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Some changes of light and darkness passed over me, and the great anguish of my wound increased until there was no rest. However, the next man who visited me stood forth at the side of the stretcher as Bellenger. I thought I dreamed him, being light-headed with fever. He was unaccountably weazened, robbed of juices, and powdering to dust on the surface.
"As I said, Bellenger," remarked his superior, "you are either a fool or the greatest rascal I ever saw." He looked at Bellenger attentively. "Yet why should you want to mix clues and be rewarded with evident misery? And how could you lose him out of your hand and remain unconscious of it?
"Sire" said Bellenger. "Your king is Louis XVIII," I reminded him. "He is not my king." "Taken your pension away, has he?" "I no longer receive anything from that court." "And your dauphin?" "He was left in Europe." "Look here, Bellenger! Why did you treat me so? Dauphin or no dauphin, what harm was I doing you?" "I thought a strong party was behind you.
"Monsieur the Abbé Edgeworth," he said, "having stood on the scaffold with our martyred sovereign, as priest and comforter, is eminently the one to conduct an examination like this, which touches matters of conscience. We leave it in his hands." Abbé Edgeworth, fine and sweet of presence, stood by the king, facing Bellenger and the idiot.
Behind him rode Colonels Cox and Paris, long, heavy swords drawn, heading the Canajoharie regiment, which pressed forward excitedly. The remaining regiments of Tryon County militia followed, led by Colonel Seeber, Colonel Bellenger, Majors Frey, Eisenlord, and Van Slyck.
The hollow was not a deep one, but if the men had been talking, their voices did not reach us until the curtain parted. "You are a great fool or a great rascal, or both, Bellenger," the superior man said. "Most people are, your highness," responded the one at the wheel. He kept it going, as if his earthenware was of more importance than the talk. "You are living a miserable life, roving about."
Then I softened, as I always do towards the claimant of the other part, and added that we were on the same footing; I had been a pensioner myself. "Sire, I thank you," said Bellenger, having shaken the wallet and poked his fingers into the lining where an unheard-of gold piece could have lodged. "It tickles my vanity to be called sire." "You are a true prince," said Bellenger.
"We go to the Rue Ste. Croix, Lazarre, which is an impossible place for your friend Bellenger at this time. Do you dance a gavotte?" I told him I could dance the Indian corn dance, and he advised me to reserve this accomplishment. "Bonaparte's police are keen on any scent, especially the scent of a prince.
Bellenger said, straightening up in his place like a bear rising from all fours. "That is the boy your De Ferriers saw in London." I remembered the boy Madame Tank had told about. Whether myself or this less fortunate creature was the boy, my heart went very pitiful toward him. Madame de Ferrier stooped and examined, him; he made a juicy noise of delight with his mouth.
If France were ready now to take back her king, would she accept an imbecile?" The old De Ferrier groaned aloud. "Bellenger is not a bad man," added Philippe. Eagle watched her playmate until the closing gate hid him from sight. She remembered having once implored her nurse for a small plaster image displayed in a shop. It could not speak, nor move, nor love her in return.