The Crossing [274]
I may have a jewel beyond other men,'' I said.
``And a star has risen for me,'' she said, ``that I may have a guide beyond other women.''
``Then it is you who have raised it, Helene.'' I was silent a moment, trying again to bring the matter within my grasp. ``Do you mean that you love me, that you will marry me, that you will come back to Kentucky with me and will be content,--you, who have been the companion of a Queen?''
There came an archness into her look that inflamed me the more.
``I, who have been the companion of a Queen, love you, will marry you, will go back to Kentucky with you and be content,'' she repeated. ``And yet not I, David, but another woman--a happy woman. You shall be my refuge, my strength, my guide. You will lead me over the mountains and through the wilderness by the paths you know. You will bring me to Polly Ann that I may thank her for the gift of you,--above all other gifts in the world.''
I was silent again.
``Helene,'' I said at last, ``will you give me the miniature?''
``On one condition,'' she replied.
``Yes,'' I said, ``yes. And again yes. What is it?''
``That you will obey me--sometimes.''
``It is a privilege I long for,'' I answered.
``You did not begin with promise,'' she said.
I released her hand, and she drew the ivory from her gown and gave it me. I kissed it.
``I will go to Monsieur Isadore's and get the frame,'' I said.
``When I give you permission,'' said Helene, gently.
I have written this story for her eyes.
CHAPTER XV
AN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF A MAN
Out of the blood and ashes of France a Man had arisen who moved real kings and queens on his chess-board-- which was a large part of the world. The Man was Napoleon Buonaparte, at present, for lack of a better name, First Consul of the French Republic. The Man's eye, sweeping the world for a new plaything, had rested upon one which had excited the fancy of lesser adventurers, of one John Law, for instance. It was a large, unwieldy plaything indeed, and remote. It was nothing less than that vast and mysterious country which lay beyond the monster yellow River of the Wilderness, the country bordered on the south by the Gulf swamps, on the north by no man knew what forests,--as dark as those the Romans found in Gaul,--on the west by a line which other generations might be left to settle.
This land was Louisiana.
A future king of France, while an emigre, had been to Louisiana. This is merely an interesting fact worth noting. It was not interesting to Napoleon.
Napoleon, by dint of certain screws which he tightened on his Catholic Majesty, King Charles of Spain, in the Treaty of San Ildefonso on the 1st of October, 1800, got his plaything. Louisiana was French again,--whatever French was in those days. The treaty was a profound secret. But secrets leak out, even the profoundest; and this was wafted across the English Channel to the ears of Mr. Rufus King, American Minister at London, who wrote of it to one Thomas Jefferson, President of the United States. Mr. Jefferson was interested, not to say alarmed.
Mr. Robert Livingston was about to depart on his mission from the little Republic of America to the great Republic of France. Mr. Livingston was told not to make himself disagreeable, but to protest. If Spain was to give up the plaything, the Youngest Child among the Nations ought to have it. It lay at her doors, it was necessary for her growth.
Mr. Livingston arrived in France to find that Louisiana was a mere pawn on the chess-board, the Republic he represented little more. He protested, and the great Talleyrand shrugged his shoulders. What was Monsieur talking about? A treaty. What treaty? A treaty with Spain ceding back Louisiana to France after forty years. Who said there was such a treaty? Did Monsieur take snuff? Would Monsieur call again when the Minister was less busy?
Monsieur did call again, taking care not to make himself disagreeable. He was offered snuff. He called again, pleasantly. He was offered snuff. He called
``And a star has risen for me,'' she said, ``that I may have a guide beyond other women.''
``Then it is you who have raised it, Helene.'' I was silent a moment, trying again to bring the matter within my grasp. ``Do you mean that you love me, that you will marry me, that you will come back to Kentucky with me and will be content,--you, who have been the companion of a Queen?''
There came an archness into her look that inflamed me the more.
``I, who have been the companion of a Queen, love you, will marry you, will go back to Kentucky with you and be content,'' she repeated. ``And yet not I, David, but another woman--a happy woman. You shall be my refuge, my strength, my guide. You will lead me over the mountains and through the wilderness by the paths you know. You will bring me to Polly Ann that I may thank her for the gift of you,--above all other gifts in the world.''
I was silent again.
``Helene,'' I said at last, ``will you give me the miniature?''
``On one condition,'' she replied.
``Yes,'' I said, ``yes. And again yes. What is it?''
``That you will obey me--sometimes.''
``It is a privilege I long for,'' I answered.
``You did not begin with promise,'' she said.
I released her hand, and she drew the ivory from her gown and gave it me. I kissed it.
``I will go to Monsieur Isadore's and get the frame,'' I said.
``When I give you permission,'' said Helene, gently.
I have written this story for her eyes.
CHAPTER XV
AN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF A MAN
Out of the blood and ashes of France a Man had arisen who moved real kings and queens on his chess-board-- which was a large part of the world. The Man was Napoleon Buonaparte, at present, for lack of a better name, First Consul of the French Republic. The Man's eye, sweeping the world for a new plaything, had rested upon one which had excited the fancy of lesser adventurers, of one John Law, for instance. It was a large, unwieldy plaything indeed, and remote. It was nothing less than that vast and mysterious country which lay beyond the monster yellow River of the Wilderness, the country bordered on the south by the Gulf swamps, on the north by no man knew what forests,--as dark as those the Romans found in Gaul,--on the west by a line which other generations might be left to settle.
This land was Louisiana.
A future king of France, while an emigre, had been to Louisiana. This is merely an interesting fact worth noting. It was not interesting to Napoleon.
Napoleon, by dint of certain screws which he tightened on his Catholic Majesty, King Charles of Spain, in the Treaty of San Ildefonso on the 1st of October, 1800, got his plaything. Louisiana was French again,--whatever French was in those days. The treaty was a profound secret. But secrets leak out, even the profoundest; and this was wafted across the English Channel to the ears of Mr. Rufus King, American Minister at London, who wrote of it to one Thomas Jefferson, President of the United States. Mr. Jefferson was interested, not to say alarmed.
Mr. Robert Livingston was about to depart on his mission from the little Republic of America to the great Republic of France. Mr. Livingston was told not to make himself disagreeable, but to protest. If Spain was to give up the plaything, the Youngest Child among the Nations ought to have it. It lay at her doors, it was necessary for her growth.
Mr. Livingston arrived in France to find that Louisiana was a mere pawn on the chess-board, the Republic he represented little more. He protested, and the great Talleyrand shrugged his shoulders. What was Monsieur talking about? A treaty. What treaty? A treaty with Spain ceding back Louisiana to France after forty years. Who said there was such a treaty? Did Monsieur take snuff? Would Monsieur call again when the Minister was less busy?
Monsieur did call again, taking care not to make himself disagreeable. He was offered snuff. He called again, pleasantly. He was offered snuff. He called