At the Sign of the Silver Crescent

Front matter

BY THE SAME AUTHOR. (ft ZtcmBixttcintk t§ cxtdcxint Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, ... The scenes of this charming story are laid in the United States at the time of the Civil War, the South of France during the Season, a beautiful old estate in France, and Paris during the Siege. The World : — " This novel deserves to be described as beautiful from the literary, the romantic, and the actual point of view. The style is pure and elegant ; the book is, in /act, a contribution to literature, unlike a large proportion of the current fiction. ... Is one of the works of fiction of the period which deserves to be isolated from the multitudi nous surroundings and to be remembered." Scotsman : — " Possesses considerable merit. The character sketch ing is done with much skill, clearly showing the writer to have a wide knowledge of human nature ; and the tale develops very effectively, easily holding the attention of the reader to the close."

Pall Mall Gazette : — " Is a well-written, interesting story." Glasgow Herald: — "This is a bright, clever, and pleasantly written story. . . . The story is an excellent one." Manchester Guardian: — " Told with great sympathy and insight." Daily Mail : — " Who would not be attracted by such a title ? The story is that of a fine-natured young American girl, who at the time of the struggle between North and South marries a wealthy elderly man, in order that she may be provided for in the event of himself and her father being killed in the war. In the widowhood and orphanhood which soon come upon her the young Sylvia Huntington travels in Europe, where the charm of her nation, as well as that of her fortune, makes her welcome in good society. A dissipated French count falls in love with her gold, and she accepts him, thereby becoming the 'Transatlantic Chatelaine.' How she suffers at his hands, and how she falls in love with another man, and conquers that love, are all very prettily told. . . .

Her style is clean, sharp, and pretty, and her story is as vivacious and charming as its moral is salutary to young women with fortunes to bestow." London : GAY AND BIRD, 22, Bedford Street, W. C. BV HELEN CHOATE PRINCE LONDON GAY AND BIRD 22 Bedford Street, Strand The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., 17. S. A. Printed by H. O. Houghton and Company.

Chapter I

"By Jove, Paddy, this shows a fellow what Puvis de Chavannes means ! " The speaker was a young man of six or seven and twenty ; the listener a well-bred fox terrier, named for Paderewski, partly because his hair was very short, but chiefly because his master owed a debt of gratitude to the great pianist for the pleasure that he had received at his hands (literally), and paid a part of it in thus showing his appreciation. The scene that called forth the young man's admiration was a broad, green stretch of pasture, for merly the bed of the Loire, but now reclaimed by high dikes. Groups of stately poplars were scattered here and there, casting long blue shadows eastwards, and old women, seated on the heels of their sabots, kept an eye out for the cow or goat to which they were serving as nursemaid, while on the hillside across the placid river the Chateau of Amboise gleamed like a fabulous opal, touched by the westering sun with tints of violet, rose, and pale blue.

Grafton Blake drew a long breath of delight as he gazed at all this beauty ; it was what he was in search of. For three years he had been hard at work in Paris at his art, and this spring he had felt the need of striking out for himself, independ ently of schools and the influence of other artists. For this reason he had broken away from the beaten track, and was rewarded by finding at his* first essay a bit of landscape that seemed too good to last, and that he feared might melt away before the next day. Spurred to action by this fear he turned to the terrier who was looking in his face with a wistful expression, now and then giving a tentative wag, and said : — "I must get this bit, Paddy, and it 's a shame to waste at least two hours a day coming and going from Amboise. Do you suppose they could put us up in the village over there, eh?"

Paddy, rightly interpreting this remark as an invitation to walk, acted as if he had never before heard of such a treat, and wheeled round and round, chasing his stub of a tail and giving short barks of j°y- "All right," said his master. "As long as you approve, we '11 try it. Come on." So saying Grafton strode along a cart track leading to a highway running parallel to the river, while Paddy made wide circles of discovery, now rousing a placid cow to an Indignant protest, again snuffing and grubbing under a thorn-tree at some rabbit burrow. As the track approached the road it became almost dignified enough to deserve the name of lane, bordered by hedges of white and pink thorn. The whole country was in its gala dress of mid-spring ; the early copper tints of the poplars still lingered, giving light and variety to the foli age, and the air was sweet with the fragrance of flowers.

