That a child should be the appendage of such a very young creature as the girl, surprised me no more than if it had been a fawn or a dog.  In the vivid moments of my first rousing to life I had seen her with Paul in her arms; and he remained part of her.

We heard a rush of horses up the avenue, and out of the woods came Le Ray de Chaumont and his groom, the wealthy land owner equipped in gentleman’s riding dress from his spurs to his hat.  He made a fine show, whip hand on his hip and back erect as a pine tree.  He was a man in middle life, but he reined up and dismounted with the swift agility of a youth, and sent his horse away with the groom, as soon as he saw the girl run across the grass to meet him.  Taking her hand he bowed over it and kissed it with pleasing ceremony, of which I approved.  An Iroquois chief in full council had not better manners than Le Ray de Chaumont.

Paul and I waited to see what was going to happen, for the two came toward us, the girl talking rapidly to the man.  I saw my father and Skenedonk and the doctor also coming from the house, and they readily spied me sitting tame as a rabbit near the baby.

You never can perceive yourself what figure you are making in the world:  for when you think you are the admired of all eyes you may be displaying a fool; and when life seems prostrated in you it may be that you show as a monument on the heights.  But I could not be mistaken in De Chaumont’s opinion of me.  He pointed his whip handle at me, exclaiming—­

“What!—­that scarecrow, madame?”

II

“But look at him,” she urged.

“I recognize first,” said De Chaumont as he sauntered, “an old robe of my own.”

“His mother was reduced to coarse serge, I have been told.”

“You speak of an august lady, my dear Eagle.  But this is Chief Williams’ boy.  He has been at the hunting lodges every summer since I came into the wilderness.  There you see his father, the half-breed Mohawk.”

“I saw the dauphin in London, count.  I was a little child, but his scarred ankles and wrists and forehead are not easily forgotten.”

“The dauphin died in the Temple, Eagle.”

“My father and Philippe never believed that.”

“Your father and Philippe were very mad royalists.”

“And you have gone over to Bonaparte.  They said that boy had all the traits of the Bourbons, even to the shaping of his ear.”

“A Bourbon ear hears nothing but Bonaparte in these days,” said De Chaumont.  “How do you know this is the same boy you saw in London?”

“Last night while he was lying unconscious, after Doctor Chantry had bandaged his head and bled him, I went in to see if I might be of use.  He was like some one I had seen.  But I did not know him until a moment ago.  He ran out of the house like a wild Indian.  Then he saw us sitting here, and came and fell down on his knees at sight of that missal.  I saw his scars.  He claimed the book as his mother’s—­and you know, count, it was his mother’s!”