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 Programming Your
Home
Automate with Arduino, Android, and
Your Computer
by Mike Riley

Version: P1.0 (February 2012)

Copyright © 2012 The Pragmatic Programmers, LLC. This book is

licensed to the individual who purchased it. We don't copy-protect
it because that would limit your ability to use it for your own
purposes. Please don't break this trust—you can use this across
all of your devices but please do not share this copy with other
members of your team, with friends, or via file sharing services.
Thanks.
—Dave & Andy.
Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products
are claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book, and The
Pragmatic Programmers, LLC was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been
printed in initial capital letters or in all capitals. The Pragmatic Starter Kit, The Pragmatic
Programmer, Pragmatic Programming, Pragmatic Bookshelf and the linking g device are
trademarks of The Pragmatic Programmers, LLC.

Every precaution was taken in the preparation of this book. However, the publisher
assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages that may result from
the use of information (including program listings) contained herein.

Our Pragmatic courses, workshops, and other products can help you and your team create
better software and have more fun. For more information, as well as the latest Pragmatic
titles, please visit us at http://pragprog.com.
​

This book is dedicated to Bill, Eileen, and Josie.

Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Preface
Who Should Read This Book
What’s in This Book
Arduinos, Androids, and iPhones, Oh My!
Code Examples and Conventions
Online Resources
Preparations
Getting Started
What Is Home Automation?
Commercial Solutions
DIY Solutions
Justifying the Investment
Setting Up Your Workbench
Sketching Out Your Ideas
Writing, Wiring, and Testing
Documenting Your Work
Requirements
Knowing the Hardware
Knowing the Software
Be Safe, Have Fun!
Projects
Water Level Notifier
What You Need
Building the Solution
Hooking It Up
Sketching Things Out
Writing the Web Mailer
Adding an Ethernet Shield
All Together Now
Next Steps
Electric Guard Dog
What You Need
Building the Solution
Dog Assembly
Dog Training
Testing It Out
Unleashing the Dog
Next Steps
Tweeting Bird Feeder
What You Need
Building the Solution
The Perch Sensor
The Seed Sensor
Going Wireless
Tweeting with Python
Putting It All Together
Next Steps
Package Delivery Detector
What You Need
Building the Solution
Hardware Assembly
Writing the Code
The Package Delivery Sketch
Testing the Delivery Sketch
The Delivery Processor
Creating the Delivery Database
Installing the Package Dependencies
Writing the Script
Testing the Delivery Processor
Setting It Up
Next Steps
Web-Enabled Light Switch
What You Need
Building the Solution
Hooking It Up
Writing the Code for the Web Client
 Testing Out the Web Client
Writing the Code for the Android Client
Testing Out the Android Client
Next Steps
Curtain Automation
What You Need
Building the Solution
Using the Stepper Motor
Programming the Stepper Motor
Adding the Sensors
Writing the Sketch
Installing the Hardware
Next Steps
Android Door Lock
What You Need
Building the Solution
Controlling the Android Door Lock
Writing the Android Server
Writing the Android Client
Test and Install
Next Steps
Giving Your Home a Voice
What You Need
Speaker Setup
Giving Lion a Voice
Wireless Mic Calibration
Programming a Talking Lion
Conversing with Your Home
Next Steps
Predictions
Future Designs
Living in the Near
The Long View
The Home of the Future
More Project Ideas
Clutter Detector
 Electricity Usage Monitor
Electric Scarecrow
Entertainment System Remote
Home Sleep Timer
Humidity Sensor-Driven Sprinkler System
Networked Smoke Detectors
Proximity Garage Door Opener
Smart HVAC Controller
Smart Mailbox
Smart Lighting
Solar and Wind Power Monitors
Appendices
Installing Arduino Libraries
Apple OSX
Linux
Windows
Bibliography

Copyright © 2012, The Pragmatic Bookshelf.

Praise for Programming Your
Home
Mike has a broad technology experience base that puts all the pieces
of some remarkable projects together. It’s amazing that he makes it
all so easy and affordable. Don’t miss all that can be learned from
this gem.

→ Michael Bengtson, Consultant

The Web-Enabled Light Switch project gave my family convenience
and security options and enhanced my knowledge of RS-232
communications. It is nice to be able to switch on lights from my
favorite chair. And the Tweeting Bird Feeder project has opened my
eyes to the uses of radio communications around the home for
things besides Wi-Fi, and it will help in my work to contribute to the
preservation of bird species that are struggling for food and habitat.

→ Bob Cochran, Information Technology Specialist

With this book, Mike Riley celebrates the Arduino microcontroller in a
way that both beginning and advanced home automation hobbyists
will enjoy.

→ Sven Davies, Vice President of Applications

This is an outstanding reference that should be on the desk of every
DIYer. In much the same way that software engineers mention “The
Gang of Four Patterns Book,” I predict this text will eventually be
referred to as “The Riley Book of Home Automation.”

→ Jon Kurz, President, Dycet, LLC

Every technology is only as exciting as the things you do with it.
Mike takes a few cheap electronics parts, an Arduino, and a bit of
code and turns your home into a much more exciting and enjoyable
place. His easy-to-follow instructions make every single one of these
projects both fun and useful.

Maik Schmidt, Software Developer, Author of Arduino: A Quick-

→
Start Guide
I’ve had more fun learning new languages, systems, and gadgets
with this book than any other book I’ve read!

→ James Schultz, Software Developer

Home automation is great fun, and Programming Your Home by
Mike Riley will get you started right away. By leveraging this book
and the easily available free/inexpensive hardware and software,
anyone can tackle some great projects.

