bour-
mont's strange silence; and when he
spoke, his voice was not altogether
calm.
"When scarcely more than twenty-
three years of age, you followed our
soldiers to Egypt and faithfully tended
them. You were severely wounded in
the retreat from Acre. You followed
the French army to Spain, to Germany,
and even to Russia. Your courage in
137
The History of the
saving ten wounded men at the passage
of the Beresina is remembered. You
were in every battle from the frontier
to the gates of Paris, in 1814, and were
three times wounded. At Waterloo
you were carried off the field for dead
among the corpses of a number of cuiras-
siers. For three years you have labored
in Algiers, and at the battle of Staoueli,
when a shell with a burning fuse fell
near your ambulance, endangering the
lives of your wounded, you picked it up
and carried it more than eighty yards.
before it exploded, wounding you ter-
ribly. But your life was preserved in
all these dangers, and you have been
spared to the soldiers who love you so
well. His Majesty, knowing of your
devotion to our army, has placed your
name at the head of those who are to
be rewarded to-day. And, by his com-
mand, I present you with the Cross for
Tried Bravery. None has deserved it
more than you."
At the first sound of his voice both
138
Lady Betty Stair
of them came back out of that shadowy
world in which their other selves had
met face to face. De Bourmont's
voice grew stronger as he continued
speaking; and he fixed his eyes upon
her angelic face, shining under her
She noticed that he was
nun's bonnet.
gray and very grave. She knew, then,
as well as if a thousand tongues had told
her, that, from the day of their parting,
the gay, the careless, the dashing De
Bourmont had ceased to exist, and in
his place was this earnest and devoted
soldier, who lived for his country and
was ready to die for it. She became
conscious by degrees of the scene
around her, the African sun blazing
upon the white sand, the imposing sight
of many thousands of veterans assembled
to see valor rewarded. And then, De
Bourmont's hand pinned a splendid
decoration upon her breast.
Ten thousand men presented arms
to this brave woman; the officers, led
by General de Bourmont, saluted with
139
The History of the
their swords; the multitude burst into
thunders of cheers; the bands rang out
a patriotic air; and Sister Claire stood
with downcast head and tears dropping
upon the coarse habit she wore. After
a moment she looked up into De Bour-
mont's eyes.
Each understood the
other. The love of the young soldier
and the Lady Betty Stair had lasted
through more than thirty years, and in
that time it had become so purified and
ennobled that it was not unworthy of
the angels themselves. In De Bour-
mont's face might yet be seen a haunt-
ing disappointment; but in his heart he
could not, as a lover of his fellow-man,
believe that Sister Claire's life might
have been happier.
Late that afternoon, Sister Claire,
who had been busy writing in her cell
at the gray old convent, went into the
garden to look for the superior. The
garden, with its olive groves and clumps.
of fig-trees, was very cool and sweet
after the heat of the day. The superior
140
Lady Betty Stair
and two or three of the sisters were
walking up and down a shaded alley;
they were still talking about the glories.
of that day for one of their order.
"I came to show you, mother, a letter
I have written to General de Bourmont,"
said Sister Claire. “We knew each other
in our youth, and it was thought at one
time that he was responsible for the
death of my only brother. Afterward
it was proved that he was not, and I
took pains to have him informed of
it.
him "
Here is the letter I have written
GENERAL DE BOURMONT : — I desire to
express to his Majesty, and to yourself per-
sonally, my heartfelt thanks for the very
great honor conferred upon me. I only did
my duty, as many others have done, and I
felt rewarded in the thought that I did it for
God and my fellow-creatures; but this other
reward is not the less dear to me. For
yourself, General de Bourmont, accept my
thanks and good wishes. I have always
remembered your goodness to me, of many
141
The History of the
1
years ago, and I shall continue to do so
and to pray for you to the last hour of my
SISTER CLAIRE.
life.
"A very proper letter," said the
mother superior, who was full of pride
in the great doings of the day; " and I
will send it off immediately."
Two hours afterward, when the sisters.
had had their supper in the refectory,
they were assembled again in the garden.
The sun was gone down, but a beauti-
ful rosy haze lay over the landscape, and
a young moon trembled in the violet
sky. One of the lay sisters came run-
ning into the garden with a letter.
"It is for Sister Claire; and General
de Bourmont himself brought it," she
cried.
The sisters all gathered around. It
was only a fitting winding up of the
glories of the day for Sister Claire to
get a letter from the general himself,
delivered in person. There was still
enough of the pale and lingering light
142
Lady Betty Stair
7
to read by, and Sister Claire read her
letter aloud in a clear, sweet voice:
General de Bourmont presents his re-
spectful compliments to Sister Claire, and
has the honor of informing her that her
thanks will be personally conveyed by him
to his Majesty. The noble career of Sister
Claire has been watched by the whole French
army, and she will become, more than ever,
an object of respectful devotion to the soldiers.
of France, of all ranks. It was unknown to
General de Bourmont, though, that in Sister
Claire was his friend of former days. He
remembers with gratitude Sister Claire's kind-
ness to him at the long distant period to which
she refers; and he begs that she will always
consider him her friend and devoted servant
during the rest of his life.
(Signed)
DE BOURMONT.
"What a fine, splendid, brave letter!"
cried all the sisters, delighted; "and
to think it should turn out that Sister
Claire and General de Bourmont are
old friends!
Presently all went indoors, except Sis-
1
143
Lady Betty Stair
ter Claire. She remained, walking up
and down, with her beautiful eyes fixed
on the stars that shone with soft splen-
dor. Heaven seemed very near to her.
His
Afar off, on the sandy plain, De Bour-
mont sat on his horse quite motionless,
and looked toward the white-walled
convent which held Sister Claire.
eyes were full of tears for the broken
hearts of their youth; but he said to
himself, "I would not have it different
now."
144

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UNIV. OF MIOM
MAR 5 1909
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
3 9015 06395 9921