The moist, salt-laden breeze fanned their hot faces gratefully. The musical tap-tap of the waves against the side of the ship came to them as from a great distance, and even the voices and laughter of the passengers seemed, somehow, strangely remote.

The stranger brought his gaze back to them with an effort, as he said, wearily, “Monsieur, I am tired—you cannot know how much. But I had not meant to bore you with my so selfish perplexities——”

“Sometimes to tell our troubles is half the cure,” Mrs. Payton suggested, gently.

“You are very—good,” murmured the stranger, gratefully. “If you are sure it will not tire——”

Then at their vigorous denials, he proceeded, in his low, even voice: “Sometimes I have felt the great necessity of telling all to some one—some one who would understand. If I did not, I felt I should go mad.” He passed his hand over his eyes with an infinitely weary gesture.

“You see, my father and I, we had long been estranged. Not even in my earliest childhood have I the memory of a gentle word, a fatherly pressure of the hand. So I grew to young manhood with no knowledge of a mother’s or father’s love—for my mother,” here his voice lowered, reverently, “died when I was born. My childhood was of the utmost loneliness, for my father thought the children with whom I wished to associate were too far beneath me in social station. My sole companion was the old dame who took care of the house—the one person in the world of whom my father seemed to have fear. So the miserable years dragged by. When I had just begun to make some 87 plans by which I might escape from this dungeon they so falsely called my home—just at the time I was most despairing—like a joyful, radiant rift of sunlight in a clouded sky, came—my Jeanette. Oh, if you could but see her!”

Under cover of the dark the girls’ hands sought and clasped convulsively, but no one spoke.

“I cannot attempt to describe one so gay, so beautiful, so lovely. She seemed like a spirit from another world—a far dearer, happier world than I had ever thought to exist. Ah, how I loved her, and she—ah, she loved me, and for a while we were, oh, Monsieur, so divinely, so unthinkably happy——” His voice broke and again his gaze wandered dreamily out into the night.

“And who was the girl?” Lucile prompted, eagerly.

“Ah, Mademoiselle, that was the rock upon which all our dreams were wrecked. My father would but reply sourly to any question I might venture that my fair Jeanette was the ward of a friend who, on his death-bed, had bequeathed her to his clemency—the fool!”

“As for my Jeanette herself, she told me all she knew about herself, which, in fact, was little enough. She had lived with her guardian and his faithful old servant for ever since she could remember, and had been very happy. The chateau where she lived was a pretty, open place, with gardens all about and beautiful woods on either side, where one could roam for hours, becoming acquainted with the little folk of the wood—this my little Jeanette did, not feeling the need of human companionship as had I. When, upon rare occasions, she had questioned her guardian as to the identity of her parents, he had answered with a most strange reticence that she must not bother her head about such matters, but to wait till she was twenty-one, when she would know all. Naturally, the child believed and did as she was bid, but the maiden wondered and began to brood in secret. In time she began to form great plans wherein she might discover her identity, and perhaps, who knows, she might find herself to be a duke’s daughter—such things happened with the utmost frequency in the books which she read. 88

“So spoke my little Jeanette, and I encouraged her in this fancy and became, if anything, more eager than herself to solve the mystery of her parentage.

“So the days and weeks fled by so happy, till once again those plans began to take form and shape that had so long laid dormant after the arrival of Jeanette. The voice of my manhood urged me insistently to throw off the fetters that bound me and advance bravely into the seething world of men and from it wrest the so well-earned fruit of my endeavor—for I was ambitious and rebelled at being shut within four walls, where each detail of my life was arranged for me as if I had still been a child.

“Yet I liked little the thought of leaving my sweet Jeanette alone in that gloomy house. But, on the other hand, how could I aspire to help if I remained at home?”

“That night Jeanette and I talked long—ah, I shall never forget it!—and it was then she urged, with tears of earnestness in her dear eyes, not to think of her, but to do as I judged best. I have seen her as she looked that night so many, many weary days!”

Here there was a long pause in the narrative, and it was not till Mr. Payton prompted, softly, “And then——”

“Well, then, Monsieur, events flowed along easily enough till it was about a week to the time we had set for my departure. Then, one night, I came upon Jeanette suddenly and, to my great alarm and dismay, I discovered her in tears.

“‘Jeanne!’ I cried. ‘My little Jeanne, tell me what is wrong!’

“But she would not answer me, only sobbing out in a way that broke my heart that ‘I must go away, and never, never see her again!’

“Then it was, while I was still stunned and stupefied by the change in her, that a servant brought me a message from my father. He wished to see me on the instant.

“I made one last, agonized appeal to Jeanette, but she kept her face averted and answered me nothing, and I, 89 stricken, bewildered, hardly knowing what I did, followed the servant to my father’s rooms.

“I found him pacing the room with an angry scowl upon his face and an air that augured ill for me. Far from being taken aback, I welcomed this attitude of my father. I felt, somehow, that he was to blame for the tears of my Jeanette. I could have fallen upon him, doing him bodily injury, so great and terrible was my anger. With an effort, I conquered this first mad impulse and waited, with hands so tightly clenched that the nails bit deep into the flesh.

“I had not long to wait. At the sound of the opening door my father whirled and, with an imperious gesture, ordered the servant to retire. When the door was closed behind the man, my father burst out, furiously, ‘So you have been deceiving me, lying to me in my own house. You need not start and look surprised, for what I have not seen with my own eyes has been faithfully retailed to me through one I can trust.’

