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[Illustration: THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER

VOL. XX.--NO. 985.]       NOVEMBER 12, 1898.       [PRICE ONE PENNY.]




"OUR HERO."

A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO.

BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of "Sun, Moon and Stars," "The Girl at the
Dower House," etc.

[Illustration: "I WISH THEY WERE ENGLISH."]

_All rights reserved._]


CHAPTER VII.

ON PAROLE.

If the shock of this abrupt arrest of the whole body of English
travellers, who happened to be within reach of the First Consul, fell
sharply on those at home, it fell at least no less sharply on those who
were arrested.

An official notice was served upon all who could, by the utmost
stretching, be accounted amenable to the act. In that notice, received
alike by Colonel Baron and by Denham Ivor, they were informed
that--"All the English enrolled in the Militia, from the ages of
eighteen to sixty, or holding any commission from His Britannic
Majesty, shall be made prisoners of war;"--the reason given being the
same as was alleged in the version which speedily appeared in English
papers.

The mention of the Militia was, however, additional; and there was
something else also. It might fairly have been argued that professional
men, men of business, and men of no particular employment, could not be
included in the above statement. To guard against such reasoning the
document went on to explain--"I tell you beforehand that no pretext,
no excuse, can exclude you; as, according to British law, none can
dispense you from serving in the Militia."

This notion was made the basis for a far more sweeping arrest than had
at first been supposed possible. Not only officers in the Army and
Navy, who were then in France or in other countries under the dominion
of Napoleon, not only men who had served or who might be called upon
to serve in the Militia, but lawyers and doctors, clergymen and men of
rank, men of business and men in trade, all alike were detained, all
alike were forced immediately to constitute themselves prisoners of war
upon parole, with only the alternative of becoming prisoners of war in
prison, instead of upon parole.

Those who consented to give their word of honour not to attempt to
escape were allowed to remain at large, and to lodge where they
would, under certain limitations. That is to say, they had to live in
specified places, where they were under the continual inspection of
the gendarmerie, and where they had at regular intervals to report
themselves. Whether they were soldiers, sailors, clergymen, or business
men, they were thus at once cut off from their work in life, and many
were debarred from their only means of livelihood.

As a first move, the mass of the Paris détenus were ordered to
Fontainebleau; and thither Colonel and Mrs. Baron had to betake
themselves. Thither also Denham Ivor would speedily have to follow:
though, on the score of danger to others from infection, a few days'
delay was permitted.

The question had at once arisen whether Mrs. Baron should not be sent
to England with Roy, as soon as the boy might be fit to travel, since
women were theoretically free to go where they would, provided only
that they could obtain passports. But Mrs. Baron refused to consider
any such proposal. She could not and would not be separated from her
husband. "Of course I shall go to Fontainebleau," she said decisively.
"It cannot be for long. Roy must come to us there. It only means
leaving his schooling for a quarter of a year; and he will not be
strong enough for lessons at present. Something is sure to be arranged
soon, and then we shall all go home together."

Others were less sanguine of a quick release; but Colonel Baron could
seldom stand out against his wife, when she set her dainty foot down.
He made a half struggle, and won from her a promise that, if he should
be ordered farther away, she would then consent to Roy's being sent
home. Beyond that he failed to get his own way.

Long before Roy could be counted safe for even the short journey to
Fontainebleau, Denham had an intimation that his going thither might be
no longer deferred. Thus far he had not thought it needful to tell the
boy what had happened; but now the telling had become a necessity.

"Den, I want to look out of the window. Oh, let me look out," entreated
Roy, as the heavy beat of a drum sounded. He wriggled on the hard sofa,
where he had begun to spend a part of each day. Roy had grown thin, and
his eyes blinked weakly when turned to the light.

"You want to see the soldiers?"

"Yes. Do let me. May I try to walk to the window all alone? I know I
can."

Ivor laughed, though not mirthfully. "Try!" he answered, and Roy made a
brave attempt, actually reaching the window without being helped.

"Come, that was good. You are getting on nicely. Now sit down, and look
out for the soldiers. I think they are coming this way."

The boy gazed eagerly, flushing.

"I wish they were English," he said. "I wish I was in England. When
are we going home, Den? And when may I see my mamma? I do want to have
Molly again. It's ages since I saw Molly--and I want her!"

Denham was silent.

"It was stupid of me to be so glad to come away from Molly. Nothing is
half nice without her."

"I am glad you have found that out. She is a dear little sister, and
she would do anything in the world for you."

"Oh, well, of course, I know she would," assented Roy. "And I always
was fond of Molly too. She gets cross sometimes, though."

"Roy never gets cross, I suppose?"

Roy laughed rather consciously, and then gave vent to a sigh. "Oh,
dear, I don't like this chair. Not half so much as the sofa. It makes
me tired. I wish nobody ever had the small-pox. When shall I be all
right again, I wonder? I do hate being ill such a tremendously long
time."

Denham picked him up bodily, as if he had been an infant, carried him
across, and deposited him where he had been before.

