S
IXTY years had eoir.e and had
gone since the birth of M. de
alette. They hiid been years
°1 Joy. years of sorrow, years
of wealth, years of poverty. Hut alike
they had failed to move him from that
which he was—a De Valette. A De
Vaiette, you must know, is a Ie Va
lette, and when one has said that one
has said all. And now he stood in the
doorway, tall, erect, quiet, command
ing, possessing in all its fullness the
innate dignity mothered of birth, fa
thered of pride, a spare, unbending fig
ure dressed plainly in black, with cam
bric stock, collar and wristbands. His
hair was gray, yet his eyebrows were
Ftill in their primal black.
Father O'Mara turned and bent to
his quiet greeting. To Louise turned
the master.
"You havt- the candles f. the .•Lap
el?*' he asked
"Yes, Miehe, all of them."
"There are sixty-three
The old servant paused he-ita'hiizly.
She said:
"Miehe. I 11 11• !i rhrNtian v.a^ w-'
as old as he ..«.ked
the r.=r i:«
"\Vhi«-'» niemst .j «!.
I« *t« "That yen have •..
candles."
"Miehe." cried e\:e?
"Mile. Marguerite f, i
"That will iit 1 W• Lave
no burnt ones. TLn-w t-• that
are burnt."
I.'Hiiv.. raisiil her l.a:..:- pr.
iy
"Kut, Miehe"—
"(Jo to the village s-.:,d ny
He said simply:
"Have the box filled. lie turned
from her, saying to the pr ist:
"Father O'Mara."
The latter turned.
•'Touching the matter of masses for
old Christian"— he began, but M. de
Valette interrupted him.
"It is in regard to another ceremony
that 1 wish to instruct you. One of
the quick, it is, not of the dead."
O'Mara said, smiling:
"I have but christenings and wed
ding?. I apprehend that iliis Is not a
christening."
"A marriage. Father O'Mara."
"Your sister, Mile Marguerite, has
condescended at last?" exclaimed the
priest in apparent surprise.
The other shook his head.
"My sister has not condescended"
he returned.
"But," cried O'Mara, "it Is not yonr
daughter—not little Mad«leino!"
mr:
s
\S
A
w' v
"Has she done with ber dolls?"
"M!!e. de VaHotte." stated the other
evenly, "is seventeen."
"Se\ enteen?" returned O'Mara light
ly. "All of thutV She carries her
years easily."
"Her betrothed is here." said De Va
lette, unheeding. "1 wish to present
you." He turned. Through the open
door he could see his sister gathering
candles from the dull sconces by the
fireplace.
"My sister." he called, arid then.
"My sister will ask M. Kaoul de Va
lette if he will do me the honor of his*
pre'cnce here'.'"
O'Mara. list Luried in hand, was
looking at him. his gray eyes half
closed.
lie vtid. length, slowly:
I ll try si mi, M. de Valette. you
ml: Li!t
Madeleine be
take 11: y
trot lied:
lie V
pers pi
snuffb
"An a
he said
cousin."
"Ave
"Y!
LI. Ik. ii.•
i
docile'.'
one sh
I»e V
this gen
of his.
"t'ou'd
that?"
deniois'ile
She !j::— a
ran gen
-mLed a little, his fin
\vj!i iLe ciiver of IL-?
tvent ti.ai v
ua ul de Valette
11''
her (ir.tv when
I d• Valette's first visit
te last.night. They
-e: el to each other tn-
i!.
i 'ted tlic -1, "she is
accepts this betrothal to
never seen?"
smiled a little. Surely
pn
it:ore.
Take the box. See tha' it led.
You know where the money is kept."
She made a gesture of impiorath -a.
but the master stood before her inex
orable. Slowly she opened the drawer
in the table. She took therefrom a
few coins of small denominan. n.
"It is the last," she whispend "the
very last."
The
l-
"Faith. I ha\*» known young ladies
of seventeen to make their own ar
rangements."
"They were n• ladies of this fami
ly. Father '.Mra." returned De
Vrlet*e qui-'tiy. ".Madeleine lias never
ev.-n seen young man of her own
hiss, 'i'hi- first, my cousin, to be
Her husband."
The good pt" -f said no wnrd. He
raised !iis evelnows There came with
in his glaive an appryaehing figure. It
was of a man of thirty-five or so, a
"MAIJI'XEINE ADOBES UIM
man dressed carefully, even fooDishlr.
It
with graying hair elaborately arranged
and well turned calves set off with
stockings of black silk. His coat was
of dark, rich material, his waistcoat
white with stripes of yellow, and his
i stock was of white silk, while his
collar, frills and wristbands were of
delicate cambric. With head erect.
chin held high, he sauntered toward
them slowly, indolently.
Father O'Mara watched him closely.
I lie was wont to read meu by their
faces, yet here was one that puzzled
him. He was worried a little, but
nothing of his features might have
shown.