Grafton took it all in with keen delight. The lover of nature has an added sense after long absence from the presence of his mistress, and sees, hears, smells, and feels more acutely. The fields and the lane had pleased him, and he found a new satisfaction as he stepped up to the hard, well-cared for road. He turned to the right, making for the cluster of houses that he had dubbed a village. On his left rose a high stone wall, evidently the boundary of some important estate, over which peered the upper branches of fine old trees. On the right side of the road the cottages of the hamlet straggled along, with their red-tiled, high-pitched roofs, their little gardens of mingled vegetables and flowers, and their frequent sleek cat sitting in the angle of the dutch door. Paddy was too well trained to do more than tremble with excitement when he saw his hereditary foes thus established in their cita dels, while their catships merely opened their green eyes watchfully, the pupils dilating until all hint of danger had passed.

Grafton walked on about a quarter of a mile before seeing any sign of an inn ; the wall always on his left, the row of small houses opposite. Then a break .came in the monotony ; the wall turned sharply, a narrow road running up a gentle hill by its base ; opposite this right angle stood an old church, much out of repair, looking far too vast for the population of such a tiny place, and by its side, built high above the level of the thoroughfare on a terrace, was a substantial stone house. Grafton decided that this must be the presbytery, because of its proximity to the church, and also on account of a carved stone cross crowning its gable. "The cure might take us in, if there's no inn," he pondered, when his eye was caught by a modest swinging sign, projecting from the front of a low, not very attractive looking house.

The board bore the design of a silver crescent, and proclaimed in dingy letters that the hostelry was kept by Veuve Richer, who provided alike for man and horse. Grafton hesitated ; at first sight the place was not inviting ; then he remarked that the panes of glass in the windows shone like jewels, that the white curtains were spotless, and, reflecting that it would do no harm to take a look about him, pushed open the door, and entered directly into a large room. The floor was neatly sanded ; the small tables placed against the walls as clean as soap and sand could make them ; the cloth spread over the billiard-table was fresh, and a flourishing fuchsia gave a touch of color. "This is not so bad," thought Grafton, seating himself at one of the tables, and rapping with his stick. He heard a quick, decided step ; an inner door opened, disclosing a gleam of shining copper TnE SILVER CRESCENT saucepans, and a woman entered.

She was portly, and her jet-black hair arranged in thick braids under a snowy cap, her heavy gold earrings, and her dark eyes gave her a southern air. "Monsieur desires?" she said politely. "A glass of vermuth, if you please." "Perfectly, monsieur. Dry?" "Yes, dry." She took a bottle from a corner cupboard where there were one or two bits of good porcelain, set it on the table before her guest, polishing the glass as she did so, and then lingered. "What a nice little dog," she said, holding out her hand to Paddy ; he responded at once. It is best to state here, so that there need be no sad awakening, that Paddy was a very cynical person; he always pretended to care for those who carried the key of the provision closet. "This is a pretty country," remarked Grafton, sipping his vermuth. "Are there many artists about here ?

" "No, monsieur, the saints be praised," was her prompt answer. Grafton laughed, and then asked why she dis liked the profession. "Ah, if monsieur had any friends in the hotel line — asking his pardon for the suggestion — he would understand. Painters are a worthless lot, always out at the elbows, never able to pay their bills. And the worst of them is that they all have such smooth, flattering tongues it is next to impossible for a poor landlady to get the upper hand of them. I have a cousin, I who tell you, and she kept a beautiful inn in Normandy, which paid her well until those painting fellows came, and now she is ruined ! Her daughter has no dot, and her nice dining-room is quite spoiled by the daubs those good-for-nothings have smeared over the walls." "What if I should tell you that I am a painting fellow myself?" asked Grafton.

She threw back her head, and laughed, showing a row of strong, white teeth. "I should say that monsieur liked his little joke as do all young gentlemen." "Why do you consider it improbable?" "Strolling artists don't wear London clothes; they don't wear good gloves; they have no ring like monsieur's " — she pointed to an antique in taglio on Grafton's little finger. "If they have any ring at all, it is a big* make-believe diamond — and that 's generally at the pawn-shop. Besides, begging monsieur's pardon, monsieur looks so clean." It was Grafton's turn to laugh, which he did heartily ; then, putting on a stern frown, he said : "You have wounded me in my tenderest feelings, madame, for know this : I, I who tell you, am a painting fellow, and a very poor one, too." For a moment she looked puzzled, and then her face brightened as she said : — "Ah, then monsieur paints for his pleasure, just as monsieur le baron at the chateau makes music for his."

