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diff --git a/old/62927-0.txt b/old/62927-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e667d06..0000000 --- a/old/62927-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4910 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jugglers, by Molly Elliot Seawell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: The Jugglers - -Author: Molly Elliot Seawell - -Release Date: August 14, 2020 [EBook #62927] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JUGGLERS *** - - - - -Produced by D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - -THE JUGGLERS - - - - - [Illustration] - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - - NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO - SAN FRANCISCO - - MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED - - LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA - MELBOURNE - - THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. - - TORONTO - - - - -[Illustration: “THINK WHAT IT IS TO ACT WHEN ONE FEELS IT.”] - - - - - THE JUGGLERS - - _A Story_ - - BY - MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL - - WITH A FRONTISPIECE - - New York - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - 1911 - - _Dramatic and all other rights reserved_ - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1911, - BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. - - Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1911. - - _Dramatic and all other rights reserved._ - - - Norwood Press - J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co. - Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. - - - - - TO - NELLIE AND ISABEL - WHO HAVE A GENIUS FOR FRIENDSHIP - THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED - - - - -CONTENTS - - -CHAPTER PAGE - - I. DIANE, THE DREAMER 1 - - II. THE MARQUIS EGMONT OF THE HOLY ANGELS 31 - - III. THE SPLENDID EVENTS THAT HAPPENED AT BIENVILLE 65 - - IV. THE BRIDAL VEIL 95 - - V. THE DELUGE 122 - - VI. THE DAY OF GLORY HAS ARRIVED 158 - - - - -THE JUGGLERS - - - - -CHAPTER I - -DIANE, THE DREAMER - - -The lazy blue river and the wide, brown plains of Picardy lay basking -in the still splendor of the November afternoon. The mysterious hush -of the autumn lay upon the fields and the farmsteads. A flock of -herons in a near-by marsh meditated gravely, standing one-legged, and -watching the cows kneedeep in the muddy meadows. High in the sunny air, -a vulture sailed, majestically evil, watching both the cows and the -herons. The world was saying farewell softly to the sunny hours. - -The only sound that broke the deep silence was the steady trot of the -big Normandy horses on the flinty towpath, as they drew a covered boat -along the narrow and shallow stream, and the faint echo of the voices -of five persons sitting on the roof of the boat in the sunshine. The -herons cocked their eyes toward the boat, and listened attentively, -though they could not understand a word of these strange, noisy, -laughing, weeping, fighting, dancing, talking creatures, called men and -women. Sometimes, so the herons thought, these odd beings were a little -kind; sometimes they were very cruel, but always they were formidable, -and were masters of life and death. - -The great question under discussion on the roof of the boat was, where -the theatrical company of jugglers and singers should spend the winter. -Grandin, the proprietor of the show, a tall, handsome, boastful man, -with a big voice like a church organ and a backbone made of brown -paper, always gave his opinion first, but was generally overruled -by Madame Grandin, also tall, handsome, easily wheedled or bullied, -but inexorably truthful. Decisions really rested with the three -subordinates, Diane Dorian, the prima donna, Jean Leroux, her partner, -and the individual known as François le Bourgeois, juggler. - -“I have determined upon Bienville,” roared Grandin, in his big, rich -voice. “We wintered there nine years ago, and my lithograph was in -some of the best shops in the place.” - -“Oh, what a lie!” cried Madame Grandin, amiably. “They only put your -picture in three butcher shops and the bake shop across the street, and -I am sure you paid enough for it. But Bienville is my choice too.” - -Grandin took this with the utmost good nature. Between his propensity -to tell agreeable lies, and Madame Grandin’s natural inability to let a -lie go uncontradicted, the couple struck a very good average of truth. - -The manager and his wife having spoken, the real discussion was now on. - -“I should say Bienville,” said Jean Leroux, quietly. - -He, too, was big--an ugly, resolute man with an indomitable eye, and as -honest as the day was long. - -He looked at Diane as he spoke. She was dark haired and dark eyed, -with a skin milk white in spite of grease paint, and had a vivid, -irregular, theatrical beauty, in great contrast to the big, Juno-like -manager’s wife. Also, she was so slight and thin as to deserve the name -of “Skinny,” which was freely applied to her by François, and she had -a voice like the flute of Pan. In spite of her soft voice and gently -drooping head, Diane had ten times the resolution of the resolute Jean -Leroux. She was also the vainest of women, and in order to protect her -matchless complexion wore, over her scarlet hood, a transparent veil -of a misty grey, through which her eyes shone as the flash of stars is -seen through a drifting cloud. Jean Leroux, who frankly adored her, sat -at her right, and François, who always laughed at her, sat on the other -side. This François had the clear cut, highbred features, the slim -hands and feet, that indescribable air of the aristocrat which marks -a man who can trace his descent through many lines of greatness, back -to those who shone at the court of Philippe le Bel. Yet François was -a frowzy person, and his small feet had burst through his shoes; but -he had the same glorious and ineffable impudence of his ancestors who -bullied their kings and princes. - -“What do you say, Diane?” he asked, giving Diane a friendly kick. - -“I say Bienville,” replied Diane in her lovely stage voice. “I was -born and brought up five miles from Bienville, in a little hole of a -house, for my father, the village hatter, and my mother had a hard time -to keep body and soul together. When I was a little, little girl, I -used to look in clear days toward Bienville where I could see the tall -spires of the cathedral making a dark line against the sky, and I used -to imagine I could hear the bells on the clear December days, and in -the soft summer nights. I yearned with all my heart to go to Bienville -on market day, and to see the wonderful things that I had heard of -there. My mother and father were always promising me that when they had -enough money they would take me to Bienville on a market day, but, poor -souls, they never had enough. So then, when they died and I was twelve -years old, I was taken far away by my uncle. I never saw Bienville, -and tended geese until I was sixteen and begun to sing at the village -festivals.” - -“How interesting!” cried François, who had heard the story forty times -before. “When you are prima donna at the Paris Opera, and your noble -lineage is acknowledged by the proudest houses in France, it will be so -romantic to hear ‘The Tale of the Goose Girl’!” - -This was an old joke of François’, at which everybody was expected to -laugh, but Diane remained sullenly silent. François had told her by way -of a gibe that her name, Dorian, was undoubtedly a corruption of the -noble name of D’Orian, and the ridiculous story had taken possession of -Diane, who was as ambitious as Julius Cæsar, and not without repartee. - -“Anyhow,” she answered tartly, “it is better to rise from being a goose -girl to being a singer in a nice company like this, than--” Diane -stopped, but François finished the sentence for her. - -“Than to be born in a chateau and come down to being general utility -man in a nice, though small, theatrical company. But I tell you, ladies -and gentlemen, that the fault is in the stars, not in me. God is a -great showman, and arranges many highly dramatic events in certain -lives. He has a little string, which He calls Life, and when He pulls -it, we walk, talk, and sin. And when He cuts that string, we walk, -talk, and sin no more. To return to the concrete, however--I give my -voice for Bienville too, because the Bishop is a friend of mine, and so -is the major general commanding the district.” - -Now, François had never before been known to mention any great people -he had ever known in his former life, claiming acquaintance only with -organ-grinders, ratcatchers, and the like. So all present pricked up -their ears at this. - -“When I was a little lad five years old,” continued François, “they -wanted to teach me to read, but I did not want to read, so then I was -taken into the meadows and shown two big boys, twelve and fourteen -years old, who watched the cows, and meanwhile each carried