Entering the ro..m, M. Knoul de Va
lette turned to Lis ecu'-i'i. bowing elab
orately.
"At mrnard. behold me." he
I said. \V. v. i e was well modulated.
I* v..is a voice that, even as his face.
pn:':p. !.
I»e Y ie-:,. Trved to t!'e priest, then
back to his cousin.
"M. Kaoul de Valette. have the
honor to nrecpnt to you Father Joseph
O'Mara,
1
ofnhis parish."
Kaoul aci.r \vledged the introduction
with formality, the priest with dignity
O'Mara said:
"You are of the younger branch of
the faml!\. I believe, sir."
"Merely the cadet." Ilac.ul returned
"None the less of purest strain." as
M:- 'd lie a.. ::.- "M. Kaoul de Va-
N L" :i of that other
(I \v rile whose portrait lies
•:,d-r" I•• :dicated to where upon
the (•••-•eil a time dimmed figure
:.d the greatest of
"to
'Si
(»rs.'
:i tbrew
lili.la
clean
he
oil'
•:-e I any question of
•Led. "It Is so that the
Valette are brought up.
v.:y- understood the ar-
i s
irdonici
"Kh-b
I:. w i'rie him and
-led
his sin till-
priest shrug*
He said:
ders a iittk
ih
head, lifting
wi'ii a teuch of
leet. my cousin."
s lie who I-.st us
!i I ran
Lh-
Vaiette said quickly, gravely:
But lie saved the fair tame of his
sister, whom -a kin« of France de
sired too greatly to honor. He put an
ocean between her and the king's pur
suit. We lost the estates in Norman
dy. but we kept the good name of our
womeu." He stood u moment, con
templating in silence the scroll upon
the bottom of the old frame wherein
lay the portrait of him who had done
these things. He said, at length, slow
ly: "Untarnished! That is the motto
of De Valette. We keep our women
sacred. And :L !t is our proudest tra
dition—not even the breath of a
king."
iiuotil. gazing disinterestedly at the
point of his shining pump, said lightly:
"The world knows that, my cousin."
De Vallette turned to him abruptly.
"Kaoul." he said slowly, gravely,
"you are to receive a bride whose ev
ery moment since her babyhood has
been guarded, protected and cloistered
from the world—from all knowledge of
that noisome beast, the world. She
comes to you in that white inuocence
which is the immemorial heritage of
the demoiselles De Valette."
Kaoul said softly:
"A jewel never taken from its
casket."
"Ah. not a jewel." asserted O'Mara.
rising: "not a jewel, M. Raoul, for.
"We also handle the best groceries it is possible to buy.
Novelized by PORTER EMERSON BROWNE From the Play of
the Same Name by Booth Tarkington and Harry Leon Wilson
COPYRIGHT
1910. BY AMERICAN
line to dazzle ytui, Jew
thou
els are Lard. Of Madeleine 1 never
know which she is the more—a flower
or a child. Perhaps you will decide
that for me when yuu meet her."
Raoul said, smiling. "1 grow a little
impatient for the moment, sir."
"The moment, cousin, is at band,"
eaid lie Valette.
"Not quite yet." declared O'Mara.
"I
passed Madeleine an hour ago deep
in the woods."
"On her way home?" asked De
Valette quickly.
Father O'Mara shook his head. -Hla
gray eyes twinkled.
"No." he returned slowly. "I .be^
lleve she was chasing a butterfly."
Chapter
3
the ears of the three men sit
ting in the great, time dulled
room came the space softened
strains'of fife and drum. They
came even as Father O'Mara was pro
testing the safety of the wo«ls.
De Valette said:
"Hear them! The woods nor any
where is safe with these cursed Amer
icans about. The village is full of
them today—back woodsmen, ruffians
ail manner of canaille!"
In respouse to unspoken interroga
tion from Raoul de Valette, Father
O'Mara explained.
"They're recruiting a company In
the village and hereabouts," he said,
"for this everlasting second war of
theirs with England. They march to
night."
"They make ready, then," queried
Raoul. "for the great battle down the
river under their chief, eh—how do
they call that name of a barbarian?—
Andrew Jackson? Eh, but they are
horribly afraid, these Americans!
They are hiding behind bags of sand
down ^there above New Orleans. The
English will annihilate them. Observe
the impudence of that vile music. To
morrow it will be the squeak of a
mouse. Ha. how they will run! These
Americans," he declared, with an air
of finality, "are beasts."
even toward Americans."
"It is a virtue to hate them," de
clared Raoul. "Heaven loves us for
it."
'Heaven hated us when that traitor
Bonaparte sold this beautiful new
France to them." De Valette. who
spoke, spoke with deep bitterness.
"Now they descend upon us in hordes
—peasants, low born men, rascals who
work with their own bands."
