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diff --git a/old/ftrdk10h.htm b/old/ftrdk10h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 1fe6e7a..0000000 --- a/old/ftrdk10h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15626 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of **After Dark**, by Wilkie Collins. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> -/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ -<!-- - p { margin-top: .75em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .75em; - } - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; - } - hr { width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; - } - - table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} - - body{margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; - } - - .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ - .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ - .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; - padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; - float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; - font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} - - .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} - .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} - .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} - .br {border-right: solid 2px;} - .bbox {border: solid 2px;} - - .center {text-align: center;} - .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - .u {text-decoration: underline;} - - .caption {font-weight: bold;} - - .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} - - .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: - 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} - - .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} - - .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} - .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} - - .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} - .poem br {display: none;} - .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} - .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em;} - .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} - .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} - // --> - /* XML end ]]>*/ - </style> - </head> -<body> -<h1>**The Project Gutenberg EBook of After Dark, by Wilkie Collins**</h1> -<p>#14 in our series by Wilkie Collins</p> - -<pre> - -Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the -copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing -this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. - -This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project -Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the -header without written permission. - -Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the -eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is -important information about your specific rights and restrictions in -how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a -donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** - - -Title: After Dark - -Author: Wilkie Collins - -Release Date: February, 1999 [EBook #1626] -[An HTML version was first posted on March 27, 2003] -[Date last updated: October 22, 2005] - -Edition: 10 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-Latin-1 - -Etext prepared by James Rusk -The first HTML version was produced by Walter Debeuf - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AFTER DARK *** - - - - - -</pre> - - -<hr style="width: 65%;" /> -<h1><a name="AFTER_DARK" id="AFTER_DARK"></a>AFTER DARK</h1> - -<h4>by Wilkie Collins</h4> - -<hr style="width: 65%;" /> - -<h4 style="text-align: left">Table of Contents<br /> -<a href="#preface">Preface To After Dark</a><br /> -<a href="#leaves">Leaves From Leah's Diary</a><br /> -<a href="#prologue1">Prologue To The First Story</a><br /> -<a href="#story1">The Traveler's Story Of A Terribly Strange Bed</a><br /> -<a href="#prologue2">Prologue To The Second Story</a><br /> -<a href="#story2">The Lawyer's Story Of A Stolen Letter</a><br /> -<a href="#prologue3">Prologue To The Third Story</a><br /> -<a href="#story3">The French Governess's Story Of Sister Rose</a><br /> -<a href="#epilogue3">Epilogue To The Third Story</a><br /> -<a href="#prologue4">Prologue To The Fourth Story</a><br /> -<a href="#story4">The Angler's Story Of The Lady Of Glenwith Grange</a><br /> -<a href="#prologue5">Prologue To The Fifth Story</a><br /> -<a href="#story5">The Nun's Story Of Gabriel's Marriage</a><br /> -<a href="#prologue6">Prologue To The Sixth Story</a><br /> -<a href="#story6">The Professor's Story Of The Yellow Mask</a><br /> -<a href="#lastleaves">Last Leaves From Leah's Diary</a><br /> -</h4> - -<hr style="width: 65%;" /> -<h3><a name="preface" id="preface"></a>PREFACE TO "AFTER DARK."</h3> - -<p>I have taken some pains to string together the various stories -contained in this Volume on a single thread of interest, which, -so far as I know, has at least the merit of not having been used -before.</p> - -<p>The pages entitled "Leah's Diary" are, however, intended to -fulfill another purpose besides that of serving as the frame-work -for my collection of tales. In this part of the book, and -subsequently in the Prologues to the stories, it has been my -object to give the reader one more glimpse at that artist-life -which circumstances have afforded me peculiar opportunities of -studying, and which I have already tried to represent, under -another aspect, in my fiction, "Hide-and-Seek." This time I wish -to ask some sympathy for the joys and sorrows of a poor traveling -portrait-painter—presented from his wife's point of view in -"Leah's Diary," and supposed to be briefly and simply narrated by -himself in the Prologues to the stories. I have purposely kept -these two portions of the book within certain limits; only -giving, in the one case, as much as the wife might naturally -write in her diary at intervals of household leisure; and, in the -other, as much as a modest and sensible man would be likely to -say about himself and about the characters he met with in his -wanderings. If I have been so fortunate as to make my idea -intelligible by this brief and simple mode of treatment, and if I -have, at the same time, achieved the necessary object of -gathering several separate stories together as neatly-fitting -parts of one complete whole, I shall have succeeded in a design -which I have for some time past been very anxious creditably to -fulfill.</p> - -<p>Of the tales themselves, taken individually, I have only to say, -by way of necessary explanation, that "The Lady of Glenwith -Grange" is now offered to the reader for the first time; and that -the other stories have appeared in the columns of <i>Household -Words</i>. My best thanks are due to Mr. Charles Dickens for his -kindness in allowing me to set them in their present frame-work.</p> - -<p>I must also gratefully acknowledge an obligation of another kind -to the accomplished artist, Mr. W. S. Herrick, to whom I am -indebted for the curious and interesting facts on which the tales -of "The Terribly Strange Bed" and "The Yellow Mask" are founded.</p> - -<p>Although the statement may appear somewhat superfluous to those -who know me, it may not be out of place to add, in conclusion, -that these stories are entirely of my own imagining, -constructing, and writing. The fact that the events of some of my -tales occur on foreign ground, and are acted out by foreign -personages, appears to have suggested in some quarters the -inference that the stories themselves might be of foreign origin. -Let me, once for all, assure any readers who may honor me with -their attention, that in this, and in all other cases, they may -depend on the genuineness of my literary offspring. The little -children of my brain may be weakly enough, and may be sadly in -want of a helping hand to aid them in their first attempts at -walking on the stage of this great world; but, at any rate, they -are not borrowed children. The members of my own literary family -are indeed increasing so fast as to render the very idea of -borrowing quite out of the question, and to suggest serious -apprehension that I may not have done adding to the large -book-population, on my own sole responsibility, even yet.</p> - - -<h2>AFTER DARK.</h2> - -<h3><a name="leaves" id="leaves"></a>LEAVES FROM LEAH'S DIARY.</h3> - -<p>26th February, 1827.—The doctor has just called for the third -time to examine my husband's eyes. Thank God, there is no fear at -present of my poor William losing his sight, provided he can be -prevailed on to attend rigidly to the medical instructions for -preserving it. These instructions, which forbid him to exercise -his profession for the next six months at least, are, in our -case, very hard to follow. They will but too probably sentence us -to poverty, perhaps to actual want; but they must be borne -resignedly, and even thankfully, seeing that my husband's forced -cessation from work will save him from the dreadful affliction of -loss of sight. I think I can answer for my own cheerfulness and -endurance, now that we know the worst. Can I answer for our -children also? Surely I can, when there are only two of them. It -is a sad confession to make, but now, for the first time since my -marriage, I feel thankful that we have no more.</p> - -<p>17th.—A dread came over me last night, after I had comforted -William as well as I could about the future, and had heard him -fall off to sleep, that the doctor had not told us the worst. -Medical men do sometimes deceive their patients, from what has -always seemed to me to be misdirected kindness of heart. The mere -suspicion that I had been trifled with on the subject of my -husband's illness, caused me such uneasiness, that I made an -excuse to get out, and went in secret to the doctor. Fortunately, -I found him at home, and in three words I confessed to him the -object of my visit.</p> - -<p>He smiled, and said I might make myself easy; he had told us the -worst.</p> - -<p>"And that worst," I said, to make certain, "is, that for the next -six months my husband must allow his eyes to have the most -perfect repose?"</p> - -<p>"Exactly," the doctor answered. "Mind, I don't say that he may -not dispense with his green shade, indoors, for an hour or two at -a time, as the inflammation gets subdued. But I do most -positively repeat that he must not <i>employ</i> his eyes. He must not -touch a brush or pencil; he must not think of taking another -likeness, on any consideration whatever, for the next six months. -His persisting in finishing those two portraits, at the time when -his eyes first began to fail, was the real cause of all the bad -symptoms that we have had to combat ever since. I warned him (if -you remember, Mrs. Kerby?) when he first came to practice in our -neighborhood."</p> - -<p>"I know you did, sir," I replied. "But what was a poor traveling -portrait-painter like my husband, who lives by taking likenesses -first in one place and then in another, to do? Our bread depended -on his using his eyes, at the very time when you warned him to -let them have a rest."</p> - -<p>"Have you no other resources? No money but the money Mr. Kerby -can get by portrait-painting?" asked the doctor.</p> - -<p>"None," I answered, with a sinking at my heart as I thought of -his bill for medical attendance.</p> - -<p>"Will you pardon me?" he said, coloring and looking a little -uneasy, "or, rather, will you ascribe it to the friendly interest -I feel in you, if I ask whether Mr. Kerby realizes a comfortable -income by the practice of his profession? Don't," he went on -anxiously, before I could reply—"pray don't think I make this -inquiry from a motive of impertinent curiosity!"</p> - -<p>I felt quite satisfied that he could have no improper motive for -asking the question, and so answered it at once plainly and -truly.</p> - -<p>"My husband makes but a small income," I said. "Famous London -portrait-painters get great prices from their sitters; but poor -unknown artists, who only travel about the country, are obliged -to work hard and be contented with very small gains. After we -have paid all that we owe here, I am afraid we shall have little -enough left to retire on, when we take refuge in some cheaper -place."</p> - -<p>"In that case," said the good doctor (I am so glad and proud to -remember that I always liked him from the first!), "in that case, -don't make yourself anxious about my bill when you are thinking -of clearing off your debts here. I can afford to wait till Mr. -Kerby's eyes are well again, and I shall then ask him for a -likeness of my little daughter. By that arrangement we are sure -to be both quits, and both perfectly satisfied."</p> - -<p>He considerately shook hands and bade me farewell before I could -say half the grateful words to him that were on my lips. Never, -never shall I forget that he relieved me of my two heaviest -anxieties at the most anxious time of my life. The merciful, -warm-hearted man! I could almost have knelt down and kissed his -doorstep, as I crossed it on my way home.</p> - -<p>18th.—If I had not resolved, after what happened yesterday, to -look only at the cheerful side of things for the future, the -events of to-day would have robbed me of all my courage, at the -very outset of our troubles. First, there was the casting up of -our bills, and the discovery, when the amount of them was -balanced against all the money we have saved up, that we shall -only have between three and four pounds left in the cash-box, -after we have got out of debt. Then there was the sad necessity -of writing letters in my husband's name to the rich people who -were ready to employ him, telling them of the affliction that had -overtaken him, and of the impossibility of his executing their -orders for portraits for the next six months to come. And, -lastly, there was the heart-breaking business for me to go -through of giving our landlord warning, just as we had got -comfortably settled in our new abode. If William could only have -gone on with his work, we might have stopped in this town, and in -these clean, comfortable lodgings for at least three or four -months. We have never had the use of a nice empty garret before, -for the children to play in; and I never met with any landlady so -pleasant to deal with in the kitchen as the landlady here. And -now we must leave all this comfort and happiness, and go—I -hardly know where. William, in his bitterness, says to the -workhouse; but that shall never be, if I have to go out to -service to prevent it. The darkness is coming on, and we must -save in candles, or I could write much more. Ah, me! what a day -this has been. I have had but one pleasant moment since it began; -and that was in the morning, when I set my little Emily to work -on a bead purse for the kind doctor's daughter. My child, young -as she is, is wonderfully neat-handed at stringing beads; and -even a poor little empty purse as a token of our gratitude, is -better than nothing at all.</p> - -<p>19th.—A visit from our best friend—our only friend here—the -doctor. After he had examined William's eyes, and had reported -that they were getting on as well as can be hoped at present, he -asked where we thought of going to live? I said in the cheapest -place we could find, and added that I was about to make inquiries -in the by-streets of the town that very day. "Put off those -inquiries," he said, "till you hear from me again. I am going now -to see a patient at a farmhouse five miles off. (You needn't look -at the children, Mrs. Kerby, it's nothing infectious—only a -clumsy lad, who has broken his collarbone by a fall from a -horse.) They receive lodgers occasionally at the farmhouse, and I -know no reason why they should not be willing to receive you. If -you want to be well housed and well fed at a cheap rate, and if -you like the society of honest, hearty people, the farm of -Appletreewick is the very place for you. Don't thank me till you -know whether I can get you these new lodgings or not. And in the -meantime settle all your business affairs here, so as to be able -to move at a moment's notice." With those words the kind-hearted -gentleman nodded and went out. Pray heaven he may succeed at the -farmhouse! We may be sure of the children's health, at least, if -we live in the country. Talking of the children, I must not omit -to record that Emily has nearly done one end of the bead purse -already.</p> - -<p>20th.—A note from the doctor, who is too busy to call. Such good -news! They will give us two bedrooms, and board us with the -family at Appletreewick for seventeen shillings a week. By my -calculations, we shall have three pounds sixteen shillings left, -after paying what we owe here. That will be enough, at the -outset, for four weeks' living at the farmhouse, with eight -shillings to spare besides. By embroidery-work I can easily make -nine shillings more to put to that, and there is a fifth week -provided for. Surely, in five weeks' time—considering the number -of things I can turn my hand to—we may hit on some plan for -getting a little money. This is what I am always telling my -husband, and what, by dint of constantly repeating it, I am -getting to believe myself. William, as is but natural, poor -fellow, does not take so lighthearted view of the future as I do. -He says that the prospect of sitting idle and being kept by his -wife for months to come, is something more wretched and hopeless -than words can describe. I try to raise his spirits by reminding -him of his years of honest hard work for me and the children, and -of the doctor's assurance that his eyes will get the better, in -good time, of their present helpless state. But he still sighs -and murmurs—being one of the most independent and high spirited -of men—about living a burden on his wife. I can only answer, -what in my heart of hearts I feel, that I took him for Better and -for Worse; that I have had many years of the Better, and that, -even in our present trouble, the Worse shows no signs of coming -yet!</p> - -<p>The bead purse is getting on fast. Red and blue, in a pretty -striped pattern.</p> - -<p>21st.—A busy day. We go to Appletreewick to-morrow. Paying bills -and packing up. All poor William's new canvases and -painting-things huddled together into a packing-case. He looked -so sad, sitting silent with his green shade on, while his old -familiar working materials were disappearing around him, as if he -and they were never to come together again, that the tears would -start into my eyes, though I am sure I am not one of the crying -sort. Luckily, the green shade kept him from seeing me: and I -took good care, though the effort nearly choked me, that he -should not hear I was crying, at any rate.</p> - -<p>The bead purse is done. How are we to get the steel rings and -tassels for it? I am not justified now in spending sixpence -unnecessarily, even for the best of purposes.</p> - -<p>22d.——-</p> - -<p>23d. <i>The Farm of Appletreewick.</i>—Too tired, after our move -yesterday, to write a word in my diary about our journey to this -delightful place. But now that we are beginning to get settled, I -can manage to make up for past omissions.</p> - -<p>My first occupation on the morning of the move had, oddly enough, -nothing to do with our departure for the farmhouse. The moment -breakfast was over I began the day by making Emily as smart and -nice-looking as I could, to go to the doctor's with the purse. -She had her best silk frock on, showing the mending a little in -some places, I am afraid, and her straw hat trimmed with my -bonnet ribbon. Her father's neck-scarf, turned and joined so that -nobody could see it, made a nice mantilla for her; and away she -went to the doctor's, with her little, determined step, and the -purse in her hand (such a pretty hand that it is hardly to be -regretted I had no gloves for her). They were delighted with the -purse—which I ought to mention was finished with some white -beads; we found them in rummaging among our boxes, and they made -beautiful rings and tassels, contrasting charmingly with the blue -and red of the rest of the purse. The doctor and his little girl -were, as I have said, delighted with the present; and they gave -Emily, in return, a workbox for herself, and a box of sugar-plums -for her baby sister. The child came back all flushed with the -pleasure of the visit, and quite helped to keep up her father's -spirits with talking to him about it. So much for the highly -interesting history of the bead purse.</p> - -<p>Toward the afternoon the light cart from the farmhouse came to -fetch us and our things to Appletreewick. It was quite a warm -spring day, and I had another pang to bear as I saw poor William -helped into the cart, looking so sickly and sad, with his -miserable green shade, in the cheerful sunlight. "God only knows, -Leah, how this will succeed with us," he said, as we started; -then sighed, and fell silent again.</p> - -<p>Just outside the town the doctor met us. "Good luck go with you!" -he cried, swinging his stick in his usual hasty way; "I shall -come and see you as soon as you are all settled at the -farmhouse." "Good-by, sir," says Emily, struggling up with all -her might among the bundles in the bottom of the cart; "good-by, -and thank you again for the work-box and the sugar-plums." That -was my child all over! she never wants telling. The doctor kissed -his hand, and gave another flourish with his stick. So we parted.</p> - -<p>How I should have enjoyed the drive if William could only have -looked, as I did, at the young firs on the heath bending beneath -the steady breeze; at the shadows flying over the smooth fields; -at the high white clouds moving on and on, in their grand airy -procession over the gladsome blue sky! It was a hilly road, and I -begged the lad who drove us not to press the horse; so we were -nearly an hour, at our slow rate of going, before we drew up at -the gate of Appletreewick.</p> - -<p>24th February to 2d March.—We have now been here long enough to -know something of the place and the people. First, as to the -place: Where the farmhouse now is, there was once a famous -priory. The tower is still standing, and the great room where the -monks ate and drank—used at present as a granary. The house -itself seems to have been tacked on to the ruins anyhow. No two -rooms in it are on the same level. The children do nothing but -tumble about the passages, because there always happens to be a -step up or down, just at the darkest part of every one of them. -As for staircases, there seems to me to be one for each bedroom. -I do nothing but lose my way—and the farmer says, drolling, that -he must have sign-posts put up for me in every corner of the -house from top to bottom. On the ground-floor, besides the usual -domestic offices, we have the best parlor—a dark, airless, -expensively furnished solitude, never invaded by anybody; the -kitchen, and a kind of hall, with a fireplace as big as the -drawing-room at our town lodgings. Here we live and take our -meals; here the children can racket about to their hearts' -content; here the dogs come lumbering in, whenever they can get -loose; here wages are paid, visitors are received, bacon is -cured, cheese is tasted, pipes are smoked, and naps are taken -every evening by the male members of the family. Never was such a -comfortable, friendly dwelling-place devised as this hall; I feel -already as if half my life had been passed in it.</p> - -<p>Out-of-doors, looking beyond the flower-garden, lawn, back yards, -pigeon-houses, and kitchen-gardens, we are surrounded by a -network of smooth grazing-fields, each shut off from the other by -its neat hedgerow and its sturdy gate. Beyond the fields the -hills seem to flow away gently from us into the far blue -distance, till they are lost in the bright softness of the sky. -At one point, which we can see from our bedroom windows, they dip -suddenly into the plain, and show, over the rich marshy flat, a -strip of distant sea—a strip sometimes blue, sometimes gray; -sometimes, when the sun sets, a streak of fire; sometimes, on -showery days, a flash of silver light.</p> - -<p>The inhabitants of the farmhouse have one great and rare -merit—they are people whom you can make friends with at once. -Between not knowing them at all, and knowing them well enough to -shake hands at first sight, there is no ceremonious interval or -formal gradation whatever. They received us, on our arrival, -exactly as if we were old friends returned from some long -traveling expedition. Before we had been ten minutes in the hall, -William had the easiest chair and the snuggest corner; the -children were eating bread-and-jam on the window-seat; and I was -talking to the farmer's wife, with the cat on my lap, of the time -when Emily had the measles.</p> - -<p>The family numbers seven, exclusive of the indoor servants, of -course. First came the farmer and his wife—he is a tall, sturdy, -loud-voiced, active old man—she the easiest, plumpest and gayest -woman of sixty I ever met with. They have three sons and two -daughters. The two eldest of the young men are employed on the -farm; the third is a sailor, and is making holiday-time of it -just now at Appletreewick. The daughters are pictures of health -and freshness. I have but one complaint to make against -them—they are beginning to spoil the children already.</p> - -<p>In this tranquil place, and among these genial, natural people, -how happily my time might be passed, were it not for the -saddening sight of William's affliction, and the wearing -uncertainty of how we are to provide for future necessities! It -is a hard thing for my husband and me, after having had the day -made pleasant by kind words and friendly offices, to feel this -one anxious thought always forcing itself on us at night: Shall -we have the means of stopping in our new home in a month's time?</p> - -<p>3d.—A rainy day; the children difficult to manage; William -miserably despondent. Perhaps he influenced me, or perhaps I felt -my little troubles with the children more than usual: but, -however it was, I have not been so heavy-hearted since the day -when my husband first put on the green shade. A listless, -hopeless sensation would steal over me; but why write about it? -Better to try and forget it. There is always to-morrow to look to -when to-day is at the worst.</p> - -<p>4th.—<i>To-morrow</i> has proved worthy of the faith I put in it. -Sunshine again out-of-doors; and as clear and true a reflection -of it in my own heart as I can hope to have just at this time. -Oh! that month, that one poor month of respite! What are we to do -at the end of the month?</p> - -<p>5th.—I made my short entry for yesterday in the afternoon just -before tea-time, little thinking of events destined to happen -with the evening that would be really worth chronicling, for the -sake of the excellent results to which they are sure to lead. My -tendency is to be too sanguine about everything, I know; but I -am, nevertheless, firmly persuaded that I can see a new way out -of our present difficulties—a way of getting money enough to -keep us all in comfort at the farmhouse until William's eyes are -well again.</p> - -<p>The new project which is to relieve us from all uncertainties for -the next six months actually originated with <i>me</i>! It has raised -me many inches higher in my own estimation already. If the doctor -only agrees with my view of the case when he comes to-morrow, -William will allow himself to be persuaded, I know; and then let -them say what they please, I will answer for the rest.</p> - -<p>This is how the new idea first found its way into my head:</p> - -<p>We had just done tea. William, in much better spirits than usual, -was talking with the young sailor, who is jocosely called here by -the very ugly name of "Foul-weather Dick." The farmer and his two -eldest sons were composing themselves on the oaken settles for -their usual nap. The dame was knitting, the two girls were -beginning to clear the tea-table, and I was darning the -children's socks. To all appearance, this was not a very -propitious state of things for the creation of new ideas, and yet -my idea grew out of it, for all that. Talking with my husband on -various subjects connected with life in ships, the young sailor -began giving us a description of his hammock; telling us how it -was slung; how it was impossible to get into it any other way -than "stern foremost" (whatever that may mean); how the rolling -of the ship made it rock like a cradle; and how, on rough nights, -it sometimes swayed to and fro at such a rate as to bump bodily -against the ship's side and wake him up with the sensation of -having just received a punch on the head from a remarkably hard -fist. Hearing all this, I ventured to suggest that it must be an -immense relief to him to sleep on shore in a good, motionless, -solid four-post bed. But, to my surprise, he scoffed at the idea; -said he never slept comfortably out of his hammock; declared that -he quite missed his occasional punch on the head from the ship's -side; and ended by giving a most comical account of all the -uncomfortable sensations he felt when he slept in a four-post -bed. The odd nature of one of the young sailor's objections to -sleeping on shore reminded my husband (as indeed it did me too) -of the terrible story of a bed in a French gambling-house, which -he once heard from a gentleman whose likeness he took.</p> - -<p>"You're laughing at me," says honest Foul-weather Dick, seeing -William turn toward me and smile.—"No, indeed," says my husband; -"that last objection of yours to the four-post beds on shore -seems by no means ridiculous to <i>me</i>, at any rate. I once knew a -gentleman, Dick, who practically realized your objection."</p> - -<p>"Excuse me, sir," says Dick, after a pause, and with an -appearance of great bewilderment and curiosity; "but could you -put 'practically realized' into plain English, so that a poor man -like me might have a chance of understanding you?"—"Certainly!" -says my husband, laughing. "I mean that I once knew a gentleman -who actually saw and felt what you say in jest you are afraid of -seeing and feeling whenever you sleep in a four-post bed. Do you -understand that?" Foul-weather Dick understood it perfectly, and -begged with great eagerness to hear what the gentleman's -adventure really was. The dame, who had been listening to our -talk, backed her son's petition; the two girls sat down expectant -at the half-cleared tea-table; even the farmer and his drowsy -sons roused themselves lazily on the settle—my husband saw that -he stood fairly committed to the relation of the story, so he -told it without more ado.</p> - -<p>I have often heard him relate that strange adventure (William is -the best teller of a story I ever met with) to friends of all -ranks in many different parts of England, and I never yet knew it -fail of producing an effect. The farmhouse audience were, I may -almost say, petrified by it. I never before saw people look so -long in the same direction, and sit so long in the same attitude, -as they did. Even the servants stole away from their work in the -kitchen, and, unrebuked by master or mistress, stood quite -spell-bound in the doorway to listen. Observing all this in -silence, while my husband was going on with his narrative, the -thought suddenly flashed across me, "Why should William not get a -wider audience for that story, as well as for others which he has -heard from time to time from his sitters, and which he has -hitherto only repeated in private among a few friends? People -tell stories in books and get money for them. What if we told our -stories in a book? and what if the book sold? Why freedom, -surely, from the one great anxiety that is now preying on us! -Money enough to stop at the farmhouse till William's eyes are fit -for work again!" I almost jumped up from my chair as my thought -went on shaping itself in this manner. When great men make -wonderful discoveries, do they feel sensations like mine, I -wonder? Was Sir Isaac Newton within an ace of skipping into the -air when he first found out the law of gravitation? Did Friar -Bacon long to dance when he lit the match and heard the first -charge of gunpowder in the world go off with a bang?</p> - -<p>I had to put a strong constraint on myself, or I should have -communicated all that was passing in my mind to William before -our friends at the farmhouse. But I knew it was best to wait -until we were alone, and I did wait. What a relief it was when we -all got up at last to say good-night!</p> - -<p>The moment we were in our own room, I could not stop to take so -much as a pin out of my dress before I began. "My dear," said I, -"I never heard you tell that gambling-house adventure so well -before. What an effect it had upon our friends! what an effect, -indeed, it always has wherever you tell it!"</p> - -<p>So far he did not seem to take much notice. He just nodded, and -began to pour out some of the lotion in which he always bathes -his poor eyes the last thing at night.</p> - -<p>"And as for that, William," I went on, "all your stories seem to -interest people. What a number you have picked up, first and -last, from different sitters, in the fifteen years of your -practice as a portrait-painter! Have you any idea how many -stories you really do know?"</p> - -<p>No: he could not undertake to say how many just then. He gave -this answer in a very indifferent tone, dabbing away all the time -at his eyes with the sponge and lotion. He did it so awkwardly -and roughly, as it seemed to me, that I took the sponge from him -and applied the lotion tenderly myself.</p> - -<p>"Do you think," said I, "if you turned over one of your stories -carefully in your mind beforehand—say the one you told to-night, -for example—that you could repeat it all to me so perfectly and -deliberately that I should be able to take it down in writing -from your lips?"</p> - -<p>Yes: of course he could. But why ask that question?</p> - -<p>"Because I should like to have all the stories that you have been -in the habit of relating to our friends set down fairly in -writing, by way of preserving them from ever being forgotten."</p> - -<p>Would I bathe his left eye now, because that felt the hottest -to-night? I began to forbode that his growing indifference to what -I was saying would soon end in his fairly going to sleep before I -had developed my new idea, unless I took some means forthwith of -stimulating his curiosity, or, in other words, of waking him into -a proper state of astonishment and attention. "William," said I, -without another syllable of preface, "I have got a new plan for -finding all the money we want for our expenses here."</p> - -<p>He jerked his head up directly, and looked at me. What plan?</p> - -<p>"This: The state of your eyes prevents you for the present from -following your profession as an artist, does it not? Very well. -What are you to do with your idle time, my dear? Turn author! And -how are you to get the money we want? By publishing a book!"</p> - -<p>"Good gracious, Leah! are you out of your senses?" he exclaimed.</p> - -<p>I put my arm round his neck and sat down on his knee (the course -I always take when I want to persuade him to anything with as few -words as possible).</p> - -<p>"Now, William, listen patiently to me," I said. "An artist lies -under this great disadvantage in case of accidents—his talents -are of no service to him unless he can use his eyes and fingers. -An author, on the other hand, can turn his talents to account -just as well by means of other people's eyes and fingers as by -means of his own. In your present situation, therefore, you have -nothing for it, as I said before, but to turn author. Wait! and -hear me out. The book I want you to make is a book of all your -stories. You shall repeat them, and I will write them down from -your dictation. Our manuscript shall be printed; we will sell the -book to the public, and so support ourselves honorably in -adversity, by doing the best we can to interest and amuse -others."</p> - -<p>While I was saying all this—I suppose in a very excitable -manner—my husband looked, as our young sailor-friend would -phrase it, quite <i>taken aback</i>. "You were always quick at -contriving, Leah," he said; "but how in the world came you to -think of this plan?"</p> - -<p>"I thought of it while you were telling them the gambling-house -adventure downstairs," I answered.</p> - -<p>"It is an ingenious idea, and a bold idea," he went on, -thoughtfully. "But it is one thing to tell a story to a circle of -friends, and another thing to put it into a printed form for an -audience of strangers. Consider, my dear, that we are neither of -us used to what is called writing for the press."</p> - -<p>"Very true," said I, "but nobody is used to it when they first -begin, and yet plenty of people have tried the hazardous literary -experiment successfully. Besides, in our case, we have the -materials ready to our hands; surely we can succeed in shaping -them presentably if we aim at nothing but the simple truth."</p> - -<p>"Who is to do the eloquent descriptions and the striking -reflections, and all that part of it?" said William, perplexedly -shaking his head.</p> - -<p>"Nobody!" I replied. "The eloquent descriptions and the striking -reflections are just the parts of a story-book that people never -read. Whatever we do, let us not, if we can possibly help it, -write so much as a single sentence that can be conveniently -skipped. Come! come!" I continued, seeing him begin to shake his -head again; "no more objections, William, I am too certain of the -success of my plan to endure them. If you still doubt, let us -refer the new project to a competent arbitrator. The doctor is -coming to see you to-morrow. I will tell him all that I have told -you; and if you will promise on your side, I will engage on mine -to be guided entirely by his opinion."</p> - -<p>William smiled, and readily gave the promise. This was all I -wanted to send me to bed in the best spirits. For, of course, I -should never have thought of mentioning the doctor as an -arbitrator, if I had not known beforehand that he was sure to be -on my side.</p> - -<p>6th.—The arbitrator has shown that he deserved my confidence in -him. He ranked himself entirely on my side before I had half done -explaining to him what my new project really was. As to my -husband's doubts and difficulties, the dear good man would not so -much as hear them mentioned. "No objections," he cried, gayly; -"set to work, Mr. Kerby, and make your fortune. I always said -your wife was worth her weight in gold—and here she is now, all -ready to get into the bookseller's scales and prove it. Set to -work! set to work!"</p> - -<p>"With all my heart," said William, beginning at last to catch the -infection of our enthusiasm. "But when my part of the work and my -wife's has been completed, what are we to do with the produce of -our labor?"</p> - -<p>"Leave that to me," answered the doctor. "Finish your book and -send it to my house; I will show it at once to the editor of our -country newspaper. He has plenty of literary friends in London, -and he will be just the man to help you. By-the-by," added the -doctor, addressing me, "you think of everything, Mrs. Kerby; pray -have you thought of a name yet for the new book?"</p> - -<p>At that question it was my turn to be "taken aback." The idea of -naming the book had never once entered my head.</p> - -<p>"A good title is of vast importance," said the doctor, knitting -his brows thoughtfully. "We must all think about that. What shall -it be? eh, Mrs. Kerby, what shall it be?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps something may strike us after we have fairly set to -work," my husband suggested. "Talking of work," he continued, -turning to me, "how are you to find time, Leah, with your nursery -occupations, for writing down all the stories as I tell them?"</p> - -<p>"I have been thinking of that this morning," said I, "and have -come to the conclusion that I shall have but little leisure to -write from your dictation in the day-time. What with dressing and -washing the children, teaching them, giving them their meals, -taking them out to walk, and keeping them amused at home—to say -nothing of sitting sociably at work with the dame and her two -girls in the afternoon—I am afraid I shall have few -opportunities of doing my part of the book between breakfast and -tea-time. But when the children are in bed, and the farmer and -his family are reading or dozing, I should have at least three -unoccupied hours to spare. So, if you don't mind putting off our -working-time till after dark—"</p> - -<p>"There's the title!" shouted the doctor, jumping out of his chair -as if he had been shot.</p> - -<p>"Where?" cried I, looking all round me in the surprise of the -moment, as if I had expected to see the title magically inscribed -for us on the walls of the room.</p> - -<p>"In your last words, to be sure!" rejoined the doctor. "You said -just now that you would not have leisure to write from Mr. -Kerby's dictation till <i>after dark</i>. What can we do better than -name the book after the time when the book is written? Call it -boldly, <i>After dark</i>. Stop! before anybody says a word for or -against it, let us see how the name looks on paper."</p> - -<p>I opened my writing-desk in a great flutter. The doctor selected -the largest sheet of paper and the broadest-nibbed pen he could -find, and wrote in majestic round-text letters, with alternate -thin and thick strokes beautiful to see, the two cabalistic words</p> - -<p><b>AFTER DARK.</b></p> - -<p>We all three laid our heads together over the paper, and in -breathless silence studied the effect of the round-text: William -raising his green shade in the excitement of the moment, and -actually disobeying the doctor's orders about not using his eyes, -in the doctor's own presence! After a good long stare, we looked -round solemnly in each other's faces and nodded. There was no -doubt whatever on the subject after seeing the round-text. In one -happy moment the doctor had hit on the right name.</p> - -<p>"I have written the title-page," said our good friend, taking up -his hat to go. "And now I leave it to you two to write the book."</p> - -<p>Since then I have mended four pens and bought a quire of -letter-paper at the village shop. William is to ponder well over -his stories in the daytime, so as to be quite ready for me "after -dark." We are to commence our new occupation this evening. My -heart beats fast and my eyes moisten when I think of it. How many -of our dearest interests depend upon the one little beginning -that we are to make to-night!</p> - -<h3><a name="prologue1" id="prologue1"></a>PROLOGUE TO THE FIRST STORY.</h3> - -<p>Before I begin, by the aid of my wife's patient attention and -ready pen, to relate any of the stories which I have heard at -various times from persons whose likenesses I have been employed -to take, it will not be amiss if I try to secure the reader's -interest in the following pages, by briefly explaining how I -became possessed of the narrative matter which they contain.</p> - -<p>Of myself I have nothing to say, but that I have followed the -profession of a traveling portrait-painter for the last fifteen -years. The pursuit of my calling has not only led me all through -England, but has taken me twice to Scotland, and once to Ireland. -In moving from district to district, I am never guided beforehand -by any settled plan. Sometimes the letters of recommendation -which I get from persons who are satisfied with the work I have -done for them determine the direction in which I travel. -Sometimes I hear of a new neighborhood in which there is no -resident artist of ability, and remove thither on speculation. -Sometimes my friends among the picture-dealers say a good word on -my behalf to their rich customers, and so pave the way for me in -the large towns. Sometimes my prosperous and famous -brother-artists, hearing of small commissions which it is not -worth their while to accept, mention my name, and procure me -introductions to pleasant country houses. Thus I get on, now in -one way and now in another, not winning a reputation or making a -fortune, but happier, perhaps, on the whole, than many men who -have got both the one and the other. So, at least, I try to think -now, though I started in my youth with as high an ambition as the -best of them. Thank God, it is not my business here to speak of -past times and their disappointments. A twinge of the old -hopeless heartache comes over me sometimes still, when I think of -my student days.</p> - -<p>One peculiarity of my present way of life is, that it brings me -into contact with all sorts of characters. I almost feel, by this -time, as if I had painted every civilized variety of the human -race. Upon the whole, my experience of the world, rough as it has -been, has not taught me to think unkindly of my fellow-creatures. -I have certainly received such treatment at the hands of some of -my sitters as I could not describe without saddening and shocking -any kind-hearted reader; but, taking one year and one place with -another, I have cause to remember with gratitude and -respect—sometimes even with friendship and affection—a very -large proportion of the numerous persons who have employed me.</p> - -<p>Some of the results of my experience are curious in a moral point -of view. For example, I have found women almost uniformly less -delicate in asking me about my terms, and less generous in -remunerating me for my services, than men. On the other hand, -men, within my knowledge, are decidedly vainer of their personal -attractions, and more vexatiously anxious to have them done full -justice to on canvas, than women. Taking both sexes together, I -have found young people, for the most part, more gentle, more -reasonable, and more considerate than old. And, summing up, in a -general way, my experience of different ranks (which extends, let -me premise, all the way down from peers to publicans), I have met -with most of my formal and ungracious receptions among rich -people of uncertain social standing: the highest classes and the -lowest among my employers almost always contrive—in widely -different ways, of course, to make me feel at home as soon as I -enter their houses.</p> - -<p>The one great obstacle that I have to contend against in the -practice of my profession is not, as some persons may imagine, -the difficulty of making my sitters keep their heads still while -I paint them, but the difficulty of getting them to preserve the -natural look and the every-day peculiarities of dress and manner. -People will assume an expression, will brush up their hair, will -correct any little characteristic carelessness in their -apparel—will, in short, when they want to have their likenesses -taken, look as if they were sitting for their pictures. If I -paint them, under these artificial circumstances, I fail of -course to present them in their habitual aspect; and my portrait, -as a necessary consequence, disappoints everybody, the sitter -always included. When we wish to judge of a man's character by -his handwriting, we want his customary scrawl dashed off with his -common workaday pen, not his best small-text, traced laboriously -with the finest procurable crow-quill point. So it is with -portrait-painting, which is, after all, nothing but a right -reading of the externals of character recognizably presented to -the view of others.</p> - -<p>Experience, after repeated trials, has proved to me that the only -way of getting sitters who persist in assuming a set look to -resume their habitual expression, is to lead them into talking -about some subject in which they are greatly interested. If I can -only beguile them into speaking earnestly, no matter on what -topic, I am sure of recovering their natural expression; sure of -seeing all the little precious everyday peculiarities of the man -or woman peep out, one after another, quite unawares. The long, -maundering stories about nothing, the wearisome recitals of petty -grievances, the local anecdotes unrelieved by the faintest -suspicion of anything like general interest, which I have been -condemned to hear, as a consequence of thawing the ice off the -features of formal sitters by the method just described, would -fill hundreds of volumes, and promote the repose of thousands of -readers. On the other hand, if I have suffered under the -tediousness of the many, I have not been without my compensating -gains from the wisdom and experience of the few. To some of my -sitters I have been indebted for information which has enlarged -my mind—to some for advice which has lightened my heart—to some -for narratives of strange adventure which riveted my attention at -the time, which have served to interest and amuse my fireside -circle for many years past, and which are now, I would fain hope, -destined to make kind friends for me among a wider audience than -any that I have yet addressed.</p> - -<p>Singularly enough, almost all the best stories that I have heard -from my sitters have been told by accident. I only remember two -cases in which a story was volunteered to me, and, although I -have often tried the experiment, I cannot call to mind even a -single instance in which leading questions (as the lawyers call -them) on my part, addressed to a sitter, ever produced any result -worth recording. Over and over again, I have been disastrously -successful in encouraging dull people to weary me. But the clever -people who have something interesting to say, seem, so far as I -have observed them, to acknowledge no other stimulant than -chance. For every story which I propose including in the present -collection, excepting one, I have been indebted, in the first -instance, to the capricious influence of the same chance. -Something my sitter has seen about me, something I have remarked -in my sitter, or in the room in which I take the likeness, or in -the neighborhood through which I pass on my way to work, has -suggested the necessary association, or has started the right -train of recollections, and then the story appeared to begin of -its own accord. Occasionally the most casual notice, on my part, -of some very unpromising object has smoothed the way for the -relation of a long and interesting narrative. I first heard one -of the most dramatic of the stories that will be presented in -this book, merely through being carelessly inquisitive to know -the history of a stuffed poodle-dog.</p> - -<p>It is thus not without reason that I lay some stress on the -desirableness of prefacing each one of the following narratives -by a brief account of the curious manner in which I became -possessed of it. As to my capacity for repeating these stories -correctly, I can answer for it that my memory may be trusted. I -may claim it as a merit, because it is after all a mechanical -one, that I forget nothing, and that I can call long-passed -conversations and events as readily to my recollection as if they -had happened but a few weeks ago. Of two things at least I feel -tolerably certain beforehand, in meditating over the contents of -this book: First, that I can repeat correctly all that I have -heard; and, secondly, that I have never missed anything worth -hearing when my sitters were addressing me on an interesting -subject. Although I cannot take the lead in talking while I am -engaged in painting, I can listen while others speak, and work -all the better for it.</p> - -<p>So much in the way of general preface to the pages for which I am -about to ask the reader's attention. Let me now advance to -particulars, and describe how I came to hear the first story in -the present collection. I begin with it because it is the story -that I have oftenest "rehearsed," to borrow a phrase from the -stage. Wherever I go, I am sooner or later sure to tell it. Only -last night, I was persuaded into repeating it once more by the -inhabitants of the farmhouse in which I am now staying.</p> - - - -<p>Not many years ago, on returning from a short holiday visit to a -friend settled in Paris, I found professional letters awaiting me -at my agent's in London, which required my immediate presence in -Liverpool. Without stopping to unpack, I proceeded by the first -conveyance to my new destination; and, calling at the -picture-dealer's shop, where portrait-painting engagements were -received for me, found to my great satisfaction that I had -remunerative employment in prospect, in and about Liverpool, for -at least two months to come. I was putting up my letters in high -spirits, and was just leaving the picture-dealer's shop to look -out for comfortable lodgings, when I was met at the door by the -landlord of one of the largest hotels in Liverpool—an old -acquaintance whom I had known as manager of a tavern in London in -my student days.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Kerby!" he exclaimed, in great astonishment. "What an -unexpected meeting! the last man in the world whom I expected to -see, and yet the very man whose services I want to make use of!"</p> - -<p>"What, more work for me?" said I; "are all the people in -Liverpool going to have their portraits painted?"</p> - -<p>"I only know of one," replied the landlord, "a gentleman staying -at my hotel, who wants a chalk drawing done for him. I was on my -way here to inquire of any artist whom our picture-dealing friend -could recommend. How glad I am that I met you before I had -committed myself to employing a stranger!"</p> - -<p>"Is this likeness wanted at once?" I asked, thinking of the -number of engagements that I had already got in my pocket.</p> - -<p>"Immediately—to-day—this very hour, if possible," said the -landlord. "Mr. Faulkner, the gentleman I am speaking of, was to -have sailed yesterday for the Brazils from this place; but the -wind shifted last night to the wrong quarter, and he came ashore -again this morning. He may of course be detained here for some -time; but he may also be called on board ship at half an hour's -notice, if the wind shifts back again in the right direction. -This uncertainty makes it a matter of importance that the -likeness should be begun immediately. Undertake it if you -possibly can, for Mr. Faulkner's a liberal gentleman, who is sure -to give you your own terms."</p> - -<p>I reflected for a minute or two. The portrait was only wanted in -chalk, and would not take long; besides, I might finish it in the -evening, if my other engagements pressed hard upon me in the -daytime. Why not leave my luggage at the picture-dealer's, put -off looking for lodgings till night, and secure the new -commission boldly by going back at once with the landlord to the -hotel? I decided on following this course almost as soon as the -idea occurred to me—put my chalks in my pocket, and a sheet of -drawing paper in the first of my portfolios that came to -hand—and so presented myself before Mr. Faulkner, ready to take -his likeness, literally at five minutes' notice.</p> - -<p>I found him a very pleasant, intelligent man, young and -handsome. He had been a great traveler; had visited all the -wonders of the East; and was now about to explore the wilds of -the vast South American Continent. Thus much he told me -good-humoredly and unconstrainedly while I was preparing my -drawing materials.</p> - -<p>As soon as I had put him in the right light and position, and had -seated myself opposite to him, he changed the subject of -conversation, and asked me, a little confusedly as I thought, if -it was not a customary practice among portrait-painters to gloss -over the faults in their sitters' faces, and to make as much as -possible of any good points which their features might possess.</p> - -<p>"Certainly," I answered. "You have described the whole art and -mystery of successful portrait-painting in a few words."</p> - -<p>"May I beg, then," said he, "that you will depart from the usual -practice in my case, and draw me with all my defects, exactly as -I am? The fact is," he went on, after a moment's pause, "the -likeness you are now preparing to take is intended for my mother. -My roving disposition makes me a great anxiety to her, and she -parted from me this last time very sadly and unwillingly. I don't -know how the idea came into my head, but it struck me this -morning that I could not better employ the time, while I was -delayed here on shore, than by getting my likeness done to send -to her as a keepsake. She has no portrait of me since I was a -child, and she is sure to value a drawing of me more than -anything else I could send to her. I only trouble you with this -explanation to prove that I am really sincere in my wish to be -drawn unflatteringly, exactly as I am."</p> - -<p>Secretly respecting and admiring him for what he had just said, I -promised that his directions should be implicitly followed, and -began to work immediately. Before I had pursued my occupation for -ten minutes, the conversation began to flag, and the usual -obstacle to my success with a sitter gradually set itself up -between us. Quite unconsciously, of course, Mr. Faulkner -stiffened his neck, shut his month, and contracted his -eyebrows—evidently under the impression that he was facilitating -the process of taking his portrait by making his face as like a -lifeless mask as possible. All traces of his natural animated -expression were fast disappearing, and he was beginning to change -into a heavy and rather melancholy-looking man.</p> - -<p>This complete alteration was of no great consequence so long as I -was only engaged in drawing the outline of his face and the -general form of his features. I accordingly worked on doggedly -for more than an hour—then left off to point my chalks again, -and to give my sitter a few minutes' rest. Thus far the likeness -had not suffered through Mr. Faulkner's unfortunate notion of the -right way of sitting for his portrait; but the time of -difficulty, as I well knew, was to come. It was impossible for me -to think of putting any expression into the drawing unless I -could contrive some means, when he resumed his chair, of making -him look like himself again. "I will talk to him about foreign -parts," thought I, "and try if I can't make him forget that he is -sitting for his picture in that way."</p> - -<p>While I was pointing my chalks Mr. Faulkner was walking up and -down the room. He chanced to see the portfolio I had brought with -me leaning against the wall, and asked if there were any sketches -in it. I told him there were a few which I had made during my -recent stay in Paris; "In Paris?" he repeated, with a look of -interest; "may I see them?"</p> - -<p>I gave him the permission he asked as a matter of course. Sitting -down, he took the portfolio on his knee, and began to look -through it. He turned over the first five sketches rapidly -enough; but when he came to the sixth, I saw his face flush -directly, and observed that he took the drawing out of the -portfolio, carried it to the window, and remained silently -absorbed in the contemplation of it for full five minutes. After -that, he turned round to me, and asked very anxiously if I had -any objection to part with that sketch.</p> - -<p>It was the least interesting drawing of the collection—merely a -view in one of the streets running by the backs of the houses in -the Palais Royal. Some four or five of these houses were -comprised in the view, which was of no particular use to me in -any way; and which was too valueless, as a work of art, for me to -think of selling it. I begged his acceptance of it at once. He -thanked me quite warmly; and then, seeing that I looked a little -surprised at the odd selection he had made from my sketches, -laughingly asked me if I could guess why he had been so anxious -to become possessed of the view which I had given him?</p> - -<p>"Probably," I answered, "there is some remarkable historical -association connected with that street at the back of the Palais -Royal, of which I am ignorant."</p> - -<p>"No," said Mr. Faulkner; "at least none that <i>I</i> know of. The -only association connected with the place in <i>my</i> mind is a -purely personal association. Look at this house in your -drawing—the house with the water-pipe running down it from top -to bottom. I once passed a night there—a night I shall never -forget to the day of my death. I have had some awkward traveling -adventures in my time; but <i>that</i> adventure—! Well, never mind, -suppose we begin the sitting. I make but a bad return for your -kindness in giving me the sketch by thus wasting your time in -mere talk."</p> - -<p>"Come! come!" thought I, as he went back to the sitter's chair, -"I shall see your natural expression on your face if I can only -get you to talk about that adventure." It was easy enough to lead -him in the right direction. At the first hint from me, he -returned to the subject of the house in the back street. Without, -I hope, showing any undue curiosity, I contrived to let him see -that I felt a deep interest in everything he now said. After two -or three preliminary hesitations, he at last, to my great joy, -fairly started on the narrative of his adventure. In the interest -of his subject he soon completely forgot that he was sitting for -his portrait—the very expression that I wanted came over his -face—and my drawing proceeded toward completion, in the right -direction, and to the best purpose. At every fresh touch I felt -more and more certain that I was now getting the better of my -grand difficulty; and I enjoyed the additional gratification of -having my work lightened by the recital of a true story, which -possessed, in my estimation, all the excitement of the most -exciting romance.</p> - -<p>This, as I recollect it, is how Mr. Faulkner told me his -adventure:</p> - -<h2><a name="story1" id="story1"></a> -THE TRAVELER'S STORY<br />OF<br />A TERRIBLY STRANGE BED.</h2> - -<p>Shortly after my education at college was finished, I happened to -be staying at Paris with an English friend. We were both young -men then, and lived, I am afraid, rather a wild life, in the -delightful city of our sojourn. One night we were idling about -the neighborhood of the Palais Royal, doubtful to what amusement -we should next betake ourselves. My friend proposed a visit to -Frascati's; but his suggestion was not to my taste. I knew -Frascati's, as the French saying is, by heart; had lost and won -plenty of five-franc pieces there, merely for amusement's sake, -until it was amusement no longer, and was thoroughly tired, in -fact, of all the ghastly respectabilities of such a social -anomaly as a respectable gambling-house. "For Heaven's sake," -said I to my friend, "let us go somewhere where we can see a -little genuine, blackguard, poverty-stricken gaming with no false -gingerbread glitter thrown over it all. Let us get away from -fashionable Frascati's, to a house where they don't mind letting -in a man with a ragged coat, or a man with no coat, ragged or -otherwise." "Very well," said my friend, "we needn't go out of -the Palais Royal to find the sort of company you want. Here's the -place just before us; as blackguard a place, by all report, as -you could possibly wish to see." In another minute we arrived at -the door, and entered the house, the back of which you have drawn -in your sketch.</p> - -<p>When we got upstairs, and had left our hats and sticks with the -doorkeeper, we were admitted into the chief gambling-room. We did -not find many people assembled there. But, few as the men were -who looked up at us on our entrance, they were all -types—lamentably true types—of their respective classes.</p> - -<p>We had come to see blackguards; but these men were something -worse. There is a comic side, more or less appreciable, in all -blackguardism—here there was nothing but tragedy—mute, weird -tragedy. The quiet in the room was horrible. The thin, haggard, -long-haired young man, whose sunken eyes fiercely watched the -turning up of the cards, never spoke; the flabby, fat-faced, -pimply player, who pricked his piece of pasteboard perseveringly, -to register how often black won, and how often red—never spoke; -the dirty, wrinkled old man, with the vulture eyes and the darned -great-coat, who had lost his last <i>sou</i>, and still looked on -desperately, after he could play no longer—never spoke. Even the -voice of the croupier sounded as if it were strangely dulled and -thickened in the atmosphere of the room. I had entered the place -to laugh, but the spectacle before me was something to weep over. -I soon found it necessary to take refuge in excitement from the -depression of spirits which was fast stealing on me. -Unfortunately I sought the nearest excitement, by going to the -table and beginning to play. Still more unfortunately, as the -event will show, I won—won prodigiously; won incredibly; won at -such a rate that the regular players at the table crowded round -me; and staring at my stakes with hungry, superstitious eyes, -whispered to one another that the English stranger was going to -break the bank.</p> - -<p>The game was <i>Rouge et Noir</i>. I had played at it in every city in -Europe, without, however, the care or the wish to study the -Theory of Chances—that philosopher's stone of all gamblers! And -a gambler, in the strict sense of the word, I had never been. I -was heart-whole from the corroding passion for play. My gaming -was a mere idle amusement. I never resorted to it by necessity, -because I never knew what it was to want money. I never practiced -it so incessantly as to lose more than I could afford, or to gain -more than I could coolly pocket without being thrown off my -balance by my good luck. In short, I had hitherto frequented -gambling-tables—just as I frequented ball-rooms and -opera-houses—because they amused me, and because I had nothing -better to do with my leisure hours.</p> - -<p>But on this occasion it was very different—now, for the first -time in my life, I felt what the passion for play really was. My -success first bewildered, and then, in the most literal meaning -of the word, intoxicated me. Incredible as it may appear, it is -nevertheless true, that I only lost when I attempted to estimate -chances, and played according to previous calculation. If I left -everything to luck, and staked without any care or consideration, -I was sure to win—to win in the face of every recognized -probability in favor of the bank. At first some of the men -present ventured their money safely enough on my color; but I -speedily increased my stakes to sums which they dared not risk. -One after another they left off playing, and breathlessly looked -on at my game.</p> - -<p>Still, time after time, I staked higher and higher, and still -won. The excitement in the room rose to fever pitch. The silence -was interrupted by a deep-muttered chorus of oaths and -exclamations in different languages, every time the gold was -shoveled across to my side of the table—even the imperturbable -croupier dashed his rake on the floor in a (French) fury of -astonishment at my success. But one man present preserved his -self-possession, and that man was my friend. He came to my side, -and whispering in English, begged me to leave the place, -satisfied with what I had already gained. I must do him the -justice to say that he repeated his warnings and entreaties -several times, and only left me and went away after I had -rejected his advice (I was to all intents and purposes gambling -drunk) in terms which rendered it impossible for him to address -me again that night.</p> - -<p>Shortly after he had gone, a hoarse voice behind me cried: -"Permit me, my dear sir—permit me to restore to their proper -place two napoleons which you have dropped. Wonderful luck, sir! -I pledge you my word of honor, as an old soldier, in the course -of my long experience in this sort of thing, I never saw such -luck as yours—never! Go on, sir—<i>Sacre mille bombes!</i> Go on -boldly, and break the bank!"</p> - -<p>I turned round and saw, nodding and smiling at me with inveterate -civility, a tall man, dressed in a frogged and braided surtout.</p> - -<p>If I had been in my senses, I should have considered him, -personally, as being rather a suspicious specimen of an old -soldier. He had goggling, bloodshot eyes, mangy mustaches, and a -broken nose. His voice betrayed a barrack-room intonation of the -worst order, and he had the dirtiest pair of hands I ever -saw—even in France. These little personal peculiarities -exercised, however, no repelling influence on me. In the mad -excitement, the reckless triumph of that moment, I was ready to -"fraternize" with anybody who encouraged me in my game. I -accepted the old soldier's offered pinch of snuff; clapped him on -the back, and swore he was the honestest fellow in the world—the -most glorious relic of the Grand Army that I had ever met with. -"Go on!" cried my military friend, snapping his fingers in -ecstasy—"Go on, and win! Break the bank—<i>Mille tonnerres!</i> my -gallant English comrade, break the bank!"</p> - -<p>And I <i>did</i> go on—went on at such a rate, that in another -quarter of an hour the croupier called out, "Gentlemen, the bank -has discontinued for to-night." All the notes, and all the gold -in that "bank," now lay in a heap under my hands; the whole -floating capital of the gambling-house was waiting to pour into -my pockets!</p> - -<p>"Tie up the money in your pocket-handkerchief, my worthy sir," -said the old soldier, as I wildly plunged my hands into my heap -of gold. "Tie it up, as we used to tie up a bit of dinner in the -Grand Army; your winnings are too heavy for any breeches-pockets -that ever were sewed. There! that's it—shovel them in, notes and -all! <i>Credie!</i> what luck! Stop! another napoleon on the floor! -<i>Ah! sacre petit polisson de Napoleon!</i> have I found thee at -last? Now then, sir—two tight double knots each way with your -honorable permission, and the money's safe. Feel it! feel it, -fortunate sir! hard and round as a cannon-ball—<i>Ah, bah!</i> if -they had only fired such cannon-balls at us at Austerlitz—<i>nom -d'une pipe!</i> if they only had! And now, as an ancient grenadier, -as an ex-brave of the French army, what remains for me to do? I -ask what? Simply this: to entreat my valued English friend to -drink a bottle of Champagne with me, and toast the goddess -Fortune in foaming goblets before we part!"</p> - -<p>Excellent ex-brave! Convivial ancient grenadier! Champagne by all -means! An English cheer for an old soldier! Hurrah! hurrah! -Another English cheer for the goddess Fortune! Hurrah! hurrah! -hurrah!</p> - -<p>"Bravo! the Englishman; the amiable, gracious Englishman, in -whose veins circulates the vivacious blood of France! Another -glass? <i>Ah, bah!</i>—the bottle is empty! Never mind! <i>Vive le -vin!</i> I, the old soldier, order another bottle, and half a pound -of bonbons with it!"</p> - -<p>"No, no, ex-brave; never—ancient grenadier! <i>Your</i> bottle last -time; <i>my</i> bottle this. Behold it! Toast away! The French Army! -the great Napoleon! the present company! the croupier! the honest -croupier's wife and daughters—if he has any! the Ladies -generally! everybody in the world!"</p> - -<p>By the time the second bottle of Champagne was emptied, I felt as -if I had been drinking liquid fire—my brain seemed all aflame. -No excess in wine had ever had this effect on me before in my -life. Was it the result of a stimulant acting upon my system when -I was in a highly excited state? Was my stomach in a particularly -disordered condition? Or was the Champagne amazingly strong?</p> - -<p>"Ex-brave of the French Army!" cried I, in a mad state of -exhilaration, "<i>I</i> am on fire! how are <i>you</i>? You have set me on -fire! Do you hear, my hero of Austerlitz? Let us have a third -bottle of Champagne to put the flame out!"</p> - -<p>The old soldier wagged his head, rolled his goggle-eyes, until I -expected to see them slip out of their sockets; placed his dirty forefinger -by the side of his broken nose; solemnly ejaculated "Coffee!" and -immediately ran off into an inner room.</p> - -<p>The word pronounced by the eccentric veteran seemed to have a -magical effect on the rest of the company present. With one -accord they all rose to depart. Probably they had expected to -profit by my intoxication; but finding that my new friend was -benevolently bent on preventing me from getting dead drunk, had -now abandoned all hope of thriving pleasantly on my winnings. -Whatever their motive might be, at any rate they went away in a -body. When the old soldier returned, and sat down again opposite -to me at the table, we had the room to ourselves. I could see the -croupier, in a sort of vestibule which opened out of it, eating -his supper in solitude. The silence was now deeper than ever.</p> - -<p>A sudden change, too, had come over the "ex-brave." He assumed a -portentously solemn look; and when he spoke to me again, his -speech was ornamented by no oaths, enforced by no -finger-snapping, enlivened by no apostrophes or exclamations.</p> - -<p>"Listen, my dear sir," said he, in mysteriously confidential -tones—"listen to an old soldier's advice. I have been to the -mistress of the house (a very charming woman, with a genius for -cookery!) to impress on her the necessity of making us some -particularly strong and good coffee. You must drink this coffee -in order to get rid of your little amiable exaltation of spirits -before you think of going home—you <i>must</i>, my good and gracious -friend! With all that money to take home to-night, it is a sacred -duty to yourself to have your wits about you. You are known to be -a winner to an enormous extent by several gentlemen present -to-night, who, in a certain point of view, are very worthy and -excellent fellows; but they are mortal men, my dear sir, and they -have their amiable weaknesses. Need I say more? Ah, no, no! you -understand me! Now, this is what you must do—send for a -cabriolet when you feel quite well again—draw up all the windows -when you get into it—and tell the driver to take you home only -through the large and well-lighted thoroughfares. Do this; and -you and your money will be safe. Do this; and to-morrow you will -thank an old soldier for giving you a word of honest advice."</p> - -<p>Just as the ex-brave ended his oration in very lachrymose tones, -the coffee came in, ready poured out in two cups. My attentive -friend handed me one of the cups with a bow. I was parched with -thirst, and drank it off at a draught. Almost instantly -afterwards, I was seized with a fit of giddiness, and felt more -completely intoxicated than ever. The room whirled round and -round furiously; the old soldier seemed to be regularly bobbing -up and down before me like the piston of a steam-engine. I was -half deafened by a violent singing in my ears; a feeling of utter -bewilderment, helplessness, idiocy, overcame me. I rose from my -chair, holding on by the table to keep my balance; and stammered -out that I felt dreadfully unwell—so unwell that I did not know -how I was to get home.</p> - -<p>"My dear friend," answered the old soldier—and even his voice -seemed to be bobbing up and down as he spoke—"my dear friend, it -would be madness to go home in <i>your</i> state; you would be sure to -lose your money; you might be robbed and murdered with the -greatest ease. <i>I</i> am going to sleep here; do <i>you</i> sleep here, -too—they make up capital beds in this house—take one; sleep off -the effects of the wine, and go home safely with your winnings -to-morrow—to-morrow, in broad daylight."</p> - -<p>I had but two ideas left: one, that I must never let go hold of -my handkerchief full of money; the other, that I must lie down -somewhere immediately, and fall off into a comfortable sleep. So -I agreed to the proposal about the bed, and took the offered arm -of the old soldier, carrying my money with my disengaged hand. -Preceded by the croupier, we passed along some passages and up a -flight of stairs into the bedroom which I was to occupy. The -ex-brave shook me warmly by the hand, proposed that we should -breakfast together, and then, followed by the croupier, left me -for the night.</p> - -<p>I ran to the wash-hand stand; drank some of the water in my jug; -poured the rest out, and plunged my face into it; then sat down -in a chair and tried to compose myself. I soon felt better. The -change for my lungs, from the fetid atmosphere of the -gambling-room to the cool air of the apartment I now occupied, -the almost equally refreshing change for my eyes, from the -glaring gaslights of the "salon" to the dim, quiet flicker of one -bedroom-candle, aided wonderfully the restorative effects of cold -water. The giddiness left me, and I began to feel a little like a -reasonable being again. My first thought was of the risk of -sleeping all night in a gambling-house; my second, of the still -greater risk of trying to get out after the house was closed, and -of going home alone at night through the streets of Paris with a -large sum of money about me. I had slept in worse places than -this on my travels; so I determined to lock, bolt, and barricade -my door, and take my chance till the next morning.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, I secured myself against all intrusion; looked under -the bed, and into the cupboard; tried the fastening of the -window; and then, satisfied that I had taken every proper -precaution, pulled off my upper clothing, put my light, which was -a dim one, on the hearth among a feathery litter of wood-ashes, -and got into bed, with the handkerchief full of money under my -pillow.</p> - -<p>I soon felt not only that I could not go to sleep, but that I -could not even close my eyes. I was wide awake, and in a high -fever. Every nerve in my body trembled—every one of my senses -seemed to be preternaturally sharpened. I tossed and rolled, and -tried every kind of position, and perseveringly sought out the -cold corners of the bed, and all to no purpose. Now I thrust my -arms over the clothes; now I poked them under the clothes; now I -violently shot my legs straight out down to the bottom of the -bed; now I convulsively coiled them up as near my chin as they -would go; now I shook out my crumpled pillow, changed it to the -cool side, patted it flat, and lay down quietly on my back; now I -fiercely doubled it in two, set it up on end, thrust it against -the board of the bed, and tried a sitting posture. Every effort -was in vain; I groaned with vexation as I felt that I was in for -a sleepless night.</p> - -<p>What could I do? I had no book to read. And yet, unless I found -out some method of diverting my mind, I felt certain that I was -in the condition to imagine all sorts of horrors; to rack my -brain with forebodings of every possible and impossible danger; -in short, to pass the night in suffering all conceivable -varieties of nervous terror.</p> - -<p>I raised myself on my elbow, and looked about the room—which was -brightened by a lovely moonlight pouring straight through the -window—to see if it contained any pictures or ornaments that I -could at all clearly distinguish. While my eyes wandered from -wall to wall, a remembrance of Le Maistre's delightful little -book, "Voyage autour de ma Chambre," occurred to me. I resolved -to imitate the French author, and find occupation and amusement -enough to relieve the tedium of my wakefulness, by making a -mental inventory of every article of furniture I could see, and -by following up to their sources the multitude of associations -which even a chair, a table, or a wash-hand stand may be made to -call forth.</p> - -<p>In the nervous unsettled state of my mind at that moment, I found -it much easier to make my inventory than to make my reflections, -and thereupon soon gave up all hope of thinking in Le Maistre's -fanciful track—or, indeed, of thinking at all. I looked about -the room at the different articles of furniture, and did nothing -more.</p> - -<p>There was, first, the bed I was lying in; a four-post bed, of all -things in the world to meet with in Paris—yes, a thorough clumsy -British four-poster, with the regular top lined with chintz—the -regular fringed valance all round—the regular stifling, -unwholesome curtains, which I remembered having mechanically -drawn back against the posts without particularly noticing the -bed when I first got into the room. Then there was the -marble-topped wash-hand stand, from which the water I had -spilled, in my hurry to pour it out, was still dripping, slowly -and more slowly, on to the brick floor. Then two small chairs, -with my coat, waistcoat, and trousers flung on them. Then a large -elbow-chair covered with dirty-white dimity, with my cravat and -shirt collar thrown over the back. Then a chest of drawers with -two of the brass handles off, and a tawdry, broken china inkstand -placed on it by way of ornament for the top. Then the -dressing-table, adorned by a very small looking-glass, and a very -large pincushion. Then the window—an unusually large window. -Then a dark old picture, which the feeble candle dimly showed me. -It was a picture of a fellow in a high Spanish hat, crowned with -a plume of towering feathers. A swarthy, sinister ruffian, -looking upward, shading his eyes with his hand, and looking -intently upward—it might be at some tall gallows at which he was -going to be hanged. At any rate, he had the appearance of -thoroughly deserving it.</p> - -<p>This picture put a kind of constraint upon me to look upward -too—at the top of the bed. It was a gloomy and not an -interesting object, and I looked back at the picture. I counted -the feathers in the man's hat—they stood out in relief—three -white, two green. I observed the crown of his hat, which was of -conical shape, according to the fashion supposed to have been -favored by Guido Fawkes. I wondered what he was looking up at. It -couldn't be at the stars; such a desperado was neither astrologer -nor astronomer. It must be at the high gallows, and he was going -to be hanged presently. Would the executioner come into -possession of his conical crowned hat and plume of feathers? I -counted the feathers again—three white, two green.</p> - -<p>While I still lingered over this very improving and intellectual -employment, my thoughts insensibly began to wander. The moonlight -shining into the room reminded me of a certain moonlight night in -England—the night after a picnic party in a Welsh valley. Every -incident of the drive homeward, through lovely scenery, which the -moonlight made lovelier than ever, came back to my remembrance, -though I had never given the picnic a thought for years; though, -if I had <i>tried</i> to recollect it, I could certainly have recalled -little or nothing of that scene long past. Of all the wonderful -faculties that help to tell us we are immortal, which speaks the -sublime truth more eloquently than memory? Here was I, in a -strange house of the most suspicious character, in a situation of -uncertainty, and even of peril, which might seem to make the cool -exercise of my recollection almost out of the question; -nevertheless, remembering, quite involuntarily, places, people, -conversations, minute circumstances of every kind, which I had -thought forgotten forever; which I could not possibly have -recalled at will, even under the most favorable auspices. And -what cause had produced in a moment the whole of this strange, -complicated, mysterious effect? Nothing but some rays of -moonlight shining in at my bedroom window.</p> - -<p>I was still thinking of the picnic—of our merriment on the drive -home—of the sentimental young lady who <i>would</i> quote "Childe -Harold" because it was moonlight. I was absorbed by these past -scenes and past amusements, when, in an instant, the thread on -which my memories hung snapped asunder; my attention immediately -came back to present things more vividly than ever, and I found -myself, I neither knew why nor wherefore, looking hard at the -picture again.</p> - -<p>Looking for what?</p> - -<p>Good God! the man had pulled his hat down on his brows! No! the -hat itself was gone! Where was the conical crown? Where the -feathers—three white, two green? Not there! In place of the hat -and feathers, what dusky object was it that now hid his forehead, -his eyes, his shading hand?</p> - -<p>Was the bed moving?</p> - -<p>I turned on my back and looked up. Was I mad? drunk? dreaming? -giddy again? or was the top of the bed really moving -down—sinking slowly, regularly, silently, horribly, right down -throughout the whole of its length and breadth—right down upon -me, as I lay underneath?</p> - -<p>My blood seemed to stand still. A deadly paralysing coldness -stole all over me as I turned my head round on the pillow and -determined to test whether the bed-top was really moving or not, -by keeping my eye on the man in the picture.</p> - -<p>The next look in that direction was enough. The dull, black, -frowzy outline of the valance above me was within an inch of -being parallel with his waist. I still looked breathlessly. And -steadily and slowly—very slowly—I saw the figure, and the line -of frame below the figure, vanish, as the valance moved down -before it.</p> - -<p>I am, constitutionally, anything but timid. I have been on more -than one occasion in peril of my life, and have not lost my -self-possession for an instant; but when the conviction first -settled on my mind that the bed-top was really moving, was -steadily and continuously sinking down upon me, I looked up -shuddering, helpless, panic-stricken, beneath the hideous -machinery for murder, which was advancing closer and closer to -suffocate me where I lay.</p> - -<p>I looked up, motionless, speechless, breathless. The candle, -fully spent, went out; but the moonlight still brightened the -room. Down and down, without pausing and without sounding, came -the bed-top, and still my panic-terror seemed to bind me faster -and faster to the mattress on which I lay—down and down it sank, -till the dusty odor from the lining of the canopy came stealing -into my nostrils.</p> - -<p>At that final moment the instinct of self-preservation startled -me out of my trance, and I moved at last. There was just room for -me to roll myself sidewise off the bed. As I dropped noiselessly -to the floor, the edge of the murderous canopy touched me on the -shoulder.</p> - -<p>Without stopping to draw my breath, without wiping the cold sweat -from my face, I rose instantly on my knees to watch the bed-top. -I was literally spellbound by it. If I had heard footsteps behind -me, I could not have turned round; if a means of escape had been -miraculously provided for me, I could not have moved to take -advantage of it. The whole life in me was, at that moment, -concentrated in my eyes.</p> - -<p>It descended—the whole canopy, with the fringe round it, came -down—down—close down; so close that there was not room now to -squeeze my finger between the bed-top and the bed. I felt at the -sides, and discovered that what had appeared to me from beneath -to be the ordinary light canopy of a four-post bed was in reality -a thick, broad mattress, the substance of which was concealed by -the valance and its fringe. I looked up and saw the four posts -rising hideously bare. In the middle of the bed-top was a huge -wooden screw that had evidently worked it down through a hole in -the ceiling, just as ordinary presses are worked down on the -substance selected for compression. The frightful apparatus moved -without making the faintest noise. There had been no creaking as -it came down; there was now not the faintest sound from the room -above. Amid a dead and awful silence I beheld before me—in the -nineteenth century, and in the civilized capital of France—such -a machine for secret murder by suffocation as might have existed -in the worst days of the Inquisition, in the lonely inns among -the Hartz Mountains, in the mysterious tribunals of Westphalia! -Still, as I looked on it, I could not move, I could hardly -breathe, but I began to recover the power of thinking, and in a -moment I discovered the murderous conspiracy framed against me in -all its horror.</p> - -<p>My cup of coffee had been drugged, and drugged too strongly. I -had been saved from being smothered by having taken an overdose -of some narcotic. How I had chafed and fretted at the fever fit -which had preserved my life by keeping me awake! How recklessly I -had confided myself to the two wretches who had led me into this -room, determined, for the sake of my winnings, to kill me in my -sleep by the surest and most horrible contrivance for secretly -accomplishing my destruction! How many men, winners like me, had -slept, as I had proposed to sleep, in that bed, and had never been -seen or heard of more! I shuddered at the bare idea of it.</p> - -<p>But, ere long, all thought was again suspended by the sight of -the murderous canopy moving once more. After it had remained on -the bed—as nearly as I could guess—about ten minutes, it began -to move up again. The villains who worked it from above evidently -believed that their purpose was now accomplished. Slowly and -silently, as it had descended, that horrible bed-top rose towards -its former place. When it reached the upper extremities of the -four posts, it reached the ceiling, too. Neither hole nor screw -could be seen; the bed became in appearance an ordinary bed -again—the canopy an ordinary canopy—even to the most suspicious -eyes.</p> - -<p>Now, for the first time, I was able to move—to rise from my -knees—to dress myself in my upper clothing—and to consider of -how I should escape. If I betrayed by the smallest noise that the -attempt to suffocate me had failed, I was certain to be murdered. -Had I made any noise already? I listened intently, looking -towards the door.</p> - -<p>No! no footsteps in the passage outside—no sound of a tread, -light or heavy, in the room above—absolute silence everywhere. -Besides locking and bolting my door, I had moved an old wooden -chest against it, which I had found under the bed. To remove this -chest (my blood ran cold as I thought of what its contents -<i>might</i> be!) without making some disturbance was impossible; and, -moreover, to think of escaping through the house, now barred up -for the night, was sheer insanity. Only one chance was left -me—the window. I stole to it on tiptoe.</p> - -<p>My bedroom was on the first floor, above an <i>entresol</i>, and -looked into a back street, which you have sketched in your view. -I raised my hand to open the window, knowing that on that action -hung, by the merest hair-breadth, my chance of safety. They keep -vigilant watch in a House of Murder. If any part of the frame -cracked, if the hinge creaked, I was a lost man! It must have -occupied me at least five minutes, reckoning by time—five -<i>hours</i>, reckoning by suspense—to open that window. I succeeded -in doing it silently—in doing it with all the dexterity of a -house-breaker—and then looked down into the street. To leap the -distance beneath me would be almost certain destruction! Next, I -looked round at the sides of the house. Down the left side ran a -thick water-pipe which you have drawn—it passed close by the -outer edge of the window. The moment I saw the pipe I knew I was -saved. My breath came and went freely for the first time since I -had seen the canopy of the bed moving down upon me!</p> - -<p>To some men the means of escape which I had discovered might have -seemed difficult and dangerous enough—to <i>me</i> the prospect of -slipping down the pipe into the street did not suggest even a -thought of peril. I had always been accustomed, by the practice -of gymnastics, to keep up my school-boy powers as a daring and -expert climber; and knew that my head, hands, and feet would -serve me faithfully in any hazards of ascent or descent. I had -already got one leg over the window-sill, when I remembered the -handkerchief filled with money under my pillow. I could well have -afforded to leave it behind me, but I was revengefully determined -that the miscreants of the gambling-house should miss their -plunder as well as their victim. So I went back to the bed and -tied the heavy handkerchief at my back by my cravat.</p> - -<p>Just as I had made it tight and fixed it in a comfortable place, -I thought I heard a sound of breathing outside the door. The -chill feeling of horror ran through me again as I listened. No! -dead silence still in the passage—I had only heard the night air -blowing softly into the room. The next moment I was on the -window-sill—and the next I had a firm grip on the water-pipe -with my hands and knees.</p> - -<p>I slid down into the street easily and quietly, as I thought I -should, and immediately set off at the top of my speed to a -branch "Prefecture" of Police, which I knew was situated in the -immediate neighborhood. A "Sub-prefect," and several picked men -among his subordinates, happened to be up, maturing, I believe, -some scheme for discovering the perpetrator of a mysterious -murder which all Paris was talking of just then. When I began my -story, in a breathless hurry and in very bad French, I could see -that the Sub-prefect suspected me of being a drunken Englishman -who had robbed somebody; but he soon altered his opinion as I -went on, and before I had anything like concluded, he shoved all -the papers before him into a drawer, put on his hat, supplied me -with another (for I was bareheaded), ordered a file of soldiers, -desired his expert followers to get ready all sorts of tools for -breaking open doors and ripping up brick flooring, and took my -arm, in the most friendly and familiar manner possible, to lead -me with him out of the house. I will venture to say that when the -Sub-prefect was a little boy, and was taken for the first time to -the play, he was not half as much pleased as he was now at the -job in prospect for him at the gambling-house!</p> - -<p>Away we went through the streets, the Sub-prefect cross-examining -and congratulating me in the same breath as we marched at the -head of our formidable <i>posse comitatus</i>. Sentinels were placed -at the back and front of the house the moment we got to it; a -tremendous battery of knocks was directed against the door; a -light appeared at a window; I was told to conceal myself behind -the police—then came more knocks and a cry of "Open in the name -of the law!" At that terrible summons bolts and locks gave way -before an invisible hand, and the moment after the Sub-prefect -was in the passage, confronting a waiter half-dressed and ghastly -pale. This was the short dialogue which immediately took place:</p> - -<p>"We want to see the Englishman who is sleeping in this house?"</p> - -<p>"He went away hours ago."</p> - -<p>"He did no such thing. His friend went away; <i>he</i> remained. Show -us to his bedroom!"</p> - -<p>"I swear to you, Monsieur le Sous-prefect, he is not here! he—"</p> - -<p>"I swear to you, Monsieur le Garcon, he is. He slept here—he -didn't find your bed comfortable—he came to us to complain of -it—here he is among my men—and here am I ready to look for a -flea or two in his bedstead. Renaudin! (calling to one of the -subordinates, and pointing to the waiter) collar that man and tie -his hands behind him. Now, then, gentlemen, let us walk -upstairs!"</p> - -<p>Every man and woman in the house was secured—the "Old Soldier" -the first. Then I identified the bed in which I had slept, and -then we went into the room above.</p> - -<p>No object that was at all extraordinary appeared in any part of -it. The Sub-prefect looked round the place, commanded everybody -to be silent, stamped twice on the floor, called for a candle, -looked attentively at the spot he had stamped on, and ordered the -flooring there to be carefully taken up. This was done in no -time. Lights were produced, and we saw a deep raftered cavity -between the floor of this room and the ceiling of the room -beneath. Through this cavity there ran perpendicularly a sort of -case of iron thickly greased; and inside the case appeared the -screw, which communicated with the bed-top below. Extra lengths -of screw, freshly oiled; levers covered with felt; all the -complete upper works of a heavy press—constructed with infernal -ingenuity so as to join the fixtures below, and when taken to -pieces again, to go into the smallest possible compass—were next -discovered and pulled out on the floor. After some little -difficulty the Sub-prefect succeeded in putting the machinery -together, and, leaving his men to work it, descended with me to -the bedroom. The smothering canopy was then lowered, but not so -noiselessly as I had seen it lowered. When I mentioned this to -the Sub-prefect, his answer, simple as it was, had a terrible -significance. "My men," said he, "are working down the bed-top -for the first time—the men whose money you won were in better -practice."</p> - -<p>We left the house in the sole possession of two police -agents—every one of the inmates being removed to prison on the -spot. The Sub-prefect, after taking down my <i>"proces verbal"</i> in -his office, returned with me to my hotel to get my passport. "Do -you think," I asked, as I gave it to him, "that any men have -really been smothered in that bed, as they tried to smother -<i>me</i>?"</p> - -<p>"I have seen dozens of drowned men laid out at the Morgue," -answered the Sub-prefect, "in whose pocket-books were found -letters stating that they had committed suicide in the Seine, -because they had lost everything at the gaming table. Do I know -how many of those men entered the same gambling-house that <i>you</i> -entered? won as <i>you</i> won? took that bed as <i>you</i> took it? slept -in it? were smothered in it? and were privately thrown into the -river, with a letter of explanation written by the murderers and -placed in their pocket-books? No man can say how many or how few -have suffered the fate from which you have escaped. The people of -the gambling-house kept their bedstead machinery a secret from -<i>us</i>—even from the police! The dead kept the rest of the secret -for them. Good-night, or rather good-morning, Monsieur Faulkner! -Be at my office again at nine o'clock—in the meantime, <i>au -revoir</i>!"</p> - -<p>The rest of my story is soon told. I was examined and -re-examined; the gambling-house was strictly searched all through -from top to bottom; the prisoners were separately interrogated; -and two of the less guilty among them made a confession. I -discovered that the Old Soldier was the master of the -gambling-house—<i>justice</i> discovered that he had been drummed out -of the army as a vagabond years ago; that he had been guilty of -all sorts of villainies since; that he was in possession of -stolen property, which the owners identified; and that he, the -croupier, another accomplice, and the woman who had made my cup -of coffee, were all in the secret of the bedstead. There appeared -some reason to doubt whether the inferior persons attached to the -house knew anything of the suffocating machinery; and they -received the benefit of that doubt, by being treated simply as -thieves and vagabonds. As for the Old Soldier and his two head -myrmidons, they went to the galleys; the woman who had drugged my -coffee was imprisoned for I forget how many years; the regular -attendants at the gambling-house were considered "suspicious" and -placed under "surveillance"; and I became, for one whole week -(which is a long time) the head "lion" in Parisian society. My -adventure was dramatized by three illustrious play-makers, but -never saw theatrical daylight; for the censorship forbade the -introduction on the stage of a correct copy of the gambling-house -bedstead.