a book -which he read every moment he could. One of those boys has become -Bishop of Bienville, and the other, I tell you, is a major general -commanding. I suppose they will turn up their noses at me, as indeed -they should. But Bienville is the place for the winter.” - -The three subordinates having spoken, the question of spending the -winter in Bienville was considered settled, provided they could get a -cheap hall in which to give performances three times a week. The horses -were to be sold, as they always were at the end of a season, and the -boat tied up at the quay, because it could not be heated for winter -weather. - -“I am sorry,” said Diane, “that the summer is over, and this is the -last time for this year that we shall travel by water.” - -Diane did not suspect that it was the last time she should ever travel -in that way again. - -The horses trotted on steadily toward the far-off steeples and roofs -of Bienville coming within clear sight. By that time it was nearly -dusk, and a great golden, smoky moon hung in the heavens. The boat was -stopped on the river bank where the streets of the little town ran -down to the waterside. The horses were taken out, rubbed down, and -fed, while the Juno-like manager’s wife and the future prima donna -of the Paris Opera cooked supper. Presently they were all assembled -around a little table in the small, stuffy cabin, lighted by a kerosene -lamp hung on the beam over their heads. They were very humble people, -and poor, but they were not unhappy, and lived in a singular harmony -together, in spite of the fact that the three ruling spirits, Diane, -Jean Leroux, and François were all made on a special model. But each -had that strange, artistic conscience which begets the iron discipline -of the stage. Apart from the stage, François was frankly an outlaw, and -submitted to things because there was always a strong and relentless -world against him. - -When supper was over and everything settled for the night, Grandin and -his wife were soon snoring loudly in the little coop which was their -room. Diane was not in her little coop, nor was Jean Leroux huddled -in his blanket in the large cabin which he shared with François. Both -Diane and Jean were sitting on the roof of the cabin watching the moon -and stars reflected in the black river, and listening to the sounds -brought to them upon the wandering breeze of a merry little town at -night. Jean Leroux, a taciturn man, was, as usual, on or off the stage, -watching Diane. - -“At last I am in Bienville,” murmured Diane. “After so many years of -longing and yearning! I feel that something will happen to me here, -something great and splendid.” - -“Now, Diane,” said Leroux, “don’t let François’ jokes get into your -head as serious things. Nothing is going to happen here. You sing -pretty well, but you have no more chance of being a great opera singer -than I have of being an archbishop. You haven’t the voice, my dear, for -opera at all. You will never get beyond a good music hall artist.” - -“You are so discouraging, Jean,” complained Diane. “You have a fine -voice and know how to act too, but you never aspire to anything but a -music hall.” - -“No, and I never mean to,” was the reply of the practical Jean. “I wish -you had good sense, Diane. But I love you just the same as if you had.” - -Diane made no reply, and Jean was confirmed in his belief that women -were the most obstinate and senseless creatures on earth when once they -took a notion into their heads. - -“Besides,” continued Jean, “you are too old, twenty-six, to begin -training for grand opera, and you haven’t the money either. At this -moment, your capital consists of two hundred and forty-six francs; you -told me so yourself.” - -“Two hundred and sixty-six francs,” cried Diane with flashing eyes. -“You ought to be more careful how you talk about such important things, -Jean.” - -“Anyhow,” answered Jean gruffly, “for you to try grand opera would be -exactly like a cow trying to play the piano.” - -Diane argued with him angrily for half an hour. She had not the -slightest intention or even wish to be a grand opera singer, and knew -the absurdity of the situation quite as well as Jean. But having, like -all women, great powers of deception, she was carefully concealing the -true object of her wishes and ambitions--to go to Paris and become a -great music hall artist, a profession which she consistently derided -and contemned. The simple creature, man, is no match for the complex -creature, woman. - -“After all,” murmured Diane, “I am in Bienville. I have dreamed three -times lately of putting on my petticoat wrong side out, and that means -that I shall make a great deal of money. And then I have twice dreamed -of cooking onions, and that means a splendid lover.” - -This was more than Jean could stand. - -“Very well, Diane,” he said, “you had better go to bed now, and dream -of petticoats and love and onions. I am off.” - -Jean got up and took Diane’s hand as she ran nimbly down the short -ladder to the deck of the boat. The touch of that hand thrilled poor -Jean. His heart yearned over Diane; she was such a fool, and always -wanted to do things and to get in places for which she was eternally -unfitted, so Jean thought. As a matter of fact, Diane was as practical -as Jean, but chose to talk a little wildly. - -Meanwhile, Diane in her little coop was sitting on the edge of her bed -and looking through the small, square window toward the town. Afar off -she heard the echo of a military band playing. - -“There is a garrison here,” she thought to herself, and then suddenly -remembered that the silk petticoat of which she had dreamed was red -like the color of the soldiers’ trousers, and also that the onions -which she had cooked in her dreams were red. Then her mind wandered -to Jean. If she should have a splendid lover, how should she get on -without Jean? It was he who taught her most that she knew about singing -and had a peculiar scowl that he gave her on the stage when she was -getting off the key. Jean evidently did not fit into the plan of the -splendid marriage which she was certain to make in Bienville, nor did -anything seem to fit without Jean. While Diane was puzzling over this, -she slipped into her narrow cot and fell asleep, the laughing stars and -grinning moon gazing at her through the little window. - -The next morning began the serious business of going into winter -quarters at Bienville. It was a busy day for Jean. First, the horses -had to be sold. Anybody who flattered Grandin could get horses or -anything else out of him, so Jean felt it his duty to go with the -manager to the horse mart where the horses fetched a good price. - -François, who was very little use in any way, except doing his stage -tricks, was with Madame Grandin and Diane, looking for lodgings. Jean -had some confidence in Diane’s management of money, but this confidence -was rudely shattered when he and Grandin met the two ladies at the -corner of a street, and were taken to inspect the lodgings which were -under consideration for the whole party. First, Jean was dubious -about the street, which was much too nice. The sight of the lodgings -confirmed his worst suspicions. There was actually a sitting room in -addition to a bedroom for the Grandins, a little kitchen, and beyond -it a small white room, with a fireplace, for Diane. Under the roof was -a big attic where Jean and François could be accommodated royally. The -price, of course, was staggering, one hundred francs the month. For -once, however, Jean found himself unable to move Diane or to bully the -Grandins. - -While they were all in the sitting room arguing at the top of their -lungs, Diane’s high-pitched, musical voice cutting in every ten -seconds, the door opened and in walked François. - -“Look here, François,” said Jean, “help me to reason with these people. -A hundred francs for lodgings, and we haven’t even got a hall yet, and -don’t know whether anybody will come to the performances or not.” - -“A hundred francs! A bagatelle!” cried François, slapping his hat down -on the table. “Do you suppose when I come to a place where the Bishop -and the general commanding are my friends, that I intend to stand back -for a little money? No, indeed. If we are thrown out of these luxurious -quarters, we can all go to the workhouse anyhow.” - -“Just look at this!” cried Jean, pointing to the carpet on the floor, -and the mirrors on the walls. - -“But come and look at my bedroom. I am sure that’s plain enough,” -shrieked Diane. - -“It is the best bedroom you ever had in your life,” growled Jean. - -Then they all trooped back beyond the kitchen to the little white room -for Diane. There was one window in it, and it looked across the street -directly in the garden of a small, but very nice hotel, much frequented -by officers. There was a pavilion enclosed in glass, and at that moment -there were officers breakfasting there, with their swords about their -legs. As Diane and the rest watched, an orderly rode up