"I 'm afraid that my own pleasure is all that my brush has ever stirred ; but seriously, I am a painter, and I want to find a place near here where I can spend two or three weeks. I want to make a study of something I saw this afternoon. I will pay in advance any reasonable price. Do you know of any rooms here?" "If monsieur will take the trouble to step up stairs he may find something not too bad." "There may be some corner where I could manage ten days," thought Grafton as he followed the landlady, who had taken a bunch of keys from a nail above the chimney-piece. She led him through an ordinary, narrow entry, but, instead of going up the stairs in front of them, opened a small door beyond that gave directly on a winding staircase of stone, which seemed to be built in a tower. A dim light shone through slits cut in the thickness of the walls at irregular intervals, the opening at the exterior being perhaps four inches wide, and flaring inwards to the width of two feet.

Madame Richer paused at the first landing, a little out of breath, and, choosing from the bunch of keys one which might have served a stage jailer, she turned it in the lock of a solid door, and, begging Grafton's pardon for going before him, en tered a dusky apartment and threw open the shutters. The light streamed in, showing a noble room, the ceiling decorated with oak beams, on which could be seen traces of gilding; two windows deeply recessed gave a wide view of the very meadow where Grafton had been earlier in the day, which spread its ample carpet beyond the boundary of a small, trim little garden nestling close to the house. Opposite the windows was a genuine Louis XL fireplace, its massive hood projecting into the room, ancl with rough stone pillars standing guard on each side of two gigantic, black iron fire-dogs.

Some old chairs were set stiffly about a large, ordinary deal table, and two ancient black-oak side boards stood against the walls. " There is a small bedroom beyond, in the north tower," said Madame Richer, smiling to see her guest's evident surprise at this unexpected, almost princely apartment in the little inn. "How does this come here?" he asked after a pause. "Ah, monsieur must know that long, long ago this room was but a part of a large manor-house, which has little by little fallen into dust, except this remnant. My predecessor bought the old ruin for a song, pulled most of it down, and built the new inn with the old materials, using the two towers and this room for a support. It is said, but I can't say how true it is, that in the olden days a very great and beautiful lady, who lived over yonder at Chenonceau, used to visit the chateau up on the hill — monsieur may have read of the lady in his history book?

She was called Diane de Poitiers." AT TnE SIGN OF THE SILVER CRESCENT 9 "I have heard her name." "Then monsieur knows that she was rich, and more powerful than the queen. Well, it is said that when she came on her grand visits to the cha teau, her servants were so many that they could not all be lodged there, so some of them were put up in this manor-house. It is for this that the inn bears the crescent, which was her sign." "Can you let me have these two rooms?" asked Grafton, coming to business. Madame Richer's whole face changed; the na tional game of bargaining was about to begin, and she must find out her opponent's strength. So she shrugged her shoulders, and said indifferently : — "I don't believe that monsieur would be satisfied with them." "That 's for me to decide, and I like them.

Are they already engaged? " "N-n-o, not exactly." " WeU? " " I 'm afraid the price is rather high ; my vines have hardly paid me for three years. In '95, when the wine was extra, my American grafts had not begun to bear, and " — "Whether I can pay your price is also for me to decide," broke in Grafton, decidedly impatient. He had lived in Paris heretofore, and had not learned that in the country the preliminaries to a contract are part of the fun of life ; to display his quickness of wits over the loss or gain of five francs is as exciting to a peasant as winning a chess tournament is to a champion player. So when Ma dame Richer, her hands on her hips, balancing from one neat foot to the other, named a price that struck Grafton as exceedingly moderate, he closed at once, utterly regardless of the etiquette in Tou raine on such occasions.

The landlady's face fell. "Monsieur is not English, then?" she asked before giving a decided answer. "No; American from Boston in the United States." "Ah! My mother had a second cousin who set tled in Buenos Ayres," she said, diverted for a moment. "I wonder if monsieur has heard of him? He was a hatter, named Dubois, and made for the best families." "I think that he was perhaps before my day," said Grafton cautiously, well knowing the futility of trying to impress any idea of distance on a race whose standard is based on the boundary lines of France. "But," he went on, "if you are worried about taking in a stranger, I will pay in advance, and as for references, I can write to Paris, and get no end of them." At this remark the vague dejection grew into marked indignation. Had she been so maladroit as to let monsieur think that she did not know a gentleman when she saw such a superb specimen?

