Shoshone journal. [volume] (Shoshone, Idaho) 1884-1931, 1906-04-06

Every word; and I will repeat it
faithfully"
sAdieu, then, old comrade," said
! Jean, grasping Greloire's hand. This
may be our last meeting but it will
not end our regard for each other"
Indeed no. nor our thoughts OF
one another" was the hearty response,
accompanied by a tighter clasp of
Lafitte's slender fingers; land | trust
it may not be the last, by many, of
our meetings"
"Adieu, old comrade."
'Adieu, mon ami"
One final hand-clasp, and LATTE
turned away. But, after taking few
steps, he faced about and went back
to Greloire, who stood as he had left
him.
Zone thing more" said LATTE hes
itatingly; zone more question, which
you may answer or not, as you
choose"
81 will answer whatever question
you may ask" declared Greloire; "and
I will answer it upon my honor"
LATTE appeared irresolute, as if
the question were of such grave i'm
port that he dreaded an unfavorable
reply. Then, laying a hand on Gre
loires shoulder, he asked, What said
he-Bonaparte, when you told him
that I had departed from Toulon?"
Nothing"
you have told me all | wished to
konw, and thank YOU" said Lafitte,
again holding out a hand, which Gre
loire clasped firmly.
''Adieu, and bon voyage"
"Adieu, and bonnie fortune"
With this they parted; and LATTE,
returning directly to the wharf, or
dered the boats crew to row him
back to the Condor
Jean had, up to this moment, con-
sidered himself deeply aggrieved by
Bonaparte's apparent neglect; and,
looking at the matter from the stand
point of youth, his ardent, impulsive
nature, and his unstinted love for the
young officer, his feelings were not
without warrant.
But, in the light of Greloire's expla-
nation, the man of thirty could well
see how unreasonable and hasty had
been the boy of fifteen; how unthink-
ing and rash; how utterly lacking in
proper appreciation of Bonaparte's
regard, and of how the manifestations
of this was subject to conditions and
influences beyond the latter's power
to always control.
He thought of Margot, and heI
words returned to him-when, upon
that last evening of her life, she had
said that Bonaparte was his good an
gel and Laro his evil one.
Truly had her words been proven;
for now he knew the former as he |
was, and would have been, while the
passing years had either increased, OF
made more apparent Laro's coarseness |
and cruelty.
1t was only to the boy Jean that he
had ever been otherwise; but latterly |
something of change had taken
place in this respect toward the man |
especially after he had refused to &C
quiesce in the adventurer's cherished
scheme, that he, Jean Lafitte, shoule
take as his wife, Lazalie, the formers
niece.
But the young man had, all through
his wild life, held within the inner
most depths of his soul a sacred
shrine, kept closed and pure, where
never the love for woman had en-
tered. Over it's altar, faded and in
distinct, yet his life, fingered the
teachings of his foster-mother. ane
the remembrance of a sunny-faced
blue-eyed girl, who had promised the
boy to pray that he might be thai
which he had so woefully failed to he
or had even sought to attain.
The past rolled in upon him like
a smothering flood, until, in wilc
tumult of despair, he left his cabir
and went on deck. There he heard
one of the watch whistling to him
self; and presently the man broke
softly into the words of the air:
"C'est ramour ramour. ramour.
Qui fait la monde la roundei''
The song brought to mind again the
girls face, and also that OF
her daughter, the little Island Rose,
whom, late the previous May, he had
plotted through the woods, and down
the rivers, from her dead mothers
home among the Choctaws.
The long, rough journey had given
him rare opportunities for sounding
the depths of the childish soul so
close to nature that it seemed to wor
ship the mothers God through nature,
and nature through God.
He was known as Captain Jean"
a friend of her grandfather-as Cap
tain JEAN whom she found such .