leading an -officer’s horse. Then the officer came out, a handsome young man in a -splendid dragoon uniform, and putting on his helmet with its gorgeous -red plume waving in the sunny air. He mounted and clattered off, -followed by the orderly and also by the eyes of Diane. Jean, looking -at her, felt a knife enter his heart. Her eyes had been fixed upon the -young officer with a look of enchantment; her red lips were partly -open. She was like a person hypnotized. - -“Diane will be a big success with the officers of the garrison,” said -François, laughing. - -“You mean with the corporals,” said Jean. “François, you remind me of -those soldiers called gentlemen-rankers, gentlemen, that is, who get -into the ranks. They always give trouble. You don’t belong with us. You -ought to go with people of your own kind, who understand your jokes.” - -“But I can’t,” responded François, with unabashed good humor. “They -have kicked me out long ago.” - -Then, the discussion about the lodgings began all over again, everybody -talking at once, except Diane who remained perfectly silent. When they -were talked out, Diane spoke a word. - -“I will take the whole apartment myself, if the rest of you don’t,” she -said. “I have two hundred and sixty-six francs of my own.” - -Jean said no more, and Grandin sent for the landlady, and made the -terms, Jean looking after him that he did nothing more wildly foolish -than to take the apartment at a hundred francs. - -When that business was over, the whole party started out to find a hall -suitable for their performances. In this they had extraordinary good -luck, finding a large place in the same street, the whole front of -glass, and which had been lately vacated as a furniture shop. It would -not take much to build a little stage, and the dressing-rooms could -be divided off with canvas. Jean then piloted the whole party to the -office of the agent, where Diane was put forward to make the plea for -the company. The agent was a susceptible person, and Diane’s soft eyes -and arguments that the place would become better known by having many -persons attend it, caused him to make a ridiculously low offer, and it -was promptly accepted. On the strength of this, Diane assumed to be a -fine business woman, and gave herself great airs in consequence. - -When all was complete, the entire arrangements were not so bad. The -money received for the horses paid a month’s rent in advance and for -the erection of the stage. In the latter, both Grandin and Jean helped -the workmen and nailed and hammered industriously. François was willing -to help too, but rather hindered by his jokes and stories, which -distracted the workmen and kept them laughing when they should have -been working. - -At the end of three days everything was settled for the winter. The -beds and stools and kettles and pans had been brought from the boat, -which was tied up for the season. The hall was in readiness, the -license was obtained, and the big posters were out announcing three -performances a week by the celebrated Grandin troupe of jugglers, -singers, and dancers. - -On the night of the first performance the hall was so well filled that -Grandin was in ecstasies of delight, and Madame Grandin wept with joy. - -Across the street, the pavilion was full of young officers, dining. -The new place evidently attracted their attention, and presently the -whole crowd sallied forth through the garden of the hotel, and across -the street. At that moment, François, by Grandin’s direction, went out -to see if the old woman who was hired to take in the money was doing -her duty. As the crowd of laughing young officers crossed the street, -François, who had inspirations of genius, ran inside and pulled up the -great green shade before what had once been the shop windows. Within -could plainly be seen Diane doing one of her best acts with Jean. -She was dressed as a fishwife, her skirts tucked up high, showing a -charming pair of ankles and small feet in little wooden shoes, and -a delicious white cap such as the fishwomen wear flapped upon her -beautiful black hair. The officers raised a shout of laughter and -applause and dashed into the little hall, throwing their money at the -old woman, and not waiting for change. - -François pulled the curtain down, and rushed back of the stage. As -the officers came clattering in, they were led by one whom François -recognized as the dragoon officer who had fascinated Diane’s eyes three -days before. This made François nervous, because if the same thing -should happen, the act would be ruined. Diane, indeed, had seen the -young officer, but the effect was exactly opposite from what François -had feared. This, thought Diane, was the meaning of her dream. She -sang better than ever before, and no fishwife ever had so dramatic and -delightful a quarrel as she had with Jean. The end of the act was that -Diane gave Jean a beating with a broom, at which Jean bellowed, to the -great delight of the audience. - -This audience, made up wholly of soldiers and working people, except -the officers, shouted with laughter, and the young officers made more -noise than any one else present, led by the handsome dragoon who had -struck Diane’s fancy that morning. - -Diane was kept smiling and bowing, and blushing under her grease -paint, before the row of candles stuck in bottles that represented the -footlights. This went on for so long that the next feature on the bill, -a juggling act in which Grandin and his wife did miraculous things, -was delayed ten minutes. Madame Grandin, who was more nearly without -jealousy than any woman François had ever known, sat quite placidly -in her tights and short skirts, and wrapped in a shawl, waiting for -the hullabaloo to subside. Grandin was torn by rival emotions; joy -that Diane had made such a hit, and annoyance that the audience seemed -to prefer singing to burning up money and making an egg come out of -a pumpkin. Presently, however, Jean ruthlessly lowered the piece of -canvas that did duty for a curtain, and Diane came back palpitating -and quivering between laughter and tears. The Grandins then went on, -and François, who was not due on the stage for ten minutes, slipped on -his outside clothes over his stage costume and quietly dropped into the -audience and took his seat by a laughing corporal. - -“Who is that young man over there?” whispered François to the corporal. - -“Captain, the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel, captain of dragoons. I am in -his troop.” - -The corporal, as he said this, made a little motion with his mouth, of -which François knew the meaning. It implied that Captain, the Marquis -Egmont de St. Angel was a person to be spat upon. - -François knew the name well enough; he knew the names of all the great -families. He gave the corporal a wink, which was cordially returned, -and then went out, and to the back of the stage. He found Diane -sitting as if in a dream in the little canvas den which she shared as -a dressing-room with Madame Grandin. François, who was to go on in two -minutes, began jerking his arms about and bending his body as if it -were made of India rubber, by way of preparation, chatting meanwhile. - -“Talking about love and onions and petticoats,” he said, “the young -officer who led the rest into the hall happens to be a cousin of mine, -about three removes, but we are blood relations, just the same, and I -think he will end in a worse position than that of a juggler when he -keeps sober, and a street vender when he is not quite so sober. He is -the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel, called Egmont for short. I was just -thinking,” continued François, making himself into a circle like a -snake, “that there are no such things as trifles in this world. I went -out just now and pulled up the window shade, and a certain man saw you. -The pulling up of that shade was a momentous act, perhaps.” - -“I knew something splendid would happen in Bienville,” murmured Diane. -“The Marquis Egmont de St. Angel! What a splendid name! I never had a -hand clap from a marquis before.” - -Then it was time for François to go on the stage. He did his part, -which was chiefly acrobatic, so badly that he came near ruining the -Grandins’ act. - -Within the canvas den, Jean was preaching to Diane. - -“Look here, Diane,” he said, “don’t let those young officers turn -your head, particularly that handsome one in front. They are not good -acquaintances for a girl like you.” - -Diane turned on him a look as virginal as that of Jeanne d’Arc. - -“No man can do me any harm,” she said, “except break my heart. I -suppose some might do that. And besides, Jean, I am full of ambition. -The women who misbehave and drink too much wine, lose their voices very -soon and are not respectfully treated by managers. Don’t be afraid for -me.” - -“I am not,” answered Jean. “At least in the way you think. I am afraid -of your breaking your heart and doing something foolish.” - -“I shan’t do anything foolish,” promptly answered