Turning my head as I opened them, I saw an old man come out on the terrace.

He tried to search in every direction, his gray head and faded eyes moving anxiously.  Madame de Ferrier was still.  I heard her lay the snuffbox on the stone seat.  I knew, though I could not let myself watch her, that she stood up against the wall, a woman of stone, her lips chiseled apart.

“Eagle—­Eagle!” the old man cried from the terrace.

She whispered—­“Yes, Cousin Philippe!”

XI

Swiftly as she passed between the tree columns, more swiftly her youth and vitality died in that walk of a few yards.

We had been girl and boy together a brief half hour, heedless and gay.  When she reached the arbor end, our chapter of youth was ended.

I saw her bloodless face as she stepped upon the terrace.

The man stretched his arms to her.  As if the blight of her spirit fell upon him, the light died out of his face and he dropped his arms at his sides.

He was a courtly gentleman, cadaverous and shabby as he stood, all the breeding of past generations appearing in him.

“Eagle?” he said.  The tone of piteous apology went through me like a sword.

She took his hands and herself drew them around her neck.  He kissed her on both cheeks.

“O Cousin Philippe!”

“I have frightened you, child!  I meant to send a message first—­but I wanted to see you—­I wanted to come home!”

“Cousin Philippe, who wrote that letter?”

“The notary, child.  I made him do it.”

“It was cruel!” She gave way, and brokenly sobbed, leaning helpless against him.

The old marquis smoothed her head, and puckered his forehead under the sunlight, casting his eyes around like a culprit.

“It was desperate.  But I could do nothing else!  You see it has succeeded.  While I lay in hiding, the sight of the child, and your youth, has softened Bonaparte.  That was my intention, Eagle!”

“The peasants should have told me you were living!”

“They didn’t know I came back.  Many of them think I died in America.  The family at Les Rochers have been very faithful; and the notary has held his tongue.  We must reward them, Eagle.  I have been hidden very closely.  I am tired of such long hiding!”

He looked toward the chateau and lifted his voice sharply—­

“Where’s the baby?  I haven’t seen the baby!”

With gracious courtesy, restraining an impulse to plunge up the steps, he gave her his arm; and she swayed against it as they entered.

When I could see them no more, I rose, and put my snuffbox in my breast.  The key rattled in it.

A savage need of hiding when so wounded, worked first through the disorder that let me see none of the amenities of leave-taking, self-command, conduct.

I was beyond the gates, bare-headed, walking with long strides, when an old mill caught my eye, and I turned towards it, as we turn to trifles to relieve us from unendurable tension.  The water dripped over the wheel, and long green beard trailed from its chin down the sluice.  In this quieting company Skenedonk spied me as he rattled past with the post-carriage; and considering my behavior at other times, he was not enough surprised to waste any good words of Oneida.