</p> - -<p>One good result was produced by my adventure, which any -censorship must have approved: it cured me of ever again trying -<i>"Rouge et Noir"</i> as an amusement. The sight of a green cloth, -with packs of cards and heaps of money on it, will henceforth be -forever associated in my mind with the sight of a bed canopy -descending to suffocate me in the silence and darkness of the -night.</p> - - - -<p>Just as Mr. Faulkner pronounced these words he started in his -chair, and resumed his stiff, dignified position in a great -hurry. "Bless my soul!" cried he, with a comic look of -astonishment and vexation, "while I have been telling you what is -the real secret of my interest in the sketch you have so kindly -given to me, I have altogether forgotten that I came here to sit -for my portrait. For the last hour or more I must have been the -worst model you ever had to draw from!"</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, you have been the best," said I. "I have been -trying to catch your likeness; and, while telling your story, you -have unconsciously shown me the natural expression I wanted to -insure my success."</p> - -<p>NOTE BY MRS. KERBY.</p> - -<p>I cannot let this story end without mentioning what the chance -saying was which caused it to be told at the farmhouse the other -night. Our friend the young sailor, among his other quaint -objections to sleeping on shore, declared that he particularly -hated four-post beds, because he never slept in one without -doubting whether the top might not come down in the night and -suffocate him. I thought this chance reference to the -distinguishing feature of William's narrative curious enough, and -my husband agreed with me. But he says it is scarcely worth while -to mention such a trifle in anything so important as a book. I -cannot venture, after this, to do more than slip these lines in -modestly at the end of the story. If the printer should notice my -few last words, perhaps he may not mind the trouble of putting -them into some out-of-the-way corner.</p> - -<p>L. K.</p> - -<h3><a name="prologue2" id="prologue2"></a>PROLOGUE TO THE SECOND STORY.</h3> - -<p>The beginning of an excellent connection which I succeeded in -establishing in and around that respectable watering-place, -Tidbury-on-the-Marsh, was an order for a life-size oil portrait -of a great local celebrity—one Mr. Boxsious, a solicitor, who -was understood to do the most thriving business of any lawyer in -the town.</p> - -<p>The portrait was intended as a testimonial "expressive (to use -the language of the circular forwarded to me at the time) of the -eminent services of Mr. Boxsious in promoting and securing the -prosperity of the town." It had been subscribed for by the -"Municipal Authorities and Resident Inhabitants" of -Tidbury-on-the-Marsh; and it was to be presented, when done, to -Mrs. Boxsious, "as a slight but sincere token"—and so forth. A -timely recommendation from one of my kindest friends and patrons -placed the commission for painting the likeness in my lucky -hands; and I was instructed to attend on a certain day at Mr. -Boxsious's private residence, with all my materials ready for -taking a first sitting.</p> - -<p>On arriving at the house, I was shown into a very prettily -furnished morning-room. The bow-window looked out on a large -inclosed meadow, which represented the principal square in -Tidbury. On the opposite side of the meadow I could see the new -hotel (with a wing lately added), and close by, the old hotel -obstinately unchanged since it had first been built. Then, -further down the street, the doctor's house, with a colored lamp -and a small door-plate, and the banker's office, with a plain -lamp and a big door-plate—then some dreary private -lodging-houses—then, at right angles to these, a street of -shops; the cheese-monger's very small, the chemist's very smart, -the pastry-cook's very dowdy, and the green-grocer's very dark, I -was still looking out at the view thus presented, when I was -suddenly apostrophized by a glib, disputatious voice behind me.</p> - -<p>"Now, then, Mr. Artist," cried the voice, "do you call that -getting ready for work? Where are your paints and brushes, and -all the rest of it? My name's Boxsious, and I'm here to sit for -my picture."</p> - -<p>I turned round, and confronted a little man with his legs -astraddle, and his hands in his pockets. He had light-gray eyes, -red all round the lids, bristling pepper-colored hair, an -unnaturally rosy complexion, and an eager, impudent, clever look. -I made two discoveries in one glance at him: First, that he was a -wretched subject for a portrait; secondly, that, whatever he -might do or say, it would not be of the least use for me to stand -on my dignity with him.</p> - -<p>"I shall be ready directly, sir," said I.</p> - -<p>"Ready directly?" repeated my new sitter. "What do you mean, Mr. -Artist, by ready directly? I'm ready now. What was your contract -with the Town Council, who have subscribed for this picture? To -paint the portrait. And what was my contract? To sit for it. Here -am I ready to sit, and there are you not ready to paint me. -According to all the rules of law and logic, you are committing a -breach of contract already. Stop! let's have a look at your -paints. Are they the best quality? If not, I warn you, sir, -there's a second breach of contract! Brushes, too? Why, they're -old brushes, by the Lord Harry! The Town Council pays you well, -Mr. Artist; why don't you work for them with new brushes? What? -you work best with old? I contend, sir, that you can't. Does my -housemaid clean best with an old broom? Do my clerks write best -with old pens? Don't color up, and don't look as if you were -going to quarrel with me! You can't quarrel with me. If you were -fifty times as irritable a man as you look, you couldn't quarrel -with me. I'm not young, and I'm not touchy—I'm Boxsious, the -lawyer; the only man in the world who can't be insulted, try it -how you like!"</p> - -<p>He chuckled as he said this, and walked away to the window. It -was quite useless to take anything he said seriously, so I -finished preparing my palette for the morning's work with the -utmost serenity of look and manner that I could possibly assume.</p> - -<p>"There!" he went on, looking out of the window; "do you see that -fat man slouching along the Parade, with a snuffy nose? That's my -favorite enemy, Dunball. He tried to quarrel with me ten years -ago, and he has done nothing but bring out the hidden benevolence -of my character ever since. Look at him! look how he frowns as he -turns this way. And now look at me! I can smile and nod to him. I -make a point of always smiling and nodding to him—it keeps my -hand in for other enemies. Good-morning! (I've cast him twice in -heavy damages) good-morning, Mr. Dunball. He bears malice, you -see; he won't speak; he's short in the neck, passionate, and four -times as fat as he ought to be; he has fought against my -amiability for ten mortal years; when he can't fight any longer, -he'll die suddenly, and I shall be the innocent cause of it."</p> - -<p>Mr. Boxsious uttered this fatal prophecy with extraordinary -complacency, nodding and smiling out of the window all the time -at the unfortunate man who had rashly tried to provoke him. When -his favorite enemy was out of sight, he turned away, and indulged -himself in a brisk turn or two up and down the room. Meanwhile I -lifted my canvas on the easel, and was on the point of asking him -to sit down, when he assailed me again.</p> - -<p>"Now, Mr. Artist," he cried, quickening his walk impatiently, "in -the interests of the Town Council, your employers, allow me to -ask you for the last time when you are going to begin?"</p> - -<p>"And allow me, Mr. Boxsious, in the interest of the Town Council -also," said I, "to ask you if your notion of the proper way of -sitting for your portrait is to walk about the room!"</p> - -<p>"Aha! well put—devilish well put!" returned Mr. Boxsious; -"that's the only sensible thing you have said since you entered -my house; I begin to like you already." With these words he -nodded at me approvingly, and jumped into the high chair that I -had placed for him with the alacrity of a young man.</p> - -<p>"I say, Mr. Artist," he went on, when I had put him into the -right position (he insisted on the front view of his face being -taken, because the Town Council would get the most for their -money in that way), "you don't have many such good jobs as this, -do you?"</p> - -<p>"Not many," I said. "I should not be a poor man if commissions -for life-size portraits often fell in my way."</p> - -<p>"You poor!" exclaimed Mr. Boxsious, contemptuously. "I dispute -that point with you at the outset. Why, you've got a good cloth -coat, a clean shirt, and a smooth-shaved chin. You've got the -sleek look of a man who has slept between sheets and had his -breakfast. You can't humbug me about poverty, for I know what it -is. Poverty means looking like a scarecrow, feeling like a -scarecrow, and getting treated like a scarecrow. That was <i>my</i> -luck, let me tell you, when I first thought of trying the law. -Poverty, indeed! Do you shake in your shoes, Mr. Artist, when you -think what you were at twenty? I do, I can promise you."</p> - -<p>He began to shift about so irritably in his chair, that, in the -interests of my work, I was obliged to make an effort to calm -him.</p> - -<p>"It must be a pleasant occupation for you in your present -prosperity," said I, "to look back sometimes at the gradual -processes by which you passed from poverty to competence, and -from that to the wealth you now enjoy."</p> - -<p>"Gradual, did you say?" cried Mr. Boxsious; "it wasn't gradual at -all. I was sharp—damned sharp, and I jumped at my first start in -business slap into five hundred pounds in one day."</p> - -<p>"That was an extraordinary step in advance," I rejoined. "I -suppose you contrived to make some profitable investment—"</p> - -<p>"Not a bit of it! I hadn't a spare sixpence to invest with. I won -the money by my brains, my hands, and my pluck; and, what's more, -I'm proud of having done it. That was rather a curious case, Mr. -Artist. Some men might be shy of mentioning it; I never was shy -in my life and I mention it right and left everywhere—the whole -case, just as it happened, except the names. Catch me ever -committing myself to mentioning names! Mum's the word, sir, with -yours to command, Thomas Boxsious."</p> - -<p>"As you mention 'the case' everywhere," said I, "perhaps you -would not be offended with me if I told you I should like to hear -it?"</p> - -<p>"Man alive! haven't I told you already that I can't be offended? -And didn't I say a moment ago that I was proud of the case? I'll -tell you, Mr. Artist—but stop! I've got the interests of the -Town Council to look after in this business. Can you paint as -well when I'm talking as when I'm not? Don't sneer, sir; you're -not wanted to sneer—you're wanted to give an answer—yes or no?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, then," I replied, in his own sharp way. "I can always paint -the better when I am hearing an interesting story."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean by talking about a story? I'm not going to tell -you a story; I'm going to make a statement. A statement is a -matter of fact, therefore the exact opposite of a story, which is -a matter of fiction. What I am now going to tell you really -happened to me."</p> - -<p>I was glad to see that he settled himself quietly in his chair -before he began. His odd manners and language made such an -impression on me at the time, that I think I can repeat his -"statement" now, almost word for word as he addressed it to me.</p> - -<h2><a name="story2" id="story2"></a> -THE LAWYER'S STORY<br />OF<br />A STOLEN LETTER.</h2> - -<p>I served my time—never mind in whose office—and I started in -business for myself in one of our English country towns, I -decline stating which. I hadn't a farthing of capital, and my -friends in the neighborhood were poor and useless enough, with -one exception. That exception was Mr. Frank Gatliffe, son of Mr. -Gatliffe, member for the county, the richest man and the proudest -for many a mile round about our parts. Stop a bit, Mr. Artist, -you needn't perk up and look knowing. You won't trace any -particulars by the name of Gatliffe. I'm not bound to commit -myself or anybody else by mentioning names. I have given you the -first that came into my head.</p> - -<p>Well, Mr. Frank was a stanch friend of mine, and ready to -recommend me whenever he got the chance. I had contrived to get -him a little timely help—for a consideration, of course—in -borrowing money at a fair rate of interest; in fact, I had saved -him from the Jews. The money was borrowed while Mr. Frank was at -college. He came back from college, and stopped at home a little -while, and then there got spread about all our neighborhood a -report that he had fallen in love, as the saying is, with his -young sister's governess, and that his mind was made up to marry -her. What! you're at it again, Mr. Artist! You want to know her -name, don't you? What do you think of Smith?</p> - -<p>Speaking as a lawyer, I consider report, in a general way, to be -a fool and a liar. But in this case report turned out to be -something very different. Mr. Frank told me he was really in -love, and said upon his honor (an absurd expression which young -chaps of his age are always using) he was determined to marry -Smith, the governess—the sweet, darling girl, as <i>he</i> called -her; but I'm not sentimental, and <i>I</i> call her Smith, the -governess. Well, Mr. Frank's father, being as proud as Lucifer, -said "No," as to marrying the governess, when Mr. Frank wanted -him to say "Yes." He was a man of business, was old Gatliffe, and -he took the proper business course. He sent the governess away -with a first-rate character and a spanking present, and then he, -looked about him to get something for Mr. Frank to do. While he -was looking about, Mr. Frank bolted to London after the -governess, who had nobody alive belonging to her to go to but an -aunt—her father's sister. The aunt refuses to let Mr. Frank in -without the squire's permission. Mr. Frank writes to his father, -and says he will marry the girl as soon as he is of age, or shoot -himself. Up to town comes the squire and his wife and his -daughter, and a lot of sentimentality, not in the slightest -degree material to the present statement, takes places among -them; and the upshot of it is that old Gatliffe is forced into -withdrawing the word No, and substituting the word Yes.</p> - -<p>I don't believe he would ever have done it, though, but for one -lucky peculiarity in the case. The governess's father was a man -of good family—pretty nigh as good as Gatliffe's own. He had -been in the army; had sold out; set up as a -wine-merchant—failed—died; ditto his wife, as to the dying part -of it. No relation, in fact, left for the squire to make -inquiries about but the father's sister—who had behaved, as old -Gatliffe said, like a thorough-bred gentlewoman in shutting the -door against Mr. Frank in the first instance. So, to cut the -matter short, things were at last made up pleasant enough. The -time was fixed for the wedding, and an announcement about -it—Marriage in High Life and all that—put into the county -paper. There was a regular biography, besides, of the governess's -father, so as to stop people from talking—a great flourish about -his pedigree, and a long account of his services in the army; but -not a word, mind ye, of his having turned wine-merchant -afterward. Oh, no—not a word about that!</p> - -<p>I knew it, though, for Mr. Frank told me. He hadn't a bit of -pride about him. He introduced me to his future wife one day when -I met him out walking, and asked me if I did not think he was a -lucky fellow. I don't mind admitting that I did, and that I told -him so. Ah! but she was one of my sort, was that governess. -Stood, to the best of my recollection, five foot four. Good -lissom figure, that looked as if it had never been boxed up in a -pair of stays. Eyes that made me feel as if I was under a pretty -stiff cross-examination the moment she looked at me. Fine red, -kiss-and-come-again sort of lips. Cheeks and complexion—No, -Mr. Artist, you wouldn't identify her by her cheeks and -complexion, if I drew you a picture of them this very moment. She -has had a family of children since the time I'm talking of; and -her cheeks are a trifle fatter, and her complexion is a shade or -two redder now, than when I first met her out walking with Mr. -Frank.</p> - -<p>The marriage was to take place on a Wednesday. I decline -mentioning the year or the month. I had started as an attorney on -my own account—say six weeks, more or less, and was sitting -alone in my office on the Monday morning before the wedding-day, -trying to see my way clear before me and not succeeding -particularly well, when Mr. Frank suddenly bursts in, as white as -any ghost that ever was painted, and says he's got the most -dreadful case for me to advise on, and not an hour to lose in -acting on my advice.</p> - -<p>"Is this in the way of business, Mr. Frank?" says I, stopping him -just as he was beginning to get sentimental. "Yes or no, Mr. -Frank?" rapping my new office paper-knife on the table, to pull -him up short all the sooner.</p> - -<p>"My dear fellow"—he was always familiar with me—"it's in the -way of business, certainly; but friendship—"</p> - -<p>I was obliged to pull him up short again, and regularly examine -him as if he had been in the witness-box, or he would have kept -me talking to no purpose half the day.</p> - -<p>"Now, Mr. Frank," says I, "I can't have any sentimentality mixed -up with business matters. You please to stop talking, and let me -ask questions. Answer in the fewest words you can use. Nod when -nodding will do instead of words."</p> - -<p>I fixed him with my eye for about three seconds, as he sat -groaning and wriggling in his chair. When I'd done fixing him, I -gave another rap with my paper-knife on the table to startle him -up a bit. Then I went on.</p> - -<p>"From what you have been stating up to the present time," says I, -"I gather that you are in a scrape which is likely to interfere -seriously with your marriage on Wednesday?"</p> - -<p>(He nodded, and I cut in again before he could say a word):</p> - -<p>"The scrape affects your young lady, and goes back to the period -of a transaction in which her late father was engaged, doesn't -it?"</p> - -<p>(He nods, and I cut in once more):</p> - -<p>"There is a party, who turned up after seeing the announcement of -your marriage in the paper, who is cognizant of what he oughtn't -to know, and who is prepared to use his knowledge of the same to -the prejudice of the young lady and of your marriage, unless he -receives a sum of money to quiet him? Very well. Now, first of -all, Mr. Frank, state what you have been told by the young lady -herself about the transaction of her late father. How did you -first come to have any knowledge of it?"</p> - -<p>"She was talking to me about her father one day so tenderly and -prettily, that she quite excited my interest about him," begins -Mr. Frank; "and I asked her, among other things, what had -occasioned his death. She said she believed it was distress of -mind in the first instance; and added that this distress was -connected with a shocking secret, which she and her mother had -kept from everybody, but which she could not keep from me, -because she was determined to begin her married life by having no -secrets from her husband." Here Mr. Frank began to get -sentimental again, and I pulled him up short once more with the -paper-knife.</p> - -<p>"She told me," Mr. Frank went on, "that the great mistake of her -father's life was his selling out of the army and taking to the -wine trade. He had no talent for business; things went wrong with -him from the first. His clerk, it was strongly suspected, cheated -him—"</p> - -<p>"Stop a bit," says I. "What was that suspected clerk's name?"</p> - -<p>"Davager," says he.</p> - -<p>"Davager," says I, making a note of it. "Go on, Mr. Frank."</p> - -<p>"His affairs got more and more entangled," says Mr. Frank; "he -was pressed for money in all directions; bankruptcy, and -consequent dishonor (as he considered it) stared him in the face. -His mind was so affected by his troubles that both his wife and -daughter, toward the last, considered him to be hardly -responsible for his own acts. In this state of desperation and -misery, he—" Here Mr. Frank began to hesitate.</p> - -<p>We have two ways in the law of drawing evidence off nice and -clear from an unwilling client or witness. We give him a fright, -or we treat him to a joke. I treated Mr. Frank to a joke.</p> - -<p>"Ah!" says I, "I know what he did. He had a signature to write; -and, by the most natural mistake in the world, he wrote another -gentleman's name instead of his own—eh?"</p> - -<p>"It was to a bill," says Mr. Frank, looking very crestfallen, -instead of taking the joke. "His principal creditor wouldn't wait -till he could raise the money, or the greater part of it. But he -was resolved, if he sold off everything, to get the amount and -repay—"</p> - -<p>"Of course," says I, "drop that. The forgery was discovered. -When?"</p> - -<p>"Before even the first attempt was made to negotiate the bill. He -had done the whole thing in the most absurdly and innocently -wrong way. The person whose name he had used was a stanch friend -of his, and a relation of his wife's—a good man as well as a -rich one. He had influence with the chief creditor, and he used -it nobly. He had a real affection for the unfortunate man's wife, -and he proved it generously."</p> - -<p>"Come to the point," says I. "What did he do? In a business way, -what did he do?"</p> - -<p>"He put the false bill into the fire, drew a bill of his own to -replace it, and then—only then—told my dear girl and her mother -all that had happened. Can you imagine anything nobler?" asks Mr. -Frank.</p> - -<p>"Speaking in my professional capacity, I can't imagine anything -greener," says I. "Where was the father? Off, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Ill in bed," says Mr. Frank, coloring. "But he mustered strength -enough to write a contrite and grateful letter the same day, -promising to prove himself worthy of the noble moderation and -forgiveness extended to him, by selling off everything he -possessed to repay his money debt. He did sell off everything, -down to some old family pictures that were heirlooms; down to the -little plate he had; down to the very tables and chairs that -furnished his drawing-room. Every farthing of the debt was paid; -and he was left to begin the world again, with the kindest -promises of help from the generous man who had forgiven him. It -was too late. His crime of one rash moment—atoned for though it -had been—preyed upon his mind. He became possessed with the idea -that he had lowered himself forever in the estimation of his wife -and daughter, and—"</p> - -<p>"He died," I cut in. "Yes, yes, we know that. Let's go back for a -minute to the contrite and grateful letter that he wrote. My -experience in the law, Mr. Frank, has convinced me that if -everybody burned everybody else's letters, half the courts of -justice in this country might shut up shop. Do you happen to know -whether the letter we are now speaking of contained anything like -an avowal or confession of the forgery?"</p> - -<p>"Of course it did," says he. "Could the writer express his -contrition properly without making some such confession?"</p> - -<p>"Quite easy, if he had been a lawyer," says I. "But never mind -that; I'm going to make a guess—a desperate guess, mind. Should -I be altogether in error if I thought that this letter had been -stolen; and that the fingers of Mr. Davager, of suspicious -commercial celebrity, might possibly be the fingers which took -it?"</p> - -<p>"That is exactly what I wanted to make you understand," cried Mr. -Frank.</p> - -<p>"How did he communicate the interesting fact of the theft to -you?"</p> - -<p>"He has not ventured into my presence. The scoundrel actually had -the audacity—"</p> - -<p>"Aha!" says I. "The young lady herself! Sharp practitioner, Mr. -Davager."</p> - -<p>"Early this morning, when she was walking alone in the -shrubbery," Mr. Frank goes on, "he had the assurance to approach -her, and to say that he had been watching his opportunity of -getting a private interview for days past. He then showed -her—actually showed her—her unfortunate father's letter; put -into her hands another letter directed to me; bowed, and walked -off; leaving her half dead with astonishment and terror. If I had -only happened to be there at the time!" says Mr. Frank, shaking -his fist murderously in the air, by way of a finish.</p> - -<p>"It's the greatest luck in the world that you were not," says I. -"Have you got that other letter?"</p> - -<p>He handed it to me. It was so remarkably humorous and short, that -I remember every word of it at this distance of time. It began in -this way:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p><i>"To Francis Gatliffe, Esq., Jun.</i></p> - -<p>"SIR—I have an extremely curious autograph letter to sell. The -price is a five-hundred-pound note. The young lady to whom you -are to be married on Wednesday will inform you of the nature of -the letter, and the genuineness of the autograph. If you refuse -to deal, I shall send a copy to the local paper, and shall wait -on your highly-respected father with the original curiosity, on -the afternoon of Tuesday next. Having come down here on family -business, I have put up at the family hotel—being to be heard of -at the Gatliffe Arms. Your very obedient servant, ALFRED -DAVAGER."</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>"A clever fellow that," says I, putting the letter into my -private drawer.</p> - -<p>"Clever!" cries Mr. Frank, "he ought to be horsewhipped within an -inch of his life. I would have done it myself; but she made me -promise, before she told me a word of the matter, to come -straight to you."</p> - -<p>"That was one of the wisest promises you ever made," says I. "We -can't afford to bully this fellow, whatever else we may do with -him. Do you think I am saying anything libelous against your -excellent father's character when I assert that if he saw the -letter he would certainly insist on your marriage being put off, -at the very least?"</p> - -<p>"Feeling as my father does about my marriage, he would insist on -its being dropped altogether, if he saw this letter," says Mr. -Frank, with a groan. "But even that is not the worst of it. The -generous, noble girl herself says that if the letter appears in -the paper, with all the unanswerable comments this scoundrel -would be sure to add to it, she would rather die than hold me to -my engagement, even if my father would let me keep it."</p> - -<p>As he said this his eyes began to water. He was a weak young -fellow, and ridiculously fond of her. I brought him back to -business with another rap of the paper-knife.</p> - -<p>"Hold up, Mr. Frank," says I. "I have a question or two more. Did -you think of asking the young lady whether, to the best of her -knowledge, this infernal letter was the only written evidence of -the forgery now in existence?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I did think directly of asking her that," says he; "and she -told me she was quite certain that there was no written evidence -of the forgery except that one letter."</p> - -<p>"Will you give Mr. Davager his price for it?" says I.</p> - -<p>"Yes," says Mr. Frank, quite peevish with me for asking him such -a question. He was an easy young chap in money matters, and -talked of hundreds as most men talk of sixpences.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Frank," says I, "you came here to get my help and advice in -this extremely ticklish business, and you are ready, as I know -without asking, to remunerate me for all and any of my services -at the usual professional rate. Now, I've made up my mind to act -boldly—desperately, if you like—on the hit or miss, win all or -lose all principle—in dealing with this matter. Here is my -proposal. I'm going to try if I can't do Mr. Davager out of his -letter. If I don't succeed before to-morrow afternoon, you hand -him the money, and I charge you nothing for professional -services. If I do succeed, I hand you the letter instead of Mr. -Davager, and you give me the money instead of giving it to him. -It's a precious risk for me, but I'm ready to run it. You must -pay your five hundred any way. What do you say to my plan? Is it -Yes, Mr. Frank, or No?"</p> - -<p>"Hang your questions!" cries Mr. Frank, jumping up; "you know -it's Yes ten thousand times over. Only you earn the money and—"</p> - -<p>"And you will be too glad to give it to me. Very good. Now go -home. Comfort the young lady—don't let Mr. Davager so much as -set eyes on you—keep quiet—leave everything to me—and feel as -certain as you please that all the letters in the world can't -stop your being married on Wednesday." With these words I hustled -him off out of the office, for I wanted to be left alone to make -my mind up about what I should do.</p> - -<p>The first thing, of course, was to have a look at the enemy. I -wrote to Mr. Davager, telling him that I was privately appointed -to arrange the little business matter between himself and -"another party" (no names!) on friendly terms; and begging him to -call on me at his earliest convenience. At the very beginning of -the case, Mr. Davager bothered me. His answer was, that it would -not be convenient to him to call till between six and seven in -the evening. In this way, you see, he contrived to make me lose -several precious hours, at a time when minutes almost were of -importance. I had nothing for it but to be patient, and to give -certain instructions, before Mr. Davager came, to my boy Tom.</p> - -<p>There never was such a sharp boy of fourteen before, and there -never will be again, as my boy Tom. A spy to look after Mr. -Davager was, of course, the first requisite in a case of this -kind; and Tom was the smallest, quickest, quietest, sharpest, -stealthiest little snake of a chap that ever dogged a gentleman's -steps and kept cleverly out of range of a gentleman's eyes. I -settled it with the boy that he was not to show at all when Mr. -Davager came; and that he was to wait to hear me ring the bell -when Mr. Davager left. If I rang twice, he was to show the -gentleman out. If I rang once, he was to keep out of the way, and -follow the gentleman whereever he went till he got back to the -inn. Those were the only preparations I could make to begin with; -being obliged to wait, and let myself be guided by what turned -up.</p> - -<p>About a quarter to seven my gentleman came.</p> - -<p>In the profession of the law we get somehow quite remarkably -mixed up with ugly people, blackguard people, and dirty people. -But far away the ugliest and dirtiest blackguard I ever saw in my -life was Mr. Alfred Davager. He had greasy white hair and a -mottled face. He was low in the forehead, fat in the stomach, -hoarse in the voice, and weak in the legs. Both his eyes were -bloodshot, and one was fixed in his head. He smelled of spirits, -and carried a toothpick in his mouth. "How are you? I've just -done dinner," says he; and he lights a cigar, sits down with his -legs crossed, and winks at me.</p> - -<p>I tried at first to take the measure of him in a wheedling, -confidential way; but it was no good. I asked him, in a -facetious, smiling manner, how he had got hold of the letter. He -only told me in answer that he had been in the confidential -employment of the writer of it, and that he had always been -famous since infancy for a sharp eye to his own interests. I paid -him some compliments; but he was not to be flattered. I tried to -make him lose his temper; but he kept it in spite of me. It ended -in his driving me to my last resource—I made an attempt to -frighten him.</p> - -<p>"Before we say a word about the money," I began, "let me put a -case, Mr. Davager. The pull you have on Mr. Francis Gatliffe is, -that you can hinder his marriage on Wednesday. Now, suppose I -have got a magistrate's warrant to apprehend you in my pocket? -Suppose I have a constable to execute it in the next room? -Suppose I bring you up to-morrow—the day before the -marriage—charge you only generally with an attempt to extort -money, and apply for a day's remand to complete the case? -Suppose, as a suspicious stranger, you can't get bail in this -town? Suppose—"</p> - -<p>"Stop a bit," says Mr. Davager. "Suppose I should not be the -greenest fool that ever stood in shoes? Suppose I should not -carry the letter about me? Suppose I should have given a certain -envelope to a certain friend of mine in a certain place in this -town? Suppose the letter should be inside that envelope, directed -to old Gatliffe, side by side with a copy of the letter directed -to the editor of the local paper? Suppose my friend should be -instructed to open the envelope, and take the letters to their -right address, if I don't appear to claim them from him this -evening? In short, my dear sir, suppose you were born yesterday, -and suppose I wasn't?" says Mr. Davager, and winks at me again.</p> - -<p>He didn't take me by surprise, for I never expected that he had -the letter about him. I made a pretense of being very much taken -aback, and of being quite ready to give in. We settled our -business about delivering the letter, and handing over the money, -in no time. I was to draw out a document, which he was to sign. -He knew the document was stuff and nonsense, just as well as I -did, and told me I was only proposing it to swell my client's -bill. Sharp as he was, he was wrong there. The document was not -to be drawn out to gain money from Mr. Frank, but to gain time -from Mr. Davager. It served me as an excuse to put off the -payment of the five hundred pounds till three o'clock on the -Tuesday afternoon. The Tuesday morning Mr. Davager said he should -devote to his amusement, and asked me what sights were to be seen -in the neighborhood of the town. When I had told him, he pitched -his toothpick into my grate, yawned, and went out.</p> - -<p>I rang the bell once—waited till he had passed the window—and -then looked after Tom. There was my jewel of a boy on the -opposite side of the street, just setting his top going in the -most playful manner possible. Mr. Davager walked away up the -street toward the market-place. Tom whipped his top up the street -toward the market-place, too.</p> - -<p>In a quarter of an hour he came back, with all his evidence -collected in a beautifully clear and compact state. Mr. Davager -had walked to a public-house just outside the town, in a lane -leading to the highroad. On a bench outside the public-house -there sat a man smoking. He said "All right?" and gave a letter -to Mr. Davager, who answered "All right!" and walked back to the -inn. In the hall he ordered hot rum-and-water, cigars, slippers, -and a fire to be lit in his room. After that he went upstairs, -and Tom came away.</p> - -<p>I now saw my road clear before me—not very far on, but still -clear. I had housed the letter, in all probability for that -night, at the Gatliffe Arms. After tipping Tom, I gave him -directions to play about the door of the inn, and refresh himself -when he was tired at the tart-shop opposite, eating as much as he -pleased, on the understanding that he crammed all the time with -his eye on the window. If Mr. Davager went out, or Mr. Davager's -friend called on him, Tom was to let me know. He was also to take -a little note from me to the head chambermaid—an old friend of -mine—asking her to step over to my office, on a private matter -of business, as soon as her work was done for that night. After -settling these little matters, having half an hour to spare, I -turned to and did myself a bloater at the office fire, and had a -drop of gin-and-water hot, and felt comparatively happy.</p> - -<p>When the head chambermaid came, it turned out, as good luck would -have it, that Mr. Davager had drawn her attention rather too -closely to his ugliness, by offering her a testimony of his -regard in the shape of a kiss. I no sooner mentioned him than she -flew into a passion; and when I added, by way of clinching the -matter, that I was retained to defend the interests of a very -beautiful and deserving young lady (name not referred to, of -course) against the most cruel underhand treachery on the part of -Mr. Davager, the head chambermaid was ready to go any lengths -that she could safely to serve my cause. In a few words I -discovered that Boots was to call Mr. Davager at eight the next -morning, and was to take his clothes downstairs to brush as -usual. If Mr. D——— had not emptied his own pockets overnight, -we arranged that Boots was to forget to empty them for him, and -was to bring the clothes downstairs just as he found them. If Mr. -D———'s pockets were emptied, then, of course, it would be -necessary to transfer the searching process to Mr. D———'s -room. Under any circumstances, I was certain of the head -chambermaid; and under any circumstances, also, the head -chambermaid was certain of Boots.</p> - -<p>I waited till Tom came home, looking very puffy and bilious about -the face; but as to his intellects, if anything, rather sharper -than ever. His report was uncommonly short and pleasant. The inn -was shutting up; Mr. Davager was going to bed in rather a drunken -condition; Mr. Davager's friend had never appeared. I sent Tom -(properly instructed about keeping our man in view all the next -morning) to his shake-down behind the office-desk, where I heard -him hiccoughing half the night, as even the best boys will, when -over-excited and too full of tarts.</p> - -<p>At half-past seven next morning, I slipped quietly into Boots's -pantry.</p> - -<p>Down came the clothes. No pockets in trousers. Waistcoat-pockets -empty. Coat-pockets with something in them. First, handkerchief; -secondly, bunch of keys; thirdly, cigar-case; fourthly, -pocketbook. Of course I wasn't such a fool as to expect to find -the letter there, but I opened the pocketbook with a certain -curiosity, notwithstanding.</p> - -<p>Nothing in the two pockets of the book but some old -advertisements cut out of newspapers, a lock of hair tied round -with a dirty bit of ribbon, a circular letter about a loan -society, and some copies of verses not likely to suit any company -that was not of an extremely free-and-easy description. On the -leaves of the pocketbook, people's addresses scrawled in pencil, -and bets jotted down in red ink. On one leaf, by itself, this -queer inscription:</p> - -<p>"MEM. 5 ALONG. 4 ACROSS."</p> - -<p>I understood everything but those words and figures, so of course -I copied them out into my own book.</p> - -<p>Then I waited in the pantry till Boots had brushed the clothes, -and had taken them upstairs. His report when he came down was, -that Mr. D——— had asked if it was a fine morning. Being told -that it was, he had ordered breakfast at nine, and a saddle-horse -to be at the door at ten, to take him to Grimwith Abbey—one of -the sights in our neighborhood which I had told him of the -evening before.</p> - -<p>"I'll be here, coming in by the back way, at half-past ten," says -I to the head chambermaid.</p> - -<p>"What for?" says she.</p> - -<p>"To take the responsibility of making Mr. Davager's bed off your -hands for this morning only," says I.</p> - -<p>"Any more orders?" says she.</p> - -<p>"One more," says I. "I want to hire Sam for the morning. Put it -down in the order-book that he's to be brought round to my office -at ten."</p> - -<p>In case you should think Sam was a man, I'd better perhaps tell -you he was a pony. I'd made up my mind that it would be -beneficial to Tom's health, after the tarts, if he took a constitutional -airing on a nice hard saddle in the direction of Grimwith Abbey.</p> - -<p>"Anything else?" says the head chambermaid.</p> - -<p>"Only one more favor," says I. "Would my boy Tom be very much in -the way if he came, from now till ten, to help with the boots and -shoes, and stood at his work close by this window which looks out -on the staircase?"</p> - -<p>"Not a bit," says the head chambermaid.</p> - -<p>"Thank you," says I; and stepped back to my office directly.</p> - -<p>When I had sent Tom off to help with the boots and shoes, I -reviewed the whole case exactly as it stood at that time.</p> - -<p>There were three things Mr. Davager might do with the letter. He -might give it to his friend again before ten—in which case Tom -would most likely see the said friend on the stairs. He might -take it to his friend, or to some other friend, after ten—in -which case Tom was ready to follow him on Sam the pony. And, -lastly, he might leave it hidden somewhere in his room at the -inn—in which case I was all ready for him with a search-warrant -of my own granting, under favor always of my friend the head -chambermaid. So far I had my business arrangements all gathered -up nice and compact in my own hands. Only two things bothered me; -the terrible shortness of the time at my disposal, in case I -failed in my first experiments, for getting hold of the letter, -and that queer inscription which I had copied out of the -pocketbook:</p> - -<p>"MEM. 5 ALONG. 4 ACROSS."</p> - -<p>It was the measurement most likely of something, and he was -afraid of forgetting it; therefore it was something important. -Query—something about himself? Say "5" (inches) "along"—he -doesn't wear a wig. Say "5" (feet) "along"—it can't be coat, -waistcoat, trousers, or underclothing. Say "5" (yards) -"along"—it can't be anything about himself, unless he wears -round his body the rope that he's sure to be hanged with one of -these days. Then it is <i>not</i> something about himself. What do I -know of that is important to him besides? I know of nothing but -the Letter. Can the memorandum be connected with that? Say, yes. -What do "5 along" and "4 across" mean, then? The measurement of -something he carries about with him? or the measurement of -something in his room? I could get pretty satisfactorily to -myself as far as that; but I could get no further.</p> - -<p>Tom came back to the office, and reported him mounted for his -ride. His friend had never appeared. I sent the boy off, with his -proper instructions, on Sam's back—wrote an encouraging letter -to Mr. Frank to keep him quiet—then slipped into the inn by the -back way a little before half-past ten. The head chambermaid gave -me a signal when the landing was clear. I got into his room -without a soul but her seeing me, and locked the door -immediately.</p> - -<p>The case was, to a certain extent, simplified now. Either Mr. -Davager had ridden out with the letter about him, or he had left -it in some safe hiding-place in his room. I suspected it to be in -his room, for a reason that will a little astonish you—his -trunk, his dressing-case, and all the drawers and cupboards, were -left open. I knew my customer, and I thought this extraordinary -carelessness on his part rather suspicious.</p> - -<p>Mr. Davager had taken one of the best bedrooms at the Gatliffe -Arms. Floor carpeted all over, walls beautifully papered, -four-poster, and general furniture first-rate. I searched, to -begin with, on the usual plan, examining everything in every -possible way, and taking more than an hour about it. No -discovery. Then I pulled out a carpenter's rule which I had -brought with me. Was there anything in the room which—either in -inches, feet, or yards—answered to "5 along" and "4 across"? -Nothing. I put the rule back in my pocket—measurement was no -good, evidently. Was there anything in the room that would count -up to 5 one way and 4 another, seeing that nothing would measure -up to it? I had got obstinately persuaded by this time that the -letter must be in the room—principally because of the trouble I -had had in looking after it. And persuading myself of that, I -took it into my head next, just as obstinately, that "5 along" -and "4 across" must be the right clew to find the letter -by—principally because I hadn't left myself, after all my -searching and thinking, even so much as the ghost of another -guide to go by. "Five along"—where could I count five along the -room, in any part of it?</p> - -<p>Not on the paper. The pattern there was pillars of trellis-work -and flowers, inclosing a plain green ground—only four pillars -along the wall and only two across. The furniture? There were not -five chairs or five separate pieces of any furniture in the room -altogether. The fringes that hung from the cornice of the bed? -Plenty of them, at any rate! Up I jumped on the counterpane, with -my pen-knife in my hand. Every way that "5 along" and "4 across" -could be reckoned on those unlucky fringes I reckoned on -them—probed with my penknife—scratched with my nails—crunched -with my fingers. No use; not a sign of a letter; and the time was -getting on—oh, Lord! how the time did get on in Mr. Davager's -room that morning.</p> - -<p>I jumped down from the bed, so desperate at my ill luck that I -hardly cared whether anybody heard me or not. Quite a little -cloud of dust rose at my feet as they thumped on the carpet.</p> - -<p>"Hullo!" thought I, "my friend the head chambermaid takes it easy -here. Nice state for a carpet to be in, in one of the best -bedrooms at the Gatliffe Arms." Carpet! I had been jumping up on -the bed, and staring up at the walls, but I had never so much as -given a glance down at the carpet. Think of me pretending to be a -lawyer, and not knowing how to look low enough!</p> - -<p>The carpet! It had been a stout article in its time, had -evidently began in a drawing-room; then descended to a -coffee-room; then gone upstairs altogether to a bedroom. The -ground was brown, and the pattern was bunches of leaves and roses -speckled over the ground at regular distances. I reckoned up the -bunches. Ten along the room—eight across it. When I had stepped -out five one way and four the other, and was down on my knees on -the center bunch, as true as I sit on this chair I could hear my -own heart beating so loud that it quite frightened me.</p> - -<p>I looked narrowly all over the bunch, and I felt all over it with -the ends of my fingers, and nothing came of that. Then I scraped -it over slowly and gently with my nails. My second finger-nail -stuck a little at one place. I parted the pile of the carpet over -that place, and saw a thin slit which had been hidden by the pile -being smoothed over it—a slit about half an inch long, with a -little end of brown thread, exactly the color of the carpet -ground, sticking out about a quarter of an inch from the middle -of it. Just as I laid hold of the thread gently, I heard a -footstep outside the door.</p> - -<p>It was only the head chambermaid. "Haven't you done yet?" she -whispers.</p> - -<p>"Give me two minutes," says I, "and don't let anybody come near -the door—whatever you do, don't let anybody startle me again by -coming near the door."</p> - -<p>I took a little pull at the thread, and heard something rustle. I -took a longer pull, and out came a piece of paper, rolled up -tight like those candle-lighters that the ladies make. I unrolled -it—and, by George! there was the letter!</p> - -<p>The original letter! I knew it by the color of the ink. The -letter that was worth five hundred pounds to me! It was all that -I could do to keep myself at first from throwing my hat into the -air, and hurrahing like mad. I had to take a chair and sit quiet -in it for a minute or two, before I could cool myself down to my -proper business level. I knew that I was safely down again when I -found myself pondering how to let Mr. Davager know that he had -been done by the innocent country attorney, after all.</p> - -<p>It was not long before a nice little irritating plan occurred to -me. I tore a blank leaf out of my pocketbook, wrote on it with my -pencil, "Change for a five-hundred-pound note," folded up the -paper, tied the thread to it, poked it back into the -hiding-place, smoothed over the pile of the carpet, and then -bolted off to Mr. Frank. He in his turn bolted off to show the -letter to the young lady, who first certified to its genuineness, -then dropped it into the fire, and then took the initiative for -the first time since her marriage engagement, by flinging her -arms round his neck, kissing him with all her might, and going -into hysterics in his arms. So at least Mr. Frank told me, but -that's not evidence. It is evidence, however, that I saw them -married with my own eyes on the Wednesday; and that while they -went off in a carriage-and-four to spend the honeymoon, I went -off on my own legs to open a credit at the Town and County Bank -with a five-hundred-pound note in my pocket.</p> - -<p>As to Mr. Davager, I can tell you nothing more about him, except -what is derived from hearsay evidence, which is always -unsatisfactory evidence, even in a lawyer's mouth.</p> - -<p>My inestimable boy, Tom, although twice kicked off by Sam the -pony, never lost hold of the bridle, and kept his man in sight -from first to last. He had nothing particular to report except -that on the way out to the Abbey Mr. Davager had stopped at the -public-house, had spoken a word or two to his friend of the night -before, and had handed him what looked like a bit of paper. This -was no doubt a clew to the thread that held the letter, to be -used in case of accidents. In every other respect Mr. D. had -ridden out and ridden in like an ordinary sightseer. Tom reported -him to me as having dismounted at the hotel about two. At -half-past I locked my office door, nailed a card under the -knocker with "not at home till to-morrow" written on it, and -retired to a friend's house a mile or so out of the town for the -rest of the day.</p> - -<p>Mr. Davager, I have been since given to understand, left the -Gatliffe Arms that same night with his best clothes on his back, -and with all the valuable contents of his dressing-case in his -pockets. I am not in a condition to state whether he ever went -through the form of asking for his bill or not; but I can -positively testify that he never paid it, and that the effects -left in his bedroom did not pay it either. When I add to these -fragments of evidence that he and I have never met (luckily for -me, you will say) since I jockeyed him out of his banknote, I -have about fulfilled my implied contract as maker of a statement -with you, sir, as hearer of a statement. Observe the expression, -will you? I said it was a Statement before I began; and I say -it's a Statement now I've done. I defy you to prove it's a Story! -How are you getting on with my portrait? I like you very well, -Mr. Artist; but if you have been taking advantage of my talking -to shirk your work, as sure as you're alive I'll split upon you -to the Town Council!</p> - - -<p>I attended a great many times at my queer sitter's house before -his likeness was completed. To the last he was dissatisfied with -the progress I made. Fortunately for me, the Town Council -approved of the portrait when it was done. Mr. Boxsious, however, -objected to them as being much too easy to please. He did not -dispute the fidelity of the likeness, but he asserted that I had -not covered the canvas with half paint enough for my money. To -this day (for he is still alive), he describes me to all -inquiring friends as "The Painter-Man who jockeyed the Town -Council."</p> - - -<h3><a name="prologue3" id="prologue3"></a>PROLOGUE TO THE THIRD STORY.</h3> - -<p>It was a sad day for me when Mr. Lanfray, of Rockleigh Place, -discovering that his youngest daughter's health required a warm -climate, removed from his English establishment to the South of -France. Roving from place to place, as I am obliged to do, though -I make many acquaintances, I keep but few friends. The nature of -my calling is, I am quite aware, mainly answerable for this. -People cannot be blamed for forgetting a man who, on leaving -their houses, never can tell them for certain when he is likely -to be in their neighborhood again.</p> - -<p>Mr. Lanfray was one of the few exceptional persons who always -remembered me. I have proofs of his friendly interest in my -welfare in the shape of letters which I treasure with grateful -care. The last of these is an invitation to his house in the -South of France. There is little chance at present of my being -able to profit by his kindness; but I like to read his invitation -from time to time, for it makes me fancy, in my happier moments, -that I may one day really be able to accept it.</p> - -<p>My introduction to this gentleman, in my capacity of -portrait-painter, did not promise much for me in a professional -point of view. I was invited to Rockleigh—or to "The Place," as -it was more frequently called among the people of the county—to -take a likeness in water-colors, on a small scale, of the French -governess who lived with Mr. Lanfray's daughters. My first idea -on hearing of this was, that the governess was about to leave her -situation, and that her pupils wished to have a memorial of her -in the shape of a portrait. Subsequent inquiry, however, informed -me that I was in error. It was the eldest of Mr. Lanfray's -daughters, who was on the point of leaving the house to accompany -her husband to India; and it was for her that the portrait had -been ordered as a home remembrance of her best and dearest -friend. Besides these particulars, I discovered that the -governess, though still called "mademoiselle," was an old lady; -that Mr. Lanfray had been introduced to her many years since in -France, after the death of his wife; that she was absolute -mistress in the house; and that her three pupils had always -looked up to her as a second mother, from the time when their -father first placed them under her charge.</p> - -<p>These scraps of information made me rather anxious to see -Mademoiselle Clairfait, the governess.</p> - -<p>On the day appointed for my attendance at the comfortable country -house of Rockleigh, I was detained on the road, and did not -arrive at my destination until late in the evening. The welcome -accorded to me by Mr. Lanfray gave an earnest of the unvarying -kindness that I was to experience at his hands in after-life. I -was received at once on equal terms, as if I had been a friend of -the family, and was presented the same evening to my host's -daughters. They were not merely three elegant and attractive -young women, but—what means much more than that—three admirable -subjects for pictures, the bride particularly. Her young husband -did not strike me much at first sight; he seemed rather shy and -silent. After I had been introduced to him, I looked round for -Mademoiselle Clairfait, but she was not present; and I was soon -afterward informed by Mr. Lanfray that she always spent the -latter part of the evening in her own room.</p> - -<p>At the breakfast-table the next morning, I again looked for my -sitter, and once more in vain. "Mamma, as we call her," said one -of the ladies, "is dressing expressly for her picture, Mr. Kerby. -I hope you are not above painting silk, lace, and jewelry. The -dear old lady, who is perfection in everything else, is -perfection also in dress, and is bent on being painted in all her -splendor."</p> - -<p>This explanation prepared me for something extraordinary; but I -found that my anticipations had fallen far below the reality when -Mademoiselle Clairfait at last made her appearance, and announced -that she was ready to sit for her portrait.</p> - -<p>Never before or since have I seen such perfect dressing and such -active old age in combination. "Mademoiselle" was short and thin; -her face was perfectly white all over, the skin being puckered up -in an infinite variety of the smallest possible wrinkles. Her -bright black eyes were perfect marvels of youthfulness and -vivacity. They sparkled, and beamed, and ogled, and moved about -over everybody and everything at such a rate, that the plain gray -hair above them looked unnaturally venerable, and the wrinkles -below an artful piece of masquerade to represent old age. As for -her dress, I remember few harder pieces of work than the painting -of it. She wore a silver-gray silk gown that seemed always -flashing out into some new light whenever she moved. It was as -stiff as a board, and rustled like the wind. Her head, neck, and -bosom were enveloped in clouds of the airiest-looking lace I ever -saw, disposed about each part of her with the most exquisite -grace and propriety, and glistening at all sorts of unexpected -places with little fairy-like toys in gold and precious stones. -On her right wrist she wore three small bracelets, with the hair -of her three pupils worked into them; and on her left, one large -bracelet with a miniature let in over the clasp. She had a dark -crimson and gold scarf thrown coquettishly over her shoulders, -and held a lovely little feather-fan in her hand. When she first -presented herself before me in this costume, with a brisk -courtesy and a bright smile, filling the room with perfume, and -gracefully flirting the feather-fan, I lost all confidence in my -powers as a portrait-painter immediately. The brightest colors in -my box looked dowdy and dim, and I myself felt like an unwashed, -unbrushed, unpresentable sloven.</p> - -<p>"Tell me, my angels," said mademoiselle, apostrophizing her -pupils in the prettiest foreign English, "am I the cream of all -creams this morning? Do I carry my sixty years resplendently? -Will the savages in India, when my own love exhibits my picture -among them, say, 'Ah! smart! smart! this was a great dandy?' And -the gentleman, the skillful artist, whom it is even more an honor -than a happiness to meet, does he approve of me for a model? Does -he find me pretty and paintable from top to toe?" Here she -dropped me another brisk courtesy, placed herself in a -languishing position in the sitter's chair, and asked us all if -she looked like a shepherdess in Dresden china.</p> - -<p>The young ladies burst out laughing, and mademoiselle, as gay as -any of them and a great deal shriller, joined in the merriment. -Never before had I contended with any sitter half as restless as -that wonderful old lady. No sooner had I begun than she jumped -out of the chair, and exclaiming, "<i>Grand Dieu!</i> I have forgotten -to embrace my angels this morning," ran up to her pupils, raised -herself on tiptoe before them in quick succession, put the two -first fingers of each hand under their ears, kissed them lightly -on both cheeks, and was back again in the chair before an English -governess could have said, "Good-morning, my dears, I hope you -all slept well last night."</p> - -<p>I began again. Up jumped mademoiselle for the second time, and -tripped across the room to a cheval-glass. "No!" I heard her say -to herself, "I have not discomposed my head in kissing my angels. -I may come back and pose for my picture."</p> - -<p>Back she came. I worked from her for five minutes at the most. -"Stop!" cries mademoiselle, jumping up for the third time; "I -must see how this skillful artist is getting on. <i>Grand Dieu!</i> -why he has done nothing!"</p> - -<p>For the fourth time I began, and for the fourth time the old lady -started out of her chair. "Now I must repose myself," said -mademoiselle, walking lightly from end to end of the room, and -humming a French air, by way of taking a rest.</p> - -<p>I was at my wit's end, and the young ladies saw it. They all -surrounded my unmanageable sitter, and appealed to her compassion -for me. "Certainly!" said mademoiselle, expressing astonishment -by flinging up both her hands with all the fingers spread out in -the air. "But why apostrophize me thus? I am here, I am ready, I -am at the service of this skillful artist. Why apostrophize me?"</p> - -<p>A fortunate chance question of mine steadied her for some time. I -inquired if I was expected to draw the whole of my sitter's -figure as well as her face. Mademoiselle replied by a comic -scream of indignation. If I was the brave and gifted man for whom -she took me, I ought to be ready to perish rather than leave out -an inch of her anywhere. Dress was her passion, and it would be -an outrage on her sentiments if I did not do full justice to -everything she had on—to her robe, to her lace, to her scarf, to -her fan, to her rings, her jewels, and, above all, to her -bracelets. I groaned in spirit at the task before me, but made my -best bow of acquiescence. Mademoiselle was not to be satisfied by -a mere bow; she desired the pleasure of specially directing my -attention, if I would be so amiable as to get up and approach -her, to one of her bracelets in particular—the bracelet with the -miniature, on her left wrist. It had been the gift of the dearest -friend she ever had, and the miniature represented that friend's -beloved and beautiful face. Could I make a tiny, tiny copy of -that likeness in my drawing! Would I only be so obliging as to -approach for one little moment, and see if such a thing were -possible?</p> - -<p>I obeyed unwillingly enough, expecting, from mademoiselle's -expression, to see a commonplace portrait of some unfortunate -admirer whom she had treated with unmerited severity in the days -of her youth. To my astonishment, I found that the miniature, -which was very beautifully painted, represented a woman's face—a -young woman with kind, sad eyes, pale, delicate cheeks, light -hair, and such a pure, tender, lovely expressions that I thought -of Raphael's Madonnas the moment I looked at her portrait.</p> - -<p>The old lady observed the impression which the miniature produced -on me, and nodded her head in silence. "What a beautiful, -innocent, pure face!" I said.</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle Clairfait gently brushed a particle of dust from the -miniature with her handkerchief, and kissed it. "I have three -angels still left," she said, looking at her pupils. "They -console me for the fourth, who has gone to heaven."</p> - -<p>She patted the face on the miniature gently with her little, -withered, white fingers, as if it had been a living thing. -<i>"Sister Rose!"</i> she sighed to herself; then, looking up again at -me, said, "I should like it put into my portrait, sir, because I -have always worn it since I was a young woman, for 'Sister -Rose's' sake."</p> - -<p>The sudden change in her manner, from the extreme of flighty -gayety to the extreme of quiet sadness, would have looked -theatrical in a woman of any other nation. It seemed, however, -perfectly natural and appropriate in her. I went back to my -drawing, rather perplexed. Who was "Sister Rose"? Not one of the -Lanfray family, apparently. The composure of the young ladies -when the name was mentioned showed plainly enough that the -original of the miniature had been no relation of theirs.</p> - -<p>I tried to stifle my curiosity on the subject of Sister Rose, by -giving myself entirely to my work. For a full half-hour, -Mademoiselle Clairfait sat quietly before me, with her hands -crossed on her lap, and her eyes fixed on the bracelet. This -happy alteration enabled me to do something toward completing the -outline of her face and figure. I might even, under fortunate -circumstances, have vanquished the preliminary difficulties of my -task at one effort; but the fates were against me that day. While -I was still working rapidly and to my satisfaction, a servant -knocked at the door to announce luncheon, and mademoiselle -lightly roused herself from her serious reflection and her quiet -position in a moment.</p> - -<p>"Ah me!" she said, turning the miniature round on her wrist till -it was out of sight. "What animals we are, after all! The -spiritual part of us is at the mercy of the stomach. My heart is -absorbed by tender thoughts, yet I am not the less ready for -luncheon! Come, my children and fellow-mortals. <i>Allons cultiver -notre jardin!</i>"</p> - -<p>With this quotation from "Candide," plaintively delivered, the -old lady led the way out of the room, and was followed by her -younger pupils. The eldest sister remained behind for a moment, -and reminded me that the lunch was ready.</p> - -<p>"I am afraid you have found the dear old soul rather an unruly -sitter," she said, noticing the look of dissatisfaction with -which I was regarding my drawing. "But she will improve as you go -on. She has done better already for the last half-hour, has she -not?"</p> - -<p>"Much better," I answered. "My admiration of the miniature on the -bracelet seemed—I suppose, by calling up some old -associations—to have a strangely soothing effect on Mademoiselle -Clairfait."</p> - -<p>"Ah yes! only remind her of the original of that portrait, and -you change her directly, whatever she may have been saying or -doing the moment before. Sometimes she talks of <i>Sister Rose</i>, -and of all that she went through in the time of the French -Revolution, by the hour together. It is wonderfully -interesting—at least we all think so."</p> - -<p>"I presume that the lady described as 'Sister Rose' was a -relation of Mademoiselle Clairfait's?"</p> - -<p>"No, only a very dear friend. Mademoiselle Clairfait is the -daughter of a silk-mercer, once established at Chalons-sur-Marne. -Her father happened to give an asylum in his office to a lonely -old man, to whom 'Sister Rose' and her brother had been greatly -indebted in the revolutionary time; and out of a train of -circumstances connected with that, the first acquaintance between -mademoiselle and the friend whose portrait she wears, arose. -After the time of her father's bankruptcy, and for many years -before we were placed under her charge, our good old governess -lived entirely with 'Sister Rose' and her brother. She must then -have heard all the interesting things that she has since often -repeated to my sisters and myself."</p> - -<p>"Might I suggest," said I, after an instant's consideration, -"that the best way to give me a fair chance of studying -Mademoiselle Clairfait's face at the next sitting, would be to -lead her thoughts again to that quieting subject of the -miniature, and to the events which the portrait recalls? It is -really the only plan, after what I have observed this morning, -that I can think of for enabling me to do myself and my sitter -justice."</p> - -<p>"I am delighted to hear you say so," replied the lady; "for the -execution of your plan, by me or by my sisters, will be the -easiest thing in the world. A word from us at any time will set -mademoiselle thinking, and talking too, of the friend of her -youthful days. Depend on our assistance so far. And now let me -show you the way to the luncheon-table."</p> - - - -<p>Two good results followed the ready rendering of the help I had -asked from my host's daughters. I succeeded with my portrait of -Mademoiselle Clairfait, and I heard the story which occupies the -following pages.</p> - -<p>In the case of the preceding narratives, I have repeated what was -related to me, as nearly as possible in the very words of my -sitters. In the case of this third story, it is impossible for me -to proceed upon the same plan. The circumstances of "Sister -Rose's" eventful history were narrated to me at different times, -and in the most fragmentary and discursive manner. Mademoiselle -Clairfait characteristically mixed up with the direct interest of -her story, not only references to places and people which had no -recognizable connection with it, but outbursts of passionate -political declamation, on the extreme liberal side—to say -nothing of little tender apostrophes to her beloved friend, which -sounded very prettily as she spoke them, but which would lose -their effect altogether by being transferred to paper. Under -these circumstances, I have thought it best to tell the story in -my own way—rigidly adhering to the events of it exactly as they -were related; and never interfering on my own responsibility -except to keep order in the march of the incidents, and to -present them, to the best of my ability, variously as well as -interestingly to the reader.</p> - -<h2><a name="story3" id="story3"></a> -THE FRENCH GOVERNESS'S STORY<br />OF<br />SISTER ROSE.</h2> - -<h3>PART FIRST.</h3> - -<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> - -<p>"Well, Monsieur Guillaume, what is the news this evening?"</p> - -<p>"None that I know of, Monsieur Justin, except that Mademoiselle -Rose is to be married to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"Much obliged, my respectable old friend, for so interesting and -unexpected a reply to my question. Considering that I am the -valet of Monsieur Danville, who plays the distinguished part of -bridegroom in the little wedding comedy to which you refer, I -think I may assure you, without offense, that your news is, so -far as I am concerned, of the stalest possible kind. Take a pinch -of snuff, Monsieur Guillaume, and excuse me if I inform you that -my question referred to public news, and not to the private -affairs of the two families whose household interests we have the -pleasure of promoting."</p> - -<p>"I don't understand what you mean by such a phrase as promoting -household interests, Monsieur Justin. I am the servant of -Monsieur Louis Trudaine, who lives here with his sister, -Mademoiselle Rose. You are the servant of Monsieur Danville, -whose excellent mother has made up the match for him with my -young lady. As servants, both of us, the pleasantest news we can -have any concern with is news that is connected with the -happiness of our masters. I have nothing to do with public -affairs; and, being one of the old school, I make it my main -object in life to mind my own business. If our homely domestic -politics have no interests for you, allow me to express my -regret, and to wish you a very good-evening."</p> - -<p>"Pardon me, my dear sir, I have not the slightest respect for the -old school, or the least sympathy with people who only mind their -own business. However, I accept your expressions of regret; I -reciprocate your 'Good-evening'; and I trust to find you improved -in temper, dress, manners, and appearance the next time I have -the honor of meeting you. Adieu, Monsieur Guillaume, and! <i>Vive -la bagatelle!</i>"</p> - -<p>These scraps of dialogue were interchanged on a lovely summer -evening in the year seventeen hundred and eighty-nine, before the -back door of a small house which stood on the banks of the Seine, -about three miles westward of the city of Rouen. The one speaker -was lean, old, crabbed and slovenly; the other was plump, young, -oily-mannered and dressed in the most gorgeous livery costume of -the period. The last days of genuine dandyism were then rapidly -approaching all over the civilized world; and Monsieur Justin -was, in his own way, dressed to perfection, as a living -illustration of the expiring glories of his epoch.</p> - -<p>After the old servant had left him, he occupied himself for a few -minutes in contemplating, superciliously enough, the back view of -the little house before which he stood. Judging by the windows, -it did not contain more than six or eight rooms in all. Instead -of stables and outhouses, there was a conservatory attached to -the building on one side, and a low, long room, built of wood, -gayly painted, on the other. One of the windows of this room was -left uncurtained and through it could be seen, on a sort of -dresser inside, bottles filled with strangely-colored liquids -oddly-shaped utensils of brass and copper, one end of a large -furnace, and other objects, which plainly proclaimed that the -apartment was used as a chemical laboratory.</p> - -<p>"Think of our bride's brother amusing himself in such a place as -that with cooking drugs in saucepans," muttered Monsieur Justin, -peeping into the room. "I am the least particular man in the -universe, but I must say I wish we were not going to be connected -by marriage with an amateur apothecary. Pah! I can smell the -place through the window."</p> - -<p>With these words Monsieur Justin turned his back on the -laboratory in disgust, and sauntered toward the cliffs -overhanging the river.</p> - -<p>Leaving the garden attached to the house, he ascended some gently -rising ground by a winding path. Arrived at the summit, the whole -view of the Seine, with its lovely green islands, its banks -fringed with trees, its gliding boats, and little scattered -water-side cottages, opened before him. Westward, where the level -country appeared beyond the further bank of the river, the -landscape was all aglow with the crimson of the setting sun. -Eastward, the long shadows and mellow intervening lights, the red -glory that quivered on the rippling water, the steady ruby fire -glowing on cottage windows that reflected the level sunlight, led -the eye onward and onward, along the windings of the Seine, until -it rested upon the spires, towers, and broadly-massed houses of -Rouen, with the wooded hills rising beyond them for background. -Lovely to look on at any time, the view was almost supernaturally -beautiful now under the gorgeous evening light that glowed up in -it. All its attractions, however, were lost on the valet; he -stood yawning with his hands in his pockets, looking neither to -the right nor to the left, but staring straight before him at a -little hollow, beyond which the ground sloped away smoothly to -the brink of the cliff. A bench was placed here, and three -persons—an old lady, a gentleman, and a young girl—were seated -on it, watching the sunset, and by consequence turning their -backs on Monsieur Justin. Near them stood two gentlemen, also -looking toward the river and the distant view. These five -figures attracted the valet's attention, to the exclusion of -every other object around him.</p> - -<p>"There they are still," he said to himself, discontentedly. -"Madame Danville in the same place on the seat; my master, the -bridegroom, dutifully next to her; Mademoiselle Rose, the bride, -bashfully next to him; Monsieur Trudaine, the amateur apothecary -brother, affectionately next to her; and Monsieur Lomaque, our -queer land-steward, officially in waiting on the whole party. -There they all are indeed, incomprehensibly wasting their time -still in looking at nothing! Yes," continued Monsieur Justin, -lifting his eyes wearily, and staring hard, first up the river at -Rouen, then down the river at the setting sun; "yes, plague take -them! looking at nothing, absolutely and positively at nothing, -all this while."</p> - -<p>Here Monsieur Justin yawned again, and, returning to the garden, -sat himself down in an arbor and resignedly went to sleep.</p> - -<p>If the valet had ventured near the five persons whom he had been -apostrophizing from a distance, and if he had been possessed of -some little refinement of observation, he could hardly have -failed to remark that the bride and bridegroom of the morrow, and -their companions on either side, were all, in a greater or less -degree, under the influence of some secret restraint, which -affected their conversation, their gestures, and even the -expression of their faces. Madame Danville—a handsome, -richly-dressed old lady, with very bright eyes, and a quick, -suspicious manner—looked composedly and happily enough, as long -as her attention was fixed on her son. But when she turned from -him toward the bride, a hardly perceptible uneasiness passed over -her face—an uneasiness which only deepened to positive distrust -and dissatisfaction whenever she looked toward Mademoiselle -Trudaine's brother. In the same way, her son, who was all smiles -and happiness while he was speaking with his future wife, altered -visibly in manner and look exactly as his mother altered, -whenever the presence of Monsieur Trudaine specially impressed -itself on his attention. Then, again, Lomaque, the -land-steward—quiet, sharp, skinny Lomaque, with the submissive -manner, and the red-rimmed eyes—never looked up at his master's -future brother-in-law without looking away again rather uneasily, -and thoughtfully drilling holes in the grass with his long -sharp-pointed cane. Even the bride herself—the pretty, innocent -girl, with her childish shyness of manner—seemed to be affected -like the others. Doubt, if not distress, overshadowed her face -from time to time, and the hand which her lover held trembled a -little, and grew restless, when she accidentally caught her -brother's eye.</p> - -<p>Strangely enough there was nothing to repel, but, on the -contrary, everything to attract in the look and manner of the -person whose mere presence seemed to exercise such a curiously -constraining influence over the wedding-party. Louis Trudaine -was a remarkably handsome man. His expression was singularly kind -and gentle; his manner irresistibly winning in its frank, manly -firmness and composure. His words, when he occasionally spoke, -seemed as unlikely to give offense as his looks; for he only -opened his lips in courteous reply to questions directly -addressed to him. Judging by a latent mournfulness in the tones -of his voice, and by the sorrowful tenderness which clouded his -kind, earnest eyes whenever they rested on his sister, his -thoughts were certainly not of the happy or the hopeful kind. But -he gave them no direct expression; he intruded his secret -sadness, whatever it might be, on no one of his companions. -Nevertheless, modest and self-restrained as he was, there was -evidently some reproving or saddening influence in his presence -which affected the spirits of every one near him, and darkened -the eve of the wedding to bride and bridegroom alike.</p> - -<p>As the sun slowly sank in the heavens, the conversation flagged -more and more. After a long silence, the bridegroom was the first -to start a new subject.</p> - -<p>"Rose, love," he said, "that magnificent sunset is a good omen -for our marriage; it promises another lovely day to-morrow."</p> - -<p>The bride laughed and blushed.</p> - -<p>"Do you really believe in omens, Charles?" she said.</p> - -<p>"My dear," interposed the old lady, before her son could answer, -"if Charles does believe in omens, it is nothing to laugh at. You -will soon know better, when you are his wife, than to confound -him, even in the slightest things, with the common herd of -people. All his convictions are well founded—so well, that if I -thought he really did believe in omens, I should most assuredly -make up my mind to believe in them too."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon, madame," Rose began, tremulously, "I only -meant—"</p> - -<p>"My dear child, have you so little knowledge of the world as to -suppose that I could be offended—"</p> - -<p>"Let Rose speak," said the young man.</p> - -<p>He turned round petulantly, almost with the air of a spoiled -child, to his mother, as he said those words. She had been -looking fondly and proudly on him the moment before. Now her eyes -wandered disconcertedly from his face; she hesitated an instant -with a sudden confusion which seemed quite foreign to her -character, then whispered in his ear,</p> - -<p>"Am I to blame, Charles, for trying to make her worthy of you?"</p> - -<p>Her son took no notice of the question. He only reiterated -sharply, "Let Rose speak."</p> - -<p>"I really had nothing to say," faltered the young girl, growing -more and more confused.</p> - -<p>"Oh, but you had!"</p> - -<p>There was such an ungracious sharpness in his voice, such an -outburst of petulance in his manner as he spoke, that his mother -gave him a warning touch on the arm, and whispered "Hush!"</p> - -<p>Monsieur Lomaque, the land-steward, and Monsieur Trudaine, the -brother, both glanced searchingly at the bride, as the words -passed the bridegroom's lips. She seemed to be frightened and -astonished, rather than irritated or hurt. A curious smile -puckered up Lomaque's lean face, as he looked demurely down on -the ground, and began drilling a fresh hole in the turf with the -sharp point of his cane. Trudaine turned aside quickly, and, -sighing, walked away a few paces; then came back, and seemed -about to speak, but Danville interrupted him.</p> - -<p>"Pardon me, Rose," he said; "I am so jealous of even the -appearance of any want of attention toward you, that I was nearly -allowing myself to be irritated about nothing."</p> - -<p>He kissed her hand very gracefully and tenderly as he made his -excuse; but there was a latent expression in his eye which was at -variance with the apparent spirit of his action. It was noticed -by nobody but observant and submissive Monsieur Lomaque, who -smiled to himself again, and drilled harder than ever at his hole -in the grass.</p> - -<p>"I think Monsieur Trudaine was about to speak," said Madame -Danville. "Perhaps he will have no objection to let us hear what -he was going to say."</p> - -<p>"None, madame," replied Trudaine, politely. "I was about to take -upon myself the blame of Rose's want of respect for believers in -omens, by confessing that I have always encouraged her to laugh -at superstitions of every kind."</p> - -<p>"You a ridiculer of superstitions?" said Danville, turning -quickly on him. "You, who have built a laboratory; you, who are -an amateur professor of the occult arts of chemistry—a seeker -after the Elixir of Life. On my word of honor, you astonish me!"</p> - -<p>There was an ironical politeness in his voice, look, and manner -as he said this, which his mother and his land-steward, Monsieur -Lomaque, evidently knew how to interpret. The first touched his -arm again and whispered, "Be careful!" the second suddenly grew -serious, and left off drilling his hole in the grass. Rose -neither heard the warning of Madame Danville, nor noticed the -alteration in Lomaque. She was looking round at her brother, and -was waiting with a bright, affectionate smile to hear his answer. -He nodded, as if to reassure her, before he spoke again to -Danville.</p> - -<p>"You have rather romantic ideas about experiments in chemistry," -he said, quietly. "Mine have so little connection with what you -call the occult arts that all the world might see them, if all -the world thought it worth while. The only Elixirs of Life that I -know of are a quiet heart and a contented mind. Both those I -found, years and years ago, when Rose and I first came to live -together in the house yonder."</p> - -<p>He spoke with a quiet sadness in his voice, which meant far more -to his sister than the simple words he uttered. Her eyes filled -with tears; she turned for a moment from her lover, and took her -brother's hand. "Don't talk, Louis, as if you thought you were -going to lose your sister, because—" Her lips began to tremble, -and she stopped suddenly.</p> - -<p>"More jealous than ever of your taking her away from him!" -whispered Madame Danville in her son's ear. "Hush! don't, for -God's sake, take any notice of it," she added, hurriedly, as he -rose from the seat and faced Trudaine with undisguised irritation -and impatience in his manner. Before he could speak, the old -servant Guillaume made his appearance, and announced that coffee -was ready. Madame Danville again said "Hush!" and quickly took -one of his arms, while he offered the other to Rose. "Charles," -said the young girl, amazedly, "how flushed your face is, and how -your arm trembles!"</p> - -<p>He controlled himself in a moment, smiled, and said to her: -"Can't you guess why, Rose? I am thinking of to-morrow." While he -was speaking, he passed close by the land-steward, on his way -back to the house with the ladies. The smile returned to Monsieur -Lomaque's lean face, and a curious light twinkled in his -red-rimmed eyes as he began a fresh hole in the grass.</p> - -<p>"Won't you go indoors, and take some coffee?" asked Trudaine, -touching the land-steward on the arm.</p> - -<p>Monsieur Lomaque started a little and left his cane sticking in -the ground. "A thousand thanks, monsieur," he said; "may I be -allowed to follow you?"</p> - -<p>"I confess the beauty of the evening makes me a little unwilling -to leave this place just yet."</p> - -<p>"Ah! the beauties of Nature—I feel them with you, Monsieur -Trudaine; I feel them here." Saying this, Lomaque laid one hand -on his heart, and with the other pulled his stick out of the -grass. He had looked as little at the landscape or the setting -sun as Monsieur Justin himself.</p> - -<p>They sat down, side by side, on the empty bench; and then there -followed an awkward pause. Submissive Lomaque was too discreet to -forget his place, and venture on starting a new topic. Trudaine -was preoccupied, and disinclined to talk. It was necessary, -however, in common politeness, to say something. Hardly attending -himself to his own words, he began with a commonplace phrase: "I -regret, Monsieur Lomaque, that we have not had more opportunities -of bettering our acquaintance."</p> - -<p>"I feel deeply indebted," rejoined the land-steward, "to the -admirable Madame Danville for having chosen me as her escort -hither from her son's estate near Lyons, and having thereby -procured for me the honor of this introduction." Both Monsieur -Lomaque's red-rimmed eyes were seized with a sudden fit of -winking, as he made this polite speech. His enemies were -accustomed to say that, whenever he was particularly insincere, -or particularly deceitful, he always took refuge in the weakness -of his eyes, and so evaded the trying ordeal of being obliged to -look steadily at the person whom he was speaking with.</p> - -<p>"I was pleased to hear you mention my late father's name, at -dinner, in terms of high respect," continued Trudaine, resolutely -keeping up the conversation. "Did you know him?"</p> - -<p>"I am indirectly indebted to your excellent father," answered the -land-steward, "for the very situation which I now hold. At a time -when the good word of a man of substance and reputation was -needed to save me from poverty and ruin, your father spoke that -word. Since then I have, in my own very small way, succeeded in -life, until I have risen to the honor of superintending the -estate of Monsieur Danville."</p> - -<p>"Excuse me, but your way of speaking of your present situation -rather surprises me. Your father, I believe, was a merchant, just -as Danville's father was a merchant; the only difference between -them was that one failed and the other realized a large fortune. -Why should you speak of yourself as honored by holding your -present place?"</p> - -<p>"Have you never heard?" exclaimed Lomaque, with an appearance of -great astonishment, "or can you have heard, and forgotten, that -Madame Danville is descended from one of the noble houses of -France? Has she never told you, as she has often told me, that -she condescended when she married her late husband; and that her -great object in life is to get the title of her family (years -since extinct in the male line) settled on her son?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Trudaine; "I remember to have heard something of -this, and to have paid no great attention to it at the time, -having little sympathy with such aspirations as you describe. You -have lived many years in Danville's service, Monsieur Lomaque; -have you"—he hesitated for a moment, then continued, looking the -land-steward full in the face—"have you found him a good and -kind master?"</p> - -<p>Lomaque's thin lips seemed to close instinctively at the -question, as if he were never going to speak again. He -bowed—Trudaine waited—he only bowed again. Trudaine waited a -third time. Lomaque looked at his host with perfect steadiness -for an instant, then his eyes began to get weak again. "You seem -to have some special interest," he quietly remarked, "if I may -say so without offense, in asking me that question."</p> - -<p>"I deal frankly, at all hazards, with every one," returned -Trudaine; "and stranger as you are, I will deal frankly with you. -I acknowledge that I have an interest in asking that -question—the dearest, the tenderest of all interests." At those -last words, his voice trembled for a moment, but he went on -firmly; "from the beginning of my sister's engagement with -Danville, I made it my duty not to conceal my own feelings; my -conscience and my affection for Rose counseled me to be candid to -the last, even though my candor should distress or offend others. -When we first made the acquaintance of Madame Danville, and when -I first discovered that her son's attentions to Rose were not -unfavorably received, I felt astonished, and, though it cost me a -hard effort, I did not conceal that astonishment from my -sister—"</p> - -<p>Lomaque, who had hitherto been all attention, started here, and -threw up his hands in amazement. "Astonished, did I hear you say? -Astonished, Monsieur Trudaine, that the attentions of a young -gentleman, possessed of all the graces and accomplishments of a -highly-bred Frenchman, should be favorably received by a young -lady! Astonished that such a dancer, such a singer, such a -talker, such a notoriously fascinating ladies' man as Monsieur -Danville, should, by dint of respectful assiduity, succeed in -making some impression on the heart of Mademoiselle Rose! Oh, -Monsieur Trudaine, venerated Monsieur Trudaine, this is almost -too much to credit!"</p> - -<p>Lomaque's eyes grew weaker than ever, and winked incessantly as -he uttered this apostrophe. At the end, he threw up his hands -again, and blinked inquiringly all round him, in mute appeal to -universal nature.</p> - -<p>"When, in the course of time, matters were further advanced," -continued Trudaine, without paying any attention to the -interruption; "when the offer of marriage was made, and when I -knew that Rose had in her own heart accepted it, I objected, and -I did not conceal my objections—"</p> - -<p>"Heavens!" interposed Lomaque again, clasping his hands this time -with a look of bewilderment; "what objections, what possible -objections to a man young and well-bred, with an immense fortune -and an uncompromised character? I have heard of these objections; -I know they have made bad blood; and I ask myself again and -again, what can they be?"</p> - -<p>"God knows I have often tried to dismiss them from my mind as -fanciful and absurd," said Trudaine, "and I have always failed. -It is impossible, in your presence, that I can describe in detail -what my own impressions have been, from the first, of the master -whom you serve. Let it be enough if I confide to you that I -cannot, even now, persuade myself of the sincerity of his -attachment to my sister, and that I feel—in spite of myself, in -spite of my earnest desire to put the most implicit confidence -in Rose's choice—a distrust of his character and temper, which -now, on the eve of the marriage, amounts to positive terror. Long -secret suffering, doubt, and suspense, wring this confession from -me, Monsieur Lomaque, almost unawares, in defiance of caution, in -defiance of all the conventionalities of society. You have lived -for years under the same roof with this man; you have seen him in -his most unguarded and private moments. I tempt you to betray no -confidence—I only ask you if you can make me happy by telling me -that I have been doing your master grievous injustice by my -opinion of him? I ask you to take my hand, and tell me if you -can, in all honor, that my sister is not risking the happiness of -her whole life by giving herself in marriage to Danville -to-morrow!"</p> - -<p>He held out his hand while he spoke. By some strange chance, -Lomaque happened just at that moment to be looking away toward -those beauties of Nature which he admired so greatly. "Really, -Monsieur Trudaine, really such an appeal from you, at such a -time, amazes me." Having got so far, he stopped and said no more.</p> - -<p>"When we first sat down together here, I had no thought of making -this appeal, no idea of talking to you as I have talked," pursued -the other. "My words have escaped me, as I told you, almost -unawares; you must make allowances for them and for me. I cannot -expect others, Monsieur Lomaque, to appreciate and understand my -feelings for Rose. We two have lived alone in the world together; -father, mother, kindred, they all died years since, and left us. -I am so much older than my sister that I have learned to feel -toward her more as a father than as a brother. All my life, all -my dearest hopes, all my highest expectations, have centered in -her. I was past the period of my boyhood when my mother put my -little child sister's hand in mine, and said to me on her -death-bed: 'Louis, be all to her that I have been, for she has no -one left to look to but you.' Since then the loves and ambitions -of other men have not been my loves or my ambitions. Sister -Rose—as we all used to call her in those past days, as I love to -call her still—Sister Rose has been the one aim, the one -happiness, the one precious trust, the one treasured reward, of -all my life. I have lived in this poor house, in this dull -retirement, as in a paradise, because Sister Rose—my innocent, -happy, bright-faced Eve—has lived here with me. Even if the -husband of her choice had been the husband of mine, the necessity -of parting with her would have been the hardest, the bitterest of -trials. As it is, thinking what I think, dreading what I dread, -judge what my feelings must be on the eve of her marriage; and -know why, and with what object, I made the appeal which surprised -you a moment since, but which cannot surprise you now. Speak if -you will—I can say no more." He sighed bitterly; his head -dropped on his breast, and the hand which he had extended to -Lomaque trembled as he withdrew it and let it fall at his side.</p> - -<p>The land-steward was not a man accustomed to hesitate, but he -hesitated now. He was not usually at a loss for phrases in which -to express himself, but he stammered at the very outset of his -reply. "Suppose I answered," he began, slowly; "suppose I told -you that you wronged him, would my testimony really be strong -enough to shake opinions, or rather presumptions, which have been -taking firmer and firmer hold of you for months and months past? -Suppose, on the other hand, that my master had his little" -(Lomaque hesitated before he pronounced the next word)—"his -little—infirmities, let me say; but only hypothetically, mind -that—infirmities; and suppose I had observed them, and was -willing to confide them to you, what purpose would such a -confidence answer now, at the eleventh hour, with Mademoiselle -Rose's heart engaged, with the marriage fixed for to-morrow? No! -no! trust me—"</p> - -<p>Trudaine looked up suddenly. "I thank you for reminding me, -Monsieur Lomaque, that it is too late now to make inquiries, and -by consequence too late also to trust in others. My sister has -chosen; and on the subject of that choice my lips shall be -henceforth sealed. The events of the future are with God; -whatever they may be, I hope I am strong enough to bear my part -in them with the patience and the courage of a man! I apologize, -Monsieur Lomaque, for having thoughtlessly embarrassed you by -questions which I had no right to ask. Let us return to the -house—I will show you the way."</p> - -<p>Lomaque's lips opened, then closed again; he bowed uneasily, and -his sallow complexion whitened for a moment.</p> - -<p>Trudaine led the way in silence back to the house; the -land-steward following slowly at a distance of several paces, and -talking in whispers to himself. "His father was the saving of -me," muttered Lomaque; "that is truth, and there is no getting -over it; his father was the saving of me; and yet here am I—no! -it's too late!—too late to speak—too late to act—too late to -do anything!"</p> - -<p>Close to the house they were met by the old servant.</p> - -<p>"My young lady has just sent me to call you in to coffee, -monsieur," said Guillaume. "She has kept a cup hot for you, and -another cup for Monsieur Lomaque."</p> - -<p>The land-steward started—this time with genuine astonishment. -"For me!" he exclaimed. "Mademoiselle Rose has troubled herself -to keep a cup of coffee hot for me?" The old servant stared; -Trudaine stopped and looked back.</p> - -<p>"What is there so very surprising," he asked, "in such an -ordinary act of politeness on my sister's part?"</p> - -<p>"Excuse me, Monsieur Trudaine," answered Lomaque; "you have not -passed such an existence as mine—you are not a friendless old -man—you have a settled position in the world, and are used to be -treated with consideration. I am not. This is the first occasion -in my life on which I find myself an object for the attention of -a young lady, and it takes me by surprise. I repeat my excuses; -pray let us go in."</p> - -<p>Trudaine made no reply to this curious explanation. He wondered -at it a little, however, and he wondered still more when, on -entering the drawing-room, he saw Lomaque walk straight up to his -sister, and—apparently not noticing that Danville was sitting at -the harpsichord and singing at the time—address her confusedly -and earnestly with a set speech of thanks for his hot cup of -coffee. Rose looked perplexed, and half inclined to laugh, as she -listened to him. Madame Danville, who sat by her side, frowned, -and tapped the land-steward contemptuously on the arm with her -fan.</p> - -<p>"Be so good as to keep silent until my son has done singing," she -said. Lomaque made a low bow, and retiring to a table in a -corner, took up a newspaper lying on it. If Madame Danville had -seen the expression that came over his face when he turned away -from her, proud as she was, her aristocratic composure might -possibly have been a little ruffled.</p> - -<p>Danville had finished his song, had quitted the harpsichord, and -was talking in whispers to his bride; Madame Danville was adding -a word to the conversation every now and then; Trudaine was -seated apart at the far end of the room, thoughtfully reading a -letter which he had taken from his pocket, when an exclamation -from Lomaque, who was still engaged with the newspaper, caused -all the other occupants of the apartment to suspend their -employments and look up.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" asked Danville, impatiently.</p> - -<p>"Shall I be interrupting if I explain?" inquired Lomaque, getting -very weak in the eyes again, as he deferentially addressed -himself to Madame Danville.</p> - -<p>"You have already interrupted us," said the old lady, sharply; -"so you may now just as well explain."</p> - -<p>"It is a passage from the <i>Scientific Intelligence</i> which has -given me great delight, and which will be joyful news for every -one here." Saying this, Lomaque looked significantly at Trudaine, -and then read from the newspaper these lines:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, PARIS.