Having touched thus lightly on the case of the idiot, Abbe Edgeworth turned to me.

The king’s face retained its granite hardness.  But Bellenger’s passed from shade to shade of baffled confidence; recovering only when the priest said,

“Now look at this young man.  Have you ever seen him before?”

“Yes, monsieur, I have; both in the American woods, and in Paris.”

“What was he doing in the American woods?”

“Living on the bounty of one Count de Chaumont, a friend of Bonaparte’s.”

“Who is he?”

“A French half-breed, brought up among the Indians.”

“What name does he bear?”

“He is called Lazarre.”

“But why is a French half-breed named Lazarre attempting to force himself on the exiled court here in Mittau?”

“People have told him that he resembles the Bourbons, monsieur.”

“Was he encouraged in this idea by the friend of Bonaparte whom you mentioned?”

“I think not, monsieur the abbe.  But I heard a Frenchman tell him he was like the martyred king, and since that hour he has presumed to consider himself the dauphin.”

“Who was this Frenchman?”

“The Duke of Orleans, Louis Philippe de Bourbon, monsieur the abbe.”

There was an expressive movement among the courtiers.

“Was Louis Philippe instrumental in sending him to France?”

“He was.  He procured shipping for the pretender.”

“When the pretender reached Paris, what did he do?”

“He attempted robbery, and was taken in the act and thrown into Ste. Pelagie.  I saw him arrested.”

“What were you doing in Paris?”

“I was following and watching this dangerous pretender, monsieur the abbe.”

“Did you leave America when he did?”

“The evening before, monsieur.  And we outsailed him.”

“Did you leave Paris when he did?”

“Three days later, monsieur.  But we passed him while he rested.”

“Why do you call such an insignificant person a dangerous pretender?”

“He is not insignificant, monsieur:  as you will say, when you hear what he did in Paris.”

“He was thrown into the prison of Ste. Pelagie, you told me.”

“But he escaped, by choking a sacristan so that the poor man will long bear the marks on his throat.  And the first thing I knew he was high in favor with the Marquis du Plessy, and Bonaparte spoke to him; and the police laughed at complaints lodged against him.”

“Who lodged complaints against him?”

“I did, monsieur.”

“But he was too powerful for you to touch?”

“He was well protected, monsieur the abbe.  He flaunted.  While the poor prince and myself suffered inconvenience and fared hard—­”

“The poor prince, you say?”

“We never had a fitting allowance, monsieur,” Bellenger declared aggressively.  “Yet with little or no means I tried to bring this pretender to justice and defend his Majesty’s throne.”