She, she who had lived in great houses, although only as a servant, still could tell good breeding. No, no, not a sou of monsieur's money would she touch until he had assured her that she had earned it. " Do you object to dogs ? Paddy is a good little fellow," said Grafton, striving to discover the cause of her reluctance. Paddy, well knowing, the rascal, that he was the subject of conversation, slowly rose on his hind legs, and looked in her face with such an appealing expression that few could have resisted him ; certainly not a Frenchwoman whose love of domes tic animals seems to be bred in the bone. Madame Richer patted him with approbation, and said warmly that she adored dogs, and if monsieur pleased, she would send to Amboise for his belongings at once. In spite, however, of the geniality of her voice, there was still the thin veil of sad ness, and all through his life Grafton never knew that she had been keenly disappointed at gaining half a dozen unexpected francs, and losing half an hour's keen, intellectual delight.

But this mood wore itself away, and when she returned after giving the order for the cart to be sent to Amboise, she was in high good humor. In her hand she held a bundle of dry twigs and a newspaper, and announced her intention of lighting a fire at once, as the evenings were still chilly, and the room had been long closed. She held the paper, lighted at one end, up the black, yawning throat of the chimney, and when the draft caught it, and it had flown roaring up to the sky, plainly seen above, she kindled the fagot, and told Grafton that she would prepare his dinner. He lighted a cigarette, and stretching out his legs to the blaze, Paddy curled up between them, he fell into a reverie. In every life there are moments when we step up, as it were, on to a higher grade, and looking back see the past in a clear perspective, as it is impossible to do when we are living it.

Twice in Grafton's life there had been these illuminating glimpses. Up to the age of perhaps eleven, he had been much like most boys, unthink ing, unreflecting little animals. He had shirked his lessons as much as he dared ; he had resented the ignominy of being made clean every evening (as if once a day wasn't bad enough), in order to spend half an hour in the drawing-room with his mother, who invariably found some fault with his toilet in spite of all his nurse's pains; he had played hard at baseball and other games with his schoolmates, indulging in more than an occasional fight; he had said his prayers at night when he was not too sleepy, because his dear old grandmother Blake had asked him to, and although she had died when he was only six, her memory was a green and pleasant spot in his heart.

It had never occurred to him that other homes were hap pier, or other boys more loved than he, until one spring afternoon when he stood on the front steps of his father's house, idly kicking one muddy toe with a still muddier heel, — "scuffing," as nursery maids used to call the trick. It was a holiday, and he had nothing to do. All the boys were claimed by their families; one was going fishing in the country with his father ; another had given a glow ing forecast of a matinee performance at the thea tre; even his best-loved friend, Tommy Mason, had told him with tactless glee that he was going to drive with his parents. So this soft April afternoon, when the mere touch of the air suggested merry-making, Grafton stood doing nothing, watching the unending stream of carriages as they rolled gayly by.

The trees in the park, or "common," opposite the house, were delicately traced against the sky; on each side of the steps was a row of hyacinths in full bloom, standing proudly each in an Indian jar, and filling the air with their overpowering fragrance. The people on foot all looked happy, as if they were coming from or going to some festivity. Sud denly Grafton was aware of a familiar face in the procession of carriages, and saw with a pang that was not quite envy, although something like it, Tommy Mason sitting beside the groom behind his father and mother. The horses were going at a good pace, and Tommy had only time to stick out his tongue at his friend. It was not done ill-na turedly, only from the superabundance of his glee, and Grafton did not resent it. He, in return, made a grimace that nearly sent Tommy from his perch, he laughed so immoderately at what he con sidered a mark of genius, but Grafton had no smile on his face.

He remained where he was; always the same atmosphere of mirth and happi ness, only he was left out. At this moment his father's tilbury, driven by the groom Dixon, a special friend of Grafton's, drew up before the house. "Hullo, Dixon," said Grafton. "That 's a new horse you 've got there, isn't it?" "Yes, Master Grafton," said the man, grinning pleasantly. " She 's a mare from New York State your father bought last week." "She 's good-looking," returned Grafton, feeling of her legs in a knowing manner. "I don't like her eye; you can see white above, and that 's a nasty sign," answered the groom dubiously. His confidences were cut short by the front door being opened, and the appearance of Mr. Blake on the threshold. If there was one person whom Grafton considered the perfection of manhood, it was his father.

He wondered how other boys felt whose fathers were not tall and burly, with a high color and a long, drooping mustache. He gazed with wistful admiration at him as he stood drawing on his driv ing-gloves, old Barker the butler holding the door open behind him, and he decided that when he was old he would have just such a white box-coat with huge pearl buttons, and wear his hat a little bit on one side, and always carry an overgrown carnation in his buttonhole. "Hullo, kid!" said Mr. Blake, staring at the new mare, but addressing his son. "What are you up to?" "Nothing," said Grafton dolefully. "Oh, papa, I wish you 'd take me to drive. All the other fellows are out with their fathers." Mr. Blake patted the boy's head. "I can't to-day," he said. "I 'm going out of town to a man's dinner, but to-morrow I '11 take you with me.

