LITMIR.BIZ

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boy opened his eyes. He lay in a state of semi-stupor, without knowing where he was or what was near him, without making an effort to remember, gazing at the ceiling. He gazed dreamily at the letters of the inscription – “Ursus, Philosopher”. The sound of the key turning in the lock caused him to turn his head.

      The boy awoke. The wolf gave him a morning yawn, showing two rows of very white teeth. The boy, seeing the wolf in the caravan, got out of the bear-skin, and placed himself in front of the little infant, who was sleeping more soundly than ever.

      Ursus had just hung the lantern up on a nail in the ceiling. His eyes were glassy. He exclaimed, -

      “Happy, doubtless! Dead!”

      He bent down, -

      “I found her. The mischief had buried her under two feet of snow. Homo helped me. How cold she was! I touched her hand – a stone! What silence in her eyes! How can any one be such a fool as to die and leave a child behind? A pretty family I have now! A boy and a girl!”

      Whilst Ursus was speaking, Homo sidled up close to the stove. The hand of the sleeping infant was hanging down between the stove and the chest. The wolf licked it so softly that he did not awake the little infant. Ursus turned round.

      “Well done, Homo. I shall be father, and you shall be uncle. Adoption! Homo is willing.”

      Raising his eyes, they met those of the boy, who was listening. Ursus addressed him abruptly, -

      “What are you laughing about?”

      The boy answered, -

      “I am not laughing.”

      Ursus looked at him fixedly for a few minutes, and said, -

      “Then you are frightful.”

      The interior of the caravan, on the previous night, had been so dark that Ursus had not yet seen the boy’s face. The broad daylight revealed it. He placed the palms of his hands on the two shoulders of the boy, and exclaimed, -

      “Do not laugh any more!”

      “I am not laughing,” said the child.

      Ursus was seized with a shudder from head to foot.

      “You do laugh, I tell you.”

      Then he asked him: roughly, -

      “Who did that to you?”

      The child replied, -

      “I don’t know what you mean.”

      “How long have you had that laugh?”

      “I have always been thus,” said the child.

      Ursus turned towards the chest. Then the sun arose. The red rays gleamed through the glass, and struck against the face of the infant, which was turned towards him. Her eyeballs reflected his purple orbit like two mirrors. The eyeballs were immovable, the eyelids also.

      “See!” said Ursus. “She is blind.”

      LORD CLANCHARLIE AND LORD DAVID DIRRY-MOIR

      There was, in those days, an old tradition. That tradition was Lord Clancharlie. He was one of the peers of England – few in number – who accepted the republic. He had retired into Switzerland, and dwelt in a sort of lofty ruin on the banks of the Lake of Geneva. It was the sketch of a madman. Thinking of Lord Clancharlie, some laughed out aloud, others could not restrain their anger. Lord Clancharlie had never had any brains. Everyone agreed on that point.

      Lord Clancharlie. was walking, his hands behind him, along the shores of the Lake of Geneva. In London they sometimes spoke of the exile. He was accused before the tribunal of public opinion. They pleaded for and against him.

      But Lord Clancharlie had not always been old and proscribed. He had had his phase of youth and passion. He had a natural child, a son. This son was born in England in the last days of the republic, just as his father was going into exile. Hence he had never seen his father. This bastard of Lord Clancharlie had grown up at the court of Charles II. Then he prospered under James II.

      The king is dead. Long live the king! It was on the accession of the Duke of York that he obtained permission to call himself Lord David Dirry-Moir, from an estate which his mother had left him.

      Lord David was head of the king’s granary. He had the management of the race-horses. He was a brave lord, handsome, generous, and majestic in look and in manner. His person was like his quality. He was tall in stature as well as high in birth.

      The king had no objection to raise Lord David Dirry-Moir to the Upper House. He wanted to transform Lord David Dirry-Moir, lord by courtesy, into a lord by right.

      The opportunity occurred.

      One day it was announced that several things had happened to the old exile, Lord Clancharlie, the most important of which was that he was dead. People related what they knew, or what they thought they knew, of the last years of Lord Clancharlie. What they said was probably a legend. King James declared, one fine morning, Lord David Dirry-Moir sole and positive heir, and by his royal pleasure, of Lord Clancharlie, his natural father. So the king instituted Lord David Dirry-Moir in the titles, rights, and prerogatives of the late Lord Clancharlie, on the sole condition that Lord David should wed, when she attained a marriageable age, a girl who was, at that time, a mere infant a few months old, and whom the king had, in her cradle, created a duchess. This little infant was called the Duchess Josiana.

      It was to this little duchess that the king granted the peerage of Clancharlie. Besides the Clancharlie inheritance, Lady Josiana had her own fortune. She possessed great wealth, much of which was derived from Henrietta of England, Duchess of Orleans, the lady of highest rank in France after the queen.

      Lord David prospered under Charles and James, and he prospered under William. A poet, like everyone else; a good servant of the state, a good servant to the prince; assiduous at feasts, at galas, at ladies’ receptions, at ceremonies, and in battle; servile in a gentlemanlike way; very haughty; inclined to integrity; obsequious or arrogant, as occasion required; frank and sincere on first acquaintance; careless before a sword; always ready to risk his life on a sign from his Majesty with heroism and complacency; a man of courtesy and etiquette; a courtier on the surface, a paladin below; quite young at forty-five. Lord David sang French songs, loved eloquence and fine language[25].

      DUCHESS JOSIANA

      Towards 1705, although Lady Josiana was twenty-three and Lord David forty-four, the wedding had not yet taken place. Did they hate each other? Far from it. Josiana wanted to remain free, David to remain young.

      Josiana and David carried on a flirtation. They did not love, they pleased, each other. To be at each other’s side was enough. Why hasten? Josiana, while she knew herself to be a bastard, felt herself a princess. She had a fancy for Lord David. Lord David was handsome, she considered him to be fashionable.

      To be fashionable is everything. Lord David bowed down before the fascinations of the Duchess Josiana – a maiden without spot or scruple, haughty, inaccessible, and audacious. He addressed sonnets to her, which Josiana sometimes read. He waited in the antechamber outside Josiana’s heart; and this suited the convenience of both. Lady Josiana said,

      “It is a bore that I should be obliged to marry Lord David; I, who would desire nothing better than to be in love with him!”

      Josiana was very tall – too tall. Her hair might be called red gold. She was plump, fresh, strong, and rosy, with immense boldness and wit. She had eyes which were too intelligible. She had neither lovers nor chastity. She walled herself round with pride. Men! oh, fie! A god only would be worthy of her, or a monster. Josiana possessed all possible virtue, but without any innocence. She disdained intrigues. She thought little of her reputation, but much of her glory. Josiana felt herself majestic and material. She trod upon hearts. She was earthly.

      She would show herself without hesitation to a satyr or a eunuch. She had the self-possession of a goddess. She was a possible Astarte in a real Diana. She was tempting and inaccessible. She dwelt in a halo of glory. She was a little

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