→ Tony Williamitis, Senior Embedded Systems Engineer

This is a fun and enthusiastic survey of electronic devices that can
interact with the real world and that starts in your own home!

→ John Winans, Chief Software Architect

 Acknowledgments
I have been a lifelong tinkerer. My earliest recollection of dissecting
my father’s broken tape recorder instilled an appreciation for the
technology that drove it. From there, erector sets, model railroads,
and programmable calculators led to personal computers, mobile
devices, and microcontrollers. Over the years, this passion for
learning not only how stuff works but also how technical concepts
can be remixed with surprising, often highly satisfying results has
been liberating. That’s why this book was such a joy for me to write.

Helping others to see what’s possible by observing their

surroundings and having the desire to take an active role in making
their lives easier with technology while having fun is this book’s
primary goal. Yet without others helping me distill my ideas into
what you are reading now, this book would not have been possible.
It is to them that I wish to express my deepest gratitude for their
support.

A boatload of thanks goes to the book’s editor, Jackie Carter, who

spent countless hours ensuring that my words were constructed with
clarity and precision. Copy editor Molly McBeath did a fantastic job
catching hidden (from my view anyway) typos and grammatical
misconstructions. Big thanks to Susannah Pfalzer for her infectious
enthusiasm and boundless boosts of encouragement and to Arduino
expert and fellow Pragmatic author Maik Schmidt, whose own
success helped pave the way for a book like this.
Many thanks also go to John Winans, tech wiz extraordinaire, who
refactored the state machine code used in several of the projects, as
well as to Sven Davies, Mike Bengtson, Jon Bearscove, Kevin Gisi,
Michael Hunter, Jerry Kuch, Preston Patton, and Tony Williamitis for
helping to make this book as technically accurate and complete as it
is. Shout-outs also go to Jon Erikson and Jon Kurz for their
enthusiastic encouragement. I also want to thank Bob Cochran and
Jim Schultz for providing wonderfully helpful feedback during the
book’s beta period. Thanks also go to Philip Aaberg for filling my
ears with music to code by. And to the makers of and contributors to
the Arduino and Fritzing projects, you people have changed the
world for the better.

I am most grateful to my wife, Marinette, and my family for allowing

me to tunnel away for months in my mythical man cave to complete
this book. And I can’t gush enough over the wonderful pencil
illustrations that my daughter drew for the book. I am so proud of
you, Marielle!

Finally, I am sincerely thankful to Dave Thomas and Andy Hunt for

their passion and vision. You’re the best.

Mike Riley
mailto:mike@mikeriley.com
Naperville, IL, December 2011

Copyright © 2012, The Pragmatic Bookshelf.

 Preface
Welcome to the exciting, empowering world of home automation! If
you have ever wanted your home to do more than just protect you
against the outside elements and want to interface it to the digital
domain, this book will show you how. By demonstrating several
easy-to-build projects, you will be able to take the skills you learned
from this book and expand upon and apply them toward custom
home automation projects of your own design.

The book’s primary objective is to get you excited about the broader
possibilities for home automation and instill the confidence you need
to ultimately build upon these and your own ideas. The projects also
make great parent-child learning activities, as the finished products
instill a great sense of accomplishment. And who knows? Your nifty
home automation creations may even change the world and become
a huge new business opportunity for other homeowners actively
seeking an automation solution that saves them time and money.
Who Should Read This Book
Programming Your Home is best suited to DIYers, programmers, and
tinkerers who enjoy spending their leisure time building high-tech
solutions to further automate their lives and impress their friends
and family with their creations. Essentially, it is for those who
generally enjoy creating custom technology and electronics solutions
for their own personal living space.

A basic understanding of Arduino and programming languages like

Ruby and Python are recommended but not required. You will learn
how to combine these technologies in unique configurations to
resolve homemaker annoyances and improve home management
efficiencies.

In addition to the inclusion of Python scripts and Ruby on Rails-

based web services, several of the projects call upon Google’s
Android platform to help enhance the data event collection,
visualization, and instantiation of activities. A basic familiarity with
the Android SDK will be beneficial so that the projects that make use
of the Android OS can offer a more mobile reach.

If you’re the type of person who prefers to build versus buy your
home accessories, this book will further motivate you to use what
you learned in the book as a starting point to expand upon and
optimize them in various ways for their environment. Even though
some of the topics deal with multiple software- and hardware-based
solutions, they are easy to follow and inexpensive to build. Most of
all, they show how a few simple ideas can transform a static analog
environment into a smart digital one while having fun.
What’s in This Book
After a basic introduction to home automation and the tools of the
trade, this book will teach you how to construct and program eight
unique projects that improve home utility and leisure-time
efficiencies. Each project incorporates a variety of inexpensive
sensors, actuators, and microcontrollers that have their own unique
functions. You will assemble the hardware and codify the software
that will perform a number of functions, such as turning on and off
power switches from your phone, detecting package deliveries and
transmitting emails announcing their arrival, posting tweets on
Twitter when your bird feeder needs to be refilled, and opening and
closing curtains depending on light and temperature, and more.

Because the recommended skill set for building these solutions

includes some familiarity with programming, this book builds upon
several previously published Pragmatic Bookshelf titles. If you would
like to learn more about programming Arduinos or writing Ruby or
Python scripts, I strongly recommend checking out the books listed
in Appendix 2, ​Bibliography​.