Raoul said lightly:
"It is a curse that will pass. These
Americaus are cunning, but i*t intel
ligent- Intelligence is a monopoly of
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ge"t lev.ifn. and the g. ,.d Cod knows
that the Americans are not gentlemen.
They cannot endure. They move too
fast. The English will drive them out
for us Imitate me. my cousin, and
despise the Yankees lightly."
"Your parish has not known the in
vasion like mine," asserted De Valette
darkly. -'You have not seen every
thing you have melt away before this
curse of Yankee locusts. Before the
Americans came my acres stretched
halfway to the river. The overseers
stole, but what of that? There was
plenty there. Then came the Ameri
cans. a thrice accursed family of Yan
kees. who took up land from mv bound
aries. Their overseers did not steal
from them. They were their owu
i overseers.. They counted their pence,
They lived like tradesmen. They made
two stalks of cane grow where my
I overseers grew one. They undersold
my crop. What could 1 do? That
family grew rich, and 1 grew poor.
They began to buy. 1 had to sell
Acre by acre they have absorbed my
land—eaten it up. And now what
have 1 left of all Valette? This house
and the chapel yonder—that is all.
You say these Americans will pass,
Raoul? What, when one family alone
has taken all this from me? And even
that is not enough for them. Yester
day 1 heard that this vulture—this
Yankee, Roderick Steele—has taken a
fancy to my poor mansion itself and
intends to purche.se it. Let him dare
to make the offer."
The squeal of life and the mutter of
drum had come yet louder. Haoul
rose to his 'eet.
"Hark!" he cried. "That dirty ea
gle of theirs, doea he come to crow
1
Father O'Mara protested:
"Ah, but we must not be bitter, not like a rooster on your very threshold.
my cousin?"
"He has insolence enough," said De
CHAKI i V Full
I
thi:
Wol NDI I, F.H
Vaiette grimly.
Of a sudden came from outside the
sound of a woman's voice in song—a
song that matched in melody the air
of fife and drum and that gave it
words as well came with it the sound
of dancing feet and the clinking of
tambourine.
"What's this?" cried Father O'Mara.
He rose to his feet and went to the
door, throwing it open. As he did so
there dashed into the room a woman.
Laughing, head held J)i£'_h. ,s.Ue yj-
rouetted across the floor, finishing
song and dance together, and, with a
flourish of the tambourine, she stood
gazing in mocking merriment upon the
three men.
A strange, wild, dark woman sbe
was. with full, insolent red lips, great
black eyes and figure graceful and
sinuous and lithe A colored handker
chief was wound turban wise around
the loose masses of her black hair.
She wore a skirt of vivid red. and her
rounded arms were bare to the elbow.
Large gold ear ornaments she had. aod
many rings upon her fingers, and her
shoes were dust laden.
At De Valette she looked and at the
priest. But upon Raoul she looked
longer. He turned a little. She
laughed.
"Who are you?" demanded De Va
lette coldly.
"Men eail me L'Acadlenne—and oth
er thinsrs," she said. She looked again
at Raoul. and again she laughed. She
went on: "Eh. then, messieurs! A lit
tle silver to carry on the wart CiMtri
ty for the wounded, eh?"
O'Mara asked quickly:
"What are you doing here, my girl?*
"Me?" she asked. "I'm a wanderer*
M'sieur L'Abbe. Today I find your vil
lage and some soldiers. 1 dance for
them. Shall 1 dance for you, messieurs!"
Her dark eyes flew to Raoul. She
said, with mocking laugh: "Here to
one who would like It. No? His fac®
is so kind." She turned to him de
liberately. "Shall I dance for j-otl,
m'sieur?"
He answered quickly:
"No!"
Came from outside a feftfl. Da Va
lette turned.
"Do they summon me?" he uemann
ed. lie started swiftly toward the
door. But ere he could reach it there
had walked into the room a tall man of
bone and blood and sinew, clad in the
dress of a woodsman. A powderhorn
was slung over his shoulder, and be
carried in his hand a long barreled
rifle. At his heels there followed a
Shrinking youth of twenty—a youth
With a great shock of straw colored
hair and scared eyes, who carriedl
awkwardly a gun that reached from
feet to neck.
The first of the two with long"
strides advanced to the center of tbe
room, surveying coolly those therein.
"I'm Wolf!" lie cried. His voice
was deep and resonant, his manner
the loose, independent swagger of
those who fear uot and are feared.
•Tin Wolf." he repeated. "I want re-1
cruits—volunteers to serve In General
Jackson's army. Who'll strike one!
blow for liberty? Who'll join Wolfs'
sharpshooters? I'll promise yon fight
ing enough within tweuty-four hours."
De Valette turned upon him coldly,
haughtily.
"Sooner, sir." he said grimly, "if 1
had any dogs left in the kennels of
Valette."
"So, ho!" cried Wolf, unperturbed.
"Frenchies, are you? No oue here to
come and help us lick the British?"
?o be Continued Next Week.