—The vacant sub-professorship of -chemistry has been offered, we are rejoiced to hear, to a -gentleman whose modesty has hitherto prevented his scientific -merits from becoming sufficiently prominent in the world. To the -members of the academy he has been long since known as the -originator of some of the most remarkable improvements in -chemistry which have been made of late years—improvements, the -credit of which he has, with rare, and we were almost about to -add, culpable moderation, allowed others to profit by with -impunity. No man in any profession is more thoroughly entitled to -have a position of trust and distinction conferred on him by the -State than the gentleman to whom we refer—M. Louis Trudaine."</p> -</blockquote> - - - -<p>Before Lomaque could look up from the paper to observe the -impression which his news produced, Rose had gained her brother's -side and was kissing him in a flutter of delight.</p> - -<p>"Dear Louis," she cried, clapping her hands, "let me be the first -to congratulate you! How proud and glad I am! You accept the -professorship, of course?"</p> - -<p>Trudaine, who had hastily and confusedly put his letter back in -his pocket the moment Lomaque began to read, seemed at a loss for -an answer. He patted his sister's hand rather absently, and said:</p> - -<p>"I have not made up my mind; don't ask me why, Rose—at least not -now, not just now." An expression of perplexity and distress came -over his face, as he gently motioned her to resume her chair.</p> - -<p>"Pray, is a sub-professor of chemistry supposed to hold the rank -of a gentleman?" asked Madame Danville, without the slightest -appearance of any special interest in Lomaque's news.</p> - -<p>"Of course not," replied her son, with a sarcastic laugh; "he is -expected to work and make himself useful. What gentleman does -that?"</p> - -<p>"Charles!" exclaimed the old lady, reddening with anger.</p> - -<p>"Bah!" cried Danville, turning his back on her, "enough of -chemistry. Lomaque, now you have begun reading the newspaper, try -if you can't find something interesting to read about. What are -the last accounts from Paris? Any more symptoms of a general -revolt?"</p> - -<p>Lomaque turned to another part of the paper. "Bad, very bad -prospects for the restoration of tranquillity," he said. "Necker, -the people's Minister, is dismissed. Placards against popular -gatherings are posted all over Paris. The Swiss Guards have been -ordered to the Champs Elysees, with four pieces of artillery. No -more is yet known, but the worst is dreaded. The breach between -the aristocracy and the people is widening fatally almost hour by -hour."</p> - -<p>Here he stopped and laid down the newspaper. Trudaine took it -from him, and shook his head forebodingly as he looked over the -paragraph which had just been read.</p> - -<p>"Bah!" cried Madame Danville. "The People, indeed! Let those four -pieces of artillery be properly loaded, let the Swiss Guards do -their duty, and we shall hear no more of the People!"</p> - -<p>"I advise you not to be sure of that," said her son, carelessly; -"there are rather too many people in Paris for the Swiss Guards -to shoot conveniently. Don't hold your head too aristocratically -high, mother, till we are quite certain which way the wind really -does blow. Who knows if I may not have to bow just as low one of -these days to King Mob as ever you courtesied in your youth to -King Louis the Fifteenth?"</p> - -<p>He laughed complacently as he ended, and opened his snuff-box. -His mother rose from her chair, her face crimson with -indignation.</p> - -<p>"I won't hear you talk so—it shocks, it horrifies me!" she -exclaimed, with vehement gesticulation. "No, no! I decline to -hear another word. I decline to sit by patiently while my son, -whom I love, jests at the most sacred principles, and sneers at -the memory of an anointed king. This is my reward, is it, for -having yielded and having come here, against all the laws of -etiquette, the night before the marriage? I comply no longer; I -resume my own will and my own way. I order you, my son, to -accompany me back to Rouen. We are the bridegroom's party, and we -have no business overnight at the house of the bride. You meet no -more till you meet at the church. Justin, my coach! Lomaque, pick -up my hood. Monsieur Trudaine, thanks for your hospitality; I -shall hope to return it with interest the first time you are in -our neighborhood. Mademoiselle, put on your best looks to-morrow, -along with your wedding finery; remember that my son's bride must -do honor to my son's taste. Justin! my coach—drone, vagabond, -idiot, where is my coach?"</p> - -<p>"My mother looks handsome when she is in a passion, does she not, -Rose?" said Danville, quietly putting up his snuff-box as the old -lady sailed out of the room. "Why, you seem quite frightened, -love," he added, taking her hand with his easy, graceful air; -"frightened, let me assure you, without the least cause. My -mother has but that one prejudice, and that one weak point, Rose. -You will find her a very dove for gentleness, as long as you do -not wound her pride of caste. Come, come, on this night, of all -others, you must not send me away with such a face as that."</p> - -<p>He bent down and whispered to her a bridegroom's compliment, -which brought the blood back to her cheek in an instant.</p> - -<p>"Ah, how she loves him—how dearly she loves him!" thought her -brother, watching her from his solitary corner of the room, and -seeing the smile that brightened her blushing face when Danville -kissed her hand at parting.</p> - -<p>Lomaque, who had remained imperturbably cool during the outbreak -of the old lady's anger—Lomaque, whose observant eyes had -watched sarcastically the effect of the scene between mother and -son on Trudaine and his sister, was the last to take leave. After -he had bowed to Rose with a certain gentleness in his manner, -which contrasted strangely with his wrinkled, haggard face, he -held out his hand to her brother "I did not take your hand when -we sat together on the bench," he said; "may I take it now?"</p> - -<p>Trudaine met his advance courteously, but in silence. "You may -alter your opinion of me one of these days." Adding those words -in a whisper, Monsieur Lomaque bowed once more to the bride and -went out.</p> - -<p>For a few minutes after the door had closed the brother and -sister kept silence. "Our last night together at home!" That was -the thought which now filled the heart of each. Rose was the -first to speak. Hesitating a little as she approached her -brother, she said to him, anxiously:</p> - -<p>"I am sorry for what happened with Madame Danville, Louis. Does -it make you think the worse of Charles?"</p> - -<p>"I can make allowance for Madame Danville's anger," returned -Trudaine, evasively, "because she spoke from honest conviction."</p> - -<p>"Honest?" echoed Rose, sadly, "honest?—ah, Louis! I know you are -thinking disparagingly of Charles's convictions, when you speak -so of his mother's."</p> - -<p>Trudaine smiled and shook his head; but she took no notice of the -gesture of denial—only stood looking earnestly and wistfully -into his face. Her eyes began to fill; she suddenly threw her -arms round his neck, and whispered to him: "Oh, Louis, Louis! how -I wish I could teach you to see Charles with my eyes!"</p> - -<p>He felt her tears on his cheek as she spoke, and tried to -reassure her.</p> - -<p>"You shall teach me, Rose—you shall, indeed. Come, come, we must -keep up our spirits, or how are you to look your best to-morrow?"</p> - -<p>He unclasped her arms, and led her gently to a chair. At the same -moment there was a knock at the door, and Rose's maid appeared, -anxious to consult her mistress on some of the preparations for -the wedding ceremony. No interruption could have been more -welcome just at that time. It obliged Rose to think of present -trifles, and it gave her brother an excuse for retiring to his -study.</p> - -<p>He sat down by his desk, doubting and heavy-hearted, and placed -the letter from the Academy of Sciences open before him.</p> - -<p>Passing over all the complimentary expressions which it -contained, his eye rested only on these lines at the end: "During -the first three years of your professorship, you will be required -to reside in or near Paris nine months out of the year, for the -purpose of delivering lectures and superintending experiments -from time to time in the laboratories." The letter in which these -lines occurred offered him such a position as in his modest -self-distrust he had never dreamed of before; the lines -themselves contained the promise of such vast facilities for -carrying on his favorite experiments as he could never hope to -command in his own little study, with his own limited means; and -yet, there he now sat doubting whether he should accept or reject -the tempting honors and advantages that were offered to -him—doubting for his sister's sake!</p> - -<p>"Nine months of the year in Paris," he said to himself, sadly; -"and Rose is to pass her married life at Lyons. Oh, if I could -clear my heart of its dread on her account—if I could free my -mind of its forebodings for her future—how gladly I would answer -this letter by accepting the trust it offers me!"</p> - -<p>He paused for a few minutes, and reflected. The thoughts that -were in him marked their ominous course in the growing paleness -of his cheek, in the dimness that stole over his eyes. "If this -cleaving distrust from which I cannot free myself should be in -very truth the mute prophecy of evil to come—to come, I know not -when—if it be so (which God forbid!), how soon she may want a -friend, a protector near at hand, a ready refuge in the time of -her trouble! Where shall she then find protection or refuge? With -that passionate woman? With her husband's kindred and friends?"</p> - -<p>He shuddered as the thought crossed his mind, and opening a blank -sheet of paper, dipped his pen in the ink. "Be all to her, Louis, -that I have been," he murmured to himself, repeating his mother's -last words, and beginning the letter while he uttered them. It -was soon completed. It expressed in the most respectful terms his -gratitude for the offer made to him, and his inability to accept -it, in consequence of domestic circumstances which it was -needless to explain. The letter was directed, sealed; it only -remained for him to place it in the post-bag, lying near at hand. -At this last decisive act he hesitated. He had told Lomaque, and -he had firmly believed himself, that he had conquered all -ambitions for his sister's sake. He knew now, for the first time, -that he had only lulled them to rest—he knew that the letter -from Paris had aroused them. His answer was written, his hand was -on the post-bag, and at that moment the whole struggle had to be -risked over again—risked when he was most unfit for it! He was -not a man under any ordinary circumstances to procrastinate, but -he procrastinated now.</p> - -<p>"Night brings counsel; I will wait till to-morrow," he said to -himself, and put the letter of refusal in his pocket, and hastily -quitted the laboratory.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> - -<p>Inexorably the important morrow came: irretrievably, for good or -for evil, the momentous marriage-vow was pronounced. Charles -Danville and Rose Trudaine were now man and wife. The prophecy of -the magnificent sunset overnight had not proved false. It was a -cloudless day on the marriage morning. The nuptial ceremonies had -proceeded smoothly throughout, and had even satisfied Madame -Danville. She returned with the wedding-party to Trudaine's -house, all smiles and serenity. To the bride she was graciousness -itself. "Good girl," said the old lady, following Rose into a -corner, and patting her approvingly on the cheek with her fan; -"good girl, you have looked well this morning—you have done -credit to my son's taste. Indeed, you have pleased me, child! Now -go upstairs, and get on your traveling-dress, and count on my -maternal affection as long as you make Charles happy."</p> - -<p>It had been arranged that the bride and bridegroom should pass -their honeymoon in Brittany, and then return to Danville's estate -near Lyons. The parting was hurried over, as all such partings -should be. The carriage had driven off; Trudaine, after lingering -long to look after it, had returned hastily to the house; the -very dust of the whirling wheels had all dispersed; there was -absolutely nothing to see; and yet there stood Monsieur Lomaque -at the outer gate; idly, as if he was an independent man—calmly, -as if no such responsibilities as the calling of Madame -Danville's coach, and the escorting of Madame Danville back to -Lyons, could possibly rest on his shoulders.</p> - -<p>Idly and calmly, slowly rubbing his hands one over the other, -slowly nodding his head in the direction by which the bride and -bridegroom had departed, stood the eccentric land-steward at the -outer gate. On a sudden the sound of footsteps approaching from -the house seemed to arouse him. Once more he looked out into the -road, as if he expected still to see the carriage of the -newly-married couple. "Poor girl! ah, poor girl!" said Monsieur -Lomaque softly to himself, turning round to ascertain who was -coming from the house.</p> - -<p>It was only the postman with a letter in his hand, and the -post-bag crumpled up under his arm.</p> - -<p>"Any fresh news from Paris, friend?" asked Lomaque.</p> - -<p>"Very bad, monsieur," answered the postman. "Camille Desmoulins -has appealed to the people in the Palais Royal; there are fears -of a riot."</p> - -<p>"Only a riot!" repeated Lomaque, sarcastically. "Oh, what a brave -Government not to be afraid of anything worse! Any letters?" he -added, hastily dropping the subject.</p> - -<p>"None <i>to</i> the house," said the postman, "only one <i>from</i> it, -given me by Monsieur Trudaine. Hardly worth while," he added, -twirling the letter in his hand, "to put it into the bag, is it?"</p> - -<p>Lomaque looked over his shoulder as he spoke, and saw that the -letter was directed to the President of the Academy of Sciences, -Paris.</p> - -<p>"I wonder whether he accepts the place or refuses it?" thought -the land-steward, nodding to the postman, and continuing on his -way back to the house.</p> - -<p>At the door he met Trudaine, who said to him, rather hastily, -"You are going back to Lyons with Madame Danville, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"This very day," answered Lomaque.</p> - -<p>"If you should hear of a convenient bachelor lodging, at Lyons, -or near it," continued the other, dropping his voice and speaking -more rapidly than before, "you would be doing me a favor if you -would let me know about it."</p> - -<p>Lomaque assented; but before he could add a question which was on -the tip of his tongue, Trudaine had vanished in the interior of -the house.</p> - -<p>"A bachelor lodging!" repeated the land-steward, standing alone -on the doorstep. "At or near Lyons! Aha! Monsieur Trudaine, I put -your bachelor lodging and your talk to me last night together, -and I make out a sum total which is, I think, pretty near the -mark. You have refused that Paris appointment, my friend; and I -fancy I can guess why."</p> - -<p>He paused thoughtfully, and shook his head with ominous frowns -and bitings of his lips.</p> - -<p>"All clear enough in that sky," he continued, after a while, -looking up at the lustrous midday heaven. "All clear enough -there; but I think I see a little cloud rising in a certain -household firmament already—a little cloud which hides much, and -which I for one shall watch carefully."</p> - -<h3>PART SECOND.</h3> - -<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> - -<p>Five years have elapsed since Monsieur Lomaque stood thoughtfully -at the gate of Trudaine's house, looking after the carriage of -the bride and bridegroom, and seriously reflecting on the events -of the future. Great changes have passed over that domestic -firmament in which he prophetically discerned the little warning -cloud. Greater changes have passed over the firmament of France.</p> - -<p>What was revolt five years ago is Revolution now—revolution -which has ingulfed thrones, and principalities, and powers; which -has set up crownless, inhereditary kings and counselors of its -own, and has bloodily torn them down again by dozens; which has -raged and raged on unrestrainedly in fierce earnest, until but -one king can still govern and control it for a little while. That -king is named Terror, and seventeen hundred and ninety-four is -the year of his reign.</p> - -<p>Monsieur Lomaque, land-steward no longer, sits alone in an -official-looking room in one of the official buildings of Paris. -It is another July evening, as fine as that evening when he and -Trudaine sat talking together on the bench overlooking the Seine. -The window of the room is wide open, and a faint, pleasant -breeze is beginning to flow through it. But Lomaque breathes -uneasily, as if still oppressed by the sultry midday heat; and -there are signs of perplexity and trouble in his face as he looks -down absently now and then into the street.</p> - -<p>The times he lives in are enough of themselves to sadden any -man's face. In the Reign of Terror no living being in all the -city of Paris can rise in the morning and be certain of escaping -the spy, the denunciation, the arrest, or the guillotine, before -night. Such times are trying enough to oppress any man's spirits; -but Lomaque is not thinking of them or caring for them now. Out -of a mass of papers which lie before him on his old -writing-table, he has just taken up and read one, which has -carried his thoughts back to the past, and to the changes which -have taken place since he stood alone on the doorstep of -Trudaine's house, pondering on what might happen.</p> - -<p>More rapidly even than he had foreboded those changes had -occurred. In less time even than he had anticipated, the sad -emergency for which Rose's brother had prepared, as for a barely -possible calamity, overtook Trudaine, and called for all the -patience, the courage, the self-sacrifice which he had to give -for his sister's sake. By slow gradations downward, from bad to -worse, her husband's character manifested itself less and less -disguisedly almost day by day. Occasional slights, ending in -habitual neglect; careless estrangement, turning to cool enmity; -small insults, which ripened evilly to great injuries—these were -the pitiless signs which showed her that she had risked all and -lost all while still a young woman—these were the unmerited -afflictions which found her helpless, and would have left her -helpless, but for the ever-present comfort and support of her -brother's self-denying love. From the first, Trudaine had devoted -himself to meet such trials as now assailed him; and like a man -he met them, in defiance alike of persecution from the mother and -of insult from the son.</p> - -<p>The hard task was only lightened when, as time advanced, public -trouble began to mingle itself with private grief. Then absorbing -political necessities came as a relief to domestic misery. Then -it grew to be the one purpose and pursuit of Danville's life -cunningly to shape his course so that he might move safely onward -with the advancing revolutionary tide—he cared not whither, as -long as he kept his possessions safe and his life out of danger. -His mother, inflexibly true to her Old-World convictions through -all peril, might entreat and upbraid, might talk of honor, and -courage, and sincerity—he heeded her not, or heeded only to -laugh. As he had taken the false way with his wife, so he was now -bent on taking it with the world.</p> - -<p>The years passed on; destroying changes swept hurricane-like over -the old governing system of France; and still Danville shifted -successfully with the shifting times. The first days of the -Terror approached; in public and in private—in high places and -in low—each man now suspected his brother. Crafty as Danville -was, even he fell under suspicion at last, at headquarters in -Paris, principally on his mother's account. This was his first -political failure; and, in a moment of thoughtless rage and -disappointment, he wreaked the irritation caused by it on -Lomaque. Suspected himself, he in turn suspected the -land-steward. His mother fomented the suspicion—Lomaque was -dismissed.</p> - -<p>In the old times the victim would have been ruined, in the new -times he was simply rendered eligible for a political vocation in -life. Lomaque was poor, quick-witted, secret, not scrupulous. He -was a good patriot; he had good patriot friends, plenty of -ambition, a subtle, cat-like courage, nothing to dread—and he -went to Paris. There were plenty of small chances there for men -of his caliber. He waited for one of them. It came; he made the -most of it; attracted favorably the notice of the terrible -Fouquier-Tinville; and won his way to a place in the office of -the Secret Police.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, Danville's anger cooled down; he recovered the use of -that cunning sense which had hitherto served him well, and sent -to recall the discarded servant. It was too late. Lomaque was -already in a position to set him at defiance—nay, to put his -neck, perhaps, under the blade of the guillotine. Worse than -this, anonymous letters reached him, warning him to lose no time -in proving his patriotism by some indisputable sacrifice, and in -silencing his mother, whose imprudent sincerity was likely ere -long to cost her her life. Danville knew her well enough to know -that there was but one way of saving her, and thereby saving -himself. She had always refused to emigrate; but he now insisted -that she should seize the first opportunity he could procure for -her of quitting France until calmer times arrived.</p> - -<p>Probably she would have risked her own life ten times over rather -than have obeyed him; but she had not the courage to risk her -son's too; and she yielded for his sake. Partly by secret -influence, partly by unblushing fraud, Danville procured for her -such papers and permits as would enable her to leave France by -way of Marseilles. Even then she refused to depart, until she -knew what her son's plans were for the future. He showed her a -letter which he was about to dispatch to Robespierre himself, -vindicating his suspected patriotism, and indignantly demanding -to be allowed to prove it by filling some office, no matter how -small, under the redoubtable triumvirate which then governed, or -more properly terrified, France. The sight of this document -reassured Madame Danville. She bade her son farewell, and -departed at last, with one trusty servant, for Marseilles.</p> - -<p>Danville's intention, in sending his letter to Paris, had been -simply to save himself by patriotic bluster. He was thunderstruck -at receiving a reply, taking him at his word, and summoning him -to the capital to accept employment there under the then existing -Government. There was no choice but to obey. So to Paris he -journeyed, taking his wife with him into the very jaws of danger. -He was then at open enmity with Trudaine; and the more anxious -and alarmed he could make the brother feel on the sister's -account, the better he was pleased. True to his trust and his -love, through all dangers as through all persecutions, Trudaine -followed them; and the street of their sojourn at Paris, in the -perilous days of the Terror, was the street of his sojourn too.</p> - -<p>Danville had been astonished at the acceptance of his proffered -services; he was still more amazed when he found that the post -selected for him was one of the superintendent's places in that -very office of Secret Police in which Lomaque was employed as -agent. Robespierre and his colleagues had taken the measure of -their man—he had money enough, and local importance enough to be -worth studying. They knew where he was to be distrusted, and how -he might be made useful. The affairs of the Secret Police were -the sort of affairs which an unscrupulously cunning man was -fitted to help on; and the faithful exercise of that cunning in -the service of the State was insured by the presence of Lomaque -in the office. The discarded servant was just the right sort of -spy to watch the suspected master. Thus it happened that, in the -office of the Secret Police at Paris, and under the Reign of -Terror, Lomaque's old master was, nominally, his master -still—the superintendent to whom he was ceremonially -accountable, in public—the suspected man, whose slightest words -and deeds he was officially set to watch, in private.</p> - -<p>Ever sadder and darker grew the face of Lomaque as he now -pondered alone over the changes and misfortunes of the past five -years. A neighboring church-clock striking the hour of seven -aroused him from his meditations. He arranged the confused mass -of papers before him—looked toward the door, as if expecting -some one to enter—then, finding himself still alone, recurred to -the one special paper which had first suggested his long train of -gloomy thoughts. The few lines it contained were signed in -cipher, and ran thus:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"You are aware that your superintendent, Danville, obtained leave -of absence last week to attend to some affairs of his at Lyons, -and that he is not expected back just yet for a day or two. While -he is away, push on the affair of Trudaine. Collect all the -evidence, and hold yourself in readiness to act on it at a -moment's notice. Don't leave the office till you have heard from -me again. If you have a copy of the Private Instructions -respecting Danville, which you wrote for me, send it to my house. -I wish to refresh my memory. Your original letter is burned."</p> -</blockquote> - - - -<p>Here the note abruptly terminated. As he folded it up and put it -in his pocket, Lomaque sighed. This was a very rare expression of -feeling with him. He leaned back in his chair, and beat his nails -impatiently on the table. Suddenly there was a faint little tap -at the room door, and eight or ten men—evidently familiars of -the new French Inquisition—quietly entered, and ranged -themselves against the wall.</p> - -<p>Lomaque nodded to two of them. "Picard and Magloire, go and sit -down at that desk. I shall want you after the rest are gone." -Saying this, Lomaque handed certain sealed and docketed papers to -the other men waiting in the room, who received them in silence, -bowed, and went out. Innocent spectators might have thought them -clerks taking bills of lading from a merchant. Who could have -imagined that the giving and receiving of Denunciations, -Arrest-orders, and Death-warrants—the providing of its doomed -human meal for the all-devouring guillotine—could have been -managed so coolly and quietly, with such unruffled calmness of -official routine?</p> - -<p>"Now," said Lomaque, turning to the two men at the desk, as the -door closed, "have you got those notes about you?" (They answered -in the affirmative.) "Picard, you have the first particulars of -this affair of Trudaine; so you must begin reading. I have sent -in the reports; but we may as well go over the evidence again -from the commencement, to make sure that nothing has been left -out. If any corrections are to be made, now is the time to make -them. Read, Picard, and lose as little time as you possibly can."</p> - -<p>Thus admonished, Picard drew some long slips of paper from his -pocket, and began reading from them as follows:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Minutes of evidence collected concerning Louis Trudaine, -suspected, on the denunciation of Citizen Superintendent -Danville, of hostility to the sacred cause of liberty, and of -disaffection to the sovereignty of the people. (1.) The suspected -person is placed under secret observation, and these facts are -elicited: He is twice seen passing at night from his own house to -a house in the Rue de Clery. On the first night he carries with -him money—on the second, papers. He returns without either. -These particulars have been obtained through a citizen engaged to -help Trudaine in housekeeping (one of the sort called Servants in -the days of the Tyrants). This man is a good patriot, who can be -trusted to watch Trudaine's actions. (2.) The inmates of the -house in the Rue de Clery are numerous, and in some cases not so -well known to the Government as could be wished. It is found -difficult to gain certain information about the person or persons -visited by Trudaine without having recourse to an arrest. (3.) An -arrest is thought premature at this preliminary stage of the -proceedings, being likely to stop the development of conspiracy, -and give warning to the guilty to fly. Order thereupon given to -watch and wait for the present. (4.) Citizen Superintendent -Danville quits Paris for a short time. The office of watching -Trudaine is then taken out of the hands of the undersigned, and -is confided to his comrade, Magloire.—Signed, PICARD. -Countersigned, LOMAQUE."</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>Having read so far, the police agent placed his papers on the -writing-table, waited a moment for orders, and, receiving none, -went out. No change came over the sadness and perplexity of -Lomaque's face. He still beat his nails anxiously on the -writing-table, and did not even look at the second agent as he -ordered the man to read his report. Magloire produced some slips -of paper precisely similar to Picard's and read from them in the -same rapid, business-like, unmodulated tones:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Affair of Trudaine. Minutes continued. Citizen Agent Magloire -having been appointed to continue the surveillance of Trudaine, -reports the discovery of additional facts of importance. (1.) -Appearances make it probable that Trudaine meditates a third -secret visit to the house in the Rue de Clery. The proper -measures are taken for observing him closely, and the result is -the implication of another person discovered to be connected with -the supposed conspiracy. This person is the sister of Trudaine, -and the wife of Citizen Superintendent Danville."</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>"Poor, lost creature! ah, poor, lost creature!" muttered Lomaque -to himself, sighing again, and shifting uneasily from side to -side, in his mangy old leathern armchair. Apparently, Magloire -was not accustomed to sighs, interruptions, and expressions of -regret from the usually imperturbable chief agent. He looked up -from his papers with a stare of wonder. "Go on, Magloire!" cried -Lomaque, with a sudden outburst of irritability. "Why the devil -don't you go on?"—"All ready, citizen," returned Magloire, -submissively, and proceeded:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"(2.) It is at Trudaine's house that the woman Danville's -connection with her brother's secret designs is ascertained, -through the vigilance of the before-mentioned patriot citizen. -The interview of the two suspected persons is private; their -conversation is carried on in whispers. Little can be overheard; -but that little suffices to prove that Trudaine's sister is -perfectly aware of his intention to proceed for the third time to -the house in the Rue de Clery. It is further discovered that she -awaits his return, and that she then goes back privately to her -own house. (3.) Meanwhile, the strictest measures are taken for -watching the house in the Rue de Clery. It is discovered that -Trudaine's visits are paid to a man and woman known to the -landlord and lodgers by the name of Dubois. They live on the -fourth floor. It is impossible, at the time of the discovery, to -enter this room, or to see the citizen and citoyenne Dubois, -without producing an undesirable disturbance in the house and -neighborhood. A police agent is left to watch the place, while -search and arrest orders are applied for. The granting of these -is accidentally delayed. When they are ultimately obtained, it is -discovered that the man and the woman are both missing. They have -not hitherto been traced. (4.) The landlord of the house is -immediately arrested, as well as the police agent appointed to -watch the premises. The landlord protests that he knows nothing -of his tenants. It is suspected, however, that he has been -tampered with, as also that Trudaine's papers, delivered to the -citizen and citoyenne Dubois, are forged passports. With these -and with money, it may not be impossible that they have already -succeeded in escaping from France. The proper measures have been -taken for stopping them, if they have not yet passed the -frontiers. No further report in relation to them has yet been -received (5.) Trudaine and his sister are under perpetual -surveillance, and the undersigned holds himself ready for further -orders.—Signed, MAGLOIRE. Countersigned, LOMAQUE."</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>Having finished reading his notes, Magloire placed them on the -writing-table. He was evidently a favored man in the office, and -he presumed upon his position; for he ventured to make a remark, -instead of leaving the room in silence, like his predecessor -Picard.</p> - -<p>"When Citizen Danville returns to Paris," he began, "he will be -rather astonished to find that in denouncing his wife's brother -he had also unconsciously denounced his wife."</p> - -<p>Lomaque looked up quickly, with that old weakness in his eyes -which affected them in such a strangely irregular manner on -certain occasions. Magloire knew what this symptom meant, and -would have become confused if he had not been a police agent. As -it was, he quietly backed a step or two from the table, and held -his tongue.</p> - -<p>"Friend Magloire," said Lomaque, winking mildly, "your last -remark looks to me like a question in disguise. I put questions -constantly to others; I never answer questions myself. You want -to know, citizen, what our superintendent's secret motive is for -denouncing his wife's brother? Suppose you try and find that out -for yourself. It will be famous practice for you, friend -Magloire—famous practice after office hours."</p> - -<p>"Any further orders?" inquired Magloire, sulkily.</p> - -<p>"None in relation to the reports," returned Lomaque. "I find -nothing to alter or add on a revised hearing. But I shall have a -little note ready for you immediately. Sit down at the other -desk, friend Magloire; I am very fond of you when you are not -inquisitive; pray sit down."</p> - -<p>While addressing this polite invitation to the agent in his -softest voice, Lomaque produced his pocketbook, and drew from it -a little note, which he opened and read through attentively. It -was headed: "Private Instructions relative to Superintendent -Danville," and proceeded thus:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"The undersigned can confidently assert, from long domestic -experience in Danville's household that his motive for denouncing -his wife's brother is purely a personal one, and is not in the -most remote degree connected with politics. Briefly, the facts -are these: Louis Trudaine, from the first, opposed his sister's -marriage with Danville, distrusting the latter's temper and -disposition. The marriage, however, took place, and the brother -resigned himself to await results—taking the precaution of -living in the same neighborhood as his sister, to interpose, if -need be, between the crimes which the husband might commit and -the sufferings which the wife might endure. The results soon -exceeded his worst anticipations, and called for the -interposition for which he had prepared himself. He is a man of -inflexible firmness, patience, and integrity, and he makes the -protection and consolation of his sister the business of his -life. He gives his brother-in-law no pretext for openly -quarreling with him. He is neither to be deceived, irritated, nor -tired out, and he is Danville's superior every way—in conduct, -temper, and capacity. Under these circumstances, it is -unnecessary to say that his brother-in-law's enmity toward him is -of the most implacable kind, and equally unnecessary to hint at -the perfectly plain motive of the denunciation.</p> - -<p>"As to the suspicious circumstances affecting not Trudaine only, -but his sister as well, the undersigned regrets his inability, -thus far, to offer either explanation or suggestion. At this -preliminary stage, the affair seems involved in impenetrable -mystery."</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Lomaque read these lines through, down to his own signature at -the end. They were the duplicate Secret Instructions demanded -from him in the paper which he had been looking over before the -entrance of the two police agents. Slowly, and, as it seemed, -unwillingly, he folded the note up in a fresh sheet of paper, and -was preparing to seal it when a tap at the door stopped him. -"Come in," he cried, irritably; and a man in traveling costume, -covered with dust, entered, quietly whispered a word or two in -his ear, and then went out. Lomaque started at the whisper, and, -opening his note again, hastily wrote under his signature: "I -have just heard that Danville has hastened his return to Paris, -and may be expected back to-night." Having traced these lines, he -closed, sealed, and directed the letter, and gave it to Magloire. -The police agent looked at the address as he left the room; it -was "To Citizen Robespierre, Rue Saint-Honore."</p> - -<p>Left alone again, Lomaque rose, and walked restlessly backward -and forward, biting his nails.</p> - -<p>"Danville comes back to-night," he said to himself, "and the -crisis comes with him. Trudaine a conspirator! Bah! conspiracy -can hardly be the answer to the riddle this time. What is?"</p> - -<p>He took a turn or two in silence—then stopped at the open -window, looking out on what little glimpse the street afforded -him of the sunset sky. "This time five years," he said, "Trudaine -was talking to me on that bench overlooking the river; and Sister -Rose was keeping poor hatchet-faced old Lomaque's cup of coffee -hot for him! Now I am officially bound to suspect them both; -perhaps to arrest them; perhaps—I wish this job had fallen into -other hands. I don't want it—I don't want it at any price!"</p> - -<p>He returned to the writing-table and sat down to his papers, with -the dogged air of a man determined to drive away vexing thoughts -by dint of sheer hard work. For more than an hour he labored on -resolutely, munching a bit of dry bread from time to time. Then -he paused a little, and began to think again. Gradually the -summer twilight faded, and the room grew dark.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps we shall tide over to-night, after all—who knows?" said -Lomaque, ringing his handbell for lights. They were brought in, -and with them ominously returned the police agent Magloire with a -small sealed packet. It contained an arrest-order and a tiny -three-cornered note, looking more like a love-letter, or a lady's -invitation to a party, than anything else. Lomaque opened the -note eagerly and read these lines neatly written, and signed with -Robespierre's initials—M. R.—formed elegantly in cipher:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Arrest Trudaine and his sister to-night. On second thoughts, I -am not sure, if Danville comes back in time to be present, that -it may not be all the better. He is unprepared for his wife's -arrest. Watch him closely when it takes place, and report -privately to me. I am afraid he is a vicious man; and of all -things I abhor Vice."</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>"Any more work for me to-night?" asked Magloire, with a yawn.</p> - -<p>"Only an arrest," replied Lomaque. "Collect our men; and when -you're ready get a coach at the door."</p> - -<p>"We were just going to supper," grumbled Magloire to himself, as -he went out. "The devil seize the Aristocrats! They're all in -such a hurry to get to the guillotine that they won't even give a -man time to eat his victuals in peace!"</p> - -<p>"There's no choice now," muttered Lomaque, angrily thrusting the -arrest-order and the three-cornered note into his pocket. "His -father was the saving of me; he himself welcomed me like an -equal; his sister treated me like a gentleman, as the phrase went -in those days; and now—"</p> - -<p>He stopped and wiped his forehead—then unlocked his desk, -produced a bottle of brandy, and poured himself out a glass of -the liquor, which he drank by sips, slowly.</p> - -<p>"I wonder whether other men get softer-hearted as they grow -older!" he said. "I seem to do so, at any rate. Courage! courage! -what must be, must. If I risked my head to do it, I couldn't stop -this arrest. Not a man in the office but would be ready to -execute it, if I wasn't."</p> - -<p>Here the rumble of carriage-wheels sounded outside.</p> - -<p>"There's the coach!" exclaimed Lomaque, locking up the -brandy-bottle, and taking his hat. "After all, as this arrest is -to be made, it's as well for them that I should make it."</p> - -<p>Consoling himself as he best could with this reflection, Chief -Police Agent Lomaque blew out the candles, and quitted the room.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> - -<p>Ignorant of the change in her husband's plans, which was to bring -him back to Paris a day before the time that had been fixed for -his return, Sister Rose had left her solitary home to spend the -evening with her brother. They had sat talking together long -after sunset, and had let the darkness steal on them insensibly, -as people will who are only occupied with quiet, familiar -conversation. Thus it happened, by a curious coincidence, that -just as Lomaque was blowing out his candles at the office Rose -was lighting the reading-lamp at her brother's lodgings.</p> - -<p>Five years of disappointment and sorrow had sadly changed her to -outward view. Her face looked thinner and longer; the once -delicate red and white of her complexion was gone; her figure had -wasted under the influence of some weakness, which had already -made her stoop a little when she walked. Her manner had lost its -maiden shyness, only to become unnaturally quiet and subdued. Of -all the charms which had so fatally, yet so innocently, allured -her heartless husband, but one remained—the winning gentleness -of her voice. It might be touched now and then with a note of -sadness, but the soft attraction of its even, natural tone still -remained. In the marring of all other harmonies, this one harmony -had been preserved unchanged. Her brother, though his face was -careworn, and his manner sadder than of old, looked less altered -from his former self. It is the most fragile material which -soonest shows the flaw. The world's idol, Beauty, holds its -frailest tenure of existence in the one Temple where we most love -to worship it.</p> - -<p>"And so you think, Louis, that our perilous undertaking has -really ended well by this time?" said Rose, anxiously, as she -lighted the lamp and placed the glass shade over it. "What a -relief it is only to hear you say you think we have succeeded at -last!"</p> - -<p>"I said I hope, Rose," replied her brother.</p> - -<p>"Well, even hoped is a great word from you, Louis—a great word -from any one in this fearful city, and in these days of Terror."</p> - -<p>She stopped suddenly, seeing her brother raise his hand in -warning. They looked at each other in silence and listened. The -sound of footsteps going slowly past the house—ceasing for a -moment just beyond it—then going on again—came through the open -window. There was nothing else, out-of-doors or in, to disturb -the silence of the night—the deadly silence of Terror which, for -months past, had hung over Paris. It was a significant sign of -the times, that even a passing footstep, sounding a little -strangely at night, was subject for suspicion, both to brother -and sister—so common a subject, that they suspended their -conversation as a matter of course, without exchanging a word of -explanation, until the tramp of the strange footsteps had died -away.</p> - -<p>"Louis," continued Rose, dropping her voice to a whisper, after -nothing more was audible, "when may I trust our secret to my -husband?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet!" rejoined Trudaine, earnestly. "Not a word, not a hint -of it, till I give you leave. Remember, Rose, you promised -silence from the first. Everything depends on your holding that -promise sacred till I release you from it."</p> - -<p>"I will hold it sacred; I will indeed, at all hazards, under all -provocations," she answered.</p> - -<p>"That is quite enough to reassure me—and now, love, let us -change the subject. Even these walls may have ears, and the -closed door yonder may be no protection." He looked toward it -uneasily while he spoke. "By-the-by, I have come round to your -way of thinking, Rose, about that new servant of mine—there is -something false in his face. I wish I had been as quick to detect -it as you were."</p> - -<p>Rose glanced at him affrightedly. "Has he done anything -suspicious? Have you caught him watching you? Tell me the worst, -Louis."</p> - -<p>"Hush! hush! my dear, not so loud. Don't alarm yourself; he has -done nothing suspicious."</p> - -<p>"Turn him off—pray, pray turn him off, before it is too late!"</p> - -<p>"And be denounced by him, in revenge, the first night he goes to -his Section. You forget that servants and masters are equal now. -I am not supposed to keep a servant at all. I have a citizen -living with me who lays me under domestic obligations, for which -I make a pecuniary acknowledgment. No! no! if I do anything, I -must try if I can't entrap him into giving me warning. But we -have got to another unpleasant subject already—suppose I change -the topic again? You will find a little book on that table there, -in the corner—tell me what you think of it."</p> - -<p>The book was a copy of Corneille's "Cid," prettily bound in blue -morocco. Rose was enthusiastic in her praises. "I found it in a -bookseller's shop, yesterday," said her brother, "and bought it -as a present for you. Corneille is not an author to compromise -any one, even in these times. Don't you remember saying the other -day that you felt ashamed of knowing but little of our greatest -dramatist?" Rose remembered well, and smiled almost as happily as -in the old times over her present. "There are some good -engravings at the beginning of each act," continued Trudaine, -directing her attention rather earnestly to the illustrations, -and then suddenly leaving her side when he saw that she became -interested in looking at them.</p> - -<p>He went to the window—listened—then drew aside the curtain, and -looked up and down the street. No living soul was in sight. "I -must have been mistaken," he thought, returning hastily to his -sister; "but I certainly fancied I was followed in my walk to-day -by a spy."</p> - -<p>"I wonder," asked Rose, still busy over her book, "I wonder, -Louis, whether my husband would let me go with you to see 'Le -Cid' the next time it is acted."</p> - -<p>"No!" cried a voice at the door; "not if you went on your knees -to ask him."</p> - -<p>Rose turned round with a scream. There stood her husband on the -threshold, scowling at her, with his hat on, and his hands thrust -doggedly into his pockets. Trudaine's servant announced him, with -an insolent smile, during the pause that followed the discovery. -"Citizen Superintendent Danville, to visit the citoyenne, his -wife," said the fellow, making a mock bow to his master.</p> - -<p>Rose looked at her brother, then advanced a few paces toward the -door. "This is a surprise," she said, faintly; "has anything -happened? We—we didn't expect you." Her voice failed her as she -saw her husband advancing, pale to his very lips with suppressed -anger.</p> - -<p>"How dare you come here, after what I told you?" he asked, in -quick, low tones.</p> - -<p>She shrank at his voice almost as if he had struck her. The blood -flew into her brother's face as he noticed the action; but he -controlled himself, and, taking her hand, led her in silence to a -chair.</p> - -<p>"I forbid you to sit down in his house," said Danville, advancing -still; "I order you to come back with me! Do you hear? I order -you."</p> - -<p>He was approaching nearer to her, when he caught Trudaine's eye -fixed on him, and stopped. Rose started up, and placed herself -between them.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Charles, Charles!" she said to her husband, "be friends with -Louis to-night, and be kind again to me. I have a claim to ask -that much of you, though you may not think it!"</p> - -<p>He turned away from her, and laughed contemptuously. She tried to -speak again, but Trudaine touched her on the arm, and gave her a -warning look.</p> - -<p>"Signals!" exclaimed Danville; "secret signals between you!"</p> - -<p>His eye, as he glanced suspiciously at his wife, fell on -Trudaine's gift-book, which she still held unconsciously.</p> - -<p>"What book is that?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Only a play of Corneille's," answered Rose; "Louis has just made -me a present of it."</p> - -<p>At this avowal Danville's suppressed anger burst beyond all -control.</p> - -<p>"Give it him back!" he cried, in a voice of fury. "You shall take -no presents from him; the venom of the household spy soils -everything he touches. Give it him back!" She hesitated. "You -won't?" He tore the book from her with an oath, threw it on the -floor, and set his foot on it.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Louis! Louis! for God's sake, remember."</p> - -<p>Trudaine was stepping forward as the book fell to the floor. At -the same moment his sister threw her arms round him. He stopped, -turning from fiery red to ghastly pale.</p> - -<p>"No, no, Louis!" she said, clasping him closer; "not after five -years' patience. No—no!"</p> - -<p>He gently detached her arms.</p> - -<p>"You are right, love. Don't be afraid; it is all over now."</p> - -<p>Saying that, he put her from him, and in silence took up the book -from the floor.</p> - -<p>"Won't <i>that</i> offend you even?" said Danville, with an insolent -smile. "You have a wonderful temper—any other man would have -called me out!"</p> - -<p>Trudaine looked back at him steadily; and taking out his -handkerchief, passed it over the soiled cover of the book.</p> - -<p>"If I could wipe the stain of your blood off my conscience as -easily as I can wipe the stain of your boot off this book," he -said quietly, "you should not live another hour. Don't cry, -Rose," he continued, turning again to his sister: "I will take -care of your book for you until you can keep it yourself."</p> - -<p>"You will do this! you will do that!" cried Danville, growing -more and more exasperated, and letting his anger got the better -even of his cunning now. "Talk less confidently of the -future—you don't know what it has in store for you. Govern your -tongue when you are in my presence; a day may come when you will -want my help—my help; do you hear that?"</p> - -<p>Trudaine turned his face from his sister, as if he feared to let -her see it when those words were spoken.</p> - -<p>"The man who followed me to-day was a spy—Danville's spy!" That -thought flashed across his mind, but he gave it no utterance. -There was an instant's pause of silence; and through it there -came heavily on the still night air the rumbling of distant -wheels. The sound advanced nearer and nearer—advanced and ceased -under the window.</p> - -<p>Danville hurried to it, and looked out eagerly. "I have not -hastened my return without reason. I wouldn't have missed this -arrest for anything!" thought he, peering into the night.</p> - -<p>The stars were out, but there was no moon. He could not recognize -either the coach or the persons who got out of it, and he turned -again into the interior of the room. His wife had sunk into a -chair, her brother was locking up in a cabinet the book which he -had promised to take care of for her. The dead silence made the -noise of slowly ascending footsteps on the stairs painfully -audible. At last the door opened softly.</p> - -<p>"Citizen Danville, health and fraternity!" said Lomaque, -appearing in the doorway, followed by his agents. "Citizen Louis -Trudaine?" he continued, beginning with the usual form.</p> - -<p>Rose started out of her chair; but her brother's hand was on her -lips before she could speak.</p> - -<p>"My name is Louis Trudaine," he answered.</p> - -<p>"Charles!" cried his sister, breaking from him and appealing to -her husband, "who are these men? What are they here for?"</p> - -<p>He gave her no answer.</p> - -<p>"Louis Trudaine," said Lomaque, slowly, drawing the order from -his pocket, "in the name of the Republic, I arrest you."</p> - -<p>"Rose, come back," cried Trudaine.</p> - -<p>It was too late; she had broken from him, and in the recklessness -of terror, had seized her husband by the arm.</p> - -<p>"Save him!" she cried. "Save him, by all you hold dearest in the -world! You are that man's superior, Charles—order him from the -room!"</p> - -<p>Danville roughly shook her hand off his arm.</p> - -<p>"Lomaque is doing his duty. Yes," he added, with a glance of -malicious triumph at Trudaine, "yes, doing his duty. Look at me -as you please—your looks won't move me. I denounced you! I admit -it—I glory in it! I have rid myself of an enemy, and the State -of a bad citizen. Remember your secret visits to the house in the -Rue de Clery!"</p> - -<p>His wife uttered a cry of horror. She seized his arm again with -both hands—frail, trembling hands—that seemed suddenly nerved -with all the strength of a man's.</p> - -<p>"Come here—come here! I must and will speak to you!"</p> - -<p>She dragged him by main force a few paces back, toward an -unoccupied corner of the room. With deathly cheeks and wild eyes -she raised herself on tiptoe, and put her lips to her husband's -ear. At that instant Trudaine called to her:</p> - -<p>"Rose, if you speak I am lost!"</p> - -<p>She stopped at the sound of his voice, dropped her hold on her -husband's arm, and faced her brother, shuddering.</p> - -<p>"Rose," he continued, "you have promised, and your promise is -sacred. If you prize your honor, if you love me, come here—come -here, and be silent."</p> - -<p>He held out his hand. She ran to him; and, laying her head on his -bosom, burst into a passion of tears.</p> - -<p>Danville turned uneasily toward the police agents. "Remove your -prisoner," he said. "You have done your duty here."</p> - -<p>"Only half of it," retorted Lomaque, eying him attentively. "Rose -Danville—"</p> - -<p>"My wife!" exclaimed the other. "What about my wife?"</p> - -<p>"Rose Danville," continued Lomaque, impassibly, "you are included -in the arrest of Louis Trudaine."</p> - -<p>Rose raised her head quickly from her brother's breast. His -firmness had deserted him—he was trembling. She heard him -whispering to himself, "Rose, too! Oh, my God! I was not prepared -for that." She heard these words, and dashed the tears from her -eyes, and kissed him, saying:</p> - -<p>"I am glad of it, Louis. We risked all together—we shall now -suffer together. I am glad of it!"</p> - -<p>Danville looked incredulously at Lomaque, after the first shock -of astonishment was over.</p> - -<p>"Impossible!" he exclaimed. "I never denounced my wife. There is -some mistake; you have exceeded your orders."</p> - -<p>"Silence!" retorted Lomaque, imperiously. "Silence, citizen, and -respect to a decree of the Republic!"</p> - -<p>"You blackguard! show me the arrest-order!" said Danville. "Who -has dared to denounce my wife?"</p> - -<p>"You have!" said Lomaque, turning on him with a grin of contempt. -"You—and 'blackguard' back in your teeth! You, in denouncing her -brother! Aha! we work hard in our office; we don't waste time in -calling names—we make discoveries. If Trudaine is guilty, your -wife is implicated in his guilt. We know it; and we arrest her."</p> - -<p>"I resist the arrest," cried Danville. "I am the authority here. -Who opposes me?"</p> - -<p>The impassible chief agent made no answer. Some new noise in the -street struck his quick ear. He ran to the window and looked out -eagerly.</p> - -<p>"Who opposes me?" reiterated Danville.</p> - -<p>"Hark!" exclaimed Lomaque, raising his hand. "Silence, and -listen!"</p> - -<p>The heavy, dull tramp of men marching together became audible as -he spoke. Voices humming low and in unison the Marseillaise hymn, -joined solemnly with the heavy, regular footfalls. Soon the flare -of torch-light began to glimmer redder and redder under the dim, -starlight sky.</p> - -<p>"Do you hear that? Do you see the advancing torch-light?" cried -Lomaque, pointing exultingly into the street. "Respect to the -national hymn, and to the man who holds in the hollow of his hand -the destinies of all France! Hat off, Citizen Danville! -Robespierre is in the street. His bodyguard, the Hard-hitters, -are lighting him on his way to the Jacobin Club! Who shall oppose -you, did you say? Your master and mine; the man whose signature -is at the bottom of this order—the man who with a scratch of his -pen can send both our heads rolling together into the sack of the -guillotine! Shall I call to him as he passes the house? Shall I -tell him that Superintendent Danville resists me in making an -arrest? Shall I? Shall I?" And in the immensity of his contempt, -Lomaque seemed absolutely to rise in stature, as he thrust the -arrest order under Danville's eyes and pointed to the signature -with the head of his stick.</p> - -<p>Rose looked round in terror, as Lomaque spoke his last -words—looked round, and saw her husband recoil before the -signature on the arrest order, as if the guillotine itself had -suddenly arisen before him. Her brother felt her shrinking back -in his arms, and trembled for the preservation of her -self-control if the terror and suspense of the arrest lasted any -longer.</p> - -<p>"Courage, Rose, courage!" he said. "You have behaved nobly; you -must not fail now. No, no! Not a word more. Not a word till I am -able to think clearly again, and to decide what is best. Courage, -love; our lives depend on it. Citizen," he continued, addressing -himself to Lomaque, "proceed with your duty—we are ready."</p> - -<p>The heavy marching footsteps outside were striking louder and -louder on the ground; the chanting voices were every moment -swelling in volume; the dark street was flaming again with the -brightening torch-light, as Lomaque, under pretext of giving -Trudaine his hat, came close to him, and, turning his back toward -Danville, whispered: "I have not forgotten the eve of the wedding -and the bench on the river bank."</p> - -<p>Before Trudaine could answer, he had taken Rose's cloak and hood -from one of his assistants, and was helping her on with it. -Danville, still pale and trembling, advanced a step when he saw -these preparations for departure, and addressed a word or two to -his wife; but he spoke in low tones, and the fast-advancing march -of feet and sullen low roar of singing outside drowned his voice. -An oath burst from his lips, and he struck his fist, in impotent -fury, on a table near him.</p> - -<p>"The seals are set on everything in this room and in the -bedroom," said Magloire, approaching Lomaque, who nodded and -signed to him to bring up the other police agents at the door.</p> - -<p>"Ready," cried Magloire, coming forward immediately with his men, -and raising his voice to make himself heard. "Where to?"</p> - -<p>Robespierre and his Hard-hitters were passing the house. The -smoke of the torch-light was rolling in at the window; the -tramping footsteps struck heavier and heavier on the ground; the -low sullen roar of the Marseillaise was swelling to its loudest, -as Lomaque referred for a moment to his arrest-order, and then -answered:</p> - -<p>"To the prison of St. Lazare!"</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> - -<p>The head jailer of St. Lazare stood in the outer hall of the -prison, two days after the arrest at Trudaine's lodgings, smoking -his morning pipe. Looking toward the courtyard gate, he saw the -wicket opened, and a privileged man let in, whom he soon -recognized as the chief agent of the second section of Secret -Police. "Why, friend Lomaque," cried the jailer, advancing -toward the courtyard, "what brings you here this morning, -business or pleasure?"</p> - -<p>"Pleasure, this time, citizen. I have an idle hour or two to -spare for a walk. I find myself passing the prison, and I can't -resist calling in to see how my friend the head jailer is getting -on." Lomaque spoke in a surprisingly brisk and airy manner. His -eyes were suffering under a violent fit of weakness and winking; -but he smiled, notwithstanding, with an air of the most -inveterate cheerfulness. Those old enemies of his, who always -distrusted him most when his eyes were most affected, would have -certainly disbelieved every word of the friendly speech he had -just made, and would have assumed it as a matter of fact that his -visit to the head jailer had some specially underhand business at -the bottom of it.</p> - -<p>"How am I getting on?" said the jailer, shaking his head. -"Overworked, friend—overworked. No idle hours in our department. -Even the guillotine is getting too slow for us!"</p> - -<p>"Sent off your batch of prisoners for trial this morning?" asked -Lomaque, with an appearance of perfect unconcern.</p> - -<p>"No; they're just going," answered the other. "Come and have a -look at them." He spoke as if the prisoners were a collection of -pictures on view, or a set of dresses just made up. Lomaque -nodded his head, still with his air of happy, holiday -carelessness. The jailer led the way to an inner hall; and, -pointing lazily with his pipe-stem, said: "Our morning batch, -citizen, just ready for the baking."</p> - -<p>In one corner of the hall were huddled together more than thirty -men and women of all ranks and ages; some staring round them with -looks of blank despair; some laughing and gossiping recklessly. -Near them lounged a guard of "Patriots," smoking, spitting, and -swearing. Between the patriots and the prisoners sat, on a -rickety stool, the second jailer—a humpbacked man, with an -immense red mustache—finishing his breakfast of broad beans, -which he scooped out of a basin with his knife, and washed down -with copious draughts of wine from a bottle. Carelessly as -Lomaque looked at the shocking scene before him, his quick eyes -contrived to take note of every prisoner's face, and to descry in -a few minutes Trudaine and his sister standing together at the -back of the group.</p> - -<p>"Now then, Apollo!" cried the head jailer, addressing his -subordinate by a facetious prison nickname, "don't be all day -starting that trumpery batch of yours. And harkye, friend, I have -leave of absence, on business, at my Section this afternoon. So -it will be your duty to read the list for the guillotine, and -chalk the prisoners' doors before the cart comes to-morrow -morning. 'Ware the bottle, Apollo, to-day; 'ware the bottle, for -fear of accidents with the death-list to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"Thirsty July weather, this—eh, citizen?" said Lomaque, leaving -the head jailer, and patting the hunchback in the friendliest -manner on the shoulder. "Why, how you have got your batch huddled -up together this morning! Shall I help you to shove them into -marching order? My time is quite at your disposal. This is a -holiday morning with me!"</p> - -<p>"Ha, ha, ha! what a jolly dog he is on his holiday morning!" -exclaimed the head jailer, as Lomaque—apparently taking leave of -his natural character altogether in the exhilaration of an hour's -unexpected leisure—began pushing and pulling the prisoners into -rank, with humorous mock apologies, at which not the officials -only, but many of the victims themselves—reckless victims of a -reckless tyranny—laughed heartily. Persevering to the last in -his practical jest, Lomaque contrived to get close to Trudaine -for a minute, and to give him one significant look before he -seized him by the shoulders, like the rest. "Now, then, -rear-guard," cried Lomaque, pushing Trudaine on, "close the line -of march, and mind you keep step with your young woman there. -Pluck up your spirits, citoyenne! one gets used to everything in -this world, even to the guillotine!"</p> - -<p>While he was speaking and pushing at the same time, Trudaine felt -a piece of paper slip quickly between his neck and his cravat. -"Courage!" he whispered, pressing his sister's hand, as he saw -her shuddering under the assumed brutality of Lomaque's joke.</p> - -<p>Surrounded by the guard of "Patriots," the procession of -prisoners moved slowly into the outer courtyard, on its way to -the revolutionary tribunal, the humpbacked jailer bringing up the -rear. Lomaque was about to follow at some little distance, but -the head jailer hospitably expostulated. "What a hurry you're -in!" said he. "Now that incorrigible drinker, my second in -command, has gone off with his batch, I don't mind asking you to -step in and have a drop of wine."</p> - -<p>"Thank you," answered Lomaque; "but I have rather a fancy for -hearing the trial this morning. Suppose I come back afterward? -What time do you go to your Section? At two o'clock, eh? Good! I -shall try if I can't get here soon after one." With these words -he nodded and went out. The brilliant sunlight in the courtyard -made him wink faster than ever. Had any of his old enemies been -with him, they would have whispered within themselves, "If you -mean to come back at all, Citizen Lomaque, it will not be soon -after one!"</p> - -<p>On his way through the streets, the chief agent met one or two -police office friends, who delayed his progress; so that when he -arrived at the revolutionary tribunal the trials of the day were -just about to begin.</p> - -<p>The principal article of furniture in the Hall of Justice was a -long, clumsy, deal table, covered with green baize. At the head -of this table sat the president and his court, with their hats -on, backed by a heterogeneous collection of patriots officially -connected in various ways with the proceedings that were to take -place. Below the front of the table, a railed-off space, with a -gallery beyond, was appropriated to the general public—mostly -represented, as to the gallery, on this occasion, by women, all -sitting together on forms, knitting, shirt-mending, and -baby-linen-making, as coolly as if they were at home. Parallel -with the side of the table furthest from the great door of -entrance was a low platform railed off, on which the prisoners, -surrounded by their guard, were now assembled to await their -trial. The sun shone in brightly from a high window, and a hum of -ceaseless talking pervaded the hall cheerfully as Lomaque entered -it. He was a privileged man here, as at the prison; and he made -his way in by a private door, so as to pass to the prisoners' -platform, and to walk round it, before he got to a place behind -the president's chair. Trudaine, standing with his sister on the -outermost limits of the group, nodded significantly as Lomaque -looked up at him for an instant. He had contrived, on his way to -the tribunal, to get an opportunity of reading the paper which -the chief agent had slipped into his cravat. It contained these -lines:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"I have just discovered who the citizen and citoyenne Dubois are. -There is no chance for you but to confess everything. By that -means you may inculpate a certain citizen holding authority, and -may make it his interest, if he loves his own life, to save yours -and your sister's."</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>Arrived at the back of the president's chair, Lomaque recognized -his two trusty subordinates, Magloire and Picard, waiting among -the assembled patriot officials, to give their evidence. Beyond -them, leaning against the wall, addressed by no one, and speaking -to no one, stood the superintendent, Danville. Doubt and suspense -were written in every line of his face; the fretfulness of an -uneasy mind expressed itself in his slightest gesture—even in -his manner of passing a handkerchief from time to time over his -face, on which the perspiration was gathering thick and fast -already.</p> - -<p>"Silence!" cried the usher of the court for the time being—a -hoarse-voiced man in top-boots with a huge saber buckled to his -side, and a bludgeon in his hand. "Silence for the Citizen -President!" he reiterated, striking his bludgeon on the table.</p> - -<p>The president rose and proclaimed that the sitting for the day -had begun; then sat down again.</p> - -<p>The momentary silence which followed was interrupted by a sudden -confusion among the prisoners on the platform. Two of the guards -sprang in among them. There was the thump of a heavy fall—a -scream of terror from some of the female prisoners—then another -dead silence, broken by one of the guards, who walked across the -hall with a bloody knife in his hand, and laid it on the table. -"Citizen President," he said, "I have to report that one of the -prisoners has just stabbed himself." There was a murmuring -exclamation, "Is that all?" among the women spectators, as they -resumed their work. Suicide at the bar of justice was no uncommon -occurrence, under the Reign of Terror.</p> - -<p>"Name?" asked the president, quietly taking up his pen and -opening a book.</p> - -<p>"Martigne," answered the humpbacked jailer, coming forward to the -table.</p> - -<p>"Description?"</p> - -<p>"Ex-royalist coach-maker to the tyrant Capet."</p> - -<p>"Accusation?"</p> - -<p>"Conspiracy in prison."</p> - -<p>The president nodded, and entered in the book: "Martigne, -coachmaker. Accused of conspiring in prison. Anticipated course -of law by suicide. Action accepted as sufficient confession of -guilt. Goods confiscated. 1st Thermidor, year two of the -Republic."</p> - -<p>"Silence!" cried the man with the bludgeon, as the president -dropped a little sand on the entry, and signing to the jailer -that he might remove the dead body, closed the book.</p> - -<p>"Any special cases this morning?" resumed the president, looking -round at the group behind him.</p> - -<p>"There is one," said Lomaque, making his way to the back of the -official chair. "Will it be convenient to you, citizen, to take -the case of Louis Trudaine and Rose Danville first? Two of my men -are detained here as witnesses, and their time is valuable to the -Republic."</p> - -<p>The president marked a list of names before him, and handed it to -the crier or usher, placing the figures one and two against Louis -Trudaine and Rose Danville.</p> - -<p>While Lomaque was backing again to his former place behind the -chair, Danville approached and whispered to him, "There is a -rumor that secret information has reached you about the citizen -and citoyenne Dubois. Is it true? Do you know who they are?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered Lomaque; "but I have superior orders to keep the -information to myself just at present."</p> - -<p>The eagerness with which Danville put his question, and the -disappointment he showed on getting no satisfactory answer to it, -were of a nature to satisfy the observant chief agent that his -superintendent was really as ignorant as he appeared to be on the -subject of the man and woman Dubois. That one mystery, at any -rate was still, for Danville, a mystery unrevealed.</p> - -<p>"Louis Trudaine! Rose Danville!" shouted the crier, with another -rap of his bludgeon.</p> - -<p>The two came forward, at the appeal, to the front railing of the -platform. The first sight of her judges, the first shock on -confronting the pitiless curiosity of the audience, seemed to -overwhelm Rose. She turned from deadly pale to crimson, then to -pale again, and hid her face on her brother's shoulder. How fast -she heard his heart throbbing! How the tears filled her eyes as -she felt that his fear was all for her!</p> - -<p>"Now," said the president, writing down their names. "Denounced -by whom?"</p> - -<p>Magloire and Picard stepped forward to the table. The first -answered—"By Citizen Superintendent Danville."</p> - -<p>The reply made a great stir and sensation among both prisoners -and audience.</p> - -<p>"Accused of what?" pursued the president.</p> - -<p>"The male prisoner, of conspiracy against the Republic; the -female prisoner, of criminal knowledge of the same."</p> - -<p>"Produce your proofs in answer to this order."</p> - -<p>Picard and Magloire opened their minutes of evidence, and read to -the president the same particulars which they had formerly read -to Lomaque in the secret police office.</p> - -<p>"Good," said the president, when they had done, "we need trouble -ourselves with nothing more than the identifying of the citizen -and citoyenne Dubois, which, of course, you are prepared for. -Have you heard the evidence?" he continued, turning to the -prisoners; while Picard and Magloire consulted together in -whispers, looking perplexedly toward the chief agent, who stood -silent behind them. "Have you heard the evidence, prisoners? Do -you wish to say anything? If you do, remember that the time of -this tribunal is precious, and that you will not be suffered to -waste it."</p> - -<p>"I demand permission to speak for myself and for my sister," -answered Trudaine. "My object is to save the time of the tribunal -by making a confession."</p> - -<p>The faint whispering, audible among the women spectators a moment -before, ceased instantaneously as he pronounced the word -confession. In the breathless silence, his low, quiet tones -penetrated to the remotest corners of the hall; while, -suppressing externally all evidences of the death-agony of hope -within him, he continued his address in these words:</p> - -<p>"I confess my secret visits to the house in the Rue de Clery. I -confess that the persons whom I went to see are the persons -pointed at in the evidence. And, lastly, I confess that my object -in communicating with them as I did was to supply them with the -means of leaving France. If I had acted from political motives to -the political prejudice of the existing government, I admit that -I should be guilty of that conspiracy against the Republic with -which I am charged. But no political purpose animated, no -political necessity urged me, in performing the action which has -brought me to the bar of this tribunal. The persons whom I aided -in leaving France were without political influence or political -connections. I acted solely from private motives of humanity -toward them and toward others—motives which a good republican -may feel, and yet not turn traitor to the welfare of his -country."</p> - -<p>"Are you ready to inform the court, next, who the man and woman -Dubois really are?" inquired the president, impatiently.</p> - -<p>"I am ready," answered Trudaine. "But first I desire to say one -word in reference to my sister, charged here at the bar with me." -His voice grew less steady, and, for the first time, his color -began to change, as Rose lifted her face from his shoulder and -looked up at him eagerly. "I implore the tribunal to consider my -sister as innocent of all active participation in what is charged -against me as a crime—" He went on. "Having spoken with candor -about myself, I have some claim to be believed when I speak of -her; when I assert that she neither did help me nor could help -me. If there be blame, it is mine only; if punishment, it is I -alone who should suffer."</p> - -<p>He stopped suddenly, and grew confused. It was easy to guard -himself from the peril of looking at Rose, but he could not -escape the hard trial to his self-possession of hearing her, if -she spoke. Just as he pronounced the last sentence, she raised -her face again from his shoulder, and eagerly whispered to him:</p> - -<p>"No, no, Louis! Not that sacrifice, after all the others—not -that, though you should force me into speaking to them myself!"</p> - -<p>She abruptly quitted her hold of him, and fronted the whole court -in an instant. The railing in front of her shook with the -quivering of her arms and hands as she held by it to support -herself! Her hair lay tangled on her shoulders; her face had -assumed a strange fixedness; her gentle blue eyes, so soft and -tender at all other times, were lit up wildly. A low hum of -murmured curiosity and admiration broke from the women of the -audience. Some rose eagerly from the benches; others cried:</p> - -<p>"Listen, listen! she is going to speak!"</p> - -<p>She did speak. Silvery and pure the sweet voice, sweeter than -ever in sadness, stole its way through the gross sounds—through -the coarse humming and the hissing whispers.</p> - -<p>"My lord the president," began the poor girl firmly. Her next -words were drowned in a volley of hisses from the women.</p> - -<p>"Ah! aristocrat, aristocrat! None of your accursed titles here!" -was their shrill cry at her. She fronted that cry, she fronted -the fierce gestures which accompanied it, with the steady light -still in her eyes, with the strange rigidity still fastened on -her face. She would have spoken again through the uproar and -execration, but her brother's voice overpowered her.</p> - -<p>"Citizen president," he cried, "I have not concluded. I demand -leave to complete my confession. I implore the tribunal to attach no -importance to what my sister says. The trouble and -terror of this day have shaken her intellects. She is not -responsible for her words—I assert it solemnly, in the face of -the whole court!"</p> - -<p>The blood flew up into his white face as he made the -asseveration. Even at that supreme moment the great heart of the -man reproached him for yielding himself to a deception, though -the motive of it was to save his sister's life.</p> - -<p>"Let her speak! let her speak!" exclaimed the women, as Rose, -without moving, without looking at her brother, without seeming -even to have heard what he said, made a second attempt to address -her judges, in spite of Trudaine's interposition.</p> - -<p>"Silence!" shouted the man with the bludgeon. "Silence, you -women! the citizen president is going to speak."</p> - -<p>"The prisoner Trudaine has the ear of the court," said the -president, "and may continue his confession. If the female -prisoner wishes to speak, she may be heard afterward. I enjoin -both the accused persons to make short work of it with their -addresses to me, or they will make their case worse instead of -better. I command silence among the audience, and if I am not -obeyed, I will clear the hall. Now, prisoner Trudaine, I invite -you to proceed. No more about your sister; let her speak for -herself. Your business and ours is with the man and woman Dubois. -Are you, or are you not, ready to tell the court who they are?"</p> - -<p>"I repeat that I am ready," answered Trudaine. "The citizen -Dubois is a servant. The woman Dubois is the mother of the man -who denounces me—Superintendent Danville."</p> - -<p>A low, murmuring, rushing sound of hundreds of exclaiming voices, -all speaking, half-suppressedly, at the same moment, followed the -delivery of the answer. No officer of the court attempted to -control the outburst of astonishment. The infection of it spread -to the persons on the platform, to the crier himself, to the -judges of the tribunal, lounging, but the moment before, so -carelessly silent in their chairs. When the noise was at length -quelled, it was subdued in the most instantaneous manner by one -man, who shouted from the throng behind the president's chair:</p> - -<p>"Clear the way there! Superintendent Danville is taken ill!"</p> - -<p>A vehement whispering and contending of many voices interrupting -each other, followed; then a swaying among the assembly of -official people; then a great stillness; then the sudden -appearance of Danville, alone, at the table.</p> - -<p>The look of him, as he turned his ghastly face toward the -audience, silenced and steadied them in an instant, just as they -were on the point of falling into fresh confusion. Every one -stretched forward eagerly to hear what he would say. His lips -moved; but the few words that fell from them were inaudible, -except to the persons who happened to be close by him. Having -spoken, he left the table supported by a police agent, who was -seen to lead him toward the private door of the court, and, -consequently, also toward the prisoners' platform. He stopped, -however, halfway, quickly turned his face from the prisoners, and -pointing toward the public door at the opposite side of the hall, -caused himself to be led out into the air by that direction. When -he had gone the president, addressing himself partly to Trudaine -and partly to the audience, said:</p> - -<p>"The Citizen Superintendent Danville has been overcome by the -heat in the court. He has retired by my desire, under the care of -a police agent, to recover in the open air; pledging himself to -me to come back and throw a new light on the extraordinary and -suspicious statement which the prisoner has just made. Until the -return of Citizen Danville, I order the accused, Trudaine, to -suspend any further acknowledgment of complicity which he may -have to address to me. This matter must be cleared up before -other matters are entered on. Meanwhile, in order that the time -of the tribunal may not be wasted, I authorize the female -prisoner to take this opportunity of making any statement -concerning herself which she may wish to address to the judges."</p> - -<p>"Silence him!" "Remove him out of court!" "Gag him!" "Guillotine -him!" These cries rose from the audience the moment the president -had done speaking. They were all directed at Trudaine, who had -made a last desperate effort to persuade his sister to keep -silence, and had been detected in the attempt by the spectators.</p> - -<p>"If the prisoner speaks another word to his sister, remove him," -said the president, addressing the guard round the platform.</p> - -<p>"Good! we shall hear her at last. Silence! silence!" exclaimed -the women, settling themselves comfortably on their benches, and -preparing to resume their work.</p> - -<p>"Rose Danville, the court is waiting to hear you," said the -president, crossing his legs and leaning back luxuriously in his -large armchair.</p> - -<p>Amid all the noise and confusion of the last few minutes, Rose -had stood ever in the same attitude, with that strangely fixed -expression never altering on her face but once. When her husband -made his way to the side of the table and stood there prominently -alone, her lips trembled a little, and a faint shade of color -passed swiftly over her cheeks. Even that slight change had -vanished now—she was paler, stiller, more widely altered from -her former self than ever, as she faced the president and said -these words:</p> - -<p>"I wish to follow my brother's example and make my confession, as -he has made his. I would rather he had spoken for me; but he is -too generous to say any words except such as he thinks may save -me from sharing his punishment. I refuse to be saved, unless he -is saved with me. Where he goes when he leaves this place, I will -go; what he suffers, I will suffer; if he is to die, I believe -God will grant me the strength to die resignedly with him!"</p> - -<p>She paused for a moment, and half turned toward Trudaine—then -checked herself instantly and went on: "This is what I now wish -to say, as to my share in the offense charged against my brother. -Some time ago, he told me one day that he had seen my husband's -mother in Paris, disguised as a poor woman; that he had spoken to -her, and forced her to acknowledge herself. Up to this time we -had all felt certain that she had left France, because she held -old-fashioned opinions which it is dangerous for people to hold -now—had left France before we came to Paris. She told my brother -that she had indeed gone (with an old, tried servant of the -family to help and protect her) as far as Marseilles; and that, -finding unforeseen difficulty there in getting further, she had -taken it as a warning from Providence not to desert her son, of -whom she was very passionately fond, and from whom she had been -most unwilling to depart. Instead of waiting in exile for quieter -times, she determined to go and hide herself in Paris, knowing -her son was going there too. She assumed the name of her old and -faithful servant, who declined to the last to leave her -unprotected; and she proposed to live in the strictest secrecy -and retirement, watching, unknown, the career of her son, and -ready at a moment's notice to disclose herself to him, when the -settlement of public affairs might reunite her safely to her -beloved child. My brother thought this plan full of danger, both -for herself, for her son, and for the honest old man who was -risking his head for his mistress's sake. I thought so too; and -in an evil hour I said to Louis: 'Will you try in secret to get -my husband's mother away, and see that her faithful servant makes -her really leave France this time?' I wrongly asked my brother to -do this for a selfish reason of my own—a reason connected with -my married life, which has not been a happy one. I had not -succeeded in gaining my husband's affection, and was not treated -kindly by him. My brother—who has always loved me far more -dearly, I am afraid, than I have ever deserved—my brother -increased his kindness to me, seeing me treated unkindly by my -husband. This made ill-blood between them. My thought, when I -asked my brother to do for me what I have said, was, that if we -two in secret saved my husband's mother, without danger to him, -from imperiling herself and her son, we should, when the time -came for speaking of what we had done, appear to my husband in a -new and better light. I should have shown how well I deserved his -love, and Louis would have shown how well he deserved his -brother-in-law's gratitude; and so we should have made home happy -at last, and all three have lived together affectionately. This -was my thought; and when I told it to my brother, and asked him -if there would be much risk, out of his kindness and indulgence -toward me, he said 'No.' He had so used me to accept sacrifices -for my happiness that I let him endanger himself to help me in my -little household plan. I repent this bitterly now; I ask his -pardon with my whole heart. If he is acquitted, I will try to -show myself worthier of his love. If he is found guilty, I, too, -will go to the scaffold, and die with my brother, who risked his -life for my sake."</p> - -<p>She ceased as quietly as she had begun, and turned once more to -her brother.</p> - -<p>As she looked away from the court and looked at him, a few tears -came into her eyes, and something of the old softness of form and -gentleness of expression seemed to return to her face. He let her -take his hand, but he seemed purposely to avoid meeting the -anxious gaze she fixed on him. His head sunk on his breast; he -drew his breath heavily, his countenance darkened and grew -distorted, as if he were suffering some sharp pang of physical -pain. He bent down a little, and, leaning his elbow on the rail -before him, covered his face with his hand; and so quelled the -rising agony, so forced back the scalding tears to his heart. The -audience had heard Rose in silence, and they preserved the same -tranquillity when she had done. This was a rare tribute to a -prisoner from the people of the Reign of Terror.</p> - -<p>The president looked round at his colleagues, and shook his head -suspiciously.</p> - -<p>"This statement of the female prisoner's complicates the matter -very seriously," said he. "Is there anybody in court," he added, -looking at the persons behind his chair, "who knows where the -mother of Superintendent Danville and the servant are now?"</p> - -<p>Lomaque came forward at the appeal, and placed himself by the -table.</p> - -<p>"Why, citizen agent!" continued the president, looking hard at -him, "are you overcome by the heat, too?"</p> - -<p>"The fit seemed to take him, citizen president, when the female -prisoner had made an end of her statement," exclaimed Magloire, -pressing forward officiously.</p> - -<p>Lomaque gave his subordinate a look which sent the man back -directly to the shelter of the official group; then said, in -lower tones than were customary with him:</p> - -<p>"I have received information relative to the mother of -Superintendent Danville and the servant, and am ready to answer -any questions that may be put to me."</p> - -<p>"Where are they now?" asked the president.</p> - -<p>"She and the servant are known to have crossed the frontier, and -are supposed to be on their way to Cologne. But, since they have -entered Germany, their whereabouts is necessarily a matter of -uncertainty to the republican authorities."</p> - -<p>"Have you any information relative to the conduct of the old -servant while he was in Paris?"</p> - -<p>"I have information enough to prove that he was not an object for -political suspicion. He seems to have been simply animated by -servile zeal for the woman's interests; to have performed for her -all the menial offices of a servant in private; and to have -misled the neighbors by affected equality with her in public."</p> - -<p>"Have you any reason to believe that Superintendent Danville was -privy to his mother's first attempt at escaping from France?"</p> - -<p>"I infer it from what the female prisoner has said, and for other -reasons which it would be irregular to detail before the -tribunal. The proofs can no doubt be obtained if I am allowed -time to communicate with the authorities at Lyons and -Marseilles."</p> - -<p>At this moment Danville re-entered the court; and, advancing to -the table, placed himself close by the chief agent's side. They -looked each other steadily in the face for an instant.</p> - -<p>"He has recovered from the shock of Trudaine's answer," thought -Lomaque, retiring. "His hand trembles, his face is pale, but I -can see regained self-possession in his eye, and I dread the -consequences already."</p> - -<p>"Citizen president," began Danville, "I demand to know if -anything has transpired affecting my honor and patriotism in my -absence?"</p> - -<p>He spoke apparently with the most perfect calmness, but he looked -nobody in the face. His eyes were fixed steadily on the green -baize of the table beneath him.</p> - -<p>"The female prisoner has made a statement, referring principally -to herself and her brother," answered the president, "but -incidentally mentioning a previous attempt on your mother's part -to break existing laws by emigrating from France. This portion of -the confession contains in it some elements of suspicion which -seriously affect you—"</p> - -<p>"They shall be suspicions no longer—at my own peril I will -change them to certainties!" exclaimed Danville, extending his -arm theatrically, and looking up for the first time. "Citizen -president, I avow it with the fearless frankness of a good -patriot; I was privy to my mother's first attempt at escaping -from France."</p> - -<p>Hisses and cries of execration followed this confession. He -winced under them at first; but recovered his self-possession -before silence was restored.</p> - -<p>"Citizens, you have heard the confession of my fault," he -resumed, turning with desperate assurance toward the audience; -"now hear the atonement I have made for it at the altar of my -country."</p> - -<p>He waited at the end of that sentence, until the secretary to the -tribunal had done writing it down in the report book of the -court.</p> - -<p>"Transcribe faithfully to the letter!" cried Danville, pointing -solemnly to the open page of the volume. "Life and death hang on -my words."</p> - -<p>The secretary took a fresh dip of ink, and nodded to show that he -was ready. Danville went on:</p> - -<p>"In these times of glory and trial for France," he proceeded, -pitching his voice to a tone of deep emotion, "what are all good -citizens most sacredly bound to do? To immolate their dearest -private affections and interests before their public duties! On -the first attempt of my mother to violate the laws against -emigration, by escaping from France, I failed in making the -heroic sacrifice which inexorable patriotism demanded of me. My -situation was more terrible than the situation of Brutus sitting -in judgment on his own sons. I had not the Roman fortitude to -rise equal to it. I erred, citizens—erred as Coriolanus did, -when his august mother pleaded with him for the safety of Rome! -For that error I deserved to be purged out of the republican -community; but I escaped my merited punishment—nay, I even rose -to the honor of holding an office under the Government. Time -passed; and again my mother attempted an escape from France. -Again, inevitable fate brought my civic virtue to the test. How -did I meet this second supremest trial? By an atonement for past -weakness, terrible as the trial itself. Citizens, you will -shudder; but you will applaud while you tremble. Citizens, look! -and while you look, remember well the evidence given at the -opening of this case. Yonder stands the enemy of his country, who -intrigued to help my mother to escape; here stands the patriot -son, whose voice was the first, the only voice, to denounce him -for the crime!" As he spoke, he pointed to Trudaine, then struck -himself on the breast, then folded his arms, and looked sternly -at the benches occupied by the spectators.</p> - -<p>"Do you assert," exclaimed the president, "that at the time when -you denounced Trudaine, you knew him to be intriguing to aid your -mother's escape?"</p> - -<p>"I assert it," answered Danville.</p> - -<p>The pen which the president held dropped from his hand at that -reply; his colleagues started, and looked at each other in blank -silence.</p> - -<p>A murmur of "Monster! monster!" began with the prisoners on the -platform, and spread instantly to the audience, who echoed and -echoed it again; the fiercest woman-republican on the benches -joined cause at last with the haughtiest woman-aristocrat on the -platform. Even in that sphere of direst discords, in that age of -sharpest enmities, the one touch of Nature preserved its old -eternal virtue, and roused the mother-instinct which makes the -whole world kin.</p> - -<p>Of the few persons in the court who at once foresaw the effect of -Danville's answer on the proceedings of the tribunal, Lomaque was -one. His sallow face whitened as he looked toward the prisoners' -platform.</p> - -<p>"They are lost," he murmured to himself, moving out of the group -in which he had hitherto stood. "Lost! The lie which has saved -that villain's head leaves them without the shadow of a hope. No -need to stop for the sentence—Danville's infamous presence of -mind has given them up to the guillotine!" Pronouncing these -words, he went out hurriedly by a door near the platform, which -led to the prisoners' waiting-room.</p> - -<p>Rose's head sank again on her brother's shoulder. She shuddered, -and leaned back faintly on the arm which he extended to support -her. One of the female prisoners tried to help Trudaine in -speaking consolingly to her; but the consummation of her -husband's perfidy seemed to have paralyzed her at heart. She -murmured once in her brother's ear, "Louis! I am resigned to -die—nothing but death is left for me after the degradation of -having loved that man." She said those words and closed her eyes -wearily, and spoke no more.</p> - -<p>"One other question, and you may retire," resumed the president, -addressing Danville. "Were you cognizant of your wife's -connection with her brother's conspiracy?"</p> - -<p>Danville reflected for a moment, remembered that there were -witnesses in court who could speak to his language and behavior -on the evening of his wife's arrest, and resolved this time to -tell the truth.</p> - -<p>"I was not aware of it," he answered. "Testimony in my favor can -be called which will prove that when my wife's complicity was -discovered I was absent from Paris."</p> - -<p>Heartlessly self-possessed as he was, the public reception of his -last reply had shaken his nerve. He now spoke in low tones, -turning his back on the spectators, and fixing his eyes again on -the green baize of the table at which he stood.</p> - -<p>"Prisoners, have you any objection to make, any evidence to call, -invalidating the statement by which Citizen Danville has cleared -himself of suspicion?" inquired the president.</p> - -<p>"He has cleared himself by the most execrable of all falsehoods," -answered Trudaine. "If his mother could be traced and brought -here, her testimony would prove it."</p> - -<p>"Can you produce any other evidence in support of your -allegation?" asked the president.</p> - -<p>"I cannot."</p> - -<p>"Citizen Superintendent Danville, you are at liberty to retire. -Your statement will be laid before the authority to whom you are -officially responsible. Either you merit a civic crown for more -than Roman virtue, or—" Having got thus far, the president -stopped abruptly, as if unwilling to commit himself too soon to -an opinion, and merely repeated, "You may retire."</p> - -<p>Danville left the court immediately, going out again by the -public door. He was followed by murmurs from the women's benches, -which soon ceased, however, when the president was observed to -close his note-book, and turn round toward his colleagues. "The -sentence!" was the general whisper now. "Hush, hush—the -sentence!"</p> - -<p>After a consultation of a few minutes with the persons behind -him, the president rose, and spoke the momentous words:</p> - -<p>"Louis Trudaine and Rose Danville, the revolutionary tribunal, -having heard the charge against you, and having weighed the value -of what you have said in answer to it, decides that you are both -guilty, and condemns you to the penalty of death."</p> - -<p>Having delivered the sentence in those terms, he sat down again, -and placed a mark against the two first condemned names on the -list of prisoners. Immediately afterward the next case was called -on, and the curiosity of the audience was stimulated by a new -trial.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4> - -<p>The waiting-room of the revolutionary tribunal was a grim, bare -place, with a dirty stone floor, and benches running round the -walls. The windows were high and barred; and at the outer door, -leading into the street, two sentinels kept watch. On entering -this comfortless retreat from the court, Lomaque found it -perfectly empty. Solitude was just then welcome to him. He -remained in the waiting-room, walking slowly from end to end over -the filthy pavement, talking eagerly and incessantly to himself.</p> - -<p>After a while, the door communicating with the tribunal opened, -and the humpbacked jailer made his appearance, leading in -Trudaine and Rose.</p> - -<p>"You will have to wait here," said the little man, "till the rest -of them have been tried and sentenced; and then you will all go -back to prison in a lump. Ha, citizen," he continued, observing -Lomaque at the other end of the hall, and bustling up to him. -"Here still, eh? If you were going to stop much longer, I should -ask a favor of you."</p> - -<p>"I am in no hurry," said Lomaque, with a glance at the two -prisoners.