The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1899-11-26
Copyright, 1899. by Levett Yeats.)
CHAPTER I.
How Pompon Became An Oracle.


that my eyes linger sadly on the faded
roses 1 have taken from my cabinet
and placed with tender hands before
me.
Il is week ago since BIancheforet,
on his way back from Paris, drew rein
at Besme to give me the news of that
deed Of infamy, and left me stunned
and bewildered, as he galloped off, red
spurred, to bear the tidings to Male
zieux.
There are those who say she deserved
her death; there are stories. l know,
about her; but they lie in their threats
who repeat them, and blush with
shame for my country that no sword
was drawn to save her who was once
queen of France.
AS l stare at the flowers before me,
their delicate fragrance returns to
them; they seem to bloom again in
their rich. crimson splendor and the
memory of that night in June when 1
received them from the hands of Mary
of Scotland, comes back ONE so that
my heart is full and my eyes grow
dim.
She was of those women born to be
queens over men; of those women who
come once in a thousand years, who are
In themselves the embodied spirits of
romance. and for whose smile men
would throw aside life, riches, empire,
even honor, as lightly as a WORKOUT
glove.
1t was my fate to come within the
range of her power, and l did as the
rest. /. the poor gentleman of Quercy-
the kings jester-dared to love her.
And yet / was not mad: the feeling in
my heart was as if / had met in flesh
and blood that vision of the perfect
woman which lies in all mems souls.
There was an immeasurable distance
between US. 1 knew all that. I nursed
no idle hopes. I looked upon her as
shepherd on the mountains might gaze
upon the morning star-as some wan
dering angel of light that had come, to
pass away, yet never TO be forgotten.
And so, because a jester must have
something of the poet in his spirit, 1
was accustomed to day-dream a little.
and used to slip out from the Louvre
into that wilderness of a garden that
stretched as far. as the walls of Paris,
between the Tour de Bots and the
Porte st. Honore, and lose myself there
in enchanted dreams. The place exists
no longer, / hear. It is all changed
now, since the Medicis began the new
palace of the Tuileries. near the tile
heldS; and the sweet disorder of my
garden has given place to sedate par
terres, trimly-cut hedges, and walks
that look like diagrams in the book of
Euclid that Lorgnac used to pore over
at college and / hated with a bitter
hatred
But at the time 1 speak of. when the
sun was bright and the flowers were
out, except my own home in the far-off
Quercy there was no spot more lovely
to my mind than those neglected walks
where the blind-weed and dog-rose
starred the hedges, where the celandine
and red champion made a gay border to
the green rides, and from amidst its
spotted leaves, the cuckoo-pint lifted its
purple wand, dripping with dew Here.
on grassy bank, near an old oak I
would lie for hours, listening to the
wind in the trees listening to the hum
of the city that was SO near and yet 80
far, and building my castles in cloud
land, whilst PomDon, my ape, gam
boiled in the branches above me. And
here one morning in June 1 took my
lutte. and. with Pompon hobbling grave
~ at my heels. sought my retreat to
eat nv lotus and be happy in my
dreams. 1 had almost come to the old
rose pleasance. beyond which lay my
oak, when I met Lorgnac face to face,
as he stepped through a gap in the
hedge, and stood in the middle of the
path. His drawn sword was in his
hand. and for once the color was out of
his cheek, and his lips set and hard,
making him look, though he was but
Internationally, man touching on
middle age
y.
without any other greeting, and whilst
] stopped for moment in amazement,
Pompon, who knew him we'll ran up
TO him and began clutching at his cloak
for a careSs; but he shook the ape from
him with a curse, saying again:
You cannot pass, De Besme. Go
back"
He called me by my own name. which
he knew well. for we were next-door
neighborS in the Quercy. and sworn
friends at college, and ever after. Only
last night he had hidden me laughing
adieu, calling me LIE Brusquet, the nick
name by which I was known to my in
Inmates, and indeed to all the court:
and now here he was. cold and stiff as
a Spaniard, ordering me off the path as
if 1 were street beggar.
But 1 took him quietly. Whistling
Pompon back to. me 1 said:
Come. Lorgnac. I am only going to
my oak
You canont pass" he interrupted,
speaking like a machine.
''Tu-dieui" I burst out. NV temper
rising, 'if it is the kings order. I go |
back; but if it is some grasshopper you !
have in your head monsieur /
clapped my hand to my SIDE forgetting |
that I wore but a gilded wooden sword. |
and as my fingers touched the hilt 1 |
stopped, disconnected. and began to |
leu-H- anu Millit L 4duS0eC LOTSnaC
caught the humor of it and began smil- |
ing, too, as he stepped forward, and |
put his hand on my shoulder.
''No, old friendl There must be no |
quarrel between US, but pray you, go /
back"
rs the road. then, blocked?"
Yes" he said, in hesitating voice |
and / was about to shrug my shoulders |
and turn away when there was a !
rustling in the hedge, and a man |
ieaped lightly through, saying in an |
alarmed voice:
'Lorgnac, we are watched-spied |
uponl" And then he stopped and stared |
at me, and 1. too. stared back in blank |
establishment, for it was the Prince OF |
Condo, the second prince of the blood.
whom we all thought at the siege of |
Marienbourg.
His face was haggard and wan and he
was gray with dust, as one who had
ridden fast and far. He struck rier- /
vously at his boot with his riding whip.
and as We looked at each other 1 no.
ticed that in his elenched hand lay a
woman's glove, small and white.
took his words to apply to me. and.
receiving myself, FASTENED to explain.
'.Monseigneuri Not spied upon by /
me. l came here
But Condo himself interrupted me-
at was not you / meant. Brusquet
It was some one else"
mo one has passed this way. mon
I"
''Then some one was in hiding before