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Out far out in the great American West, the Boy wandered. And Paul Verdayne, understanding as only he could understand, felt how little use his companionship and sympathy really were at this crisis of the Boy's life.
Nothing else was expected of him for the present, but his nature had not ceased its revolt against the decree of Fate, and Paul Verdayne shared his feeling of repugnance to the utmost. Perhaps Verdayne felt it even more acutely than the young Prince himself, for he knew so much better all that the Boy was sacrificing. But he also knew, as did the poor royal victim himself, that it was inevitable.
There was indeed but little to amuse the traveller in Langres, after the cathedral, beyond the quaint streets and the beautiful old timber-framed houses. Doubtless Monsieur Verdayne he did not know Paul's title would wish to see the cathedral that very afternoon; it would be pleasant to go to vespers. A little later for himself, he would recommend another walk to the ramparts to see the sun-set.
Paul Verdayne smiled. He should hardly have considered Isabella Waring in any degree "majestic" but he did not say so. "She was charmingly healthy and robust athletic, you know, and all that with light fluffy hair. I believe she used to wear it in a net. Blue eyes, of course thoroughly English, you know and a fine comrade. Liked everything that I liked, as most girls at that age didn't, naturally.
He had never felt the truth before. He had been so happy in his Boy, and so proud of his future, that there had never been a question in his mind. But now he was face to face with the terrible consequences. "Oh, God!" he cried, "truly my punishment is just but it is greater than I can bear!" And Paul Verdayne what of him? Of course you want to know. Read the sequel
His companion the Boy was dimly but just as acutely conscious of it. The question had come at last the question that Paul Verdayne had been dreading for years. "Uncle Paul," the Boy was saying, "what relation are you to me? You are not really my uncle, though I have been taught to call you so after this quaint English fashion of yours. I know it is something of a secret, but I know no more!
Barclay, totally unable to account for Paul's sudden recension from his aloofness, nevertheless secretly rejoiced. He greatly admired Verdayne, and had felt rather hurt at his keeping quite so much to himself. With a wisdom beyond his usual capabilities, however, he refrained from making any comment and only showed the pleasant eagerness of a cordial host.
That this dark-haired lady was not at the Hôtel de l'Europe did not disconcert Verdayne very much. He had foreseen that she was hardly likely to stay in the hotel with which English tourists would be acquainted. "It is many years," he said to the man, "since I stayed here. In fact, I have practically no recollection of Langres except of this hotel and the cathedral.
"I don't wonder at the court escapades that occasionally scandalize all Europe," said the Boy. "I don't wonder at all! The real wonder is that more of the poor slaves to royalty do not snap the chains that bind them, and bolt for freedom. It would be like me, very like me!" And Verdayne could say nothing.
Yes, Verdayne had been to America. It was in America that he had passed one season of keenest anguish. He had good reason to remember it such good reason that in all their wanderings about the world he had never seen fit to take the Boy there.
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