Diane. - -When the Grandins and François finished their act and the curtain was -down, even the placid Madame Grandin said a few mildly reproachful -words to François for his carelessness which might have caused a bad -accident. Grandin, who was sincerely attached to his wife, was much -shaken and nervous and violently angry with François. - -“Never mind,” answered François coolly to Grandin’s invectives, “wives -come cheap, but if you are so shaken in the next turn as you are now, -your wife will be in a great deal more danger than she was with me. -Behave yourself, Grandin, and get the upper hand of your nerves. A -juggler who loses his nerve because another juggler hasn’t tumbled -fair, isn’t any good at all and a very dangerous person.” - -Grandin was much taken aback by this onslaught of François, and could -only mumble: - -“I don’t know why it is, François, that you always get the upper hand -of me.” - -“I know,” replied François. “It is because I was born a-horseback and -you were born a-footback. That’s why.” - -The second appearance of Diane upon the stage was greeted with greater -applause and laughter than ever. Jean, who was a capital low comedian -and singer, was scarcely noticed. When the act was over, it had to be -repeated, and at the end money was showered upon the stage. It was all -silver, however, except one twenty franc gold piece which was thrown by -the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel. - -On the whole, the performance was a great success as far as money went, -but nobody had got any applause to speak of except Diane. - -It takes some time to wash off powder and lamp-black and grease paint, -and to get into even the shabbiest clothes, so that the street was -almost deserted when the players came out in the quiet autumn night. -One person, however, was on watch. This was the Marquis Egmont de St. -Angel, known as Egmont. He stepped up to Diane and said with a low bow: - -“Mademoiselle, will you do me the honor of taking supper with me in the -pavilion of the Hotel Metropole?” - -“I thank you very much, Monsieur,” replied Diane in her flute-like -voice, “but I make it a rule always to go home with my friends, -Monsieur and Madame Grandin, after the performance.” - -The Marquis remained silent for a moment, then he said, bowing to -Madame Grandin: - -“Perhaps your friends will give me the pleasure of their company too.” - -“It is as they wish,” answered Diane. “But I must return home. I cannot -stay out late; it affects my voice unfavorably.” - -The Marquis stared at her as if she were a lunatic; he had never known -stage people of this class who refused anything to eat and drink. - -Diane then, with Jean, started up the street shepherded by the -Grandins. When they reached the corner, Grandin found his big, -melodious voice, and thundered at Diane: - -“What do you mean by declining for us to go to supper? I never went to -supper with a marquis in my life; it would be worth a hundred francs’ -advertising!” - -François had lagged behind, and was saying to the Marquis, - -“Are you Fernand or Victor Egmont de St. Angel?” - -“I am Fernand,” said the Marquis. “What do you know about my family?” - -“Oh, merely that we are cousins.” - -The Marquis shouted out laughing, while François, rolling up his -sleeve, gravely exhibited his arm tattooed with a crest and initials. - -“This was done,” he said, “when I was a child, in case I got lost. I -have got lost since in the great, mysterious maze of the world, but I -have no objection, like that young lady yonder, to go to supper with -you, provided you will have a good brand of champagne. Cheap champagne -is worse than bad acting.” - -“Come!” cried the Marquis, “I know that crest. You have indeed got -lost! But you shall have champagne at twenty francs the bottle if you -will tell me all about that young lady who kicked about so beautifully -in her little wooden shoes.” - -François then slipped his arm within that of the Marquis and the two -paraded across the quiet street singing at the top of their voices some -of the songs they had heard that evening from the sweet lips of Diane. - -Nothing was seen of François that night, but the next morning when -Madame Grandin, who added thrift and early rising to her other virtues, -was going out to the market at sunrise, she came across François lying -drunk on the door-step. Madame Grandin, a good soul, instead of calling -her husband or Jean, who would be likely to use François roughly, -tiptoed to Diane’s door and the two women very quietly managed to get -François, who was a small man, up the stair, on his way to his attic. -As they passed Grandin’s door, the manager appeared in a very sketchy -toilette. - -“What’s the matter with François?” asked Grandin. - -“Drunk,” hiccoughed François, thickly, and perfectly happy. “Too much -high society. Champagne at twenty francs the bottle, and my cousin, the -Marquis Egmont de St. Angel, paying for it. Just let me sleep all day, -and I will be as sober as a judge by six o’clock.” - -And this actually happened. - -It is a very serious thing for a juggler to get drunk while he is -juggling, but François, who had as good artistic conscience as Jean -Leroux or anybody else, never attempted his profession unless he were -dead sober. That, he was, at six o’clock when he walked into the little -sitting room and joined the rest of the party at supper which was -cooked by the excellent Madame Grandin and Diane in collaboration. - -“Don’t be afraid to do the pumpkin act with me to-night, you dear -old goose,” said François to Madame Grandin. “I wouldn’t risk your -precious life for anything. Where would Grandin get as good a wife and -as good a partner as you if I should break your neck? And besides, it -would break up the show for a fortnight at least, and perhaps ruin the -whole season just as Diane is in a fair way to become a marquise.” - -“What do you mean, François?” asked Diane. - -“I mean that the young officer who admired you so much was the Marquis -Egmont de St. Angel, a cousin of mine. We got gloriously drunk together -like old Socrates and the boy Alcibiades the time that Socrates came in -and caught Alcibiades and a lot of Greek boys drinking, and they swore -that Socrates should drink two measures of wine to one of theirs, which -he did the whole night through, and in the morning left them all lying -about the floor while he went and took a bath and then lectured on the -true, the beautiful, and the good in the groves of Parnassus, with all -the wisest men in the town at his heels.” - -“And who was Parnassus?” inquired Grandin in his big voice. “His name -sounds like a German university professor.” - -“That’s just what he was,” answered François. “One of those _langsam -schrecklich_ German professors who don’t mind having a mob of -ragamuffins overrunning the place.” - -All present gazed with admiration at François, amazed at his learning, -as well as his great family connections. - -Diane’s thoughts were with the Marquis; her face grew rose red as she -wondered if the Marquis would be on hand for that night’s performance. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE MARQUIS EGMONT OF THE HOLY ANGELS - - -The Marquis, known familiarly as Egmont, was at the music hall the next -night, not in his splendid dragoon uniform, nor yet in evening dress, -but in ordinary clothes which suggested the notion of a disguise on -Egmont’s part, to François. - -Evidently, the company as a whole, and Diane in particular, had -made a great hit, for the former furniture shop was packed with -persons. François went through his juggling and his tricks with -the Grandins without the slightest nervousness. Not so, Diane. -She began to give signs of what is dangerous and even fatal to an -actress--self-consciousness. No one noticed it except Jean, who saw -everything with the sharp-sightedness of love. - -When the performance was over, and the hall closing for the night, the -old woman who took in the money at the door handed a note to Diane, -who slipped it into her breast. When she got home and was alone in -her little white room, she took the note out and read it. Many notes -of the kind had Diane received in her short theatrical career, chiefly -from young shopmen and susceptible lawyers’ clerks and the like, but -this was from a marquis, and written upon beautiful paper. It was very -respectful in tone, and asked Diane why she had been so cruel the night -before, and what evening would she honor Captain, the Marquis Egmont de -St. Angel with her company at supper. The foolish Diane kissed the note -and slept with it under her pillow. - -The next morning about ten o’clock, Diane went out on a shopping -expedition in the streets of Bienville. She was one of those women who -have an instinctive knowledge of how to make the best of herself. She -adopted a demure style of dress, a trim little black gown and large -black hat and a thin black veil, all of which gave her a nun-like -appearance. When she raised her eyes, however, there was nothing