“I fear I must have appeared stupid, for suddenly my brain refused to act naturally. How was it for my father to find out this—my so great secret? Surely, I had taken every precaution. But my father’s voice broke in rudely upon my bewilderment.

“‘Have you nothing to say?’ said he, furiously. ‘Must you stand there like a dog, a monkey, a piece of wood, and make no attempt to defend yourself? Ah, to have reared such a son?’

“Suddenly, in a flash, came my wits again. In an instant I had drawn myself to my full height and stood regarding calmly my enraged father. Ah, that I have not one kind thought—one gentle memory——” Again the stranger paused, and the girls felt the undernote of tragedy in his voice. Instinctively, Lucile glanced at her own father where he sat, knees crossed, cigar in hand, listening attentively, and her heart gave a great, warm throb as she whispered, “Dear old Dad!” 90

“Well,” said the Frenchman, with a shrug of his shoulders, “there is not much more to tell, though it may mean the wrecking of two lives, mine and that of Jeanette. My father and I had many words, calm on my part, enraged on his, and during the interview I learned that our great secret had been discovered by that old witch, the housekeeper, the week before, when Jeanette and I had had our never-to-be-forgotten conversation. For some unknown reason she had kept the discovery to herself till the day before.

“‘So you meant to marry Jeanette?’ my father flung at me.

“‘Oui, Monsieur, mon pere,’ I answered, still calmly, ‘and if Jeanette will do me the great honor to become my wife, I have not in the least altered my determination.’

“‘Ah!’ cried my father, stung by my calm. ‘But she will not have you—Jeanette. She has too much pride!’

“‘What do you mean?’ I cried, shaken out of my composure for the first time. ‘Explain quickly; my patience is almost at an end.’

“‘Ah, if that is all, my impatient son,’ said my father, lowering his voice, craftily, ‘you will soon know far too much for your peace of mind!’

“‘Explain!’ I cried, my wrath rising to fever heat. I towered above him, white with rage, and he, seeming to realize for the first time I was no longer a child, retreated nervously.

“‘You have often asked about the parents of Jeanette, and now I think it is but right you should know all.’

“‘Ah!’ I cried, joyfully. ‘At last!’

“‘But there is little cause for rejoicing,’ said my father, lowering his voice till it was scarce above a whisper. ‘What would you say, my son, if I were to tell you that the father of your fair Jeanette was—a thief?’ Ah, the evilness of that smile! How I hated him at that moment!

“‘Sir,’ said I, ‘no such statement will I give belief till it has been proven to me beyond all doubt, and——’ I 91 leaned forward, speaking with intensity, ‘you have yet to understand that were Jeanette’s father doubly a thief, still would Jeanette be Jeanette, and the more obstacles you set in our path, only the more determined shall I become to wed her—if she will have me.’

“‘Ah, but that is the question,’ sneered my father. ‘It seems you know not your Jeanette so well, after all, for you have left her natural pride outside your fine calculations. Suppose she will not have you, what then, eh?’

“‘Ah, then you have told her!’ I cried, choking with rage at my father—with pity and a great longing to hold my love in my arms and dry away her tears. ‘Why could you have not have spared the child that knowledge? Oh, Jeanette!’ I cried, and flung myself against the door; then, turning, met my father’s sneering look with one of bitter defiance. ‘I will see Jeanette first,’ I said, tensely. ‘And then, my father, we will have a short reckoning,’ and going out, I slammed the door upon his sneering face and flung myself down the stairs in search of my love.

“‘Jeanette,’ I cried, implored, ‘Come to me!’ and ran from room to room, when, not finding her, I became frantic and knocked wildly upon the door of her own room, calling to her aloud. But she was not there, nor could I find her anywhere. Her room showed evidence of a hurried packing—small things strewn here and there; but her sweet presence, that had filled the gloomy house with sunshine, had fled, where, where, I could not tell!” Here the speaker’s voice trailed off and came to a stop. Then he turned to the group about him, saying, half questioningly, half apologetically, “I fear to tire you with this so long tale. After all, I suppose it is interesting only when applied to one’s self.”

“Oh, no!” cried Lucile, impulsively, while her eyes shone with eagerness. “Please go on!”

“You are good, Mademoiselle,” murmured the Frenchman, and went on with his story:

“Well, I sat down outside her door and wept like a child, for to me the world seemed ended; but then, drawing 92 myself together, and angry at what I termed my miserable weakness, I set to work earnestly, doggedly, to find some way out of this great chain of circumstances that bound me. Where to find Jeanette? My brain reeled with the schemes and plans that came crowding upon me, only to be rejected one by one as improbable, fantastic, children of an overwrought imagination.

“At last, one idea became fixed in my mind. The thought came to me and stayed persistently that, in her great extremity, she would naturally fly to the one place of refuge which she knew—the old chateau where she had spent her so happy childhood.

“I knew the place to be still occupied by the old servant and his wife—this scrap of information my father had thrown to me—but, alas! I knew not the location, and there were so many chateaux of the kind in the province! How could I hope to find it?

“I sprang to my feet, while a new determination and resolve took possession of me, and I uttered a solemn oath, swearing that I would leave the house that night, not returning till I should bring Jeanette with me—my wife!”

Little chills of excitement chased themselves all over the girls in a highly disconcerting manner, and even scoffing Phil leaned forward in his chair to miss not one word of this remarkable story.