Each project begins with a general introduction and is followed by a

What You Need section that lists the hardware parts used. This is
followed by a section called Building the Solution that provides step-
by-step instructions on assembling the hardware. Programming Your
Home will call upon the Arduino extensively for most (but not all) of
the projects. Once the hardware is constructed, it can be
programmed to perform the automation task we built it to do.
Programs can range from code for Arduino microcontrollers to scripts
that execute on a computer designed to control, capture, and
process the data from the assembled hardware elements.
Other documents randomly have
different content
several other places, just as if she were some common burgher's wench with
a none too spotless reputation, had not ended with a song or two: no! the
malapert had actually been impudent enough last night to scale the
courtyard wall and to stand for over half an hour just below Madame's
window (how he knew which was Madame's window Satan, his
accomplice, alone could tell!) singing away to the accompaniment of a
twangy lute, which she—Nicolle—for one, could never abide.

Fortunately, on that occasion Madame Jacqueline had been both modest

and discreet. She had kept well within the room and even retired into the
alcove, well out of sight of that abominable rascal; but she would not allow
Colle to close the window and had been very angry indeed when the old
woman with a few gruff and peremptory words had presently sent the
malapert away.

That was yesterday. And now this outburst of rage! It was unbelievable!
Madame Jacqueline of a truth was hot-tempered and passionate—how
could she help being otherwise, seeing that she had been indulged and
adulated ever since, poor mite of three, she had lost both father and mother
and had been under the guardianship of Monseigneur d'Inchy and of half a
dozen other gentlemen. Never, however, had Colle seen her quite like this,
and for such a worthless cause! Colle could scarce credit her eyes and ears.
And alas! there was no mistaking the flood of heartrending weeping which
followed. Jacqueline sat huddled up in her chair, her face buried in her
hands, sobbing and weeping as if her heart would break.

II

All the obstinacy in the worthy old soul melted away in an instant,
giving place to heartrending remorse. She fell on her knees, she took the
small feet of her adored mistress in her hands and kissed them and wept
over them and cried and lamented tearfully.

'Lord God, what have I done?' she called out from the depths of her
misery. 'My dove, my cabbage! Look at me—look at thy old Colle! Dost
not know that I would far sooner bite my tongue out than say one word that
would offend thee? My lamb, wilt not look at Colle?—I vow—I swear that
I'll die here on the spot at thy feet, if thou'lt not smile on me!'

Gradually as the old woman wept and pleaded, Jacqueline became more
calm. The sobs no longer shook her shoulders, but she still kept her face
hidden in her hands. A few minutes went by. Colle had buried her old head
in the young girl's lap, and after a while Jacqueline, regally condescending
to forgive, allowed her hand to fall on the bowed head of the repentant
sinner.

'I'll only forgive thee, Colle,' she said with solemn earnestness, 'if Pierre
doth not lay a finger upon that heavenly singer—but, if he does——'

Colle struggled to her feet as quickly as her stiff joints would allow.

'I'll go and find the varlet myself,' she said fiercely, ready to betray with
cowardly baseness the confederate of awhile ago, now that she had
propitiated the mistress whom she adored. 'M. de Landas hath not yet left
the Palace, and if Pierre dares but raise his hand against that mal—hem!—
against the noble singer whom thou dost honour with thine attention, well!
he'll have to reckon with old Colle; that is all!'

With Jacqueline de Broyart—who in herself appeared the very

embodiment of spring, so full of youth, of grace and of vitality was she—
sunshine and storm came in rapid succession over her moods, just as they
do over the skies when the year is young. Already her eyes, bathed in tears
of rage awhile ago, were glistening with pleasure, and her lips, which had
pouted and stormed, were parted in a smile.

'Go, Colle!' she said eagerly. 'Go at once, ere it be too late and that fool
Pierre——'

The words died upon her lips. The next instant she had jumped down
from her chair and run to the window. From some distance down the street
there had come, suddenly wafted upon the wings of the wind, the sound of a
voice singing the well-known verses of Messire de Ronsard:
 'Mignonne, allons voir si la rose
Qui ce matin avait desclose
Sa robe de pourpre au soleil
A point perdu cette vesprée
Les plis de sa robe pourprée
Et son teint au vostre pareil.'[1]

[1] 'Mignonne, come see if the rose

That this morning did unclose
Her purple robe to the sun
Hath not ere this evening lost
Of those purple petals most
And the tint with your tint one.'

(Translation by Mr. Percy Allen. Songs of Old France.)

Jacqueline knelt upon the window-seat, but she could see nothing, so she
turned back piteously to murmur to old Colle: 'Oh! if I could only see him!'

The old woman, after the experience of the past few minutes, was ready
to do anything, however abject, to further her mistress' desire.

'Put on thy mask, my pigeon,' she said, 'and then lean well out of the
window; but not too far, for fear M. de Landas should happen to be passing
in the courtyard and should see thee with thy hair down. No, no!' added the
old hypocrite obsequiously, 'there is no harm in listening to so sweet a
singer. I'll get thy purse, too, and thou canst throw him a coin or two. No
doubt the poor fellow is down-at-heels and only sings to earn his supper.'

And humble, fussy, still snivelling, Nicolle shuffled across the room,
found the satin mask and brought it to her mistress. Jacqueline fixed it over
her face; then she leaned as far out of the window as she dared to do
without fear of falling out. And, if M. de Landas saw her, why! he would be
so gladdened at the sight that he would have no ear for a mere street
musician, whilst she—Jacqueline—was just now in so soft a mood that if
M. de Landas happened to scale the wall to her casement-window—as he
had more than once threatened to do—she would return his kisses in a way
that she had never done before.

For she was deeply in love with M. de Landas, had been for years. She
had plighted her troth to him when she was a mere child, and she loved him
—oh yes! she loved him very, very much, only...

