Valois ponders over Hardin's advice. Averse to routine business,
fond of a country life, he decides to localize himself. His funds
have increased. His old partner, Joe Woods, is now a man of wealth
at Sacramento. Maxime has no faith in quartz mines. He has no
desires to invest in ship, or factory. He ignores commerce. To be
a planter, a man of mark in the legislature, to revive the glories
of the Valois family, is the lawyer's wish. While he passes the
tule-fringed river-banks, fate is leading him back to Lagunitas. He
has led a lonely life, this brilliant young Creole. In the unrest
of his blood, under the teachings of Hardin, Valois feels the future
may bear him away to unfought fields. The grandsons of those who
fought at New Orleans, may win victories, as wonderful, over the
enemies of that South, even if these foes are brothers born.

Gliding towards his fate, the puppet of the high gods, Maxime Valois
may dream of the surrender of Fort Sumter, and of the Southern
Cross soaring high in victory. Appomattox is far hidden beyond
battle-clouds of fields yet to come! The long road thither has
not yet been drenched with the mingled blood of warring brethren.
Dreams! Idle dreams! Glory! Ambition! Southern rights!

At Stockton, Valois receives tidings from Padre Francisco. Clouds
are settling down on Lagunitas. Squatters arc taking advantage of
the defenceless old Mexican. If the Don would save his broad acres,
he must appear in the law-courts of the conquerors.

Alas! the good old days are gone, when the whole State of California
boasted not a single lawyer. These are new conditions. The train
of loyal retainers will never sweep again out of the gates of
Lagunitas, headed by the martial Commandante, in all the bravery