The rose of old St. Louis 31 – Dillon · Verses Across
Literature · Historical Fiction
The rose of old St. Louis 31The Rose of St. Louis
18
Literature · Historical Fiction
The rose of old St. Louis 31
The Rose of St. Louis
DillonEnglish
"What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."
But my impatience was of little avail, for before we left Government House Dr. Saugrain invited me to dinner at Émigré's Retreat, and restless and impatient as I might be, I did not dare show myself there until the dinner-hour.
Five o'clock found me sitting in the dear old living-room, awaiting, with trembling the entrance of madame and Pelagie. It was the same dear old room I had pictured to myself so often, and all the grand salons of Paris that I had seen since last I saw it did not make it look any the less cozy and homelike to my eyes. It was a warm spring afternoon, and the western windows were open, and the white curtains were stirring in the breeze, only there was no maiden in white on the low seat by the window, and no guitar and no Leon.
I had but a moment to wait. The door opened and in came madame, both hands outstretched and running to meet me, and as I bent low before her, taking my face in both her hands and putting a kiss on my cheek and calling me "My son." And behind her came Pelagie, walking slowly but looking up at me, yes, looking at me at last, with starry eyes and a great pulse throbbing in her snowy throat, and little tongues of color coming and going in her cheeks. I was almost of a mind there, right before madame, to take her in my arms and call her mine, for mine I was determined she should be; and I looked at her with such a threatening glance I think she divined my half-purpose and shrank back a little.
So instead I merely bowed over her hand and said gaily:
"You condescend to look at me at last, mademoiselle; I feared to-day I was to be forever banished from your friendly glances."
And she, relieved from her first apprehension, answered saucily:
"If monsieur comes unannounced, how can he expect to be recognized after so many months of absence?"
And then in stalked, majestically Leon, limping very slightly, and when he caught sight of me coming up to me and sniffing at me a moment, and then springing upon me with such wild bounds of delight that I had to call hold, lest his great paws play havoc with my fine Paris clothes that I had donned in mademoiselle's honor. And to quiet him I said in a high, small voice, in palpable burlesque of mademoiselle:
"Taise-toi, mon ange!" and we both laughed merrily.
I was so happy that I was ready to do everything that was foolish, and I believe mademoiselle was happy, too, for nothing that I did was too foolish for her to laugh at.
Then in came the little doctor, running up to me and insisting on embracing me (because I was in his own house), pulling down my head and kissing me on each cheek, at which I blushed greatly, though I had not blushed when madame kissed me. And then came my captain and Captain Lewis, and everyone talked at once, asking all manner of questions on all manner of subjects, and I had scarcely a chance to say another word to Pelagie.
And then came dinner. As usual, madame put me beside her, and Pelagie sat at the other end of the table. But there was no scorning this time, and I had better chance to look at her than if she sat beside me, and perhaps that was best, for my eyes could say to her much more than my lips would dare in such a company.
Narcisse waited on the table, and was all smiles of welcome; and half-way through dinner, on some pretext or other, in came Clotilde, and greeted me, half crying through her smiles at memory of our trials together. And last of all came Yorke, grinning from ear to ear, and "declarin' to gracious I'd growed a foot sence," whereupon I was of a mind to thrash him on the spot, and told him so, which made him grin the more, if that were possible.
It was a grand dinner, and I told Madame Saugrain I had never tasted in Paris anything half so good as her wild turkey and croquecignolles and gooseberry wine, which I meant with all my heart, and which greatly pleased her housewifely soul.
Back in the living-room, when dinner was over, I missed something, and looked around the room to discover what it was. It was the long French mirror in which I had once watched Pelagie--the pride of madame's heart.
"Why, madame," I said, "what have you done with your mirror?"
She shrugged her shoulders and looked ruefully at her husband.
"Antoine," she said, "needed some quicksilver for his experiments. Voilà! my mirror!"
I glanced at Dr. Saugrain; he blushed and looked guilty, and so, for some reason, I thought, did Captain Lewis.