</p> - -<p>"Good!" cried the humpback, drawing his hand across his mouth; "I -am parched with thirst, and dying to moisten my throat at the -wine-shop over the way. Just mind that man and woman while I'm -gone, will you? It's the merest form—there's a guard outside, -the windows are barred, the tribunal is within hail. Do you mind -obliging me?"</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, I am glad of the opportunity."</p> - -<p>"That's a good fellow—and, remember, if I am asked for, you must -say I was obliged to quit the court for a few minutes, and left -you in charge."</p> - -<p>With these words, the humpbacked jailer ran off to the wine-shop.</p> - -<p>He had scarcely disappeared before Trudaine crossed the room, and -caught Lomaque by the arm.</p> - -<p>"Save her," he whispered; "there is an opportunity—save her!" -His face was flushed—his eyes wandered—his breath on the chief -agent's cheek, while he spoke, felt scorching hot. "Save her!" he -repeated, shaking Lomaque by the arm, and dragging him toward the -door. "Remember all you owe to my father—remember our talk on -that bench by the river—remember what you said to me yourself on -the night of the arrest—don't wait to think—save her, and leave -me without a word! If I die alone, I can die as a man should; if -she goes to the scaffold by my side, my heart will fail me—I -shall die the death of a coward! I have lived for her life—let -me die for it, and I die happy!"</p> - -<p>He tried to say more, but the violence of his agitation forbade -it. He could only shake the arm he held again and again, and -point to the bench on which Rose sat—her head sunk on her bosom, -her hands crossed listlessly on her lap.</p> - -<p>"There are two armed sentinels outside—the windows are -barred—you are without weapons—and even if you had them, there -is a guard-house within hail on one side of you, and the tribunal -on the other. Escape from this room is impossible," answered -Lomaque.</p> - -<p>"Impossible!" repeated the other, furiously. "You traitor! you -coward! can you look at her sitting there helpless, her very life -ebbing away already with every minute that passes, and tell me -coolly that escape is impossible?"</p> - -<p>In the frenzy of his grief and despair, he lifted his disengaged -hand threateningly while he spoke. Lomaque caught him by the -wrist, and drew him toward a window open at the top.</p> - -<p>"You are not in your right senses," said the chief agent, firmly; -"anxiety and apprehension on your sister's account have shaken -your mind. Try to compose yourself, and listen to me. I have -something important to say—" (Trudaine looked at him -incredulously.) "Important," continued Lomaque, "as affecting -your sister's interests at this terrible crisis."</p> - -<p>That last appeal had an instantaneous effect. Trudaine's -outstretched hand dropped to his side, and a sudden change passed -over his expression.</p> - -<p>"Give me a moment," he said, faintly; and turning away, leaned -against the wall and pressed his burning forehead on the chill, -damp stone. He did not raise his head again till he had mastered -himself, and could say quietly, "Speak; I am fit to hear you, and -sufficiently in my senses to ask your forgiveness for what I said -just now."</p> - -<p>"When I left the tribunal and entered this room," Lomaque began -in a whisper, "there was no thought in my mind that could be -turned to good account, either for your sister or for you. I was -fit for nothing but to deplore the failure of the confession -which I came to St. Lazare to suggest to you as your best plan -of defense. Since then, an idea has struck me, which may be -useful—an idea so desperate, so uncertain—involving a proposal -so absolutely dependent, as to its successful execution, on the -merest chance, that I refuse to confide it to you except on one -condition."</p> - -<p>"Mention the condition! I submit to it before hand."</p> - -<p>"Give me your word of honor that you will not mention what I am -about to say to your sister until I grant you permission to -speak. Promise me that when you see her shrinking before the -terrors of death to-night, you will have self-restraint enough to -abstain from breathing a word of hope to her. I ask this, because -there are ten—twenty—fifty chances to one that there <i>is</i> no -hope."</p> - -<p>"I have no choice but to promise," answered Trudaine.</p> - -<p>Lomaque produced his pocket-book and pencil before he spoke -again.</p> - -<p>"I will enter into particulars as soon as I have asked a strange -question of you," he said. "You have been a great experimenter in -chemistry in your time—is your mind calm enough, at such a -trying moment as this, to answer a question which is connected -with chemistry in a very humble way? You seem astonished. Let me -put the question at once. Is there any liquid or powder, or -combination of more than one ingredient known, which will remove -writing from paper, and leave no stain behind?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly! But is that all the question? Is there no greater -difficulty?"</p> - -<p>"None. Write the prescription, whatever it may be, on that leaf," -said the other, giving him the pocket-book. "Write it down, with -plain directions for use." Trudaine obeyed. "This is the first -step," continued Lomaque, putting the book in his pocket, "toward -the accomplishment of my purpose—my uncertain purpose, remember! -Now, listen; I am going to put my own head in danger for the -chance of saving yours and your sister's by tampering with the -death-list. Don't interrupt me! If I can save one, I can save the -other. Not a word about gratitude! Wait till you know the extent -of your obligation. I tell you plainly, at the outset, there is a -motive of despair, as well as a motive of pity, at the bottom of -the action in which I am now about to engage. Silence! I insist -on it. Our time is short; it is for me to speak, and for you to -listen. The president of the tribunal has put the deathmark -against your names on the prison list of to-day. That list, when -the trials are over and it is marked to the end, will be called -in this room before you are taken to St. Lazare. It will then be -sent to Robespierre, who will keep it, having a copy made of it -the moment it is delivered, for circulation among his -colleagues—St. Just, and the rest. It is my business to make a -duplicate of this copy in the first instance. The duplicate will -be compared with the original, and possibly with the copy, too, -either by Robespierre himself, or by some one in whom he can -place implicit trust, and will then be sent to St. Lazare without -passing through my hands again. It will be read in public the -moment it is received, at the grating of the prison, and will -afterward be kept by the jailer, who will refer to it, as he goes -round in the evening with a piece of chalk, to mark the cell -doors of the prisoners destined for the guillotine to-morrow. -That duty happens, to-day, to fall to the hunchback whom you saw -speaking to me. He is a confirmed drinker, and I mean to tempt -him with such wine as he rarely tastes. If—after the reading of -the list in public, and before the marking of the cell doors—I -can get him to sit down to the bottle, I will answer for making -him drunk, for getting the list out of his pocket, and for wiping -your names out of it with the prescription you have just written -for me. I shall write all the names, one under another, just -irregularly enough in my duplicate to prevent the interval left -by the erasure from being easily observed. If I succeed in this, -your door will not be marked, and your names will not be called -to-morrow morning when the tumbrils come for the guillotine. In -the present confusion of prisoners pouring in every day for -trial, and prisoners pouring out every day for execution, you -will have the best possible chance of security against awkward -inquiries, if you play your cards properly, for a good fortnight -or ten days at least. In that time—"</p> - -<p>"Well! well!" cried Trudaine, eagerly.</p> - -<p>Lomaque looked toward the tribunal door, and lowered his voice to -a fainter whisper before he continued, "In that time -Robespierre's own head may fall into the sack! France is -beginning to sicken under the Reign of Terror. Frenchmen of the -Moderate faction, who have lain hidden for months in cellars and -lofts, are beginning to steal out and deliberate by twos and -threes together, under cover of the night. Robespierre has not -ventured for weeks past to face the Convention Committee. He only -speaks among his own friends at the Jacobins. There are rumors of -a terrible discovery made by Carnot, of a desperate resolution -taken by Tallien. Men watching behind the scenes see that the -last days of the Terror are at hand. If Robespierre is beaten in -the approaching struggle, you are saved—for the new reign must -be a Reign of Mercy. If he conquers, I have only put off the date -of your death and your sister's, and have laid my own neck under -the axe. Those are your chances—this is all I can do."</p> - -<p>He paused, and Trudaine again endeavored to speak such words as -might show that he was not unworthy of the deadly risk which -Lomaque was prepared to encounter. But once more the chief agent -peremptorily and irritably interposed:</p> - -<p>"I tell you, for the third time," he said, "I will listen to no -expressions of gratitude from you till I know when I deserve -them. It is true that I recollect your father's timely kindness -to me—true that I have not forgotten what passed, five years -since at your house by the river-side. I remember everything, -down to what you would consider the veriest trifle—that cup of -coffee, for instance, which your sister kept hot for me. I told -you then that you would think better of me some day. I know that -you do now. But this is not all. You want to glorify me to my -face for risking my life for you. I won't hear you, because my -risk is of the paltriest kind. I am weary of my life. I can't -look back to it with pleasure. I am too old to look forward to -what is left of it with hope. There was something in that night -at your house before the wedding—something in what you said, in -what your sister did—which altered me. I have had my days of -gloom and self-reproach, from time to time, since then. I have -sickened at my slavery, and subjection, and duplicity, and -cringing, first under one master then under another. I have -longed to look back at my life, and comfort myself with the sight -of some good action, just as a frugal man comforts himself with -the sight of his little savings laid by in an old drawer. I can't -do this, and I want to do it. The want takes me like a fit, at -uncertain intervals—suddenly, under the most incomprehensible -influences. A glance up at the blue sky—starlight over the -houses of this great city, when I look out at the night from my -garret window—a child's voice coming suddenly, I don't know -where from—the piping of my neighbor's linnet in his little -cage—now one trifling thing, now another—wakes up that want in -me in a moment. Rascal as I am, those few simple words your -sister spoke to the judge went through and through me like a -knife. Strange, in a man like me, isn't it? I am amazed at it -myself. <i>My</i> life? Bah! I've let it out for hire to be kicked -about by rascals from one dirty place to another, like a -football! It's my whim to give it a last kick myself, and throw -it away decently before it lodges on the dunghill forever. Your -sister kept a good cup of coffee hot for me, and I give her a bad -life in return for the compliment. You want to thank me for it? -What folly! Thank me when I have done something useful. Don't -thank me for that!"</p> - -<p>He snapped his fingers contemptuously as he spoke, and walked -away to the outer door to receive the jailer, who returned at -that moment.</p> - -<p>"Well," inquired the hunchback, "has anybody asked for me?"</p> - -<p>"No," answered Lomaque; "not a soul has entered the room. What -sort of wine did you get?"</p> - -<p>"So-so! Good at a pinch, friend—good at a pinch."</p> - -<p>"Ah! you should go to my shop and try a certain cask, filled with -a particular vintage."</p> - -<p>"What shop? Which vintage?"</p> - -<p>"I can't stop to tell you now; but we shall most likely meet -again to-day. I expect to be at the prison this afternoon. Shall I -ask for you? Good! I won't forget!" With those farewell words he -went out, and never so much as looked back at the prisoners -before he closed the door.</p> - -<p>Trudaine returned to his sister, fearful lest his face should -betray what had passed during the extraordinary interview between -Lomaque and himself. But, whatever change there might be in his -expression, Rose did not seem to notice it. She was still -strangely inattentive to all outward things. That spirit of -resignation, which is the courage of women in all great -emergencies, seemed now to be the one animating spirit that fed -the flame of life within her.</p> - -<p>When her brother sat down by her, she only took his hand gently -and said: "Let us stop together like this, Louis, till the time -comes. I am not afraid of it, for I have nothing but you to make -me love life, and you, too, are going to die. Do you remember the -time when I used to grieve that I had never had a child to be -some comfort to me? I was thinking, a moment ago, how terrible it -would have been now, if my wish had been granted. It is a -blessing for me, in this great misery, that I am childless. Let -us talk of old days, Louis, as long as we can—not of my husband; -or my marriage—only of the old times, before I was a burden and -a trouble to you."</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER V.</h4> - -<p>The day wore on. By ones and twos and threes at a time, the -condemned prisoners came from the tribunal, and collected in the -waiting-room. At two o'clock all was ready for the calling over -of the death-list. It was read and verified by an officer of the -court; and then the jailer took his prisoners back to St. Lazare.</p> - -<p>Evening came. The prisoners' meal had been served; the duplicate -of the death-list had been read in public at the grate; the cell -doors were all locked. From the day of their arrest, Rose and her -brother, partly through the influence of a bribe, partly through -Lomaque's intercession, had been confined together in one cell; -and together they now awaited the dread event of the morrow.</p> - -<p>To Rose that event was death—death, to the thought of which, at -least, she was now resigned. To Trudaine the fast-nearing future -was darkening hour by hour, with the uncertainty which is worse -than death; with the faint, fearful, unpartaken suspense, which -keeps the mind ever on the rack, and wears away the heart slowly. -Through the long unsolaced agony of that dreadful night, but one -relief came to him. The tension of every nerve, the crushing -weight of the one fatal oppression that clung to every thought, -relaxed a little when Rose's bodily powers began to sink under -her mental exhaustion—when her sad, dying talk of the happy -times that were passed ceased softly, and she laid her head on -his shoulder, and let the angel of slumber take her yet for a -little while, even though she lay already under the shadow of the -angel of death.</p> - -<p>The morning came, and the hot summer sunrise. What life was left -in the terrorstruck city awoke for the day faintly; and still the -suspense of the long night remained unlightened. It was drawing -near the hour when the tumbrils were to come for the victims -doomed on the day before. Trudaine's ear could detect even the -faintest sound in the echoing prison region outside his cell. -Soon, listening near the door, he heard voices disputing on the -other side of it. Suddenly, the bolts were drawn back, the key -turned in the lock, and he found himself standing face to face -with the hunchback and one of the subordinate attendants on the -prisoners.</p> - -<p>"Look!" muttered this last man sulkily, "there they are, safe in -their cell, just as I said; but I tell you again they are not -down in the list. What do you mean by bullying me about not -chalking their door, last night, along with the rest? Catch me -doing your work for you again, when you're too drunk to do it -yourself!"</p> - -<p>"Hold your tongue, and let me have another look at the list!" -returned the hunchback, turning away from the cell door, and -snatching a slip of paper from the other's hand. "The devil take -me if I can make head or tail of it!" he exclaimed, scratching -his head, after a careful examination of the list. "I could swear -that I read over their names at the grate yesterday afternoon -with my own lips; and yet, look as long as I may, I certainly -can't find them written down here. Give us a pinch, friend. Am I -awake, or dreaming? drunk or sober this morning?"</p> - -<p>"Sober, I hope," said a quiet voice at his elbow. "I have just -looked in to see how you are after yesterday."</p> - -<p>"How I am, Citizen Lomaque? Petrified with astonishment. You -yourself took charge of that man and woman for me, in the -waiting-room, yesterday morning; and as for myself, I could swear -to having read their names at the grate yesterday afternoon. Yet -this morning here are no such things as these said names to be -found in the list! What do you think of that?"</p> - -<p>"And what do you think," interrupted the aggrieved subordinate, -"of his having the impudence to bully me for being careless in -chalking the doors, when he was too drunk to do it himself? too -drunk to know his right hand from his left! If I wasn't the -best-natured man in the world, I should report him to the head -jailer."</p> - -<p>"Quite right of you to excuse him, and quite wrong of him to -bully you," said Lomaque, persuasively. "Take my advice," he -continued, confidentially, to the hunchback, "and don't trust too -implicitly to that slippery memory of yours, after our little -drinking bout yesterday. You could not really have read their -names at the grate, you know, or of course they would be down on -the list. As for the waiting-room at the tribunal, a word in your -ear: chief agents of police know strange secrets. The president -of the court condemns and pardons in public; but there is -somebody else, with the power of ten thousand presidents, who now -and then condemns and pardons in private. You can guess who. I -say no more, except that I recommend you to keep your head on -your shoulders, by troubling it about nothing but the list there -in your hand. Stick to that literally, and nobody can blame you. -Make a fuss about mysteries that don't concern you, and—"</p> - -<p>Lomaque stopped, and holding his hand edgewise, let it drop -significantly over the hunchback's head. That action and the -hints which preceded it seemed to bewilder the little man more -than ever. He stared perplexedly at Lomaque; uttered a word or -two of rough apology to his subordinate, and rolling his -misshapen head portentously, walked away with the death-list -crumpled up nervously in his hand.</p> - -<p>"I should like to have a sight of them, and see if they really -are the same man and woman whom I looked after yesterday morning -in the waiting-room," said Lomaque, putting his hand on the cell -door, just as the deputy-jailer was about to close it again.</p> - -<p>"Look in, by all means," said the man. "No doubt you will find -that drunken booby as wrong in what he told you about them as he -is about everything else."</p> - -<p>Lomaque made use of the privilege granted to him immediately. He -saw Trudaine sitting with his sister in the corner of the cell -furthest from the door, evidently for the purpose of preventing -her from overhearing the conversation outside. There was an -unsettled look, however, in her eyes, a slowly-heightening color -in her cheeks, which showed her to be at least vaguely aware that -something unusual had been taking place in the corridor.</p> - -<p>Lomaque beckoned to Trudaine to leave her, and whispered to him: -"The prescription has worked well. You are safe for to-day. Break -the news to your sister as gently as you can. Danville—" He -stopped and listened till he satisfied himself, by the sound of -the deputy-jailer's footsteps, that the man was lounging toward -the further end of the corridor. "Danville," he resumed, "after -having mixed with the people outside the grate yesterday, and -having heard your names read, was arrested in the evening by -secret order from Robespierre, and sent to the Temple. What -charge will be laid to him, or when he will be brought to trial, -it is impossible to say. I only know that he is arrested. Hush! -don't talk now; my friend outside is coming back. Keep -quiet—hope everything from the chances and changes of public -affairs; and comfort yourself with the thought that you are both -safe for to-day."</p> - -<p>"And to-morrow?" whispered Trudaine.</p> - -<p>"Don't think of to-morrow," returned Lomaque, turning away -hurriedly to the door "Let to-morrow take care of itself."</p> - -<h3>PART THIRD.</h3> - -<h4>CHAPTER 1.</h4> - -<p>On a spring morning, in the year seventeen hundred and -ninety-eight, the public conveyance then running between -Chalons-sur-Marne and Paris sat down one of its outside -passengers at the first post-station beyond Meaux. The traveler, -an old man, after looking about him hesitatingly for a moment or -two, betook himself to a little inn opposite the post-house, -known by the sign of the Piebald Horse, and kept by the Widow -Duval—a woman who enjoyed and deserved the reputation of being -the fastest talker and the best maker of <i>gibelotte</i> in the whole -locality.</p> - -<p>Although the traveler was carelessly noticed by the village -idlers, and received without ceremony by the Widow Duval, he was -by no means so ordinary and uninteresting a stranger as the -rustics of the place were pleased to consider him. The time had -been when this quiet, elderly, unobtrusive applicant for -refreshment at the Piebald House was trusted with the darkest -secrets of the Reign of Terror, and was admitted at all times and -seasons to speak face to face with Maximilian Robespierre -himself. The Widow Duval and the hangers-on in front of the -post-house would have been all astonished indeed if any -well-informed personage from the metropolis had been present to -tell them that the modest old traveler with the shabby little -carpet-bag was an ex-chief agent of the secret police of Paris!</p> - -<p>Between three and four years had elapsed since Lomaque had -exercised, for the last time, his official functions under the -Reign of Terror. His shoulders had contracted an extra stoop, and -his hair had all fallen off, except at the sides and back of his -head. In some other respects, however, advancing age seemed to -have improved rather than deteriorated him in personal -appearance. His complexion looked healthier, his expression -cheerfuller, his eyes brighter than they had ever been of late -years. He walked, too, with a brisker step than the step of old -times in the police office; and his dress, although it certainly -did not look like the costume of a man in affluent circumstances, -was cleaner and far more nearly worn than ever it had been in the -past days of his political employment at Paris.</p> - -<p>He sat down alone in the inn parlor, and occupied the time, while -his hostess had gone to fetch the half-bottle of wine that he -ordered, in examining a dirty old card which he extricated from a -mass of papers in his pocket-book, and which bore, written on it, -these lines:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"When the troubles are over, do not forget those who remember you -with eternal gratitude. Stop at the first post-station beyond -Meaux, on the high-road to Paris, and ask at the inn for Citizen -Maurice, whenever you wish to see us or to hear of us again."</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>"Pray," inquired Lomaque, putting the card in his pocket when the -Widow Duval brought in the wine, "can you inform me whether a -person named Maurice lives anywhere in this neighborhood?"</p> - -<p>"Can I inform you?" repeated the voluble widow. "Of course I can! -Citizen Maurice, and the citoyenne, his amiable sister—who is -not to be passed over because you don't mention her, my honest -man—lives within ten minutes' walk of my house. A charming -cottage, in a charming situation, inhabited by two charming -people—so quiet, so retiring, such excellent pay. I supply them -with everything—fowls, eggs, bread, butter, vegetables (not that -they eat much of anything), wine (which they don't drink half -enough of to do them good); in short, I victual the dear little -hermitage, and love the two amiable recluses with all my heart. -Ah! they have had their troubles, poor people, the sister -especially, though they never talk about them. When they first -came to live in our neighborhood—"</p> - -<p>"I beg pardon, citoyenne, but if you would only be so kind as to -direct me—"</p> - -<p>"Which is three—no, four—no, three years and a half ago—in -short, just after the time when that Satan of a man, Robespierre, -had his head cut off (and serve him right!), I said to my husband -(who was on his last legs then, poor man!) 'She'll die'—meaning -the lady. She didn't though. My fowls, eggs, bread, butter, -vegetables, and wine carried her through—always in combination -with the anxious care of Citizen Maurice. Yes, yes! let us be -tenderly conscientious in giving credit where credit is due; let -us never forget that the citizen Maurice contributed something to -the cure of the interesting invalid, as well as the victuals and -drink from the Piebald Horse. There she is now, the prettiest -little woman in the prettiest little cottage—"</p> - -<p>"Where? Will you be so obliging as to tell me where?"</p> - -<p>"And in excellent health, except that she is subject now and then -to nervous attacks; having evidently, as I believe, been struck -with some dreadful fright—most likely during that accursed time -of the Terror; for they came from Paris—you don't drink, honest -man! Why don't you drink? Very, very pretty in a pale way; figure -perhaps too thin—let me pour it out for you—but an angel of -gentleness, and attached in such a touching way to the citizen -Maurice—"</p> - -<p>"Citizen hostess, will you, or will you not, tell me where they -live?"</p> - -<p>"You droll little man, why did you not ask me that before, if you -wanted to know? Finish your wine, and come to the door. There's -your change, and thank you for your custom, though it isn't much. -Come to the door, I say, and don't interrupt me! You're an old -man—can you see forty yards before you? Yes, you can! Don't be -peevish—that never did anybody any good yet. Now look back, -along the road where I am pointing. You see a large heap of -stones? Good. On the other side of the heap of stones there is a -little path; you can't see that, but you can remember what I tell -you? Good. You go down the path till you get to a stream; down -the stream till you get to a bridge; down the other bank of the -stream (after crossing the bridge) till you get to an old -water-mill—a jewel of a water-mill, famous for miles round; -artists from the four quarters of the globe are always coming to -sketch it. Ah! what, you are getting peevish again? You won't -wait? Impatient old man, what a life your wife must lead, if you -have got one! Remember the bridge. Ah! your poor wife and -children, I pity them; your daughters especially! Pst! pst! -Remember the bridge—peevish old man, remember the bridge!"</p> - -<p>Walking as fast as he could out of hearing of the Widow Duval's -tongue, Lomaque took the path by the heap of stones which led out -of the high-road, crossed the stream, and arrived at the old -water-mill. Close by it stood a cottage—a rough, simple -building, with a strip of garden in front. Lomaque's observant -eyes marked the graceful arrangement of the flower-beds, and the -delicate whiteness of the curtains that hung behind the -badly-glazed narrow windows. "This must be the place," he said to -himself, as he knocked at the door with his stick. "I can see the -traces of her hand before I cross the threshold."</p> - -<p>The door was opened. "Pray, does the citizen Maurice—" Lomaque -began, not seeing clearly, for the first moment, in the dark -little passage.</p> - -<p>Before he could say any more his hand was grasped, his carpet-bag -was taken from him, and a well-known voice cried, "Welcome! a -thousand thousand times welcome, at last! Citizen Maurice is not -at home; but Louis Trudaine takes his place, and is overjoyed to -see once more the best and dearest of his friends!"</p> - -<p>"I hardly know you again. How you are altered for the better!" -exclaimed Lomaque, as they entered the parlor of the cottage.</p> - -<p>"Remember that you see me after a long freedom from anxiety. -Since I have lived here, I have gone to rest at night, and have -not been afraid of the morning," replied Trudaine. He went out -into the passage while he spoke, and called at the foot of the -one flight of stairs which the cottage possessed, "Rose! Rose! -come down! The friend whom you most wished to see has arrived at -last."</p> - -<p>She answered the summons immediately. The frank, friendly warmth -of her greeting; her resolute determination, after the first -inquiries were over, to help the guest to take off his upper coat -with her own hands, so confused and delighted Lomaque, that he -hardly knew which way to turn, or what to say.</p> - -<p>"This is even more trying, in a pleasant way, to a lonely old -fellow like me," he was about to add, "than the unexpected -civility of the hot cup of coffee years ago"; but remembering -what recollections even that trifling circumstance might recall, -he checked himself.</p> - -<p>"More trying than what?" asked Rose, leading him to a chair.</p> - -<p>"Ah! I forget. I am in my dotage already!" he answered, -confusedly. "I have not got used just yet to the pleasure of -seeing your kind face again." It was indeed a pleasure to look at -that face now, after Lomaque's last experience of it. Three years -of repose, though they had not restored to Rose those youthful -attractions which she had lost forever in the days of the Terror, -had not passed without leaving kindly outward traces of their -healing progress. Though the girlish roundness had not returned -to her cheeks, or the girlish delicacy of color to her -complexion, her eyes had recovered much of their old softness, -and her expression all of its old winning charm. What was left of -latent sadness in her face, and of significant quietness in her -manner, remained gently and harmlessly—remained rather to show -what had been once than what was now.</p> - -<p>When they were all seated, there was, however, something like a -momentary return to the suspense and anxiety of past days in -their faces, as Trudaine, looking earnestly at Lomaque, asked, -"Do you bring any news from Paris?"</p> - -<p>"None," he replied; "but excellent news, instead, from Rouen. I -have heard, accidentally, through the employer whom I have been -serving since we parted, that your old house by the river-side is -to let again."</p> - -<p>Rose started from her chair. "Oh, Louis, if we could only live -there once more! My flower-garden?" she continued to Lomaque.</p> - -<p>"Cultivated throughout," he answered, "by the late proprietor."</p> - -<p>"And the laboratory?" added her brother.</p> - -<p>"Left standing," said Lomaque. "Here is a letter with all the -particulars. You may depend upon them, for the writer is the -person charged with the letting of the house."</p> - -<p>Trudaine looked over the letter eagerly.</p> - -<p>"The price is not beyond our means," he said. "After our three -years' economy here, we can afford to give something for a great -pleasure."</p> - -<p>"Oh, what a day of happiness it will be when we go home again!" -cried Rose. "Pray write to your friend at once," she added, -addressing Lomaque, "and say we take the house, before any one -else is beforehand with us!"</p> - -<p>He nodded, and folding up the letter mechanically in the old -official form, made a note on it in the old official manner. -Trudaine observed the action, and felt its association with past -times of trouble and terror. His face grew grave again as he said -to Lomaque, "And is this good news really all the news of -importance you have to tell us?"</p> - -<p>Lomaque hesitated, and fidgeted in his chair. "What other news I -have will bear keeping," he replied. "There are many questions I -should like to ask first, about your sister and yourself. Do you -mind allowing me to refer for a moment to the time when we last -met?"</p> - -<p>He addressed this inquiry to Rose, who answered in the negative; -but her voice seemed to falter, even in saying the one word "No." -She turned her head away when she spoke; and Lomaque noticed that -her hands trembled as she took up some work lying on a table -near, and hurriedly occupied herself with it.</p> - -<p>"We speak as little about that time as possible," said Trudaine, -looking significantly toward his sister; "but we have some -questions to ask you in our turn; so the allusion, for this once, -is inevitable. Your sudden disappearance at the very crisis of -that time of danger has not yet been fully explained to us. The -one short note which you left behind you helped us to guess at -what had happened rather than to understand it."</p> - -<p>"I can easily explain it now," answered Lomaque. "The sudden -overthrow of the Reign of Terror, which was salvation to you, was -destruction to me. The new republican reign was a reign of mercy, -except for the tail of Robespierre, as the phrase ran then. Every -man who had been so wicked or so unfortunate as to be involved, -even in the meanest capacity, with the machinery of the -government of Terror, was threatened, and justly, with the fate -of Robespierre. I, among others, fell under this menace of death. -I deserved to die, and should have resigned myself to the -guillotine but for you. From the course taken by public events, I -knew you would be saved; and although your safety was the work of -circumstances, still I had a hand in rendering it possible at the -outset; and a yearning came over me to behold you both free again -with my own eyes—a selfish yearning to see in you a living, -breathing, real result of the one good impulse of my heart, which -I could look back on with satisfaction. This desire gave me a new -interest in life. I resolved to escape death if it were possible. -For ten days I lay hidden in Paris. After that—thanks to certain -scraps of useful knowledge which my experience in the office of -secret police had given me—I succeeded in getting clear of Paris -and in making my way safely to Switzerland. The rest of my story -is so short and so soon told that I may as well get it over at -once. The only relation I knew of in the world to apply to was a -cousin of mine (whom I had never seen before), established as a -silk-mercer at Berne. I threw myself on this man's mercy. He -discovered that I was likely, with my business habits, to be of -some use to him, and he took me into his house. I worked for what -he pleased to give me, traveled about for him in Switzerland, -deserved his confidence, and won it. Till within the last few -months I remained with him; and only left my employment to enter, -by my master's own desire, the house of his brother, established -also as a silk-mercer, at Chalons-sur-Marne. In the -counting-house of this merchant I am corresponding clerk, and am -only able to come and see you now by offering to undertake a -special business mission for my employer at Paris. It is -drudgery, at my time of life, after all I have gone through—but -my hard work is innocent work. I am not obliged to cringe for -every crown-piece I put in my pocket—not bound to denounce, -deceive, and dog to death other men, before I can earn my bread, -and scrape together money enough to bury me. I am ending a bad, -base life harmlessly at last. It is a poor thing to do, but it is -something done—and even that contents a man at my age. In short, -I am happier than I used to be, or at least less ashamed when I -look people like you in the face."</p> - -<p>"Hush! hush!" interrupted Rose, laying her hand on his arm. "I -cannot allow you to talk of yourself in that way, even in jest."</p> - -<p>"I was speaking in earnest," answered Lomaque, quietly; "but I -won't weary you with any more words about myself. My story is -told."</p> - -<p>"All?" asked Trudaine. He looked searchingly, almost -suspiciously, at Lomaque, as he put the question. "All?" he -repeated. "Yours is a short story, indeed, my good friend! -Perhaps you have forgotten some of it?"</p> - -<p>Again Lomaque fidgeted and hesitated.</p> - -<p>"Is it not a little hard on an old man to be always asking -questions of him, and never answering one of his inquiries in -return?" he said to Rose, very gayly as to manner, but rather -uneasily as to look.</p> - -<p>"He will not speak out till we two are alone," thought Trudaine. -"It is best to risk nothing, and to humor him."</p> - -<p>"Come, come," he said aloud; "no grumbling. I admit that it is -your turn to hear our story now; and I will do my best to gratify -you. But before I begin," he added, turning to his sister, "let -me suggest, Rose, that if you have any household matters to -settle upstairs—"</p> - -<p>"I know what you mean," she interrupted, hurriedly, taking up the -work which, during the last few minutes, she had allowed to drop -into her lap; "but I am stronger than you think; I can face the -worst of our recollections composedly. Go on, Louis; pray go -on—I am quite fit to stop and hear you."</p> - -<p>"You know what we suffered in the first days of our suspense, -after the success of your stratagem," said Trudaine, turning to -Lomaque. "I think it was on the evening after we had seen you for -the last time at St. Lazare that strange, confused rumors of an -impending convulsion in Paris first penetrated within our prison -walls. During the next few days the faces of our jailers were -enough to show us that those rumors were true, and that the Reign -of Terror was actually threatened with overthrow at the hands of -the Moderate Party. We had hardly time to hope everything from -this blessed change before the tremendous news of Robespierre's -attempted suicide, then of his condemnation and execution, -reached us. The confusion produced in the prison was beyond all -description. The accused who had been tried and the accused who -had not been tried got mingled together. From the day of -Robespierre's arrest, no orders came to the authorities, no -death-lists reached the prison. The jailers, terrified by rumors -that the lowest accomplices of the tyrant would be held -responsible, and be condemned with him, made no attempt to -maintain order. Some of them—that hunchback man among the -rest—deserted their duties altogether. The disorganization was -so complete, that when the commissioners from the new Government -came to St. Lazare, some of us were actually half starving from -want of the bare necessities of life. To inquire separately into -our cases was found to be impossible. Sometimes the necessary -papers were lost; sometimes what documents remained were -incomprehensible to the new commissioners. They were obliged, at -last, to make short work of it by calling us up before them in -dozens. Tried or not tried, we had all been arrested by the -tyrant, had all been accused of conspiracy against him, and were -all ready to hail the new Government as the salvation of France. -In nine cases out of ten, our best claim to be discharged was -derived from these circumstances. We were trusted by Tallien and -the men of the Ninth Thermidor, because we had been suspected by -Robespierre, Couthon, and St. Just. Arrested informally, we were -now liberated informally. When it came to my sister's turn and -mine, we were not under examination five minutes. No such thing -as a searching question was asked of us; I believe we might even -have given our own names with perfect impunity. But I had -previously instructed Rose that we were to assume our mother's -maiden name—Maurice. As the citizen and citoyenne Maurice, -accordingly, we passed out of prison—under the same name we have -lived ever since in hiding here. Our past repose has depended, -our future happiness will depend, on our escape from death being -kept the profoundest secret among us three. For one all -sufficient reason, which you can easily guess at, the brother and -sister Maurice must still know nothing of Louis Trudaine and Rose -Danville, except that they were two among the hundreds of victims -guillotined during the Reign of Terror."</p> - -<p>He spoke the last sentence with a faint smile, and with the air -of a man trying, in spite of himself, to treat a grave subject -lightly. His face clouded again, however, in a moment, when he -looked toward his sister, as he ceased. Her work had once more -dropped on her lap, her face was turned away so that he could not -see it; but he knew by the trembling of her clasped hands, as -they rested on her knee, and by the slight swelling of the veins -on her neck which she could not hide from him, that her boasted -strength of nerve had deserted her. Three years of repose had not -yet enabled her to hear her marriage name uttered, or to be -present when past times of deathly suffering and terror were -referred to, without betraying the shock in her face and manner. -Trudaine looked saddened, but in no way surprised by what he saw. -Making a sign to Lomaque to say nothing, he rose and took up his -sister's hood, which lay on a window-seat near him.</p> - -<p>"Come, Rose," he said, "the sun is shining, the sweet spring air -is inviting us out. Let us have a quiet stroll along the banks of -the stream. Why should we keep our good friend here cooped up in -this narrow little room, when we have miles and miles of -beautiful landscape to show him on the other side of the -threshold? Come, it is high treason to Queen Nature to remain -indoors on such a morning as this."</p> - -<p>Without waiting for her to reply, he put on her hood, drew her -arm through his, and led the way out. Lomaque's face grew grave -as he followed them.</p> - -<p>"I am glad I only showed the bright side of my budget of news in -her presence," thought he. "She is not well at heart yet. I might -have hurt her, poor thing! I might have hurt her again sadly, if -I had not held my tongue!"</p> - -<p>They walked for a little while down the banks of the stream, -talking of indifferent matters; then returned to the cottage. By -that time Rose had recovered her spirits, and could listen with -interest and amusement to Lomaque's dryly-humorous description of -his life as a clerk at Chalons-sur-Marne. They parted for a -little while at the cottage door. Rose retired to the upstairs -room from which she had been summoned by her brother. Trudaine -and Lomaque returned to wander again along the banks of the -stream.</p> - -<p>With one accord, and without a word passing between them, they -left the neighborhood of the cottage hurriedly; then stopped on a -sudden, and attentively looked each other in the face—looked in -silence for an instant. Trudaine spoke first.</p> - -<p>"I thank you for having spared her," he began, abruptly. "She is -not strong enough yet to bear hearing of a new misfortune, unless -I break the tidings to her first."</p> - -<p>"You suspect me, then, of bringing bad news?" said Lomaque.</p> - -<p>"I know you do. When I saw your first look at her, after we were -all seated in the cottage parlor, I knew it. Speak without fear, -without caution, without one useless word of preface. After three -years of repose, if it pleases God to afflict us again, I can -bear the trial calmly; and, if need be, can strengthen her to -bear it calmly, too. I say again, Lomaque, speak at once, and -speak out! I know your news is bad, for I know beforehand that it -is news of Danville."</p> - -<p>"You are right; my bad news is news of him."</p> - -<p>"He has discovered the secret of our escape from the guillotine?"</p> - -<p>"No—he has not a suspicion of it. He believes—as his mother, as -every one does—that you were both executed the day after the -Revolutionary Tribunal sentenced you to death."</p> - -<p>"Lomaque, you speak positively of that belief of his—but you -cannot be certain of it."</p> - -<p>"I can, on the most indisputable, the most startling evidence—on -the authority of Danville's own act. You have asked me to speak -out—"</p> - -<p>"I ask you again—I insist on it! Your news, Lomaque—your news, -without another word of preface!"</p> - -<p>"You shall have it without another word of preface. Danville is -on the point of being married."</p> - -<p>As the answer was given they both stopped by the bank of the -stream, and again looked each other in the face. There was a -minute of dead silence between them. During that minute, the -water bubbling by happily over its bed of pebbles seemed -strangely loud, the singing of birds in a little wood by the -stream-side strangely near and shrill, in both their ears. The -light breeze, for all its midday warmth, touched their cheeks -coldly; and the spring sunlight pouring on their faces felt as if -it were glimmering on them through winter clouds.</p> - -<p>"Let us walk on," said Trudaine, in a low voice. "I was prepared -for bad news, yet not for that. Are you certain of what you have -just told me?"</p> - -<p>"As certain as that the stream here is flowing by our side. Hear -how I made the discovery, and you will doubt no longer. Before -last week I knew nothing of Danville, except that his arrest on -suspicion by Robespierre's order was, as events turned out, the -saving of his life. He was imprisoned, as I told you, on the -evening after he had heard your names read from the death-list at -the prison grate. He remained in confinement at the Temple, -unnoticed in the political confusion out-of-doors, just as you -remained unnoticed at St. Lazare, and he profited precisely in -the same manner that you profited by the timely insurrection -which overthrew the Reign of Terror. I knew this, and I knew that -he walked out of prison in the character of a persecuted victim -of Robespierre's—and, for better than three years past, I knew -no more. Now listen. Last week I happened to be waiting in the -shop of my employer, Citizen Clairfait, for some papers to take -into the counting-house, when an old man enters with a sealed -parcel, which he hands to one of the shopmen, saying:</p> - -<p>" 'Give that to Citizen Clairfait.'</p> - -<p>" 'Any name?' says the shopman.</p> - -<p>" 'The name is of no consequence,' answers the old man; 'but if -you please, you can give mine. Say the parcel came from Citizen -Dubois;' and then he goes out. His name, in connection with his -elderly look, strikes me directly.</p> - -<p>" 'Does that old fellow live at Chalons?' I ask.</p> - -<p>" 'No,' says the shopman. 'He is here in attendance on a customer -of ours—an old ex-aristocrat named Danville. She is on a visit -in our town.'</p> - -<p>"I leave you to imagine how that reply startles and amazes me. -The shopman can answer none of the other questions I put to him; -but the next day I am asked to dinner by my employer (who, for -his brother's sake, shows me the utmost civility). On entering -the room, I find his daughter just putting away a -lavender-colored silk scarf, on which she has been embroidering -in silver what looks to me very like a crest and coat-of-arms.</p> - -<p>" 'I don't mind your seeing what I am about, Citizen Lomaque,' -says she; 'for I know my father can trust you. That scarf is sent -back to us by the purchaser, an ex-emigrant lady of the old -aristocratic school, to have her family coat-of-arms embroidered -on it.'</p> - -<p>" 'Rather a dangerous commission even in these mercifully -democratic times, is it not?' says I.</p> - -<p>" 'The old lady, you must know,' says she, 'is as proud as -Lucifer; and having got back safely to France in these days of -moderate republicanism, thinks she may now indulge with impunity -in all her old-fashioned notions. She has been an excellent -customer of ours, so my father thought it best to humor her, -without, however, trusting her commission to any of the workroom -women to execute. We are not living under the Reign of Terror -now, certainly; still there is nothing like being on the safe -side.'</p> - -<p>" 'Nothing,' I answer. 'Pray what is this ex-emigrant's name?'</p> - -<p>" 'Danville,' replies the citoyenne Clairfait. 'She is going to -appear in that fine scarf at her son's marriage.'</p> - -<p>" 'Marriage!' I exclaim, perfectly thunderstruck.</p> - -<p>" 'Yes,' says she. 'What is there so amazing in that? By all -accounts, the son, poor man, deserves to make a lucky marriage -this time. His first wife was taken away from him in the Reign of -Terror by the guillotine.'</p> - -<p>" 'Who is he going to marry?' I inquire, still breathless.</p> - -<p>" 'The daughter of General Berthelin—an ex-aristocrat by family, -like the old lady; but by principle as good a republican as ever -lived—a hard-drinking, loud-swearing, big-whiskered old soldier, -who snaps his fingers at his ancestors and says we are all -descended from Adam, the first genuine sans-culotte in the -world.'</p> - -<p>"In this way the citoyenne Ciairfait gossips on all dinner-time, -but says nothing more of any importance. I, with my old -police-office habits, set to the next day, and try to make some -discoveries for myself. The sum of what I find out is this: -Danville's mother is staying with General Berthelin's sister and -daughter at Chalons, and Danville himself is expected to arrive -every day to escort them all three to Paris, where the -marriage-contract is to be signed at the general's house. -Discovering this, and seeing that prompt action is now of the -most vital importance, I undertake, as I told you, my employer's -commission for Paris, depart with all speed, and stop here on my -way. Wait! I have not done yet. All the haste I can make is not -haste enough to give me a good start of the wedding party. On my -road here, the diligence by which I travel is passed by a -carriage, posting along at full speed. I cannot see inside that -carriage; but I look at the box-seat, and recognize on it the old -man Dubois. He whirls by in a cloud of dust, but I am certain of -him; and I say to myself what I now say again to you, no time is -to be lost!"</p> - -<p>"No time <i>shall</i> be lost," answers, Trudaine, firmly. "Three -years have passed," he continued, in a lower voice, speaking to -himself rather than to Lomaque; "three years since the day when I -led my sister out of the gates of the prison—three years since I -said in my heart, 'I will be patient, and will not seek to avenge -myself. Our wrongs cry from earth to heaven; from man who -inflicts to God who redresses. When the day of reckoning comes, -let it be the day of his vengeance, not of mine.' In my heart I -said those words—I have been true to them—I have waited. The -day has come, and the duty it demands of me shall be fulfilled."</p> - -<p>There was a moment's silence before Lomaque spoke again. "Your -sister?" he began, hesitatingly.</p> - -<p>"It is there only that my purpose falters," said the other, -earnestly. "If it were but possible to spare her all knowledge of -this last trial, and to leave the accomplishment of the terrible -task to me alone?"</p> - -<p>"I think it is possible," interposed Lomaque. "Listen to what I -advise. We must depart for Paris by the diligence to-morrow -morning, and we must take your sister with us—to-morrow will be -time enough; people don't sign marriage-contracts on the evening -after a long day's journey. We must go then, and we must take -your sister. Leave the care of her in Paris, and the -responsibility of keeping her in ignorance of what you are doing, -to me. Go to this General Berthelin's house at a time when you -know Danville is there (we can get that knowledge through the -servants); confront him without a moment's previous warning; -confront him as a man risen from the dead; confront him before -every soul in the room though the room should be full of -people—and leave the rest to the self-betrayal of a -panic-stricken man. Say but three words, and your duty will be -done; you may return to your sister, and may depart with her in -safety to your old retreat at Rouen, or where else you please, on -the very day when you have put it out of her infamous husband's -power to add another to the list of his crimes."</p> - -<p>"You forget the suddenness of the journey to Paris," said -Trudaine. "How are we to account for it without the risk of -awakening my sister's suspicions?"</p> - -<p>"Trust that to me," answered Lomaque. "Let us return to the -cottage at once. No, not you," he added, suddenly, as they turned -to retrace their steps. "There is that in your face which would -betray us. Leave me to go back alone—I will say that you have -gone to give some orders at the inn. Let us separate immediately. -You will recover your self-possession—you will get to look -yourself again sooner—if you are left alone. I know enough of -you to know that. We will not waste another minute in -explanations; even minutes are precious to us on such a day as -this. By the time you are fit to meet your sister again, I shall -have had time to say all I wish to her, and shall be waiting at -the cottage to tell you the result."</p> - -<p>He looked at Trudaine, and his eyes seemed to brighten again with -something of the old energy and sudden decision of the days when -he was a man in office under the Reign of Terror. "Leave it to -me," he said; and, waving his hand, turned away quickly in the -direction of the cottage.</p> - -<p>Nearly an hour passed before Trudaine ventured to follow him. -When he at length entered the path which led to the garden gate, -he saw his sister waiting at the cottage door. Her face looked -unusually animated; and she ran forward a step or two to meet -him.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Louis!" she said, "I have a confession to make, and I must -beg you to hear it patiently to the end. You must know that our good -Lomaque, though he came in tired -from his walk, occupied himself the first thing, at my request, -in writing the letter which is to secure to us our dear old home -by the banks of the Seine. When he had done, he looked at me, and -said, 'I should like to be present at your happy return to the -house where I first saw you.' 'Oh, come, come with us!' I said -directly. 'I am not an independent man,' he answered; 'I have a -margin of time allowed me at Paris, certainly, but it is not -long—if I were only my own master—' and then he stopped. Louis, -I remembered all we owed to him; I remembered that there was no -sacrifice we ought not to be too glad to make for his sake; I -felt the kindness of the wish he had expressed; and perhaps I was -a little influenced by my own impatience to see once more my -flower-garden and the rooms where we used to be so happy. So I -said to him, 'I am sure Louis will agree with me that our time is -yours, and that we shall be only too glad to advance our -departure so as to make traveling leisure enough for you to come -with us to Rouen. We should be worse than ungrateful—' He -stopped me. 'You have always been good to me,' he said. 'I must -not impose on your kindness now. No, no, you have formalities to -settle before you can leave this place.' 'Not one,' I said—for -we have not, as you know, Louis? 'Why, here is your furniture to -begin with,' he said. 'A few chairs and tables hired from the -inn,' I answered; 'we have only to give the landlady our key, to -leave a letter for the owner of the cottage, and then—' He -laughed. 'Why, to hear you talk, one would think you were as -ready to travel as I am!' 'So we are,' I said, 'quite as ready, -living in the way we do here.' He shook his head; but you will -not shake yours, Louis, I am sure, now you have heard all my long -story? You can't blame me can you?"</p> - -<p>Before Trudaine could answer, Lomaque looked out of the cottage -window.</p> - -<p>"I have just been telling my brother every thing," said Rose, -turning round toward him.</p> - -<p>"And what does he say?" asked Lomaque.</p> - -<p>"He says what I say," replied Rose, answering for her brother; -"that our time is your time—the time of our best and dearest -friend."</p> - -<p>"Shall it be done, then?" asked Lomaque, with a meaning look at -Trudaine.</p> - -<p>Rose glanced anxiously at her brother; his face was much graver -than she had expected to see it, but his answer relieved her from -all suspense.</p> - -<p>"You are quite right, love, to speak as you did," he said, -gently. Then, turning to Lomaque, he added, in a firmer voice, -"It shall be done!"</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> - -<p>Two days after the traveling-carriage described by Lomaque had -passed the diligence on the road to Paris, Madame Danville sat in -the drawing-room of an apartment in the Rue de Grenelle, -handsomely dressed for driving out. After consulting a large gold -watch that hung at her side, and finding that it wanted a quarter -of an hour only to two o'clock, she rang her hand-bell, and said -to the maid-servant who answered the summons, "I have five -minutes to spare. Send Dubois here with my chocolate."</p> - -<p>The old man made his appearance with great alacrity. After -handing the cup of chocolate to his mistress, he ventured to use -the privilege of talking, to which his long and faithful services -entitled him, and paid the old lady a compliment. "I am rejoiced -to see madame looking so young and in such good spirits this -morning," he said, with a low bow and a mild, deferential smile.</p> - -<p>"I think I have some reason for being in good spirits on the day -when my son's marriage-contract is to be signed," said Madame -Danville, with a gracious nod of the head. "Ha, Dubois, I shall -live yet to see him with a patent of nobility in his hand. The -mob has done its worst; the end of this infamous revolution is -not far off; our order will have its turn again soon, and then -who will have such a chance at court as my son? He is noble -already through his mother, he will then be noble also through -his wife. Yes, yes; let that coarse-mannered, passionate, old -soldier-father of hers be as unnaturally republican as he -pleases, he has inherited a name which will help my son to a -peerage! The Vicomte D'Anville (D with an apostrophe, Dubois, you -understand?), the Vicomte D'Anville—how prettily it sounds!"</p> - -<p>"Charmingly, madame—charmingly. Ah! this second marriage of my -young master's begins under much better auspices than the first."</p> - -<p>The remark was an unfortunate one. Madame Danville frowned -portentously, and rose in a great hurry from her chair.</p> - -<p>"Are your wits failing you, you old fool?" she exclaimed, -indignantly. "What do you mean by referring to such a subject as -that, on this day, of all others? You are always harping on those -two wretched people who were guillotined, as if you thought I -could have saved their lives. Were you not present when my son -and I met, after the time of the Terror? Did you not hear my -first words to him, when he told me of the catastrophe? Were they -not 'Charles, I love you; but if I thought you had let those two -unfortunates, who risked themselves to save me, die without -risking your life in return to save them, I would break my heart -rather than ever look at you or speak to you again!' Did I not -say that? And did he not answer, 'Mother, my life was risked for -them. I proved my devotion by exposing myself to arrest—I was -imprisoned for my exertions—and then I could do no more!' Did -you not stand by and hear him give that answer, overwhelmed while -he spoke by generous emotion? Do you not know that he really was -imprisoned in the Temple? Do you dare to think that we are to -blame after that? I owe you much, Dubois, but if you are to take -liberties with me—"</p> - -<p>"Oh, madame! I beg pardon a thousand times. I was -thoughtless—only thoughtless—"</p> - -<p>"Silence! Is my coach at the door? Very well. Get ready to -accompany me. Your master will not have time to return here. He -will meet me, for the signing of the contract, at General -Berthelin's house at two precisely. Stop! Are there many people -in the street? I can't be stared at by the mob as I go to my -carriage."</p> - -<p>Dubois hobbled penitently to the window and looked out, while his -mistress walked to the door.</p> - -<p>"The street is almost empty, madame," he said. "Only a man with a -woman on his arm, stopping and admiring your carriage. They seem -like decent people, as well as I can tell without my spectacles. -Not mob, I should say, madame; certainly not mob!"</p> - -<p>"Very well. Attend me downstairs; and bring some loose silver -with you, in case those two decent people should be fit objects -for charity. No orders for the coachman, except that he is to go -straight to the general's house."</p> - -<p>The party assembled at General Berthelin's to witness the -signature of the marriage-contract, comprised, besides the -persons immediately interested in the ceremony of the day, some -young ladies, friends of the bride, and a few officers, who had -been comrades of her father's in past years. The guests were -distributed, rather unequally, in two handsome apartments opening -into each other—one called in the house the drawing-room, and -the other the library. In the drawing-room were assembled the -notary, with the contract ready, the bride, the young ladies, and -the majority of General Berthelin's friends. In the library, the -remainder of the military guests were amusing themselves at a -billiard-table until the signing of the contract should take -place, while Danville and his future father-in-law walked up and -down the room together, the first listening absently, the last -talking with all his accustomed energy, and with more than his -accustomed allowance of barrack-room expletives. The general had -taken it into his head to explain some of the clauses in the -marriage-contract to the bridegroom, who, though far better -acquainted with their full scope and meaning than his -father-in-law, was obliged to listen for civility's sake. While -the old soldier was still in the midst of his long and confused -harangue, a clock struck on the library mantel-piece.</p> - -<p>"Two o'clock!" exclaimed Danville, glad of any pretext for -interrupting the talk about the contract. "Two o'clock; and my -mother not here yet! What can be delaying her?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing," cried the general. "When did you ever know a woman -punctual, my lad? If we wait for your mother—and she's such a -rabid aristocrat that she would never forgive us for not -waiting—we shan't sign the contract yet this half-hour. Never -mind! let's go on with what we were talking about. Where the -devil was I when that cursed clock struck and interrupted us? Now -then, Black Eyes, what's the matter?"</p> - -<p>This last question was addressed to Mademoiselle Berthelin, who -at that moment hastily entered the library from the drawing-room. -She was a tall and rather masculine-looking girl, with superb -black eyes, dark hair growing low on her forehead, and something -of her father's decision and bluntness in her manner of speaking.</p> - -<p>"A stranger in the other room, papa, who wants to see you. I -suppose the servants showed him upstairs, thinking he was one of -the guests. Ought I to have had him shown down again?"</p> - -<p>"A nice question! How should I know? Wait till I have seen him, -miss, and then I'll tell you!" With these words the general -turned on his heel, and went into the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>His daughter would have followed him, but Danville caught her by -the hand.</p> - -<p>"Can you be hard-hearted enough to leave me here alone?" he -asked.</p> - -<p>"What is to become of all my bosom friends in the next room, you -selfish man, if I stop here with you?" retorted mademoiselle, -struggling to free herself.</p> - -<p>"Call them in here," said Danville gayly, making himself master -of her other hand.</p> - -<p>She laughed, and drew him away toward the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>"Come," she cried, "and let all the ladies see what a tyrant I am -going to marry. Come, and show them what an obstinate, -unreasonable, wearisome—"</p> - -<p>Her voice suddenly failed her; she shuddered, and turned faint. -Danville's hand had in one instant grown cold as death in hers; -the momentary touch of his fingers, as she felt their grasp -loosen, struck some mysterious chill through her from head to -foot. She glanced round at him affrightedly, and saw his eyes -looking straight into the drawing-room. They were fixed in a -strange, unwavering, awful stare, while, from the rest of his -face, all expression, all character, all recognizable play and -movement of feature, had utterly gone. It was a breathless, -lifeless mask—a white blank. With a cry of terror, she looked -where he seemed to be looking; and could see nothing but the -stranger standing in the middle of the drawing-room. Before she -could ask a question—before she could speak even a single -word—her father came to her, caught Danville by the arm, and -pushed her roughly back into the library.</p> - -<p>"Go there, and take the women with you," he said, in a quick, -fierce whisper. "Into the library!" he continued, turning to the -ladies, and raising his voice. "Into the library, all of you, -along with my daughter."</p> - -<p>The women, terrified by his manner, obeyed him in the greatest -confusion. As they hurried past him into the library, he signed -to the notary to follow; and then closed the door of -communication between the two rooms.</p> - -<p>"Stop where you are!" he cried, addressing the old officers, who -had risen from their chairs. "Stay, I insist on it! Whatever -happens, Jacques Berthelin has done nothing to be ashamed of in -the presence of his old friends and companions. You have seen the -beginning, now stay and see the end."</p> - -<p>While he spoke, he walked into the middle of the room. He had -never quitted his hold of Danville's arm; step by step they -advanced together to the place where Trudaine was standing.</p> - -<p>"You have come into my house, and asked me for my daughter in -marriage—and I have given her to you," said the general, -addressing Danville, quietly. "You told me that your first wife -and her brother were guillotined three years ago in the time of -the Terror—and I believed you. Now look at that man—look him -straight in the face. He has announced himself to me as the -brother of your wife, and he asserts that his sister is alive at -this moment. One of you two has deceived me. Which is it?"</p> - -<p>Danville tried to speak, but no sound passed his lips; tried to -wrench his arm from the grasp that was on it, but could not stir -the old soldier's steady hand.</p> - -<p>"Are you afraid? are you a coward? Can't you look him in the -face?" asked the general, tightening his hold sternly.</p> - -<p>"Stop! stop!" interposed one of the old officers, coming forward. -"Give him time. This may be a case of strange accidental -resemblance, which would be enough, under the circumstances, to -discompose any man. You will excuse me, citizen," he continued, -turning to Trudaine; "but you are a stranger. You have given us -no proof of your identity."</p> - -<p>"There is the proof," said Trudaine, pointing to Danville's face.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes," pursued the other; "he looks pale and startled -enough, certainly. But I say again, let us not be too hasty; -there are strange cases on record of accidental resemblances, and -this may be one of them!"</p> - -<p>As he repeated those words, Danville looked at him with a faint, -cringing gratitude, stealing slowly over the blank terror of his -face. He bowed his head, murmured something, and gesticulated -confusedly with the hand that he was free to use.</p> - -<p>"Look!" cried the old officer; "look, Berthelin; he denies the -man's identity."</p> - -<p>"Do you hear that?" said the general, appealing to Trudaine. -"Have you proofs to confute him? If you have, produce them -instantly."</p> - -<p>Before the answer could be given the door leading into the -drawing-room from the staircase was violently flung open, and -Madame Danville—her hair in disorder, her face in its colorless -terror looking like the very counterpart of her son's—appeared -on the threshold, with the old man Dubois and a group of amazed -and startled servants behind her.</p> - -<p>"For God's sake, don't sign! for God's sake, come away!" she -cried. "I have seen your wife—in the spirit, or in the flesh, I -know not which—but I have seen her. Charles! Charles! as true as -Heaven is above us, I have seen your wife!"</p> - -<p>"You have seen her in the flesh, living and breathing as you see -her brother yonder," said a firm, quiet voice, from among the -servants on the landing outside.</p> - -<p>"Let that man enter, whoever he is!" cried the general.</p> - -<p>Lomaque passed Madame Danville on the threshold. She trembled as -he brushed by her; then, supporting herself by the wall, followed -him a few paces into the room. She looked first at her son—after -that, at Trudaine—after that back again at her son. Something in -her presence silenced every one. There fell a sudden stillness -over all the assembly—a stillness so deep that the eager, -frightened whispering, and sharp rustling of dresses among the -women in the library, became audible from the other side of the -closed door.</p> - -<p>"Charles," she said, slowly advancing; "why do you look—" She -stopped, and fixed her eyes again on her son more earnestly than -before; then turned them suddenly on Trudaine. "You are looking -at my son, sir," she said, "and I see contempt in your face. By -what right do you insult a man whose grateful sense of his -mother's obligations to you made him risk his life for the saving -of yours and your sister's? By what right have you kept the -escape of my son's wife from death by the guillotine—an escape -which, for all I know to the contrary, his generous exertions -were instrumental in effecting—a secret from my son? By what -right, I demand to know, has your treacherous secrecy placed us -in such a position as we now stand in before the master of this -house?"</p> - -<p>An expression of sorrow and pity passed over Trudaine's face -while she spoke. He retired a few steps, and gave her no answer. -The general looked at him with eager curiosity, and, dropping his -hold of Danville's arm, seemed about to speak; but Lomaque -stepped forward at the same time, and held up his hand to claim -attention.</p> - -<p>"I think I shall express the wishes of Citizen Trudaine," he -said, addressing Madame Danville, "if I recommend this lady not -to press for too public an answer to her questions."</p> - -<p>"Pray who are you, sir, who take it on yourself to advise me?" -she retorted, haughtily. "I have nothing to say to you, except -that I repeat those questions, and that I insist on their being -answered."</p> - -<p>"Who is this man?" asked the general, addressing Trudaine, and -pointing to Lomaque.</p> - -<p>"A man unworthy of credit," cried Danville, speaking audibly for -the first time, and darting a look of deadly hatred at Lomaque. -"An agent of police under Robespierre."</p> - -<p>"And in that capacity capable of answering questions which refer -to the transactions of Robespierre's tribunals," remarked the -ex-chief agent, with his old official self-possession.</p> - -<p>"True!" exclaimed the general; "the man is right—let him be -heard."</p> - -<p>"There is no help for it," said Lomaque, looking at Trudaine; -"leave it to me—it is fittest that I should speak. I was -present," he continued, in a louder voice, "at the trial of -Citizen Trudaine and his sister. They were brought to the bar -through the denunciation of Citizen Danville. Till the confession -of the male prisoner exposed the fact, I can answer for -Danville's not being aware of the real nature of the offenses -charged against Trudaine and his sister. When it became known -that they had been secretly helping this lady to escape from -France, and when Danville's own head was consequently in danger, -I myself heard him save it by a false assertion that he had been -aware of Trudaine's conspiracy from the first—"</p> - -<p>"Do you mean to say," interrupted the general, "that he -proclaimed himself in open court as having knowingly denounced -the man who was on trial for saving his mother?"</p> - -<p>"I do," answered Lomaque. (A murmur of horror and indignation -rose from all the strangers present at that reply.) "The reports -of the Tribunal are existing to prove the truth of what I say," -he went on. "As to the escape of Citizen Trudaine and the wife of -Danville from the guillotine, it was the work of political -circumstances, which there are persons living to speak to if -necessary; and of a little stratagem of mine, which need not be -referred to now. And, last, with reference to the concealment -which followed the escape, I beg to inform you that it was -abandoned the moment we knew of what was going on here; and that -it was only persevered in up to this time, as a natural measure -of precaution on the part of Citizen Trudaine. From a similar -motive we now abstain from exposing his sister to the shock and -the peril of being present here. What man with an atom of feeling -would risk letting her even look again on such a husband as -that?"</p> - -<p>He glanced round him, and pointed to Danville, as he put the -question. Before a word could be spoken by any one else in the -room, a low wailing cry of "My mistress! my dear, dear mistress!" -directed all eyes first on the old man Dubois, then on Madame -Danville.</p> - -<p>She had been leaning against the wall, before Lomaque began to -speak; but she stood perfectly upright now. She neither spoke nor -moved. Not one of the light gaudy ribbons flaunting on her -disordered head-dress so much as trembled. The old servant Dubois -was crouched on his knees at her side, kissing her cold right -hand, chafing it in his, reiterating his faint, mournful cry, -"Oh! my mistress! my dear, dear mistress!" but she did not appear -to know that he was near her. It was only when her son advanced a -step or two toward her that she seemed to awaken suddenly from -that death-trance of mental pain. Then she slowly raised the hand -that was free, and waved him back from her. He stopped in -obedience to the gesture, and endeavored to speak. She waved her -hand again, and the deathly stillness of her face began to grow -troubled. Her lips moved a little—she spoke.</p> - -<p>"Oblige me, sir, for the last time, by keeping silence. You and I -have henceforth nothing to say to each other. I am the daughter -of a race of nobles, and the widow of a man of honor. You are a -traitor and a false witness—a thing from which all true men and -true women turn with contempt. I renounce you! Publicly, in the -presence of these gentlemen, I say it—I have no son."</p> - -<p>She turned her back on him; and, bowing to the other persons in -the room with the old formal courtesy of by-gone times, walked -slowly and steadily to the door. Stopping there, she looked back; -and then the artificial courage of the moment failed her. With a -faint, suppressed cry she clutched at the hand of the old -servant, who still kept faithfully at her side; he caught her in -his arms, and her head sank on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>"Help him!" cried the general to the servants near the door. -"Help him to take her into the next room!"</p> - -<p>The old man looked up suspiciously from his mistress to the -persons who were assisting him to support her. With a strange, -sudden jealousy he shook his hand at them. "Home," he cried; "she -shall go home, and I will take care of her. Away! you -there—nobody holds her head but Dubois. Downstairs! downstairs -to her carriage! She has nobody but me now, and I say that she -shall be taken home."</p> - -<p>As the door closed, General Berthelin approached Trudaine, who -had stood silent and apart, from the time when Lomaque first -appeared in the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>"I wish to ask your pardon," said the old soldier, "because I -have wronged you by a moment of unjust suspicion. For my -daughter's sake, I bitterly regret that we did not see each other -long ago; but I thank you, nevertheless, for coming here, even at -the eleventh hour."</p> - -<p>While he was speaking, one of his friends came up, and touching -him on the shoulder, said: "Berthelin, is that scoundrel to be -allowed to go?"</p> - -<p>The general turned on his heel directly, and beckoned -contemptuously to Danville to follow him to the door. When they -were well out of ear-shot, he spoke these words:</p> - -<p>"You have been exposed as a villain by your brother-in-law, and -renounced as a liar by your mother. They have done their duty by -you, and now it only remains for me to do mine. When a man enters -the house of another under false pretenses, and compromises the -reputation of his daughter, we old army men have a very -expeditious way of making him answer for it. It is just three -o'clock now; at five you will find me and one of my friends—"</p> - -<p>He stopped, and looked round cautiously—then whispered the rest -in Danville's ear—threw open the door, and pointed downstairs.</p> - -<p>"Our work here is done," said Lomaque, laying his hand on -Trudaine's arm. "Let us give Danville time to get clear of the -house, and then leave it too."</p> - -<p>"My sister! where is she?" asked Trudaine, eagerly.</p> - -<p>"Make your mind easy about her. I will tell you more when we get -out."</p> - -<p>"You will excuse me, I know," said General Berthelin, speaking to -all the persons present, with his hand on the library door, "if I -leave you. I have bad news to break to my daughter, and private -business after that to settle with a friend."</p> - -<p>He saluted the company, with his usual bluff nod of the head, and -entered the library. A few minutes afterward, Trudaine and -Lomaque left the house.</p> - -<p>"You will find your sister waiting for you in our apartment at -the hotel," said the latter. "She knows nothing, absolutely -nothing, of what has passed."</p> - -<p>"But the recognition?" asked Trudaine, amazedly. "His mother saw -her. Surely she—"</p> - -<p>"I managed it so that she should be seen, and should not see. Our -former experience of Danville suggested to me the propriety of -making the experiment, and my old police-office practice came in -useful in carrying it out. I saw the carriage standing at the -door, and waited till the old lady came down. I walked your -sister away as she got in, and walked her back again past the -window as the carriage drove off. A moment did it, and it turned -out as useful as I thought it would. Enough of that! Go back now -to your sister. Keep indoors till the night mail starts for -Rouen. I have had two places taken for you on speculation. Go! -resume possession of your house, and leave me here to transact -the business which my employer has intrusted to me, and to see -how matters end with Danville and his mother. I will make time -somehow to come and bid you good-by at Rouen, though it should be -only for a single day. Bah! no thanks. Give us your hand. I was -ashamed to take it eight years ago—I can give it a hearty shake -now! There is your way; here is mine. Leave me to my business in -silks and satins, and go you back to your sister, and help her to -pack up for the night mail."</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> - -<p>Three more days have passed. It is evening. Rose, Trudaine and -Lomaque are seated together on the bench that overlooks the -windings of the Seine. The old familiar scene spreads before -them, beautiful as ever—unchanged, as if it was but yesterday -since they had all looked on it for the last time.</p> - -<p>They talk together seriously and in low voices. The same -recollections fill their hearts—recollections which they refrain -from acknowledging, but the influence of which each knows by -instinct that the other partakes. Sometimes one leads the -conversation, sometimes another; but whoever speaks, the topic -chosen is always, as if by common consent, a topic connected with -the future.</p> - -<p>The evening darkens in, and Rose is the first to rise from the -bench. A secret look of intelligence passes between her and her -brother, and then she speaks to Lomaque.</p> - -<p>"Will you follow me into the house," she asks, "with as little -delay as possible? I have something that I very much wish to show -you."</p> - -<p>Her brother waits till she is out of hearing, then inquires -anxiously what has happened at Paris since the night when he and -Rose left it.</p> - -<p>"Your sister is free," Lomaque answers.</p> - -<p>"The duel took place, then?"</p> - -<p>"The same day. They were both to fire together. The second of his -adversary asserts that he was paralyzed with terror; his own -second declares that he was resolved, however he might have -lived, to confront death courageously by offering his life at the -first fire to the man whom he had injured. Which account is true, -I know not. It is only certain that he did not discharge his -pistol, that he fell by his antagonist's first bullet, and that -he never spoke afterward."</p> - -<p>"And his mother?"</p> - -<p>"It is hard to gain information. Her doors are closed; the old -servant guards her with jealous care. A medical man is in -constant attendance, and there are reports in the house that the -illness from which she is suffering affects her mind more than -her body. I could ascertain no more."</p> - -<p>After that answer they both remain silent for a little while, -then rise from the bench and walk toward the house.</p> - -<p>"Have you thought yet about preparing your sister to hear of all -that has happened?" Lomaque asks, as he sees the lamp-light -glimmering in the parlor window.</p> - -<p>"I shall wait to prepare her till we are settled again here—till -the first holiday pleasure of our return has worn off, and the -quiet realities of our every-day life of old have resumed their -way," answers Trudaine.</p> - -<p>They enter the house. Rose beckons to Lomaque to sit down near -her, and places pen and ink and an open letter before him.</p> - -<p>"I have a last favor to ask of you," she says, smiling.</p> - -<p>"I hope it will not take long to grant," he rejoins; "for I have -only to-night to be with you. To-morrow morning, before you are -up, I must be on my way back to Chalons."</p> - -<p>"Will you sign that letter?" she continues, still smiling, "and -then give it to me to send to the post? It was dictated by Louis, -and written by me, and it will be quite complete, if you will put -your name at the end of it."</p> - -<p>"I suppose I may read it?"</p> - -<p>She nods, and Lomaque reads these lines:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"CITIZEN—I beg respectfully to apprise you that the commission -you intrusted to me at Paris has been performed.</p> - -<p>"I have also to beg that you will accept my resignation of the -place I hold in your counting-house. The kindness shown me by you -and your brother before you, emboldens me to hope that you will -learn with pleasure the motive of my withdrawal. Two friends of -mine, who consider that they are under some obligations to me, -are anxious that I should pass the rest of my days in the quiet -and protection of their home. Troubles of former years have knit -us together as closely as if we were all three members of one -family. I need the repose of a happy fireside as much as any man, -after the life I have led; and my friends assure me so earnestly -that their whole hearts are set on establishing the old man's -easy-chair by their hearth, that I cannot summon resolution -enough to turn my back on them and their offer.</p> - -<p>"Accept, then, I beg of you, the resignation which this letter -contains, and with it the assurance of my sincere gratitude and -respect.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 50%">"To Citizen Clairfait, Silk-mercer,<br /> -"Chalons-sur-Marne."</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>After reading these lines, Lomaque turned round to Trudaine and -attempted to speak; but the words would not come at command. He -looked up at Rose, and tried to smile; but his lip only trembled. -She dipped the pen in the ink, and placed it in his hand. He bent -his head down quickly over the paper, so that she could not see -his face; but still he did not write his name. She put her hand -caressingly on his shoulder, and whispered to him:</p> - -<p>"Come, come, humor 'Sister Rose.' She must have her own way now -she is back again at home."</p> - -<p>He did not answer—his head sank lower—he hesitated for an -instant—then signed his name in faint, trembling characters, at -the end of the letter.</p> - -<p>She drew it away from him gently. A few tear-drops lay on the -paper. As she dried them with her handkerchief she looked at her -brother.</p> - -<p>"They are the last he shall ever shed, Louis; you and I will take -care of that!"</p> - -<h3><a name="epilogue3" id="epilogue3"></a>EPILOGUE TO THE THIRD STORY.</h3> - -<p>I have now related all that is eventful in the history of SISTER -ROSE. To the last the three friends dwelt together happily in the -cottage on the river bank. Mademoiselle Clairfait was fortunate -enough to know them, before Death entered the little household -and took away, in the fullness of time, the eldest of its -members. She describes Lomaque, in her quaint foreign English, as -"a brave, big heart"; generous, affectionate, and admirably free -from the small obstinacies and prejudices of old age, except on -one point: he could never be induced to take his coffee, of an -evening, from any other hand than the hand of Sister Rose.</p> - -<p>I linger over these final particulars with a strange -unwillingness to separate myself from them, and give my mind to -other thoughts. Perhaps the persons and events that have occupied -my attention for so many nights past have some peculiar interest -for me that I cannot analyze. Perhaps the labor and time which -this story has cost me have especially endeared it to my -sympathies, now that I have succeeded in completing it. However -that may be, I have need of some resolution to part at last with -Sister Rose, and return, in the interests of my next and Fourth -Story, to English ground.</p> - -<p>I have experienced so much difficulty, let me add, in deciding on -the choice of a new narrative out of my collection, that my wife -has lost all patience, and has undertaken, on her own -responsibility, to relieve me of my unreasonable perplexities. By -her advice—given, as usual, without a moment's hesitation—I -cannot do better than tell the story of</p> - -<h4>THE LADY OF GLENWITH GRANGE.</h4> - -<h3><a name="prologue4" id="prologue4"></a>PROLOGUE TO THE FOURTH STORY.</h3> - -<p>My practice in the art of portrait-painting, if it has done -nothing else, has at least fitted me to turn my talents (such as -they are) to a great variety of uses. I have not only taken the -likenesses of men, women, and children, but have also extended -the range of my brush, under stress of circumstances, to horses, -dogs, houses, and in one case even to a bull—the terror and -glory of his parish, and the most truculent sitter I ever had. -The beast was appropriately named "Thunder and Lightning," and -was the property of a gentleman-farmer named Garthwaite, a -distant connection of my wife's family.</p> - -<p>How it was that I escaped being gored to death before I had -finished my picture is more than I can explain to this day. -"Thunder and Lightning" resented the very sight of me and my -color-box, as if he viewed the taking of his likeness in the -light of a personal insult. It required two men to coax him, -while a third held him by a ring in his nostrils, before I could -venture on beginning to work. Even then he always lashed his -tail, and jerked his huge head, and rolled his fiery eyes with a -devouring anxiety to have me on his horns for daring to sit down -quietly and look at him. Never, I can honestly say, did I feel -more heartily grateful for the blessings of soundness of limb and -wholeness of skin, than when I had completed the picture of the -bull!</p> - -<p>One morning, when I had but little more than half done my -unwelcome task, my friend and I were met on our way to the bull's -stable by the farm bailiff, who informed us gravely that "Thunder -and Lightning" was just then in such an especially surly state of -temper as to render it quite unsafe for me to think of painting -him. I looked inquiringly at Mr. Garthwaite, who smiled with an -air of comic resignation, and said, "Very well, then, we have -nothing for it but to wait till to-morrow. What do you say to a -morning's fishing, Mr. Kerby, now that my bull's bad temper has -given us a holiday?"</p> - -<p>I replied, with perfect truth, that I knew nothing about fishing. -But Mr. Garthwaite, who was as ardent an angler in his way as -Izaak Walton himself, was not to be appeased even by the best of -excuses. "It is never too late to learn," cried he. "I will make -a fisherman of you in no time, if you will only attend to my -directions." It was impossible for me to make any more apologies, -without the risk of appealing discourteous. So I thanked my host -for his friendly intentions, and, with some secret misgivings, -accepted the first fishing-rod that he put into my hands.</p> - -<p>"We shall soon get there," said Mr. Garthwaite. "I am taking you -to the best mill-stream in the neighborhood." It was all one to -me whether we got there soon or late and whether the stream was -good or bad. However, I did my best to conceal my -unsportsman-like apathy; and tried to look quite happy and very -impatient to begin, as we drew near to the mill, and heard louder -and louder the gushing of many waters all round it.</p> - -<p>Leading the way immediately to a place beneath the falling -stream, where there was a deep, eddying pool, Mr. Garthwaite -baited and threw in his line before I had fixed the joints of my -fishing-rod. This first difficulty overcome, I involuntarily -plunged into some excellent, but rather embarrassing, sport with -my line and hook. I caught every one of my garments, from head to -foot; I angled for my own clothes with the dexterity and success -of Izaak Walton himself. I caught my hat, my jacket, my -waistcoat, my trousers, my fingers, and my thumbs—some devil -possessed my hook; some more than eel-like vitality twirled and -twisted in every inch of my line. By the time my host arrived to -assist me, I had attached myself to my fishing-rod, apparently -for life. All difficulties yielded, however, to his patience and -skill; my hook was baited for me, and thrown in; my rod was put -into my hand; my friend went back to his place; and we began at -last to angle in earnest.</p> - -<p>We certainly caught a few fish (in <i>my</i> case, I mean, of course, -that the fish caught themselves); but they were scanty in number -and light in weight. Whether it was the presence of the miller's -foreman—a gloomy personage, who stood staring disastrously upon -us from a little flower-garden on the opposite bank—that cast -adverse influence over our sport; or whether my want of faith and -earnestness as an angler acted retributively on my companion as -well as myself, I know not; but it is certain that he got almost -as little reward for his skill as I got for my patience. After -nearly two hours of intense expectation on my part, and intense -angling on his, Mr. Garthwaite jerked his line out of the water -in a rage, and bade me follow him to another place, declaring -that the stream must have been netted by poachers in the night, -who had taken all the large fish away with them, and had thrown -in the small ones to grow until their next visit. We moved away, -further down the bank, leaving the imperturbable foreman still in -the flower-garden, staring at us speechlessly on our departure, -exactly as he had already stared at us on our approach.</p> - -<p>"Stop a minute," said Mr. Garthwaite suddenly, after we had -walked some distance in silence by the side of the stream, "I -have an idea. Now we are out for a day's angling, we won't be -balked. Instead of trying the water here again, we will go where -I know, by experience, that the fishing is excellent. And what is -more, you shall be introduced to a lady whose appearance is sure -to interest you, and whose history, I can tell you beforehand, is -a very remarkable one."</p> - -<p>"Indeed," I said. "May I ask in what way?"</p> - -<p>"She is connected," answered Mr. Garthwaite, "with an -extraordinary story, which relates to a family once settled in an -old house in this neighborhood. Her name is Miss Welwyn; but she -is less formally known an among the poor people about here, who -love her dearly, and honor her almost superstitiously, as the -Lady of Glenwith Grange. Wait till you have seen her before you -ask me to say anything more. She lives in the strictest -retirement; I am almost the only visitor who is admitted. Don't -say you had rather not go in. Any friend of mine will be welcome -at the Grange (the scene of the story, remember), for my -sake—the more especially because I have never abused my -privilege of introduction. The place is not above two miles from -here, and the stream (which we call, in our county dialect, -Glenwith Beck) runs through the ground."</p> - -<p>As we walked on, Mr. Garthwaite's manner altered. He became -unusually silent and thoughtful. The mention of Miss Welwyn's -name had evidently called up some recollections which were not in -harmony with his every-day mood. Feeling that to talk to him on -any indifferent subject would be only to interrupt his thoughts -to no purpose, I walked by his side in perfect silence, looking -out already with some curiosity and impatience for a first view -of Glenwith Grange. We stopped at last close by an old church, -standing on the outskirts of a pretty village. The low wall of -the churchyard was bounded on one side by a plantation, and was -joined by a park paling, in which I noticed a small wicket-gate. -Mr. Garthwaite opened it, and led me along a shrubbery path, -which conducted us circuitously to the dwelling-house.</p> - -<p>We had evidently entered by a private way, for we approached the -building by the back. I looked up at it curiously, and saw -standing at one of the windows on the lower floor a little girl -watching us as we advanced. She seemed to be about nine or ten -years old. I could not help stopping a moment to look up at her, -her clear complexion and her long dark hair were so beautiful. -And yet there was something in her expression—a dimness and -vacancy in her large eyes—a changeless, unmeaning smile on her -parted lips—which seemed to jar with all that was naturally -attractive in her face; which perplexed, disappointed, and even -shocked me, though I hardy knew why. Mr. Garthwaite, who had been -walking along thoughtfully, with his eyes on the ground, turned -back when he found me lingering behind him; looked up where I was -looking; started a little, I thought; then took my arm, whispered -rather impatiently, "Don't say anything about having seen that -poor child when you are introduced to Miss Welwyn; I'll tell you -why afterward," and led me round hastily to the front of the -building.</p> - -<p>It was a very dreary old house, with a lawn in front thickly -sprinkled with flower-beds, and creepers of all sorts climbing in -profusion about the heavy stone porch and the mullions of the -lower windows. In spite of these prettiest of all ornaments -clustering brightly round the building—in spite of the perfect -repair in which it was kept from top to bottom—there was -something repellent to me in the aspect of the whole place: a -deathly stillness hung over it, which fell oppressively on my -spirits. When my companion rang the loud, deep-toned bell, the -sound startled me as if we had been committing a crime in -disturbing the silence. And when the door was opened by an old -female servant (while the hollow echo of the bell was still -vibrating in the air), I could hardly imagine it possible that we -should be let in. We were admitted, however, without the slightest -demur. I remarked that there was the same atmosphere of dreary -repose inside the house which I had already observed, or rather -felt, outside it. No dogs barked at our approach—no doors banged -in the servants' offices—no heads peeped over the banisters—not -one of the ordinary domestic consequences of an unexpected visit -in the country met either eye or ear. The large shadowy -apartment, half library, half breakfast-room, into which we were -ushered, was as solitary as the hall of entrance; unless I except -such drowsy evidences of life as were here presented to us in the -shape of an Angola cat and a gray parrot—the first lying asleep -in a chair, the second sitting ancient, solemn, and voiceless, in -a large cage.</p> - -<p>Mr. Garthwaite walked to the window when we entered, without -saying a word. Determining to let his taciturn humor have its -way, I asked him no questions, but looked around the room to see -what information it would give me (and rooms often do give such -information) about the character and habits of the owner of the -house.</p> - -<p>Two tables covered with books were the first objects that -attracted me. On approaching them, I was surprised to find that -the all-influencing periodical literature of the present -day—whose sphere is already almost without limit; whose readers, -even in our time, may be numbered by millions—was entirely -unrepresented on Miss Welwyn's table. Nothing modern, nothing -contemporary, in the world of books, presented itself. Of all the -volumes beneath my hand, not one bore the badge of the -circulating library, or wore the flaring modern livery of gilt -cloth. Every work that I took up had been written at least -fifteen or twenty years since. The prints hanging round the walls -(toward which I next looked) were all engraved from devotional -subjects by the old masters; the music-stand contained no music -of later date than the compositions of Haydn and Mozart. Whatever -I examined besides, told me, with the same consistency, the same -strange tale. The owner of these possessions lived in the by-gone -time; lived among old recollections and old associations—a -voluntary recluse from all that was connected with the passing -day. In Miss Welwyn's house, the stir, the tumult, the "idle -business" of the world evidently appealed in vain to sympathies -which grew no longer with the growing hour.</p> - -<p>As these thoughts were passing through my mind, the door opened -and the lady herself appeared.