III

There was the width of the courtyard and the tall wall between
Jacqueline and the street where stood the singer whom she so longed to see.
She had caught sight of him yesterday when, to Nicolle's horror, he had
boldly scaled the wall and then had lingered for nigh on half an hour
beneath her window, singing one merry song after another, till her young
heart had been filled with a new joy, the cause of which she herself could
not quite comprehend.

She had watched him unseen, fearful lest some of the serving-men
should see him and drive him away. Fortunately Chance had been all in
favour of her new romance. M. de Landas was on duty at the Forts that
night; her guardian was still closeted with some other grave seigneurs, and
the serving-men were no doubt too busy to trouble about a harmless
minstrel. As for the wenches about the place, they had stood about in the
doorways, listening with delight at the impassioned songs and gaping in
admiration at the splendid bearing of the unknown cavalier.

Thus the singer had stood in the courtyard for some considerable time,
his martial figure silhouetted against the clear, moonlit sky, his voice rising
and falling in perfect cadence to the accompaniment of a soft-toned lute,
whilst Jacqueline, hidden within the shadow of the window-embrasure,
listened spellbound, her whole youth, her ardent, loving soul exultant at this
romance which was taking birth at her feet.
 And now he had come back, and the very night seemed to bid him
welcome. It was still quite early in March, yet the air was soft as spring. All
day the birds had been twittering under the eaves, and on the west wind had
come wafted gently the scent of budding almond blossom and of the life-
giving sap in the branches of the trees.

The stately city with its towers and steeples and cupolas lay bathed in the
light of the honey-coloured moon. Far away on the right, the elegant church
of Saint Géry up on the Mont-des-Boeufs seemed like a bar of silver which
attached old Cambray to the star-studded firmament above, and around it
were grouped the tall steeples of St. Martin, St. Waast and St. Aubert, with
the fine hexagon of Martin et Martine which crowned the Town Hall;
whilst, dominating this forest of perfect and rich architecture, was the mass
of the cathedral close by, with its tall pointed steeple, its flying buttresses,
its numberless delicate pinnacles picked out as by a fairy hand against the
background of deep azure.

But Jacqueline de Broyart had for the nonce no eyes for all that beauty.
What cared she if the wintry moon outlined all these lovely heights with
delicate lines of silver? What cared she if the shadows of stately edifices
appeared full of a golden glow by contrast with the cold blue of the lights?
Her eyes were fixed, not on the tower of St. Géry nor on the steeple of
Notre Dame: they rested upon that high and cruel wall which hid the
unknown singer from her sight.

'Mignonne!' he sang out gaily. 'Allons voir la rose——'

'Oh!' sighed Jacqueline with passionate longing. 'If I only could——!'

And her fancy went soaring into a world of romance—a world far away
from the sordid strifes, the political intrigues, the quarrels of to-day; a world
wherein men were all handsome and brave and women were all free to
grant them their hand to kiss, to listen to their songs, to reward their
prowess, to receive their homage unfettered by convention—a world, in
fact, such as Messire de Froissart had chronicled and of which Messire
Villon had sung so exquisitely.
 Then suddenly Jacqueline's dreams were rudely interrupted, as was also
the song of the unseen minstrel. Loud voices were raised and there was a
clash which made Jacqueline's very heart turn cold in her bosom.

'Colle!' she cried excitedly.

But Colle had shuffled out of the room some little while ago, in search of
Pierre, no doubt, whom evidently she had failed to find. And out there
behind that cruel wall the rough hands of that abominable varlet were being
laid on the precious person of the unsuspecting minstrel. Jacqueline felt
literally paralysed both with terror and with wrath. Colle had spoken of
Pierre's stout arm and still stouter stick, but there was also the possibility of
M. de Landas himself being about, and then—oh, then! ... Ye heavens
above! anything might happen! ... Oh! the wicked, wicked old woman and
that execrable Pierre! ... and ... and of course M. de Landas' jealousy was
sometimes terrifying!

'God in Heaven!' sighed Jacqueline. 'I entreat Thee to protect him!'

The noise of the scuffle in the street became louder and louder. There
were cries of rage as well as of pain. Blows were evidently raining freely—
on whom? My God, on whom? Then, from further up the street, came the
sound of running footsteps as well as the stern voice of the night watchmen
hurrying to the scene. Jacqueline would have bartered some years of her life
to see what was going on the other side of the wall. Only a minute or two
had gone by: to the young girl it had seemed like hours of suspense. And
now these people all rushing along, no doubt in order to give a hand to
Pierre—to fall on the unarmed minstrel—to lay hands upon him—to
belabour him with sticks—to wound or hurt him—to——

Jacqueline uttered a loud cry of horror. It was the echo of one of terror,
of pain and of rage which came from the other side of the wall. The next
moment a dark mass appeared over the top of the wall, silhouetted against
the moonlit sky. To Jacqueline's straining eyes it seemed like the body of a
man which, for the space of a brief second, seemed to hover in mid air and
then fell with a dull thud upon the paving-stones of the courtyard below.
 Jacqueline closed her eyes. She felt sick and faint. To her ears now came
the sound of loud groans and vigorous curses. And then—oh, then!—loud
laughter and the last bar of the interrupted song—a sound indeed which
caused her at once to open her eyes again; whereupon she, too, could have
laughed and sung for joy. The inert mass still lay in a heap at the foot of the
wall; Jacqueline could vaguely discern its outline in the gloom, whilst up on
the top of the wall, astride, hatless, lute in hand, sat the masked minstrel
with his head turned gazing toward her window.

She clapped her hands with glee, and he, with a loud cry of 'Mignonne!'
swung himself down from the wall and ran across the courtyard until he
came to a halt just beneath her window, and even in the dim light of this
wintry moon Jacqueline thought that she could see his eyes glowing
through the holes in the mask.

