There were other difficult points to be settled. As, were these annals to be written in a copy-book or upon loose sheets of paper? The former was finally chosen, owing to the necessity of lines to one whose pen did not always move in a uniform direction. Then, were the records to be couched in French or English? After much thought and discussion the diarist came to the conclusion, probably unique in the history of autobiography, that the portion dealing with his adventures in France was to be written in the Gallic tongue, his doings in England in the English. Mr. Elphinstone had done all in his power to encourage his small imitator, and had bought him a box of paints for the purposes of illustration which, in the first onset of delirious joy, had caused the child entirely to forsake, for the time being, the more laborious travail of the pen, and to cover his grandfather's table with drawings of ships of no known rig, and renderings of La Vireville's person which his worst enemy would not have recognised. Mr. Elphinstone's reasons for this course were not far to seek. The dark day of his son-in-law's departure for the shores of France was drawing nearer more quickly than the former had at first anticipated, and the old man hoped that when it had become an accomplished fact, the new occupation would serve in a measure to absorb and distract Anne-Hilarion. He and the Marquis alike had forborne to cast a shadow on the child, so recently restored to them, by telling him how short a time was his with his father. For René de Flavigny was to join his regiment on the twelfth of June, and May was now half over. * * * * * And so, as late as June the sixth, a fine warm afternoon, the diarist, who had not yet been told, was walking in St. James's Park with his father, discussing the project which, near though it was to his heart, had not as yet greatly advanced. It was their last walk together, but only one of them guessed that. They stood a moment by the lake, where, later on, Anne proposed to feed the wildfowl. At present literary cares were too absorbing. "I wish that M. le Chevalier were here, Papa," he observed. "You see, I cannot remember the days of the month in France." "Yes," said the Marquis rather absently, "it is a pity he is not here to help you." For of La Vireville, since the day when he and Anne had parted at St. Helier, not a sign. "And then there is another thing, Papa," resumed Anne. "I cannot remember anything about the time when I was born." "That is not expected in a memoir, mon enfant," replied his father. "You state the fact, that is all. You know when your birthday comes." "Yes," assented Anne. "And that part must be in French, because I was born in France. 'Je suis né le 14 juillet 1789, au château de Flavigny.' You will tell me about that, Papa--about the château?"