</p> - -<p>She looked certainly past the prime of life; longer past it, as I -afterward discovered, than she really was. But I never remember, -in any other face, to have seen so much of the better part of the -beauty of early womanhood still remaining, as I saw in hers. -Sorrow had evidently passed over the fair, calm countenance -before me, but had left resignation there as its only trace. Her -expression was still youthful—youthful in its kindness and its -candor especially. It was only when I looked at her hair, that -was now growing gray—at her wan, thin hands—at the faint lines -marked round her mouth—at the sad serenity of her eyes, that I -fairly detected the mark of age; and, more than that, the token -of some great grief, which had been conquered, but not banished. -Even from her voice alone—from the peculiar uncertainty of its -low, calm tones when she spoke—it was easy to conjecture that -she must have passed through sufferings, at some time of her -life, which had tried to the quick the noble nature that they -could not subdue.</p> - -<p>Mr. Garthwaite and she met each other almost like brother and -sister; it was plain that the friendly intimacy between them had -been of very long duration. Our visit was a short one. The -conversation never advanced beyond the commonplace topics suited -to the occasion. It was, therefore, from what I saw, and not from -what I heard, that I was enabled to form my judgment of Miss -Welwyn. Deeply as she had interested me—far more deeply than I -at all know how to explain in fitting words—I cannot say that I -was unwilling to depart when we rose to take leave. Though -nothing could be more courteous and more kind than her manner -toward me during the whole interview, I could still perceive that -it cost her some effort to repress in my presence the shades of -sadness and reserve which seemed often ready to steal over her. -And I must confess that when I once or twice heard the half-sigh -stifled, and saw the momentary relapse into thoughtfulness -suddenly restrained, I felt an indefinable awkwardness in my -position which made me ill at ease; which set me doubting -whether, as a perfect stranger, I had done right in suffering -myself to be introduced where no new faces could awaken either -interest or curiosity; where no new sympathies could ever be -felt, no new friendships ever be formed.</p> - -<p>As soon as we had taken leave of Miss Welwyn, and were on our way -to the stream in her grounds, I more than satisfied Mr. -Garthwaite that the impression the lady had produced on me was of -no transitory kind, by overwhelming him with questions about -her—not omitting one or two incidental inquiries on the subject -of the little girl whom I had seen at the back window. He only -rejoined that his story would answer all my questions; and that -he would begin to tell it as soon as we had arrived at Glenwith -Beck, and were comfortably settled to fishing.</p> - -<p>Five minutes more of walking brought us to the bank of the -stream, and showed us the water running smoothly and slowly, -tinged with the softest green luster from the reflections of -trees which almost entirely arched it over. Leaving me to admire -the view at my ease, Mr. Garthwaite occupied himself with the -necessary preparations for angling, baiting my hook as well as -his own. Then, desiring me to sit near him on the bank, he at -last satisfied my curiosity by beginning his story. I shall -relate it in his own manner, and, as nearly as possible, in his -own words.</p> - -<h2><a name="story4" id="story4"></a> -THE ANGLER'S STORY<br />OF<br />THE LADY OF GLENWITH GRANGE.</h2> - -<p>I have known Miss Welwyn long enough to be able to bear personal -testimony to the truth of many of the particulars which I am now -about to relate. I knew her father, and her younger sister -Rosamond; and I was acquainted with the Frenchman who became -Rosamond's husband. These are the persons of whom it will be -principally necessary for me to speak. They are the only -prominent characters in my story.</p> - -<p>Miss Welwyn's father died some years since. I remember him very -well—though he never excited in me, or in any one else that I -ever heard of, the slightest feeling of interest. When I have -said that he inherited a very large fortune, amassed during his -father's time, by speculations of a very daring, very fortunate, -but not always very honorable kind, and that he bought this old -house with the notion of raising his social position, by making -himself a member of our landed aristocracy in these parts, I have -told you as much about him, I suspect, as you would care to hear. -He was a thoroughly commonplace man, with no great virtues and no -great vices in him. He had a little heart, a feeble mind, an -amiable temper, a tall figure, and a handsome face. More than -this need not, and cannot, be said on the subject of Mr. Welwyn's -character.</p> - -<p>I must have seen the late Mrs. Welwyn very often as a child; but -I cannot say that I remember anything more of her than that she -was tall and handsome, and very generous and sweet-tempered -toward me when I was in her company. She was her husband's -superior in birth, as in everything else; was a great reader of -books in all languages; and possessed such admirable talents as a -musician, that her wonderful playing on the organ is remembered -and talked of to this day among the old people in our country -houses about here. All her friends, as I have heard, were -disappointed when she married Mr. Welwyn, rich as he was; and -were afterward astonished to find her preserving the appearance, -at least, of being perfectly happy with a husband who, neither in -mind nor heart, was worthy of her.</p> - -<p>It was generally supposed (and I have no doubt correctly) that -she found her great happiness and her great consolation in her -little girl Ida—now the lady from whom we have just parted. The -child took after her mother from the first—inheriting her -mother's fondness for books, her mother's love of music, her -mother's quick sensibilities, and, more than all, her mother's -quiet firmness, patience, and loving kindness of disposition. -From Ida's earliest years, Mrs. Welwyn undertook the whole -superintendence of her education. The two were hardly ever -apart, within doors or without. Neighbors and friends said that -the little girl was being brought up too fancifully, and was not -enough among other children, was sadly neglected as to all -reasonable and practical teaching, and was perilously encouraged -in those dreamy and imaginative tendencies of which she had -naturally more than her due share. There was, perhaps, some truth -in this; and there might have been still more, if Ida had -possessed an ordinary character, or had been reserved for an -ordinary destiny. But she was a strange child from the first, and -a strange future was in store for her.</p> - -<p>Little Ida reached her eleventh year without either brother or -sister to be her playfellow and companion at home. Immediately -after that period, however, her sister Rosamond was born. Though -Mr. Welwyn's own desire was to have had a son, there were, -nevertheless, great rejoicings yonder in the old house on the -birth of this second daughter. But they were all turned, only a -few months afterward, to the bitterest grief and despair: the -Grange lost its mistress. While Rosamond was still an infant in -arms, her mother died.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Welwyn had been afflicted with some disorder after the birth -of her second child, the name of which I am not learned enough in -medical science to be able to remember. I only know that she -recovered from it, to all appearance, in an unexpectedly short -time; that she suffered a fatal relapse, and that she died a -lingering and a painful death. Mr. Welwyn (who, in after years, -had a habit of vaingloriously describing his marriage as "a -love-match on both sides") was really fond of his wife in his own -frivolous, feeble way, and suffered as acutely as such a man -could suffer, during the latter days of her illness, and at the -terrible time when the doctors, one and all, confessed that her -life was a thing to be despaired of. He burst into irrepressible -passions of tears, and was always obliged to leave the sick-room -whenever Mrs. Welwyn spoke of her approaching end. The last -solemn words of the dying woman, the tenderest messages that she -could give, the dearest parting wishes that she could express, -the most earnest commands that she could leave behind her, the -gentlest reasons for consolation that she could suggest to the -survivors among those who loved her, were not poured into her -husband's ear, but into her child's. From the first period of her -illness, Ida had persisted in remaining in the sick-room, rarely -speaking, never showing outwardly any signs of terror or grief, -except when she was removed from it; and then bursting into -hysterical passions of weeping, which no expostulations, no -arguments, no commands—nothing, in short, but bringing her back -to the bedside—ever availed to calm. Her mother had been her -playfellow, her companion her dearest and most familiar friend; -and there seemed something in the remembrance of this which, -instead of overwhelming the child with despair, strengthened her -to watch faithfully and bravely by her dying parent to the very -last.</p> - -<p>When the parting moment was over, and when Mr. Welwyn, unable to -bear the shock of being present in the house of death at the time -of his wife's funeral, left home and went to stay with one of his -relations in a distant part of England, Ida, whom it had been his -wish to take away with him, petitioned earnestly to be left -behind. "I promised mamma before she died that I would be as good -to my little sister Rosamond as she had been to me," said the -child, simply; "and she told me in return that I might wait here -and see her laid in her grave." There happened to be an aunt of -Mrs. Welwyn, and an old servant of the family, in the house at -this time, who understood Ida much better than her father did, -and they persuaded him not to take her away. I have heard my -mother say that the effect of the child's appearance at the -funeral on her, and on all who went to see it, was something that -she could never think of without the tears coming into her eyes, -and could never forget to the last day of her life.</p> - -<p>It must have been very shortly after this period that I saw Ida -for the first time.</p> - -<p>I remember accompanying my mother on a visit to the old house we -have just left, in the summer, when I was at home for the -holidays. It was a lovely, sunshiny morning. There was nobody -indoors, and we walked out into the garden. As we approached that -lawn yonder, on the other side of the shrubbery, I saw, first, a -young woman in mourning (apparently a servant) sitting reading; -then a little girl, dressed all in black, moving toward us slowly -over the bright turf, and holding up before her a baby, whom she -was trying to teach to walk. She looked, to my ideas, so very -young to be engaged in such an occupation as this, and her gloomy -black frock appeared to be such an unnaturally grave garment for -a mere child of her age, and looked so doubly dismal by contrast -with the brilliant sunny lawn on which she stood, that I quite -started when I first saw her, and eagerly asked my mother who she -was. The answer informed me of the sad family story, which I have -been just relating to you. Mrs. Welwyn had then been buried about -three months; and Ida, in her childish way, was trying, as she -had promised, to supply her mother's place to her infant sister -Rosamond.</p> - -<p>I only mention this simple incident, because it is necessary, -before I proceed to the eventful part of my narrative, that you -should know exactly in what relation the sisters stood toward one -another from the first. Of all the last parting words that Mrs. -Welwyn had spoken to her child, none had been oftener repeated, -none more solemnly urged, than those which had commended the -little Rosamond to Ida's love and care. To other persons, the -full, the all-trusting dependence which the dying mother was -known to have placed in a child hardly eleven years old, seemed -merely a proof of that helpless desire to cling even to the -feeblest consolations, which the approach of death so often -brings with it. But the event showed that the trust so strangely -placed had not been ventured vainly when it was committed to -young and tender hands. The whole future existence of the child -was one noble proof that she had been worthy of her mother's -dying confidence, when it was first reposed in her. In that -simple incident which I have just mentioned the new life of the -two motherless sisters was all foreshadowed.</p> - -<p>Time passed. I left school—went to college—traveled in Germany, -and stayed there some time to learn the language. At every -interval when I came home, and asked about the Welwyns, the -answer was, in substance, almost always the same. Mr. Welwyn was -giving his regular dinners, performing his regular duties as a -county magistrate, enjoying his regular recreations as an a -amateur farmer and an eager sportsman. His two daughters were -never separate. Ida was the same strange, quiet, retiring girl, -that she had always been; and was still (as the phrase went) -"spoiling" Rosamond in every way in which it was possible for an -elder sister to spoil a younger by too much kindness.</p> - -<p>I myself went to the Grange occasionally, when I was in this -neighborhood, in holiday and vacation time; and was able to test -the correctness of the picture of life there which had been drawn -for me. I remember the two sisters, when Rosamond was four or -five years old; and when Ida seemed to me, even then, to be more -like the child's mother than her sister. She bore with her little -caprices as sisters do not bear with one another. She was so -patient at lesson-time, so anxious to conceal any weariness that -might overcome her in play hours, so proud when Rosamond's beauty -was noticed, so grateful for Rosamond's kisses when the child -thought of bestowing them, so quick to notice all that Rosamond -did, and to attend to all that Rosamond said, even when visitors -were in the room, that she seemed, to my boyish observation, -altogether different from other elder sisters in other family -circles into which I was then received.</p> - -<p>I remember then, again, when Rosamond was just growing to -womanhood, and was in high spirits at the prospect of spending a -season in London, and being presented at court. She was very -beautiful at that time—much handsomer than Ida. Her -"accomplishments" were talked of far and near in our country -circles. Few, if any, of the people, however, who applauded her -playing and singing, who admired her water-color drawings, who -were delighted at her fluency when she spoke French, and amazed -at her ready comprehension when she read German, knew how little -of all this elegant mental cultivation and nimble manual -dexterity she owed to her governess and masters, and how much to -her elder sister. It was Ida who really found out the means of -stimulating her when she was idle; Ida who helped her through all -her worst difficulties; Ida who gently conquered her defects of -memory over her books, her inaccuracies of ear at the piano, her -errors of taste when she took the brush and pencil in hand. It -was Ida alone who worked these marvels, and whose all-sufficient -reward for her hardest exertions was a chance word of kindness -from her sister's lips. Rosamond was not unaffectionate, and not -ungrateful; but she inherited much of her father's commonness and -frivolity of character. She became so accustomed to owe -everything to her sister—to resign all her most trifling -difficulties to Ida's ever-ready care—to have all her tastes -consulted by Ida's ever-watchful kindness—that she never -appreciated, as it deserved, the deep, devoted love of which she -was the object. When Ida refused two good offers of marriage, -Rosamond was as much astonished as the veriest strangers, who -wondered why the elder Miss Welwyn seemed bent on remaining -single all her life.</p> - -<p>When the journey to London, to which I have already alluded, took -place, Ida accompanied her father and sister. If she had -consulted her own tastes, she would have remained in the country; -but Rosamond declared that she should feel quite lost and -helpless twenty times a day, in town, without her sister. It was -in the nature of Ida to sacrifice herself to any one whom she -loved, on the smallest occasions as well as the greatest. Her -affection was as intuitively ready to sanctify Rosamond's -slightest caprices as to excuse Rosamond's most thoughtless -faults. So she went to London cheerfully, to witness with pride -all the little triumphs won by her sister's beauty; to hear, and -never tire of hearing, all that admiring friends could say in her -sister's praise.</p> - -<p>At the end of the season Mr. Welwyn and his daughters returned -for a short time to the country; then left home again to spend -the latter part of the autumn and the beginning of the winter in -Paris.</p> - -<p>They took with them excellent letters of introduction, and saw a -great deal of the best society in Paris, foreign as well as -English. At one of the first of the evening parties which they -attended, the general topic of conversation was the conduct of a -certain French nobleman, the Baron Franval, who had returned to -his native country after a long absence, and who was spoken of in -terms of high eulogy by the majority of the guests present. The -history of who Franval was, and of what he had done, was readily -communicated to Mr. Welwyn and his daughters, and was briefly -this:</p> - -<p>The baron inherited little from his ancestors besides his high -rank and his ancient pedigree. On the death of his parents, he -and his two unmarried sisters (their only surviving children) -found the small territorial property of the Franvals, in -Normandy, barely productive enough to afford a comfortable -subsistence for the three. The baron, then a young man of -three-and-twenty endeavored to obtain such military or civil -employment as might become his rank; but, although the Bourbons -were at that time restored to the throne of France, his efforts -were ineffectual. Either his interest at court was bad, or secret -enemies were at work to oppose his advancement. He failed to -obtain even the slightest favor; and, irritated by undeserved -neglect, resolved to leave France, and seek occupation for his -energies in foreign countries, where his rank would be no bar to -his bettering his fortunes, if he pleased, by engaging in -commercial pursuits.</p> - -<p>An opportunity of the kind that he wanted unexpectedly offered -itself. He left his sisters in care of an old male relative of -the family at the chateau in Normandy, and sailed, in the first -instance, to the West Indies; afterward extending his wanderings -to the continent of South America, and there engaging in mining -transactions on a very large scale. After fifteen years of -absence (during the latter part of which time false reports of -his death had reached Normandy), he had just returned to France, -having realized a handsome independence, with which he proposed -to widen the limits of his ancestral property, and to give his -sisters (who were still, like himself, unmarried) all the -luxuries and advantages that affluence could bestow. The baron's -independent spirit and generous devotion to the honor of his -family and the happiness of his surviving relatives were themes -of general admiration in most of the social circles of Paris. He -was expected to arrive in the capital every day; and it was -naturally enough predicted that his reception in society there -could not fail to be of the most flattering and most brilliant -kind.</p> - -<p>The Welwyns listened to this story with some little interest; -Rosamond, who was very romantic, being especially attracted by -it, and openly avowing to her father and sister, when they got -back to their hotel, that she felt as ardent a curiosity as -anybody to see the adventurous and generous baron. The desire was -soon gratified. Franval came to Paris, as had been -anticipated—was introduced to the Welwyns—met them constantly -in society—made no favorable impression on Ida, but won the good -opinion of Rosamond from the first; and was regarded with such -high approval by their father, that when he mentioned his -intentions of visiting England in the spring of the new year, he -was cordially invited to spend the hunting season at Glenwith -Grange.</p> - -<p>I came back from Germany about the same time that the Welwyns -returned from Paris, and at once set myself to improve my -neighborly intimacy with the family. I was very fond of Ida; more -fond, perhaps, than my vanity will now allow me to—; but that is -of no consequence. It is much more to the purpose to tell you -that I heard the whole of the baron's story enthusiastically -related by Mr. Welwyn and Rosamond; that he came to the Grange at -the appointed time; that I was introduced to him; and that he -produced as unfavorable an impression upon me as he had already -produced upon Ida.</p> - -<p>It was whimsical enough; but I really could not tell why I -disliked him, though I could account very easily, according to my -own notions, for his winning the favor and approval of Rosamond -and her father. He was certainly a handsome man as far as -features went; he had a winning gentleness and graceful respect -in his manner when he spoke to women; and he sang remarkably -well, with one of the sweetest tenor voices I ever heard. These -qualities alone were quite sufficient to attract any girl of -Rosamond's disposition; and I certainly never wondered why he was -a favorite of hers.</p> - -<p>Then, as to her father, the baron was not only fitted to win his -sympathy and regard in the field, by proving himself an ardent -sportsman and an excellent rider; but was also, in virtue of some -of his minor personal peculiarities, just the man to gain the -friendship of his host. Mr. Welwyn was as ridiculously prejudiced -as most weak-headed Englishmen are, on the subject of foreigners -in general. In spite of his visit to Paris, the vulgar notion of -a Frenchman continued to be <i>his</i> notion, both while he was in -France and when he returned from it. Now, the baron was as unlike -the traditional "Mounseer" of English songs, plays, and satires, -as a man could well be; and it was on account of this very -dissimilarity that Mr. Welwyn first took a violent fancy to him, -and then invited him to his house. Franval spoke English -remarkably well; wore neither beard, mustache, nor whiskers; kept -his hair cut almost unbecomingly short; dressed in the extreme of -plainness and modest good taste; talked little in general society; -uttered his words, when he did speak, -with singular calmness and deliberation; and, to crown all, had -the greater part of his acquired property invested in English -securities. In Mr. Welwyn's estimation, such a man as this was a -perfect miracle of a Frenchman, and he admired and encouraged him -accordingly.</p> - -<p>I have said that I disliked him, yet could not assign a reason -for my dislike; and I can only repeat it now. He was remarkably -polite to me; we often rode together in hunting, and sat near -each other at the Grange table; but I could never become familiar -with him. He always gave me the idea of a man who had some mental -reservation in saying the most trifling thing. There was a -constant restraint, hardly perceptible to most people, but -plainly visible, nevertheless, to me, which seemed to accompany -his lightest words, and to hang about his most familiar manner. -This, however, was no just reason for my secretly disliking and -distrusting him as I did. Ida said as much to me, I remember, -when I confessed to her what my feelings toward him were, and -tried (but vainly) to induce her to be equally candid with me in -return. She seemed to shrink from the tacit condemnation of -Rosamond's opinion which such a confidence on her part would have -implied. And yet she watched the growth of that opinion—or, in -other words, the growth of her sister's liking for the -baron—with an apprehension and sorrow which she tried -fruitlessly to conceal. Even her father began to notice that her -spirits were not so good as usual, and to suspect the cause of -her melancholy. I remember he jested, with all the dense -insensibility of a stupid man, about Ida having invariably been -jealous, from a child, if Rosamond looked kindly upon anybody -except her elder sister.</p> - -<p>The spring began to get far advanced toward summer. Franval paid -a visit to London; came back in the middle of the season to -Glenwith Grange; wrote to put off his departure for France; and -at last (not at all to the surprise of anybody who was intimate -with the Welwyns) proposed to Rosamond, and was accepted. He was -candor and generosity itself when the preliminaries of the -marriage-settlement were under discussion. He quite overpowered -Mr. Welwyn and the lawyers with references, papers, and -statements of the distribution and extent of his property, which -were found to be perfectly correct. His sisters were written to, -and returned the most cordial answers; saying that the state of -their health would not allow them to come to England for the -marriage; but adding a warm invitation to Normandy for the bride -and her family. Nothing, in short, could be more straightforward -and satisfactory than the baron's behavior, and the testimonies -to his worth and integrity which the news of the approaching -marriage produced from his relatives and his friends.</p> - -<p>The only joyless face at the Grange now was Ida's. At any time it -would have been a hard trial to her to resign that first and -foremost place which she had held since childhood in her sister's -heart, as she knew she must resign it when Rosamond married. But, -secretly disliking and distrusting Franval as she did, the -thought that he was soon to become the husband of her beloved -sister filled her with a vague sense of terror which she could -not explain to herself; which it was imperatively necessary that -she should conceal; and which, on those very accounts, became a -daily and hourly torment to her that was almost more than she -could bear.</p> - -<p>One consolation alone supported her: Rosamond and she were not to -be separated. She knew that the baron secretly disliked her as -much as she disliked him; she knew that she must bid farewell to -the brighter and happier part of her life on the day when she -went to live under the same roof with her sister's husband; but, -true to the promise made years and years ago by her dying -mother's bed—true to the affection which was the ruling and -beautiful feeling of her whole existence—she never hesitated -about indulging Rosamond's wish, when the girl, in her bright, -light-hearted way, said that she could never get on comfortably -in the marriage state unless she had Ida to live with her and -help her just the same as ever. The baron was too polite a man -even to <i>look</i> dissatisfied when he heard of the proposed -arrangement; and it was therefore settled from the beginning that -Ida was always to live with her sister.</p> - -<p>The marriage took place in the summer, and the bride and -bridegroom went to spend their honeymoon in Cumberland. On their -return to Glenwith Grange, a visit to the baron's sisters, in -Normandy, was talked of; but the execution of this project was -suddenly and disastrously suspended by the death of Mr. Welwyn, -from an attack of pleurisy.</p> - -<p>In consequence of this calamity, the projected journey was of -course deferred; and when autumn and the shooting season came, -the baron was unwilling to leave the well-stocked preserves of -the Grange. He seemed, indeed, to grow less and less inclined, as -time advanced, for the trip to Normandy; and wrote excuse after -excuse to his sisters, when letters arrived from them urging him -to pay the promised visit. In the winter-time, he said he would -not allow his wife to risk a long journey. In the spring, his -health was pronounced to be delicate. In the genial summer-time, -the accomplishment of the proposed visit would be impossible, for -at that period the baroness expected to become a mother. Such -were the apologies which Franval seemed almost glad to be able to -send to his sisters in France.</p> - -<p>The marriage was, in the strictest sense of the term, a happy -one. The baron, though he never altogether lost the strange -restraint and reserve of his manner, was, in his quiet, peculiar -way, the fondest and kindest of husbands. He went to town -occasionally on business, but always seemed glad to return to the -baroness; he never varied in the politeness of his bearing toward -his wife's sister; he behaved with the most courteous hospitality -toward all the friends of the Welwyns; in short, he thoroughly -justified the good opinion which Rosamond and her father had -formed of him when they first met at Paris. And yet no experience -of his character thoroughly re-assured Ida. Months passed on -quietly and pleasantly; and still that secret sadness, that -indefinable, unreasonable apprehension on Rosamond's account, -hung heavily on her sister's heart.</p> - -<p>At the beginning of the first summer months, a little domestic -inconvenience happened, which showed the baroness, for the first -time, that her husband's temper could be seriously ruffled—and -that by the veriest trifle. He was in the habit of taking in two -French provincial newspapers—one published at Bordeaux and the -other at Havre. He always opened these journals the moment they -came, looked at one particular column of each with the deepest -attention, for a few minutes, then carelessly threw them aside -into his waste-paper basket. His wife and her sister were at -first rather surprised at the manner in which he read his two -papers; but they thought no more of it when he explained that he -only took them in to consult them about French commercial -intelligence, which might be, occasionally, of importance to him.</p> - -<p>These papers were published weekly. On the occasion to which I -have just referred, the Bordeaux paper came on the proper day, as -usual; but the Havre paper never made its appearance. This -trifling circumstance seemed to make the baron seriously uneasy. -He wrote off directly to the country post-office and to the -newspaper agent in London. His wife, astonished to see his -tranquillity so completely overthrown by so slight a cause, tried -to restore his good humor by jesting with him about the missing -newspaper. He replied by the first angry and unfeeling words that -she had heard issue from his lips. She was then within about six -weeks of her confinement, and very unfit to bear harsh answers -from anybody—least of all from her husband.</p> - -<p>On the second day no answer came. On the afternoon of the third, -the baron rode off to the post town to make inquiries. About an -hour after he had gone, a strange gentleman came to the Grange -and asked to see the baroness. On being informed that she was -not well enough to receive visitors, he sent up a message that -his business was of great importance and that he would wait -downstairs for a second answer.</p> - -<p>On receiving this message, Rosamond turned, as usual, to her -elder sister for advice. Ida went downstairs immediately to see -the stranger. What I am now about to tell you of the -extraordinary interview which took place between them, and of the -shocking events that followed it, I have heard from Miss Welwyn's -own lips.</p> - -<p>She felt unaccountably nervous when she entered the room. The -stranger bowed very politely, and asked, in a foreign accent, if -she were the Baroness Franval. She set him right on this point, -and told him she attended to all matters of business for the -baroness; adding that, if his errand at all concerned her -sister's husband, the baron was not then at home.</p> - -<p>The stranger answered that he was aware of it when he called, and -that the unpleasant business on which he came could not be -confided to the baron—at least, in the first instance.</p> - -<p>She asked why. He said he was there to explain; and expressed -himself as feeling greatly relieved at having to open his -business to her, because she would, doubtless, be best able to -prepare her sister for the bad news that he was, unfortunately, -obliged to bring. The sudden faintness which overcame her, as he -spoke those words, prevented her from addressing him in return. -He poured out some water for her from a bottle which happened to -be standing on the table, and asked if he might depend on her -fortitude. She tried to say "Yes"; but the violent throbbing of -her heart seemed to choke her. He took a foreign newspaper from -his pocket, saying that he was a secret agent of the French -police—that the paper was the Havre <i>Journal</i>, for the past -week, and that it had been expressly kept from reaching the -baron, as usual, through his (the agent's) interference. He then -opened the newspaper, and begged that she would nerve herself -sufficiently (for her sister's sake) to read certain lines, which -would give her some hint of the business that brought him there. -He pointed to the passage as he spoke. It was among the "Shipping -Entries," and was thus expressed:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"Arrived, the <i>Berenice</i>, from San Francisco, with a valuable -cargo of hides. She brings one passenger, the Baron Franval, of -Chateau Franval, in Normandy."</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>As Miss Welwyn read the entry, her heart, which had been -throbbing violently but the moment before, seemed suddenly to -cease from all action, and she began to shiver, though it was a -warm June evening. The agent held the tumbler to her lips, and -made her drink a little of the water, entreating her very -earnestly to take courage and listen to him. He then sat down, -and referred again to the entry, every word he uttered seeming to -burn itself in forever (as she expressed it) on her memory and -her heart.</p> - -<p>He said: "It has been ascertained beyond the possibility of doubt -that there is no mistake about the name in the lines you have -just read. And it is as certain as that we are here, that there -is only <i>one</i> Baron Franval now alive. The question, therefore, -is, whether the passenger by the <i>Berenice</i> is the true baron, -or—I beg you most earnestly to bear with me and to compose -yourself—or the husband of your sister. The person who arrived -last week at Havre was scouted as an impostor by the ladies at -the chateau, the moment he presented himself there as the -brother, returning to them after sixteen years of absence. The -authorities were communicated with, and I and my assistants were -instantly sent for from Paris.</p> - -<p>"We wasted no time in questioning the supposed impostor. He -either was, or affected to be, in a perfect frenzy of grief and -indignation. We just ascertained, from competent witnesses, that -he bore an extraordinary resemblance to the real baron, and that -he was perfectly familiar with places and persons in and about -the chateau; we just ascertained that, and then proceeded to -confer with the local authorities, and to examine their private -entries of suspected persons in their jurisdiction, ranging back -over a past period of twenty years or more. One of the entries -thus consulted contained these particulars: 'Hector Auguste -Monbrun, son of a respectable proprietor in Normandy. Well -educated; gentleman-like manners. On bad terms with his family. -Character: bold, cunning, unscrupulous, self-possessed. Is a -clever mimic. May be easily recognized by his striking likeness -to the Baron Franval. Imprisoned at twenty for theft and -assault.'"</p> - -<p>Miss Welwyn saw the agent look up at her after he had read this -extract from the police-book, to ascertain if she was still able -to listen to him. He asked, with some appearance of alarm, as -their eyes met, if she would like some more water. She was just -able to make a sign in the negative. He took a second extract -from his pocket-book, and went on.</p> - -<p>He said: "The next entry under the same name was dated four years -later, and ran thus, 'H. A. Monbrun, condemned to the galleys for -life, for assassination, and other crimes not officially -necessary to be here specified. Escaped from custody at Toulon. -Is known, since the expiration of his first term of imprisonment, -to have allowed his beard to grow, and to have worn his hair -long, with the intention of rendering it impossible for those -acquainted with him in his native province to recognize him, as -heretofore, by his likeness to the Baron Franval.' There were -more particulars added, not important enough for extract. We -immediately examined the supposed impostor; for, if he was -Monbrun, we knew that we should find on his shoulder the two -letters of the convict brand, 'T. F.,' standing for <i>Travaux -Forces</i>. After the minutest examination with the mechanical and -chemical tests used on such occasions, not the slightest trace of -the brand was to be found. The moment this astounding discovery -was made, I started to lay an embargo on the forthcoming numbers -of the Havre <i>Journal</i> for that week, which were about to be sent -to the English agent in London. I arrived at Havre on Saturday -(the morning of publication), in time to execute my design. I -waited there long enough to communicate by telegraph with my -superiors in Paris, then hastened to this place. What my errand -here is, you may—"</p> - -<p>He might have gone on speaking for some moments longer; but Miss -Welwyn heard no more.</p> - -<p>Her first sensation of returning consciousness was the feeling -that water was being sprinkled on her face. Then she saw that all -the windows in the room had been set wide open, to give her air; -and that she and the agent were still alone. At first she felt -bewildered, and hardly knew who he was; but he soon recalled to -her mind the horrible realities that had brought him there, by -apologizing for not having summoned assistance when she fainted. -He said it was of the last importance, in Franval's absence, that -no one in the house should imagine that anything unusual was -taking place in it. Then, after giving her an interval of a -minute or two to collect what little strength she had left, he -added that he would not increase her sufferings by saying -anything more, just then, on the shocking subject of the -investigation which it was his duty to make—that he would leave -her to recover herself, and to consider what was the best course -to be taken with the baroness in the present terrible -emergency—and that he would privately return to the house -between eight and nine o'clock that evening, ready to act as Miss -Welwyn wished, and to afford her and her sister any aid and -protection of which they might stand in need. With these words he -bowed, and noiselessly quitted the room.</p> - -<p>For the first few awful minutes after she was left alone, Miss -Welwyn sat helpless and speechless; utterly numbed in heart, and -mind, and body—then a sort of instinct (she was incapable of -thinking) seemed to urge her to conceal the fearful news from her -sister as long as possible. She ran upstairs to Rosamond's -sitting-room, and called through the door (for she dared not -trust herself in her sister's presence) that the visitor had come -on some troublesome business from their late father's lawyers, and -that she was going to shut herself -up, and write some long letters in connection with that business. -After she had got into her own room, she was never sensible of -how time was passing—never conscious of any feeling within her, -except a baseless, helpless hope that the French police might yet -be proved to have made some terrible mistake—until she heard a -violent shower of rain come on a little after sunset. The noise -of the rain, and the freshness it brought with it in the air, -seemed to awaken her as if from a painful and a fearful sleep. -The power of reflection returned to her; her heart heaved and -bounded with an overwhelming terror, as the thought of Rosamond -came back vividly to it; her memory recurred despairingly to the -long-past day of her mother's death, and to the farewell promise -she had made by her mother's bedside. She burst into an -hysterical passion of weeping that seemed to be tearing her to -pieces. In the midst of it she heard the clatter of a horse's -hoofs in the courtyard, and knew that Rosamond's husband had come -back.</p> - -<p>Dipping her handkerchief in cold water, and passing it over her -eyes as she left the room, she instantly hastened to her sister.</p> - -<p>Fortunately the daylight was fading in the old-fashioned chamber -that Rosamond occupied. Before they could say two words to each -other, Franval was in the room. He seemed violently irritated; -said that he had waited for the arrival of the mail—that the -missing newspaper had not come by it—that he had got wet -through—that he felt a shivering fit coming on—and that he -believed he had caught a violent cold. His wife anxiously -suggested some simple remedies. He roughly interrupted her, -saying there was but one remedy, the remedy of going to bed; and -so left them without another word. She just put her handkerchief -to her eyes, and said softly to her sister, "How he is changed!" -then spoke no more. They sat silent for half an hour or longer. -After that, Rosamond went affectionately and forgivingly to see -how her husband was. She returned, saying that he was in bed, and -in a deep, heavy sleep; and predicting hopefully that he would -wake up quite well the next morning. In a few minutes more the -clock stuck nine; and Ida heard the servant's step ascending the -stairs. She suspected what his errand was, and went out to meet -him. Her presentiment had not deceived her; the police agent had -arrived, and was waiting for her downstairs.</p> - -<p>He asked her if she had said anything to her sister, or had -thought of any plan of action, the moment she entered the room; -and, on receiving a reply in the negative, inquired, further, if -"the baron" had come home yet. She answered that he had; that he -was ill and tired, and vexed, and that he had gone to bed. The -agent asked in an eager whisper if she knew that he was asleep, -and alone in bed? and, when he received her reply, said that he -must go up into the bedroom directly.</p> - -<p>She began to feel the faintness coming over her again, and with -it sensations of loathing and terror that she could neither -express to others nor define to herself. He said that if she -hesitated to let him avail himself of this unexpected -opportunity, her scruples might lead to fatal results He reminded -her that if "the baron" were really the convict Monbrun, the -claims of society and of justice demanded that he should be -discovered by the first available means; and that if he were -not—if some inconceivable mistake had really been -committed—then such a plan for getting immediately at the truth -as was now proposed would insure the delivery of an innocent man -from suspicion; and at the same time spare him the knowledge that -he had ever been suspected. This last argument had its effect on -Miss Welwyn. The baseless, helpless hope that the French -authorities might yet be proved to be in error, which she had -already felt in her own room, returned to her now. She suffered -the agent to lead her upstairs.</p> - -<p>He took the candle from her hand when she pointed to the door; -opened it softly; and, leaving it ajar, went into the room.</p> - -<p>She looked through the gap with a feverish, horror-struck -curiosity. Franval was lying on his side in a profound sleep, -with his back turned toward the door. The agent softly placed the -candle upon a small reading-table between the door and the -bedside, softly drew down the bed-clothes a little away from the -sleeper's back, then took a pair of scissors from the -toilet-table, and very gently and slowly began to cut away, first -the loose folds, then the intervening strips of linen, from the -part of Franval's night-gown that was over his shoulders. When -the upper part of his back had been bared in this way, the agent -took the candle and held it near the flesh. Miss Welwyn heard him -ejaculate some word under his breath, then saw him looking round -to where she was standing, and beckoning to her to come in.</p> - -<p>Mechanically she obeyed; mechanically she looked down where his -finger was pointing. It was the convict Monbrun—there, just -visible under the bright light of the candle, were the fatal -letters "T. F." branded on the villain's shoulder!</p> - -<p>Though she could neither move nor speak, the horror of this -discovery did not deprive her of her consciousness. She saw the -agent softly draw up the bed-clothes again into their proper -position, replace the scissors on the toilet-table, and take from -it a bottle of smelling-salts. She felt him removing her from the -bedroom, and helping her quickly downstairs, giving her the salts -to smell to by the way. When they were alone again, he said, with -the first appearance of agitation that he had yet exhibited, -"Now, madam, for God's sake, collect all your courage, and be -guided by me. You and your sister had better leave the house -immediately. Have you any relatives in the neighborhood with whom -you could take refuge?" They had none. "What is the name of the -nearest town where you could get good accommodation for the -night?" Harleybrook (he wrote the name down on his tablets). "How -far off is it?" Twelve miles. "You had better have the carriage -out at once, to go there with as little delay as possible, -leaving me to pass the night here. I will communicate with you -to-morrow at the principal hotel. Can you compose yourself -sufficiently to be able to tell the head servant, if I ring for -him, that he is to obey my orders till further notice?" The -servant was summoned, and received his instructions, the agent -going out with him to see that the carriage was got ready quietly -and quickly. Miss Welwyn went upstairs to her sister.</p> - -<p>How the fearful news was first broken to Rosamond, I cannot -relate to you. Miss Welwyn has never confided to me, has never -confided to anybody, what happened at the interview between her -sister and herself that night. I can tell you nothing of the -shock they both suffered, except that the younger and the weaker -died under it; that the elder and the stronger has never -recovered from it, and never will.</p> - -<p>They went away the same night, with one attendant, to -Harleybrook, as the agent had advised. Before daybreak Rosamond -was seized with the pains of premature labor. She died three days -after, unconscious of the horror of her situation, wandering in -her mind about past times, and singing old tunes that Ida had -taught her as she lay in her sister's arms.</p> - -<p>The child was born alive, and lives still. You saw her at the -window as we came in at the back way to the Grange. I surprised -you, I dare say, by asking you not to speak of her to Miss -Welwyn. Perhaps you noticed something vacant in the little girl's -expression. I am sorry to say that her mind is more vacant still. -If "idiot" did not sound like a mocking word, however tenderly -and pityingly one may wish to utter it, I should tell you that -the poor thing had been an idiot from her birth.</p> - -<p>You will, doubtless, want to hear now what happened at Glenwith -Grange after Miss Welwyn and her sister had left it. I have seen -the letter which the police agent sent the next morning to -Harleybrook; and, speaking from my recollection of that, I shall -be able to relate all you can desire to know.</p> - -<p>First, as to the past history of the scoundrel Monbrun, I need only -tell you that he was identical with an escaped -convict, who, for a long term of years, had successfully eluded -the vigilance of the authorities all over Europe, and in America -as well. In conjunction with two accomplices, he had succeeded in -possessing himself of large sums of money by the most criminal -means. He also acted secretly as the "banker" of his convict -brethren, whose dishonest gains were all confided to his hands -for safe-keeping. He would have been certainly captured, on -venturing back to France, along with his two associates, but for -the daring imposture in which he took refuge; and which, if the -true Baron Franval had really died abroad, as was reported, -would, in all probability, never have been found out.</p> - -<p>Besides his extraordinary likeness to the baron, he had every -other requisite for carrying on his deception successfully. -Though his parents were not wealthy, he had received a good -education. He was so notorious for his gentleman-like manners -among the villainous associates of his crimes and excesses, that -they nicknamed him "the Prince." All his early life had been -passed in the neighborhood of the Chateau Franval. He knew what -were the circumstances which had induced the baron to leave it. -He had been in the country to which the baron had emigrated. He -was able to refer familiarly to persons and localities, at home -and abroad, with which the baron was sure to be acquainted. And, -lastly, he had an expatriation of fifteen years to plead for him -as his all-sufficient excuse, if he made any slight mistakes -before the baron's sisters, in his assumed character of their -long-absent brother. It will be, of course, hardly necessary for -me to tell you, in relation to this part of the subject, that the -true Franval was immediately and honorably reinstated in the -family rights of which the impostor had succeeded for a time in -depriving him.</p> - -<p>According to Monbrun's own account, he had married poor Rosamond -purely for love; and the probabilities certainly are, that the -pretty, innocent English girl had really struck the villain's -fancy for the time; and that the easy, quiet life he was leading -at the Grange pleased him, by contrast with his perilous and -vagabond existence of former days. What might have happened if he -had had time enough to grow wearied of his ill-fated wife and his -English home, it is now useless to inquire. What really did -happen on the morning when he awoke after the flight of Ida and -her sister can be briefly told.</p> - -<p>As soon as his eyes opened they rested on the police agent, -sitting quietly by the bedside, with a loaded pistol in his hand. -Monbrun knew immediately that he was discovered; but he never for -an instant lost the self-possession for which he was famous. He -said he wished to have five minutes allowed him to deliberate -quietly in bed, whether he should resist the French authorities -on English ground, and so gain time by obliging the one -Government to apply specially to have him delivered up by the -other—or whether he should accept the terms officially offered -to him by the agent, if he quietly allowed himself to be -captured. He chose the latter course—it was suspected, because -he wished to communicate personally with some of his convict -associates in France, whose fraudulent gains were in his keeping, -and because he felt boastfully confident of being able to escape -again, whenever he pleased. Be his secret motives, however, what -they might, he allowed the agent to conduct him peaceably from -the Grange; first writing a farewell letter to poor Rosamond, -full of heartless French sentiment and glib sophistries about -Fate and Society. His own fate was not long in overtaking him. He -attempted to escape again, as it had been expected he would, and -was shot by the sentinel on duty at the time. I remember hearing -that the bullet entered his head and killed him on the spot.</p> - -<p>My story is done. It is ten years now since Rosamond was buried -in the churchyard yonder; and it is ten years also since Miss -Welwyn returned to be the lonely inhabitant of Glenwith Grange. -She now lives but in the remembrances that it calls up before her -of her happier existence of former days. There is hardly an -object in the old house which does not tenderly and solemnly -remind her of the mother, whose last wishes she lived to obey; of -the sister, whose happiness was once her dearest earthly care. -Those prints that you noticed on the library walls Rosamond used -to copy in the past time, when her pencil was often guided by -Ida's hand. Those music-books that you were looking over, she and -her mother have played from together through many a long and -quiet summer's evening. She has no ties now to bind her to the -present but the poor child whose affliction it is her constant -effort to lighten, and the little peasant population around her, -whose humble cares and wants and sorrows she is always ready to -relieve. Far and near her modest charities have penetrated among -us; and far and near she is heartily beloved and blessed in many -a laborer's household. There is no poor man's hearth, not in this -village only, but for miles away from it as well, at which you -would not be received with the welcome given to an old friend, if -you only told the cottagers that you knew the Lady of Glenwith -Grange!</p> - -<h3><a name="prologue5" id="prologue5"></a>PROLOGUE TO THE FIFTH STORY.</h3> - -<p>The next piece of work which occupied my attention after taking -leave of Mr. Garthwaite, offered the strongest possible contrast -to the task which had last engaged me. Fresh from painting a bull -at a farmhouse, I set forth to copy a Holy Family, by Correggio, -at a convent of nuns. People who go to the Royal Academy -Exhibition, and see pictures by famous artists, painted year -after year in the same marked style which first made them -celebrated, would be amazed indeed if they knew what a -Jack-of-all-trades a poor painter must become before he can gain -his daily bread.</p> - -<p>The picture by Correggio which I was now commissioned to copy had -been lent to the nuns by a Catholic gentleman of fortune, who -prized it as the gem of his collection, and who had never before -trusted it out of his own hands. My copy, when completed, was to -be placed over the high altar of the convent chapel; and my work -throughout its progress was to be pursued entirely in the parlor -of the nunnery, and always in the watchful presence of one or -other of the inmates of the house. It was only on such conditions -that the owner of the Correggio was willing to trust his treasure -out of his own hands, and to suffer it to be copied by a -stranger. The restrictions he imposed, which I thought -sufficiently absurd, and perhaps offensively suspicious as well, -were communicated to me politely enough before I was allowed to -undertake the commission. Unless I was inclined to submit to -precautionary regulations which would affect any other artist -exactly as they affected me, I was told not to think of offering -to make the copy; and the nuns would then address themselves to -some other person in my profession. After a day's consideration, -I submitted to the restrictions, by my wife's advice, and saved -the nuns the trouble of making application for a copier of -Correggio in any other quarter.</p> - -<p>I found the convent was charmingly situated in a quiet little -valley in the West of England. The parlor in which I was to paint -was a large, well-lighted apartment; and the village inn, about -half a mile off, afforded me cheap and excellent quarters for the -night. Thus far, therefore, there was nothing to complain of. As -for the picture, which was the next object of interest to me, I -was surprised to find that the copying of it would be by no means -so difficult a task as I had anticipated. I am rather of a -revolutionary spirit in matters of art, and am bold enough to -think that the old masters have their faults as well as their -beauties. I can give my opinion, therefore, on the Correggio at -the convent independently at least. Looked at technically, the -picture was a fine specimen of coloring and execution; but looked -at for the higher merits of delicacy, elevation, and feeling for -the subject, it deserved copying as little as the most -commonplace work that any unlucky modern artist ever produced. -The faces of the Holy Family not only failed to display the right -purity and tenderness of expression, but absolutely failed to -present any expression at all. It is flat heresy to say so, but -the valuable Correggio was nevertheless emphatically, and, in so -many words, a very uninteresting picture.</p> - -<p>So much for the convent and the work that I was to do in it. My -next anxiety was to see how the restrictions imposed on me were -to be carried out. The first day, the Mother Superior herself -mounted guard in the parlor—a stern, silent, fanatical-looking -woman, who seemed determined to awe me and make me uncomfortable, -and who succeeded thoroughly in the execution of her purpose. The -second day she was relieved by the officiating priest of the -convent—a mild, melancholy, gentleman-like man, with whom I got -on tolerably well. The third day, I had for overlooker the -portress of the house—a dirty, dismal, deaf, old woman, who did -nothing but knit stockings and chew orris-root. The fourth day, a -middle-aged nun, whom I heard addressed as Mother Martha, -occupied the post of guardian to the precious Correggio; and with -her the number of my overlookers terminated. She, and the -portress, and the priest, and the Mother Superior, relieved each -other with military regularity, until I had put the last touch to -my copy. I found them ready for me every morning on entering the -parlor, and I left them in the chair of observation every evening -on quitting it. As for any young and beautiful nuns who might -have been in the building, I never so much as set eyes on the -ends of their veils. From the door to the parlor, and from the -parlor to the door, comprised the whole of my experience of the -inside of the convent.</p> - -<p>The only one of my superintending companions with whom I -established anything like a familiar acquaintance was Mother -Martha. She had no outward attractions to recommend her; but she -was simple, good-humored, ready to gossip, and inquisitive to a -perfectly incredible degree. Her whole life had been passed in -the nunnery; she was thoroughly accustomed to her seclusion, -thoroughly content with the monotonous round of her occupations; -not at all anxious to see the world for herself; but, on the -other hand, insatiably curious to know all about it from others. -There was no question connected with myself, my wife, my -children, my friends, my profession, my income, my travels, my -favorite amusements, and even my favorite sins, which a woman -could ask a man, that Mother Martha did not, in the smallest and -softest of voices, ask of me. Though an intelligent, -well-informed person in all that related to her own special -vocation, she was a perfect child in everything else. I -constantly caught myself talking to her, just as I should have -talked at home to one of my own little girls.</p> - -<p>I hope no one will think that, in expressing myself thus, I am -writing disparagingly of the poor nun. On two accounts, I shall -always feel compassionately and gratefully toward Mother Martha. -She was the only person in the convent who seemed sincerely -anxious to make her presence in the parlor as agreeable to me as -possible; and she good-humoredly told me the story which it is my -object in these pages to introduce to the reader. In both ways I -am deeply indebted to her; and I hope always to remember the -obligation.</p> - -<p>The circumstances under which the story came to be related to me -may be told in very few words.</p> - -<p>The interior of a convent parlor being a complete novelty to me, -I looked around with some interest on first entering my -painting-room at the nunnery. There was but little in it to -excite the curiosity of any one. The floor was covered with -common matting, and the ceiling with plain whitewash. The -furniture was of the simplest kind; a low chair with a -praying-desk fixed to the back, and a finely carved oak -book-case, studded all over with brass crosses, being the only -useful objects that I could discern which had any conventional -character about them. As for the ornaments of the room, they were -entirely beyond my appreciation. I could feel no interest in the -colored prints of saints, with gold platters at the backs of -their heads, that hung on the wall; and I could see nothing -particularly impressive in the two plain little alabaster pots -for holy water, fastened, one near the door, the other over the -chimney-piece. The only object, indeed, in the whole room which -in the slightest degree attracted my curiosity was an old -worm-eaten wooden cross, made in the rudest manner, hanging by -itself on a slip of wall between two windows. It was so strangely -rough and misshapen a thing to exhibit prominently in a neat -roam, that I suspected some history must be attached to it, and -resolved to speak to my friend the nun about it at the earliest -opportunity.</p> - -<p>"Mother Martha," said I, taking advantage of the first pause in -the succession of quaintly innocent questions which she was as -usual addressing to me, "I have been looking at that rough old -cross hanging between the windows, and fancying that it must -surely be some curiosity—"</p> - -<p>"Hush! hush!" exclaimed the nun, "you must not speak of that as a -'curiosity'; the Mother Superior calls it a Relic."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," said I; "I ought to have chosen my -expressions more carefully—"</p> - -<p>"Not," interposed Mother Martha, nodding to show me that my -apology need not be finished—"not that it is exactly a relic in -the strict Catholic sense of the word; but there were -circumstances in the life of the person who made it—" Here she -stopped, and looked at me doubtfully.</p> - -<p>"Circumstances, perhaps, which it is not considered advisable to -communicate to strangers," I suggested.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no!" answered the nun, "I never heard that they were to be -kept a secret. They were not told as a secret to me."</p> - -<p>"Then you know all about them?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Certainly. I could tell you the whole history of the wooden -cross; but it is all about Catholics, and you are a Protestant."</p> - -<p>"That, Mother Martha, does not make it at all less interesting to -me."</p> - -<p>"Does it not, indeed?" exclaimed the nun, innocently. "What a -strange man you are! and what a remarkable religion yours must -be! What do your priests say about ours? Are they learned men, -your priests?"</p> - -<p>I felt that my chance of hearing Mother Martha's story would be a -poor one indeed, if I allowed her to begin a fresh string of -questions. Accordingly, I dismissed the inquiries about the -clergy of the Established Church with the most irreverent -briefness, and recalled her attention forthwith to the subject of -the wooden cross.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes," said the good-natured nun; "surely you shall hear all -I can tell you about it; but—" she hesitated timidly, "but I -must ask the Mother Superior's leave first."</p> - -<p>Saying these words, she summoned the portress, to my great -amusement, to keep guard over the inestimable Correggio in her -absence, and left the room. In less than five minutes she came -back, looking quite happy and important in her innocent way.</p> - -<p>"The Mother Superior," she said, "has given me leave to tell all -I know about the wooden cross. She says it may do you good, and -improve your Protestant opinion of us Catholics."</p> - -<p>I expressed myself as being both willing and anxious to profit by -what I heard; and the nun began her narrative immediately.</p> - -<p>She related it in her own simple, earnest, minute way; dwelling -as long on small particulars as on important incidents; and -making moral reflections for my benefit at every place where it -was possible to introduce them. In spite, however, of these -drawbacks in the telling of it, the story interested and -impressed me in no ordinary degree; and I now purpose putting the -events of it together as skillfully and strikingly as I can, in -the hope that this written version of the narrative may appeal as -strongly to the reader's sympathies as the spoken version did to -mine.</p> - -<h2><a name="story5" id="story5"></a> -THE NUN'S STORY<br />OF<br />GABRIEL'S MARRIAGE</h2> - -<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> - -<p>One night, during the period of the first French Revolution, the -family of Francois Sarzeau, a fisherman of Brittany, were all -waking and watching at a late hour in their cottage on the -peninsula of Quiberon. Francois had gone out in his boat that -evening, as usual, to fish. Shortly after his departure, the wind had -risen, the clouds had gathered; and the storm, which had been -threatening at intervals throughout the whole day, burst forth -furiously about nine o'clock. It was now eleven; and the raging -of the wind over the barren, heathy peninsula still seemed to -increase with each fresh blast that tore its way out upon the -open sea; the crashing of the waves on the beach was awful to -hear; the dreary blackness of the sky terrible to behold. The -longer they listened to the storm, the oftener they looked out at -it, the fainter grew the hopes which the fisherman's family still -strove to cherish for the safety of Francois Sarzeau and of his -younger son who had gone with him in the boat.</p> - -<p>There was something impressive in the simplicity of the scene -that was now passing within the cottage.</p> - -<p>On one side of the great, rugged, black fire-place crouched two -little girls; the younger half asleep, with her head in her -sister's lap. These were the daughters of the fisherman; and -opposite to them sat their eldest brother, Gabriel. His right arm -had been badly wounded in a recent encounter at the national game -of the <i>Soule</i>, a sport resembling our English foot-ball; but -played on both sides in such savage earnest by the people of -Brittany as to end always in bloodshed, often in mutilation, -sometimes even in loss of life. On the same bench with Gabriel -sat his betrothed wife—a girl of eighteen—clothed in the plain, -almost monastic black-and-white costume of her native district. -She was the daughter of a small farmer living at some little -distance from the coast. Between the groups formed on either side -of the fire-place, the vacant space was occupied by the foot of a -truckle-bed. In this bed lay a very old man, the father of -Francois Sarzeau. His haggard face was covered with deep -wrinkles; his long white hair flowed over the coarse lump of -sacking which served him for a pillow, and his light gray eyes -wandered incessantly, with a strange expression of terror and -suspicion, from person to person, and from object to object, in -all parts of the room. Whenever the wind and sea whistled and -roared at their loudest, he muttered to himself and tossed his -hands fretfully on his wretched coverlet. On these occasions his -eyes always fixed themselves intently on a little delf image of -the Virgin placed in a niche over the fire-place. Every time they -saw him look in this direction Gabriel and the young girls -shuddered and crossed themselves; and even the child, who still -kept awake, imitated their example. There was one bond of feeling -at least between the old man and his grandchildren, which -connected his age and their youth unnaturally and closely -together. This feeling was reverence for the superstitions which -had been handed down to them by their ancestors from centuries -and centuries back, as far even as the age of the Druids. The -spirit warnings of disaster and death which the old man heard in -the wailing of the wind, in the crashing of the waves, in the -dreary, monotonous rattling of the casement, the young man and -his affianced wife and the little child who cowered by the -fireside heard too. All differences in sex, in temperament, in -years, superstition was strong enough to strike down to its own -dread level, in the fisherman's cottage, on that stormy night.</p> - -<p>Besides the benches by the fireside and the bed, the only piece -of furniture in the room was a coarse wooden table, with a loaf -of black bread, a knife, and a pitcher of cider placed on it. Old -nets, coils of rope, tattered sails, hung, about the walls and -over the wooden partition which separated the room into two -compartments. Wisps of straw and ears of barley drooped down -through the rotten rafters and gaping boards that made the floor -of the granary above.</p> - -<p>These different objects, and the persons in the cottage, who -composed the only surviving members of the fisherman's family, -were strangely and wildly lit up by the blaze of the fire and by -the still brighter glare of a resin torch stuck into a block of -wood in the chimney-corner. The red and yellow light played full -on the weird face of the old man as he lay opposite to it, and -glanced fitfully on the figures of the young girl, Gabriel, and -the two children; the great, gloomy shadows rose and fell, and -grew and lessened in bulk about the walls like visions of -darkness, animated by a supernatural specter-life, while the -dense obscurity outside spreading before the curtainless window -seemed as a wall of solid darkness that had closed in forever -around the fisherman's house. The night scene within the cottage -was almost as wild and as dreary to look upon as the night scene -without.</p> - -<p>For a long time the different persons in the room sat together -without speaking, even without looking at each other. At last the -girl turned and whispered something into Gabriel's ear:</p> - -<p>"Perrine, what were you saying to Gabriel?" asked the child -opposite, seizing the first opportunity of breaking the desolate -silence—doubly desolate at her age—which was preserved by all -around her.</p> - -<p>"I was telling him," answered Perrine, simply, "that it was time -to change the bandages on his arm; and I also said to him, what I -have often said before, that he must never play at that terrible -game of the <i>Soule</i> again."</p> - -<p>The old man had been looking intently at Perrine and his -grandchild as they spoke. His harsh, hollow voice mingled with -the last soft tones of the young girl, repeating over and over -again the same terrible words, "Drowned! drowned! Son and -grandson, both drowned! both drowned!"</p> - -<p>"Hush, grandfather," said Gabriel, "we must not lose all hope for -them yet. God and the Blessed Virgin protect them!" He looked at -the little delf image, and crossed himself; the others imitated -him, except the old man. He still tossed his hands over the -coverlet, and still repeated, "Drowned! drowned!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, that accursed <i>Soule</i>!" groaned the young man. "But for this -wound I should have been with my father. The poor boy's life -might at least have been saved; for we should then have left him -here."</p> - -<p>"Silence!" exclaimed the harsh voice from the bed. "The wail of -dying men rises louder than the loud sea; the devil's -psalm-singing roars higher than the roaring wind! Be silent, and -listen! Francois drowned! Pierre drowned! Hark! Hark!"</p> - -<p>A terrific blast of wind burst over the house as he spoke, -shaking it to its center, overpowering all other sounds, even to -the deafening crash of the waves. The slumbering child awoke, and -uttered a scream of fear. Perrine, who had been kneeling before -her lover binding the fresh bandages on his wounded arm, paused -in her occupation, trembling from head to foot. Gabriel looked -toward the window; his experience told him what must be the -hurricane fury of that blast of wind out at sea, and he sighed -bitterly as he murmured to himself, "God help them both—man's -help will be as nothing to them now!"</p> - -<p>"Gabriel!" cried the voice from the bed in altered tones—very -faint and trembling.</p> - -<p>He did not hear or did not attend to the old man. He was trying -to soothe and encourage the young girl at his feet.</p> - -<p>"Don't be frightened, love," he said, kissing her very gently and -tenderly on the forehead. "You are as safe here as anywhere. Was I -not right in saying that it would be madness to attempt taking -you back to the farmhouse this evening? You can sleep in that -room, Perrine, when you are tired—you can sleep with the two -girls."</p> - -<p>"Gabriel! brother Gabriel!" cried one of the children. "Oh, look -at grandfather!"</p> - -<p>Gabriel ran to the bedside. The old man had raised himself into a -sitting position; his eyes were dilated, his whole face was rigid -with terror, his hands were stretched out convulsively toward his -grandson. "The White Women!" he screamed. "The White Women; the -grave-diggers of the drowned are out on the sea!"</p> - -<p>The children, with cries of terror, flung themselves into -Perrine's arms; even Gabriel uttered an exclamation of horror, -and started back from the bedside.</p> - -<p>Still the old man reiterated, "The White Women! The White Women! -Open the door, Gabriel! look-out westward, where the ebb-tide has -left the sand dry. You'll see them bright as lightning in the -darkness, mighty as the angels in stature, sweeping like the wind -over the sea, in their long white garments, with their white hair -trailing far behind them! Open the door, Gabriel! You'll see them -stop and hover over the place where your father and your brother -have been drowned; you'll see them come on till they reach the -sand, you'll see them dig in it with their naked feet and beckon -awfully to the raging sea to give up its dead. Open the door, -Gabriel—or, though it should be the death of me, I will get up -and open it myself!"</p> - -<p>Gabriel's face whitened even to his lips, but he made a sign that -he would obey. It required the exertion of his whole strength to -keep the door open against the wind while he looked out.</p> - -<p>"Do you see them, grandson Gabriel? Speak the truth, and tell me -if you see them," cried the old man.</p> - -<p>"I see nothing but darkness—pitch darkness," answered Gabriel, -letting the door close again.</p> - -<p>"Ah! woe! woe!" groaned his grandfather, sinking back exhausted -on the pillow. "Darkness to <i>you</i>; but bright as lightning to the -eyes that are allowed to see them. Drowned! drowned! Pray for -their souls, Gabriel—<i>I</i> see the White Women even where I lie, -and dare not pray for them. Son and grandson drowned! both -drowned!"</p> - -<p>The young man went back to Perrine and the children.</p> - -<p>"Grandfather is very ill to-night," he whispered. "You had better -all go into the bedroom, and leave me alone to watch by him."</p> - -<p>They rose as he spoke, crossed themselves before the image of the -Virgin, kissed him one by one, and, without uttering a word, -softly entered the little room on the other side of the -partition. Gabriel looked at his grandfather, and saw that he lay -quiet now, with his eyes closed as if he were already dropping -asleep. The young man then heaped some fresh logs on the fire, -and sat down by it to watch till morning.</p> - -<p>Very dreary was the moaning of the night storm; but it was not -more dreary than the thoughts which now occupied him in his -solitude—thoughts darkened and distorted by the terrible -superstitions of his country and his race. Ever since the period -of his mother's death he had been oppressed by the conviction -that some curse hung over the family. At first they had been -prosperous, they had got money, a little legacy had been left -them. But this good fortune had availed only for a time; disaster -on disaster strangely and suddenly succeeded. Losses, -misfortunes, poverty, want itself had overwhelmed them; his -father's temper had become so soured, that the oldest friends of -Francois Sarzeau declared he was changed beyond recognition. And -now, all this past misfortune—the steady, withering, household -blight of many years—had ended in the last, worst misery of -all—in death. The fate of his father and his brother admitted no -longer of a doubt; he knew it, as he listened to the storm, as he -reflected on his grandfather's words, as he called to mind his -own experience of the perils of the sea. And this double -bereavement had fallen on him just as the time was approaching -for his marriage with Perrine; just when misfortune was most -ominous of evil, just when it was hardest to bear! Forebodings, -which he dared not realize, began now to mingle with the -bitterness of his grief, whenever his thoughts wandered from the -present to the future; and as he sat by the lonely fireside, -murmuring from time to time the Church prayer for the repose of -the dead, he almost involuntarily mingled with it another prayer, -expressed only in his own simple words, for the safety of the -living—for the young girl whose love was his sole earthly -treasure; for the motherless children who must now look for -protection to him alone.</p> - -<p>He had sat by the hearth a long, long time, absorbed in his -thoughts, not once looking round toward the bed, when he was -startled by hearing the sound of his grandfather's voice once -more.</p> - -<p>"Gabriel," whispered the old man, trembling and shrinking as he -spoke, "Gabriel, do you hear a dripping of water—now slow, now -quick again—on the floor at the foot of my bed?"</p> - -<p>"I hear nothing, grandfather, but the crackling of the fire, and -the roaring of the storm outside."</p> - -<p>"Drip, drip, drip! Faster and faster; plainer and plainer. Take -the torch, Gabriel; look down on the floor—look with all your -eyes. Is the place wet there? Is it the rain from heaven that is -dropping through the roof?"</p> - -<p>Gabriel took the torch with trembling fingers and knelt down on -the floor to examine it closely. He started back from the place, -as he saw that it was quite dry—the torch dropped upon the -hearth—he fell on his knees before the statue of the Virgin and -hid his face.</p> - -<p>"Is the floor wet? Answer me, I command you—is the floor wet?" -asked the old man, quickly and breathlessly.</p> - -<p>Gabriel rose, went back to the bedside, and whispered to him that -no drop of rain had fallen inside the cottage. As he spoke the -words, he saw a change pass over his grandfather's face—the -sharp features seemed to wither up on a sudden; the eager -expression to grow vacant and death-like in an instant. The -voice, too, altered; it was harsh and querulous no more; its -tones became strangely soft, slow, and solemn, when the old man -spoke again.</p> - -<p>"I hear it still," he said, "drip! drip! faster and plainer than -ever. That ghostly dropping of water is the last and the surest -of the fatal signs which have told of your father's and your -brother's deaths to-night, and I know from the place where I hear -it—the foot of the bed I lie on—that it is a warning to me of -my own approaching end. I am called where my son and my grandson -have gone before me; my weary time in this world is over at last. -Don't let Perrine and the children come in here, if they should -awake—they are too young to look at death."</p> - -<p>Gabriel's blood curdled when he heard these words—when he -touched his grandfather's hand, and felt the chill that it struck -to his own—when he listened to the raging wind, and knew that -all help was miles and miles away from the cottage. Still, in -spite of the storm, the darkness, and the distance, he thought -not for a moment of neglecting the duty that had been taught him -from his childhood—the duty of summoning the priest to the -bedside of the dying. "I must call Perrine," he said, "to watch by -you while I am away."</p> - -<p>"Stop!" cried the old man. "Stop, Gabriel; I implore, I command -you not to leave me!"</p> - -<p>"The priest, grandfather—your confession—"</p> - -<p>"It must be made to you. In this darkness and this hurricane no -man can keep the path across the heath. Gabriel, I am dying—I -should be dead before you got back. Gabriel, for the love of the -Blessed Virgin, stop here with me till I die—my time is short—I -have a terrible secret that I must tell to somebody before I draw -my last breath! Your ear to my mouth—quick! quick!"</p> - -<p>As he spoke the last words, a slight noise was audible on the -other side of the partition, the door half opened, and Perrine -appeared at it, looking affrightedly into the room. The vigilant -eyes of the old man—suspicious even in death—caught sight of -her directly.</p> - -<p>"Go back!" he exclaimed faintly, before she could utter a word; -"go back—push her back, Gabriel, and nail down the latch in the -door, if she won't shut it of herself!"</p> - -<p>"Dear Perrine! go in again," implored Gabriel. "Go in, and keep -the children from disturbing us. You will only make him -worse—you can be of no use here!"</p> - -<p>She obeyed without speaking, and shut the door again.</p> - -<p>While the old man clutched him by the arm, and repeated, "Quick! -quick! your ear close to my mouth," Gabriel heard her say to the -children (who were both awake), "Let us pray for grandfather." -And as he knelt down by the bedside, there stole on his ear the -sweet, childish tones of his little sisters, and the soft, -subdued voice of the young girl who was teaching them the prayer, -mingling divinely with the solemn wailing of wind and sea, rising -in a still and awful purity over the hoarse, gasping whispers of -the dying man.</p> - -<p>"I took an oath not to tell it, Gabriel—lean down closer! I'm -weak, and they mustn't hear a word in that room—I took an oath -not to tell it; but death is a warrant to all men for breaking -such an oath as that. Listen; don't lose a word I'm saying! Don't -look away into the room: the stain of blood-guilt has defiled it -forever! Hush! hush! hush! Let me speak. Now your father's dead, -I can't carry the horrid secret with me into the grave. Just -remember, Gabriel—try if you can't remember the time before I -was bedridden, ten years ago and more—it was about six weeks, -you know, before your mother's death; you can remember it by -that. You and all the children were in that room with your -mother; you were asleep, I think; it was night, not very -late—only nine o'clock. Your father and I were standing at the -door, looking out at the heath in the moonlight. He was so poor -at that time, he had been obliged to sell his own boat, and none -of the neighbors would take him out fishing with them—your -father wasn't liked by any of the neighbors. Well; we saw a -stranger coming toward us; a very young man, with a knapsack on -his back. He looked like a gentleman, though he was but poorly -dressed. He came up, and told us he was dead tired, and didn't -think he could reach the town that night and asked if we would -give him shelter till morning. And your father said yes, if he -would make no noise, because the wife was ill, and the children -were asleep. So he said all he wanted was to go to sleep himself -before the fire. We had nothing to give him but black bread. He -had better food with him than that, and undid his knapsack to get -at it, and—and—Gabriel! I'm sinking—drink! something to -drink—I'm parched with thirst."</p> - -<p>Silent and deadly pale, Gabriel poured some of the cider from the -pitcher on the table into a drinking-cup, and gave it to the old -man. Slight as the stimulant was, its effect on him was almost -instantaneous. His dull eyes brightened a little, and he went on -in the same whispering tones as before:</p> - -<p>"He pulled the food out of his knapsack rather in a hurry, so -that some of the other small things in it fell on the floor. -Among these was a pocketbook, which your father picked up and -gave him back; and he put it in his coat-pocket—there was a tear -in one of the sides of the book, and through the hole some -bank-notes bulged out. I saw them, and so did your father (don't -move away, Gabriel; keep close, there's nothing in me to shrink -from). Well, he shared his food, like an honest fellow, with us; -and then put his hand in his pocket, and gave me four or five -livres, and then lay down before the fire to go to sleep. As he -shut his eyes, your father looked at me in a way I didn't like. -He'd been behaving very bitterly and desperately toward us for -some time past, being soured about poverty, and your mother's -illness, and the constant crying out of you children for more to -eat. So when he told me to go and buy some wood, some bread, and -some wine with money I had got, I didn't like, somehow, to leave -him alone with the stranger; and so made excuses, saying (which -was true) that it was too late to buy things in the village that -night. But he told me in a rage to go and do as he bid me, and -knock the people up if the shop was shut. So I went out, being -dreadfully afraid of your father—as indeed we all were at that -time—but I couldn't make up my mind to go far from the house; I -was afraid of something happening, though I didn't dare to think -what. I don't know how it was, but I stole back in about ten -minutes on tiptoe to the cottage; I looked in at the window, and -saw—O God! forgive him! O God! forgive me!—I saw—I—more to -drink, Gabriel! I can't speak again—more to drink!"</p> - -<p>The voices in the next room had ceased; but in the minute of -silence which now ensued, Gabriel heard his sisters kissing -Perrine, and wishing her good-night. They were all three trying -to go asleep again.</p> - -<p>"Gabriel, pray yourself, and teach your children after you to -pray, that your father may find forgiveness where he is now gone. -I saw him as plainly as I now see you, kneeling with his knife in -one hand over the sleeping man. He was taking the little book -with the notes in it out of the stranger's pocket. He got the -book into his possession, and held it quite still in his hand for -an instant, thinking. I believe—oh no! no! I'm sure—he was -repenting; I'm sure he was going to put the book back; but just -at that moment the stranger moved, and raised one of his arms, as -if he was waking up. Then the temptation of the devil grew too -strong for your father—I saw him lift the hand with the knife in -it—but saw nothing more. I couldn't look in at the window—I -couldn't move away—I couldn't cry out; I stood with my back -turned toward the house, shivering all over, though it was a warm -summer-time, and hearing no cries, no noises at all, from the -room behind me. I was too frightened to know how long it was -before the opening of the cottage door made me turn round; but -when I did, I saw your father standing before me in the yellow -moonlight, carrying in his arms the bleeding body of the poor lad -who had shared his food with us and slept on our hearth. Hush! -hush! Don't groan and sob in that way! Stifle it with the -bedclothes. Hush! you'll wake them in the next room!"</p> - -<p>"Gabriel—Gabriel!" exclaimed a voice from behind the partition. -"What has happened? Gabriel! let me come out and be with you!"</p> - -<p>"No! no!" cried the old man, collecting the last remains of his -strength in the attempt to speak above the wind, which was just -then howling at the loudest; "stay where you are—don't speak, -don't come out—I command you! Gabriel" (his voice dropped to a -faint whisper), "raise me up in bed—you must hear the whole of -it now; raise me; I'm choking so that I can hardly speak. Keep -close and listen—I can't say much more. Where was I?—Ah, your -father! He threatened to kill me if I didn't swear to keep it -secret; and in terror of my life I swore. He made me help him to -carry the body—we took it all across the heath—oh! horrible, -horrible, under the bright moon—(lift me higher, Gabriel). You -know the great stones yonder, set up by the heathens; you know -the hollow place under the stones they call 'The Merchant's -Table'; we had plenty of room to lay him in that, and hide him -so; and then we ran back to the cottage. I never dared to go near -the place afterward; no, nor your father either! (Higher, -Gabriel! I'm choking again.) We burned the pocket-book and the -knapsack—never knew his name—we kept the money to spend. -(You're not lifting me; you're not listening close enough!) Your -father said it was a legacy, when you and your mother asked about -the money. (You hurt me, you shake me to pieces, Gabriel, when -you sob like that.) It brought a curse on us, the money; the -curse has drowned your father and your brother; the curse is -killing me; but I've confessed—tell the priest I confessed -before I died. Stop her; stop Perrine! I hear her getting up. -Take his bones away from the Merchant's Table, and bury them for -the love of God! and tell the priest (lift me higher, lift me -till I am on my knees)—if your father was alive, he'd murder me; -but tell the priest—because of my guilty soul—to pray, -and—remember the Merchant's Table—to bury, and to pray—to pray -always for—"</p> - -<p>As long as Perrine heard faintly the whispering of the old man, -though no word that he said reached her ear, she shrank from -opening the door in the partition. But, when the whispering -sounds, which terrified her she knew not how or why, first -faltered, then ceased altogether; when she heard the sobs that -followed them; and when her heart told her who was weeping in the -next room—then, she began to be influenced by a new feeling -which was stronger than the strongest fear, and she opened the -door without hesitation, almost without trembling.</p> - -<p>The coverlet was drawn up over the old man; Gabriel was kneeling -by the bedside, with his face hidden. When she spoke to him, he -neither answered nor looked at her. After a while the sobs that -shook him ceased; but still he never moved, except once when she -touched him, and then he shuddered—shuddered under <i>her</i> hand! -She called in his little sisters, and they spoke to him, and -still he uttered no word in reply. They wept. One by one, often -and often, they entreated him with loving words; but the stupor -of grief which held him speechless and motionless was beyond the -power of human tears, stronger even than the strength of human -love.</p> - -<p>It was near daybreak, and the storm was lulling, but still no -change occurred at the bedside. Once or twice, as Perrine knelt -near Gabriel, still vainly endeavoring to arouse him to a sense -of her presence, she thought she heard the old man breathing -feebly, and stretched out her hand toward the coverlet; but she -could not summon courage to touch him or to look at him. This was -the first time she had ever been present at a death-bed; the -stillness in the room, the stupor of despair that had seized on -Gabriel, so horrified her, that she was almost as helpless as the -two children by her side. It was not till the dawn looked in at -the cottage window—so coldly, so drearily, and yet so -re-assuringly—that she began to recover her self-possession at -all. Then she knew that her best resource would be to summon -assistance immediately from the nearest house. While she was -trying to persuade the two children to remain alone in the -cottage with Gabriel during her temporary absence, she was -startled by the sound of footsteps outside the door. It opened, -and a man appeared on the threshold, standing still there for a -moment in the dim, uncertain light.</p> - -<p>She looked closer—looked intently at him. It was Francois -Sarzeau himself.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> - -<p>The fisherman was dripping with wet; but his face, always pale -and inflexible, seemed to be but little altered in expression by -the perils through which he must have passed during the night. -Young Pierre lay almost insensible in his arms. In the -astonishment and fright of the first moment, Perrine screamed as -she recognized him.</p> - -<p>"There, there, there!" he said, peevishly, advancing straight to -the hearth with his burden; "don't make a noise. You never -expected to see us alive again, I dare say. We gave ourselves up -as lost, and only escaped after all by a miracle."</p> - -<p>He laid the boy down where he could get the full warmth of the -fire; and then, turning round, took a wicker-covered bottle from -his pocket, and said, "If it hadn't been for the brandy—" He -stopped suddenly—started—put down the bottle on the bench near -him—and advanced quickly to the bedside.</p> - -<p>Perrine looked after him as he went; and saw Gabriel, who had -risen when the door was opened, moving back from the bed as -Francois approached. The young man's face seemed to have been -suddenly struck to stone—its blank, ghastly whiteness was awful -to look at. He moved slowly backward and backward till he came to -the cottage wall—then stood quite still, staring on his father -with wild, vacant eyes, moving his hands to and fro before him, -muttering, but never pronouncing one audible word.</p> - -<p>Francois did not appear to notice his son; he had the coverlet of -the bed in his hand.</p> - -<p>"Anything the matter here?" he asked, as he drew it down.</p> - -<p>Still Gabriel could not speak. Perrine saw it, and answered for -him.</p> - -<p>"Gabriel is afraid that his poor grandfather is dead," she -whispered, nervously.</p> - -<p>"Dead!" There was no sorrow in the tone as he echoed the word. -"Was he very bad in the night before his death happened? Did he -wander in his mind? He has been rather light-headed lately."</p> - -<p>"He was very restless, and spoke of the ghostly warnings that we -all know of; he said he saw and heard many things which told him -from the other world that you and Pierre— Gabriel!" she -screamed, suddenly interrupting herself, "look at him! Look at -his face! Your grandfather is not dead!"</p> - -<p>At this moment, Francois was raising his father's head to look -closely at him. A faint spasm had indeed passed over the deathly -face; the lips quivered, the jaw dropped. Francois shuddered as -he looked, and moved away hastily from the bed. At the same -instant Gabriel started from the wall; his expression altered, -his pale cheeks flushed suddenly, as he snatched up the -wicker-cased bottle, and poured all the little brandy that was -left in it down his grandfather's throat.</p> - -<p>The effect was nearly instantaneous; the sinking vital forces -rallied desperately. The old man's eyes opened again, wandered -round the room, then fixed themselves intently on Francois as he -stood near the fire. Trying and terrible as his position was at -that moment, Gabriel still retained self-possession enough to -whisper a few words in Perrine's ear. "Go back again into the -bedroom, and take the children with you," he said. "We may have -something to speak about which you had better not hear."</p> - -<p>"Son Gabriel, your grandfather is trembling all over," said -Francois. "If he is dying at all, he is dying of cold; help me to -lift him, bed and all, to the hearth."</p> - -<p>"No, no! don't let him touch me!" gasped the old man. "Don't let -him look at me in that way! Don't let him come near me, Gabriel! -Is it his ghost? or is it himself?"</p> - -<p>As Gabriel answered he heard a knocking at the door. His father -opened it, and disclosed to view some people from the neighboring -fishing village, who had come—more out of curiosity than -sympathy—to inquire whether Francois and the boy Pierre had -survived the night. Without asking any one to enter, the -fisherman surlily and shortly answered the various questions -addressed to him, standing in his own doorway. While he was thus -engaged, Gabriel heard his grandfather muttering vacantly to -himself, "Last night—how about last night, grandson? What was I -talking about last night? Did I say your father was drowned? Very -foolish to say he was drowned, and then see him come back alive -again! But it wasn't that—I'm so weak in my head, I can't -remember. What was it, Gabriel? Something too horrible to speak -of? Is that what you're whispering and trembling about? I said -nothing horrible. A crime! Bloodshed! I know nothing of any crime -or bloodshed here—I must have been frightened out of my wits to -talk in that way! The Merchant's Table? Only a big heap of old -stones! What with the storm, and thinking I was going to die, and -being afraid about your father, I must have been light-headed. -Don't give another thought to that nonsense, Gabriel! I'm better -now. We shall all live to laugh at poor grandfather for talking -nonsense about crime and bloodshed in his sleep. Ah, poor old -man—last night—light-headed—fancies and nonsense of an old -man—why don't you laugh at it? I'm laughing—so light-headed, so -light—"</p> - -<p>He stopped suddenly. A low cry, partly of terror and partly of -pain, escaped him; the look of pining anxiety and imbecile -cunning which had distorted his face while he had been speaking, -faded from it forever. He shivered a little, breathed heavily -once or twice, then became quite still.</p> - -<p>Had he died with a falsehood on his lips?</p> - -<p>Gabriel looked round and saw that the cottage door was closed, -and that his father was standing against it. How long he had -occupied that position, how many of the old man's last words he -had heard, it was impossible to conjecture, but there was a -lowering suspicion in his harsh face as he now looked away from -the corpse to his son, which made Gabriel shudder; and the first -question that he asked, on once more approaching the bedside, was -expressed in tones which, quiet as they were, had a fearful -meaning in them.</p> - -<p>"What did your grandfather talk about last night?" he asked.</p> - -<p>Gabriel did not answer. All that he had heard, all that he had -seen, all the misery and horror that might yet be to come, had -stunned his mind. The unspeakable dangers of his present position -were too tremendous to be realized. He could only feel them -vaguely in the weary torpor that oppressed his heart; while in -every other direction the use of his faculties, physical and -mental, seemed to have suddenly and totally abandoned him.</p> - -<p>"Is your tongue wounded, son Gabriel, as well as your arm?" his -father went on, with a bitter laugh. "I come back to you, saved -by a miracle; and you never speak to me. Would you rather I had -died than the old man there? He can't hear you now—why shouldn't -you tell me what nonsense he was talking last night? You won't? I -say you shall!" (He crossed the room and put his back to the -door.) "Before either of us leave this place, you shall confess -it! You know that my duty to the Church bids me to go at once and -tell the priest of your grandfather's death. If I leave that duty -unfulfilled, remember it is through your fault! <i>You</i> keep me -here—for here I stop till I'm obeyed. Do you hear that, idiot? -Speak! Speak instantly, or you shall repeat it to the day of your -death! I ask again—what did your grandfather say to you when he -was wandering in his mind last night?"</p> - -<p>"He spoke of a crime committed by another, and guiltily kept -secret by him," answered Gabriel, slowly and sternly. "And this -morning he denied his own words with his last living breath. But -last night, if he spoke the truth—"</p> - -<p>"The truth!" echoed Francois. "What truth?"