Here 's a dollar for you." He put a piece of silver into Grafton's hand, stepped into the tilbury, gathered the reins cau tiously in his hands, while Dixon sprung to his side, and in another minute the mare had carried him into the misty blue perspective of the long street. The dollar was nice, the promise for to-morrow better still, but Grafton was not yet satisfied. A doubtful light came into his eyes. "Master Grafton, your ma says you are to get off the steps at once. You have messed 'em all up with your muddy shoes, and when you come in you 're to go by the back door." The boy became conscious of himself. He stared at his stubbed-out boots as he walked slowly away, and he felt that he had no place in that beautifully appointed house, where even the master was not allowed to smoke or invite his friends to dinner.

He knew this, for at long intervals both his father and mother were at home at the luncheon hour, and the meal was as a rule enlivened by bit ter reproaches and recriminations. Grafton did not know how sad it was that these quarrels failed to impress him as anything unusual. If he had reflected on the subject he would have said that probably all married people were the same. But to-day his eyes had been opened a little: he thought how happy Mr. and Mrs. Mason had looked side by side ; his mother never drove with her husband; she had her horses quite apart from his. Grafton took a long walk that afternoon, choos ing dingy streets where he felt in harmony with the surroundings, where well-polished boots would have been more of an anomaly than his muddy ones. He knew that at this hour his mother was in her drawing-room, that Barker had brought in the dainty tea-table, and that she was pouring out cups of tea for soft-voiced women, and men in long frock coats.

He could picture it all, the rose-tinted light when Barker had lighted the lamps, the subdued laughter, the picturesque attitude of his mother in an exquisite tea-gown, and the tone of a misunderstood woman adopted by her, which he half divined with an angry throb at his heart. Youth is often generous, seldom just, and Graf ton was in a tumult of love for his father; the thought did not for a moment occur to him that there might be faults on both sides. He came home tired out, and as soon as his head touched the pillow he fell into a profound sleep; so profound that he heard nothing of the confusion in the house in the chill, early dawn, although the tread of men, heavy and stumbling as if staggering beneath a load, went by his open door; the hysterical scream of a maid, as she saw all that remained of her master placed in the room that had been his, did not disturb the sleeper, whose right hand held tight, under the pillow, a silver dollar.

The next morning he was wakened by his mo ther, who stood by his side as carefully dressed and composed in her appearance as if the night had not been one of horror. She told him that his father had been killed in an accident on his way home from a dinner. She showed no emotion, and he listened dry-eyed, suppressing his tears until she had left him. From that day his nature developed itself; the memory of his father faded as time went on, but the ideal that he represented to the boy deepened. Death is the great idealist, and under his trans forming touch the good-natured, careless, faulty man became to his son the symbol of all that is brave and good. Thus his death became a source of benefit, which his life never would have been. In deference to what he imagined would have been the wishes of his father, Grafton became ambitious in his studies, and, after the necessary schooling, entered Harvard University with flying colors.

There, owing to his vigorous physique, he was able to keep up the standard of scholarship that he had set for himself, and also to become a member of the 'varsity crew, and one of the best heavy-weight boxers of his class. He was admired rather than loved by his classmates, for something in his character forbade easy intimacy, but he was popular, and a member of several clubs. As the years went by, and his hands no longer required supervision, while his shoes ceased to be a cause of distress to Barker, his mother grew proud of her grave, dignified son ; but so deep was his reserve that neither she nor any one else dreamed of his real nature. All unsuspected by others was his sense of the heavy responsibility of life, and half unsuspected by himself, the artistic chords that vibrated to certain touches, stirring him to an un rest of mingled pain and pleasure.

He could not have explained why he loved nature so passion ately ; why certain lines of poetry thrilled through him; or why his most delightful moments were those when with unaccustomed fingers he started a picture that was to equal, if not surpass, any mod ern master, and his most despairing ones when, after hours of work, he cast the muddy daub from him in disgust. It was towards the end of his last year at the university that the second glimpse of his life as it was, and as it might be, came to him. One May morning he had rowed up the river with the tide, and, as he had gone as far as he wished, he landed in a pretty spot, and threw him self down on the bank waiting for the tide to turn. On the opposite shore an apple orchard in full bloom poured its fragrance out on the soft breeze that wafted it to Grafton where he sat ; a golden robin flew by with a dash of glory ; a cock crowed in a distant farmyard.