It was all so joyous, so gay, so romantic; so different—ah! so very, very

different—to the dreary monotony of Jacqueline's daily existence! This
masked and unknown minstrel! His daring, his prowess, aye! his very
impudence, which laughed at high walls and defied an army of varlets!
There was Pierre moaning and groaning, disarmed and helpless, having
been tossed over the wall just as if he were a bale of cumbersome goods!
Serve him right well, too, for having dared to measure his valour against
that of so proud a cavalier! Pierre was not hurt—oh, Jacqueline was quite
sure that he was not hurt! Nothing, nothing whatever, was going to be
wrong on this lovely, glorious evening! No! Pierre would soon be healed of
his wounds; but it was ludicrous to see him stretched out just there, where
he thought he could lay the noble singer low!

'Mignonne, allons voir si la rose,' sang the mysterious minstrel; and

Jacqueline's young heart, which was filled with the joy of romance, the
exquisite rapture of ideals, suddenly ached with a passionate longing for—
for what? She did not know. She had had so many things in life: riches,
beauty, adulation, aye! and the love of a man whom she loved in return. But
now it seemed to her as if, in spite of all that, in spite of M. de Landas and
his love, she had really lacked something all the time—something that was
both undefinable and mystic and yet was intensely and vividly real,
something that would fill her life, that would satisfy her soul and gladden
her heart, in a way that M. de Landas' love, his passionate kisses, had never
succeeded in doing hitherto.

And somehow all this longing, all this thirst for a still-unknown
happiness, seemed personified in the singer with the tall, broad stature and
the mellow voice; it was embodied in the honey-coloured moon, in the
glints of silver and gold upon the steeples of Cambray, in the scent of the
spring and the murmurs of the breeze. Jacqueline pressed her hands against
her heart. She was so happy that she could have cried.

Beside her on the window-sill stood a tall vase fashioned of Dutch clay.
It was filled with tall-stemmed Madonna lilies, which had been produced at
great cost in the hot-houses belonging to her own estate in Hainault. Their
powerful scent had filled the room with its fragrance. Without thought or
hesitation, Jacqueline suddenly pulled the sheaf out of the vase and
gathered the flowers in her arms. The tender, juicy stems were wet and she
took her embroidered handkerchief out of her pocket and wrapped it round
them; then she flung the whole sheaf of lilies out of the window and
watched to see them fall, bruised and sweet-smelling, at the minstrel's feet.

Then, half-ashamed, laughing a little hysterically, but thoroughly happy

and excited, she drew quickly back into the room and hastily closed the
casement.

IV

When, ten minutes or so later, Nicolle came back, shame-faced,

remorseful and not a little frightened, she was surprised and delighted to
find her young mistress sitting quite composedly in a high-backed chair in
the centre of the room, the window closed, and the lady herself quite eager
to go to bed.

'Thou hast been gone a long time, Colle,' said the young girl carelessly.
'Where hast thou been?'
 Old Colle sighed with relief. The Lord be praised! Madame had
evidently seen and heard nothing of that vulgar scuffle which had ended in
such disaster for poor Pierre, and in such a triumph for the impudent rascal
who had since disappeared just as quickly as he came.

'I just went round to see that those wenches were all abed and that their
lights were safely out,' replied the old woman with brazen hypocrisy.

'And didst speak to Pierre on the way?' queried Jacqueline, who had
assumed the quaintest possible air of simple ingenuousness.

'Aye!' replied the old woman dryly. 'I spoke to Pierre.'

'What did he say?'

'Nothing of importance. We talked of to-morrow's banquet.'

'To-morrow's banquet?'

'Do not feign surprise, my pigeon,' rejoined old Colle, who was
decidedly out of humour. 'I even asked thee to-night, before taking off thy
gown, if thou wouldst wear that one or another on the morrow.'

'I remember,' replied Jacqueline with a yawn, 'I said that I did not care
what I wore, as I hated banquets, and company and bowings and——'

'But Monseigneur said that the banquet to-morrow would be for a special
occasion.'

'When did he say that?'

'A moment or two ago—to Pierre.'

'And what will the special occasion be to-morrow?'

Nicolle looked mysterious.

'Maybe,' she said, 'that it is not altogether unconnected with

Monseigneur de Landas.'
 'Why with him?' asked Jacqueline eagerly.

'Oh! I am only putting two and two together, my cabbage,' replied old
Colle with a sly wink. 'There is talk of distinguished guests in Cambray, of
betrothals, and ... and ...

'Betrothals?'

'Why, yes. Thou art nearly twenty, my pigeon, and Monseigneur, thy
guardian, will have to make up his mind that thou wilt marry sooner or
later. I always thought that he did favour Monseigneur de Landas, until
——'

'Until what?' queried Jacqueline impatiently.

'There are so many rumours in the air,' replied Colle sententiously. 'Some
talk of the Duc d'Anjou, who is own brother to the King of France.'

Jacqueline made a little moue of disdain.

'Oh! Monsieur!' she said carelessly.

'A very great and noble prince, my pigeon.'

'I am tired of great and noble princes.'

'But Monseigneur, the Duc d'Anjou...'

'Is one of the many, I suppose, who want my fortune, my family

connexions, the Sovereignty of the Netherlands. Bah!' she added with an
impatient sigh. 'They sicken me!'

'A great lady, my cabbage,' said Nicolle solemnly, 'cannot follow the
dictates of her heart like a common wench.'