"I will explain," said my captain. "You must know, my lad, that these two," indicating the doctor and Captain Lewis with a wave of his hand, "have been confederates all winter in black art. They have lived in the laboratory, and the instruments they have evolved for our trip up the Missouri and over the mountains are fearful and wonderful to behold. We are each of us provided with a box of little phosphorus sticks by which we are to do away entirely with all use of tinder. But much more wonderful than those, out of madame's mirror Dr. Saugrain has fashioned little glass tubes holding quicksilver, and with a measure laid off on the side by which we may be able to tell just how hot or how cold it may be. And more wonderful still, he has fashioned other little tubes by which we are to tell when it is going to storm and when it will be fair weather. And I cannot begin to tell you all the wonderful appliances this magician has fashioned for our comfort and safety this winter, aided and abetted by his willing slave, Captain Lewis."
That unloosed the doctor's tongue, and there was no getting away the rest of the evening from the wonders of science; and so strange were the things he and Captain Lewis had to tell of what science could do that I could have greatly enjoyed their talk had I not been longing for a few words with Pelagie.
I determined that another day should not go by; without my having them, and so, in the course of the evening, I managed to ask her if she would ride with me the next afternoon to Chouteau's Pond. A riding-party of two to Chouteau's Pond was of frequent occurrence in the village, and I would not have feared a refusal but that Pelagie had now been living so long where stricter social forms prevailed, so I awaited her answer with trembling. But she gave a shy assent, and for me the evening at Émigré's Retreat was a grand success.
Twelve o'clock the next day, March the tenth, saw us all once more at Government House; and once more the American troops were drawn up before it, and once more the people filled the streets.
The people were very quiet; there was no longer any rejoicing; but every eye was lifted to the flag that was so soon to sink from sight.
There were many Indians in the streets,--Delawares, Sacs, Shawnees, and others,--attracted to the town by the noise of firing the day before. Captain Stoddard had asked Governor Delassus to speak to them and explain to them the change of government, and the soldiers had been sent to gather them up close to the gallery of Government House, where Don Delassus might speak to them. A dark-faced throng, serious of countenance, they stood looking up at us, not a muscle of their countenances changing while the governor spoke to them in the formal and stately fashion they loved.
"Delawares, Sacs, Shawnees, and others, my red brothers:
"Your old fathers, the Spaniard and the Frenchman, grasp by the hand your new father, the head chief of the United States. By an act of their good-will, and in virtue of their last treaty, I have delivered up to them all these lands. They will keep and defend them, and protect all the white and redskins who live thereon. You will live as happily as if the Spaniard were still here.
"I have informed your new father, who here takes my place, that the Delawares, Shawnees, and Sacs have always conducted themselves well; that the chiefs have always restrained their young men as much as possible.
"For several days we have fired off cannon to announce to all the nations that your father the Spaniard is going, his heart happy to know that you will be protected and sustained by your new father, and that the smoke of the powder may ascend to the Maker of life, praying him to shower on you all a happy destiny and prosperity in always living in good union with the whites."
There were many guttural "Ughs!" as he finished, and I think, from the way the dark eyes scanned the faces of the new officers, they comprehended at least a part of what had been said to them.
Once more a soldier at the corner of the gallery waved his hat toward the white tower; once more the cannon boomed and slowly the tricolor of France descended, while the Stars and Stripes rose to meet it. Half-way up the flagstaff they stopped. For a moment they floated in the breeze, side by side, and an involuntary cheer sprang from the people at the friendly sight. Then slowly the tricolor sank, and slowly rose the starry banner, flinging out its broad bars of white and crimson, beautiful emblem of liberty and the sovereignty of a free people, over the little village, nestling among the trees on the bluffs, that may one day be a mighty city; over the Great River flowing to the Gulf that a not far future may see bearing the commerce of a world on its bosom; over the broad prairies stretching to the distant mountains which coming years will surely see peopled with happy millions.
My heart swelled within me. I swung my hat high in the air and lustily led the cheers of our troops and our little party on the gallery. But we were only a small band, and we made not much noise, and all the French and Spaniards stood and looked sadly on. And because our hearts were touched by their sorrow, we cheered no more, but looked up at our beautiful banner with pride and joy and love in our hearts.
Three hours later I was sitting on the gallery at Émigré's Retreat waiting for mademoiselle, as I had waited for her on the day of the picnic at Chouteau's Pond. Narcisse was holding Bourbon Prince by the driveway below, and I was struggling to preserve a calm exterior, for my heart was going like a trip-hammer while I listened for my lady's coming.
Out upon the gallery she stepped, riding-habit and hat and veil of latest Paris mode--not the little Pelagie of the picnic day, but Pelagie a princess of Condé, and my heart almost failed me.
