Five more years passed, and old Monsieur Henri grew older in the solitude of his insular “kingdom.” Now, whether it were the effect of his strange and lonely life, the approach of extreme old age, or the misfortunes of his beloved Bourbons, or all of these causes combined, I know not, but the mind of the old man became deranged upon one subject, his grand passion became a monomania, his jest grew earnest, his ownership of the Island appeared the sovereignty of a kingdom, and his letters to his sister-in-law and nephew were signed—with more rigid formality of course than a real monarch would have used— “HENRI, BY GRACE OF GOD, KING OF THE ISLES.” For as his monomania grew, he imagined that his sovereign sway extended over all the Islands of the Bay. At first, as his letters betrayed no other sign of the writer’s mental alienation, his sister-in-law deemed this signature an odd piece of pleasantry, as indeed in the first instance it might have been; but when letter after letter came, gravely signed in this manner, and when, in addition, he expressed his great anxiety to see her son, the “Prince,” his nephew—Madame’s eyes were opened! “This unfortunate old beast is mad!” she said; “we must look after him!” But just as Madame came to this conclusion, her own especial family affairs demanded her exclusive attention. Her son Monsieur Victoire was on trial for treason; Victoire’s baby-bride had a baby of her own that must be concealed; her “pensionnat” was broken up; her character was impeached; and finally the necessity of a change of residence was for all these reasons imperative. She only waited the result of Victoire’s trial, and when he was condemned to Algiers, she gathered together the remnants of her property, turned the whole into cash, took her stolen grandchild, whom she chose, for private reasons of her own, to represent, for the present, to its mother, as dead,—and went down to Dijon. Thence she wrote to her brother-in-law, “His Majesty, the King of the Isles,” that her son, the “Prince,” his nephew, had experienced unheard-of misfortunes, through his devotion to his allies, the Bourbons; and that he was now banished to Algeria. But that his “Highness” had left a child, an infant daughter, an angel of beauty; and—what should she do with this child? The course of months brought back the old man’s answer. The “King of the Isles” expressed the most exalted admiration of his nephew, the Prince’s heroism, and the most profound sorrow for his misfortunes; and ended by entreating his unhappy sister-in-law to bring the “Princess,” her granddaughter, to be educated at his own court.