'Why!' exclaimed Jacqueline. 'Methought thou wast all for M. de

Landas!'
 'So I am, my pigeon, so I am!' rejoined the old woman. 'He is a very
distinguished gentleman, who loves thee ardently. But if there's one who is
own brother to the King of France....' And old Colle gave an unctuous sigh
when she spoke the exalted name.

'Bah!' retorted Jacqueline with a careless shrug of the shoulders. 'There

are others too! And no one can force me into a marriage whilst my heart is
pledged to M. de Landas.'

'No, no! Thank God for that!' assented Colle piously. 'As for the others ...
well! their name is legion ... some of them will be at the banquet to-
morrow.... There is the Marquis de Hancourt, a fine-looking youth, and that
horrid German prince whom I cannot abide! The English lord hath gone
away, so they say, broken-hearted at thy refusal; but there's the Spanish
duke, whose name I cannot remember, and Don José, own son to the
Emperor.... As for that stranger——' she added with a contemptuous shrug
of the shoulders.

'The stranger?' queried Jacqueline lazily. 'What stranger?

'Well, I don't know much about him. But Pierre, feeling crestfallen, did
admit that Monseigneur chided him severely for having shown a want of
respect to a gentleman who ought to have known better than to pretend to
be a street musician.'

But Jacqueline appeared all of a sudden to have lost interest in the

conversation. 'Ah!' she said with well-assumed indifference, 'then the street
musician of awhile ago was a gentleman in disguise?'

'Aye! so Pierre said—the fool!' quoth old Colle unblushingly.

'Monseigneur was very angry with him when he heard of the altercation
with the singer, threatened to speak of the matter to M. de Landas and have
Pierre flogged or dismissed for his interference. Then he hinted that the
stranger, far from being a street musician, was a foreign seigneur of high
degree, even if of scanty fortune.'

'Oh!' commented Jacqueline carelessly.

 'And he e'en ordered Pierre to go and apologize most humbly to the
stranger, who it seems is lodging in a very poor hostelry known as "Les
Trois Rois," just close to the Porte Notre Dame.'

Jacqueline ostentatiously smothered a yawn.

'I think I'll go to bed now, Colle,' she said.

But Colle's tongue, once loosened, could not so easily be checked.

'Town gossip,' she went on with great volubility, 'has been busy with that
stranger for the past two days. 'Tis said that he is styled Monseigneur le
Prince de Froidmont; though what a prince should be doing in a shabby
hostel in that squalid quarter of the city I, for one, do not know—nor why
he should be going about masked and cloaked through the city in the guise
of a vagabond.'

'Perhaps the vagabond is no prince after all,' suggested Jacqueline.

'That's what I say,' asserted Colle triumphantly. 'And that's what Pierre
thought until Monseigneur told him that if he did not go at once and offer
his humble apologies he surely would get a flogging, seeing that the Prince
de Froidmont would actually be a guest at the banquet to-morrow, and
would of a certainty complain to M. de Landas.'

'A guest at the banquet!' exclaimed Jacqueline involuntarily.'

'Aye!' assented Colle. 'Didst ever hear the like! But he must be a
distinguished seigneur for all that, or Monseigneur would not bid him
come.'

'No, I suppose not,' said Jacqueline with perfect indifference. 'The Prince
de Froidmont?' she added with a little yawn. 'Is that his name?'

'So the town gossips say,' replied Colle, who was busy just then in
wrapping the bed-gown round her young mistress's shoulders.
 'And he comes to the banquet to-morrow?'

'So Monseigneur said to Pierre.'

Jacqueline said nothing more for the moment, appeared to have lost all
interest in the masked musician and in Pierre's misdeeds. She stretched out
her arms lazily while vigorous old Colle picked her up as if she were a baby
and carried her—as she was wont to do every night—to her bed.

She laid her down upon the soft feather mattress and spread the fine
coverlets over her. The alcove wherein stood the monumental bedstead was
in semi-darkness, for the light from the wax candles in the sconces about
the room failed to penetrate into the recess. But that semi-darkness was
restful, and for awhile Jacqueline lay back against the pillows, with eyes
closed, in a state of that complete well-being which is one of the
monopolies of youth. Nicolle, thinking that Madame would be dropping off
to sleep, made a movement to go; but Jacqueline's small white hand had
hold of the old woman's bony fingers, and old Colle, abjectly happy at
feeling the pressure, remained quite still, waiting and watching, gazing with
doglike devotion on the lovely face—lovely in repose as it was when the
light of gaiety and roguishness danced in the blue eyes.

After a few minutes of this silent beatitude, Jacqueline opened her eyes
and said in a dreamy voice, half-asleep:

'Tell me, Colle, which is my prettiest gown?'

And Nicolle—herself more than half-way to the land of Nod—roused

herself in order to reply: 'The white one with the pearls, my pigeon.'

She was sufficiently awake to feel quite happy at the thought that
Madame was suddenly taking an interest in her clothes, and continued
eagerly: 'It hath an underdress of that lovely new green colour which hath
become the mode of late, and all embroidered with silver. Nothing more
beautiful hath ever been fashioned by tailors' art, and in it Madame looks
just like an exquisite white lily, with the delicate green stem below.'
 'Well then, Colle,' rejoined Jacqueline dreamily, 'to-morrow evening I
will wear my white satin gown with the pearls and the underdress of green
and silver, and Mathurine must study a new way of doing my hair with the
pointed coif which they say is so modish now in France. I will wear my
stockings of crimson silk and my velvet shoes, and round my neck I'll wear
the ropes of pearls which my dear mother did bequeath to me; in my ears I'll
have the emerald earrings, and I'll wear the emerald ring upon my finger. I
wish I had not that ugly mole upon my left cheek-bone, for then I could
have had one of those tiny patches of black taffeta which are said to be so
becoming to the complexion....'

