"A Bourbon ear hears nothing but Bonaparte in these days," said De
Chaumont. "How do you know this is the same boy you saw in London?"

"Last night while he was lying unconscious, after Doctor Chantry had
bandaged his head and bled him, I went in to see if I might be of use.
He was like some one I had seen. But I did not know him until a moment
ago. He ran out of the house like a wild Indian. Then he saw us sitting
here, and came and fell down on his knees at sight of that missal. I saw
his scars. He claimed the book as his mother's--and you know, count, it
was his mother's!"

"My dear child, whenever an Indian wants a present he dreams that you
give it to him, or he claims it. Chief Williams' boy wanted your
valuable illuminated book. I only wonder he had the taste. The rings on
your hands are more to an Indian's liking."

"But he is not an Indian, count. He is as white as we are."

"That signifies nothing. Plenty of white children have been brought up
among the tribes. Chief Williams' grandmother, I have heard, was a
Yankee woman."

Not one word of their rapid talk escaped an ear trained to faintest
noises in the woods. I felt like a tree, well set up and sound, but
rooted and voiceless in my ignorant helplessness before the two so
frankly considering me.

My father stopped when he saw Madame de Ferrier, and called to me in
Iroquois. It was plain that he and Doctor Chantry disagreed. Skenedonk,