I looked at her, and she was smiling at me with a smile I did not understand. Then she looked away, and my eyes followed hers. Around the corner of the house Yorke was leading a horse,--a white star on the forehead and one white foot like Bourbon Prince, but beautiful chestnut in color. For a moment I forgot my lady. Down the steps I sprang, and my arm was around the neck of the chestnut mare.
"Sweetheart!" I whispered in her ear. "Do you know me, sweetheart?"
She whinnied with joy and rubbed her soft muzzle up and down my arm, and whinnied again, while Yorke showed all his teeth in his delight, and my lady laughed and clapped her hands like a happy child.
I had not thought it possible she could bring Fatima with her and so had not asked for her, though, truth to tell, I had had but little chance to ask her about anything.
When I said so to her, "I would not have come without her," she said, looking shyly at me. "But I hope you do not want her back, for I love her dearly."
Yes, I wanted her back, I said to myself; but with her mistress, too; but my only answer to mademoiselle was a smile that I think she understood, for she looked quickly away from me.
Then I put her on Fatima's back, who bore a Parisian saddle now instead of a pillion, and out through the stockade we rode, and down the rough path to La Petite Rivière, and through the ford (deeper now, from spring freshets, than it had been when I listened to the whippoorwills), and along the wooded bank on the other side, where we had raced to get away from the redskin (though that she never knew), and still I had not said the words I meant to say.
Under the tree that had been the goal for our race I drew up a minute. Here, I thought, will be a place of happy omen, for here I won my first dance with her, and here I will win her. But suddenly I recalled that this was the spot where I had first seen the chevalier; no, it was of evil omen. "By hairbreadth escapes we always win," he had said. I feared, the "luck of the Le Moynes" and their baleful motto.
Where we had stopped to look at the lake before, I stopped again. It was almost more beautiful in its setting of the soft pinks and greens of early spring than it had been under the golden sun of autumn, and here, I thought, I will say it. But the glimpse of the ivied mill tower among the trees, and the beautiful water and its wooded banks, reminded Pelagie of Ettenheim, and she began to tell me of a letter she had just received from the Duc d'Enghien, which made her very anxious.
"He writes," said Pelagie, "that he is being followed everywhere by an Englishman who, he feels sure, is a spy in the pay of Bonaparte--I will never call him emperor!" said Pelagie, with fiery eye. "And while he says he feels no alarm for himself, he is more and more glad to think that I am so safely away from all dangers."
But the thought of her letter had saddened Pelagie for a while, and I would not speak then. How little we dreamed that on that very day, perhaps at that very hour, the young duke was being seized by Napoleon's emissaries, in violation of all treaties of neutrality, and hurried to the gloomy fortress of Vincennes, where, ten days later, after a mock trial of two hours in the dead of night, with no chance of defense given him, he was taken out and shot and buried in the trench where he fell. When the dreadful news reached us, weeks later, it darkened for a while my sweet Pelagie's life, as it was the one crime not even the friends of Napoleon can excuse or forgive: the one dark blot on his fame time will never erase.
But that afternoon we were in happy ignorance of what was happening four thousand miles away, and Pelagie's sadness was but a passing shadow and in a little while we were both joyous again.
"Rock Spring," I thought, "beloved of lovers, will be the place." But at Rock Spring I could think of nothing but Yorke astride the chevalier's back, the grimy spectacle the chevalier presented when Yorke was dislodged, and then the fearful peril Pelagie had been in when I fled with her in my arms on Fatima's back. No, Rock Spring was not the place.
And so we were once more back at the ford, almost home, and the long shadows lying on the cool water, and a thrush singing his evening-song in the wooded crests behind us, and my tale had not been told. We had had much sweet converse, and many times the words were on my lips, but somehow--I know not how--Pelagie always managed to turn me aside. At least I think she did, for with the words on my lips I would find myself talking of something else.
Now, as our horses swashed their noses in the cool water, and sent the bright drops in showers about us, I looked down upon her, the dark green of her riding-habit making a rich foil to the soft glow of her cheek, and the drooping plume of her hat falling over her snowy neck and mingling with the dark ringlets, and one little hand from which she had drawn the glove playing with Fatima's tawny mane--and I took a sudden resolution.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "do you know that to-day you are no longer a proud lady of France, but a simple American maiden?"
