ever locked within his own bosom. His mother, the rigid and austere Madame, said once of him:
"Though good fairies have gifted my son at his birth with numerous noble qualities, one envious member of the sisterhood spitefully decreed that he should never know how to use any of these gifts." Such was the character of the Regent.
Of Jerome and Madame de Chartrain I would fain tell more, but during the troubled times in America I completely lost sight of them, and my inquiries developed nothing of sufficient verity to give credence to here.
All Frenchmen know of Jerome's gallant death at Malplaquet. It is a fireside legend now, and young French lads turn their moistened eyes away at the hearing. Marshal Villars being sorely hurt and in peril of capture, there fought beside his litter an unknown gentleman who, without name or rank, yet bore himself so commandingly, the discouraged guard rallied again and gave him willing obedience. Arrived at a narrow bridge he urged the litter-bearers safely across, and fighting at the rear to be himself the last to reach a place of safety, he was struck and fell. Prince Eugene, the courteous enemy, who had himself witnessed the incident, sent a guard of honour to the Marshal at Valenciennes the next day with the body, deeming it that of a man of consequence. His letter congratulated the defeated Villars upon having such chivalric friends.
It was poor Jerome, and no one knew him then. He rests now with his fathers.
I loved the lad truly. As knightly a gentleman as ever died for his King, or lied for his lady.
