Elinor smiled. "But a king is a great catch."

The little lady shrugged her shoulders. "That made nothing to her. She was as good as the King. She was a _grande_ princess. Not an every-day princess, like me."

"Are _you_ a princess?" Elinor asked in surprise.

"Yes, an ordinary princess--the common, every-day kind. But _she_ was a _princesse royale_. And so he did this." With a comprehensive gesture of both her hands she indicated the tapestries, paintings, busts, furniture, and the entire contents of the house.

"You mean he brought his own possessions off here, across the water?"

"Precisely."

"And did he bring the Princess with him?"

"What a question! It is evident, Mademoiselle, that you were not acquainted with my father, the Duc de Fontrevault."

"Then this princess was your mother?"

"Yes."

"And that is her grave out there, beneath the pines, next to his?"

The Princess nodded, and blinked, but smiled: "Poor mamma! She only lived a few years after that; I was nine when she died."

"Were you born here?"

"In there." And she glanced toward Elinor's chamber.

"You must have had a lonely childhood."

"No. In those days we had a servant--and a cow."

"But why should your father and mother escape to this wilderness? Surely a woman may marry whom she pleases in these days."

"Certainly. But an agent was sent to arrest my father--on a legal pretext--and in the quarrel this agent--also a gentleman of high rank--was killed. So that was murder. Just what his Majesty wished, perhaps. And my father, in haste, packed a few things on a ship and disappeared."

"A few things!"

"The King never knew where he went. Nor did any one else. But enough of myself and family. Tell me of your coming here. And of your friend. Is she still here?"

"My friend was a man."

"Ah!"

The Princess raised her eyebrows, involuntarily. "Pardon me if I am indiscreet, but you are not married?"

"No."

Now this Parisian, with other Europeans, had heard startling tales about American girls; of their independence and of their amazing freedom. She leaned forward, a lively curiosity in her face. To her shame be it said that she was always entertained by a sprightly scandal, and seldom shocked.

"How interesting! And this gentleman, was he young?"

But the American girl did not reply at once. She had divined her companion's thoughts and was distressed, and provoked. This feeling of resentment, however, she repressed as she could not, in justice, blame the Princess--nor anybody else--for being reasonably surprised. So, she began at the beginning and told the tale: of the stupid error by which she was left with a man she hardly knew on this point of land; of their desperate effort to escape in September, by taking to a raft and floating down the river; how they failed to land and were carried out to sea, nearly perishing from exposure. She described their reaching sh.o.r.e at last, several miles to the east. And when she spoke of the early snow, in October, of the violent storms and the long winter, the Princess nodded.

"Yes, I remember those winters well. But we were happy, my father and I."

"And so were we," said Elinor.

"Then this stranger turned out well? A gentleman, a man of honor?"

"Yes, oh, yes! And more than that. He gave his life for mine."

From the look which came into Elinor's face, and from a quiver in the voice, the sympathetic visitor knew there was a deeper feeling than had been expressed. She said, gently:

"You are tired now. Tell me the rest of the story later."

"No, no. I will tell you now. One morning, about a month ago, the first pleasant day after a week of rain, we started off along the bank of the river to see if the flood had carried away our raft--the new one. Just out there, in the woods, not far from here, I stepped to the edge of the bank and looked down at the water. The river was higher than we had ever seen it,--fuller, swifter, with logs and bushes in it. Even big trees came along, all rushing to the sea at an awful speed."

"Yes, I know that river in spring. The water is yellow, and with a frightful current,--fascinating to watch, but it terrifies."

Elinor nodded. "Fascinating to watch, yes. But Pats told me--"

"Pats?"

"My friend. His name was Patrick."

"And Pats is the little name--the familiar--for Patrick?"

"Sometimes."

"Ah, I never knew that! But pardon me. Please go on."

"He told me to come back--that the bank was undermined by the river and might give way. He said: 'Whoever enters that river to-day leaves hope behind.' At the very instant I started back the earth under me gave way, and--and, well, I went down to the river and under the water--an awful distance. I thought I should never come up again. But I did come up at last, gasping, half dead, several yards from the sh.o.r.e. The current was carrying me down the river, but I saw Pats on the bank above, watching me. His face was pale and he was hurrying along to keep near. Oh, how I envied him, up there, alive and safe!"

"Poor child! I can well believe it!"

"He cried out, 'Try and swim toward the sh.o.r.e! Try hard!' And I tried, but was carried along so fast that I seemed to make no headway. Then I saw him run on ahead, pull off his shoes and outer clothes, slide down the bank and shoot out into the water toward me."

"Bravo!" exclaimed the listener. "Bravo! That was splendid!" And in her enthusiasm she rose, and sat down again.

Elinor sank back in her chair. But the Princess was leaning forward with wide open eyes and parted lips.

"Then what happened?"

"He reached me, caught me with one hand by my dress between the shoulders, and told me again to swim hard for the sh.o.r.e. It seemed hopeless, at first, for the current was frightful--oh, frightful! It washed us under and tried to carry us out again. But Pats pushed hard, and after an awful struggle--it seemed a lifetime--we we reached the sh.o.r.e."

"Ah, good!"

But in the speaker's face there came no enthusiasm. She closed her eyes, leaning back in her chair as if from physical weakness. The Princess got up, and once more came and stood by the girl's chair, and gently patted a shoulder.