“I am taking this boy to America, monsieur the marquis,” the painter quietly answered.

“But why not to one of his royal uncles?”

“His royal uncles,” repeated Bellenger.  “Pardon, monsieur the marquis, but did I say he had any royal uncles?”

“Come!” spoke Philippe de Ferrier.  “No jokes with us, Bellenger.  Honest men of every degree should stand together in these times.”

Eagle sat down on a flat gravestone, and looked at the boy who seemed to be an object of dispute between the men of her family and the other man.  He neither saw nor heard what passed.  She said to herself—­

“It would make no difference to me!  It is the same, whether he is the king or not.”

Bellenger’s eyes half closed their lids as if for protection from the sun.

“Monsieur de Ferrier may rest assured that I am not at present occupied with jokes.  I will again ask permission to take my charge away.”

“You may not go until you have answered some questions.”

“That I will do as far as I am permitted.”

“Do Monsieur and his brother know that the king is here?” inquired the elder De Ferrier, taking the lead.

“What reason have you to believe,” responded Bellenger, “that the Count de Provence and the Count d’Artois have any interest in this boy?”

Philippe laughed, and kicked the turf.

“We have seen him many a time at Versailles, my friend.  You are very mysterious.”

“Have his enemies, or his friends set him free?” demanded the old Frenchman.

“That,” said Bellenger, “I may not tell.”

“Does Monsieur know that you are going to take him to America?”

“That I may not tell.”

“When do you sail, and in what vessel?”

“These matters, also, I may not tell.”

“This man is a kidnapper!” the old noble cried, bringing out his sword with a hiss.  But Philippe held his arm.

“Among things permitted to you,” said Philippe, “perhaps you will take oath the boy is not a Bourbon?”

Bellenger shrugged, and waved his hands.

“You admit that he is?”

[Illustration:  “I will again ask permission to take my charge away”]

“I admit nothing, monsieur.  These are days in which we save our heads as well as we can, and admit nothing.”

“If we had never seen the dauphin we should infer that this is no common child you are carrying away so secretly, bound by so many pledges.  A man like you, trusted with an important mission, naturally magnifies it.  You refuse to let us know anything about this affair?”

“I am simply obeying orders, monsieur,” said Bellenger humbly.  “It is not my affair.”

“You are better dressed, more at ease with the world than any other refugee I have seen since we came out of France.  Somebody who has money is paying to have the child placed in safety.  Very well.  Any country but his own is a good country for him now.  My uncle and I will not interfere.  We do not understand.  But liberty of any kind is better than imprisonment and death.  You can of course evade us, but I give you notice I shall look for this boy in America, and if you take him elsewhere I shall probably find it out.”