of the -nun about Diane. - -She walked rapidly along the bustling streets of the town, and looked -like a pretty governess somewhat alarmed at being out alone. In truth, -Diane had been out in the world alone since her seventeenth year, and -knew perfectly well how to take care of herself. She went into a paper -shop to buy some writing paper elegant enough to reply to the Marquis’s -note. As she walked out of the shop, she came face to face with the -Marquis swinging along in his dashing uniform, and carrying his sabre -in his arm. He smiled brilliantly at Diane and took off his glittering -helmet with its red plumes, and bowed profoundly to her, but Diane, -whose face became scarlet as the dragoon’s plumes, turned and ran as -fast as she could, and was lost to sight, diving into a narrow and -devious street. She heard footsteps behind her and kept her head down, -thinking it was the Marquis, but the voice in her ear was that of Jean. - -“That man means mischief as certainly as you live, Diane,” said Jean, -who had a brusqueness and common sense sometimes most painful and -uncompromising. - -Diane stopped under an archway, dark even in the bright autumn morning. - -“I don’t know what he means,” she said, “but neither he nor any other -man can do me any harm. In the first place, I am by nature a modest -girl, you know that, Jean. Then, you laugh at my ambitions. Very well; -when the time comes that the newspaper reporters are digging into my -past, they won’t find anything disgraceful, upon that I am determined. -If the Marquis wants to marry me, I shall marry him. But the only way -he can reach me is through the church door.” - -Jean laughed a hearty, mirthful laugh. - -“I believe you,” he said, “and as you always were the most persevering -and most determined creature that ever lived, I think that you will -stick to what you say. But neither this marquis nor any other marquis -will ever want to marry you. As for this fellow, he is a scoundrel. I -have heard it in the last twenty-four hours, and I see it for myself.” - -“You are so prejudiced, Jean,” complained Diane. “However, I will show -you the note that I shall write him, so that you can point out any -mistakes in spelling I may make.” - -“François is the man for spelling,” answered Jean. - -Diane thought so too, so after writing her little note first on a -piece of wrapping paper--Diane was nothing if not economical--she -showed it to François, who corrected two mistakes. It was very short, -simply saying that Mademoiselle Dorian thanked the Marquis for his -compliment, but that she did not accept invitations to supper. - -“But I wish, Skinny,” said François, “you would go with him. He will -be certain to say or do something impudent, and that will disgust you, -and there will be an end of it. But you are acting, my dear, like a -finished coquette.” - -This Diane violently denied, as it was the truth and she did not wish -it known. - -The Marquis continued to haunt the little hall every night, and the -effect upon Diane’s acting was not good, especially in a little love -scene she had with Jean. - -After a week of this, one night when the performance was over and they -were all preparing to go home, Jean spoke to Diane in her little canvas -den of a dressing-room. - -“Something is the matter. Your acting isn’t improved, Diane,” said -Jean, “by your eyes wandering over the audience, and shrinking away -from me when you ought to throw yourself in my arms. If you go on like -this, you will never get to Paris even as a music hall artist. Your -acting won’t be worth your railway fare, third class.” - -“I know it,” answered Diane with pale lips. “But while I am dressing I -am asking myself all the time, ‘Will the Marquis be in front?’ If he -isn’t there, there doesn’t seem to me as if there were anyone in the -hall; then as soon as he comes in he seems to fill the hall and to be -on the stage with me. Pity me, Jean!” - -“I do,” answered Jean, “from the bottom of my heart, and I have a -little pity for myself, too. But, Diane, where is your courage, your -resolution, of which you are always boasting?” - -“It is here,” answered Diane, laying her hand upon her heart. “It is -that which keeps me away from him, which drags me to my room when I -want to go with the Marquis. It is that which makes me a victor every -hour, for I am forever struggling to keep away from him, and I _have_ -kept away from him. But when he comes where I am--oh, Jean!” - -Diane sat down on the rough box which held her stage wardrobe, -consisting of two costumes, and wept plentifully. Jean kneeled by her. - -“But you won’t be a coward, Diane,” he cried desperately. “Keep on -struggling and fighting. The fellow is a scoundrel, that I assure you. -I know the kind of a fight you are making. I have had the same kind -ever since I knew you. Think what it is to me to take you in my arms -and then to throw you off as we do on the stage every night. Think what -it is to act when one feels it.” - -Jean stopped. The love of one man matters little to a woman who is -desperately in love with another, but Diane, out of the depths of -her own agony, looked into Jean’s eyes and realized that some one -else could suffer besides herself. They both forgot that François was -changing his clothes on the other side of the piece of canvas and could -hear every word. Suddenly François’ head appeared above the canvas -partition which was only about six feet high, and with a convenient -upturned bucket François, who was a short man, could mount and see over -into the next canvas den. - -“That’s the way it is,” cried François, laughing. “You know the -Spanish proverb, ‘I am dying for you and you are dying for him who is -dying for someone else.’ I haven’t even the privilege of taking you in -my arms, Diane, on the stage, like Jean. This is a cursed world!” - -There can be no secrets in a travelling company of five persons between -whom there is seldom more than a canvas partition. - -Diane did not stop crying, and Jean still knelt on the ground looking -at her. Presently he glanced up at François’ grinning face, and cried: - -“François, because you never loved a woman, you don’t know what it -means, to see her wretched and foolish and crying her eyes out for a -worthless dog, as Diane is doing now.” - -“True, true, true!” laughed François, “I have done many foolish things -in my life, but I never intend to love any woman, especially Diane. Ha, -ha! Here, take this stage dagger and kill yourselves like a couple of -lovers in grand opera. It is not much of a weapon, but it will do the -job. It is the only way out of a three-cornered love affair.” - -“François, you are so unfeeling,” said Diane, angrily, and drying her -eyes. - -As the stage dagger came clattering over the canvas, François got down -off his bucket on the other side. - -“Never loved a woman!” muttered François to himself. He had a habit -common to imaginative persons, of talking to himself when he was under -a great stress. “There they go off together. I wonder if they have -taken the dagger with them.” - -He sat motionless, gazing into the dingy little unframed mirror hung -against the canvas, apparently fascinated by the glare in his own eyes. - -“Don’t stand on that bucket again, François, my man,” he said to -himself between his clenched teeth. “If the dagger is on the floor-- It -is a clumsy thing, a blunt and horrid weapon to use on one’s self.” - -In vain he tried to hold himself by his own glance into the mirror, as -one man tries to cow another by his gaze. He backed away until his foot -struck the overturned bucket; then he jumped up and glanced over into -Diane’s dressing-room. No, there was no dagger on the floor; there was -nothing but the box, which was locked, and a bit of a mirror, a towel -and soap, and a comb and brush. As François looked, his eyes lost their -wild expression. He breathed freely like a man released from the grip -of a wild beast. He even laughed, and in his excess of relief, turned -a double somersault on the floor, and putting on his shabby coat and -shabbier hat, went off whistling gaily. As he came out of the narrow, -black alley entrance which did duty for a stage entrance, he saw the -Marquis Egmont de St. Angel stepping across the street toward the Hotel -Metropole. He had gone through his usual performance of watching Diane -go home. - -“Halloo! my dear Egmont of the Holy Angels,” cried François, “I will -take supper with you to-night if you will ask me, or if you will pay -for the supper, I won’t even stand on the asking.” - -“Come along, then,” answered the Marquis. He was willing to pay for -François’ supper in order to talk about Diane. - -The Marquis got a table in an alcove of the pavilion so he could talk -freely. The contrast between the two men was extreme--the Marquis, in -his splendid dragoon uniform, for he had just come from a reception -at the house of the general commanding, and François in his shabby -clothes. The waiters, who knew that François was a juggler at a cheap -place, nevertheless