The citizen. (Frederick City, Md.) 1895-1923, 1914-03-27


and sorrow, ending with the older
boys death at Forli and his own i'll
ness and narrow escape from capture.
What a mother!" he cried aloud,
tossing up his hands with French dem
onstrativeness, as the memory came
to him Of the days in Ancona when he
lay at deaths door, hidden in the very
room next that Of the Austrian gen.
eral, saved only at last by the mar
velous mothers wit and courage. The
journey through Italy to France. that
was drama enough for one life. Rec
ognized at every turn, betrayed never,
and ending with-Prince Louis smiled
his slow dim smile-a fitting ending
indeed to days whose every minute
was adventure. He thought Of the
landlord Of the inn, the old cavalry
man; the young Frenchman-Beaupre
that was the name; it was set in his
| memory; had been in that tenacious
memory since an afternoon of 1924,
when runaway schoolboy prince had
slipped over the Jura, and played with
| three other children, about ruined
castle; he saw Francois Beaupre take
reverently in his hand the sword which
Napoleon had held-and then the
alarm! That was fine sight-the
dash Of the youngster through the
startled mob Of Austrians; the flying
leap to the horse; the skirmish to get
free, and, at last, the rush of the
chase. He had seen it all, watching
quietly while his mother and the land
lord implored him to hide himself.
That young Frenchman-if he should
be alive-if ever he should meet him
again Prince Louis would not forget.
1t was psychological that he should
have been thinking this when knock
sounded deferentially on the door of
the room. But picturesque coinci-
dences happen in lives as well as on
the stage; in Louis Napoleon's there
was more than one. "Entrez!" he
called sharply, and then, Come I'M"
The door swung slowly and Aaron,
white-aproned and white-eyeballed,
stood in it.
"Marse Prince" he stated with dig
nifty Of service which crowned heads
could not daunt, "ole Marse SEN me
bring you dis hyer Marse Bopray."
A light figure stepped before the
black and white of Aaron, and halted,
and bowed profoundly. The light from
the window shone on his face and the
dark immense eyes that lifted toward
Prince Louis, and for a moment he
stared puzzled. Was he in the pres
ent? Surely this man was part of the
past which he had been reviewing.
Surely he had played a role in the
princes history-where? With a
flashing thought into the years he
knew.
Mon anil" cried Louis Bonaparte,
and sprang forward and stretched out
both hands, his royalty forgotten in
the delight of seeing face which re-
called his youth and his mother.
Francois, two minutes later, found
himself standing, bursting with loyal
ty and pride, with the princes hands
clasping his, and the princes trans
formed face beaming on him.
You rode like the devil" said the
prince But the Austrians had the
horses. That poor Bleu-bleu. How
did you get away? Where have you
been? Mon Dieu, but we looked for
you, Zappi and l."
But no, yeur highness, l did not
get away" smiled Francois Beaupre
as if imparting a joyful bit of news.
They caught me-
And he told briefly his story of the
five years in prison, of the desperate
escape, Of the rescue and voyage to
America, of his wrecked health, not
yet re-established. Through the ac-
count shone the unconquerable French
gaiety. Another thing there was
which Frenchman and a Bonaparte
could not fail to see-that the thought
of his service to the house of Bona
parte had been a sustaining pride,
and the hope of future service an in
spring hope.
Superstition and gratitude laid hold
together on the princes troubled
mind. He threw himself back into
Colonel Hamptons leather armchair,
throne-like in impressiveness and size;
the mask of impassivity closed on his
colorless featues.
"Sit there, Monsieur" he ordered,
and tell me your life
Simply, yet dramatically as was his
gift, the young man went over the |
tale which he had told to Lucy Hamp-
ton, that and more. And the prince
listened to every word. He, too, had
the French sensitiveness to theatrical
effect, and his overweight magma
ton seemed to see the hand of destiny
visibly joining this story to his. Here !
was a legacy from Napoleon; an in
strument created by his uncle, which |
he, the heir, should use. There was
long silence when Francois had fin
ished, and Louis deep-pitched voice
hrnLn