"In all the years he had heard not so much as one syllable from the exile, but even this did not discourage him. He began his search in New England, shrewdly suspecting that 'Louis Durant' might not have traveled very far from his first landing-place. Many weeks and months of absolutely useless and fruitless effort followed. No one in any of the large cities, or even in the smaller towns, seemed to have heard of 'Louis Charles Durant' or of any one corresponding to his description. It was by sheer accident--when Jean Mettot's horse (he made it a practice to travel about on horseback) went lame one stormy night right by your Paradise Green--that he was forced to ask for a night's shelter in one of the only two houses on the Green at that time. It was on the door of the Durant house that he knocked, and none other than the dauphin himself opened it!" At this point in the narrative Sue and Carol breathed a long sigh of intense interest, and the Imp came closer and rested her hand on Monsieur's knee. "Yes, it is marvelous, is it not?" he went on. "There is a proverb which says, 'Truth is stranger than fiction,' and I have always found it so. I leave you to imagine the meeting between those two, for they quickly recognized each other. After a time Mettot heard the whole story from the dauphin. It ran like this: "He had come to America, landing in New England and wandering about for a time, almost penniless and earning his way as he went by doing odds and ends of labor for the farmers. Singularly enough, he enjoyed it. Does it seem strange to you, _mes enfants_, that a king should enjoy himself in this fashion? Ah, but he no longer wished to be a king! Not for all the riches of the earth would he have gone back to his country and assumed his rightful title. His terrible childhood years in prison had given him a longing only for freedom and independence of thought and action and a desire for the most absolute simplicity of life. "To Jean Mettot he confided how at length he had drifted out to this present farmstead, had apprenticed himself to the good farmer who owned it, and how for several years he had served him faithfully and well for a sum that was a mere pittance, but on which he could live happily. Two years later the farmer's daughter, who had married some time before, came home to her father's house a widow. After a time she and the dauphin became mutually attracted to each other and married. Six months after their marriage the farmer died, leaving his farm to his daughter and her husband, the unknown dauphin. At the time of Jean Mettot's visit they had a fine little son, then ten or twelve years old, and were as happy and contented as could well be imagined.