She paused, and added with quaint wistfulness: 'Think you, Colle, that I
shall look handsome?'

'As lovely as a picture, my dear one,' said Nicolle with enthusiasm. 'As
exquisite as a lily; fit only to be the bride of a King.'

Jacqueline gave a quick sigh of satisfaction, after which she allowed

Colle to give her a kiss and to bid her a final 'good night.'

And even as she fell gradually into the delicious and dreamless sleep of
youth, her lips murmured softly: 'I wonder!'

CHAPTER VIII

WHAT BECAME OF THE LILIES

I
 Gilles had spent four days at the hostelry of 'Les Trois Rois,' and here he
would have liked to remain indefinitely and to continue the sentimental
romance so happily begun beneath the casement-windows of the
Archiepiscopal Palace. With the light-heartedness peculiar to most soldiers
of fortune, he had during those four days succeeded in putting his rôle out
of his mind. Though he had not yet caught sight of Madame's face at her
window, he quite thought that he would do so in time, and already he had
received more than one indication that his singing was not unwelcome. The
casement had been deliberately thrown open when he had scaled the
courtyard wall, and had resumed his song immediately beneath the window
which he had ascertained belonged to Madame's private apartment. He had
felt, even though he did not actually see, that some one was listening to him
from up there, for once he had perceived a shadow upon the casement
curtain, and once a hand, small and delicate, had rested upon the window-
sill. Gilles would have continued this wooing—aye! perhaps have brought it
to a happy conclusion, he thought—without being forced to assume another
personality than his own: a thing which became more and more abhorrent to
Messire Gilles' temper, now that the time for starting the masquerade in
earnest was drawing nigh.

'We could make ourselves very happy here, honest Jehan,' he had said to
the faithful companion of his many adventures. 'Waited on by that silent and
zealous youth, who of a truth looks like the very ghost of silence and
discretion. With judicious economy, the money which a gracious Queen
hath placed in our hands would last us a year. It seems a pity to fritter it all
away in a few weeks by playing a rôle which is detestable and unworthy.'

'B-b-b-but——' stammered old Jehan.

'You are quite right,' broke in Gilles gravely. 'Your argument is very
sound. The money, my friend, was given unto us in order to play a certain
rôle, and that rôle we must now play whether we like it or not, on pain of
being branded as vagabonds and thieves.'

'V-v-v-very——' stammered poor Jehan.

'As you say,' remarked Gilles dryly, 'I have always found you of good
counsel, my friend. Very likely—that is what you would say, is it not?—
very likely, unless we played our parts as Madame la Reyne de Navarre did
direct, Monseigneur le Baron d'Inchy would discover the fraud and have us
both hanged for our pains. And if the hangman did happen to miss us,
Madame Marguerite would certainly see to it that a gibbet was ready for us
somewhere in France. So for this once, I think, mine honest Jehan, we must
take it that honesty will be the best policy.'

'O-o-o-only th-th-th-that——'

'Quite so!' assented Gilles, 'only that in this case we cannot contrive to
remain honest without being dishonest, which is a proposition that doth
gravely disturb my mind.'

'Th-th-th-the o-o-o-only——'

'Hold your tongue, friend Jehan,' broke in Gilles impatiently. 'Verily, you
talk a great deal too much!'

II

And now, at the very close of the fourth day, Messire Gilles made noisy
irruption into the tiny room which he occupied in the hostelry of 'Les Trois
Rois.' Maître Jehan—after the stormy episode outside the postern gate
wherein he had taken part—was in the room, waiting for his master.

Gilles was in the rarest of good humour. As soon as he had closed the
door behind him, he threw his plumed toque and the lute upon the table and,
sitting down on the narrow paillasse which was his bed, he fell to
contemplating a bunch of white lilies which he had in his hand. The stems
of these lilies were carefully wrapped in an embroidered handkerchief, but
they hung their bruised, if still fragrant, heads in a very doleful manner.

Gilles laughed softly to himself. Then he held the flowers out at arm's
length and called out gaily to Jehan:
 'Congratulate me, honest Jehan!' he said. 'The first act of our
adventurous comedy is over. The curtain has rung down on a veritable
triumph! I have received a token! ... I have captured the first bastion in the
citadel of the fair one's heart! Give me a week, and I hold the entire fortress
for and on behalf of Monsieur Duc d'Anjou, our august master!'

'Th-th-th-then you h-h-h-have——'

'No, I have not seen her, my good man. All that fine fight outside the
walls, the complete discomfiture of our assailants, my perilous position
inside the courtyard, from whence a reinforcement of varlets might easily
have put me to flight, did not win for me even a glimpse of the lady. But her
window was wide open this time, and I could see her shadow flitting past
the casement. Then suddenly these lilies were flung at me. They were
crushed and bruised against the pavement as they fell; but they are a token,
friend Jehan, and you cannot deny it! Madame Jacqueline's heart is already
touched by the song of the unknown troubadour, and he hath but to present
himself before her to be graciously received.'

'B-b-b-b-but——' said Jehan with grave solemnity.

'That's just it!' broke in Gilles with a laugh. 'You have a way, my friend,
of hitting the right nail on the head. As you say, the four days' respite which
have been granted to us have now expired, and we have not yet seen the
future Duchesse d'Anjou face to face.'

'N-n-n-not yet! Th-th-th-that——'

'That is the trouble, I grant you. There is that infernal masquerade; and of
a truth, I am more convinced than ever that the reason why those noble
mynheers are so determined that Madame shall not show her face ere I have
irrevocably committed myself—I—that is, the Duc d'Anjou—that is——
Oh, my God!' he exclaimed. 'What a tangle!! Well, as I was saying.... By the
way, what was I saying just now?'