"You have done about enough for one day. Oh, you will soon be well
now; no fear! And you may count yourself fortunate, not to have been
much worse. Yours has been a slight attack, compared with what many
people have."

"I don't call it slight. I call it a most beastly horrid illness. Den,
when shall we go home? I want Molly."

Denham took a seat by his side.

"I am not sure. It may not be just yet."

"Why not? I thought we were going as soon as ever we could."

"As soon as possible; yes. The question is, how soon that will be. Some
of us are not able to go yet; but I am hoping that your father will
send you home, and not let you wait for him and me."

"Why, Den?" Roy twisted round to gaze in astonishment. "Why, Den! I
thought you were all waiting, only just till I should get over this.
I didn't know there was anything else. Is there anything else? Has
something happened? Do tell me."

"You and your mother are free to go back to England, as soon as she is
willing to do so. Your father and I are not free."

"Aren't you? Why not? What is the matter with papa?"

"Nothing is the matter with him, so far as health is concerned. Only,
he is not free and I am not free. We are both prisoners."

Roy's large grey eyes grew bigger and rounder.

"Den! Why--Den--what can you mean? Prisoners! You and papa prisoners!
Why, you haven't been fighting."

"No, we have not been fighting. We ought not to be prisoners. Such
a thing has never happened before, in any war between civilised
countries. But war has been declared, as you know was expected before
you were taken ill. And one of the first things that Napoleon did,
directly war broke out, was to make all English travellers prisoners of
war."

Roy clenched his fist.

"He professes to have had provocation. There were French vessels
in our ports, and these were seized, as soon as our Ambassador had
been ordered to return home. But that was in accordance with a very
old custom--centuries old. Napoleon's act of reprisal is altogether
new. It is a thing unheard of--making war on travellers and peaceful
residents; a disgrace to himself and his nation. You know what is meant
by'reprisals' in war. This is his'reprisal' for the vessels seized.
Every Englishman in France, or in any country under Napoleon's sway at
this moment, is declared to be a prisoner."

"Then I'm a prisoner too."

"You are under age. Some boys of your age have been arrested, I
believe, but only because they hold His Majesty's Commission in the
Navy. Otherwise, under eighteen you are free."

"But you are not in prison."

"I am on parole. I have given my word of honour not to try to get away."

"Then you mustn't escape, even if you can?"

"No. If I had refused to give my parole, I should have been at once
sent to prison--probably have been thrown into a dungeon."

The boy was as white as a sheet.

"And papa----?"

"Has given his parole also."

"And--mamma?"

"Your mother is at liberty to go home, and your father wishes her to
do so, and to take you; but she says she will not leave him. One can
understand her feeling, and yet it is a pity. In England she would be
safer and better off. But you know how unhappy she always is, if she is
away from your father even for a few days. You, of course, will have
to be sent home soon, so as to go on with your schooling; but at first
you will join us at Fontainebleau. We hope to be all released in a very
little while. The thing is so disgraceful, that Napoleon can hardly
persevere in it--so most people say. But we shall soon see. If we are
not soon set free, your father will no doubt try to persuade your
mother to take you home."

"Where is Fontainebleau?"

"Some distance from Paris. Don't you know the name? Your father and
mother are there already, and now I have to go too. I have only been
allowed to wait for a few days, because of your illness, and I must not
put off any longer."

"Are you going soon? Will you take me?"

"Not just yet, my boy. You are hardly fit for the journey. A chill
might lay you by again; besides, other people might catch the small-pox
from you. So I have settled to leave you here a little longer, in
charge of kind Mademoiselle de St. Roques. She and Monsieur and Madame
de Bertrand will see well after you."

Roy looked very doleful.

"When are you going?"

"I am afraid--to-morrow. But for that I would not have told you quite
so soon. But you will keep up a brave heart. You are a soldier's son,
you know, so you mustn't give in."

Roy's face worked.

"I don't want you to go," he said. "That horrid old beast of a
Napoleon; I wish somebody or other would guillotine him--that I do! He
deserves it richly! Must you go?"

"I'm afraid I have no choice. The gendarmes have been looking me
up; and if I put off any longer I shall get into trouble with those
gentlemen. I'm bound to report myself at Fontainebleau before the
evening of the day after to-morrow. But you will soon come after me.
Why--Roy!"

"I can't help it. It's so horrid," sobbed Roy, direfully ashamed of
himself. "I--don't like you to go. I don't like you and papa to be
prisoners. And oh--poor little Molly! What will she do! Den, why does
God let such wicked men be in the world? I wouldn't. I'd kill them
right off."

"One can't always see the reason. Some good reason there must be."

"I don't know how there can be! It's all as horrid as horrid, and
everything is miserable!" The boy rubbed his coat-sleeve across his
eyes, only to burst out sobbing afresh. "I can't help it," he gasped.
"Oh, please don't ever tell Molly."

"No, I will not. But Molly would understand. It is only that you are
pulled down