treated him with an odd kind of respect due to a -note of command which his voice had never wholly lost. - -“I had to go to a dull reception at the house of the general,” said the -Marquis when he and François were seated at a little table, “and got -away as soon as I could. What a bore are those pink and white girls, -clinging to their mothers’ skirts and as ignorant as children! They are -quite colorless after Mademoiselle Diane.” - -“Diane isn’t ignorant. She could not well be,” replied François, -sipping his wine. “But in mind she has an eternal innocence. There is a -great difference between the two things--ignorance and innocence.” - -“I don’t know about that,” replied the Marquis, whose mind was low, -and who was not so intelligent as François. “That capricious little -music hall devil has given me more trouble to bring around to my way -of thinking than half the girls I have met to-night. But she keeps me -dancing after her, damn her, the little darling!” - -François laughed at this, and laughed still more when the Marquis -inquired anxiously: - -“I think it is that great, hulking fellow who sings and dances with her -that frightens her. Perhaps she is in love with him; women are such -crazy creatures!” - -“Oh, no,” cried François, beginning to attack the supper which the -waiter had brought, “Diane is not in love with Jean, nor with me -either, strange to say, although I was born both handsome and rich.” - -The Marquis pushed his chair back a little, and the waiter being out of -hearing, brought his fist down on the table. - -“The infernal, proud, presumptuous little devil probably thinks she can -marry me! Very well, let us see who will beat at that game. Just look -at this impudent note she wrote me.” - -The Marquis tore from his breast Diane’s cool little note, the only one -he had ever had from her. - -“She doesn’t go out to supper after the performance. She remains with -Monsieur and Madame Grandin, her friends.” - -The Marquis howled with laughter at this, and then kept on. - -“And she a singer and dancer in the cheapest music hall in this dull -old town of Bienville! Oh, she has got it into her silly head that by -holding off she can become a marquise, but she won’t.” - -“But you are carrying around her note in your breast pocket,” suggested -François. - -“Oh, yes, I am fool enough for that,” calmly admitted the Marquis, -putting the note back in his breast pocket and drawing his chair up to -the table. “I can feel it, I can feel it there, although it is only a -bit of paper. Who was her father, François?” - -“The village hatter,” replied François, “like the father of Adrienne -Lecouvreur. That was her prosperous period, when she enjoyed the -advantages of a polite education at the village school. Then her -parents died, and she was taken to the house of an uncle who owned -three acres of ground, and Diane worked in the cabbage garden and -tended geese.” - -“And where did she learn to sing, and all those devlish, captivating -little ways of hers on the stage?” - -“From Nature, the mighty mother of us all. She took some singing -lessons from the village teacher, and used to sing at country fairs -after she was sixteen. Then, a couple of years ago, we found her and -took her into our company. Singing on the stage was taught her by Jean -Leroux, her partner, and I taught her something of acting and little -stage tricks, but I must say she was a very apt pupil. She has got it -into her head to go to Paris and study for the grand opera, but she -has no grand opera voice, and has two hundred and sixty-six francs to -pay her expenses.” For Diane had palmed off the grand opera story on -François as well as on Jean, when really her mind was set upon a big -music hall. - -“Everything that you tell me,” said the Marquis, “shows how admirably -unfitted this wide mouthed, skinny girl is to become the Marquise -Egmont de St. Angel.” - -“You have hit upon her name,” cried François, laughing, “for we call -her Skinny. Our little Skinny a marquise! And your title is worth at -least two million francs in the open market. As for yourself, I may, -with the frankness of a relative, say you would be dear at two hundred -francs.” - -“Has anybody ever told you that you were extremely impudent, M. le -Bourgeois, as you call yourself?” - -“Occasionally,” replied François. “Here, waiter.” The waiter came from -a distance. “Take this chicken away,” said François,--“it was hatched -during the First Empire, I think,--and bring us one that isn’t old -enough for military service.” - -The Marquis rambled on, admiring and cursing Diane all through the -supper. - -When François got home an hour later and passed Diane’s door, he saw a -thread of light under it, and the door opened gently, showing Diane’s -pale, dispirited face. She knew well enough where François had been; -nobody except the Marquis had so far asked him to supper. - -“Yes,” said François in a whisper, answering the question in poor -Diane’s eyes, “I have been to supper with him. It always raises me -in my own esteem, for I see that I, François le Bourgeois, born in a -chateau, and now juggler and acrobat when I am sober enough, am a far -more respectable character than the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel; he has -no more brains than my shoe, and is the handsomest young officer I ever -saw. I am ashamed of him as a relative.” - -Diane slammed the door angrily in François’ face. - -The days and the weeks crept on, and the performances in the -ex-furniture shop maintained and even increased their popularity. -Diane could have had supper every evening with an officer or with a -young advocate or any of the gay dogs who are found in every town, but -Diane, being a shrewd little person, concluded that it was worth more -as an advertisement to decline these offers than to accept them. Soon -it became the subject of numerous wagers among the gilded youth of -Bienville as to who should first have the triumph of entertaining Diane -at supper. Presently the wagers were changed; it was a question whether -any of them could succeed in this commendable project. - -This sudden popularity of Diane by no means weakened the devotion of -the Marquis de St. Angel. She still turned an unseeing eye and a deaf -ear toward him, although her heart beat wildly and her pulses were -racing. One person profited by this--François. He could get supper -at any time out of the Marquis by merely telling about Diane, and -especially of the notes and letters she received, and even the presents -which she haughtily returned. The Marquis continued to pursue her and -to damn her for an affected prude and subtle advertiser, and not half -as handsome as a plenty of other ladies in her profession who were not -so obdurate. - -Grandin at first bitterly reproached Diane for not encouraging the -Marquis and the other young bloods, but in the course of time he came -around to her opinion. - -“It’s much better advertising,” said Diane. “If I should go out to -supper with one of these young gentlemen, the box office receipts would -fall off fifty francs at least. And think, Grandin, how nice it is for -you to have all these people following us and looking at you because -you are my manager.” - -“True,” replied Grandin. “I have been photographed, actually -photographed when I appeared upon the street.” - -One day in midwinter two great honors were paid the Grandin company of -jugglers, acrobats, and singers. A card was brought up to the little -sitting room where Diane and Madame Grandin were making a suit of -stage clothes for Grandin, who was not only without his coat, but also -_sans-culotte_. It was a beautiful card inscribed Captain, the Marquis -Egmont de St. Angel, Twenty-fifth Regiment of Chasseurs. The two -Grandins and Diane were immediately beside themselves. Diane, who had -on a large white apron, took it off and put it on again, frantically, -and rushed to the little mirror to tidy her hair when it all came -tumbling down her back in a glorious mass. Grandin tore the pinned-up -jacket and short trousers off and made a dash for his clothes which -Madame Grandin seized and withheld violently, mistaking them in her -agitation for the stage clothes. In the midst of the commotion, while -the Marquis was cooling his heels in the narrow passage below, François -passed him and walked upstairs to the little sitting room. - -“He is downstairs!” shrieked Diane incoherently, trying with trembling -fingers to put up her rich hair. “He is downstairs, and Jean didn’t -want us to take this sitting room! He said we didn’t need it, and now -Madame Grandin won’t give Grandin his trousers, and I don’t know what I -shall do!” - -François, however, with his usual coolness, knew exactly what to do. -He thrust Grandin into his own room, threw the scissors and the work -things and scraps into Diane’s apron, which he gathered up and flung -after Grandin, and going to the top of the stairs called out, laughing: - -“Come up, my Marquis Egmont of the Holy Angels.” - -The Marquis walked