human
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!