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Among the numerous details of my grandeur and my decline, none exhibit in a clearer light our literary manners and customs than the history of my relations with Monsieur Louis Ulbach, the virtuous author, now, of "L'Homme aux Cinq Louis d'Or," "Suzanne Duchemin," "Monsieur et Madame Fernel," and other tales, which he hopes to see crowned by the French Academy.
"You have lied to me you and Kinroy. We are not going to Albany at all. Where are we going?" "I don't want to tell you now, Suzanne," replied Mrs. Dale quietly. "Have your bath and we'll talk about it afterwards. It doesn't matter. We're going up into Canada, if you want to know. We are nearly there now. You'll know fast enough when we get there."
Why shouldn't she let him go? He wrote poems to Suzanne, and read much poetry that he found in an old trunkful of books in the house where he was living. He would read again and again the sonnet beginning, "When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes" that cry out of a darkness that seemed to be like his own. He bought a book of verse by Yeats, and seemed to hear his own voice saying of Suzanne,
When he had believed his change far distant and still but slightly probable, he had thought he could leave Suzanne easily, arrange far away from her for secret interviews, and await events; now that this change was certain and had just become an accomplished fact, he looked upon it as a catastrophe.
"Why, Suzanne Dale!" exclaimed her mother. "Whatever has come over you? Of course you'll go. Where would you stay if I went? Do you think I would walk off and leave you? Have I ever before?" "You did when I was at boarding school," interrupted Suzanne. "That was a different matter. Then you were under proper supervision. Mrs. Hill was answerable to me for your care. Here you would be alone.
"What do you mean, Suzanne?" Now of a sudden she seemed to make up her mind to speak, for she turned and faced me boldly, saying: "I mean, mother, that I told the Englishman with the red hair, the agent, that all the fine tale you spun to him about Ralph was false, and that he was the man they came to find." "You dared to do that, girl?"
"She asks me for counsel; doubtless I will give it her. Is it not my duty and business as priest? but where, but when can I see her?..." And he went very thoughtfully to bed, with his head full of dreams. "Ah! let him, my child, Ah! let him proceed. When I was a Curate I did much the same." The first person he saw the next day at morning Mass was Suzanne Durand.
Woolley, very soothingly and in a voice which disarmed Suzanne and held her. "Just a little time in which to be absolutely sure. Your mother is anxious not to have you do it at all. You, as I understand it, want to do this thing right away. Your mother loves you, and at bottom, in spite of this little difference, I know you love her.
Well, he was of English blood and it was natural that he should like his own flag best, though to this day I am very angry with my daughter Suzanne, who, for some reason or other, would never say a hard word of the accursed British Government or listen to one if she could help it.
Now during the years that she dwelt among the Umpondwana Suzanne had but two pastimes. One of them was to carve wood with a knife, and the other to paint pictures upon jars, for which art she always had a taste, these jars being afterwards burnt in the fire.
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