in smiling, having heard all of the commotion. -Madame Grandin greeted him with deep agitation, having never received a -marquis before, as indeed, neither had Diane. - -Diane’s usually pale face was scarlet, and she sat as demurely as a -nun on the edge of her chair, with downcast eyes, responding “Yes, -m’sieu,” and “No, m’sieu” to the Marquis’ chaste remarks. François -remained so as to keep Madame Grandin and Diane from a total collapse. -As he looked at the Marquis it occurred to François that any girl might -fall in love with so splendid an exterior. He was certainly the most -highbred-looking man François had ever seen, not excepting himself. -The Marquis’ undress uniform fitted him to perfection, and showed the -supple beauty of his straight and sinewy figure. Then his voice was -peculiarly sweet, not big and sonorous like Grandin’s, but rather low -with a crispness in it like a man accustomed to giving orders. - -They talked about nothings, as people do when the ladies of a party are -not quite at ease. The Marquis was perfectly at ease, however, and had -a laughing devil in his eye which responded promptly to the laughing -devil in the eyes of François. Diane’s voice was ever peculiarly -sweet, and it occurred to François that the talk between her and the -Marquis was like a duet of birds in spring, or the rich notes of the -’cello blending with the sharp sweetness of the violin. And they were -just the right height, and Diane was dark-eyed and black-haired and -white-skinned, while the Marquis was chestnut-haired and blond and -bronzed. - -The Marquis complained gently to Diane that she would never accept his -invitations to supper, and asked her if she would do him the honor to -sup with him that night, when he hoped also to have the company of -Monsieur and Madame Grandin and Monsieur le Bourgeois. - -“I thank you, no,” replied Diane sweetly. “I made a resolution before -we came to Bienville not to accept any invitations to supper.” - -“Oh, Diane!” burst out the excellent and too truthful Madame Grandin, -“you did no such thing. You only took the notion after you got here, -and besides, you were never asked to supper before by a marquis.” - -“I made the resolution in my own mind,” replied Diane suavely, who had -never dreamed of such a thing in her life. “It is most kind of the -Marquis, but I can make no exception.” - -The Marquis protested, backed up not only by Madame Grandin, but by -Grandin himself, who was listening attentively at the door behind the -Marquis, and put out his head, grimacing and gesticulating wildly in -protest to Diane. The Marquis saw it all in the little mirror, and -burst out laughing, at which Grandin’s head suddenly disappeared. But -Diane was relentless, and the Marquis had to leave, asking permission, -however, to call again. - -“You may call every day,” replied Madame Grandin. “My husband thinks -it would be a very good thing for the show to have a marquis attentive -to Diane. She is a perfectly good girl, I assure you. We made inquiries -about her character before we engaged her.” - -When the Marquis and François were out in the street and laughing -together, François said: - -“Beware of Diane! She is the most determined creature I ever saw in my -life. If she makes up her mind to marry you, you are lost.” - -François then walked off, taking his way past the Bishop’s palace, a -shabby old stone house with wide iron gates before it. The Bishop was -just coming out for his daily walk, and François, who was as bold with -a bishop as with a rat-catcher, went up and said: - -“I perceive your Grace does not recognise me. I am--or I was--François -d’Artignac of the Chateau d’Artignac on the upper Loire.” - -The Bishop, a gentle, unsophisticated man, overflowing with -benevolence, shook hands cordially with François, saying: - -“Ah, it is a great pleasure to me to meet one of your family, for I and -my brother, General Bion, were both born and reared upon that estate -where our father and our grandfather and our great-grandfathers for -many generations back were laborers. We do not seek to disguise our -humble origin, my brother and I. We were always well treated by the -family of d’Artignac as far back as we can remember, and I am happy and -proud to meet a representative of that family.” - -The Bishop was now out of the gate, and François and himself were -promenading together along the street, one of the best in the little -town. - -“I remember you and your brother well,” answered François. “You were -always reading and improving yourselves, and taking all the prizes in -the village school.” - -“We did our best,” replied the Bishop modestly. “But I recollect you, -the little François, the beautiful boy in dainty clothes, that used to -walk in the meadows with a footman behind you, while my brother and I -kept the cows. Oh, they were happy days!” - -François, by design, led the Bishop directly past the lodgings of the -Grandin company, and looking up at the window, saw the noses of Grandin -and his wife and Diane glued to the window-pane. They also passed -Jean, who bowed respectfully to the Bishop and then thrust his tongue -in his cheek on the sly to François. - -Meanwhile François had told a pretty story of his downfall in the -world, and his resolute determination to earn a living when he had lost -all his property and had been repudiated by his family. He did not -mention various little episodes with regard to raising money through -means prohibited by the law, drunkenness, and a few other shortcomings. -He gave as a reason for his change of name the desire to spare the -noble house of d’Artignac the mortification of such a fall. - -Directly opposite the Hotel Metropole they met General Bion, a stiff, -discerning person, who had a low opinion of his brother the Bishop’s -insight into human nature. - -“Brother,” said the Bishop, “here is an old acquaintance of ours in -our boyhood. We could not call him a friend, because he was so far -above us in position, being of the house of d’Artignac. He has had many -misfortunes which give him only greater claim upon us.” - -General Bion looked suspiciously at François, with a dim recollection -of having heard that François’ family had never been proud of him. His -greeting, therefore, was rather cool, although being a man of sense he -promptly referred to the fact that his father had been a laborer upon -the estate of François’ father. - -“He calls himself Le Bourgeois now, for his stage name,” said the good -Bishop. “I think he shows a true spirit of Christian humility.” - -The General made no response to this, which caused the Bishop to -show François the greater kindness, asking him to breakfast the next -morning, which François promptly accepted. - -When François returned to his lodgings, the story of his grandeur had -already preceded him, and all his fellow-players, except Jean, were -overcome with the magnificence which was being showered upon them. Jean -said good-humoredly: - -“Now, François, don’t play any tricks on the good old Bishop. He is as -innocent as a lamb, and it would be a sin to trick him.” - -François took no offence at this, whatever. - -But François was not the only one of them who walked that day with a -distinguished person. In the late afternoon, although the day had -grown dark and a brown fog was creeping up from the river and the -low-lying meadows, Diane went for the walk which she religiously -consecrated to her complexion. She took her way past the Bishop’s -palace through the best quarter of the town, indulging herself in -dreams of the time when she would be the mistress of a mansion like the -big stone houses, with gardens in front, in which the aristocracy of -Bienville resided. Presently she came to the gates of the park, which -she entered. It was so quiet and so deserted by the nursemaids and -the children, because of the damp and the fog, that Diane could think -uninterruptedly of the Marquis. The great clumps of evergreen shrubbery -loomed large in the dimness of the fog, and the bare trees were lost in -the mist. Diane entered a little heart-shaped maze of cedars, cut flat, -and towering high over her head on each side. Here indeed was solitude; -not a sound from the near-by town broke the silence, and the darkness, -which was not the darkness of night, was like that of another world. -She threaded the winding paths quickly and presently found herself in -the heart of the maze, and sat down on an iron bench. Then, to shut out -the world more completely, that she might think only of the Marquis, -she put up her muff to her eyes. - -As she sat lost in a delicious reverie, she felt two strong hands -taking her own two hands and removing them gently from her face. It was -the Marquis, who was so close to her that even in the pearly mist she -could distinguish his face. Never had he looked so handsome to Diane. -His military cap was set jauntily over his laughing eyes, and his trim, -soldierly figure, with his cavalry cloak hanging over one shoulder, was -grace itself. - -Poor