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This book of my life ends on a bright morning in the summer of '17, at the new home of James Donatianus Le Ray, Comte de Chaumont, the chateau having burned the year before. President Monroe is coming on the woods-pike, and veterans are drawn up in line to meet him.
That morning, on the woods-pike, I reduced the problem to its simplest terms: the one was a physical type, the other a spiritual. "M'sieur le Capitaine," said Louison, as I rode by the carriage, "what became of the tall woman last night?" "Left us there in the woods," I answered. "She was afraid of you." "Afraid of me! Why?" "Well, I understand that you boxed her ears shamefully."
A bit farther on we came to a log house where a veteran of the old war sat playing his bugle, and a motherly woman bade us sit awhile at the door-step. D'ri came soon with horses, one the black thoroughbred of Louise which had brought her on this errand. We gave them free rein, heading for the chateau. Not far up the woods-pike we met M. de Lambert and the old count.
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