'Th-th-th-that——'
 'Of course! You incorrigible chatterbox! I would have explained my
meaning before now if you had not talked nineteen to the dozen all the
time! I mean that I have completely changed my mind, and that I have
become convinced that Madame Jacqueline is as ugly as sin, else those wily
Dutchmen would not be so anxious to cover up her face.'

'Th-th-th-therefore——' asserted Jehan stoutly.

'Therefore, my good man, good fortune is in our debt. She did not favour
me with a sight of the lady ere I meet her in my official capacity. But
Madame Jacqueline hath given me a token: she is prepared to love me, and
I am still in the dark as to whether she squints or is pitted with pock-marks.
A terrible position for any man to be in!' he sighed dolefully, 'even though
he is out a-courting for a friend.'

'B-b-b-but——'

'You mean well, my friend,' quoth Gilles, who fell to contemplating the
bunch of faded lilies with a rueful expression of face. 'You mean well, but
you talk too much, and thus I am thrown on mine own resources for counsel
in an emergency. As for arguments! Why, you would argue the devil's horns
from off his head! Still,' he added, as he finally flung the lilies away from
him with a careless gesture of indifference, 'still, in spite of what you say, I
must stick to my bargain. Those mulish mynheers will not grant us any
further delay, and to-morrow I am pledged to appear at the governor's
banquet—yes, even I!—Monsieur Duc d'Anjou et d'Alençon, own brother
to the King of France, and you as my faithful servitor.'

'N-n-n-not a m-m-minute t-t-too soon,' Maître Jehan managed to blurt

out quickly whilst Gilles had paused for breath.

'Ah! there you are wrong, my friend,' retorted Gilles. 'For my taste, the
dénouement is coming along at far too rapid a pace. To-morrow, already our
troubles will begin—peace will know us no more. I for one will never
rightly know who I am; nor will I know who it is who will know who I am
not. Oh, my Lord!' he added in mock despair, as he rested his elbows on his
knees and buried his head in his hands. 'My head will split ere I have done!
Tell me, Jehan, who I shall be to-morrow.'
 'T-t-t-to-morrow,' stammered Jehan with painful earnestness, 'you—you
—you——you will b-b-b-b-be——'

'Own brother to His Majesty the King of France,' said Gilles, 'and as
great blackguard as ever disgraced a Royal house. To Monseigneur the
governor, and maybe also to some of his friends, I shall be a Royal prince.
To others, and notably to Madame Jacqueline de Broyart, I shall be the
Prince de Froidmont—an insignificant and penniless seigneur who only
dares approach the far-famed heiress under cover of a mask, having fallen
desperately in love with her. Ah, Jehan! Jehan!' he added with mock
solemnity, 'thou art of a truth a lucky devil! Thou canst keep thine own
name, thine own rank, even thine own ludicrous stutter: whereas I,—what
shall I be? A mime! A buffoon! And what's more, a fraudulent varlet,
pledged to deceive an innocent wench into the belief that her future lord is
both sentimental and amorous and can sing the love ditties writ by Messire
de Ronsard with passable tunefulness.... Ye gods, Jehan, hast ever heard
Monsieur Duc d'Anjou—the real one, I mean—sing?'

'N-n-n-no!' objected Jehan in pious horror, for he did not like to hear so
exalted a personage derided.

'Then hast ever heard the barn-door rooster calling to his favourite hen?'

'S-s-s-s-sometimes!'

'Well!' quoth Gilles lightly, 'so have I. And I prefer the barn-door rooster!
And now to bed, friend Jehan,' he added as he jumped to his feet. 'To-
morrow is the great day! Didst take my letter to the governor's palace?'

'I d-d-d-did.'

'And didst see Monseigneur the governor himself?'

Jehan nodded affirmatively.

'Gave him my letter?'

Another nod from Jehan.

 'Did he look pleased?'

A shrug of the shoulders this time.

'Said he would be honoured to see Monseigneur le Duc d'Alençon et

d'Anjou at the banquet to-morrow?'

Once again a nod.

'Then to bed, chatterbox!' concluded Gilles gaily, 'for to-morrow I begin

my career as a low, deceitful hound, fit only for the gibbet, which I dare
swear is already prepared for me!'

III

Jehan helped his master to undress. He pulled off the heavy boots and
laid aside the cloth jerkin, the kerseymere trunks and worsted hose. Then,
when Messire Gilles lay stretched out upon the hard paillasse, honest Jehan
bade him a quiet good night and went off carrying the guttering candle. For
one candle had to do duty for two customers, or even at times for three, at
the hostel of 'Les Trois Rois.' These were not days of luxurious
caravanserai: eight square feet of floor space, a tiny leaded window, a straw
paillasse, perhaps a table and a rickety chair, made up the sum total of a
furnished bedroom, if destined for a person of quality. Men like Maître
Jehan had to be content with the bare boards and a horse-blanket outside
their master's door, or behind a wooden partition set up inside the latter's
room.

Jehan went off, then, with the candle, and Gilles de Crohin remained in
almost total darkness, for the light of the moon failed to penetrate through
the narrow aperture which went by the name of window. For a long time
Messire Gilles lay motionless, staring into the gloom. Vague pictures
seemed to flit before his gaze: the unknown girl whom he was pledged to
woo appeared and disappeared before him, now walking across his line of
vision with stately dignity, now dancing a wild rigadoon like some unruly
country wench; but always, and with irritating persistence, wearing a mask