</p> - -<p>He stopped, his eyes fell, then turned toward the corpse. For a -few minutes he stood steadily contemplating it; breathing -quickly, and drawing his hand several times across his forehead. -Then he faced his son once more. In that short interval he had -become in outward appearance a changed man; expression, voice, -and manner, all were altered.</p> - -<p>"Heaven forgive me!" he went on, "but I could almost laugh at -myself, at this solemn moment, for having spoken and acted just -now so much like a fool! Denied his words, did he? Poor old man! -they say sense often comes back to light-headed people just -before death; and he is a proof of it. The fact is, Gabriel, my -own wits must have been a little shaken—and no wonder—by what I -went through last night, and what I have come home to this -morning. As if you, or anybody, could ever really give serious -credit to the wandering speeches of a dying old man! (Where is -Perrine? Why did you send her away?) I don't wonder at your still -looking a little startled, and feeling low in your mind, and all -that—for you've had a trying night of it, trying in every way. -He must have been a good deal shaken in his wits last night, -between fears about himself and fears about me. (To think of my -being angry with you, Gabriel, for being a little alarmed—very -naturally—by an old man's queer fancies!) Come out, -Perrine—come out of the bedroom whenever you are tired of it: -you must learn sooner or later to look at death calmly. Shake -hands, Gabriel; and let us make it up, and say no more about what -has passed. You won't? Still angry with me for what I said to you -just now? Ah! you'll think better about it by the time I return. -Come out, Perrine; we've no secrets here."</p> - -<p>"Where are you going to?" asked Gabriel, as he saw his father -hastily open the door.</p> - -<p>"To tell the priest that one of his congregation is dead, and to -have the death registered," answered Francois. "These are <i>my</i> -duties, and must be performed before I take any rest."</p> - -<p>He went out hurriedly as he said these words. Gabriel almost -trembled at himself when he found that he breathed more freely, -that he felt less horribly oppressed both in mind and body, the -moment his father's back was turned. Fearful as thought was now, -it was still a change for the better to be capable of thinking at -all. Was the behavior of his father compatible with innocence? -Could the old man's confused denial of his own words in the -morning, and in the presence of his son, be set for one instant -against the circumstantial confession that he had made during the -night alone with his grandson? These were the terrible questions -which Gabriel now asked himself, and which he shrank -involuntarily from answering. And yet that doubt, the solution of -which would, one way or the other, irrevocably affect the whole -future of his life, must sooner or later be solved at any hazard!</p> - -<p>Was there any way of setting it at rest? Yes, one way—to go -instantly, while his father was absent, and examine the hollow -place under the Merchant's Table. If his grandfather's confession -had really been made while he was in possession of his senses, -this place (which Gabriel knew to be covered in from wind and -weather) had never been visited since the commission of the crime -by the perpetrator, or by his unwilling accomplice; though time -had destroyed all besides, the hair and the bones of the victim -would still be left to bear witness to the truth—if truth had -indeed been spoken. As this conviction grew on him, the young -man's cheek paled; and he stopped irresolute half-way between the -hearth and the door. Then he looked down doubtfully at the corpse -on the bed; and then there came upon him suddenly a revulsion of -feeling. A wild, feverish impatience to know the worst without -another instant of delay possessed him. Only telling Perrine that -he should be back soon, and that she must watch by the dead in -his absence, he left the cottage at once, without waiting to hear -her reply, even without looking back as he closed the door behind -him.</p> - -<p>There were two tracks to the Merchant's Table. One, the longer of -the two, by the coast cliffs; the other across the heath. But -this latter path was also, for some little distance, the path -which led to the village and the church. He was afraid of -attracting his father's attention here, so he took the direction -of the coast. At one spot the track trended inland, winding round -some of the many Druid monuments scattered over the country. This -place was on high ground, and commanded a view, at no great -distance, of the path leading to the village, just where it -branched off from the heathy ridge which ran in the direction of -the Merchant's Table. Here Gabriel descried the figure of a man -standing with his back toward the coast.</p> - -<p>This figure was too far off to be identified with absolute -certainty, but it looked like, and might well be, Francois -Sarzeau. Whoever he was, the man was evidently uncertain which -way he should proceed. When he moved forward, it was first to -advance several paces toward the Merchant's Table; then he went -back again toward the distant cottages and the church. Twice he -hesitated thus; the second time pausing long before he appeared -finally to take the way that led to the village.</p> - -<p>Leaving the post of observation among the stones, at which he had -instinctively halted for some minutes past, Gabriel now proceeded -on his own path. Could this man really be his father? And if it -were so, why did Francois Sarzeau only determine to go to the -village where his business lay, after having twice vainly -attempted to persevere in taking the exactly opposite direction -of the Merchant's Table? Did he really desire to go there? Had he -heard the name mentioned, when the old man referred to it in his -dying words? And had he failed to summon courage enough to make -all safe by removing—This last question was too horrible to be -pursued; Gabriel stifled it affrightedly in his own heart as he -went on.</p> - -<p>He reached the great Druid monument without meeting a living soul -on his way. The sun was rising, and the mighty storm-clouds of -the night were parting asunder wildly over the whole eastward -horizon. The waves still leaped and foamed gloriously: but the -gale had sunk to a keen, fresh breeze. As Gabriel looked up, and -saw how brightly the promise of a lovely day was written in the -heavens, he trembled as he thought of the search which he was now -about to make. The sight of the fair, fresh sunrise jarred -horribly with the suspicions of committed murder that were -rankling foully in his heart. But he knew that his errand must be -performed, and he nerved himself to go through with it; for he -dared not return to the cottage until the mystery had been -cleared up at once and forever.</p> - -<p>The Merchant's Table was formed by two huge stones resting -horizontally on three others. In the troubled times of more than -half a century ago, regular tourists were unknown among the Druid -monuments of Brittany; and the entrance to the hollow place under -the stones—since often visited by strangers—was at this time -nearly choked up by brambles and weeds. Gabriel's first look at -this tangled nook of briers convinced him that the place had not -been entered perhaps for years, by any living being. Without -allowing himself to hesitate (for he felt that the slightest -delay might be fatal to his resolution), he passed as gently as -possible through the brambles, and knelt down at the low, dusky, -irregular entrance of the hollow place under the stones.</p> - -<p>His heart throbbed violently, his breath almost failed him; but -he forced himself to crawl a few feet into the cavity, and then -groped with his hand on the ground about him.</p> - -<p>He touched something! Something which it made his flesh creep to -handle; something which he would fain have dropped, but which he -grasped tight in spite of himself. He drew back into the outer -air and sunshine. Was it a human bone? No! he had been the dupe -of his own morbid terror—he had only taken up a fragment of -dried wood!</p> - -<p>Feeling shame at such self-deception as this, he was about to -throw the wood from him before he re-entered the place, when -another idea occurred to him.</p> - -<p>Though it was dimly lighted through one or two chinks in the -stones, the far part of the interior of the cavity was still too -dusky to admit of perfect examination by the eye, even on a -bright sunshiny morning. Observing this, he took out the -tinder-box and matches, which, like the other inhabitants of the -district, he always carried about with him for the purpose of -lighting his pipe, determining to use the piece of wood as a -torch which might illuminate the darkest corner of the place when -he next entered it. Fortunately the wood had remained so long and -had been preserved so dry in its sheltered position, that it -caught fire almost as easily as a piece of paper. The moment it -was fairly aflame Gabriel went into the cavity, penetrating at -once—this time—to its furthest extremity.</p> - -<p>He remained among the stones long enough for the wood to burn -down nearly to his hand. When he came out, and flung the burning -fragment from him, his face was flushed deeply, his eyes -sparkled. He leaped carelessly on to the heath, over the bushes -through which he had threaded his way so warily but a few minutes -before, exclaiming, "I may marry Perrine with a clear conscience -now; I am the son of as honest a man as there is in Brittany!"</p> - -<p>He had closely examined the cavity in every corner, and not the -slightest sign that any dead body had ever been laid there was -visible in the hollow place under the Merchant's Table.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> - -<p>"I may marry Perrine with a clear conscience now!"</p> - -<p>There are some parts of the world where it would be drawing no -natural picture of human nature to represent a son as believing -conscientiously that an offense against life and the laws of -hospitality, secretly committed by his father, rendered him, -though innocent of all participation in it, unworthy to fulfill -his engagement with his affianced wife. Among the simple -inhabitants of Gabriel's province, however, such acuteness of -conscientious sensibility as this was no extraordinary exception -to all general rules. Ignorant and superstitious as they might -be, the people of Brittany practiced the duties of hospitality as -devoutly as they practiced the duties of the national religion. -The presence of the stranger-guest, rich or poor, was a sacred -presence at their hearths. His safety was their especial charge, -his property their especial responsibility. They might be half -starved, but they were ready to share the last crust with him, -nevertheless, as they would share it with their own children.</p> - -<p>Any outrage on the virtue of hospitality, thus born and bred in -the people, was viewed by them with universal disgust, and -punished with universal execration. This ignominy was uppermost -in Gabriel's thoughts by the side of his grandfather's bed; the -dread of this worst dishonor, which there was no wiping out, held -him speechless before Perrine, shamed and horrified him so that -he felt unworthy to look her in the face; and when the result of -his search at the Merchant's Table proved the absence there of -all evidence of the crime spoken of by the old man, the blessed -relief, the absorbing triumph of that discovery, was expressed -entirely in the one thought which had prompted his first joyful -words: He could marry Perrine with a clear conscience, for he was -the son of an honest man!</p> - -<p>When he returned to the cottage, Francois had not come back. -Perrine was astonished at the change in Gabriel's manner; even -Pierre and the children remarked it. Rest and warmth had by this -time so far recovered the younger brother, that he was able to -give some account of the perilous adventures of the night at sea. -They were still listening to the boy's narrative when Francois at -last returned. It was now Gabriel who held out his hand, and made -the first advances toward reconciliation.</p> - -<p>To his utter amazement, his father recoiled from him. The -variable temper of Francois had evidently changed completely -during his absence at the village. A settled scowl of distrust -darkened his face as he looked at his son.</p> - -<p>"I never shake hands with people who have once doubted me," he -exclaimed, loudly and irritably; "for I always doubt them forever -after. You are a bad son! You have suspected your father of some -infamy that you dare not openly charge him with, on no other -testimony than the rambling nonsense of a half-witted, dying old -man. Don't speak to me! I won't hear you! An innocent man and a -spy are bad company. Go and denounce me, you Judas in disguise! I -don't care for your secret or for you. What's that girl Perrine -doing here still? Why hasn't she gone home long ago? The priest's -coming; we don't want strangers in the house of death. Take her -back to the farmhouse, and stop there with her, if you like; -nobody wants you here!"</p> - -<p>There was something in the manner and look of the speaker as he -uttered these words, so strange, so sinister, so indescribably -suggestive of his meaning much more than he said, that Gabriel -felt his heart sink within him instantly; and almost at the same -moment this fearful question forced itself irresistibly on his -mind: might not his father have followed him to the Merchant's -Table?</p> - -<p>Even if he had been desired to speak, he could not have spoken -now, while that question and the suspicion that it brought with -it were utterly destroying all the re-assuring hopes and -convictions of the morning. The mental suffering produced by the -sudden change from pleasure to pain in all his thoughts, reacted -on him physically. He felt as if he were stifling in the air of -the cottage, in the presence of his father; and when Perrine -hurried on her walking attire, and with a face which alternately -flushed and turned pale with every moment, approached the door, -he went out with her as hastily as if he had been flying from his -home. Never had the fresh air and the free daylight felt like -heavenly and guardian influences to him until now!</p> - -<p>He could comfort Perrine under his father's harshness, he could -assure her of his own affection, which no earthly influence could -change, while they walked together toward the farmhouse; but he -could do no more. He durst not confide to her the subject that -was uppermost in his mind; of all human beings she was the last -to whom he could reveal the terrible secret that was festering at -his heart. As soon as they got within sight of the farmhouse, -Gabriel stopped; and, promising to see her again soon, took leave -of Perrine with assumed ease in his manner and with real despair -in his heart. Whatever the poor girl might think of it, he felt, -at that moment, that he had not courage to face her father, and -hear him talk happily and pleasantly, as his custom was, of -Perrine's approaching marriage.</p> - -<p>Left to himself, Gabriel wandered hither and thither over the -open heath, neither knowing nor caring in what direction he -turned his steps. The doubts about his father's innocence which -had been dissipated by his visit to the Merchant's Table, that -father's own language and manner had now revived—had even -confirmed, though he dared not yet acknowledge so much to -himself. It was terrible enough to be obliged to admit that the -result of his morning's search was, after all, not -conclusive—that the mystery was, in very truth, not yet cleared -up. The violence of his father's last words of distrust; the -extraordinary and indescribable changes in his father's manner -while uttering them—what did these things mean? Guilt or -innocence? Again, was it any longer reasonable to doubt the -death-bed confession made by his grandfather? Was it not, on the -contrary, far more probable that the old man's denial in the -morning of his own words at night had been made under the -influence of a panic terror, when his moral consciousness was -bewildered, and his intellectual faculties were sinking? The -longer Gabriel thought of these questions, the less -competent—possibly also the less willing—he felt to answer -them. Should he seek advice from others wiser than he? No; not -while the thousandth part of a chance remained that his father -was innocent.</p> - -<p>This thought was still in his mind, when he found himself once -more in sight of his home. He was still hesitating near the door, -when he saw it opened cautiously. His brother Pierre looked out, -and then came running toward him. "Come in, Gabriel; oh, do come -in!" said the boy, earnestly. "We are afraid to be alone with -father. He's been beating us for talking of you."</p> - -<p>Gabriel went in. His father looked up from the hearth where he -was sitting, muttered the word "Spy!" and made a gesture of -contempt but did not address a word directly to his son. The -hours passed on in silence; afternoon waned into evening, and -evening into night; and still he never spoke to any of his -children. Soon after it was dark, he went out, and took his net -with him, saying that it was better to be alone on the sea than -in the house with a spy.</p> - -<p>When he returned the next morning there was no change in him. -Days passed—weeks, months, even elapsed, and still, though his -manner insensibly became what it used to be toward his other -children, it never altered toward his eldest son At the rare -periods when they now met, except when absolutely obliged to -speak, he preserved total silence in his intercourse with -Gabriel. He would never take Gabriel out with him in the boat; he -would never sit alone with Gabriel in the house; he would never -eat a meal with Gabriel; he would never let the other children -talk to him about Gabriel; and he would never hear a word in -expostulation, a word in reference to anything his dead father -had said or done on the night of the storm, from Gabriel himself.</p> - -<p>The young man pined and changed, so that even Perrine hardly knew -him again, under this cruel system of domestic excommunication; -under the wearing influence of the one unchanging doubt which -never left him; and, more than all, under the incessant -reproaches of his own conscience, aroused by the sense that he -was evading a responsibility which it was his solemn, his -immediate duty to undertake. But no sting of conscience, no ill -treatment at home, and no self-reproaches for failing in his duty -of confession as a good Catholic, were powerful enough in their -influence over Gabriel to make him disclose the secret, under the -oppression of which his very life was wasting away. He knew that -if he once revealed it, whether his father was ultimately proved -to be guilty or innocent, there would remain a slur and a -suspicion on the family, and on Perrine besides, from her -approaching connection with it, which in their time and in their -generation could never be removed. The reproach of the world is -terrible even in the crowded city, where many of the dwellers in -our abiding-place are strangers to us—but it is far more -terrible in the country, where none near us are strangers, where -all talk of us and know of us, where nothing intervenes between -us and the tyranny of the evil tongue. Gabriel had not courage to -face this, and dare the fearful chance of life-long ignominy—no, -not even to serve the sacred interests of justice, of atonement, -and of truth.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4> - -<p>While Gabriel still remained prostrated under the affliction that -was wasting his energies of body and mind, Brittany was visited -by a great public calamity, in which all private misfortunes were -overwhelmed for a while.</p> - -<p>It was now the time when the ever-gathering storm of the French -Revolution had risen to its hurricane climax. Those chiefs of the -new republic were in power whose last, worst madness it was to -decree the extinction of religion and the overthrow of everything -that outwardly symbolized it throughout the whole of the country -that they governed. Already this decree had been executed to the -letter in and around Paris; and now the soldiers of the Republic -were on their way to Brittany, headed by commanders whose -commission was to root out the Christian religion in the last and -the surest of the strongholds still left to it in France.</p> - -<p>These men began their work in a spirit worthy of the worst of -their superiors who had sent them to do it. They gutted churches, -they demolished chapels, they overthrew road-side crosses -wherever they found them. The terrible guillotine devoured human -lives in the villages of Brittany as it had devoured them in the -streets of Paris; the musket and the sword, in highway and byway, -wreaked havoc on the people—even on women and children kneeling -in the act of prayer; the priests were tracked night and day from -one hiding-place, where they still offered up worship, to -another, and were killed as soon as overtaken—every atrocity was -committed in every district; but the Christian religion still -spread wider than the widest bloodshed; still sprang up with -ever-renewed vitality from under the very feet of the men whose -vain fury was powerless to trample it down. Everywhere the people -remained true to their Faith; everywhere the priests stood firm -by them in their sorest need. The executioners of the Republic -had been sent to make Brittany a country of apostates; they did -their worst, and left it a country of martyrs.</p> - -<p>One evening, while this frightful persecution was still raging, -Gabriel happened to be detained unusually late at the cottage of -Perrine's father. He had lately spent much of his time at the -farm house; it was his only refuge now from that place of -suffering, of silence, and of secret shame, which he had once -called home! Just as he had taken leave of Perrine for the night, -and was about to open the farmhouse door, her father stopped him, -and pointed to a chair in the chimney-corner.</p> - -<p>"Leave us alone, my dear," said the old man to his daughter; "I -want to speak to Gabriel. You can go to your mother in the next -room."</p> - -<p>The words which Pere Bonan—as he was called by the -neighbors—had now to say in private were destined to lead to -very unexpected events. After referring to the alteration which -had appeared of late in Gabriel's manner, the old man began by -asking him, sorrowfully but not suspiciously, whether he still -preserved his old affection for Perrine. On receiving an eager -answer in the affirmative, Pere Bonan then referred to the -persecution still raging through the country, and to the -consequent possibility that he, like others of his countrymen, -might yet be called to suffer, and perhaps to die, for the cause -of his religion. If this last act of self-sacrifice were required -of him, Perrine would be left unprotected, unless her affianced -husband performed his promise to her, and assumed, without delay, -the position of her lawful guardian. "Let me know that you will -do this," concluded the old man; "I shall be resigned to all that -may be required of me, if I can only know that I shall not die -leaving Perrine unprotected." Gabriel gave the promise—gave it -with his whole heart. As he took leave of Pere Bonan, the old man -said to him:</p> - -<p>"Come here to-morrow; I shall know more then than I know now—I -shall be able to fix with certainty the day for the fulfillment -of your engagement with Perrine."</p> - -<p>Why did Gabriel hesitate at the farmhouse door, looking back on -Pere Bonan as though he would fain say something, and yet not -speaking a word? Why, after he had gone out and had walked onward -several paces, did he suddenly stop, return quickly to the -farmhouse, stand irresolute before the gate, and then retrace his -steps, sighing heavily as he went, but never pausing again on his -homeward way? Because the torment of his horrible secret had -grown harder to bear than ever, since he had given the promise -that had been required of him. Because, while a strong impulse -moved him frankly to lay bare his hidden dread and doubt to the -father whose beloved daughter was soon to be his wife, there was -a yet stronger passive influence which paralyzed on his lips the -terrible confession that he knew not whether he was the son of an -honest man, or the son of an assassin, and a robber. Made -desperate by his situation, he determined, while he hastened -homeward, to risk the worst, and ask that fatal question of his -father in plain words. But this supreme trial for parent and -child was not to be. When he entered the cottage, Francois was -absent. He had told the younger children that he should not be -home again before noon on the next day.</p> - -<p>Early in the morning Gabriel repaired to the farmhouse, as he had -been bidden. Influenced, by his love for Perrine, blindly -confiding in the faint hope (which, in despite of heart and -conscience, he still forced himself to cherish) that his father -might be innocent, he now preserved the appearance at least of -perfect calmness. "If I tell my secret to Perrine's father, I -risk disturbing in him that confidence in the future safety of -his child for which I am his present and only warrant." Something -like this thought was in Gabriel's mind, as he took the hand of -Pere Bonan, and waited anxiously to hear what was required of him -on that day.</p> - -<p>"We have a short respite from danger, Gabriel," said the old man. -"News has come to me that the spoilers of our churches and the -murderers of our congregations have been stopped on their way -hitherward by tidings which have reached them from another -district. This interval of peace and safety will be a short -one—we must take advantage of it while it is yet ours. My name -is among the names on the list of the denounced. If the soldiers -of the Republic find me here—but we will say nothing more of -this; it is of Perrine and of you that I must now speak. On this -very evening your marriage may be solemnized with all the wonted -rites of our holy religion, and the blessing may be pronounced -over you by the lips of a priest. This evening, therefore, -Gabriel, you must become the husband and the protector of -Perrine. Listen to me attentively, and I will tell you how."</p> - -<p>This was the substance of what Gabriel now heard from Pere Bonan:</p> - -<p>Not very long before the persecutions broke out in Brittany, a -priest, known generally by the name of Father Paul, was appointed -to a curacy in one of the northern districts of the province. He -fulfilled all the duties of his station in such a manner as to -win the confidence and affection of every member of his -congregation, and was often spoken of with respect, even in parts -of the country distant from the scene of his labors. It was not, -however, until the troubles broke out, and the destruction and -bloodshed began, that he became renowned far and wide, from one -end of Brittany to another. From the date of the very first -persecutions the name of Father Paul was a rallying-cry of the -hunted peasantry; he was their great encouragement under -oppression, their example in danger, their last and only consoler -in the hour of death. Wherever havoc and ruin raged most -fiercely, wherever the pursuit was hottest and the slaughter most -cruel, there the intrepid priest was sure to be seen pursuing his -sacred duties in defiance of every peril. His hair-breadth -escapes from death; his extraordinary re-appearances in parts of -the country where no one ever expected to see him again, were -regarded by the poorer classes with superstitious awe. Wherever -Father Paul appeared, with his black dress, his calm face, and -the ivory crucifix which he always carried in his hand, the -people reverenced him as more than mortal; and grew at last to -believe, that, single-handed, he would successfully defend his -religion against the armies of the Republic. But their simple -confidence in his powers of resistance was soon destined to be -shaken. Fresh re-enforcements arrived in Brittany, and overran -the whole province from one end to the other. One morning, after -celebrating service in a dismantled church, and after narrowly -escaping with his life from those who pursued him, the priest -disappeared. Secret inquiries were made after him in all -directions; but he was heard of no more.</p> - -<p>Many weary days had passed, and the dispirited peasantry had -already mourned him as dead, when some fishermen on the northern -coast observed a ship of light burden in the offing, making -signals to the shore. They put off to her in their boats; and on -reaching the deck saw standing before them the well-remembered -figure of Father Paul.</p> - -<p>The priest had returned to his congregations, and had founded the -new altar that they were to worship at on the deck of the ship! -Razed from the face of the earth, their church had not been -destroyed—for Father Paul and the priests who acted with him had -given that church a refuge on the sea. Henceforth, their children -could still be baptized, their sons and daughters could still be -married, the burial of their dead could still be solemnized, -under the sanction of the old religion for which, not vainly, -they had suffered so patiently and so long.</p> - -<p>Throughout the remaining time of trouble the services were -uninterrupted on board the ship. A code of signals was -established by which those on shore were always enabled to direct -their brethren at sea toward such parts of the coast as happened -to be uninfested by the enemies of their worship. On the morning -of Gabriel's visit to the farmhouse these signals had shaped the -course of the ship toward the extremity of the peninsula of -Quiberon. The people of the district were all prepared to expect -the appearance of the vessel some time in the evening, and had -their boats ready at a moment's notice to put off, and attend the -service. At the conclusion of this service Pere Bonan had -arranged that the marriage of his daughter and Gabriel was to -take place.</p> - -<p>They waited for evening at the farmhouse. A little before sunset -the ship was signaled as in sight; and then Pere Bonan and his -wife, followed by Gabriel and Perrine, set forth over the heath -to the beach. With the solitary exception of Francois Sarzeau, -the whole population of the neighborhood was already assembled -there, Gabriel's brother and sisters being among the number.</p> - -<p>It was the calmest evening that had been known for months. There -was not a cloud in the lustrous sky—not a ripple on the still -surface of the sea. The smallest children were suffered by their -mothers to stray down on the beach as they pleased; for the waves -of the great ocean slept as tenderly and noiselessly on their -sandy bed as if they had been changed into the waters of an -inland lake. Slow, almost imperceptible, was the approach of the -ship—there was hardly a breath of wind to carry her on—she was -just drifting gently with the landward set of the tide at that -hour, while her sails hung idly against the masts. Long after the -sun had gone down, the congregation still waited and watched on -the beach. The moon and stars were arrayed in their glory of the -night before the ship dropped anchor. Then the muffled tolling of -a bell came solemnly across the quiet waters; and then, from -every creek along the shore, as far as the eye could reach, the -black forms of the fishermen's boats shot out swift and stealthy -into the shining sea.</p> - -<p>By the time the boats had arrived alongside of the ship, the lamp -had been kindled before the altar, and its flame was gleaming red -and dull in the radiant moonlight. Two of the priests on board -were clothed in their robes of office, and were waiting in their -appointed places to begin the service. But there was a third, -dressed only in the ordinary attire of his calling, who mingled -with the congregation, and spoke a few words to each of the -persons composing it, as, one by one, they mounted the sides of -the ship. Those who had never seen him before knew by the famous -ivory crucifix in his hand that the priest who received them was -Father Paul. Gabriel looked at this man, whom he now beheld for -the first time, with a mixture of astonishment and awe; for he -saw that the renowned chief of the Christians of Brittany was, to -all appearance, but little older than himself.</p> - -<p>The expression on the pale, calm face of the priest was so gentle -and kind, that children just able to walk tottered up to him, -and held familiarly by the skirts of his black gown, whenever his -clear blue eyes rested on theirs, while he beckoned them to his -side. No one would ever have guessed from the countenance of -Father Paul what deadly perils he had confronted, but for the -scar of a saber-wound, as yet hardly healed, which ran across his -forehead. That wound had been dealt while he was kneeling before -the altar in the last church in Brittany which had escaped -spoliation. He would have died where he knelt, but for the -peasants who were praying with him, and who, unarmed as they -were, threw themselves like tigers on the soldiery, and at awful -sacrifice of their own lives saved the life of their priest. -There was not a man now on board the ship who would have -hesitated, had the occasion called for it again, to have rescued -him in the same way.</p> - -<p>The service began. Since the days when the primitive Christians -worshiped amid the caverns of the earth, can any service be -imagined nobler in itself, or sublimer in the circumstances -surrounding it, than that which was now offered up? Here was no -artificial pomp, no gaudy profusion of ornament, no attendant -grandeur of man's creation. All around this church spread the -hushed and awful majesty of the tranquil sea. The roof of this -cathedral was the immeasurable heaven, the pure moon its one -great light, the countless glories of the stars its only -adornment. Here were no hired singers or rich priest-princes; no -curious sight-seers, or careless lovers of sweet sounds. This -congregation and they who had gathered it together, were all poor -alike, all persecuted alike, all worshiping alike, to the -overthrow of their worldly interests, and at the imminent peril -of their lives. How brightly and tenderly the moonlight shone -upon the altar and the people before it! how solemnly and -divinely the deep harmonies, as they chanted the penitential -Psalms, mingled with the hoarse singing of the freshening night -breeze in the rigging of the ship! how sweetly the still rushing -murmur of many voices, as they uttered the responses together, -now died away, and now rose again softly into the mysterious -night!</p> - -<p>Of all the members of the congregation—young or old—there was -but one over whom that impressive service exercised no influence -of consolation or of peace; that one was Gabriel. Often, -throughout the day, his reproaching conscience had spoken within -him again and again. Often when he joined the little assembly on -the beach, he turned away his face in secret shame and -apprehension from Perrine and her father. Vainly, after gaining -the deck of the ship, did he try to meet the eye of Father Paul -as frankly, as readily, and as affectionately as others met it. -The burden of concealment seemed too heavy to be borne in the -presence of the priest—and yet, torment as it was, he still bore -it! But when he knelt with the rest of the congregation and saw -Perrine kneeling by his side—when he felt the calmness of the -solemn night and the still sea filling his heart—when the sounds -of the first prayers spoke with a dread spiritual language of -their own to his soul—then the remembrance of the confession -which he had neglected, and the terror of receiving unprepared -the sacrament which he knew would be offered to him—grew too -vivid to be endured; the sense that he merited no longer, though -once worthy of it, the confidence in his perfect truth and candor -placed in him by the woman with whom he was soon to stand before -the altar, overwhelmed him with shame: the mere act of kneeling -among that congregation, the passive accomplice by his silence -and secrecy, for aught he knew to the contrary, of a crime which -it was his bounden duty to denounce, appalled him as if he had -already committed sacrilege that could never be forgiven. Tears -flowed down his cheeks, though he strove to repress them: sobs -burst from him, though he tried to stifle them. He knew that -others besides Perrine were looking at him in astonishment and -alarm; but he could neither control himself, nor move to leave -his place, nor raise his eyes even—until suddenly he felt a hand -laid on his shoulder. That touch, slight as it was, ran through -him instantly He looked up, and saw Father Paul standing by his -side.</p> - -<p>Beckoning him to follow, and signing to the congregation not to -suspend their devotions, he led Gabriel out of the assembly—then -paused for a moment, reflecting—then beckoning him again, took -him into the cabin of the ship, and closed the door carefully.</p> - -<p>"You have something on your mind," he said, simply and quietly, -taking the young man by the hand. "I may be able to relieve you, -if you tell me what it is."</p> - -<p>As Gabriel heard these gentle words, and saw, by the light of a -lamp which burned before a cross fixed against the wall, the sad -kindness of expression with which the priest was regarding him, -the oppression that had lain so long on his heart seemed to leave -it in an instant. The haunting fear of ever divulging his fatal -suspicions and his fatal secret had vanished, as it were, at the -touch of Father Paul's hand. For the first time he now repeated -to another ear—the sounds of prayer and praise rising grandly -the while from the congregation above—his grandfather's -death-bed confession, word for word almost, as he had heard it in -the cottage on the night of the storm.</p> - -<p>Once, and once only, did Father Paul interrupt the narrative, -which in whispers was addressed to him. Gabriel had hardly -repeated the first two or three sentences of his grandfather's -confession, when the priest, in quick, altered tones, abruptly -asked him his name and place of abode.</p> - -<p>As the question was answered, Father Paul's calm face became -suddenly agitated; but the next moment, resolutely resuming his -self-possession, he bowed his head as a sign that Gabriel was to -continue; clasped his trembling hands, and raising them as if in -silent prayer, fixed his eyes intently on the cross. He never -looked away from it while the terrible narrative proceeded. But -when Gabriel described his search at the Merchant's Table; and, -referring to his father's behavior since that time, appealed to -the priest to know whether he might even yet, in defiance of -appearances, be still filially justified in doubting whether the -crime had been really perpetrated—then Father Paul moved near to -him once more, and spoke again.</p> - -<p>"Compose yourself, and look at me," he said, with his former sad -kindness of voice and manner. "I can end your doubts forever. -Gabriel, your father was guilty in intention and in act; but the -victim of his crime still lives. I can prove it."</p> - -<p>Gabriel's heart beat wildly; a deadly coldness crept over him as -he saw Father Paul loosen the fastening of his cassock round the -throat.</p> - -<p>At that instant the chanting of the congregation above ceased; -and then the sudden and awful stillness was deepened rather than -interrupted by the faint sound of one voice praying. Slowly and -with trembling fingers the priest removed the band round his -neck—paused a little—sighed heavily—and pointed to a scar -which was now plainly visible on one side of his throat. He said -something at the same time; but the bell above tolled while he -spoke. It was the signal of the elevation of the Host. Gabriel -felt an arm passed round him, guiding him to his knees, and -sustaining him from sinking to the floor. For one moment longer -he was conscious that the bell had stopped, that there was dead -silence, that Father Paul was kneeling by him beneath the cross, -with bowed head—then all objects around vanished; and he saw and -knew nothing more.</p> - -<p>When he recovered his senses, he was still in the cabin; the man -whose life his father had attempted was bending over him, and -sprinkling water on his face; and the clear voices of the women -and children of the congregation were joining the voices of the -men in singing the <i>Agnus Dei</i>.</p> - -<p>"Look up at me without fear, Gabriel," said the priest. "I desire -not to avenge injuries: I visit not the sins of the father on the -child. Look up, and listen! I have strange things to speak of; -and I have a sacred mission to fulfill before the morning, in -which you must be my guide ."</p> - -<p>Gabriel attempted to kneel and kiss his hand but Father Paul -stopped him, and said, pointing to the cross: "Kneel to that—not -to me; not to your fellow-mortal, and your friend—for I will be -your friend, Gabriel; believing that God's mercy has ordered it -so. And now listen to me," he proceeded, with a brotherly -tenderness in his manner which went to Gabriel's heart. "The -service is nearly ended. What I have to tell you must be told at -once; the errand on which you will guide me must be performed -before to-morrow dawns. Sit here near me, and attend to what I -now say!"</p> - -<p>Gabriel obeyed; Father Paul then proceeded thus:</p> - -<p>"I believe the confession made to you by your grandfather to have -been true in every particular. On the evening to which he -referred you, I approached your cottage, as he said, for the -purpose of asking shelter for the night. At that period I had -been studying hard to qualify myself for the holy calling which I -now pursue; and, on the completion of my studies, had indulged in -the recreation of a tour on foot through Brittany, by way of -innocently and agreeably occupying the leisure time then at my -disposal, before I entered the priesthood. When I accosted your -father I had lost my way, had been walking for many hours, and -was glad of any rest that I could get for the night. It is -unnecessary to pain you now, by reference to the events which -followed my entrance under your father's roof. I remember nothing -that happened from the time when I lay down to sleep before the -fire, until the time when I recovered my senses at the place -which you call the Merchant's Table. My first sensation was that -of being moved into the cold air; when I opened my eyes I saw the -great Druid stones rising close above me, and two men on either -side of me rifling my pockets. They found nothing valuable there, -and were about to leave me where I lay, when I gathered strength -enough to appeal to their mercy through their cupidity. Money -was not scarce with me then, and I was able to offer them a rich -reward (which they ultimately received as I had promised) if they -would take me to any place where I could get shelter and medical -help. I supposed they inferred by my language and accent—perhaps -also by the linen I wore, which they examined closely—that I -belonged to the higher ranks of the community, in spite of the -plainness of my outer garments; and might, therefore, be in a -position to make good my promise to them. I heard one say to the -other, 'Let us risk it'; and then they took me in their arms, -carried me down to a boat on the beach, and rowed to a vessel in -the offing. The next day they disembarked me at Paimboeuf, where -I got the assistance which I so much needed. I learned, through -the confidence they were obliged to place in me in order to give -me the means of sending them their promised reward, that these -men were smugglers, and that they were in the habit of using the -cavity in which I had been laid as a place of concealment for -goods, and for letters of advice to their accomplices. This -accounted for their finding me. As to my wound, I was informed by -the surgeon who attended me that it had missed being inflicted in -a mortal part by less than a quarter of an inch, and that, as it -was, nothing but the action of the night air in coagulating the -blood over the place, had, in the first instance, saved my life. -To be brief, I recovered after a long illness, returned to Paris, -and was called to the priesthood. The will of my superiors -obliged me to perform the first duties of my vocation in the -great city; but my own wish was to be appointed to a cure of -souls in your province, Gabriel. Can you imagine why?"</p> - -<p>The answer to this question was in Gabriel's heart; but he was -still too deeply awed and affected by what he had heard to give -it utterance.</p> - -<p>"I must tell you, then, what my motive was," said Father Paul. -"You must know first that I uniformly abstained from disclosing -to any one where and by whom my life had been attempted. I kept -this a secret from the men who rescued me—from the surgeon—from -my own friends even. My reason for such a proceeding was, I would -fain believe, a Christian reason. I hope I had always felt a -sincere and humble desire to prove myself, by the help of God, -worthy of the sacred vocation to which I was destined. But my -miraculous escape from death made an impression on my mind, which -gave me another and an infinitely higher view of this -vocation—the view which I have since striven, and shall always -strive for the future, to maintain. As I lay, during the first -days of my recovery, examining my own heart, and considering in -what manner it would be my duty to act toward your father when I -was restored to health, a thought came into my mind which calmed, -comforted, and resolved all my doubts. I said within myself, 'In -a few months more I shall be called to be one of the chosen -ministers of God. If I am worthy of my vocation, my first desire -toward this man who has attempted to take my life should be, not -to know that human justice has overtaken him, but to know that he -has truly and religiously repented and made atonement for his -guilt. To such repentance and atonement let it be my duty to call -him; if he reject that appeal, and be hardened only the more -against me because I have forgiven him my injuries, then it will -be time enough to denounce him for his crimes to his fellow-men. -Surely it must be well for me, here and hereafter, if I begin my -career in the holy priesthood by helping to save from hell the -soul of the man who, of all others, has most cruelly wronged me.' -It was for this reason, Gabriel—it was because I desired to go -straightway to your father's cottage, and reclaim him after he -had believed me to be dead—that I kept the secret and entreated -of my superiors that I might be sent to Brittany. But this, as I -have said, was not to be at first, and when my desire was -granted, my place was assigned me in a far district. The -persecution under which we still suffer broke out; the designs of -my life were changed; my own will became no longer mine to guide -me. But, through sorrow and suffering, and danger and bloodshed, -I am now led, after many days, to the execution of that first -purpose which I formed on entering the priesthood. Gabriel, when -the service is over, and the congregation are dispersed, you must -guide me to the door of your father's cottage."</p> - -<p>He held up his hand, in sign of silence, as Gabriel was about to -answer. Just then the officiating priests above were pronouncing -the final benediction. When it was over, Father Paul opened the -cabin door. As he ascended the steps, followed by Gabriel, Pere -Bonan met them. The old man looked doubtfully and searchingly on -his future son-in-law, as he respectfully whispered a few words -in the ear of the priest. Father Paul listened attentively, -answered in a whisper, and then turned to Gabriel, first begging -the few people near them to withdraw a little.</p> - -<p>"I have been asked whether there is any impediment to your -marriage," he said, "and have answered that there is none. What -you have said to me has been said in confession, and is a secret -between us two. Remember that; and forget not, at the same time, -the service which I shall require of you to-night, after the -marriage-ceremony is over. Where is Perrine Bonan?" he added, -aloud, looking round him. Perrine came forward. Father Paul took -her hand and placed it in Gabriel's. "Lead her to the altar -steps," he said, "and wait there for me."</p> - -<p>It was more than an hour later; the boats had left the ship's -side; the congregation had dispersed over the face of the -country—but still the vessel remained at anchor. Those who were -left in her watched the land more anxiously than usual; for they -knew that Father Paul had risked meeting the soldiers of the -Republic by trusting himself on shore. A boat was awaiting his -return on the beach; half of the crew, armed, being posted as -scouts in various directions on the high land of the heath. They -would have followed and guarded the priest to the place of his -destination; but he forbade it; and, leaving them abruptly, -walked swiftly onward with one young man only for his companion.</p> - -<p>Gabriel had committed his brother and his sisters to the charge -of Perrine. They were to go to the farmhouse that night with his -newly-married wife and her father and mother. Father Paul had -desired that this might be done. When Gabriel and he were left -alone to follow the path which led to the fisherman's cottage, -the priest never spoke while they walked on—never looked aside -either to the right or the left—always held his ivory crucifix -clasped to his breast. They arrived at the door.</p> - -<p>"Knock," whispered Father Paul to Gabriel, "and then wait here -with me."</p> - -<p>The door was opened. On a lovely moonlight night Francois Sarzeau -had stood on that threshold, years since, with a bleeding body -in his arms. On a lovely moonlight night he now stood there -again, confronting the very man whose life he had attempted, and -knowing him not.</p> - -<p>Father Paul advanced a few paces, so that the moonlight fell -fuller on his features, and removed his hat.</p> - -<p>Francois Sarzeau looked, started, moved one step back, then stood -motionless and perfectly silent, while all traces of expression -of any kind suddenly vanished from his face. Then the calm, clear -tones of the priest stole gently on the dead silence. "I bring a -message of peace and forgiveness from a guest of former years," -he said; and pointed, as he spoke, to the place where he had been -wounded in the neck.</p> - -<p>For one moment, Gabriel saw his father trembling violently from -head to foot—then his limbs steadied again—stiffened suddenly, -as if struck by catalepsy. His lips parted, but without -quivering; his eyes glared, but without moving in the orbits. The -lovely moonlight itself looked ghastly and horrible, shining on -the supernatural panic deformity of that face! Gabriel turned -away his head in terror. He heard the voice of Father Paul saying -to him: "Wait here till I come back."</p> - -<p>Then there was an instant of silence again—then a low groaning -sound that seemed to articulate the name of God; a sound unlike -his father's voice, unlike any human voice he had ever heard—and -then the noise of a closing door. He looked up, and saw that he -was standing alone before the cottage.</p> - -<p>Once, after an interval, he approached the window.</p> - -<p>He just saw through it the hand of the priest holding on high the -ivory crucifix; but stopped not to see more, for he heard such -words, such sounds, as drove him back to his former place. There -he stayed, until the noise of something falling heavily within -the cottage struck on his ear. Again he advanced toward the door; -heard Father Paul praying; listened for several minutes; then -heard a moaning voice, now joining itself to the voice of the -priest, now choked in sobs and bitter wailing. Once more he went -back out of hearing, and stirred not again from his place. He -waited a long and a weary time there—so long that one of the -scouts on the lookout came toward him, evidently suspicious of -the delay in the priest's return. He waved the man back, and then -looked again toward the door. At last he saw it open—saw Father -Paul approach him, leading Francois Sarzeau by the hand.</p> - -<p>The fisherman never raised his downcast eyes to his son's face; -tears trickled silently over his cheeks; he followed the hand -that led him, as a little child might have followed it, listened -anxiously and humbly at the priest's side to every word that he -spoke.</p> - -<p>"Gabriel," said Father Paul, in a voice which trembled a little -for the first time that night—"Gabriel, it has pleased God to -grant the perfect fulfillment of the purpose which brought me to -this place; I tell you this, as all that you need—as all, I -believe, that you would wish—to know of what has passed while -you have been left waiting for me here. Such words as I have now -to speak to you are spoken by your father's earnest desire. It is -his own wish that I should communicate to you his confession of -having secretly followed you to the Merchant's Table, and of -having discovered (as you discovered) that no evidence of his -guilt remained there. This admission, he thinks, will be enough -to account for his conduct toward yourself from that time to -this. I have next to tell you (also at your father's desire) that -he has promised in my presence, and now promises again in yours, -sincerity of repentance in this manner: When the persecution of -our religion has ceased—as cease it will, and that speedily, be -assured of it—he solemnly pledges himself henceforth to devote -his life, his strength and what worldly possessions he may have, -or may acquire, to the task of re-erecting and restoring the -road-side crosses which have been sacrilegiously overthrown and -destroyed in his native province, and to doing good, go where he -may. I have now said all that is required of me, and may bid you -farewell—bearing with me the happy remembrance that I have left -a father and son reconciled and restored to each other. May God -bless and prosper you, and those dear to you, Gabriel! May God -accept your father's repentance, and bless him also throughout -his future life!"</p> - -<p>He took their hands, pressed them long and warmly, then turned -and walked quickly down the path which led to the beach. Gabriel -dared not trust himself yet to speak; but he raised his arm, and -put it gently round his father's neck. The two stood together so, -looking out dimly through the tears that filled their eyes to the -sea. They saw the boat put off in the bright track of the -moonlight, and reach the vessel's side; they watched the -spreading of the sails, and followed the slow course of the ship -till she disappeared past a distant headland from sight.</p> - -<p>After that, they went into the cottage together. They knew it not -then, but they had seen the last, in this world, of Father Paul.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER V.</h4> - -<p>The events foretold by the good priest happened sooner even than -he had anticipated. A new government ruled the destinies of -France, and the persecution ceased in Brittany.</p> - -<p>Among other propositions which were then submitted to the -Parliament, was one advocating the restoration of the road-side -crosses throughout the province. It was found, however, on -inquiry, that these crosses were to be counted by thousands, and -that the mere cost of wood required to re-erect them necessitated -an expenditure of money which the bankrupt nation could ill -afford to spare. While this project was under discussion, and -before it was finally rejected, one man had undertaken the task -which the Government shrank from attempting. When Gabriel left -the cottage, taking his brother and sisters to live with his wife -and himself at the farmhouse, Francois Sarzeau left it also, to -perform in highway and byway his promise to Father Paul. For -months and months he labored without intermission at his task; -still, always doing good, and rendering help and kindness and -true charity to any whom he could serve. He walked many a weary -mile, toiled through many a hard day's work, humbled himself even -to beg of others, to get wood enough to restore a single cross. -No one ever heard him complain, ever saw him impatient, ever -detected him in faltering at his task. The shelter in an -outhouse, the crust of bread and drink of water, which he could -always get from the peasantry, seemed to suffice him. Among the -people who watched his perseverance, a belief began to gain -ground that his life would be miraculously prolonged until he had -completed his undertaking from one end of Brittany to the other. -But this was not to be.</p> - -<p>He was seen one cold autumn evening, silently and steadily at -work as usual, setting up a new cross on the site of one which -had been shattered to splinters in the troubled times. In the -morning he was found lying dead beneath the sacred symbol which -his own hands had completed and erected in its place during the -night. They buried him where he lay; and the priest who -consecrated the ground allowed Gabriel to engrave his father's -epitaph in the wood of the cross. It was simply the initial -letters of the dead man's name, followed by this inscription: -"Pray for the repose of his soul: he died penitent, and the doer -of good works."</p> - -<p>Once, and once only, did Gabriel hear anything of Father Paul. -The good priest showed, by writing to the farmhouse, that he had -not forgotten the family so largely indebted to him for their -happiness. The letter was dated "Rome." Father Paul said that -such services as he had been permitted to render to the Church in -Brittany had obtained for him a new and a far more glorious trust -than any he had yet held. He had been recalled from his curacy, -and appointed to be at the head of a mission which was shortly to -be dispatched to convert the inhabitants of a savage and far -distant land to the Christian faith. He now wrote, as his -brethren with him were writing, to take leave of all friends -forever in this world, before setting out—for it was well known -to the chosen persons intrusted with the new mission that they -could only hope to advance its object by cheerfully risking their -own lives for the sake of their religion. He gave his blessing to -Francois Sarzeau, to Gabriel, and to his family; and bade them -affectionately farewell for the last time.</p> - -<p>There was a postscript to the letter, which was addressed to -Perrine, and which she often read afterward with tearful eyes. -The writer begged that, if she should have any children, she -would show her friendly and Christian remembrance of him by -teaching them to pray (as he hoped she herself would pray) that a -blessing might attend Father Paul's labors in the distant land.</p> - -<p>The priest's loving petition was never forgotten. When Perrine -taught its first prayer to her first child, the little creature -was instructed to end the few simple words pronounced at its -mother's knees, with, "God bless Father Paul."</p> - - -<p>In those words the nun concluded her narrative. After it was -ended, she pointed to the old wooden cross, and said to me:</p> - -<p>"That was one of the many that he made. It was found, a few years -since, to have suffered so much from exposure to the weather that -it was unfit to remain any longer in its old place. A priest in -Brittany gave it to one of the nuns in this convent. Do you -wonder now that the Mother Superior always calls it a Relic?"</p> - -<p>"No," I answered. "And I should have small respect indeed for the -religious convictions of any one who could hear the story of that -wooden cross, and not feel that the Mother Superior's name for it -is the very best that could have been chosen."</p> - -<h3><a name="prologue6" id="prologue6"></a>PROLOGUE TO THE SIXTH STORY.</h3> - -<p>On the last occasion when I made a lengthened stay in London, my -wife and I were surprised and amused one morning by the receipt -of the following note, addressed to me in a small, crabbed, -foreign-looking handwriting.</p> - - -<p>"Professor Tizzi presents amiable compliments to Mr. Kerby, the -artist, and is desirous of having his portrait done, to be -engraved from, and placed at the beginning of the voluminous work -on 'The Vital Principle; or, Invisible Essence of Life,' which -the Professor is now preparing for the press—and posterity.</p> - -<p>"The Professor will give five pounds; and will look upon his face -with satisfaction, as an object perpetuated for public -contemplation at a reasonable rate, if Mr. Kerby will accept the -sum just mentioned.</p> - -<p>"In regard to the Professor's ability to pay five pounds, as well -as to offer them, if Mr. Kerby should, from ignorance, entertain -injurious doubts, he is requested to apply to the Professor's -honorable friend, Mr. Lanfray, of Rockleigh Place."</p> - -<p>But for the reference at the end of this strange note, I should -certainly have considered it as a mere trap set to make a fool of -me by some mischievous friend. As it was, I rather doubted the -propriety of taking any serious notice of Professor Tizzi's -offer; and I might probably have ended by putting the letter in -the fire without further thought about it, but for the arrival by -the next post of a note from Mr. Lanfray, which solved all my -doubts, and sent me away at once to make the acquaintance of the -learned discoverer of the Essence of Life.</p> - -<p>"Do not be surprised" (Mr. Lanfray wrote) "if you get a strange -note from a very eccentric Italian, one Professor Tizzi, formerly -of the University of Padua. I have known him for some years. -Scientific inquiry is his monomania, and vanity his ruling -passion. He has written a book on the principle of life, which -nobody but himself will ever read; but which he is determined to -publish, with his own portrait for frontispiece. If it is worth -your while to accept the little he can offer you, take it by all -means, for he is a character worth knowing. He was exiled, I -should tell you, years ago, for some absurd political reason, and -has lived in England ever since. All the money he inherits from -his father, who was a mail contractor in the north of Italy, goes -in books and experiments; but I think I can answer for his -solvency, at any rate, for the large sum of five pounds. If you -are not very much occupied just now, go and see him. He is sure -to amuse you."</p> - -<p>Professor Tizzi lived in the northern suburb of London. On -approaching his house, I found it, so far as outward appearance -went, excessively dirty and neglected, but in no other respect -different from the "villas" in its neighborhood. The front garden -door, after I had rang twice, was opened by a yellow-faced, -suspicious old foreigner, dressed in worn-out clothes, and -completely and consistently dirty all over, from top to toe. On -mentioning my name and business, this old man led me across a -weedy, neglected garden, and admitted me into the house. At the -first step into the passage, I was surrounded by books. Closely -packed in plain wooden shelves, they ran all along the wall on -either side to the back of the house; and when I looked up at the -carpetless staircase, I saw nothing but books again, running all -the way up the wall, as far as my eye could reach. "Here is the -Artist Painter!" cried the old servant, throwing open one of the -parlor doors, before I had half done looking at the books, and -signing impatiently to me to walk into the room.</p> - -<p>Books again! all round the walls, and all over the floor—among -them a plain deal table, with leaves of manuscript piled high on -every part of it—among the leaves a head of long, elfish white -hair covered with a black skull-cap, and bent down over a -book—above the head a sallow, withered hand shaking itself at me -as a sign that I must not venture to speak just at that -moment—on the tops of the bookcases glass vases full of spirits -of some kind, with horrible objects floating in the liquid—dirt -on the window panes, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, dust -springing up in clouds under my intruding feet. These were the -things I observed on first entering the study of Professor Tizzi.</p> - -<p>After I had waited for a minute or so, the shaking hand stopped, -descended with a smack on the nearest pile of manuscript, seized -the book that the head had been bending over, and flung it -contemptuously to the other end of the room. "I've refuted <i>you</i>, -at any rate!" said Professor Tizzi, looking with extreme -complacency at the cloud of dust raised by the fall of the -rejected volume.</p> - -<p>He turned next to me. What a grand face it was! What a broad, -white forehead—-what fiercely brilliant black eyes—what perfect -regularity and refinement in the other features; with the long, -venerable hair, framing them in, as it were, on either side! Poor -as I was, I felt that I could have painted his portrait for -nothing. Titian, Vandyke, Valasquez—any of the three would have -paid him to sit to them!</p> - -<p>"Accept my humblest excuses, sir," said the old man, speaking -English with a singularly pure accent for a foreigner. "That -absurd book plunged me so deep down in the quagmires of sophistry -and error, Mr. Kerby, that I really could not get to the surface -at once when you came into the room. So you are willing to draw -my likeness for such a small sum as five pounds?" he continued, -rising, and showing me that he wore a long black velvet gown, -instead of the paltry and senseless costume of modern times.</p> - -<p>I informed him that five pounds was as much as I generally got -for a drawing.</p> - -<p>"It seems little," said the professor; "but if you want fame, I -can make it up to you in that way. There is my great work" (he -pointed to the piles of manuscript), "the portrait of my mind and -the mirror of my learning; put a likeness of my face on the first -page, and posterity will then be thoroughly acquainted with me, -outside and in. Your portrait will be engraved, Mr. Kerby, and -your name shall be inscribed under the print. You shall be -associated, sir, in that way, with a work which will form an -epoch in the history of human science. The Vital Principle—or, -in other words, the essence of that mysterious Something which we -call Life, and which extends down from Man to the feeblest insect -and the smallest plant—has been an unguessed riddle from the -beginning of the world to the present time. I alone have found -the answer; and here it is!" He fixed his dazzling eyes on me in -triumph, and smacked the piles of manuscript fiercely with both -his sallow hands.</p> - -<p>I saw that he was waiting for me to say something; so I asked if -his great work had not cost a vast expenditure of time and pains.</p> - -<p>"I am seventy, sir," said the Professor; "and I began preparing -myself for that book at twenty. After mature consideration, I -have written it in English (having three other foreign languages -at my fingers' ends), as a substantial proof of my gratitude to -the nation that has given me an asylum. Perhaps you think the -work looks rather long in its manuscript state? It will occupy -twelve volumes, sir, and it is not half long enough, even then, -for the subject. I take two volumes (and no man could do it in -less) to examine the theories of all the philosophers in the -world, ancient and modern, on the Vital Principle. I take two -more (and little enough) to scatter every one of the theories, -<i>seriatim</i>, to the winds. I take two more (at the risk, for -brevity's sake, of doing things by halves) to explain the exact -stuff, or vital compound, of which the first man and woman in the -world were made—calling them Adam and Eve, out of deference to -popular prejudices. I take two more—but you are standing all -this time, Mr. Kerby; and I am talking instead of sitting for my -portrait. Pray take any books you want, anywhere off the floor, -and make a seat of any height you please. Furniture would only be -in my way here, so I don't trouble myself with anything of the -kind."</p> - -<p>I obediently followed the Professor's directions, and had just -heaped up a pile of grimy quartos, when the old servant entered -the room with a shabby little tray in his hand. In the middle of -the tray I saw a crust of bread and a bit of garlic, encircled by -a glass of water, a knife, salt, pepper, a bottle of vinegar, and -a flask of oil.</p> - -<p>"With your permission, I am going to breakfast," said Professor -Tizzi, as the tray was set down before him on the part of his -great work relating to the vital compound of Adam and Eve. As he -spoke, he took up the piece of bread, and rubbed the crusty part -of it with the bit of garlic, till it looked as polished as a new -dining-table. That done, he turned the bread, crumb uppermost, -and saturated it with oil, added a few drops of vinegar, -sprinkled with pepper and salt, and, with a gleam of something -very like greediness in his bright eyes, took up the knife to cut -himself a first mouthful of the horrible mess that he had just -concocted. "The best of breakfasts," said the Professor, seeing -me look amazed. "Not a cannibal meal of chicken-life in embryo -(vulgarly called an egg); not a dog's gorge of a dead animal's -flesh, blood and bones, warmed with fire (popularly known as a -chop); not a breakfast, sir, that lions, tigers, Caribbees, and -costermongers could all partake of alike; but an innocent, -nutritive, simple, vegetable meal; a philosopher's refection, a -breakfast that a prize-fighter would turn from in disgust, and -that a Plato would share with relish."</p> - -<p>I have no doubt that he was right, and that I was prejudiced; but -as I saw the first oily, vinegary, garlicky morsel slide -noiselessly into his mouth, I began to feel rather sick. My hands -were dirty with moving the books, and I asked if I could wash -them before beginning to work at the likeness, as a good excuse -for getting out of the room, while Professor Tizzi was unctuously -disposing of his simple vegetable meal.</p> - -<p>The philosopher looked a little astonished at my request, as if -the washing of hands at irregular times and seasons offered a -comparatively new subject of contemplation to him; but he rang a -hand-bell on his table immediately, and told the old servant to -take me up into his bedroom.</p> - -<p>The interior of the parlor had astonished me; but a sight of the -bedroom was a new sensation—not of the most agreeable kind. The -couch on which the philosopher sought repose after his labors was -a truckle-bed that would not have fetched half a crown at a sale. -On one side of it dangled from the ceiling a complete male -skeleton, looking like all that was left of a man who might have -hung himself about a century ago, and who had never been -disturbed since the moment of his suicide. On the other side of -the bed stood a long press, in which I observed hideous colored -preparations of the muscular system, and bottles with curious, -twining, thread-like substances inside them, which might have -been remarkable worms or dissections of nerves, scattered -amicably side by side with the Professor's hair-brush (three -parts worn out), with remnants of his beard on bits of -shaving-paper, with a broken shoe-horn, and with a traveling -looking-glass of the sort usually sold at sixpence apiece. -Repetitions of the litter of books in the parlor lay all about -over the floor; colored anatomical prints were nailed anyhow -against the walls; rolled-up towels were scattered here, there, -and everywhere in the wildest confusion, as if the room had been -bombarded with them; and last, but by no means least remarkable -among the other extraordinary objects in the bed-chamber, the -stuffed figure of a large unshaven poodle-dog, stood on an old -card-table, keeping perpetual watch over a pair of the -philosopher's black breeches twisted round his forepaws.</p> - -<p>I had started, on entering the room, at the skeleton, and I -started once more at the dog. The old servant noticed me each -time with a sardonic grin. "Don't be afraid," he said; "one is as -dead as the other." With these words, he left me to wash my -hands.</p> - -<p>Finding little more than a pint of water at my disposal, and -failing altogether to discover where the soap was kept, I was not -long in performing my ablutions. Before leaving the room, I -looked again at the stuffed poodle. On the board to which he was -fixed, I saw painted in faded letters the word "Scarammuccia," -evidently the comic Italian name to which he had answered in his -lifetime. There was no other inscription; but I made up my mind -that the dog must have been the Professor's pet, and that he kept -the animal stuffed in his bedroom as a remembrance of past times. -"Who would have suspected so great a philosopher of having so -much heart!" thought I, leaving the bedroom to go downstairs -again.</p> - -<p>The Professor had done his breakfast, and was anxious to begin -the sitting; so I took out my chalks and paper, and set to work -at once—I seated on one pile of books and he on another.</p> - -<p>"Fine anatomical preparations in my room, are there not, Mr. -Kerby?" said the old gentleman. "Did you notice a very -interesting and perfect arrangement of the intestinal ganglia? -They form the subject of an important chapter in my great work."</p> - -<p>"I am afraid you will think me very ignorant," I replied. "But I -really do not know the intestinal ganglia when I see them. The -object I noticed with most curiosity in your room was something -more on a level with my own small capacity."</p> - -<p>"And what was that?" asked the Professor.</p> - -<p>"The figure of the stuffed poodle. I suppose he was a favorite of -yours?"</p> - -<p>"Of mine? No, no; a young woman's favorite, sir, before I was -born; and a very remarkable dog, too. The vital principle in that -poodle, Mr. Kerby, must have been singularly intensified. He -lived to a fabulous old age, and he was clever enough to play an -important part of his own in what you English call a Romance of -Real Life! If I could only have dissected that poodle, I would -have put him into my book; he should have headed my chapter on -the Vital Principle of Beasts."</p> - -<p>"Here is a story in prospect," thought I, "if I can only keep his -attention up to the subject."</p> - -<p>"He should have figured in my great work, sir," the Professor -went on. "Scarammuccia should have taken his place among the -examples that prove my new theory; but unfortunately he died -before I was born. His mistress gave him, stuffed, as you see -upstairs, to my father to take care of for her, and he has -descended as an heirloom to me. Talking of dogs, Mr. Kerby, I -have ascertained, beyond the possibility of doubt, that the -brachial plexus in people who die of hydrophobia—but stop! I had -better show you how it is—the preparation is upstairs under my -wash-hand stand."</p> - -<p>He left his seat as he spoke. In another minute he would have -sent the servant to fetch the "preparation," and I should have -lost the story. At the risk of his taking offense, I begged him -not to move just then, unless he wished me to spoil his likeness. -This alarmed, but fortunately did not irritate him. He returned -to his seat, and I resumed the subject of the stuffed poodle, -asking him boldly to tell me the story with which the dog was -connected. The demand seemed to impress him with no very -favorable opinion of my intellectual tastes; but he complied with -it, and related, not without many a wearisome digression to the -subject of his great work, the narrative which I propose calling -by the name of "The Yellow Mask." After the slight specimens that -I have given of his character and style of conversation, it will -be almost unnecessary for me to premise that I tell this story as -I have told the last, and "Sister Rose," in my own language, and -according to my own plan in the disposition of the -incidents—adding nothing, of course, to the facts, but keeping -them within the limits which my disposable space prescribes to -me.</p> - -<p>I may perhaps be allowed to add in this place, that I have not -yet seen or heard of my portrait in an engraved state. Professor -Tizzi is still alive; but I look in vain through the publishers' -lists for an announcement of his learned work on the Vital -Principle. Possibly he may be adding a volume or two to the -twelve already completed, by way of increasing the debt which a -deeply obliged posterity is, sooner or later, sure of owing to -him.</p> - -<h2><a name="story6" id="story6"></a> -THE PROFESSOR'S STORY<br />OF<br />THE YELLOW MASK.</h2> - -<h3>PART FIRST.</h3> - -<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> - -<p>About a century ago, there lived in the ancient city of Pisa a -famous Italian milliner, who, by way of vindicating to all -customers her familiarity with Paris fashions, adopted a French -title, and called herself the Demoiselle Grifoni. She was a wizen -little woman with a mischievous face, a quick tongue, a nimble -foot, a talent for business, and an uncertain disposition. Rumor -hinted that she was immensely rich, and scandal suggested that -she would do anything for money.</p> - -<p>The one undeniable good quality which raised Demoiselle Grifoni -above all her rivals in the trade was her inexhaustible -fortitude. She was never known to yield an inch under any -pressure of adverse circumstances Thus the memorable occasion of -her life on which she was threatened with ruin was also the -occasion on which she most triumphantly asserted the energy and -decision of her character. At the height of the demoiselle's -prosperity her skilled forewoman and cutter-out basely married -and started in business as her rival. Such a calamity as this -would have ruined an ordinary milliner; but the invincible -Grifoni rose superior to it almost without an effort, and proved -incontestably that it was impossible for hostile Fortune to catch -her at the end of her resources. While the minor milliners were -prophesying that she would shut up shop, she was quietly carrying -on a private correspondence with an agent in Paris. Nobody knew -what these letters were about until a few weeks had elapsed, and -then circulars were received by all the ladies in Pisa, -announcing that the best French forewoman who could be got for -money was engaged to superintend the great Grifoni establishment. -This master-stroke decided the victory. All the demoiselle's -customers declined giving orders elsewhere until the forewoman -from Paris had exhibited to the natives of Pisa the latest -fashions from the metropolis of the world of dress.</p> - -<p>The Frenchwoman arrived punctual to the appointed day—glib and -curt, smiling and flippant, tight of face and supple of figure. -Her name was Mademoiselle Virginie, and her family had inhumanly -deserted her. She was set to work the moment she was inside the -doors of the Grifoni establishment. A room was devoted to her own -private use; magnificent materials in velvet, silk, and satin, -with due accompaniment of muslins, laces, and ribbons were placed -at her disposal; she was told to spare no expense, and to -produce, in the shortest possible time, the finest and nearest -specimen dresses for exhibition in the show-room. Mademoiselle -Virginie undertook to do everything required of her, produced her -portfolios of patterns and her book of colored designs, and asked -for one assistant who could speak French enough to interpret her -orders to the Italian girls in the work-room.</p> - -<p>"I have the very person you want," cried Demoiselle Grifoni. "A -work-woman we call Brigida here—the idlest slut in Pisa, but as -sharp as a needle—has been in France, and speaks the language -like a native. I'll send her to you directly."</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle Virginie was not left long alone with her patterns -and silks. A tall woman, with bold black eyes, a reckless manner, -and a step as firm as a man's, stalked into the room with the -gait of a tragedy-queen crossing the stage. The instant her eyes -fell on the French forewoman, she stopped, threw up her hands in -astonishment, and exclaimed, "Finette!"</p> - -<p>"Teresa!" cried the Frenchwoman, casting her scissors on the -table, and advancing a few steps.</p> - -<p>"Hush! call me Brigida."</p> - -<p>"Hush! call me Virginie."</p> - -<p>These two exclamations were uttered at the same moment, and then -the two women scrutinized each other in silence. The swarthy -cheeks of the Italian turned to a dull yellow, and the voice of -the Frenchwoman trembled a little when she spoke again.</p> - -<p>"How, in the name of Heaven, have you dropped down in the world -as low as this?" she asked. "I thought you were provided for -when—"</p> - -<p>"Silence!" interrupted Brigida. "You see I was not provided for. -I have had my misfortunes; and you are the last woman alive who -ought to refer to them."</p> - -<p>"Do you think I have not had my misfortunes, too, since we met?" -(Brigida's face brightened maliciously at those words.) "You have -had your revenge," continued Mademoiselle Virginie, coldly, -turning away to the table and taking up the scissors again.</p> - -<p>Brigida followed her, threw one arm roughly round her neck, and -kissed her on the cheek. "Let us be friends again," she said. The -Frenchwoman laughed. "Tell me how I have had my revenge," pursued -the other, tightening her grasp. Mademoiselle Virginie signed to -Brigida to stoop, and whispered rapidly in her ear. The Italian -listened eagerly, with fierce, suspicious eyes fixed on the door. -When the whispering ceased, she loosened her hold, and, with a -sigh of relief, pushed back her heavy black hair from her -temples. "Now we are friends," she said, and sat down indolently -in a chair placed by the worktable.</p> - -<p>"Friends," repeated Mademoiselle Virginie, with another laugh. -"And now for business," she continued, getting a row of pins -ready for use by putting them between her teeth. "I am here, I -believe, for the purpose of ruining the late forewoman, who has -set up in opposition to us? Good! I <i>will</i> ruin her. Spread out -the yellow brocaded silk, my dear, and pin that pattern on at -your end, while I pin at mine. And what are your plans, Brigida? -(Mind you don't forget that Finette is dead, and that Virginie -has risen from her ashes.) You can't possibly intend to stop here -all your life? (Leave an inch outside the paper, all round.) You -must have projects? What are they?"</p> - -<p>"Look at my figure," said Brigida, placing herself in an attitude -in the middle of the room.</p> - -<p>"Ah," rejoined the other, "it's not what it was. There's too much -of it. You want diet, walking, and a French stay-maker," muttered -Mademoiselle Virginie through her chevaus-defrise of pins.</p> - -<p>"Did the goddess Minerva walk, and employ a French stay-maker? -I thought she rode upon clouds, and lived at -a period before waists were invented."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"This—that my present project is to try if I can't make my -fortune by sitting as a model for Minerva in the studio of the -best sculptor in Pisa."</p> - -<p>"And who is he! (Unwind me a yard or two of that black lace.)"</p> - -<p>"The master-sculptor, Luca Lomi—an old family, once noble, but -down in the world now. The master is obliged to make statues to -get a living for his daughter and himself."</p> - -<p>"More of the lace—double it over the bosom of the dress. And how -is sitting to this needy sculptor to make your fortune?"</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute. There are other sculptors besides him in the -studio. There is, first, his brother, the priest—Father Rocco, -who passes all his spare time with the master. He is a good -sculptor in his way—has cast statues and made a font for his -church—a holy man, who devotes all his work in the studio to the -cause of piety."</p> - -<p>"Ah, bah! we should think him a droll priest in France. (More -pins.) You don't expect <i>him</i> to put money in your pocket, -surely?"</p> - -<p>"Wait, I say again. There is a third sculptor in the -studio—actually a nobleman! His name is Fabio d'Ascoli. He is -rich, young, handsome, an only child, and little better than a -fool. Fancy his working at sculpture, as if he had his bread to -get by it—and thinking that an amusement! Imagine a man -belonging to one of the best families in Pisa mad enough to want -to make a reputation as an artist! Wait! wait! the best is to -come. His father and mother are dead—he has no near relations in -the world to exercise authority over him—he is a bachelor, and -his fortune is all at his own disposal; going a-begging, my -friend; absolutely going a-begging for want of a clever woman to -hold out her hand and take it from him."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes—now I understand. The goddess Minerva is a clever -woman, and she will hold out her hand and take his fortune from -him with the utmost docility."</p> - -<p>"The first thing is to get him to offer it. I must tell you that -I am not going to sit to him, but to his master, Luca Lomi, who -is doing the statue of Minerva. The face is modeled from his -daughter; and now he wants somebody to sit for the bust and arms. -Maddalena Lomi and I are as nearly as possible the same height, I -hear—the difference between us being that I have a good figure -and she has a bad one. I have offered to sit, through a friend -who is employed in the studio. If the master accepts, I am sure -of an introduction to our rich young gentleman; and then leave it -to my good looks, my various accomplishments, and my ready -tongue, to do the rest."</p> - -<p>"Stop! I won't have the lace doubled, on second thoughts. I'll -have it single, and running all round the dress in curves—so. -Well, and who is this friend of yours employed in the studio? A -fourth sculptor?"</p> - -<p>"No, no; the strangest, simplest little creature—"</p> - -<p>Just then a faint tap was audible at the door of the room.</p> - -<p>Brigida laid her finger on her lips, and called impatiently to -the person outside to come in.</p> - -<p>The door opened gently, and a young girl, poorly but very neatly -dressed, entered the room. She was rather thin and under the -average height; but her head and figure were in perfect -proportion. Her hair was of that gorgeous auburn color, her eyes -of that deep violet-blue, which the portraits of Giorgione and -Titian have made famous as the type of Venetian beauty. Her -features possessed the definiteness and regularity, the "good -modeling" (to use an artist's term), which is the rarest of all -womanly charms, in Italy as elsewhere. The one serious defect of -her face was its paleness. Her cheeks, wanting nothing in form, -wanted everything in color. That look of health, which is the -essential crowning-point of beauty, was the one attraction which -her face did not possess.</p> - -<p>She came into the room with a sad and weary expression in her -eyes, which changed, however, the moment she observed the -magnificently-dressed French forewoman, into a look of -astonishment, and almost of awe. Her manner became shy and -embarrassed; and after an instant of hesitation, she turned back -silently to the door.</p> - -<p>"Stop, stop, Nanina," said Brigida, in Italian. "Don't be afraid -of that lady. She is our new forewoman; and she has it in her -power to do all sorts of kind things for you. Look up, and tell -us what you want You were sixteen last birthday, Nanina, and you -behave like a baby of two years old!"</p> - -<p>"I only came to know if there was any work for me to-day," said -the girl, in a very sweet voice, that trembled a little as she -tried to face the fashionable French forewoman again.</p> - -<p>"No work, child, that is easy enough for you to do," said -Brigida. "Are you going to the studio to-day?"</p> - -<p>Some of the color that Nanina's cheeks wanted began to steal over -them as she answered "Yes."</p> - -<p>"Don't forget my message, darling. And if Master Luca Lomi asks -where I live, answer that you are ready to deliver a letter to -me; but that you are forbidden to enter into any particulars at -first about who I am, or where I live."</p> - -<p>"Why am I forbidden?" inquired Nanina, innocently.</p> - -<p>"Don't ask questions, baby! Do as you are told. Bring me back a -nice note or message to-morrow from the studio, and I will -intercede with this lady to get you some work. You are a foolish -child to want it, when you might make more money here and at -Florence, by sitting to painters and sculptors; though what they -can see to paint or model in you I never could understand."</p> - -<p>"I like working at home better than going abroad to sit," said -Nanina, looking very much abashed as she faltered out the answer, -and escaping from the room with a terrified farewell obeisance, -which was an eccentric compound of a start, a bow, and a -courtesy.</p> - -<p>"That awkward child would be pretty," said Mademoiselle Virginie, -making rapid progress with the cutting-out of her dress, "if she -knew how to give herself a complexion, and had a presentable gown -on her back. Who is she?"</p> - -<p>"The friend who is to get me into Master Luca Lomi's studio," -replied Brigida, laughing. "Rather a curious ally for me to take -up with, isn't she?"</p> - -<p>"Where did you meet with her?"</p> - -<p>"Here, to be sure; she hangs about this place for any plain work -she can get to do, and takes it home to the oddest little room in -a street near the Campo Santo. I had the curiosity to follow her -one day, and knocked at her door soon after she had gone in, as -if I was a visitor. She answered my knock in a great flurry and -fright, as you may imagine. I made myself agreeable, affected -immense interest in her affairs, and so got into her room. Such a -place! A mere corner of it curtained off to make a bedroom. One -chair, one stool, one saucepan on the fire. Before the hearth the -most grotesquely hideous unshaven poodle-dog you ever saw; and on -the stool a fair little girl plaiting dinner-mats. Such was the -household—furniture and all included. 'Where is your father?' I -asked. 'He ran away and left us years ago,' answers my awkward -little friend who has just left the room, speaking in that simple -way of hers, with all the composure in the world. 'And your -mother?'—'Dead.' She went up to the little mat-plaiting girl as -she gave that answer, and began playing with her long flaxen -hair. 'Your sister, I suppose,' said I. 'What is her -name?'—'They call me La Biondella,' says the child, looking up -from her mat (La Biondella, Virginie, means The Fair). 'And why -do you let that great, shaggy, ill-looking brute lie before your -fireplace?' I asked. 'Oh!' cried the little mat-plaiter, 'that is -our dear old dog, Scarammuccia. He takes care of the house when -Nanina is not at home. He dances on his hind legs, and jumps -through a hoop, and tumbles down dead when I cry Bang! -Scarammuccia followed us home one night, years ago, and he has -lived with us ever since. He goes out every day by himself, we -can't tell where, and generally returns licking his chops, which -makes us afraid that he is a thief; but nobody finds him out, -because he is the cleverest dog that ever lived!' The child ran -on in this way about the great beast by the fireplace, till I was -obliged to stop her; while that simpleton Nanina stood by, -laughing and encouraging her. I asked them a few more questions, -which produced some strange answers. They did not seem to know of -any relations of theirs in the world. The neighbors in the house -had helped them, after their father ran away, until they were old -enough to help themselves; and they did not seem to think there -was anything in the least wretched or pitiable in their way of -living. The last thing I heard, when I left them that day, was La -Biondella crying 'Bang!'—then a bark, a thump on the floor, and -a scream of laughter. If it was not for their dog, I should go -and see them oftener. But the ill-conditioned beast has taken a -dislike to me, and growls and shows his teeth whenever I come -near him."</p> - -<p>"The girl looked sickly when she came in here. Is she always like -that?"</p> - -<p>"No. She has altered within the last month. I suspect our -interesting young nobleman has produced an impression. The -oftener the girl has sat to him lately, the paler and more out of -spirits she has become."</p> - -<p>"Oh! she has sat to him, has she?"</p> - -<p>"She is sitting to him now. He is doing a bust of some Pagan -nymph or other, and prevailed on Nanina to let him copy from her -head and face. According to her own account the little fool was -frightened at first, and gave him all the trouble in the world -before she would consent."</p> - -<p>"And now she has consented, don't you think it likely she may -turn out rather a dangerous rival? Men are such fools, and take -such fancies into their heads—"</p> - -<p>"Ridiculous! A thread-paper of a girl like that, who has no -manner, no talk, no intelligence; who has nothing to recommend -her but an awkward, babyish prettiness! Dangerous to me? No, no! -If there is danger at all, I have to dread it from the sculptor's -daughter. I don't mind confessing that I am anxious to see -Maddalena Lomi. But as for Nanina, she will simply be of use to -me. All I know already about the studio and the artists in it, I -know through her. She will deliver my message, and procure me my -introduction; and when we have got so far, I shall give her an -old gown and a shake of the hand; and then, good-by to our little -innocent!"</p> - -<p>"Well, well, for your sake I hope you are the wiser of the two in -this matter. For my part, I always distrust innocence. Wait one -moment, and I shall have the body and sleeves of this dress ready -for the needle-women. There, ring the bell, and order them up; -for I have directions to give, and you must interpret for me."</p> - -<p>While Brigida went to the bell, the energetic Frenchwoman began -planning out the skirt of the new dress. She laughed as she -measured off yard after yard of the silk.</p> - -<p>"What are you laughing about?" asked Brigida, opening the door -and ringing a hand-bell in the passage.</p> - -<p>"I can't help fancying, dear, in spite of her innocent face and -her artless ways, that your young friend is a hypocrite."</p> - -<p>"And I am quite certain, love, that she is only a simpleton."</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> - -<p>The studio of the master-sculptor, Luca Lomi, was composed of two -large rooms unequally divided by a wooden partition, with an -arched doorway cut in the middle of it.</p> - -<p>While the milliners of the Grifoni establishment were -industriously shaping dresses, the sculptors in Luca Lomi's -workshop were, in their way, quite as hard at work shaping marble -and clay. In the smaller of the two rooms the young nobleman -(only addressed in the studio by his Christian name of Fabio) was -busily engaged on his bust, with Nanina sitting before him as a -model. His was not one of those traditional Italian faces from -which subtlety and suspicion are always supposed to look out -darkly on the world at large. Both countenance and expression -proclaimed his character frankly and freely to all who saw him. -Quick intelligence looked brightly from his eyes; and easy good -humor laughed out pleasantly in the rather quaint curve of his -lips. For the rest, his face expressed the defects as well as the -merits of his character, showing that he wanted resolution and -perseverance just as plainly as it showed also that he possessed -amiability and intelligence.</p> - -<p>At the end of the large room, nearest to the street door, Luca -Lomi was standing by his life-size statue of Minerva; and was -issuing directions, from time to time, to some of his workmen, -who were roughly chiseling the drapery of another figure. At the -opposite side of the room, nearest to the partition, his brother, -Father Rocco, was taking a cast from a statuette of the Madonna; -while Maddalena Lomi, the sculptor's daughter, released from -sitting for Minerva's face, walked about the two rooms, and -watched what was going on in them.</p> - -<p>There was a strong family likeness of a certain kind between -father, brother and daughter. All three were tall, handsome, -dark-haired, and dark-eyed; nevertheless, they differed in -expression, strikingly as they resembled one another in feature. -Maddalena Lomi's face betrayed strong passions, but not an -ungenerous nature. Her father, with the same indications of a -violent temper, had some sinister lines about his mouth and -forehead which suggested anything rather than an open -disposition. Father Rocco's countenance, on the other hand, -looked like the personification of absolute calmness and -invincible moderation; and his manner, which, in a very firm way, -was singularly quiet and deliberate, assisted in carrying out the -impression produced by his face. The daughter seemed as if she -could fly into a passion at a moment's notice, and forgive also -at a moment's notice. The father, appearing to be just as -irritable, had something in his face which said, as plainly as if -in words, "Anger me, and I never pardon." The priest looked as if -he need never be called on either to ask forgiveness or to grant -it, for the double reason that he could irritate nobody else, and -that nobody else could irritate him.</p> - -<p>"Rocco," said Luca, looking at the face of his Minerva, which was -now finished, "this statue of mine will make a sensation."</p> - -<p>"I am glad to hear it," rejoined the priest, dryly</p> - -<p>"It is a new thing in art," continued Luca, enthusiastically. -"Other sculptors, with a classical subject like mine, limit -themselves to the ideal classical face, and never think of aiming -at individual character. Now I do precisely the reverse of that. -I get my handsome daughter, Maddalena, to sit for Minerva, and I -make an exact likeness of her. I may lose in ideal beauty, but I -gain in individual character. People may accuse me of -disregarding established rules; but my answer is, that I make my -own rules. My daughter looks like a Minerva, and there she is -exactly as she looks."</p> - -<p>"It is certainly a wonderful likeness," said Father Rocco, -approaching the statue.</p> - -<p>"It the girl herself," cried the other. "Exactly her expression, -and exactly her features. Measure Maddalena, and measure Minerva, -and from forehead to chin, you won't find a hair-breadth of -difference between them."</p> - -<p>"But how about the bust and arms of the figure, now the face is -done?" asked the priest, returning, as he spoke, to his own work.</p> - -<p>"I may have the very model I want for them to-morrow. Little -Nanina has just given me the strangest message. What do you think -of a mysterious lady admirer who offers to sit for the bust and -arms of my Minerva?"</p> - -<p>"Are you going to accept the offer?" inquired the priest.