She looked up at me, startled. I think she knew what was coming, but she answered bravely, though softly:
"Yes, monsieur," and then dropped her eyes and fell to playing with Fatima's mane again.
"Mademoiselle, do you remember on La Belle Rivière the wager you would not let me make?"
"Yes, monsieur," still more softly.
"Mademoiselle, if I had made that wager then I would have won it to-day. You taught me better, and I would not win you by a wager now if I could. But oh, mademoiselle, you said by worth and deeds of prowess a maiden's hand should be won; and there is no one in the world--least of all I--worthy of you, mademoiselle, and no deeds of prowess could be grand enough to deserve you, and I have nothing to win you with but my great love; will that avail me,--Pelagie?"
She did not answer for a moment; she was all rosy and drooping, and with a happy smile about her lips, as she had been in the cabinet of the First Consul.
I put my great hand on her little one, still playing with Fatima's mane, and clasped it tight, though it fluttered like a bird at first and then lay quiet.
"Pelagie, Pelagie, look up at me," I whispered. "I may call you Pelagie, may I not?"
Swiftly and shyly she looked up into my eyes, and I looked down into heaven.
"Yes, monsieur," she whispered.
Suddenly she broke into a low laugh, and tried to draw her hand away from mine.
"My name is not Pelagie," she said.
"Not Pelagie!" I exclaimed, thinking she was playing me some merry trick, and wishing she had chosen some other time to play it.
"No, monsieur," she said soberly. "They named me Pelagie when they brought me over sea, but my name is Louise Adelaide, for my aunt the Abbess of Remiremont."
I was silent for a moment, for I liked not to think of little Pelagie by any other name. Then I gently took her hand again and raised it to my lips:
"Louise Adelaide," I said, "may do for a princess of Condé, but you will always be my little Pelagie to me," and so great was the love in my heart that my voice trembled as I spoke, and we were both very still for a little, while her hand lay quietly in mine.
Suddenly a thought struck me:
"Pelagie," I said, "you have never spoken my name; I do not believe you know what it is."
"Yes, I do, monsieur." She looked up at me saucily. "Shall I tell you what it is?"
"Call me by it!" I implored her softly.
For answer she lifted her arms and drew my head down toward her and whispered it in my ear.
And I, what did I do?
What would any man have done whose heart was running over with love for the most adorable maiden in the world, and her sweet face so near?
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"Mr. Bacheller is admirable alike in his scenes of peace and war. D'ri, a mighty hunter, has the same dry humor as Uncle Eb. He fights magnificently on the 'Lawrence,' and was among the wounded when Perry went to the 'Niagara.' As a romance of early American history it is great for the enthusiasm it creates."--New York Times.
EBEN HOLDEN: A Tale of the North Country. By Irving Bacheller.
"As pure as water and as good as bread," says Mr. Howells. "Read 'Eben Holden'" is the advice of Margaret Sangster. "It is a forest-scented, fresh-aired, bracing and wholly American story of country and town life. * * * If in the far future our successors wish to know what were the real life and atmosphere in which the country folk that saved this nation grew, loved, wrought and had their being, they must go back to such true and zestful and poetic tales of 'fiction' as 'Eben Holden,'" says Edmund Clarence Stedman.
SILAS STRONG: Emperor of the Woods. By Irving Bacheller. With a frontispiece.
"A modern Leatherstocking. Brings the city dweller the aroma of the pine and the music of the wind in its branches--an epic poem * * * forest-scented, fresh-aired, and wholly American. A stronger character than Eben Holden."--Chicago Record-Herald.
VERGILIUS: A Tale of the Coming of Christ. By Irving Bacheller.
A thrilling and beautiful story of two young Roman patricians whose great and perilous love in the reign of Augustus leads them through the momentous, exciting events that marked the year just preceding the birth of Christ.
Splendid character studies of the Emperor Augustus, of Herod and his degenerate son, Antipater, and of his daughter "the incomparable" Salome. A great triumph in the art of historical portrait painting.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, NEW YORK
PRINCESS MARITZA
A NOVEL OF RAPID ROMANCE.
BY PERCY BREBNER
With Harrison Fisher Illustrations in Color.
Offers more real entertainment and keen enjoyment than any book since "Graustark." Full of picturesque life and color and a delightful love-story. The scene of the story is Wallaria, one of those mythical kingdoms in Southern Europe. Maritza is the rightful heir to the throne, but is kept away from her own country. The hero is a young Englishman of noble family. It is a pleasing book of fiction. Large 12 mo. size. Handsomely bound in cloth. White coated wrapper, with Harrison Fisher portrait in colors. Price 75 cents, postpaid.
