“This is virtually resigning them.”

“The abbe will pardon me for saying it is not.  My rights are mine, whether I use them or not.”

“Monseigneur understands that opportunity is a visitor that comes but once.”

“I understand that the most extraordinary thing has happened to-day that will ever go unrecorded in history.  One Bourbon offers to give away a throne he has lost and another Bourbon refuses it.”

“You may well say it will go unrecorded in history.  Excepting this lady,”—­the abbe bowed toward Eagle,—­“there is no witness.”

“Wise precautions have been taken,” I agreed.  “This scrap of paper may mean anything or nothing.”

“You decline?” he repeated.

“I think France is done with the Bourbons, monsieur the abbe.  A fine spectacle they have made of themselves, cooling their heels all over Europe, waiting for Napoleon’s shoes!  Will I go sneaking and trembling to range myself among impotent kings and wrangle over a country that wants none of us?  No, I never will!  I see where my father slipped.  I see where the eighteenth Louis slipped.  I am a man tenacious beyond belief.  You cannot loose my grip when I take hold.  But I never have taken hold, I never will take hold—­of my native country, struggling as she is to throw off hereditary rule!”

“You are an American!” said Abbe Edgeworth contemptuously.

“If France called to me out of need, I would fight for her.  A lifetime of peaceful years I would toss away in a minute to die in one achieving battle for her.  But she neither calls me nor needs me.  A king is not simply an appearance—­a continuation of hereditary rights!”

“Your position is incredible,” said the priest.

“I do not belittle the prospect you open before me.  I see the practical difficulties, but I see well the magnificence beyond them.”

“Then why do you hesitate?”

“I don’t hesitate.  A man is contemptible who stands shivering and longing outside of what he dare not attempt.  I would dare if I longed.  But I don’t long.”

“Monseigneur believes there will be complications?”

“I know my own obstinacy.  A man who tried to work me with strings behind a throne, would think he was struck by lightning.”

“Sire,” Madame de Ferrier spoke out, “this is the hour of your life.  Take your kingdom.”

“I should have to take it, madame, if I got it.  My uncle of Provence has nothing to give me.  He merely says—­’My dear dauphin, if Europe knocks Napoleon down, will you kindly take hold of a crank which is too heavy for me, and turn it for the good of the Bourbons?  We may thus keep the royal machine in the family!’”

“You have given no adequate reason for declining this offer,” said the priest.

“I will give no reason.  I simply decline.”

“Is this the explanation that I shall make to Madame d’Angouleme?  Think of the tender sister who says—­’Louis, you are recalled!”