</p> - -<p>"I am going to receive her to-morrow; and if I really find that -she is the same height as Maddalena, and has a bust and arms -worth modeling, of course I shall accept her offer; for she will -be the very sitter I have been looking after for weeks past. Who -can she be? That's the mystery I want to find out. Which do you -say, Rocco—an enthusiast or an adventuress?"</p> - -<p>"I do not presume to say, for I have no means of knowing."</p> - -<p>"Ah, there you are with your moderation again. Now, I do presume -to assert that she must be either one or the other—or she would -not have forbidden Nanina to say anything about her in answer to -all my first natural inquiries. Where is Maddalena? I thought she -was here a minute ago."</p> - -<p>"She is in Fabio's room," answered Father Rocco, softly. "Shall I -call her?"</p> - -<p>"No, no!" returned Luca. He stopped, looked round at the workmen, -who were chipping away mechanically at their bit of drapery; -then advanced close to the priest, with a cunning smile, and -continued in a whisper, "If Maddalena can only get from Fabio's -room here to Fabio's palace over the way, on the Arno—come, -come, Rocco! don't shake your head. If I brought her up to your -church door one of these days, as Fabio d'Ascoli's betrothed, you -would be glad enough to take the rest of the business off my -hands, and make her Fabio d'Ascoli's wife. You are a very holy -man, Rocco, but you know the difference between the clink of the -money-bag and the clink of the chisel for all that!"</p> - -<p>"I am sorry to find, Luca," returned the priest, coldly, "that -you allow yourself to talk of the most delicate subjects in the -coarsest way. This is one of the minor sins of the tongue which -is growing on you. When we are alone in the studio, I will -endeavor to lead you into speaking of the young man in the room -there, and of your daughter, in terms more becoming to you, to -me, and to them. Until that time, allow me to go on with my -work."</p> - -<p>Luca shrugged his shoulders, and went back to his statue. Father -Rocco, who had been engaged during the last ten minutes in mixing -wet plaster to the right consistency for taking a cast, suspended -his occupation; and crossing the room to a corner next the -partition, removed from it a cheval-glass which stood there. He -lifted it away gently, while his brother's back was turned, -carried it close to the table at which he had been at work, and -then resumed his employment of mixing the plaster. Having at last -prepared the composition for use, he laid it over the exposed -half of the statuette with a neatness and dexterity which showed -him to be a practiced hand at cast-taking. Just as he had covered -the necessary extent of surface, Luca turned round from his -statue.</p> - -<p>"How are you getting on with the cast?" he asked. "Do you want -any help?"</p> - -<p>"None, brother, I thank you," answered the priest. "Pray do not -disturb either yourself or your workmen on my account."</p> - -<p>Luca turned again to the statue; and, at the same moment, Father -Rocco softly moved the cheval-glass toward the open doorway -between the two rooms, placing it at such an angle as to make it -reflect the figures of the persons in the smaller studio. He did -this with significant quickness and precision. It was evidently -not the first time he had used the glass for purposes of secret -observation.</p> - -<p>Mechanically stirring the wet plaster round and round for the -second casting, the priest looked into the glass, and saw, as in -a picture, all that was going forward in the inner room. -Maddalena Lomi was standing behind the young nobleman, watching -the progress he made with his bust. Occasionally she took the -modeling tool out of his hand, and showed him, with her sweetest -smile, that she, too, as a sculptor's daughter, understood -something of the sculptor's art; and now and then, in the pauses -of the conversation, when her interest was especially intense in -Fabio's work, she suffered her hand to drop absently on his -shoulder, or stooped forward so close to him that her hair -mingled for a moment with his. Moving the glass an inch or two, -so as to bring Nanina well under his eye, Father Rocco found that -he could trace each repetition of these little acts of -familiarity by the immediate effect which they produced on the -girl's face and manner. Whenever Maddalena so much as touched the -young nobleman—no matter whether she did so by premeditation, or -really by accident—Nanina's features contracted, her pale cheeks -grew paler, she fidgeted on her chair, and her fingers nervously -twisted and untwisted the loose ends of the ribbon fastened round -her waist.</p> - -<p>"Jealous," thought Father Rocco; "I suspected it weeks ago."</p> - -<p>He turned away, and gave his whole attention for a few minutes to -the mixing of the plaster. When he looked back again at the -glass, he was just in time to witness a little accident which -suddenly changed the relative positions of the three persons in -the inner room.</p> - -<p>He saw Maddalena take up a modeling tool which lay on a table -near her, and begin to help Fabio in altering the arrangement of -the hair in his bust. The young man watched what she was doing -earnestly enough for a few moments; then his attention wandered -away to Nanina. She looked at him reproachfully, and he answered -by a sign which brought a smile to her face directly. Maddalena -surprised her at the instant of the change; and, following the -direction of her eyes, easily discovered at whom the smile was -directed. She darted a glance of contempt at Nanina, threw down -the modeling tool, and turned indignantly to the young sculptor, -who was affecting to be hard at work again.</p> - -<p>"Signor Fabio," she said, "the next time you forget what is due -to your rank and yourself, warn me of it, if you please, -beforehand, and I will take care to leave the room." While -speaking the last words, she passed through the doorway. Father -Rocco, bending abstractedly over his plaster mixture, heard her -continue to herself in a whisper, as she went by him, "If I have -any influence at all with my father, that impudent beggar-girl -shall be forbidden the studio."</p> - -<p>"Jealousy on the other side," thought the priest. "Something must -be done at once, or this will end badly."</p> - -<p>He looked again at the glass, and saw Fabio, after an instant of -hesitation, beckon to Nanina to approach him. She left her seat, -advanced half-way to his, then stopped. He stepped forward to -meet her, and, taking her by the hand, whispered earnestly in her -ear. When he had done, before dropping her hand, he touched her -cheek with his lips, and then helped her on with the little white -mantilla which covered her head and shoulders out-of-doors. The -girl trembled violently, and drew the linen close to her face as -Fabio walked into the larger studio, and, addressing Father -Rocco, said:</p> - -<p>"I am afraid I am more idle, or more stupid, than ever to-day. I -can't get on with the bust at all to my satisfaction, so I have -cut short the sitting, and given Nanina a half-holiday."</p> - -<p>At the first sound of his voice, Maddalena, who was speaking to -her father, stopped, and, with another look of scorn at Nanina -standing trembling in the doorway, left the room. Luca Lomi -called Fabio to him as she went away, and Father Rocco, turning -to the statuette, looked to see how the plaster was hardening on -it. Seeing them thus engaged, Nanina attempted to escape from the -studio without being noticed; but the priest stopped her just as -she was hurrying by him.</p> - -<p>"My child," said he, in his gentle, quiet way, "are you going -home?"</p> - -<p>Nanina's heart beat too fast for her to reply in words; she could -only answer by bowing her head.</p> - -<p>"Take this for your little sister," pursued Father Rocco, putting -a few silver coins in her hand; "I have got some customers for -those mats she plaits so nicely. You need not bring them to my -rooms; I will come and see you this evening, when I am going my -rounds among my parishioners, and will take the mats away with -me. You are a good girl, Nanina—you have always been a good -girl—and as long as I am alive, my child, you shall never want a -friend and an adviser."</p> - -<p>Nanina's eyes filled with tears. She drew the mantilla closer -than ever round her face, as she tried to thank the priest. -Father Rocco nodded to her kindly, and laid his hand lightly on -her head for a moment, then turned round again to his cast.</p> - -<p>"Don't forget my message to the lady who is to sit to me -to-morrow," said Luca to Nanina, as she passed him on her way out -of the studio.</p> - -<p>After she had gone, Fabio returned to the priest, who was still -busy over his cast.</p> - -<p>"I hope you will get on better with the bust to-morrow," said -Father Rocco, politely; "I am sure you cannot complain of your -model."</p> - -<p>"Complain of her!" cried the young man, warmly; "she has the most -beautiful head I ever saw. If I were twenty times the sculptor -that I am, I should despair of being able to do her justice."</p> - -<p>He walked into the inner room to look at his bust again—lingered -before it for a little while—and then turned to retrace his -steps to the larger studio. Between him and the doorway stood -three chairs. As he went by them, he absently touched the backs -of the first two, and passed the third; but just as he was entering the -larger room, stopped, as if struck by a sudden recollection, -returned hastily, and touched the third chair. Raising his eyes, -as he approached the large studio again after doing this, he met -the eyes of the priest fixed on him in unconcealed astonishment.</p> - -<p>"Signor Fabio!" exclaimed Father Rocco, with a sarcastic smile, -"who would ever have imagined that you were superstitious?"</p> - -<p>"My nurse was," returned the young man, reddening, and laughing -rather uneasily. "She taught me some bad habits that I have not -got over yet." With those words he nodded and hastily went out.</p> - -<p>"Superstitious," said Father Rocco softly to himself. He smiled -again, reflected for a moment, and then, going to the window, -looked into the street. The way to the left led to Fabio's -palace, and the way to the right to the Campo Santo, in the -neighborhood of which Nanina lived. The priest was just in time -to see the young sculptor take the way to the right.</p> - -<p>After another half-hour had elapsed, the two workmen quitted the -studio to go to dinner, and Luca and his brother were left alone.</p> - -<p>"We may return now," said Father Rocco, "to that conversation -which was suspended between us earlier in the day."</p> - -<p>"I have nothing more to say," rejoined Luca, sulkily.</p> - -<p>"Then you can listen to me, brother, with the greater attention," -pursued the priest. "I objected to the coarseness of your tone in -talking of our young pupil and your daughter; I object still more -strongly to your insinuation that my desire to see them married -(provided always that they are sincerely attached to each other) -springs from a mercenary motive."</p> - -<p>"You are trying to snare me, Rocco, in a mesh of fine phrases; -but I am not to be caught. I know what my own motive is for -hoping that Maddalena may get an offer of marriage from this -wealthy young gentleman—she will have his money, and we shall -all profit by it. That is coarse and mercenary, if you please; -but it is the true reason why I want to see Maddalena married to -Fabio. You want to see it, too—and for what reason, I should -like to know, if not for mine?"</p> - -<p>"Of what use would wealthy relations be to me? What are people -with money—what is money itself—to a man who follows my -calling?"</p> - -<p>"Money is something to everybody."</p> - -<p>"Is it? When have you found that I have taken any account of it? -Give me money enough to buy my daily bread, and to pay for my -lodging and my coarse cassock, and though I may want much for the -poor, for myself I want no more. Then have you found me -mercenary? Do I not help you in this studio, for love of you and -of the art, without exacting so much as journeyman's wages? Have -I ever asked you for more than a few crowns to give away on -feast-days among my parishioners? Money! money for a man who may -be summoned to Rome to-morrow, who may be told to go at half an -hour's notice on a foreign mission that may take him to the ends -of the earth, and who would be ready to go the moment when he was -called on! Money to a man who has no wife, no children, no -interests outside the sacred circle of the Church! Brother, do -you see the dust and dirt and shapeless marble chips lying around -your statue there? Cover that floor instead with gold, and, -though the litter may have changed in color and form, in my eyes -it would be litter still."</p> - -<p>"A very noble sentiment, I dare say, Rocco, but I can't echo it. -Granting that you care nothing for money, will you explain to me -why you are so anxious that Maddalena should marry Fabio? She has -had offers from poorer men—you knew of them—but you have never -taken the least interest in her accepting or rejecting a proposal -before."</p> - -<p>"I hinted the reason to you, months ago, when Fabio first entered -the studio."</p> - -<p>"It was rather a vague hint, brother; can't you be plainer -to-day?"</p> - -<p>"I think I can. In the first place, let me begin by assuring you -that I have no objection to the young man himself. He may be a -little capricious and undecided, but he has no incorrigible -faults that I have discovered."</p> - -<p>"That is rather a cool way of praising him, Rocco."</p> - -<p>"I should speak of him warmly enough, if he were not the -representative of an intolerable corruption, and a monstrous -wrong. Whenever I think of him I think of an injury which his -present existence perpetuates; and if I do speak of him coldly, -it is only for that reason."</p> - -<p>Luca looked away quickly from his brother, and began kicking -absently at the marble chips which were scattered over the floor -around him.</p> - -<p>"I now remember," he said, "what that hint of yours pointed at. -I know what you mean."</p> - -<p>"Then you know," answered the priest, "that while part of the -wealth which Fabio d'Ascoli possesses is honestly and -incontestably his own; part, also, has been inherited by him from -the spoilers and robbers of the Church—"</p> - -<p>"Blame his ancestors for that; don't blame him."</p> - -<p>"I blame him as long as the spoil is not restored."</p> - -<p>"How do you know that it was spoil, after all?"</p> - -<p>"I have examined more carefully than most men the records of the -civil wars in Italy; and I know that the ancestors of Fabio -d'Ascoli wrung from the Church, in her hour of weakness, property -which they dared to claim as their right. I know of titles to -lands signed away, in those stormy times, under the influence of -fear, or through false representations of which the law takes no -account. I call the money thus obtained spoil, and I say that it -ought to be restored, and shall be restored, to the Church from -which it was taken."</p> - -<p>"And what does Fabio answer to that, brother?"</p> - -<p>"I have not spoken to him on the subject."</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"Because I have, as yet, no influence over him. When he is -married, his wife will have influence over him, and she shall -speak."</p> - -<p>"Maddalena, I suppose? How do you know that she will speak?"</p> - -<p>"Have I not educated her? Does she not understand what her duties -are toward the Church, in whose bosom she has been reared?"</p> - -<p>Luca hesitated uneasily, and walked away a step or two before he -spoke again.</p> - -<p>"Does this spoil, as you call it, amount to a large sum of -money?" he asked, in an anxious whisper.</p> - -<p>"I may answer that question, Luca, at some future time," said the -priest. "For the present, let it be enough that you are -acquainted with all I undertook to inform you of when we began -our conversation. You now know that if I am anxious for this -marriage to take place, it is from motives entirely unconnected -with self-interest. If all the property which Fabio's ancestors -wrongfully obtained from the Church were restored to the Church -to-morrow, not one paulo of it would go into my pocket. I am a -poor priest now, and to the end of my days shall remain so. You -soldiers of the world, brother, fight for your pay; I am a -soldier of the Church, and I fight for my cause."</p> - -<p>Saying these words, he returned abruptly to the statuette; and -refused to speak, or leave his employment again, until he had -taken the mold off, and had carefully put away the various -fragments of which it consisted. This done, he drew a -writing-desk from the drawer of his working-table, and taking out -a slip of paper wrote these lines:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"Come down to the studio to-morrow. Fabio will be with us, but -Nanina will return no more."</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>Without signing what he had written, he sealed it up, and -directed it to "Donna Maddalena"; then took his hat, and handed -the note to his brother.</p> - -<p>"Oblige me by giving that to my niece," he said.</p> - -<p>"Tell me, Rocco," said Luca, turning the note round and round -perplexedly between his finger and thumb; "do you think Maddalena -will be lucky enough to get married to Fabio?"</p> - -<p>"Still coarse in your expressions, brother!"</p> - -<p>"Never mind my expressions. Is it likely?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Luca, I think it is likely."</p> - -<p>With those words he waved his hand pleasantly to his brother, and -went out.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> - -<p>From the studio Father Rocco went straight to his own rooms, hard -by the church to which he was attached. Opening a cabinet in his -study, he took from one of its drawers a handful of small silver -money, consulted for a minute or so a slate on which several -names and addresses were written, provided himself with a -portable inkhorn and some strips of paper, and again went out.</p> - -<p>He directed his steps to the poorest part of the neighborhood; -and entering some very wretched houses, was greeted by the -inhabitants with great respect and affection. The women, -especially, kissed his hands with more reverence than they would -have shown to the highest crowned head in Europe. In return, he -talked to them as easily and unconstrainedly as if they were his -equals; sat down cheerfully on dirty bedsides and rickety -benches; and distributed his little gifts of money with the air -of a man who was paying debts rather than bestowing charity. -Where he encountered cases of illness, he pulled out his inkhorn -and slips of paper, and wrote simple prescriptions to be made up -from the medicine-chest of a neighboring convent, which served -the same merciful purpose then that is answered by dispensaries -in our days. When he had exhausted his money, and had got through -his visits, he was escorted out of the poor quarter by a perfect -train of enthusiastic followers. The women kissed his hand again, -and the men uncovered as he turned, and, with a friendly sign, -bade them all farewell.</p> - -<p>As soon as he was alone again, he walked toward the Campo Santo, -and, passing the house in which Nanina lived, sauntered up and -down the street thoughtfully for some minutes. When he at length -ascended the steep staircase that led to the room occupied by the -sisters, he found the door ajar. Pushing it open gently, he saw -La Biondella sitting with her pretty, fair profile turned toward -him, eating her evening meal of bread and grapes. At the opposite -end of the room, Scarammuccia was perched up on his hindquarters -in a corner, with his mouth wide open to catch the morsel of -bread which he evidently expected the child to throw to him. What -the elder sister was doing, the priest had not time to see; for -the dog barked the moment he presented himself, and Nanina -hastened to the door to ascertain who the intruder might be. All -that he could observe was that she was too confused, on catching -sight of him, to be able to utter a word. La Biondella was the -first to speak.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Father Rocco," said the child, jumping up, with her -bread in one hand and her grapes in the other—"thank you for -giving me so much money for my dinner-mats. There they are, tied -up together in one little parcel, in the corner. Nanina said she -was ashamed to think of your carrying them; and I said I knew -where you lived, and I should like to ask you to let me take them -home!"</p> - -<p>"Do you think you can carry them all the way, my dear?" asked the -priest.</p> - -<p>"Look, Father Rocco, see if I can't carry them!" cried La -Biondella, cramming her bread into one of the pockets of her -little apron, holding her bunch of grapes by the stalk in her -mouth, and hoisting the packet of dinner-mats on her head in a -moment. "See, I am strong enough to carry double," said the -child, looking up proudly into the priest's face.</p> - -<p>"Can you trust her to take them home for me?" asked Father Rocco, -turning to Nanina. "I want to speak to you alone, and her absence -will give me the opportunity. Can you trust her out by herself?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Father Rocco, she often goes out alone." Nanina gave this -answer in low, trembling tones, and looked down confusedly on the -ground.</p> - -<p>"Go then, my dear," said Father Rocco, patting the child on the -shoulder; "and come back here to your sister, as soon as you have -left the mats."</p> - -<p>La Biondella went out directly in great triumph, with -Scarammuccia walking by her side, and keeping his muzzle -suspiciously close to the pocket in which she had put her bread. -Father Rocco closed the door after them, and then, taking the one -chair which the room possessed, motioned to Nanina to sit by him -on the stool.</p> - -<p>"Do you believe that I am your friend, my child, and that I have -always meant well toward you?" he began.</p> - -<p>"The best and kindest of friends," answered Nanina.</p> - -<p>"Then you will hear what I have to say patiently, and you will -believe that I am speaking for your good, even if my words should -distress you?" (Nanina turned away her head.) "Now, tell me; -should I be wrong, to begin with, if I said that my brother's -pupil, the young nobleman whom we call 'Signor Fabio,' had been -here to see you to-day?" (Nanina started up affrightedly from her -stool.) "Sit down again, my child; I am not going to blame you. I -am only going to tell you what you must do for the future."</p> - -<p>He took her hand; it was cold, and it trembled violently in his.</p> - -<p>"I will not ask what he has been saying to you," continued the -priest; "for it might distress you to answer, and I have, -moreover, had means of knowing that your youth and beauty have -made a strong impression on him. I will pass over, then, all -reference to the words he may have been speaking to you; and I -will come at once to what I have now to say, in my turn. Nanina, -my child, arm yourself with all your courage, and promise me, -before we part to-night, that you will see Signor Fabio no more."</p> - -<p>Nanina turned round suddenly, and fixed her eyes on him, with an -expression of terrified incredulity. "No more?"</p> - -<p>"You are very young and very innocent," said Father Rocco; "but -surely you must have thought before now of the difference between -Signor Fabio and you. Surely you must have often remembered that -you are low down among the ranks of the poor, and that he is high -up among the rich and the nobly born?"</p> - -<p>Nanina's hands dropped on the priest's knees. She bent her head -down on them, and began to weep bitterly.</p> - -<p>"Surely you must have thought of that?" reiterated Father Rocco.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I have often, often thought of it!" murmured the girl "I -have mourned over it, and cried about it in secret for many -nights past. He said I looked pale, and ill, and out of spirits -to-day, and I told him it was with thinking of that!"</p> - -<p>"And what did he say in return?"</p> - -<p>There was no answer. Father Rocco looked down. Nanina raised her -head directly from his knees, and tried to turn it away again. He -took her hand and stopped her.</p> - -<p>"Come!" he said; "speak frankly to me. Say what you ought to say -to your father and your friend. What was his answer, my child, -when you reminded him of the difference between you?"</p> - -<p>"He said I was born to be a lady," faltered the girl, still -struggling to turn her face away, "and that I might make myself -one if I would learn and be patient. He said that if he had all -the noble ladies in Pisa to choose from on one side, and only -little Nanina on the other, he would hold out his hand to me, and -tell them, 'This shall be my wife.' He said love knew no -difference of rank; and that if he was a nobleman and rich, it -was all the more reason why he should please himself. He was so -kind, that I thought my heart would burst while he was speaking; -and my little sister liked him so, that she got upon his knee and -kissed him. Even our dog, who growls at other strangers, stole to -his side and licked his hand. Oh, Father Rocco! Father Rocco!" -The tears burst out afresh, and the lovely head dropped once -more, wearily, on the priest's knee.</p> - -<p>Father Rocco smiled to himself, and waited to speak again till -she was calmer.</p> - -<p>"Supposing," he resumed, after some minutes of silence, -"supposing Signor Fabio really meant all he said to you—"</p> - -<p>Nanina started up, and confronted the priest boldly for the first -time since he had entered the room.</p> - -<p>"Supposing!" she exclaimed, her cheeks beginning to redden, and -her dark blue eyes flashing suddenly through her tears -"Supposing! Father Rocco, Fabio would never deceive me. I would -die here at your feet, rather than doubt the least word he said -to me!"</p> - -<p>The priest signed to her quietly to return to the stool. "I never -suspected the child had so much spirit in her," he thought to -himself.</p> - -<p>"I would die," repeated Nanina, in a voice that began to falter -now. "I would die rather than doubt him."</p> - -<p>"I will not ask you to doubt him," said Father Rocco, gently; -"and I will believe in him myself as firmly as you do. Let us -suppose, my child, that you have learned patiently all the many -things of which you are now ignorant, and which it is necessary -for a lady to know. Let us suppose that Signor Fabio has really -violated all the laws that govern people in his high station -and has taken you to him publicly as his wife. You would be happy -then, Nanina; but would he? He has no father or mother to control -him, it is true; but he has friends—many friends and intimates -in his own rank—proud, heartless people, who know nothing of -your worth and goodness; who, hearing of your low birth, would -look on you, and on your husband too, my child, with contempt. He -has not your patience and fortitude. Think how bitter it would be -for him to bear that contempt—to see you shunned by proud women, -and carelessly pitied or patronized by insolent men. Yet all -this, and more, he would have to endure, or else to quit the -world he has lived in from his boyhood—the world he was born to -live in. You love him, I know—"</p> - -<p>Nanina's tears burst out afresh. "Oh, how dearly—how dearly!" -she murmured.</p> - -<p>"Yes, you love him dearly," continued the priest; "but would all -your love compensate him for everything else that he must lose? -It might, at first; but there would come a time when the world -would assert its influence over him again; when he would feel a -want which you could not supply—a weariness which you could not -solace. Think of his life then, and of yours. Think of the first -day when the first secret doubt whether he had done rightly in -marrying you would steal into his mind. We are not masters of all -our impulses. The lightest spirits have their moments of -irresistible depression; the bravest hearts are not always -superior to doubt. My child, my child, the world is strong, the -pride of rank is rooted deep, and the human will is frail at -best! Be warned! For your own sake and for Fabio's, be warned in -time."</p> - -<p>Nanina stretched out her hands toward the priest in despair.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Father Rocco! Father Rocco!" she cried, "why did you not -tell me this before?"</p> - -<p>"Because, my child, I only knew of the necessity for telling you -to-day. But it is not too late; it is never too late to do a good -action. You love Fabio, Nanina? Will you prove that love by -making a great sacrifice for his good?"</p> - -<p>"I would die for his good!"</p> - -<p>"Will you nobly cure him of a passion which will be his ruin, if -not yours, by leaving Pisa to-morrow?"</p> - -<p>"Leave Pisa!" exclaimed Nanina. Her face grew deadly pale; she -rose and moved back a step or two from the priest.</p> - -<p>"Listen to me," pursued Father Rocco; "I have heard you complain -that you could not get regular employment at needle-work. You -shall have that employment, if you will go with me—you and your -little sister too, of course—to Florence to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"I promised Fabio to go to the studio," began Nanina, -affrightedly. "I promised to go at ten o'clock. How can I—"</p> - -<p>She stopped suddenly, as if her breath were failing her.</p> - -<p>"I myself will take you and your sister to Florence," said Father -Rocco, without noticing the interruption. "I will place you under -the care of a lady who will be as kind as a mother to you both. I -will answer for your getting such work to do as will enable you -to keep yourself honestly and independently; and I will -undertake, if you do not like your life at Florence, to bring you -back to Pisa after a lapse of three months only. Three months, -Nanina. It is not a long exile."</p> - -<p>"Fabio! Fabio!" cried the girl, sinking again on the seat, and -hiding her face.</p> - -<p>"It is for his good," said Father Rocco, calmly: "for Fabio's -good, remember."</p> - -<p>"What would he think of me if I went away? Oh, if I had but -learned to write! If I could only write Fabio a letter!"</p> - -<p>"Am I not to be depended on to explain to him all that he ought -to know?"</p> - -<p>"How can I go away from him! Oh! Father Rocco, how can you ask me -to go away from him?"</p> - -<p>"I will ask you to do nothing hastily. I will leave you till -to-morrow morning to decide. At nine o'clock I shall be in the -street; and I will not even so much as enter this house, unless I -know beforehand that you have resolved to follow my advice. Give -me a sign from your window. If I see you wave your white mantilla -out of it, I shall know that you have taken the noble resolution -to save Fabio and to save yourself. I will say no more, my child; -for, unless I am grievously mistaken in you, I have already said -enough."</p> - -<p>He went out, leaving her still weeping bitterly. Not far from the -house, he met La Biondella and the dog on their way back. The -little girl stopped to report to him the safe delivery of her -dinner-mats; but he passed on quickly with a nod and a smile. His -interview with Nanina had left some influence behind it, which -unfitted him just then for the occupation of talking to a child.</p> - - -<p>Nearly half an hour before nine o'clock on the following morning, -Father Rocco set forth for the street in which Nanina lived. On -his way thither he overtook a dog walking lazily a few paces -ahead in the roadway; and saw, at the same time, an -elegantly-dressed lady advancing toward him. The dog stopped -suspiciously as she approached, and growled and showed his teeth -when she passed him. The lady, on her side, uttered an -exclamation of disgust, but did not seem to be either astonished -or frightened by the animal's threatening attitude. Father Rocco -looked after her with some curiosity as she walked by him. She -was a handsome woman, and he admired her courage. "I know that -growling brute well enough," he said to himself, "but who can the -lady be?"</p> - -<p>The dog was Scarammuccia, returning from one of his marauding -expeditions The lady was Brigida, on her way to Luca Lomi's -studio.</p> - -<p>Some minutes before nine o'clock the priest took his post in the -street, opposite Nanina's window. It was open; but neither she -nor her little sister appeared at it. He looked up anxiously as -the church-clocks struck the hour; but there was no sign for a -minute or so after they were all silent. "Is she hesitating -still?" said Father Rocco to himself.</p> - -<p>Just as the words passed his lips, the white mantilla was waved -out of the window.</p> - -<h3>PART SECOND.</h3> - -<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> - -<p>Even the master-stroke of replacing the treacherous Italian -forewoman by a French dressmaker, engaged direct from Paris, did -not at first avail to elevate the great Grifoni establishment -above the reach of minor calamities. Mademoiselle Virginie had -not occupied her new situation at Pisa quite a week before she -fell ill. All sorts of reports were circulated as to the cause of -this illness; and the Demoiselle Grifoni even went so far as to -suggest that the health of the new forewoman had fallen a -sacrifice to some nefarious practices of the chemical sort, on -the part of her rival in the trade. But, however the misfortune -had been produced, it was a fact that Mademoiselle Virginie was -certainly very ill, and another fact that the doctor insisted on -her being sent to the baths of Lucca as soon as she could be -moved from her bed.</p> - -<p>Fortunately for the Demoiselle Grifoni, the Frenchwoman had -succeeded in producing three specimens of her art before her -health broke down. They comprised the evening-dress of yellow -brocaded silk, to which she had devoted herself on the morning -when she first assumed her duties at Pisa; a black cloak and hood -of an entirely new shape; and an irresistibly fascinating -dressing-gown, said to have been first brought into fashion by -the princesses of the blood-royal of France. These articles of -costume, on being exhibited in the showroom, electrified the -ladies of Pisa; and orders from all sides flowed in immediately -on the Grifoni establishment. They were, of course, easily -executed by the inferior work-women, from the specimen designs of -the French dressmaker. So that the illness of Mademoiselle -Virginie, though it might cause her mistress some temporary -inconvenience, was, after all, productive of no absolute loss.</p> - -<p>Two months at the baths of Lucca restored the new forewoman to -health. She returned to Pisa, and resumed her place in the -private work-room. Once re-established there, she discovered that -an important change had taken place during her absence. Her -friend and assistant, Brigida, had resigned her situation. All -inquiries made of the Demoiselle Grifoni only elicited one -answer: the missing work-woman had abruptly left her place at -five minutes' warning, and had departed without confiding to any -one what she thought of doing, or whither she intended to turn -her steps.</p> - -<p>Months elapsed The new year came; but no explanatory letter -arrived from Brigida. The spring season passed off, with all its -accompaniments of dressmaking and dress-buying, but still there -was no news of her. The first anniversary of Mademoiselle -Virginie's engagement with the Demoiselle Grifoni came round; and -then at last a note arrived, stating that Brigida had returned to -Pisa, and that if the French forewoman would send an answer, -mentioning where her private lodgings were, she would visit her -old friend that evening after business hours. The information was -gladly enough given; and, punctually to the appointed time, -Brigida arrived in Mademoiselle Virginie's little sitting-room.</p> - -<p>Advancing with her usual indolent stateliness of gait, the -Italian asked after her friend's health as coolly, and sat down -in the nearest chair as carelessly, as if they had not been -separated for more than a few days. Mademoiselle Virginie laughed -in her liveliest manner, and raised her mobile French eyebrows in -sprightly astonishment.</p> - -<p>"Well, Brigida!" she exclaimed, "they certainly did you no -injustice when they nicknamed you 'Care-for-Nothing,' in old -Grifoni's workroom. Where have you been? Why have you never -written to me?"</p> - -<p>"I had nothing particular to write about; and besides, I always -intended to come back to Pisa and see you," answered Brigida, -leaning back luxuriously in her chair.</p> - -<p>"But where have you been for nearly a whole year past? In Italy?"</p> - -<p>"No; at Paris. You know I can sing—not very well; but I have a -voice, and most Frenchwomen (excuse the impertinence) have none. -I met with a friend, and got introduced to a manager; and I have -been singing at the theater—not the great parts, only the -second. Your amiable countrywomen could not screech me down on -the stage, but they intrigued against me successfully behind the -scenes. In short, I quarreled with our principal lady, quarreled -with the manager, quarreled with my friend; and here I am back at -Pisa, with a little money saved in my pocket, and no great notion -what I am to do next."</p> - -<p>"Back at Pisa? Why did you leave it?"</p> - -<p>Brigida's eyes began to lose their indolent expression. She sat -up suddenly in her chair, and set one of her hands heavily on a -little table by her side.</p> - -<p>"Why?" she repeated. "Because when I find the game going against -me, I prefer giving it up at once to waiting to be beaten."</p> - -<p>"Ah! you refer to that last year's project of yours for making -your fortune among the sculptors. I should like to hear how it -was you failed with the wealthy young amateur. Remember that I -fell ill before you had any news to give me. Your absence when I -returned from Lucca, and, almost immediately afterward, the -marriage of your intended conquest to the sculptor's daughter, -proved to me, of course, that you must have failed. But I never -heard how. I know nothing at this moment but the bare fact that -Maddalena Lomi won the prize."</p> - -<p>"Tell me first, do she and her husband live together happily?"</p> - -<p>"There are no stories of their disagreeing. She has dresses, -horses, carriages; a negro page, the smallest lap-dog in -Italy—in short, all the luxuries that a woman can want; and a -child, by-the-by, into the bargain."</p> - -<p>"A child?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; a child, born little more than a week ago."</p> - -<p>"Not a boy, I hope?"</p> - -<p>"No; a girl."</p> - -<p>"I am glad of that. Those rich people always want the first-born -to be an heir. They will both be disappointed. I am glad of -that."</p> - -<p>"Mercy on us, Brigida, how fierce you look!"</p> - -<p>"Do I? It's likely enough. I hate Fabio d'Ascoli and Maddalena -Lomi—singly as man and woman, doubly as man and wife. Stop! I'll -tell you what you want to know directly. Only answer me another -question or two first. Have you heard anything about her health?"</p> - -<p>"How should I hear? Dressmakers can't inquire at the doors of the -nobility."</p> - -<p>"True. Now one last question. That little simpleton, Nanina?"</p> - -<p>"I have never seen or heard anything of her. She can't be at -Pisa, or she would have called at our place for work."</p> - -<p>"Ah! I need not have asked about her if I had thought a moment -beforehand. Father Rocco would be sure to keep her out of Fabio's -sight, for his niece's sake."</p> - -<p>"What, he really loved that 'thread-paper of a girl' as you -called her?"</p> - -<p>"Better than fifty such wives as he has got now! I was in the -studio the morning he was told of her departure from Pisa. A -letter was privately given to him, telling him that the girl had -left the place out of a feeling of honor, and had hidden herself -beyond the possibility of discovery, to prevent him from -compromising himself with all his friends by marrying her. -Naturally enough, he would not believe that this was her own -doing; and, naturally enough also, when Father Rocco was sent -for, and was not to be found, he suspected the priest of being at -the bottom of the business. I never saw a man in such a fury of -despair and rage before. He swore that he would have all Italy -searched for the girl, that he would be the death of the priest, -and that he would never enter Luca Lomi's studio again—"</p> - -<p>"And, as to this last particular, of course, being a man, he -failed to keep his word?"</p> - -<p>"Of course. At that first visit of mine to the studio I -discovered two things. The first, as I said, that Fabio was -really in love with the girl—the second, that Maddalena Lomi was -really in love with him. You may suppose I looked at her -attentively while the disturbance was going on, and while -nobody's notice was directed on me. All women are vain, I know, -but vanity never blinded my eyes. I saw directly that I had but -one superiority over her—my figure. She was my height, but not -well made. She had hair as dark and as glossy as mine; eyes as -bright and as black as mine; and the rest of her face better than -mine. My nose is coarse, my lips are too thick, and my upper lip -overhangs my under too far. She had none of those personal -faults; and, as for capacity, she managed the young fool in his -passion as well as I could have managed him in her place."</p> - -<p>"How?"</p> - -<p>"She stood silent, with downcast eyes and a distressed look, all -the time he was raving up and down the studio. She must have -hated the girl, and been rejoiced at her disappearance; but she -never showed it. 'You would be an awkward rival' (I thought to -myself), 'even to a handsomer woman than I am.' However, I -determined not to despair too soon, and made up my mind to follow -my plan just as if the accident of the girl's disappearance had -never occurred. I smoothed down the master-sculptor easily -enough—flattering him about his reputation, assuring him that -the works of Luca Lomi had been the objects of my adoration since -childhood, telling him that I had heard of his difficulty in -finding a model to complete his Minerva from, and offering myself -(if he thought me worthy) for the honor—laying great stress on -that word—for the honor of sitting to him. I don't know whether -he was altogether deceived by what I told him; but he was sharp -enough to see that I really could be of use, and he accepted my -offer with a profusion of compliments. We parted, having arranged -that I was to give him a first sitting in a week's time."</p> - -<p>"Why put it off so long?"</p> - -<p>"To allow our young gentleman time to cool down and return to the -studio, to be sure. What was the use of my being there while he -was away?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes—I forgot. And how long was it before he came back?"</p> - -<p>"I had allowed him more time than enough. When I had given my -first sitting I saw him in the studio, and heard it was his -second visit there since the day of the girl's disappearance. -Those very violent men are always changeable and irresolute."</p> - -<p>"Had he made no attempt, then, to discover Nanina?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes! He had searched for her himself, and had set others -searching for her, but to no purpose. Four days of perpetual -disappointment had been enough to bring him to his senses. Luca -Lomi had written him a peace-making letter, asking what harm he -or his daughter had done, even supposing Father Rocco was to -blame. Maddalena Lomi had met him in the street, and had looked -resignedly away from him, as if she expected him to pass her. In -short, they had awakened his sense of justice and his good -nature (you see, I can impartially give him his due), and they -had got him back. He was silent and sentimental enough at first, -and shockingly sulky and savage with the priest—"</p> - -<p>"I wonder Father Rocco ventured within his reach."</p> - -<p>"Father Rocco is not a man to be daunted or defeated by anybody, -I can tell you. The same day on which Fabio came back to the -studio, he returned to it. Beyond boldly declaring that he -thought Nanina had done quite right, and had acted like a good -and virtuous girl, he would say nothing about her or her -disappearance. It was quite useless to ask him questions—he -denied that any one had a right to put them. Threatening, -entreating, flattering—all modes of appeal were thrown away on -him. Ah, my dear! depend upon it, the cleverest and politest man -in Pisa, the most dangerous to an enemy and the most delightful -to a friend, is Father Rocco. The rest of them, when I began to -play my cards a little too openly, behaved with brutal rudeness -to me. Father Rocco, from first to last, treated me like a lady. -Sincere or not, I don't care—he treated me like a lady when the -others treated me like—"</p> - -<p>"There! there! don't get hot about it now. Tell me instead how -you made your first approaches to the young gentleman whom you -talk of so contemptuously as Fabio."</p> - -<p>"As it turned out, in the worst possible way. First, of course, I -made sure of interesting him in me by telling him that I had -known Nanina. So far it was all well enough. My next object was -to persuade him that she could never have gone away if she had -truly loved him alone; and that he must have had some fortunate -rival in her own rank of life, to whom she had sacrificed him, -after gratifying her vanity for a time by bringing a young -nobleman to her feet. I had, as you will easily imagine, -difficulty enough in making him take this view of Nanina's -flight. His pride and his love for the girl were both concerned -in refusing to admit the truth of my suggestion. At last I -succeeded. I brought him to that state of ruffled vanity and -fretful self-assertion in which it is easiest to work on a man's -feelings—in which a man's own wounded pride makes the best -pitfall to catch him in. I brought him, I say, to that state, and -then <i>she</i> stepped in and profited by what I had done. Is it -wonderful now that I rejoice in her disappointments—that I -should be glad to hear any ill thing of her that any one could -tell me?"</p> - -<p>"But how did she first get the advantage of you?"</p> - -<p>"If I had found out, she would never have succeeded where I -failed. All I know is, that she had more opportunities of seeing -him than I, and that she used them cunningly enough even to -deceive me. While I thought I was gaining ground with Fabio, I -was actually losing it. My first suspicions were excited by a -change in Luca Lomi's conduct toward me. He grew cold, -neglectful—at last absolutely rude. I was resolved not to see -this; but accident soon obliged me to open my eyes. One morning I -heard Fabio and Maddalena talking of me when they imagined I had -left the studio. I can't repeat their words, especially here. The -blood flies into my head, and the cold catches me at the heart, -when I only think of them. It will be enough if I tell you that -he laughed at me, and that she—"</p> - -<p>"Hush! not so loud. There are other people lodging in the house. -Never mind about telling me what you heard; it only irritates you -to no purpose. I can guess that they had discovered—"</p> - -<p>"Through her—remember, all through her!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, I understand. They had discovered a great deal more -than you ever intended them to know, and all through her."</p> - -<p>"But for the priest, Virginie, I should have been openly insulted -and driven from their doors. He had insisted on their behaving -with decent civility toward me. They said that he was afraid of -me, and laughed at the notion of his trying to make them afraid -too. That was the last thing I heard. The fury I was in, and the -necessity of keeping it down, almost suffocated me. I turned -round to leave the place forever, when, who should I see, -standing close behind me, but Father Rocco. He must have -discovered in my face that I knew all, but he took no notice of -it. He only asked, in his usual quiet, polite way, if I was -looking for anything I had lost, and if he could help me. I -managed to thank him, and to get to the door. He opened it for me -respectfully, and bowed—he treated me like a lady to the last! -It was evening when I left the studio in that way. The next -morning I threw up my situation, and turned my back on Pisa. Now -you know everything."</p> - -<p>"Did you hear of the marriage? or did you only assume from what -you knew that it would take place?"</p> - -<p>"I heard of it about six months ago. A man came to sing in the -chorus at our theater who had been employed some time before at -the grand concert given on the occasion of the marriage. But let -us drop the subject now. I am in a fever already with talking of -it. You are in a bad situation here, my dear; I declare your room -is almost stifling."</p> - -<p>"Shall I open the other window?"</p> - -<p>"No; let us go out and get a breath of air by the river-side. -Come! take your hood and fan—it is getting dark—nobody will see -us, and we can come back here, if you like, in half an hour."</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle Virginie acceded to her friend's wish rather -reluctantly. They walked toward the river. The sun was down, and -the sudden night of Italy was gathering fast. Although Brigida -did not say another word on the subject of Fabio or his wife, she -led the way to the bank of the Arno, on which the young -nobleman's palace stood.</p> - -<p>Just as they got near the great door of entrance, a sedan-chair, -approaching in the opposite direction, was set down before it; -and a footman, after a moment's conference with a lady inside the -chair, advanced to the porter's lodge in the courtyard. Leaving -her friend to go on, Brigida slipped in after the servant by the -open wicket, and concealed herself in the shadow cast by the -great closed gates.</p> - -<p>"The Marchesa Melani, to inquire how the Countess d'Ascoli and -the infant are this evening," said the footman.</p> - -<p>"My mistress has not changed at all for the better since the -morning," answered the porter. "The child is doing quite well."</p> - -<p>The footman went back to the sedan-chair; then returned to the -porter's lodge.</p> - -<p>"The marchesa desires me to ask if fresh medical advice has been -sent for," he said.</p> - -<p>"Another doctor has arrived from Florence to-day," replied the -porter.</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle Virginie, missing her friend suddenly, turned back -toward the palace to look after her, and was rather surprised to -see Brigida slip out of the wicket-gate. There were two oil lamps -burning on pillars outside the doorway, and their light glancing -on the Italian's face, as she passed under them, showed that she -was smiling.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> - -<p>While the Marchesa Melani was making inquiries at the gate of the -palace, Fabio was sitting alone in the apartment which his wife -usually occupied when she was in health. It was her favorite -room, and had been prettily decorated, by her own desire, with -hangings in yellow satin and furniture of the same color. Fabio -was now waiting in it, to hear the report of the doctors after -their evening visit.</p> - -<p>Although Maddalena Lomi had not been his first love, and although -he had married her under circumstances which are generally and -rightly considered to afford few chances of lasting happiness in -wedded life, still they had lived together through the one year -of their union tranquilly, if not fondly. She had molded herself -wisely to his peculiar humors, had made the most of his easy -disposition; and, when her quick temper had got the better of -her, had seldom hesitated in her cooler moments to acknowledge -that she had been wrong. She had been extravagant, it is true, -and had irritated him by fits of unreasonable jealousy; but these -were faults not to be thought of now. He could only remember that -she was the mother of his child, and that she lay ill but two -rooms away from him—dangerously ill, as the doctors had -unwillingly confessed on that very day.</p> - -<p>The darkness was closing in upon him, and he took up the handbell -to ring for lights. When the servant entered there was genuine -sorrow in his face, genuine anxiety in his voice, as he inquired -for news from the sick-room. The man only answered that his -mistress was still asleep, and then withdrew, after first leaving -a sealed letter on the table by his master's side. Fabio summoned -him back into the room, and asked when the letter had arrived. He -replied that it had been delivered at the palace two days since, -and that he had observed it lying unopened on a desk in his -master's study.</p> - -<p>Left alone again, Fabio remembered that the letter had arrived at -a time when the first dangerous symptoms of his wife's illness -had declared themselves, and that he had thrown it aside, after -observing the address to be in a handwriting unknown to him. In -his present state of suspense, any occupation was better than -sitting idle. So he took up the letter with a sigh, broke the -seal, and turned inquiringly to the name signed at the end.</p> - -<p>It was "NANINA."</p> - -<p>He started, and changed color. "A letter from her," he whispered -to himself. "Why does it come at such a time as this?"</p> - -<p>His face grew paler, and the letter trembled in his fingers. -Those superstitious feelings which he had ascribed to the nursery -influences of his childhood, when Father Rocco charged him with -them in the studio, seemed to be overcoming him now. He -hesitated, and listened anxiously in the direction of his wife's -room, before reading the letter. Was its arrival ominous of good -or evil? That was the thought in his heart as he drew the lamp -near to him, and looked at the first lines.</p> - -<p>"Am I wrong in writing to you?" (the letter began abruptly). "If -I am, you have but to throw this little leaf of paper into the -fire, and to think no more of it after it is burned up and gone. -I can never reproach you for treating my letter in that way; for -we are never likely to meet again.</p> - -<p>"Why did I go away? Only to save you from the consequences of -marrying a poor girl who was not fit to become your wife. It -almost broke my heart to leave you; for I had nothing to keep up -my courage but the remembrance that I was going away for your -sake. I had to think of that, morning and night—to think of it -always, or I am afraid I should have faltered in my resolution, -and have gone back to Pisa. I longed so much at first to see you -once more, only to tell you that Nanina was not heartless and -ungrateful, and that you might pity her and think kindly of her, -though you might love her no longer.</p> - -<p>"Only to tell you that! If I had been a lady I might have told it -to you in a letter; but I had never learned to write, and I could -not prevail on myself to get others to take the pen for me. All I -could do was to learn secretly how to write with my own hand. It -was long, long work; but the uppermost thought in my heart was -always the thought of justifying myself to you, and that made me -patient and persevering. I learned, at last, to write so as not -to be ashamed of myself, or to make you ashamed of me. I began a -letter—my first letter to you—but I heard of your marriage -before it was done, and then I had to tear the paper up, and put -the pen down again.</p> - -<p>"I had no right to come between you and your wife, even with so -little a thing as a letter; I had no right to do anything but -hope and pray for your happiness. Are you happy? I am sure you -ought to be; for how can your wife help loving you?</p> - -<p>"It is very hard for me to explain why I have ventured on writing -now, and yet I can't think that I am doing wrong. I heard a few -days ago (for I have a friend at Pisa who keeps me informed, by -my own desire, of all the pleasant changes in your life)—I heard -of your child being born; and I thought myself, after that, -justified at last in writing to you. No letter from me, at such a -time as this, can rob your child's mother of so much as a thought -of yours that is due to her. Thus, at least, it seems to me. I -wish so well to your child, that I cannot surely be doing wrong -in writing these lines.</p> - -<p>"I have said already what I wanted to say—what I have been -longing to say for a whole year past. I have told you why I left -Pisa; and have, perhaps, persuaded you that I have gone through -some suffering, and borne some heart-aches for your sake. Have I -more to write? Only a word or two, to tell you that I am earning -my bread, as I always wished to earn it, quietly at home—at -least, at what I must call home now. I am living with reputable -people, and I want for nothing. La Biondella has grown very much; -she would hardly be obliged to get on your knee to kiss you now; -and she can plait her dinner-mats faster and more neatly than -ever. Our old dog is with us, and has learned two new tricks; but -you can't be expected to remember him, although you were the only -stranger I ever saw him take kindly to at first.</p> - -<p>"It is time I finished. If you have read this letter through to -the end, I am sure you will excuse me if I have written it badly. -There is no date to it, because I feel that it is safest and best -for both of us that you should know nothing of where I am living. -I bless you and pray for you, and bid you affectionately -farewell. If you can think of me as a sister, think of me -sometimes still."</p> - -<p>Fabio sighed bitterly while he read the letter. "Why," he -whispered to himself, "why does it come at such a time as this, -when I cannot dare not think of her?" As he slowly folded the -letter up the tears came into his eyes, and he half raised the -paper to his lips. At the same moment, some one knocked at the -door of the room. He started, and felt himself changing color -guiltily as one of his servants entered.</p> - -<p>"My mistress is awake," the man said, with a very grave face, and -a very constrained manner; "and the gentlemen in attendance -desire me to say—"</p> - -<p>He was interrupted, before he could give his message, by one of -the medical men, who had followed him into the room.</p> - -<p>"I wish I had better news to communicate," began the doctor, -gently.</p> - -<p>"She is worse, then?" said Fabio, sinking back into the chair -from which he had risen the moment before.</p> - -<p>"She has awakened weaker instead of stronger after her sleep," -returned the doctor, evasively. "I never like to give up all hope -till the very last, but—"</p> - -<p>"It is cruel not to be candid with him," interposed another -voice—the voice of the doctor from Florence, who had just -entered the room. "Strengthen yourself to bear the worst," he -continued, addressing himself to Fabio. "She is dying. Can you -compose yourself enough to go to her bedside?"</p> - -<p>Pale and speechless, Fabio rose from his chair, and made a sign -in the affirmative. He trembled so that the doctor who had first -spoken was obliged to lead him out of the room.</p> - -<p>"Your mistress has some near relations in Pisa, has she not?" -said the doctor from Florence, appealing to the servant who -waited near him.</p> - -<p>"Her father, sir, Signor Luca Lomi; and her uncle, Father Rocco," -answered the man. "They were here all through the day, until my -mistress fell asleep."</p> - -<p>"Do you know where to find them now?"</p> - -<p>"Signor Luca told me he should be at his studio, and Father Rocco -said I might find him at his lodgings."</p> - -<p>"Send for them both directly. Stay, who is your mistress's -confessor? He ought to be summoned without loss of time."</p> - -<p>"My mistress's confessor is Father Rocco, sir."</p> - -<p>"Very well—send, or go yourself, at once. Even minutes may be of -importance now." Saying this, the doctor turned away, and sat -down to wait for any last demands on his services, in the chair -which Fabio had just left.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> - -<p>Before the servant could get to the priest's lodgings a visitor -had applied there for admission, and had been immediately -received by Father Rocco himself. This favored guest was a little -man, very sprucely and neatly dressed, and oppressively polite in -his manner. He bowed when he first sat down, he bowed when he -answered the usual inquiries about his health, and he bowed, for -the third time, when Father Rocco asked what had brought him from -Florence.</p> - -<p>"Rather an awkward business," replied the little man, recovering -himself uneasily after his third bow. "The dressmaker, named -Nanina, whom you placed under my wife's protection about a year -ago—"</p> - -<p>"What of her?" inquired the priest eagerly.</p> - -<p>"I regret to say she has left us, with her child-sister, and -their very disagreeable dog, that growls at everybody."</p> - -<p>"When did they go?"</p> - -<p>"Only yesterday. I came here at once to tell you, as you were so -very particular in recommending us to take care of her. It is not -our fault that she has gone. My wife was kindness itself to her, -and I always treated her like a duchess. I bought dinner-mats of -her sister; I even put up with the thieving and growling of the -disagreeable dog—"</p> - -<p>"Where have they gone to? Have you found out that?"</p> - -<p>"I have found out, by application at the passport-office, that -they have not left Florence—but what particular part of the city -they have removed to, I have not yet had time to discover."</p> - -<p>"And pray why did they leave you, in the first place? Nanina is -not a girl to do anything without a reason. She must have had -some cause for going away. What was it?"</p> - -<p>The little man hesitated, and made a fourth bow.</p> - -<p>"You remember your private instructions to my wife and myself, -when you first brought Nanina to our house?" he said, looking -away rather uneasily while he spoke.</p> - -<p>"Yes; you were to watch her, but to take care that she did not -suspect you. It was just possible, at that time, that she might -try to get back to Pisa without my knowing it; and everything -depended on her remaining at Florence. I think, now, that I did -wrong to distrust her; but it was of the last importance to -provide against all possibilities, and to abstain from putting -too much faith in my own good opinion of the girl. For these -reasons, I certainly did instruct you to watch her privately. So -far you are quite right; and I have nothing to complain of. Go -on."</p> - -<p>"You remember," resumed the little man, "that the first -consequence of our following your instructions was a discovery -(which we immediately communicated to you) that she was secretly -learning to write?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; and I also remember sending you word not to show that you -knew what she was doing; but to wait and see if she turned her -knowledge of writing to account, and took or sent any letters to -the post. You informed me, in your regular monthly report, that -she nearer did anything of the kind."</p> - -<p>"Never, until three days ago; and then she was traced from her -room in my house to the post-office with a letter, which she -dropped into the box."</p> - -<p>"And the address of which you discovered before she took it from -your house?"</p> - -<p>"Unfortunately I did not," answered the little man, reddening and -looking askance at the priest, as if he expected to receive a -severe reprimand.</p> - -<p>But Father Rocco said nothing. He was thinking. Who could she -have written to? If to Fabio, why should she have waited for -months and months, after she had learned how to use her pen, -before sending him a letter? If not to Fabio, to what other -person could she have written?</p> - -<p>"I regret not discovering the address—regret it most deeply," -said the little man, with a low bow of apology.</p> - -<p>"It is too late for regret," said Father Rocco, coldly. "Tell me -how she came to leave your house; I have not heard that yet. Be -as brief as you can. I expect to be called every moment to the -bedside of a near and dear relation, who is suffering from severe -illness. You shall have all my attention; but you must ask it for -as short a time as possible."</p> - -<p>"I will be briefness itself. In the first place, you must know -that I have—or rather had—an idle, unscrupulous rascal of an -apprentice in my business."</p> - -<p>The priest pursed up his mouth contemptuously.</p> - -<p>"In the second place, this same good-for-nothing fellow had the -impertinence to fall in love with Nanina."</p> - -<p>Father Rocco started, and listened eagerly.</p> - -<p>"But I must do the girl the justice to say that she never gave -him the slightest encouragement; and that, whenever he ventured -to speak to her, she always quietly but very decidedly repelled -him."</p> - -<p>"A good girl!" said Father Rocco. "I always said she was a good -girl. It was a mistake on my part ever to have distrusted her."</p> - -<p>"Among the other offenses," continued the little man, "of which I -now find my scoundrel of an apprentice to have been guilty, was -the enormity of picking the lock of my desk, and prying into my -private papers."</p> - -<p>"You ought not to have had any. Private papers should always be -burned papers."</p> - -<p>"They shall be for the future; I will take good care of that."</p> - -<p>"Were any of my letters to you about Nanina among these private -papers?"</p> - -<p>"Unfortunately they were. Pray, pray excuse my want of caution -this time. It shall never happen again."</p> - -<p>"Go on. Such imprudence as yours can never be excused; it can -only be provided against for the future. I suppose the apprentice -showed my letters to the girl?"</p> - -<p>"I infer as much; though why he should do so—"</p> - -<p>"Simpleton! Did you not say that he was in love with her (as you -term it), and that he got no encouragement?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; I said that—and I know it to be true."</p> - -<p>"Well! Was it not his interest, being unable to make any -impression on the girl's fancy, to establish some claim to her -gratitude; and try if he could not win her that way? By showing -her my letters, he would make her indebted to him for knowing -that she was watched in your house. But this is not the matter in -question now. You say you infer that she had seen my letters. On -what grounds?"</p> - -<p>"On the strength of this bit of paper," answered the little man, -ruefully producing a note from his pocket. "She must have had -your letters shown to her soon after putting her own letter into -the post. For, on the evening of the same day, when I went up -into her room, I found that she and her sister and the -disagreeable dog had all gone, and observed this note laid on the -table."</p> - -<p>Father Rocco took the note, and read these lines:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"I have just discovered that I have been watched and suspected -ever since my stay under your roof. It is impossible that I can -remain another night in the house of a spy. I go with my sister. -We owe you nothing, and we are free to live honestly where we -please. If you see Father Rocco, tell him that I can forgive his -distrust of me, but that I can never forget it. I, who had full -faith in him, had a right to expect that he should have full -faith in me. It was always an encouragement to me to think of him -as a father and a friend. I have lost that encouragement -forever—and it was the last I had left to me!</p> - -<p>"NANINA."</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>The priest rose from his seat as he handed the note back, and the -visitor immediately followed his example.</p> - -<p>"We must remedy this misfortune as we best may," he said, with a -sigh. "Are you ready to go back to Florence to-morrow?"</p> - -<p>The little man bowed again.</p> - -<p>"Find out where she is, and ascertain if she wants for anything, -and if she is living in a safe place. Say nothing about me, and -make no attempt to induce her to return to your house. Simply let -me know what you discover. The poor child has a spirit that no -ordinary people would suspect in her. She must be soothed and -treated tenderly, and we shall manage her yet. No mistakes, mind, -this time! Do just what I tell you, and do no more. Have you -anything else to say to me?"</p> - -<p>The little man shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>"Good-night, then," said the priest.</p> - -<p>"Good-night," said the little man, slipping through the door that -was held open for him with the politest alacrity.</p> - -<p>"This is vexatious," said Father Rocco, taking a turn or two in -the study after his visitor had gone. "It was bad to have done -the child an injustice—it is worse to have been found out. There -is nothing for it now but to wait till I know where she is. I -like her, and I like that note she left behind her. It is -bravely, delicately, and honestly written—a good girl—a very -good girl, indeed!"</p> - -<p>He walked to the window, breathed the fresh air for a few -moments, and quietly dismissed the subject from his mind. When he -returned to his table he had no thoughts for any one but his sick -niece.</p> - -<p>"It seems strange," he said, "that I have had no message about -her yet. Perhaps Luca has heard something. It may be well if I go -to the studio at once to find out."</p> - -<p>He took up his hat and went to the door. Just as he opened it, -Fabio's servant confronted him on the thresh old.</p> - -<p>"I am sent to summon you to the palace," said the man. "The -doctors have given up all hope."</p> - -<p>Father Rocco turned deadly pale, and drew back a step. "Have you -told my brother of this?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"I was just on my way to the studio," answered the servant.</p> - -<p>"I will go there instead of you, and break the bad news to him," -said the priest.</p> - -<p>They descended the stairs in silence. Just as they were about to -separate at the street door, Father Rocco stopped the servant.</p> - -<p>"How is the child?" he asked, with such sudden eagerness and -impatience, that the man looked quite startled as he answered -that the child was perfectly well.</p> - -<p>"There is some consolation in that," said Father Rocco, walking -away, and speaking partly to the servant, partly to himself. "My -caution has misled me," he continued, pausing thoughtfully when -he was left alone in the roadway. "I should have risked using the -mother's influence sooner to procure the righteous restitution. -All hope of compassing it now rests on the life of the child. -Infant as she is, her father's ill-gotten wealth may yet be -gathered back to the Church by her hands."</p> - -<p>He proceeded rapidly on his way to the studio, until he reached -the river-side and drew close to the bridge which it was -necessary to cross in order to get to his brother's house. Here -he stopped abruptly, as if struck by a sudden idea. The moon had -just risen, and her light, streaming across the river, fell full -upon his face as he stood by the parapet wall that led up to the -bridge. He was so lost in thought that he did not hear the -conversation of two ladies who were advancing along the pathway -close behind him. As they brushed by him, the taller of the two -turned round and looked back at his face.</p> - -<p>"Father Rocco!" exclaimed the lady, stopping.</p> - -<p>"Donna Brigida!" cried the priest, looking surprised at first, -but recovering himself directly and bowing with his usual quiet -politeness. "Pardon me if I thank you for honoring me by renewing -our acquaintance, and then pass on to my brother's studio. A -heavy affliction is likely to befall us, and I go to prepare him -for it."</p> - -<p>"You refer to the dangerous illness of your niece?" said Brigida. -"I heard of it this evening. Let us hope that your fears are -exaggerated, and that we may yet meet under less distressing -circumstances. I have no present intention of leaving Pisa for -some time, and I shall always be glad to thank Father Rocco for -the politeness and consideration which he showed to me, under -delicate circumstances, a year ago."</p> - -<p>With these words she courtesied deferentially, and moved away to -rejoin her friend. The priest observed that Mademoiselle Virginie -lingered rather near, as if anxious to catch a few words of the -conversation between Brigida and himself. Seeing this, he, in his -turn, listened as the two women slowly walked away together, and -heard the Italian say to her companion: "Virginie, I will lay you -the price of a new dress that Fabio d'Ascoli marries again."</p> - -<p>Father Rocco started when she said those words, as if he had -trodden on fire.</p> - -<p>"My thought!" he whispered nervously to himself. "My thought at -the moment when she spoke to me! Marry again? Another wife, over -whom I should have no influence! Other children, whose education -would not be confided to me! What would become, then, of the -restitution that I have hoped for, wrought for, prayed for?"</p> - -<p>He stopped, and looked fixedly at the sky above him. The bridge -was deserted. His black figure rose up erect, motionless, and -spectral, with the white still light falling solemnly all around -it. Standing so for some minutes, his first movement was to drop -his hand angrily on the parapet of the bridge. He then turned -round slowly in the direction by which the two women had walked -away.</p> - -<p>"Donna Brigida," he said, "I will lay you the price of fifty new -dresses that Fabio d'Ascoli never marries again!"</p> - -<p>He set his face once more toward the studio, and walked on -without stopping until he arrived at the master-sculptor's door.</p> - -<p>"Marry again?" he thought to himself, as he rang the bell. "Donna -Brigida, was your first failure not enough for you? Are you going -to try a second time?"</p> - -<p>Luca Lomi himself opened the door. He drew Father Rocco hurriedly -into the studio toward a single lamp burning on a stand near the -partition between the two rooms.</p> - -<p>"Have you heard anything of our poor child?" he asked. "Tell me -the truth! tell me the truth at once!"</p> - -<p>"Hush! compose yourself. I have heard," said Father Rocco, in -low, mournful tones.</p> - -<p>Luca tightened his hold on the priest's arm, and looked into his -face with breathless, speechless eagerness.</p> - -<p>"Compose yourself," repeated Father Rocco. "Compose yourself to -hear the worst. My poor Luca, the doctors have given up all -hope."</p> - -<p>Luca dropped his brother's arm with a groan of despair. "Oh, -Maddalena! my child—my only child!"</p> - -<p>Reiterating these words again and again, he leaned his head -against the partition and burst into tears. Sordid and coarse as -his nature was, he really loved his daughter. All the heart he -had was in his statues and in her.</p> - -<p>After the first burst of his grief was exhausted, he was recalled -to himself by a sensation as if some change had taken place in -the lighting of the studio. He looked up directly, and dimly -discerned the priest standing far down at the end of the room -nearest the door, with the lamp in his hand, eagerly looking at -something.</p> - -<p>"Rocco!" he exclaimed, "Rocco, why have you taken the lamp away? -What are you doing there?"</p> - -<p>There was no movement and no answer. Luca advanced a step or two, -and called again. "Rocco, what are you doing there?"</p> - -<p>The priest heard this time, and came suddenly toward his brother, -with the lamp in his hand—so suddenly that Luca started.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" he asked, in astonishment. "Gracious God, Rocco, -how pale you are!"</p> - -<p>Still the priest never said a word. He put the lamp down on the -nearest table. Luca observed that his hand shook. He had never -seen his brother violently agitated before. When Rocco had -announced, but a few minutes ago, that Maddalena's life was -despaired of, it was in a voice which, though sorrowful, was -perfectly calm. What was the meaning of this sudden panic—this -strange, silent terror?</p> - -<p>The priest observed that his brother was looking at him -earnestly. "Come!" he said in a faint whisper, "come to her -bedside: we have no time to lose. Get your hat, and leave it to -me to put out the lamp."</p> - -<p>He hurriedly extinguished the light while he spoke. They went -down the studio side by side toward the door. The moonlight -streamed through the window full on the place where the priest -had been standing alone with the lamp in his hand. As they passed -it, Luca felt his brother tremble, and saw him turn away his -head.</p> - -<p style="text-align: center">. . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>Two hours later, Fabio d'Ascoli and his wife were separated in -this world forever; and the servants of the palace were -anticipating in whispers the order of their mistress's funeral -procession to the burial-ground of the Campo Santo.</p> - -<h3>PART THIRD.</h3> - -<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> - -<p>About eight months after the Countess d'Ascoli had been laid in -her grave in the Campo Santo, two reports were circulated through -the gay world of Pisa, which excited curiosity and awakened -expectation everywhere.</p> - -<p>The first report announced that a grand masked ball was to be -given at the Melani Palace, to celebrate the day on which the -heir of the house attained his majority. All the friends of the -family were delighted at the prospect of this festival; for the -old Marquis Melani had the reputation of being one of the most -hospitable, and, at the same time, one of the most eccentric men -in Pisa. Every one expected, therefore, that he would secure for -the entertainment of his guests, if he really gave the ball, the -most whimsical novelties in the way of masks, dances, and -amusements generally, that had ever been seen.</p> - -<p>The second report was, that the rich widower, Fabio d'Ascoli, was -on the point of returning to Pisa, after having improved his -health and spirits by traveling in foreign countries; and that he -might be expected to appear again in society, for the first time -since the death of his wife, at the masked ball which was to be -given in the Melani Palace. This announcement excited special -interest among the young ladies of Pisa. Fabio had only reached -his thirtieth year; and it was universally agreed that his return -to society in his native city could indicate nothing more -certainly than his desire to find a second mother for his infant -child. All the single ladies would now have been ready to bet, as -confidently as Brigida had offered to bet eight months before, -that Fabio d'Ascoli would marry again.</p> - -<p>For once in a way, report turned out to be true, in both the -cases just mentioned. Invitations were actually issued from the -Melani Palace, and Fabio returned from abroad to his home on the -Arno.</p> - -<p>In settling all the arrangements connected with his masked ball, -the Marquis Melani showed that he was determined not only to -deserve, but to increase, his reputation for oddity. He invented -the most extravagant disguises, to be worn by some of his more -intimate friends; he arranged grotesque dances, to be performed -at stated periods of the evening by professional buffoons, hired -from Florence. He composed a toy symphony, which included solos -on every noisy plaything at that time manufactured for children's -use. And not content with thus avoiding the beaten track in -preparing the entertainments at the ball, he determined also to -show decided originality, even in selecting the attendants who -were to wait on the company. Other people in his rank of life -were accustomed to employ their own and hired footmen for this -purpose; the marquis resolved that his attendants should be -composed of young women only; that two of his rooms should be -fitted up as Arcadian bowers; and that all the prettiest girls in -Pisa should be placed in them to preside over the refreshments, -dressed, in accordance with the mock classical taste of the -period, as shepherdesses of the time of Virgil.</p> - -<p>The only defect of this brilliantly new idea was the difficulty -of executing it. The marquis had expressly ordered that not fewer -than thirty shepherdesses were to be engaged—fifteen for each -bower. It would have been easy to find double this number in -Pisa, if beauty had been the only quality required in the -attendant damsels. But it was also absolutely necessary, for the -security of the marquis's gold and silver plate, that the -shepherdesses should possess, besides good looks, the very homely -recommendation of a fair character. This last qualification -proved, it is sad to say, to be the one small merit which the -majority of the ladies willing to accept engagements at the -palace did not possess. Day after day passed on; and the -marquis's steward only found more and more difficulty in -obtaining the appointed number of trustworthy beauties. At last -his resources failed him altogether; and he appeared in his -master's presence about a week before the night of the ball, to -make the humiliating acknowledgment that he was entirely at his -wits' end. The total number of fair shepherdesses with fair -characters whom he had been able to engage amounted only to -twenty-three.</p> - -<p>"Nonsense!" cried the marquis, irritably, as soon as the steward -had made his confession. "I told you to get thirty girls, and -thirty I mean to have. What's the use of shaking your head when -all their dresses are ordered? Thirty tunics, thirty wreaths, -thirty pairs of sandals and silk stockings, thirty crooks, you -scoundrel—and you have the impudence to offer me only -twenty-three hands to hold them. Not a word! I won't hear a word! -Get me my thirty girls, or lose your place." The marquis roared -out this last terrible sentence at the top of his voice, and -pointed peremptorily to the door.</p> - -<p>The steward knew his master too well to remonstrate. He took his -hat and cane, and went out. It was useless to look through the -ranks of rejected volunteers again; there was not the slightest -hope in that quarter. The only chance left was to call on all his -friends in Pisa who had daughters out at service, and to try what -he could accomplish, by bribery and persuasion, that way.</p> - -<p>After a whole day occupied in solicitations, promises, and -patient smoothing down of innumerable difficulties, the result of -his efforts in the new direction was an accession of six more -shepherdesses. This brought him on bravely from twenty-three to -twenty-nine, and left him, at last, with only one anxiety—where -was he now to find shepherdess number thirty?</p> - -<p>He mentally asked himself that important question, as he entered -a shady by-street in the neighborhood of the Campo Santo, on his -way back to the Melani Palace. Sauntering slowly along in the -middle of the road, and fanning himself with his handkerchief -after the oppressive exertions of the day, he passed a young girl -who was standing at the street door of one of the houses, -apparently waiting for somebody to join her before she entered -the building.</p> - -<p>"Body of Bacchus!" exclaimed the steward (using one of those old -Pagan ejaculations which survive in Italy even to the present -day), "there stands the prettiest girl I have seen yet. If she -would only be shepherdess number thirty, I should go home to -supper with my mind at ease. I'll ask her, at any rate. Nothing -can be lost by asking, and everything may be gained. Stop, my -dear," he continued, seeing the girl turn to go into the house as -he approached her. "Don't be afraid of me. I am steward to the -Marquis Melani, and well known in Pisa as an eminently -respectable man. I have something to say to you which may be -greatly for your benefit. Don't look surprised; I am coming to -the point at once. Do you want to earn a little money? honestly, -of course. You don't look as if you were very rich, child."</p> - -<p>"I am very poor, and very much in want of some honest work to -do," answered the girl, sadly.</p> - -<p>"Then we shall suit each other to a nicety; for I have work of -the pleasantest kind to give you, and plenty of money to pay for -it. But before we say anything more about that, suppose you tell -me first something about yourself—who you are, and so forth. You -know who I am already."</p> - -<p>"I am only a poor work-girl, and my name is Nanina. I have -nothing more, sir, to say about myself than that."</p> - -<p>"Do you belong to Pisa?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir—at least, I did. But I have been away for some time. I -was a year at Florence, employed in needlework."</p> - -<p>"All by yourself?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir, with my little sister. I was waiting for her when you -came up."</p> - -<p>"Have you never done anything else but needlework? never been out -at service?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir. For the last eight months I have had a situation to -wait on a lady at Florence, and my sister (who is turned eleven, -sir, and can make herself very useful) was allowed to help in the -nursery."</p> - -<p>"How came you to leave this situation?"</p> - -<p>"The lady and her family were going to Rome, sir. They would have -taken me with them, but they could not take my sister. We are -alone in the world, and we never have been parted from each -other, and never shall be—so I was obliged to leave the -situation."</p> - -<p>"And here you are, back at Pisa—with nothing to do, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing yet, sir. We only came back yesterday."</p> - -<p>"Only yesterday! You are a lucky girl, let me tell you, to have -met with me. I suppose you have somebody in the town who can -speak to your character?"</p> - -<p>"The landlady of this house can, sir."</p> - -<p>"And who is she, pray?"</p> - -<p>"Marta Angrisani, sir."</p> - -<p>"What! the well-known sick-nurse? You could not possibly have a -better recommendation, child. I remember her being employed at -the Melani Palace at the time of the marquis's last attack of -gout; but I never knew that she kept a lodging-house."</p> - -<p>"She and her daughter, sir, have owned this house longer than I -can recollect. My sister and I have lived in it since I was quite -a little child, and I had hoped we might be able to live here -again. But the top room we used to have is taken, and the room to -let lower down is far more, I am afraid, than we can afford."</p> - -<p>"How much is it?"</p> - -<p>Nanina mentioned the weekly rent of the room in fear and -trembling. The steward burst out laughing.</p> - -<p>"Suppose I offered you money enough to be able to take that room -for a whole year at once?" he said.</p> - -<p>Nanina looked at him in speechless amazement. -"Suppose I offered you that?" continued the steward. "And -suppose I only ask you in return to put on a fine dress and serve -refreshments in a beautiful room to the company at the Marquis -Melani's grand ball? What should you say to that?"</p> - -<p>Nanina said nothing. She drew back a step or two, and looked more -bewildered than before.</p> - -<p>"You must have heard of the ball," said the steward, pompously; -"the poorest people in Pisa have heard of it. It is the talk of -the whole city."</p> - -<p>Still Nanina made no answer. To have replied truthfully, she must -have confessed that "the talk of the whole city" had now no -interest for her. The last news from Pisa that had appealed to -her sympathies was the news of the Countess d'Ascoli's death, and -of Fabio's departure to travel in foreign countries. Since then -she had heard nothing more of him. She was as ignorant of his -return to his native city as of all the reports connected with -the marquis's ball. Something in her own heart—some feeling -which she had neither the desire nor the capacity to analyze—had -brought her back to Pisa and to the old home which now connected -itself with her tenderest recollections. Believing that Fabio was -still absent, she felt that no ill motive could now be attributed -to her return; and she had not been able to resist the temptation -of revisiting the scene that had been associated with the first -great happiness as well as with the first great sorrow of her -life. Among all the poor people of Pisa, she was perhaps the very -last whose curiosity could be awakened, or whose attention could -be attracted by the rumor of gayeties at the Melani Palace.</p> - -<p>But she could not confess all this; she could only listen with -great humility and no small surprise, while the steward, in -compassion for her ignorance, and with the hope of tempting her -into accepting his offered engagement, described the arrangements -of the approaching festival, and dwelt fondly on the magnificence -of the Arcadian bowers, and the beauty of the shepherdesses' -tunics. As soon as he had done, Nanina ventured on the confession -that she should feel rather nervous in a grand dress that did not -belong to her, and that she doubted very much her own capability -of waiting properly on the great people at the ball. The steward, -however, would hear of no objections, and called peremptorily for -Marta Angrisani to make the necessary statement as to Nanina's -character. While this formality was being complied with to the -steward's perfect satisfaction, La Biondella came in, -unaccompanied on this occasion by the usual companion of all her -walks, the learned poodle Scarammuccia.</p> - -<p>"This is Nanina's sister," said the good-natured sick-nurse, -taking the first opportunity of introducing La Biondella to the -great marquis's great man. "A very good, industrious little girl; -and very clever at plaiting dinner-mats, in case his excellency -should ever want any. What have you done with the dog, my dear?"</p> - -<p>"I couldn't get him past the pork butcher's, three streets off," -replied La Biondella. "He would sit down and look at the -sausages. I am more than half afraid he means to steal some of -them."</p> - -<p>"A very pretty child," said the steward, patting La Biondella on -the cheek. "We ought to have her at the hall. If his excellency -should want a Cupid, or a youthful nymph, or anything small and -light in that way, I shall come back and let you know. In the -meantime, Nanina, consider yourself Shepherdess Number Thirty, -and come to the housekeeper's room at the palace to try on your -dress to-morrow. Nonsense! don't talk to me about being afraid -and awkward. All you're wanted to do is to look pretty; and your -glass must have told you you could do that long ago. Remember the -rent of the room, my dear, and don't stand in your light and your -sister's. Does the little girl like sweetmeats? Of course she -does! Well, I promise you a whole box of sugar-plums to take home -for her, if you will come and wait at the ball."</p> - -<p>"Oh, go to the ball, Nanina; go to the ball!" cried La Biondella, -clapping her hands.</p> - -<p>"Of course she will go to the ball," said the nurse. "She would -be mad to throw away such an excellent chance."</p> - -<p>Nanina looked perplexed. She hesitated a little, then drew Marta -Angrisani away into a corner, and whispered this question to her:</p> - -<p>"Do you think there will be any priests at the palace where the -marquis lives?"</p> - -<p>"Heavens, child, what a thing to ask!" returned the nurse. -"Priests at a masked ball! You might as well expect to find Turks -performing high mass in the cathedral. But supposing you did meet -with priests at the palace, what then?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing," said Nanina, constrainedly. She turned pale, and -walked away as she spoke. Her great dread, in returning to Pisa, -was the dread of meeting with Father Rocco again. She had never -forgotten her first discovery at Florence of his distrust of her. -The bare thought of seeing him any more, after her faith in him -had been shaken forever, made her feel faint and sick at heart.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow, in the housekeeper's room," said the steward, putting -on his hat, "you will find your new dress all ready for you."</p> - -<p>Nanina courtesied, and ventured on no more objections. The -prospect of securing a home for a whole year to come among people -whom she knew, reconciled her—influenced as she was also by -Marta Angrisani's advice, and by her sister's anxiety for the -promised present—to brave the trial of appearing at the ball.</p> - -<p>"What a comfort to have it all settled at last," said the -steward, as soon as he was out again in the street. "We shall see -what the marquis says now. If he doesn't apologize for calling me -a scoundrel the moment he sets eyes on Number Thirty, he is the -most ungrateful nobleman that ever existed."</p> - -<p>Arriving in front of the palace, the steward found workmen -engaged in planning the external decorations and illuminations -for the night of the ball. A little crowd had already assembled -to see the ladders raised and the scaffoldings put up. He -observed among them, standing near the outskirts of the throng, a -lady who attracted his attention (he was an ardent admirer of the -fair sex) by the beauty and symmetry of her figure. While he -lingered for a moment to look at her, a shaggy poodle-dog -(licking his chops, as if he had just had something to eat) -trotted by, stopped suddenly close to the lady, sniffed -suspiciously for an instant, and then began to growl at her -without the slightest apparent provocation. The steward advancing -politely with his stick to drive the dog away, saw the lady -start, and heard her exclaim to herself amazedly:</p> - -<p>"You here, you beast! Can Nanina have come back to Pisa?"</p> - -<p>This last exclamation gave the steward, as a gallant man, an -excuse for speaking to the elegant stranger.</p> - -<p>"Excuse me, madam," he said, "but I heard you mention the name of -Nanina. May I ask whether you mean a pretty little work-girl who -lives near the Campo Santo?"</p> - -<p>"The same," said the lady, looking very much surprised and -interested immediately.</p> - -<p>"It may be a gratification to you, madam, to know that she has -just returned to Pisa," continued the steward, politely; "and, -moreover, that she is in a fair way to rise in the world. I have -just engaged her to wait at the marquis's grand ball, and I need -hardly say, under those circumstances, that if she plays her -cards properly her fortune is made."</p> - -<p>The lady bowed, looked at her informant very intently and -thoughtfully for a moment, then suddenly walked away without -uttering a word.</p> - -<p>"A curious woman," thought the steward, entering the palace. "I -must ask Number Thirty about her to-morrow."</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> - -<p>The death of Maddalena d'Ascoli produced a complete change in the -lives of her father and her uncle. After the first shock of the -bereavement was over, Luca Lomi declared that it would be -impossible for him to work in his studio again—for some time to -come at least—after the death of the beloved daughter, with whom -every corner of it was now so sadly and closely associated. He -accordingly accepted an engagement to assist in restoring several -newly discovered works of ancient sculpture at Naples, and set -forth for that city, leaving the care of his work-rooms at Pisa -entirely to his brother.</p> - -<p>On the master-sculptor's departure, Father Rocco caused the -statues and busts to be carefully enveloped in linen cloths, -locked the studio doors, and, to the astonishment of all who knew -of his former industry and dexterity as a sculptor, never -approached the place again. His clerical duties he performed with -the same assiduity as ever; but he went out less than had been -his custom hitherto to the houses of his friends. His most -regular visits were to the Ascoli Palace, to inquire at the -porter's lodge after the health of Maddalena's child, who was -always reported to be thriving admirably under the care of the -best nurses that could be found in Pisa. As for any -communications with his polite little friend from Florence, they -had ceased months ago. The information—speedily conveyed to -him—that Nanina was in the service of one of the most -respectable ladies in the city seemed to relieve any anxieties -which he might otherwise have felt on her account. He made no -attempt to justify himself to her; and only required that his -over-courteous little visitor of former days should let him know -whenever the girl might happen to leave her new situation.</p> - -<p>The admirers of Father Rocco, seeing the alteration in his life, -and the increased quietness of his manner, said that, as he was -growing older, he was getting more and more above the things of -this world. His enemies (for even Father Rocco had them) did not -scruple to assert that the change in him was decidedly for the -worse, and that he belonged to the order of men who are most to -be distrusted when they become most subdued. The priest himself -paid no attention either to his eulogists or his depreciators. -Nothing disturbed the regularity and discipline of his daily -habits; and vigilant Scandal, though she sought often to surprise -him, sought always in vain.</p> - -<p>Such was Father Rocco's life from the period of his niece's death -to Fabio's return to Pisa.</p> - -<p>As a matter of course, the priest was one of the first to call at -the palace and welcome the young nobleman back. What passed -between them at this interview never was precisely known; but it -was surmised readily enough that some misunderstanding had taken -place, for Father Rocco did not repeat his visit. He made no -complaints of Fabio, but simply stated that he had said -something, intended for the young man's good, which had not been -received in a right spirit; and that he thought it desirable to -avoid the painful chance of any further collision by not -presenting himself at the palace again for some little time. -People were rather amazed at this. They would have been still -more surprised if the subject of the masked ball had not just -then occupied all their attention, and prevented their noticing -it, by another strange event in connection with the priest. -Father Rocco, some weeks after the cessation of his intercourse -with Fabio, returned one morning to his old way of life as a -sculptor, and opened the long-closed doors of his brother's -studio.</p> - -<p>Luca Lomi's former workmen, discovering this, applied to him -immediately for employment; but were informed that their services -would not be needed. Visitors called at the studio, but were -always sent away again by the disappointing announcement that -there was nothing new to show them. So the days passed on until -Nanina left her situation and returned to Pisa. This circumstance -was duly reported to Father Rocco by his correspondent at -Florence; but, whether he was too much occupied among the -statues, or whether it was one result of his cautious resolution -never to expose himself unnecessarily to so much as the breath of -detraction, he made no attempt to see Nanina, or even to justify -himself toward her by writing her a letter. All his mornings -continued to be spent alone in the studio, and all his afternoons -to be occupied by his clerical duties, until the day before the -masked ball at the Melani Palace.