Books by George Barr McCutcheon
BREWSTER'S MILLIONS
Mr. Montgomery Brewster is required to spend a million dollars in one year in order to inherit seven millions. He must be absolutely penniless at that time, and yet have spent the million in a way that will commend him as fit to inherit the larger sum. How he does it forms the basis for one of the most crisp and breezy romances of recent years.
CASTLE CRANEYCROW
The story revolves around the abduction of a young American woman and the adventures created through her rescue. The title is taken from the name of an old castle on the Continent, the scene of her imprisonment.
GRAUSTARK: A Story of a Love Behind a Throne.
This work has been and is to-day one of the most popular works of fiction of this decade. The meeting of the Princess of Graustark with the hero, while travelling incognito in this country, his efforts to find her, his success, the defeat of conspiracies to dethrone her, and their happy marriage, provide entertainment which every type of reader will enjoy.
THE SHERRODS. With illustrations by C. D. Williams
A novel quite unlike Mr. McCutcheon's previous works in the field of romantic fiction and yet possessing the charm inseparable from anything he writes. The scene is laid in Indiana and the theme is best described in the words, "Whom God hath joined, let no man put asunder."
Each volume handsomely bound in cloth. Large 12 mo. size. Price 75 cents per volume, postpaid.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers
52 DUANE STREET :: NEW YORK
GET THE BEST OUT-DOOR STORIES
Stewart Edward White's
Great Novels of Western Life.
GROSSET & DUNLAP EDITIONS
THE BLAZED TRAIL
Mingles the romance of the forest with the romance of man's heart, making a story that is big and elemental, while not lacking in sweetness and tenderness. It is an epic of the life of the lumbermen of the great forest of the Northwest, permeated by out of door freshness, and the glory of the struggle with nature.
THE SILENT PLACES
A powerful story of strenuous endeavor and fateful privation in the frozen North, embodying also a detective story of much strength and skill. The author brings out with sure touch and deep understanding the mystery and poetry of the still, frost-bound forest.
THE CLAIM JUMPERS
A tale of a Western mining camp and the making of a man, with which a charming young lady has much to do. The tenderfoot has a hard time of it, but meets the situation, shows the stuff he is made of, and "wins out."
THE WESTERNERS
A tale of the mining camp and the Indian country, full of color and thrilling incident.
THE MAGIC FOREST: A Modern Fairy Story.
"No better book could be put in a young boy's hands," says the New York Sun. It is a happy blend of knowledge of wood life with an understanding of Indian character, as well as that of small boys.
Each volume handsomely bound in cloth. Price, seventy-five cents per volume, postpaid.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers
52 DUANE STREET :: NEW YORK
THE GROSSET AND DUNLAP SPECIAL EDITIONS OF POPULAR NOVELS THAT HAVE BEEN DRAMATIZED.
BREWSTER'S MILLIONS: By George Bar McCutcheon.
A clever, fascinating tale, with a striking and unusual plot. With illustrations from the original New York production of the play.
THE LITTLE MINISTER: By J. M. Barrie.
With illustrations from the play as presented by Maude Adams, and a vignette in gold of Miss Adams on the cover.
CHECKERS: By Henry M. Blossom, Jr.
A story of the Race Track. Illustrated with scenes from the play as originally presented in New York by Thomas W. Ross who created the stage character.
THE CHRISTIAN: By Hall Caine.
THE ETERNAL CITY: By Hall Caine.
Each has been elaborately and successfully staged.
IN THE PALACE OF THE KING: By F. Marion Crawford.
A love story of Old Madrid, with full page illustrations. Originally played with great success by Viola Allen.
JANICE MEREDITH: By Paul Leicester Ford.
New edition with an especially attractive cover, a really handsome book. Originally played by Mary Mannering, who created the title role.
These books are handsomely bound in cloth, are well-made in every respect, and aside from their unusual merit as stories, are particularly interesting to those who like things theatrical. Price, postpaid, seventy-five cents each.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS
52 DUANE STREET :: NEW YORK
The list of Illustrations was not part of the original book.
Page 97: droping changed to dropping (cook was droping still more into the kettle of boiling fat).