</p> - -<p>Early on that day he covered over the statues, and locked the -doors of the work-rooms once more; then returned to his own -lodgings, and did not go out again. One or two of his friends who -wanted to see him were informed that he was not well enough to be -able to receive them. If they had penetrated into his little -study, and had seen him, they would have been easily satisfied -that this was no mere excuse. They would have noticed that his -face was startlingly pale, and that the ordinary composure of his -manner was singularly disturbed.</p> - -<p>Toward evening this restlessness increased, and his old -housekeeper, on pressing him to take some nourishment, was -astonished to hear him answer her sharply and irritably, for the -first time since she had been in his service. A little later her -surprise was increased by his sending her with a note to the -Ascoli Palace, and by the quick return of an answer, brought -ceremoniously by one of Fabio's servants. "It is long since he -has had any communication with that quarter. Are they going to be -friends again?" thought the housekeeper as she took the answer -upstairs to her master.</p> - -<p>"I feel better to-night," he said as he read it; "well enough -indeed to venture out. If any one inquires for me, tell them that -I am gone to the Ascoli Palace." Saying this, he walked to the -door; then returned, and trying the lock of his cabinet, -satisfied himself that it was properly secured; then went out.</p> - -<p>He found Fabio in one of the large drawing-rooms of the palace, -walking irritably backward and forward, with several little notes -crumpled together in his hands, and a plain black domino dress -for the masquerade of the ensuing night spread out on one of the -tables.</p> - -<p>"I was just going to write to you," said the young man, abruptly, -"when I received your letter. You offer me a renewal of our -friendship, and I accept the offer. I have no doubt those -references of yours, when we last met, to the subject of second -marriages were well meant, but they irritated me; and, speaking -under that irritation, I said words that I had better not have -spoken. If I pained you, I am sorry for it. Wait! pardon me for -one moment. I have not quite done yet. It seems that you are by -no means the only person in Pisa to whom the question of my -possibly marrying again appears to have presented itself. Ever -since it was known that I intended to renew my intercourse with -society at the ball to-morrow night, I have been persecuted by -anonymous letters—infamous letters, written from some motive -which it is impossible for me to understand. I want your advice -on the best means of discovering the writers; and I have also a -very important question to ask you. But read one of the letters -first yourself; any one will do as a sample of the rest."</p> - -<p>Fixing his eyes searchingly on the priest, he handed him one of -the notes. Still a little paler than usual, Father Rocco sat down -by the nearest lamp, and shading his eyes, read these lines:</p> - - -<blockquote> -<p>"COUNT FABIO—-It is the common talk of Pisa that you are likely, -as a young man left with a motherless child, to marry again. Your -having accepted an invitation to the Melani Palace gives a color -of truth to this report. Widowers who are true to the departed do -not go among all the handsomest single women in a city at a -masked ball. Reconsider your determination, and remain at home. I -know you, and I knew your wife, and I say to you solemnly, avoid -temptation, for you must never marry again. Neglect my advice and -you will repent it to the end of your life. I have reasons for -what I say—serious, fatal reasons, which I cannot divulge. If -you would let your wife lie easy in her grave, if you would avoid -a terrible warning, go not to the masked ball!"</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>"I ask you, and I ask any man, if that is not infamous?" -exclaimed Fabio, passionately, as the priest handed him back the -letter. "An attempt to work on my fears through the memory of my -poor dead wife! An insolent assumption that I want to marry -again, when I myself have not even so much as thought of the -subject at all! What is the secret object of this letter, and of -the rest here that resemble it? Whose interest is it to keep me -away from the ball? What is the meaning of such a phrase as, 'If -you would let your wife lie easy in her grave'? Have you no -advice to give me—no plan to propose for discovering the vile -hand that traced these lines? Speak to me! Why, in Heaven's name, -don't you speak?"</p> - -<p>The priest leaned his head on his hand, and, turning his face -from the light as if it dazzled his eyes, replied in his lowest -and quietest tones:</p> - -<p>"I cannot speak till I have had time to think. The mystery of -that letter is not to be solved in a moment. There are things in -it that are enough to perplex and amaze any man!"</p> - -<p>"What things?"</p> - -<p>"It is impossible for me to go into details—at least at the -present moment."</p> - -<p>"You speak with a strange air of secrecy. Have you nothing -definite to say—no advice to give me?"</p> - -<p>"I should advise you not to go to the ball."</p> - -<p>"You would! Why?"</p> - -<p>"If I gave you my reasons, I am afraid I should only be -irritating you to no purpose."</p> - -<p>"Father Rocco, neither your words nor your manner satisfy me. You -speak in riddles; and you sit there in the dark with your face -hidden from me—"</p> - -<p>The priest instantly started up and turned his face to the light.</p> - -<p>"I recommend you to control your temper, and to treat me with -common courtesy," he said, in his quietest, firmest tones, -looking at Fabio steadily while he spoke.</p> - -<p>"We will not prolong this interview," said the young man, calming -himself by an evident effort. "I have one question to ask you, -and then no more to say."</p> - -<p>The priest bowed his head, in token that he was ready to listen. -He still stood up, calm, pale, and firm, in the full light of the -lamp.</p> - -<p>"It is just possible," continued Fabio, "that these letters may -refer to some incautious words which my late wife might have -spoken. I ask you as her spiritual director, and as a near -relation who enjoyed her confidence, if you ever heard her -express a wish, in the event of my surviving her, that I should -abstain from marrying again?"</p> - -<p>"Did she never express such a wish to you?"</p> - -<p>"Never. But why do you evade my question by asking me another?"</p> - -<p>"It is impossible for me to reply to your question."</p> - -<p>"For what reason?"</p> - -<p>"Because it is impossible for me to give answers which must -refer, whether they are affirmative or negative, to what I have -heard in confession."</p> - -<p>"We have spoken enough," said Fabio, turning angrily from the -priest. "I expected you to help me in clearing up these -mysteries, and you do your best to thicken them. What your -motives are, what your conduct means, it is impossible for me to -know, but I say to you, what I would say in far other terms, if -they were here, to the villains who have written these -letters—no menaces, no mysteries, no conspiracies, will prevent -me from being at the ball to-morrow. I can listen to persuasion, -but I scorn threats. There lies my dress for the masquerade; no -power on earth shall prevent me from wearing it to-morrow night!" -He pointed, as he spoke, to the black domino and half-mask lying -on the table.</p> - -<p>"No power on <i>earth</i>!" repeated Father Rocco, with a smile, and -an emphasis on the last word. "Superstitious still, Count Fabio! -Do you suspect the powers of the other world of interfering with -mortals at masquerades?"</p> - -<p>Fabio started, and, turning from the table, fixed his eyes -intently on the priest's face.</p> - -<p>"You suggested just now that we had better not prolong this -interview," said Father Rocco, still smiling. "I think you were -right; if we part at once, we may still part friends. You have -had my advice not to go to the ball, and you decline following -it. I have nothing more to say. Good-night."</p> - -<p>Before Fabio could utter the angry rejoinder that rose to his -lips, the door of the room had opened and closed again, and the -priest was gone.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> - -<p>The next night, at the time of assembling specified in the -invitations to the masked ball, Fabio was still lingering in his -palace, and still allowing the black domino to lie untouched and -unheeded on his dressing-table. This delay was not produced by -any change in his resolution to go to the Melani Palace. His -determination to be present at the ball remained unshaken; and -yet, at the last moment, he lingered and lingered on, without -knowing why. Some strange influence seemed to be keeping him -within the walls of his lonely home. It was as if the great, -empty, silent palace had almost recovered on that night the charm -which it had lost when its mistress died.</p> - -<p>He left his own apartment and went to the bedroom where his -infant child lay asleep in her little crib. He sat watching her, -and thinking quietly and tenderly of many past events in his life -for a long time, then returned to his room. A sudden sense of -loneliness came upon him after his visit to the child's bedside; -but he did not attempt to raise his spirits even then by going to -the ball. He descended instead to his study, lighted his -reading-lamp, and then, opening a bureau, took from one of the -drawers in it the letter which Nanina had written to him. This -was not the first time that a sudden sense of his solitude had -connected itself inexplicably with the remembrance of the -work-girl's letter.</p> - -<p>He read it through slowly, and when he had done, kept it open in -his hand. "I have youth, titles, wealth," he thought to himself, -sadly; "everything that is sought after in this world. And yet if -I try to think of any human being who really and truly loves me, -I can remember but one—the poor, faithful girl who wrote these -lines!"</p> - -<p>Old recollections of the first day when he met with Nanina, of -the first sitting she had given him in Luca Lomi's studio, of the -first visit to the neat little room in the by-street, began to -rise more and more vividly in his mind. Entirely absorbed by -them, he sat absently drawing with pen and ink, on some sheets of -letter-paper lying under his hand, lines and circles, and -fragments of decorations, and vague remembrances of old ideas for -statues, until the sudden sinking of the flame of his lamp awoke -his attention abruptly to present things.</p> - -<p>He looked at his watch. It was close on midnight.</p> - -<p>This discovery at last aroused him to the necessity of immediate -departure. In a few minutes he had put on his domino and mask, -and was on his way to the ball.</p> - -<p>Before he reached the Melani Palace the first part of the -entertainment had come to an end. The "Toy Symphony" had been -played, the grotesque dance performed, amid universal laughter; -and now the guests were, for the most part, fortifying themselves -in the Arcadian bowers for new dances, in which all persons -present were expected to take part. The Marquis Melani had, with -characteristic oddity, divided his two classical -refreshment-rooms into what he termed the Light and Heavy -Departments. Fruit, pastry, sweetmeats, salads, and harmless -drinks were included under the first head, and all the -stimulating liquors and solid eatables under the last. The thirty -shepherdesses had been, according to the marquis's order, equally -divided at the outset of the evening between the two rooms. But -as the company began to crowd more and more resolutely in the -direction of the Heavy Department, ten of the shepherdesses -attached to the Light Department were told off to assist in -attending on the hungry and thirsty majority of guests who were -not to be appeased by pastry and lemonade. Among the five girls -who were left behind in the room for the light refreshments was -Nanina. The steward soon discovered that the novelty of her -situation made her really nervous, and he wisely concluded that -if he trusted her where the crowd was greatest and the noise -loudest, she would not only be utterly useless, but also very -much in the way of her more confident and experienced companions.</p> - -<p>When Fabio arrived at the palace, the jovial uproar in the Heavy -Department was at its height, and several gentlemen, fired by the -classical costumes of the shepherdesses, were beginning to speak -Latin to them with a thick utterance, and a valorous contempt for -all restrictions of gender, number, and case. As soon as he could -escape from the congratulations on his return to his friends, -which poured on him from all sides, Fabio withdrew to seek some -quieter room. The heat, noise, and confusion had so bewildered -him, after the tranquil life he had been leading for many months -past, that it was quite a relief to stroll through the half deserted -dancing-rooms, to the opposite extremity of the great suite of -apartments, and there to find himself in a second Arcadian bower, -which seemed peaceful enough to deserve its name.</p> - -<p>A few guests were in this room when he first entered it, but the -distant sound of some first notes of dance music drew them all -away. After a careless look at the quaint decorations about him, -he sat down alone on a divan near the door, and beginning already -to feel the heat and discomfort of his mask, took it off. He had -not removed it more than a moment before he heard a faint cry in -the direction of a long refreshment-table, behind which the five -waiting-girls were standing. He started up directly, and could -hardly believe his senses, when he found himself standing face to -face with Nanina.</p> - -<p>Her cheeks had turned perfectly colorless. Her astonishment at -seeing the young nobleman appeared to have some sensation of -terror mingled with it. The waiting-woman who happened to stand -by her side instinctively stretched out an arm to support her, -observing that she caught at the edge of the table as Fabio -hurried round to get behind it and speak to her. When he drew -near, her head drooped on her breast, and she said, faintly: "I -never knew you were at Pisa; I never thought you would be here. -Oh, I am true to what I said in my letter, though I seem so false -to it!"</p> - -<p>"I want to speak to you about the letter—to tell you how -carefully I have kept it, how often I have read it," said Fabio.</p> - -<p>She turned away her head, and tried hard to repress the tears -that would force their way into her eyes "We should never have -met," she said; "never, never have met again!"</p> - -<p>Before Fabio could reply, the waiting-woman by Nanina's side -interposed.</p> - -<p>"For Heaven's sake, don't stop speaking to her here!" she -exclaimed, impatiently. "If the steward or one of the upper -servants was to come in, you would get her into dreadful trouble. -Wait till to-morrow, and find some fitter place than this."</p> - -<p>Fabio felt the justice of the reproof immediately. He tore a leaf -out of his pocketbook, and wrote on it, "I must tell you how I -honor and thank you for that letter. To-morrow—ten o'clock—the -wicket-gate at the back of the Ascoli gardens. Believe in my -truth and honor, Nanina, for I believe implicitly in yours." -Having written these lines, he took from among his bunch of -watch-seals a little key, wrapped it up in the note, and pressed -it into her hand. In spite of himself his fingers lingered round -hers, and he was on the point of speaking to her again, when he -saw the waiting-woman's hand, which was just raised to motion him -away, suddenly drop. Her color changed at the same moment, and -she looked fixedly across the table.</p> - -<p>He turned round immediately, and saw a masked woman standing -alone in the room, dressed entirely in yellow from head to foot. -She had a yellow hood, a yellow half-mask with deep fringe -hanging down over her mouth, and a yellow domino, cut at the -sleeves and edges into long flame-shaped points, which waved -backward and forward tremulously in the light air wafted through -the doorway. The woman's black eyes seemed to gleam with an evil -brightness through the sight-holes of the mask, and the tawny -fringe hanging before her mouth fluttered slowly with every -breath she drew. Without a word or a gesture she stood before the -table, and her gleaming black eyes fixed steadily on Fabio the -instant he confronted her. A sudden chill struck through him, as -he observed that the yellow of the stranger's domino and mask was -of precisely the same shade as the yellow of the hangings and -furniture which his wife had chosen after their marriage for the -decoration of her favorite sitting-room.</p> - -<p>"The Yellow Mask!" whispered the waiting-girls nervously, -crowding together behind the table. "The Yellow Mask again!"</p> - -<p>"Make her speak!"</p> - -<p>"Ask her to have something!"</p> - -<p>"This gentleman will ask her. Speak to her, sir. Do speak to her! -She glides about in that fearful yellow dress like a ghost."</p> - -<p>Fabio looked around mechanically at the girl who was whispering -to him. He saw at the same time that Nanina still kept her head -turned away, and that she had her handkerchief at her eyes. She -was evidently struggling yet with the agitation produced by their -unexpected meeting, and was, most probably for that reason, the -only person in the room not conscious of the presence of the -Yellow Mask.</p> - -<p>"Speak to her, sir. Do speak to her!" whispered two of the -waiting-girls together.</p> - -<p>Fabio turned again toward the table. The black eyes were still -gleaming at him from behind the tawny yellow of the mask. He -nodded to the girls who had just spoken, cast one farewell look -at Nanina, and moved down the room to get round to the side of -the table at which the Yellow Mask was standing. Step by step as -he moved the bright eyes followed him. Steadily and more steadily -their evil light seemed to shine through and through him, as he -turned the corner of the table and approached the still, spectral -figure.</p> - -<p>He came close up to the woman, but she never moved; her eyes -never wavered for an instant. He stopped and tried to speak; but -the chill struck through him again. An overpowering dread, an -unutterable loathing seized on him; all sense of outer -things—the whispering of the waiting-girls behind the table, the -gentle cadence of the dance music, the distant hum of joyous -talk—suddenly left him. He turned away shuddering, and quitted -the room.</p> - -<p>Following the sound of the music, and desiring before all things -now to join the crowd wherever it was largest, he was stopped in -one of the smaller apartments by a gentleman who had just risen -from the card table, and who held out his hand with the -cordiality of an old friend.</p> - -<p>"Welcome back to the world, Count Fabio!" he began, gayly, then -suddenly checked himself. "Why, you look pale, and your hand -feels cold. Not ill, I hope?"</p> - -<p>"No, no. I have been rather startled—I can't say why—by a very -strangely dressed woman, who fairly stared me out of -countenance."</p> - -<p>"You don't mean the Yellow Mask?"</p> - -<p>"Yes I do. Have you seen her?"</p> - -<p>"Everybody has seen her; but nobody can make her unmask, or get -her to speak. Our host has not the slightest notion who she is; -and our hostess is horribly frightened at her. For my part, I -think she has given us quite enough of her mystery and her grim -dress; and if my name, instead of being nothing but plain Andrea -D'Arbino, was Marquis Melani, I would say to her: 'Madam, we are -here to laugh and amuse ourselves; suppose you open your lips, -and charm us by appearing in a prettier dress!'"</p> - -<p>During this conversation they had sat down together, with their -backs toward the door, by the side of one of the card-tables. -While D'Arbino was speaking, Fabio suddenly felt himself -shuddering again, and became conscious of a sound of low -breathing behind him.</p> - -<p>He turned round instantly, and there, standing between them, and -peering down at them, was the Yellow Mask!</p> - -<p>Fabio started up, and his friend followed his example. Again the -gleaming black eyes rested steadily on the young nobleman's face, -and again their look chilled him to the heart.</p> - -<p>"Yellow Lady, do you know my friend?" exclaimed D'Arbino, with -mock solemnity.</p> - -<p>There was no answer. The fatal eyes never moved from Fabio's -face.</p> - -<p>"Yellow Lady," continued the other, "listen to the music. Will -you dance with me?"</p> - -<p>The eyes looked away, and the figure glided slowly from the room.</p> - -<p>"My dear count," said D'Arbino, "that woman seems to have quite -an effect on you. I declare she has left you paler than ever. -Come into the supper-room with me, and have some wine; you really -look as if you wanted it."</p> - -<p>They went at once to the large refreshment-room. Nearly all the -guests had by this time begun to dance again. They had the whole -apartment, therefore, almost entirely to themselves.</p> - -<p>Among the decorations of the room, which were not strictly in -accordance with genuine Arcadian simplicity, was a large -looking-glass, placed over a well-furnished sideboard. D'Arbino -led Fabio in this direction, exchanging greetings as he advanced -with a gentleman who stood near the glass looking into it, and -carelessly fanning himself with his mask.</p> - -<p>"My dear friend!" cried D'Arbino, "you are the very man to lead -us straight to the best bottle of wine in the palace. Count -Fabio, let me present to you my intimate and good friend, the -Cavaliere Finello, with whose family I know you are well -acquainted. Finello, the count is a little out of spirits, and I -have prescribed a good dose of wine. I see a whole row of bottles -at your side, and I leave it to you to apply the remedy. Glasses -there! three glasses, my lovely shepherdess with the black -eyes—the three largest you have got."</p> - -<p>The glasses were brought; the Cavaliere Finello chose a -particular bottle, and filled them. All three gentlemen turned -round to the sideboard to use it as a table, and thus necessarily -faced the looking-glass.</p> - -<p>"Now let us drink the toast of toasts," said D'Arbino. "Finello, -Count Fabio—the ladies of Pisa!"</p> - -<p>Fabio raised the wine to his lips, and was on the point of -drinking it, when he saw reflected in the glass the figure of the -Yellow Mask. The glittering eyes were again fixed on him, and the -yellow-hooded head bowed slowly, as if in acknowledgment of the -toast he was about to drink. For the third time the strange chill -seized him, and he set down his glass of wine untasted.</p> - -<p>"What is the matter?" asked D'Arbino.</p> - -<p>"Have you any dislike, count, to that particular wine?" inquired -the cavaliere.</p> - -<p>"The Yellow Mask!" whispered Fabio. "The Yellow Mask again!"</p> - -<p>They all three turned round directly toward the door. But it was -too late—the figure had disappeared.</p> - -<p>"Does any one know who this Yellow Mask is?" asked Finello. "One -may guess by the walk that the figure is a woman's. Perhaps it -may be the strange color she has chosen for her dress, or perhaps -her stealthy way of moving from room to room; but there is -certainly something mysterious and startling about her."</p> - -<p>"Startling enough, as the count would tell you," said D'Arbino. -"The Yellow Mask has been responsible for his loss of spirits and -change of complexion, and now she has prevented him even from -drinking his wine."</p> - -<p>"I can't account for it," said Fabio, looking round him uneasily; -"but this is the third room into which she has followed me—the -third time she has seemed to fix her eyes on me alone. I suppose -my nerves are hardly in a fit state yet for masked balls and -adventures; the sight of her seems to chill me. Who can she be?"</p> - -<p>"If she followed me a fourth time," said Finello, "I should -insist on her unmasking."</p> - -<p>"And suppose she refused?" asked his friend</p> - -<p>"Then I should take her mask off for her."</p> - -<p>"It is impossible to do that with a woman," said Fabio. "I prefer -trying to lose her in the crowd. Excuse me, gentlemen, if I leave -you to finish the wine, and then to meet me, if you like, in the -great ballroom."</p> - -<p>He retired as he spoke, put on his mask, and joined the dancers -immediately, taking care to keep always in the most crowded -corner of the apartment. For some time this plan of action proved -successful, and he saw no more of the mysterious yellow domino. -Ere long, however, some new dances were arranged, in which the -great majority of the persons in the ballroom took part; the -figures resembling the old English country dances in this -respect, that the ladies and gentlemen were placed in long rows -opposite to each other. The sets consisted of about twenty -couples each, placed sometimes across, and sometimes along the -apartment; and the spectators were all required to move away on -either side, and range themselves close to the walls. As Fabio -among others complied with this necessity, he looked down a row -of dancers waiting during the performance of the orchestral -prelude; and there, watching him again, from the opposite end of -the lane formed by the gentlemen on one side and the ladies on -the other, he saw the Yellow Mask.</p> - -<p>He moved abruptly back, toward another row of dancers, placed at -right angles to the first row; and there again; at the opposite -end of the gay lane of brightly-dressed figures, was the Yellow -Mask. He slipped into the middle of the room, but it was only to -find her occupying his former position near the wall, and still, -in spite of his disguise, watching him through row after row of -dancers. The persecution began to grow intolerable; he felt a -kind of angry curiosity mingling now with the vague dread that -had hitherto oppressed him. Finello's advice recurred to his -memory; and he determined to make the woman unmask at all -hazards. With this intention he returned to the supper-room in -which he had left his friends.</p> - -<p>They were gone, probably to the ballroom, to look for him. Plenty -of wine was still left on the sideboard, and he poured himself -out a glass. Finding that his hand trembled as he did so, he -drank several more glasses in quick succession, to nerve himself -for the approaching encounter with the Yellow Mask. While he was -drinking he expected every moment to see her in the looking-glass -again; but she never appeared—and yet he felt almost certain -that he had detected her gliding out after him when he left the -ballroom.</p> - -<p>He thought it possible that she might be waiting for him in one -of the smaller apartments, and, taking off his mask, walked -through several of them without meeting her, until he came to the -door of the refreshment-room in which Nanina and he had -recognized each other. The waiting-woman behind the table, who -had first spoken to him, caught sight of him now, and ran round -to the door.</p> - -<p>"Don't come in and speak to Nanina again," she said, mistaking -the purpose which had brought him to the door. "What with -frightening her first, and making her cry afterward, you have -rendered her quite unfit for her work. The steward is in there at -this moment, very good-natured, but not very sober. He says she -is pale and red-eyed, and not fit to be a shepherdess any longer, -and that, as she will not be missed now, she may go home if she -likes. We have got her an old cloak, and she is going to try and -slip through the rooms unobserved, to get downstairs and change -her dress. Don't speak to her, pray, or you will only make her -cry again; and what is worse, make the steward fancy—"</p> - -<p>She stopped at that last word, and pointed suddenly over Fabio's -shoulder.</p> - -<p>"The Yellow Mask!" she exclaimed. "Oh, sir, draw her away into -the ballroom, and give Nanina a chance of getting out!"</p> - -<p>Fabio turned directly, and approached the Mask, who, as they -looked at each other, slowly retreated before him. The -waiting-woman, seeing the yellow figure retire, hastened back to -Nanina in the refreshment-room.</p> - -<p>Slowly the masked woman retreated from one apartment to another -till she entered a corridor brilliantly lighted up and -beautifully ornamented with flowers. On the right hand this -corridor led to the ballroom; on the left to an ante-chamber at -the head of the palace staircase. The Yellow Mask went on a few -paces toward the left, then stopped. The bright eyes fixed -themselves as before on Fabio's face, but only for a moment. He -heard a light step behind him, and then he saw the eyes move. -Following the direction they took, he turned round, and -discovered Nanina, wrapped up in the old cloak which was to -enable her to get downstairs unobserved.</p> - -<p>"Oh, how can I get out? how can I get out?" cried the girl, -shrinking back affrightedly as she saw the Yellow Mask.</p> - -<p>"That way," said Fabio, pointing in the direction of the -ballroom. "Nobody will notice you in the cloak; it will only be -thought some new disguise." He took her arm as he spoke, to -reassure her, and continued in a whisper, "Don't forget -to-morrow."</p> - -<p>At the same moment he felt a hand laid on him. It was the hand of -the masked woman, and it put him back from Nanina.</p> - -<p>In spite of himself, he trembled at her touch, but still retained -presence of mind enough to sign to the girl to make her escape. -With a look of eager inquiry in the direction of the mask, and a -half suppressed exclamation of terror, she obeyed him, and -hastened away toward the ballroom.</p> - -<p>"We are alone," said Fabio, confronting the gleaming black eyes, -and reaching out his hand resolutely toward the Yellow Mask. -"Tell me who you are, and why you follow me, or I will uncover -your face, and solve the mystery for myself."</p> - -<p>The woman pushed his hand aside, and drew back a few paces, but -never spoke a word. He followed her. There was not an instant to -be lost, for just then the sound of footsteps hastily approaching -the corridor became audible.</p> - -<p>"Now or never," he whispered to himself, and snatched at the -mask.</p> - -<p>His arm was again thrust aside; but this time the woman raised -her disengaged hand at the same moment, and removed the yellow -mask.</p> - -<p>The lamps shed their soft light full on her face.</p> - -<p>It was the face of his dead wife.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4> - -<p>Signor Andrea D'Arbino, searching vainly through the various -rooms in the palace for Count Fabio d'Ascoli, and trying as a -last resource, the corridor leading to the ballroom and grand -staircase, discovered his friend lying on the floor in a swoon, -without any living creature near him. Determining to avoid -alarming the guests, if possible, D'Arbino first sought help in -the antechamber. He found there the marquis's valet, assisting -the Cavaliere Finello (who was just taking his departure) to put -on his cloak.</p> - -<p>While Finello and his friend carried Fabio to an open window in -the antechamber, the valet procured some iced water. This simple -remedy, and the change of atmosphere, proved enough to restore -the fainting man to his senses, but hardly—as it seemed to his -friends—to his former self. They noticed a change to blankness -and stillness in his face, and when he spoke, an indescribable -alteration in the tone of his voice.</p> - -<p>"I found you in a room in the corridor," said D'Arbino. "What -made you faint? Don't you remember? Was it the heat?"</p> - -<p>Fabio waited for a moment, painfully collecting his ideas. He -looked at the valet, and Finello signed to the man to withdraw.</p> - -<p>"Was it the heat?" repeated D'Arbino.</p> - -<p>"No," answered Fabio, in strangely hushed, steady tones. "I have -seen the face that was behind the yellow mask."</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"It was the face of my dead wife."</p> - -<p>"Your dead wife!"</p> - -<p>"When the mask was removed I saw her face. Not as I remember it -in the pride of her youth and beauty—not even as I remember her -on her sick-bed—but as I remember her in her coffin."</p> - -<p>"Count! for God's sake, rouse yourself! Collect your -thoughts—remember where you are—and free your mind of its -horrible delusion."</p> - -<p>"Spare me all remonstrances; I am not fit to bear them. My life -has only one object now—the pursuing of this mystery to the end. -Will you help me? I am scarcely fit to act for myself."</p> - -<p>He still spoke in the same unnaturally hushed, deliberate tones. -D'Arbino and Finello exchanged glances behind him as he rose from -the sofa on which he had hitherto been lying.</p> - -<p>"We will help you in everything," said D'Arbino, soothingly. -"Trust in us to the end. What do you wish to do first?"</p> - -<p>"The figure must have gone through this room. Let us descend the -staircase and ask the servants if they have seen it pass."</p> - -<p>(Both D'Arbino and Finello remarked that he did not say <i>her</i>.)</p> - -<p>They inquired down to the very courtyard. Not one of the servants -had seen the Yellow Mask.</p> - -<p>The last resource was the porter at the outer gate. They applied -to him; and in answer to their questions he asserted that he had -most certainly seen a lady in a yellow domino and mask drive -away, about half an hour before, in a hired coach.</p> - -<p>"Should you remember the coachman again?" asked D'Arbino.</p> - -<p>"Perfectly; he is an old friend of mine."</p> - -<p>"And you know where he lives?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; as well as I know where I do."</p> - -<p>"Any reward you like, if you can get somebody to mind your lodge, -and can take us to that house."</p> - -<p>In a few minutes they were following the porter through the dark, -silent streets. "We had better try the stables first," said the -man. "My friend, the coachman, will hardly have had time to do -more than set the lady down. We shall most likely catch him just -putting up his horses."</p> - -<p>The porter turned out to be right. On entering the stable-yard, -they found that the empty coach had just driven into it.</p> - -<p>"You have been taking home a lady in a yellow domino from the -masquerade?" said D'Arbino, putting some money into the -coachman's hand.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir; I was engaged by that lady for the evening—engaged to -drive her to the ball as well as to drive her home."</p> - -<p>"Where did you take her from?"</p> - -<p>"From a very extraordinary place—from the gate of the Campo -Santo burial-ground."</p> - -<p>During this colloquy, Finello and D'Arbino had been standing with -Fabio between them, each giving him an arm. The instant the last -answer was given, he reeled back with a cry of horror.</p> - -<p>"Where have you taken her to now?" asked D'Arbino. He looked -about him nervously as he put the question, and spoke for the -first time in a whisper.</p> - -<p>"To the Campo Santo again," said the coachman.</p> - -<p>Fabio suddenly drew his arms out of the arms of his friends, and -sank to his knees on the ground, hiding his face. From some -broken ejaculations which escaped him, it seemed as if he dreaded -that his senses were leaving him, and that he was praying to be -preserved in his right mind.</p> - -<p>"Why is he so violently agitated?" said Finello, eagerly, to his -friend.</p> - -<p>"Hush!" returned the other. "You heard him say that when he saw -the face behind the yellow mask, it was the face of his dead -wife?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. But what then?"</p> - -<p>"His wife was buried in the Campo Santo."</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER V.</h4> - -<p>Of all the persons who had been present, in any capacity, at the -Marquis Melani's ball, the earliest riser on the morning after it -was Nanina. The agitation produced by the strange events in which -she had been concerned destroyed the very idea of sleep. Through -the hours of darkness she could not even close her eyes; and, as -soon as the new day broke, she rose to breathe the early morning -air at her window, and to think in perfect tranquillity over all -that had passed since she entered the Melani Palace to wait on -the guests at the masquerade.</p> - -<p>On reaching home the previous night, all her other sensations had -been absorbed in a vague feeling of mingled dread and curiosity, -produced by the sight of the weird figure in the yellow mask, -which she had left standing alone with Fabio in the palace -corridor. The morning light, however, suggested new thoughts. She -now opened the note which the young nobleman had pressed into her -hand, and read over and over again the hurried pencil lines -scrawled on the paper. Could there be any harm, any forgetfulness -of her own duty, in using the key inclosed in the note, and -keeping her appointment in the Ascoli gardens at ten o'clock? -Surely not—surely the last sentence he had written, "Believe in -my truth and honor, Nanina, for I believe implicitly in yours," -was enough to satisfy her this time that she could not be doing -wrong in listening for once to the pleading of her own heart. And -besides, there in her lap lay the key of the wicket-gate. It was -absolutely necessary to use that, if only for the purpose of -giving it back safely into the hand of its owner.</p> - -<p>As this last thought was passing through her mind, and plausibly -overcoming any faint doubts and difficulties which she might -still have left, she was startled by a sudden knocking at the -street door; and, looking out of the window immediately, saw a -man in livery standing in the street, anxiously peering up at the -house to see if his knocking had aroused anybody.</p> - -<p>"Does Marta Angrisani, the sick-nurse, live here?" inquired the -man, as soon as Nanina showed herself at the window.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she answered. "Must I call her up? Is there some person -ill?"</p> - -<p>"Call her up directly," said the servant; "she is wanted at the -Ascoli Palace. My master, Count Fabio—"</p> - -<p>Nanina waited to hear no more. She flew to the room in which the -sick-nurse slept, and awoke her, almost roughly, in an instant.</p> - -<p>"He is ill!" she cried, breathlessly. "Oh, make haste, make -haste! He is ill, and he has sent for you!"</p> - -<p>Marta inquired who had sent for her, and on being informed, -promised to lose no time. Nanina ran downstairs to tell the -servant that the sick-nurse was getting on her clothes. The man's -serious expression, when she came close to him, terrified her. -All her usual self-distrust vanished; and she entreated him, -without attempting to conceal her anxiety, to tell her -particularly what his master's illness was, and how it had -affected him so suddenly after the ball.</p> - -<p>"I know nothing about it," answered the man, noticing Nanina's -manner as she put her question, with some surprise, "except that -my master was brought home by two gentlemen, friends of his, -about a couple of hours ago, in a very sad state; half out of his -mind, as it seemed to me. I gathered from what was said that he -had got a dreadful shock from seeing some woman take off her -mask, and show her face to him at the ball. How that could be I -don't in the least understand; but I know that when the doctor -was sent for, he looked very serious, and talked about fearing -brain-fever."</p> - -<p>Here the servant stopped; for, to his astonishment, he saw Nanina -suddenly turn away from him, and then heard her crying bitterly -as she went back into the house.</p> - -<p>Marta Angrisani had huddled on her clothes and was looking at -herself in the glass to see that she was sufficiently presentable -to appear at the palace, when she felt two arms flung round her -neck; and, before she could say a word, found Nanina sobbing on -her bosom.</p> - -<p>"He is ill—he is in danger!" cried the girl. "I must go with you -to help him. You have always been kind to me, Marta—be kinder -than ever now. Take me with you—take me with you to the palace!"</p> - -<p>"You, child!" exclaimed the nurse, gently unclasping her arms.</p> - -<p>"Yes—yes! if it is only for an hour," pleaded Nanina; "if it is -only for one little hour every day. You have only to say that I -am your helper, and they would let me in. Marta! I shall break my -heart if I can't see him, and help him to get well again."</p> - -<p>The nurse still hesitated. Nanina clasped her round the neck once -more, and laid her cheek—burning hot now, though the tears had -been streaming down it but an instant before—close to the good -woman's face.</p> - -<p>"I love him, Marta; great as he is, I love him with all my heart -and soul and strength," she went on, in quick, eager, whispering -tones; "and he loves me. He would have married me if I had not -gone away to save him from it. I could keep my love for him a -secret while he was well; I could stifle it, and crush it down, -and wither it up by absence. But now he is ill, it gets beyond -me; I can't master it. Oh, Marta! don't break my heart by denying -me! I have suffered so much for his sake, that I have earned the -right to nurse him!"</p> - -<p>Marta was not proof against this last appeal. She had one great -and rare merit for a middle-aged woman—she had not forgotten her -own youth.</p> - -<p>"Come, child," said she, soothingly; "I won't attempt to deny -you. Dry your eyes, put on your mantilla; and, when we get face -to face with the doctor, try to look as old and ugly as you can, -if you want to be let into the sick-room along with me."</p> - -<p>The ordeal of medical scrutiny was passed more easily than Marta -Angrisani had anticipated. It was of great importance, in the -doctor's opinion, that the sick man should see familiar faces at -his bedside. Nanina had only, therefore, to state that he knew -her well, and that she had sat to him as a model in the days when -he was learning the art of sculpture, to be immediately accepted -as Marta's privileged assistant in the sick-room.</p> - -<p>The worst apprehensions felt by the doctor for the patient were -soon realized. The fever flew to his brain. For nearly six weeks -he lay prostrate, at the mercy of death; now raging with the wild -strength of delirium, and now sunk in the speechless, motionless, -sleepless exhaustion which was his only repose. At last; the -blessed day came when he enjoyed his first sleep, and when the -doctor began, for the first time, to talk of the future with -hope. Even then, however, the same terrible peculiarity marked -his light dreams which had previously shown itself in his fierce -delirium. From the faintly uttered, broken phrases which dropped -from him when he slept, as from the wild words which burst from -him when his senses were deranged, the one sad discovery -inevitably resulted—that his mind was still haunted, day and -night, hour after hour, by the figure in the yellow mask.</p> - -<p>As his bodily health improved, the doctor in attendance on him -grew more and more anxious as to the state of his mind. There was -no appearance of any positive derangement of intellect, but there -was a mental depression—an unaltering, invincible prostration, -produced by his absolute belief in the reality of the dreadful -vision that he had seen at the masked ball—which suggested to -the physician the gravest doubts about the case. He saw with -dismay that the patient showed no anxiety, as he got stronger, -except on one subject. He was eagerly desirous of seeing Nanina -every day by his bedside; but, as soon as he was assured that his -wish should be faithfully complied with, he seemed to care for -nothing more. Even when they proposed, in the hope of rousing him -to an exhibition of something like pleasure, that the girl should -read to him for an hour every day out of one of his favorite -books, he only showed a languid satisfaction. Weeks passed away, -and still, do what they would, they could not make him so much as -smile.</p> - -<p>One day Nanina had begun to read to him as usual, but had not -proceeded far before Marta Angrisani informed her that he had -fallen into a doze. She ceased with a sigh, and sat looking at -him sadly, as he lay near her, faint and pale and mournful in his -sleep—miserably altered from what he was when she first knew -him. It had been a hard trial to watch by his bedside in the -terrible time of his delirium; but it was a harder trial still to -look at him now, and to feel less and less hopeful with each -succeeding day.</p> - -<p>While her eyes and thoughts were still compassionately fixed on -him, the door of the bedroom opened, and the doctor came in, -followed by Andrea D'Arbino, whose share in the strange adventure -with the Yellow Mask caused him to feel a special interest in -Fabio's progress toward recovery.</p> - -<p>"Asleep, I see; and sighing in his sleep," said the doctor, going -to the bedside. "The grand difficulty with him," he continued, -turning to D'Arbino, "remains precisely what it was. I have -hardly left a single means untried of rousing him from that fatal -depression; yet, for the last fortnight, he has not advanced a -single step. It is impossible to shake his conviction of the -reality of that face which he saw (or rather which he thinks he -saw) when the yellow mask was removed; and, as long as he -persists in his own shocking view of the case, so long he will -lie there, getting better, no doubt, as to his body, but worse as -to his mind."</p> - -<p>"I suppose, poor fellow, he is not in a fit state to be reasoned -with?"</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, like all men with a fixed delusion, he has -plenty of intelligence to appeal to on every point, except the -one point on which he is wrong. I have argued with him vainly by -the hour together. He possesses, unfortunately, an acute nervous -sensibility and a vivid imagination; and besides, he has, as I -suspect, been superstitiously brought up as a child. It would be -probably useless to argue rationally with him on certain -spiritual subjects, even if his mind was in perfect health. He -has a good deal of the mystic and the dreamer in his composition; -and science and logic are but broken reeds to depend upon with -men of that kind."</p> - -<p>"Does he merely listen to you when you reason with him, or does -he attempt to answer?"</p> - -<p>"He has only one form of answer, and that is, unfortunately, the -most difficult of all to dispose of. Whenever I try to convince -him of his delusion, he invariably retorts by asking me for a -rational explanation of what happened to him at the masked ball. -Now, neither you nor I, though we believe firmly that he has been -the dupe of some infamous conspiracy, have been able as yet to -penetrate thoroughly into this mystery of the Yellow Mask. Our -common sense tells us that he must be wrong in taking his view of -it, and that we must be right in taking ours; but if we cannot -give him actual, tangible proof of that—if we can only theorize, -when he asks us for an explanation—it is but too plain, in his -present condition, that every time we remonstrate with him on the -subject we only fix him in his delusion more and more firmly."</p> - -<p>"It is not for want of perseverance on my part," said D'Arbino, -after a moment of silence, "that we are still left in the dark. -Ever since the extraordinary statement of the coachman who drove -the woman home, I have been inquiring and investigating. I have -offered the reward of two hundred scudi for the discovery of her; -I have myself examined the servants at the palace, the -night-watchman at the Campo Santo, the police-books, the lists of -keepers of hotels and lodging-houses, to hit on some trace of -this woman; and I have failed in all directions. If my poor -friend's perfect recovery does indeed depend on his delusion -being combated by actual proof, I fear we have but little chance -of restoring him. So far as I am concerned, I confess myself at -the end of my resources."</p> - -<p>"I hope we are not quite conquered yet," returned the doctor. -"The proofs we want may turn up when we least expect them. It is -certainly a miserable case," he continued, mechanically laying -his fingers on the sleeping man's pulse. "There he lies, wanting -nothing now but to recover the natural elasticity of his mind; -and here we stand at his bedside, unable to relieve him of the -weight that is pressing his faculties down. I repeat it, Signor -Andrea, nothing will rouse him from his delusion that he is the -victim of a supernatural interposition but the production of some -startling, practical proof of his error. At present he is in the -position of a man who has been imprisoned from his birth in a -dark room, and who denies the existence of daylight. If we cannot -open the shutters and show him the sky outside, we shall never -convert him to a knowledge of the truth."</p> - -<p>Saying these words, the doctor turned to lead the way out of the -room, and observed Nanina, who had moved from the bedside on his -entrance, standing near the door. He stopped to look at her, -shook his head good-humoredly, and called to Marta, who happened -to be occupied in an adjoining room.</p> - -<p>"Signora Marta," said the doctor, "I think you told me some time -ago that your pretty and careful little assistant lives in your -house. Pray, does she take much walking exercise?"</p> - -<p>"Very little, Signor Dottore. She goes home to her sister when -she leaves the palace. Very little walking exercise, indeed."</p> - -<p>"I thought so! Her pale cheeks and heavy eyes told me as much. -Now, my dear," said the doctor, addressing Nanina, "you are a -very good girl, and I am sure you will attend to what I tell you. -Go out every morning before you come here, and take a walk in the -fresh air. You are too young not to suffer by being shut up in -close rooms every day, unless you get some regular exercise. Take -a good long walk in the morning, or you will fall into my hands -as a patient, and be quite unfit to continue your attendance -here. Now, Signor Andrea, I am ready for you. Mind, my child, a -walk every day in the open air outside the town, or you will fall -ill, take my word for it!"</p> - -<p>Nanina promised compliance; but she spoke rather absently, and -seemed scarcely conscious of the kind familiarity which marked -the doctor's manner. The truth was, that all her thoughts were -occupied with what he had been saying by Fabio's bedside. She had -not lost one word of the conversation while the doctor was -talking of his patient, and of the conditions on which his -recovery depended. "Oh, if that proof which would cure him could -only be found!" she thought to herself, as she stole back -anxiously to the bedside when the room was empty.</p> - -<p>On getting home that day she found a letter waiting for her, and -was greatly surprised to see that it was written by no less a -person than the master-sculptor, Luca Lomi. It was very short; -simply informing her that he had just returned to Pisa, and that -he was anxious to know when she could sit to him for a new -bust—a commission from a rich foreigner at Naples.</p> - -<p>Nanina debated with herself for a moment whether she should -answer the letter in the hardest way, to her, by writing, or, in -the easiest way, in person; and decided on going to the studio -and telling the master-sculptor that it would be impossible for -her to serve him as a model, at least for some time to come. It -would have taken her a long hour to say this with due propriety -on paper; it would only take her a few minutes to say it with her -own lips. So she put on her mantilla again and departed for the -studio.</p> - -<p>On, arriving at the gate and ringing the bell, a thought suddenly -occurred to her, which she wondered had not struck her before. -Was it not possible that she might meet Father Rocco in his -brother's work-room? It was too late to retreat now, but not too -late to ask, before she entered, if the priest was in the studio. -Accordingly, when one of the workmen opened the door to her, she -inquired first, very confusedly and anxiously, for Father Rocco. -Hearing that he was not with his brother then, she went -tranquilly enough to make her apologies to the master-sculptor.</p> - -<p>She did not think it necessary to tell him more than that she was -now occupied every day by nursing duties in a sick-room, and that -it was consequently out of her power to attend at the studio. -Luca Lomi expressed, and evidently felt, great disappointment at -her failing him as a model, and tried hard to persuade her that -she might find time enough, if she chose, to sit to him, as well -as to nurse the sick person. The more she resisted his arguments -and entreaties, the more obstinately he reiterated them. He was -dusting his favorite busts and statues, after his long absence, -with a feather-brush when she came in; and he continued this -occupation all the while he was talking—urging a fresh plea to -induce Nanina to reconsider her refusal to sit at every fresh -piece of sculpture he came to, and always receiving the same -resolute apology from her as she slowly followed him down the -studio toward the door.</p> - -<p>Arriving thus at the lower end of the room, Luca stopped with a -fresh argument on his lips before his statue of Minerva. He had -dusted it already, but he lovingly returned to dust it again. It -was his favorite work—the only good likeness (although it did -assume to represent a classical subject) of his dead daughter -that he possessed. He had refused to part with it for Maddalena's -sake; and, as he now approached it with his brush for the second -time, he absently ceased speaking, and mounted on a stool to look -at the face near and blow some specks of dust off the forehead. -Nanina thought this a good opportunity of escaping from further -importunities. She was on the point of slipping away to the door -with a word of farewell, when a sudden exclamation from Luca Lomi -arrested her.</p> - -<p>"Plaster!" cried the master-sculptor, looking intently at that -part of the hair of the statue which lay lowest on the forehead. -"Plaster here!" He took out his penknife as he spoke, and removed -a tiny morsel of some white substance from an interstice between -two folds of the hair where it touched the face. "It <i>is</i> -plaster!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "Somebody has been taking a -cast from the face of my statue!"</p> - -<p>He jumped off the stool, and looked all round the studio with an -expression of suspicious inquiry. "I must have this cleared up," -he said. "My statues were left under Rocco's care, and he is -answerable if there has been any stealing of casts from any one -of them. I must question him directly."</p> - -<p>Nanina, seeing that he took no notice of her, felt that she might -now easily effect her retreat. She opened the studio door, and -repeated, for the twentieth time at least, that she was sorry she -could not sit to him.</p> - -<p>"I am sorry too, child," he said, irritably looking about for his -hat. He found it apparently just as Nanina was going out; for she -heard him call to one of the workmen in the inner studio, and -order the man to say, if anybody wanted him, that he had gone to -Father Rocco's lodgings.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER VI.</h4> - -<p>The next morning, when Nanina rose, a bad attack of headache, and -a sense of languor and depression, reminded her of the necessity -of following the doctor's advice, and preserving her health by -getting a little fresh air and exercise. She had more than two -hours to spare before the usual time when her daily attendance -began at the Ascoli Palace; and she determined to employ the -interval of leisure in taking a morning walk outside the town. La -Biondella would have been glad enough to go too, but she had a -large order for dinner-mats on hand, and was obliged, for that -day, to stop in the house and work. Thus it happened that when -Nanina set forth from home, the learned poodle, Scarammuccia, was -her only companion.</p> - -<p>She took the nearest way out of the town; the dog trotting along -in his usual steady, observant way close at her side, pushing his -great rough muzzle, from time to time, affectionately into her -hand, and trying hard to attract her attention at intervals by -barking and capering in front of her. He got but little notice, -however, for his pains. Nanina was thinking again of all that the -physician had said the day before by Fabio's bedside, and these -thoughts brought with them others, equally absorbing, that were -connected with the mysterious story of the young nobleman's -adventure with the Yellow Mask. Thus preoccupied, she had little -attention left for the gambols of the dog. Even the beauty of the -morning appealed to her in vain. She felt the refreshment of the -cool, fragrant air, but she hardly noticed the lovely blue of the -sky, or the bright sunshine that gave a gayety and an interest to -the commonest objects around her.</p> - -<p>After walking nearly an hour, she began to feel tired, and looked -about for a shady place to rest in.</p> - -<p>Beyond and behind her there was only the high-road and the flat -country; but by her side stood a little wooden building, half -inn, half coffee-house, backed by a large, shady pleasure. -garden, the gates of which stood invitingly open. Some workmen in -the garden were putting up a stage for fireworks, but the place -was otherwise quiet and lonely enough. It was only used at night -as a sort of rustic Ranelagh, to which the citizens of Pisa -resorted for pure air and amusement after the fatigues of the -day. Observing that there were no visitors in the grounds, Nanina -ventured in, intending to take a quarter of an hour's rest in the -coolest place she could find before returning to Pisa.</p> - -<p>She had passed the back of a wooden summer-house in a secluded -part of the gardens, when she suddenly missed the dog from her -side; and, looking round after him, saw that he was standing -behind the summer-house with his ears erect and his nose to the -ground, having evidently that instant scented something that -excited his suspicion.</p> - -<p>Thinking it possible that he might be meditating an attack on -some unfortunate cat, she turned to see what he was watching. The -carpenters engaged on the firework stage were just then hammering -at it violently. The noise prevented her from hearing that -Scarammuccia was growling, but she could feel that he was the -moment she laid her hand on his back. Her curiosity was excited, -and she stooped down close to him to look through a crack in the -boards before which he stood into the summer-house.</p> - -<p>She was startled at seeing a lady and gentleman sitting inside. -The place she was looking through was not high enough up to -enable her to see their faces, but she recognized, or thought she -recognized, the pattern of the lady's dress as one which she had -noticed in former days in the Demoiselle Grifoni's show-room. -Rising quickly, her eye detected a hole in the boards about the -level of her own height, caused by a knot having been forced out -of the wood. She looked through it to ascertain, without being -discovered, if the wearer of the familiar dress was the person -she had taken her to be; and saw, not Brigida only, as she had -expected, but Father Rocco as well. At the same moment the -carpenters left off hammering and began to saw. The new sound -from the firework stage was regular and not loud. The voices of -the occupants of the summer-house reached her through it, and she -heard Brigida pronounce the name of Count Fabio.</p> - -<p>Instantly stooping down once more by the dog's side, she caught -his muzzle firmly in both her hands. It was the only way to keep -Scarammuccia from growling again, at a time when there was no din -of hammering to prevent him from being heard. Those two words, -"Count Fabio," in the mouth of another woman, excited a jealous -anxiety in her. What could Brigida have to say in connection with -that name? She never came near the Ascoli Palace—what right or -reason could she have to talk of Fabio?</p> - -<p>"Did you hear what I said?" she heard Brigida ask, in her -coolest, hardest tone.</p> - -<p>"No," the priest answered. "At least, not all of it."</p> - -<p>"I will repeat it, then. I asked what had so suddenly determined -you to give up all idea of making any future experiments on the -superstitious fears of Count Fabio?"</p> - -<p>"In the first place, the result of the experiment already tried -has been so much more serious than I had anticipated, that I -believe the end I had in view in making it has been answered -already."</p> - -<p>"Well; that is not your only reason?"</p> - -<p>"Another shock to his mind might be fatal to him. I can use what -I believe to be a justifiable fraud to prevent his marrying -again; but I cannot burden myself with a crime."</p> - -<p>"That is your second reason; but I believe you have another yet. -The suddenness with which you sent to me last night to appoint a -meeting in this lonely place; the emphatic manner in which you -requested—I may almost say ordered—me to bring the wax mask -here, suggest to my mind that something must have happened. What -is it? I am a woman, and my curiosity must be satisfied. After -the secrets you have trusted to me already, you need not -hesitate, I think, to trust me with one more."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps not. The secret this time is, moreover, of no great -importance. You know that the wax mask you wore at the ball was -made in a plaster mold taken off the face of my brother's -statue?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I know that."</p> - -<p>"My brother has just returned to his studio; has found a morsel -of the plaster I used for the mold sticking in the hair of the -statue; and has asked me, as the person left in charge of his -work-rooms, for an explanation. Such an explanation as I could -offer has not satisfied him, and he talks of making further -inquiries. Considering that it will be used no more, I think it -safest to destroy the wax mask, and I asked you to bring it here, -that I might see it burned or broken up with my own eyes. Now you -know all you wanted to know; and now, therefore, it is my turn to -remind you that I have not yet had a direct answer to the first -question I addressed to you when we met here. Have you brought -the wax mask with you, or have you not?"</p> - -<p>"I have not."</p> - -<p>"And why?"</p> - -<p>Just as that question was put, Nanina felt the dog dragging -himself free of her grasp on his mouth. She had been listening -hitherto with such painful intensity, with such all-absorbing -emotions of suspense, terror, and astonishment, that she had not -noticed his efforts to get away, and had continued mechanically -to hold his mouth shut. But now she was aroused by the violence -of his struggles to the knowledge that, unless she hit upon some -new means of quieting him, he would have his mouth free, and -would betray her by a growl.</p> - -<p>In an agony of apprehension lest she should lose a word of the -momentous conversation, she made a desperate attempt to appeal to -the dog's fondness for her, by suddenly flinging both her arms -round his neck, and kissing his rough, hairy cheek. The stratagem -succeeded. Scarammuccia had, for many years past, never received -any greater marks of his mistress's kindness for him than such as -a pat on the head or a present of a lump of sugar might convey. -His dog's nature was utterly confounded by the unexpected warmth -of Nanina's caress, and he struggled up vigorously in her arms to -try and return it by licking her face. She could easily prevent -him from doing this, and could so gain a few minutes more to -listen behind the summer-house without danger of discovery.</p> - -<p>She had lost Brigida's answer to Father Rocco's question; but she -was in time to hear her next words.</p> - -<p>"We are alone here," said Brigida. "I am a woman, and I don't -know that you may not have come armed. It is only the commonest -precaution on my part not to give you a chance of getting at the -wax mask till I have made my conditions."</p> - -<p>"You never said a word about conditions before."</p> - -<p>"True. I remember telling you that I wanted nothing but the -novelty of going to the masquerade in the character of my dead -enemy, and the luxury of being able to terrify the man who had -brutally ridiculed me in old days in the studio. That was the -truth. But it is not the less the truth that our experiment on -Count Fabio has detained me in this city much longer than I ever -intended, that I am all but penniless, and that I deserve to be -paid. In plain words, will you buy the mask of me for two hundred -scudi?"</p> - -<p>"I have not twenty scudi in the world, at my own free disposal."</p> - -<p>"You must find two hundred if you want the wax mask. I don't wish -to threaten—but money I must have. I mention the sum of two -hundred scudi, because that is the exact amount offered in the -public handbills by Count Fabio's friends for the discovery of -the woman who wore the yellow mask at the Marquis Melani's ball. -What have I to do but to earn that money if I please, by going to -the palace, taking the wax mask with me, and telling them that I -am the woman. Suppose I confess in that way; they can do nothing -to hurt me, and I should be two hundred scudi the richer. You -might be injured, to be sure, if they insisted on knowing who -made the wax model, and who suggested the ghastly disguise—"</p> - -<p>"Wretch! do you believe that my character could be injured on the -unsupported evidence of any words from your lips?"</p> - -<p>"Father Rocco, for the first time since I have enjoyed the -pleasure of your acquaintance, I find you committing a breach of -good manners. I shall leave you until you become more like -yourself. If you wish to apologize for calling me a wretch, and -if you want to secure the wax mask, honor me with a visit before -four o'clock this afternoon, and bring two hundred scudi with -you. Delay till after four, and it will be too late."</p> - -<p>An instant of silence followed; and then Nanina judged that -Brigida must be departing, for she heard the rustling of a dress -on the lawn in front of the summer-house. Unfortunately, -Scarammuccia heard it too. He twisted himself round in her arms -and growled.</p> - -<p>The noise disturbed Father Rocco. She heard him rise and leave -the summer-house. There would have been time enough, perhaps, for -her to conceal herself among some trees if she could have -recovered her self-possession at once; but she was incapable of -making an effort to regain it. She could neither think nor -move—her breath seemed to die away on her lips—as she saw the -shadow of the priest stealing over the grass slowly from the -front to the back of the summer-house. In another moment they -were face to face.</p> - -<p>He stopped a few paces from her, and eyed her steadily in dead -silence. She still crouched against the summer-house, and still -with one hand mechanically kept her hold of the dog. It was well -for the priest that she did so. Scarammuccia's formidable teeth -were in full view, his shaggy coat was bristling, his eyes were -starting, his growl had changed from the surly to the savage -note; he was ready to tear down, not Father Rocco only, but all -the clergy in Pisa, at a moment's notice.</p> - -<p>"You have been listening," said the priest, calmly. "I see it in -your face. You have heard all."</p> - -<p>She could not answer a word; she could not take her eyes from -him. There was an unnatural stillness in his face, a steady, -unrepentant, unfathomable despair in his eyes that struck her -with horror. She would have given worlds to be able to rise to -her feet and fly from his presence.</p> - -<p>"I once distrusted you and watched you in secret," he said, -speaking after a short silence, thoughtfully, and with a strange, -tranquil sadness in his voice. "And now, what I did by you, you -do by me. You put the hope of your life once in my hands. Is it -because they were not worthy of the trust that discovery and ruin -overtake me, and that you are the instrument of the retribution? -Can this be the decree of Heaven—or is it nothing but the blind -justice of chance?"</p> - -<p>He looked upward, doubtingly, to the lustrous sky above him, and -sighed. Nanina's eyes still followed his mechanically. He seemed -to feel their influence, for he suddenly looked down at her -again.</p> - -<p>"What keeps you silent? Why are you afraid?" he said. "I can do -you no harm, with your dog at your side, and the workmen yonder -within call. I can do you no harm, and I wish to do you none. Go -back to Pisa; tell what you have heard, restore the man you love -to himself, and ruin me. That is your work; do it! I was never -your enemy, even when I distrusted you. I am not your enemy now. -It is no fault of yours that a fatality has been accomplished -through you—no fault of yours that I am rejected as the -instrument of securing a righteous restitution to the Church. -Rise, child, and go your way, while I go mine, and prepare for -what is to come. If we never meet again, remember that I parted -from you without one hard saying or one harsh look—parted from -you so, knowing that the first words you speak in Pisa will be -death to my character, and destruction to the great purpose of my -life."</p> - -<p>Speaking these words, always with the same calmness which had -marked his manner from the first, he looked fixedly at her for a -little while, sighed again, and turned away. Just before he -disappeared among the trees, he said "Farewell," but so softly -that she could barely hear it. Some strange confusion clouded her -mind as she lost sight of him. Had she injured him, or had he -injured her? His words bewildered and oppressed her simple heart. -Vague doubts and fears, and a sudden antipathy to remaining any -longer near the summer-house, overcame her. She started to her -feet, and, keeping the dog still at her side, hurried from the -garden to the highroad. There, the wide glow of sunshine, the -sight of the city lying before her, changed the current of her -thoughts, and directed them all to Fabio and to the future.</p> - -<p>A burning impatience to be back in Pisa now possessed her. She -hastened toward the city at her utmost speed. The doctor was -reported to be in the palace when she passed the servants -lounging in the courtyard. He saw the moment, she came into his -presence, that something had happened, and led her away from the -sick-room into Fabio's empty study. There she told him all.</p> - -<p>"You have saved him," said the doctor, joyfully. "I will answer -for his recovery. Only let that woman come here for the reward; -and leave me to deal with her as she deserves. In the meantime, -my dear, don't go away from the palace on any account until I -give you permission. I am going to send a message immediately to -Signor Andrea D'Arbino to come and hear the extraordinary -disclosure that you have made to me. Go back to read to the -count, as usual, until I want you again; but, remember, you must -not drop a word to him yet of what you have said to me. He must -be carefully prepared for all that we have to tell him; and must -be kept quite in the dark until those preparations are made."</p> - -<p>D'Arbino answered the doctor's summons in person; and Nanina -repeated her story to him. He and the doctor remained closeted -together for some time after she had concluded her narrative and -had retired. A little before four o'clock they sent for her again -into the study. The doctor was sitting by the table with a bag of -money before him, and D'Arbino was telling one of the servants -that if a lady called at the palace on the subject of the -handbill which he had circulated, she was to be admitted into the -study immediately.</p> - -<p>As the clock struck four Nanina was requested to take possession -of a window-seat, and to wait there until she was summoned. When -she had obeyed, the doctor loosened one of the window-curtains, -to hide her from the view of any one entering the room.</p> - -<p>About a quarter of an hour elapsed, and then the door was thrown -open, and Brigida herself was shown into the study. The doctor -bowed, and D'Arbino placed a chair for her. She was perfectly -collected, and thanked them for their politeness with her best -grace.</p> - -<p>"I believe I am addressing confidential friends of Count Fabio -d'Ascoli?" Brigida began. "May I ask if you are authorized to act -for the count, in relation to the reward which this handbill -offers?"</p> - -<p>The doctor, having examined the handbill, said that the lady was -quite right, and pointed significantly to the bag of money.</p> - -<p>"You are prepared, then," pursued Brigida, smiling, "to give a -reward of two hundred scudi to any one able to tell you who the -woman is who wore the yellow mask at the Marquis Melani's ball, -and how she contrived to personate the face and figure of the -late Countess d'Ascoli?"</p> - -<p>"Of course we are prepared," answered D'Arbino, a little -irritably. "As men of honor, we are not in the habit of promising -anything that we are not perfectly willing, under proper -conditions, to perform."</p> - -<p>"Pardon me, my dear friend," said the doctor; "I think you speak -a little too warmly to the lady. She is quite right to take every -precaution. We have the two hundred scudi here, madam," he -continued, patting the money-bag; "and we are prepared to pay -that sum for the information we want. But" (here the doctor -suspiciously moved the bag of scudi from the table to his lap) -"we must have proofs that the person claiming the reward is -really entitled to it."</p> - -<p>Brigida's eyes followed the money-bag greedily.</p> - -<p>"Proofs!" she exclaimed, taking a small flat box from under her -cloak, and pushing it across to the doctor. "Proofs! there you -will find one proof that establishes my claim beyond the -possibility of doubt."</p> - -<p>The doctor opened the box, and looked at the wax mask inside it; -then handed it to D'Arbino, and replaced the bag of scudi on the -table.</p> - -<p>"The contents of that box seem certainly to explain a great -deal," he said, pushing the bag gently toward Brigida, but always -keeping his, hand over it. "The woman who wore the yellow domino -was, I presume, of the same height as the late countess?"</p> - -<p>"Exactly," said Brigida. "Her eyes were also of the same color as -the late countess's; she wore yellow of the same shade as the -hangings in the late countess's room, and she had on, under her -yellow mask, the colorless wax model of the late countess's face, -now in your friend's hand. So much for that part of the secret. -Nothing remains now to be cleared up but the mystery of who the -lady was. Have the goodness, sir, to push that bag an inch or two -nearer my way, and I shall be delighted to tell you."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, madam," said the doctor, with a very perceptible -change in his manner. "We know who the lady was already."</p> - -<p>He moved the bag of scudi while he spoke back to his own side of -the table. Brigida's cheeks reddened, and she rose from her seat.</p> - -<p>"Am I to understand, sir," she said, haughtily, "that you take -advantage of my position here, as a defenseless woman, to cheat -me out of the reward?"</p> - -<p>"By no means, madam," rejoined the doctor. "We have covenanted to -pay the reward to the person who could give us the information we -required."</p> - -<p>"Well, sir! have I not given you part of it? And am I not -prepared to give you the whole?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly; but the misfortune is, that another person has been -beforehand with you. We ascertained who the lady in the yellow -domino was, and how she contrived to personate the face of the -late Countess d'Ascoli, several hours ago from another informant. -That person has consequently the prior claim; and, on every -principle of justice, that person must also have the reward. -Nanina, this bag belongs to you—come and take it."</p> - -<p>Nanina appeared from the window-seat. Brigida, thunderstruck, -looked at her in silence for a moment; gasped out, "That -girl!"—then stopped again, breathless.</p> - -<p>"That girl was at the back of the summer-house this morning, -while you and your accomplice were talking together," said the -doctor.</p> - -<p>D'Arbino had been watching Brigida's face intently from the -moment of Nanina's appearance, and had quietly stolen close to -her side. This was a fortunate movement; for the doctor's last -words were hardly out of his mouth before Brigida seized a heavy -ruler lying, with some writing materials, on the table. In -another instant, if D'Arbino had not caught her arm, she would -have hurled it at Nanina's head.</p> - -<p>"You may let go your hold, sir," she said, dropping the ruler, -and turning toward D'Arbino with a smile on her white lips and a -wicked calmness in her steady eyes. "I can wait for a better -opportunity."</p> - -<p>With those words she walked to the door; and, turning round -there, regarded Nanina fixedly.</p> - -<p>"I wish I had been a moment quicker with the ruler," she said, -and went out.</p> - -<p>"There!" exclaimed the doctor; "I told you I knew how to deal -with her as she deserved. One thing I am certainly obliged to her -for—she has saved us the trouble of going to her house and -forcing her to give up the mask. And now, my child," he -continued, addressing Nanina, "you can go home, and one of the -men-servants shall see you safe to your own door, in case that -woman should still be lurking about the palace. Stop! you are -leaving the bag of scudi behind you."</p> - -<p>"I can't take it, sir."</p> - -<p>"And why not?"</p> - -<p>"<i>She</i> would have taken money!" Saying those words, Nanina -reddened, and looked toward the door.</p> - -<p>The doctor glanced approvingly at D'Arbino. "Well, well, we won't -argue about that now," he said. "I will lock up the money with -the mask for to-day. Come here to-morrow morning as usual, my -dear. By that time I shall have made up my mind on the right -means for breaking your discovery to Count Fabio. Only let us -proceed slowly and cautiously, and I answer for success."</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER VII.</h4> - -<p>The next morning, among the first visitors at the Ascoli Palace -was the master-sculptor, Luca Lomi. He seemed, as the servants -thought, agitated, and said he was especially desirous of seeing -Count Fabio. On being informed that this was impossible, he -reflected a little, and then inquired if the medical attendant of -the count was at the palace, and could be spoken with. Both -questions were answered in the affirmative, and he was ushered -into the doctor's presence.</p> - -<p>"I know not how to preface what I want to say," Luca began, -looking about him confusedly. "May I ask you, in the first place, -if the work-girl named Nanina was here yesterday?"</p> - -<p>"She was," said the doctor.</p> - -<p>"Did she speak in private with any one?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; with me."</p> - -<p>"Then you know everything?"</p> - -<p>"Absolutely everything."</p> - -<p>"I am glad at least to find that my object in wishing to see the -count can be equally well answered by seeing you. My brother, I -regret to say—" He stopped perplexedly, and drew from his pocket -a roll of papers.</p> - -<p>"You may speak of your brother in the plainest terms," said the -doctor. "I know what share he has had in promoting the infamous -conspiracy of the Yellow Mask."</p> - -<p>"My petition to you, and through you to the count, is, that your -knowledge of what my brother has done may go no further. If this -scandal becomes public it will ruin me in my profession. And I -make little enough by it already," said Luca, with his old sordid -smile breaking out again faintly on his face.</p> - -<p>"Pray do you come from your brother with this petition?" inquired -the doctor.</p> - -<p>"No; I come solely on my own account. My brother seems careless -what happens. He has made a full statement of his share in the -matter from the first; has forwarded it to his ecclesiastical -superior (who will send it to the archbishop), and is now -awaiting whatever sentence they choose to pass on him. I have a -copy of the document, to prove that he has at least been candid, -and that he does not shrink from consequences which he might have -avoided by flight. The law cannot touch him, but the Church -can—and to the Church he has confessed. All I ask is, that he -may be spared a public exposure. Such an exposure would do no -good to the count, and it would do dreadful injury to me. Look -over the papers yourself, and show them, whenever you think -proper, to the master of this house. I have every confidence in -his honor and kindness, and in yours."</p> - -<p>He laid the roll of papers open on the table, and then retired -with great humility to the window. The doctor looked over them -with some curiosity.</p> - -<p>The statement or confession began by boldly avowing the writer's -conviction that part of the property which the Count Fabio -d'Ascoli had inherited from his ancestors had been obtained by -fraud and misrepresentation from the Church. The various -authorities on which this assertion was based were then produced -in due order; along with some curious particles of evidence -culled from old manuscripts, which it must have cost much trouble -to collect and decipher.</p> - -<p>The second section was devoted, at great length, to the reasons -which induced the writer to think it his absolute duty, as an -affectionate son and faithful servant of the Church, not to rest -until he had restored to the successors of the apostles in his -day the property which had been fraudulently taken from them in -days gone by. The writer held himself justified, in the last -resort, and in that only, in using any means for effecting this -restoration, except such as might involve him in mortal sin.</p> - -<p>The third section described the priest's share in promoting the -marriage of Maddalena Lomi with Fabio; and the hopes he -entertained of securing the restitution of the Church property -through his influence over his niece, in the first place, and, -when she had died, through his influence over her child, in the -second. The necessary failure of all his projects, if Fabio -married again, was next glanced at; and the time at which the -first suspicion of the possible occurrence of this catastrophe -occurred to his mind was noted with scrupulous accuracy.</p> - -<p>The fourth section narrated the manner in which the conspiracy of -the Yellow Mask had originated. The writer described himself as -being in his brother's studio on the night of his niece's death, -harassed by forebodings of the likelihood of Fabio's marrying -again, and filled with the resolution to prevent any such -disastrous second union at all hazards. He asserted that the idea -of taking the wax mask from his brother's statue flashed upon him -on a sudden, and that he knew of nothing to lead to it, except, -perhaps, that he had been thinking just before of the -superstitious nature of the young man's character, as he had -himself observed it in the studio. He further declared that the -idea of the wax mask terrified him at first; that he strove -against it as against a temptation of the devil; that, from fear -of yielding to this temptation, he abstained even from entering -the studio during his brother's absence at Naples, and that he -first faltered in his good resolution when Fabio returned to -Pisa, and when it was rumored, not only that the young nobleman -was going to the ball, but that he would certainly marry for the -second time.</p> - -<p>The fifth section related that the writer, upon this, yielded to -temptation rather than forego the cherished purpose of his life -by allowing Fabio a chance of marrying again—that he made the -wax mask in a plaster mold taken from the face of his brother's -statue—and that he then had two separate interviews with a woman -named Brigida (of whom he had some previous knowledge ), who was -ready and anxious, from motives of private malice, to personate -the deceased countess at the masquerade. This woman had suggested -that some anonymous letters to Fabio would pave the way in his -mind for the approaching impersonation, and had written the -letters herself. However, even when all the preparations were -made, the writer declared that he shrank from proceeding to -extremities; and that he would have abandoned the whole project -but for the woman Brigida informing him one day that a work-girl -named Nanina was to be one of the attendants at the ball. He knew -the count to have been in love with this girl, even to the point -of wishing to marry her; he suspected that her engagement to wait -at the ball was preconcerted; and, in consequence, he authorized -his female accomplice to perform her part in the conspiracy.</p> - -<p>The sixth section detailed the proceedings at the masquerade, and -contained the writer's confession that, on the night before it, -he had written to the count proposing the reconciliation of a -difference that had taken place between them, solely for the -purpose of guarding himself against suspicion. He next -acknowledged that he had borrowed the key of the Campo Santo -gate, keeping the authority to whom it was intrusted in perfect -ignorance of the purpose for which he wanted it. That purpose was -to carry out the ghastly delusion of the wax mask (in the very -probable event of the wearer being followed and inquired after) -by having the woman Brigida taken up and set down at the gate of -the cemetery in which Fabio's wife had been buried.</p> - -<p>The seventh section solemnly averred that the sole object of the -conspiracy was to prevent the young nobleman from marrying again, -by working on his superstitious fears; the writer repeating, -after this avowal, that any such second marriage would -necessarily destroy his project for promoting the ultimate -restoration of the Church possessions, by diverting Count Fabio's -property, in great part, from his first wife's child, over whom -the priest would always have influence, to another wife and -probably other children, over whom he could hope to have none.</p> - -<p>The eighth and last section expressed the writer's contrition for -having allowed his zeal for the Church to mislead him into -actions liable to bring scandal on his cloth; reiterated in the -strongest language his conviction that, whatever might be thought -of the means employed, the end he had proposed to himself was a -most righteous one; and concluded by asserting his resolution to -suffer with humility any penalties, however severe, which his -ecclesiastical superiors might think fit to inflict on him.</p> - -<p>Having looked over this extraordinary statement, the doctor -addressed himself again to Luca Lomi.</p> - -<p>"I agree with you," he said, "that no useful end is to be gained -now by mentioning your brother's conduct in public—always -provided, however, that his ecclesiastical superiors do their -duty. I shall show these papers to the count as soon as he is fit -to peruse them, and I have no doubt that he will be ready to take -my view of the matter."</p> - -<p>This assurance relieved Luca Lomi of a great weight of anxiety. -He bowed and withdrew.</p> - -<p>The doctor placed the papers in the same cabinet in which he had -secured the wax mask. Before he locked the doors again he took -out the flat box, opened it, and looked thoughtfully for a few -minutes at the mask inside, then sent for Nanina.</p> - -<p>"Now, my child," he said, when she appeared, "I am going to try -our first experiment with Count Fabio; and I think it of great -importance that you should be present while I speak to him."</p> - -<p>He took up the box with the mask in it, and beckoning to Nanina -to follow him, led the way to Fabio's chamber.</p> - -<h4>CHAPTER VIII.</h4> - -<p>About six months after the events already related, Signor Andrea -D'Arbino and the Cavaliere Finello happened to be staying with a -friend, in a seaside villa on the Castellamare shore of the bay -of Naples. Most of their time was pleasantly occupied on the sea, -in fishing and sailing. A boat was placed entirely at their -disposal. Sometimes they loitered whole days along the shore; -sometimes made trips to the lovely islands in the bay.</p> - -<p>One evening they were sailing near Sorrento, with a light wind. -The beauty of the coast tempted them to keep the boat close -inshore. A short time before sunset, they rounded the most -picturesque headland they had yet passed; and a little bay, with -a white-sand beach, opened on their view. They noticed first a -villa surrounded by orange and olive trees on the rocky heights -inland; then a path in the cliff-side leading down to the sands; -then a little family party on the beach, enjoying the fragrant -evening air.</p> - -<p>The elders of the group were a lady and gentleman, sitting -together on the sand. The lady had a guitar in her lap and was -playing a simple dance melody. Close at her side a young child -was rolling on the beach in high glee; in front of her a little -girl was dancing to the music, with a very extraordinary partner -in the shape of a dog, who was capering on his hind legs in the -most grotesque manner. The merry laughter of the girl, and the -lively notes of the guitar were heard distinctly across the still -water.</p> - -<p>"Edge a little nearer in shore," said D'Arbino to his friend, who -was steering; "and keep as I do in the shadow of the sail. I want -to see the faces of those persons on the beach without being -seen by them."</p> - -<p>Finello obeyed. After approaching just near enough to see the -countenances of the party on shore, and to be barked at lustily -by the dog, they turned the boat's head again toward the offing.</p> - -<p>"A pleasant voyage, gentlemen," cried the clear voice of the -little girl. They waved their hats in return; and then saw her -run to the dog and take him by the forelegs. "Play, Nanina," they -heard her say. "I have not half done with my partner yet." The -guitar sounded once more, and the grotesque dog was on his hind -legs in a moment.</p> - -<p>"I had heard that he was well again, that he had married her -lately, and that he was away with her and her sister, and his -child by the first wife," said D'Arbino; "but I had no suspicion -that their place of retirement was so near us. It is too soon to -break in upon their happiness, or I should have felt inclined to -run the boat on shore."</p> - -<p>"I never heard the end of that strange adventure of the Yellow -Mask," said Finello. "There was a priest mixed up in it, was -there not?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; but nobody seems to know exactly what has become of him. He -was sent for to Rome, and has never been heard of since. One -report is, that he has been condemned to some mysterious penal -seclusion by his ecclesiastical superiors—another, that he has -volunteered, as a sort of Forlorn Hope, to accept a colonial -curacy among rough people, and in a pestilential climate. I asked -his brother, the sculptor, about him a little while ago, but he -only shook his head, and said nothing."</p> - -<p>"And the woman who wore the yellow mask?"</p> - -<p>"She, too, has ended mysteriously. At Pisa she was obliged to -sell off everything she possessed to pay her debts. Some friends -of hers at a milliner's shop, to whom she applied for help, would -have nothing to do with her. She left the city, alone and -penniless."</p> - -<p>The boat had approached the next headland on the coast while they -were talking They looked back for a last glance at the beach. -Still the notes of the guitar came gently across the quiet water; -but there mingled with them now the sound of the lady's voice. -She was singing. The little girl and the dog were at her feet, -and the gentleman was still in his old place close at her side.</p> - -<p>In a few minutes more the boat rounded the next headland, the -beach vanished from view, and the music died away softly in the -distance.</p> - -<h3><a name="lastleaves" id="lastleaves"></a>LAST LEAVES FROM LEAH'S DIARY.</h3> - -<p>3d of June.—Our stories are ended; our pleasant work is done. It -is a lovely summer afternoon. The great hall at the farmhouse, -after having been filled with people, is now quite deserted. I -sit alone at my little work-table, with rather a crying sensation -at my heart, and with the pen trembling in my fingers, as if I -was an old woman already. Our manuscript has been sealed up and -taken away; the one precious object of all our most anxious -thoughts for months past—our third child, as we have got to call -it—has gone out from us on this summer's day, to seek its -fortune in the world.</p> - -<p>A little before twelve o'clock last night, my husband dictated to -me the last words of "The Yellow Mask." I laid down the pen, and -closed the paper thoughtfully. With that simple action the work -that we had wrought at together so carefully and so long came to -a close. We were both so silent and still, that the murmuring of -the trees in the night air sounded audibly and solemnly in our -room.</p> - -<p>William's collection of stories has not, thus far, been half -exhausted yet; but those who understand the public taste and the -interests of bookselling better than we, think it advisable not -to risk offering too much to the reader at first. If individual -opinions can be accepted as a fair test, our prospects of success -seem hopeful. The doctor (but we must not forget that he is a -friend) was so pleased with the two specimen stories we sent to -him, that he took them at once to his friend, the editor of the -newspaper, who showed his appreciation of what he read in a very -gratifying manner. He proposed that William should publish in the -newspaper, on very fair terms, any short anecdotes and curious -experiences of his life as a portrait-painter, which might not be -important enough to put into a book. The money which my husband -has gained from time to time in this way has just sufficed to pay -our expenses at the farmhouse up to within the last month; and -now our excellent friends here say they will not hear anything -more from us on the subject of the rent until the book is sold -and we have plenty of money. This is one great relief and -happiness. Another, for which I feel even more grateful, is that -William's eyes have gained so much by their long rest, that even -the doctor is surprised at the progress he has made. He only puts -on his green shade now when he goes out into the sun, or when the -candles are lit. His spirits are infinitely raised, and he is -beginning to talk already of the time when he will unpack his -palette and brushes, and take to his old portrait-painting -occupations again.</p> - -<p>With all these reasons for being happy, it seems unreasonable and -ungracious in me to be feeling sad, as I do just at this moment. -I can only say, in my own justification, that it is a mournful -ceremony to take leave of an old friend; and I have taken leave -twice over of the book that has been like an old friend to -me—once when I had written the last word in it, and once again -when I saw it carried away to London.</p> - -<p>I packed the manuscript up with my own hands this morning, in -thick brown paper, wasting a great deal of sealing-wax, I am -afraid, in my anxiety to keep the parcel from bursting open in -case it should be knocked about on its journey to town. Oh me, -how cheap and common it looked, in its new form, as I carried it -downstairs! A dozen pairs of worsted stockings would have made a -larger parcel; and half a crown's worth of groceries would have -weighed a great deal heavier.</p> - -<p>Just as we had done dinner the doctor and the editor came in. The -first had called to fetch the parcel—I mean the manuscript; the -second had come out with him to Appletreewick for a walk. As soon -as the farmer heard that the book was to be sent to London, he -insisted that we should drink success to it all round. The -children, in high glee, were mounted up on the table, with a -glass of currant-wine apiece; the rest of us had ale; the farmer -proposed the toast, and his sailor son led the cheers. We all -joined in (the children included), except the editor—who, being -the only important person of the party, could not, I suppose, -afford to compromise his dignity by making a noise. He was -extremely polite, however, in a lofty way, to me, waving his hand -and bowing magnificently every time he spoke. This discomposed me -a little; and I was still more flurried when he said that he had -written to the London publishers that very day, to prepare them -for the arrival of our book.</p> - -<p>"Do you think they will print it, sir?" I ventured to ask.</p> - -<p>"My dear madam, you may consider it settled," said the editor, -confidently. "The letter is written—the thing is done. Look upon -the book as published already; pray oblige me by looking upon the -book as published already."</p> - -<p>"Then the only uncertainty now is about how the public will -receive it!" said my husband, fidgeting in his chair, and looking -nervously at me.</p> - -<p>"Just so, my dear sir, just so," answered the editor. "Everything -depends upon the public—everything, I pledge you my word of -honor."</p> - -<p>"Don't look doubtful, Mrs. Kerby; there isn't a doubt about it," -whispered the kind doctor, giving the manuscript a confident -smack as he passed by me with it on his way to the door.</p> - -<p>In another minute he and the editor, and the poor cheap-looking -brown paper parcel, were gone. The others followed them out, and -I was left in the hall alone.</p> - -<p>Oh, Public! Public! it all depends now upon you! The children are -to have new clothes from top to toe; I am to have a black silk -gown; William is to buy a beautiful traveling color-box; the rent -is to be paid; all our kind friends at the farmhouse are to have -little presents, and our future way in this hard world is to be -smoothed for us at the outset, if you will only accept a poor -painter's stories which his wife has written down for him After -Dark!</p> - - - - -<hr style="width: 65%;" /> -<h2>End of The Project Gutenberg EBook of After Dark, by Wilkie Collins</h2> - -<pre> - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AFTER DARK *** - -This file should be named ftrdk10h.htm or ftrdk10h.zip -Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, ftrdk11h.txt -VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, ftrdk10a.txt - -Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US -unless a copyright notice is included. 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