Diane! - -Having taken her hands from her face, the Marquis laid his mustache on -Diane’s red lips in a long and clinging kiss, and then sat down beside -her, drawing her trembling and palpitating close to him. It was like a -bird in the snare of the fowler. - -“I saw you and followed you,” he said after a while. “You cannot escape -me; but why are you so cruel to me?” - -“Because I must be,” answered poor Diane, trembling more and more. -“Everybody’s past is known some time or other, and when the time comes -that the newspaper reporters begin to ask about me, I don’t want to -have anything ugly in my past.” - -At this, the Marquis, who knew much about women, laughed. - -“That is always the way,” he said. “You women think much more of your -reputation than you do of your virtue. No woman kills herself because -she has yielded to her lover. It is only one of three things that -drives her to suicide afterward. The first is the dread of being found -out; the second is to be deserted; and the third is starvation. But -there is no record of any woman killing herself for the mere loss of -her virtue, which shows that modesty is more highly valued than virtue -by women themselves. Is that not true?” - -Diane looked at him bewildered. Was it true? - -“All I know is,” she said obstinately, “that I don’t intend there -shall be anything in my past that anybody can twit me about. I would -rather die. You may call it either modesty or virtue, but it is -stronger with me than life or death.” - -The Marquis looked at her curiously, and saw in her eyes that -peculiar, deadly obstinacy and resolution which was Diane’s strongest -characteristic. - -“I once read in a book,” kept on Diane, holding off a little from -Egmont, “that the first time a certain royal prince saw Rachel Felix -act, he wrote something on a card--I am ashamed to tell you what it -was--and sent it to her back of the stage, and she laughed, and invited -him to come to see her. If I had been in her place, I would have killed -him!” - -“Killing is rather difficult for a woman,” replied the Marquis, -laughing a little uncomfortably. - -Diane rose and stood before him, and seemed to grow taller as she spoke. - -“God would have shown me the way,” she said. “Jael had only a nail, -but she killed the enemy of her people, and Judith cut off the head of -Holofernes, in his camp, surrounded by his guards.” - -The light in Diane’s eyes startled the Marquis. But it melted into a -dovelike softness, when Egmont drew her once more to his side. - -“I suppose,” he said, “you adorable little devil, that you want to -bully me into marrying you?” - -“No,” answered Diane, “I am so much in love with you that I don’t want -to bully you into anything; only it is marriage or nothing. I don’t -know why I say this, or feel this, but I tell you it is as fixed as the -stars. You have a power over me so far and no farther.” - -Diane, as she said this, laid her head contentedly on the Marquis’ -shoulder, and his lips sought hers. - -And so half an hour passed in the reproaches and confessions of the -woman who loves and the man who pretends he loves. The mist was growing -colder and more dense. It was as if they were alone in a white, -mysterious, soundless world inhabited only by themselves. - -Presently, as Diane lay on the Marquis’ breast, there sounded afar off -the faint echo of a church bell from the other world which they had -forgotten. At the sound, Diane suddenly and violently wrenched herself -from the Marquis’ arms and stood upon her feet. Two thoughts raced -through her mind, one equally as important as the other. The first was -the reproach of the church bell that she had allowed the Marquis to -kiss her lips and put his arm about her. And the second was the iron -discipline of the stage which drags men and women apart when it seems -like the tearing of a heart in two; which calls them from death-beds; -which makes them report at the theatre when they are more dead than -alive. - -“There is the cathedral bell,” cried Diane in a choking voice, “and it -tells me that I have been a wicked girl, and that I may be late for the -performance.” - -The Marquis stood up too, laughing at the jumble of ideas in Diane’s -mind, but the next moment she was gone, speeding in and out of the -maze. In her agitation and the white gloom of the mist she lost her -way, and the Marquis, following her, though unable to find her, could -hear her sobbing on the other side of the hedge as she ran wildly about -trying to find the outlet. At last, however, she escaped and was in the -open path running toward the park gates. - -The Marquis took his way leisurely after her, not smiling like a -successful lover, but grinding his teeth and cursing both her and -himself. Was it possible that this presumptuous, impudent little -creature meant to force him to marry her? - -Diane got back to her lodging in time for supper with the Grandins, -Jean, and François. François amused and delighted them all, telling -them of his interview with the Bishop. - -“To-morrow,” François said, “I shall be breakfasting in distinguished -company, with the Bishop. He asked me, and I accepted, you may depend -upon it.” - -“What an advertisement!” cried Grandin, with an eye to business. “If -only you could manage to get it into the newspapers!” - -“Then he wouldn’t be asked to the palace any more,” responded the -practical Jean. “There is a limit to advertising, Grandin, which you -never know.” - -“We could say,” said Grandin, meditating, “that François was passing -the Bishop’s palace and fell down and hurt himself, and was taken -within by the Bishop’s servants. Anything will do, just to have it -known that François has been at the palace.” - -“Oh, Grandin!” cried Madame Grandin, “how can you invent such lies?” - -They were all so interested in the story of François and his grand -acquaintances, that no one except Jean noticed how silent Diane -was, and that she ate no supper, although her appetite was usually -remarkably good. Jean saw that something had happened, but mindful of -that extraordinary loyalty to art of which the theatrical profession is -the great model, forebore to ask, lest he should agitate her more. - -As Diane and Jean were always partners, they invariably had a love -scene in whatever they played together. To-night Diane played the love -scene very badly, so badly that the audience noticed it, and she got -very little applause. That waked her up, and she picked up her part, as -it were, and played it with a renewed spirit that put the audience once -more into a good humor with her. - -When the performance was over, Diane was a long time in dressing to -go home, and the Grandins and François had already gone. Jean, in his -shabby, every-day clothes, was waiting for her at the stage entrance. - -“I am glad you took yourself by the throat,” he said to her grimly, as -they picked their way through the mist which still hung over the town, -in which the gas lamps made only a little yellow ring. “I thought the -scene was gone at one moment, and expected you to be hissed.” - -“Never!” cried Diane, for once thoroughly frightened. “But Jean, I -hate love scenes on the stage.” - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE SPLENDID EVENTS THAT HAPPENED AT BIENVILLE - - -The next day François duly presented himself at the palace at twelve -o’clock for breakfast with the Bishop. Much to his disgust, the General -was present. François, who loved to fool people, assumed an air and -tone of extreme virtue, and again told, with many additions, a pretty -story of his reverses and his determination to earn an honest living -by doing juggling and acrobating, the only things he knew how to do by -which a franc could be earned. The good Bishop was lost in admiration -of François, and said: - -“That, my dear M. le Bourgeois, as you call yourself, is the highest -form of virtue and respectability, is it not, my brother?” - -General Bion maintained a stiff silence, which annoyed the good Bishop -exceedingly. - -The General meant to sit François out, not doubting that he would -contrive to borrow a small sum of money from the Bishop before leaving. -But François held his ground, as his ancestors had held theirs on many -a hard-fought field, and the General, called away by his military -duties, had to leave the wolf in conversation with the lamb. He left a -deputy, however, in the person of Mathilde, the Bishop’s housekeeper, -an angular and ferocious person of sixty, who disapproved of the -Bishop’s fondness for picking up stray acquaintances and lost dogs and -cats and giving them the hospitality of the palace. - -When François and the Bishop were left alone in the Bishop’s study, -then François laid himself out to amuse his host. Soon he had the -Bishop roaring with laughter over jokes and merry stories, and at two -o’clock it was as much as François could do to tear himself away. - -By the time he was out of the room Mathilde had stalked in and -proceeded to give the Bishop a piece of her mind. - -“Does your Grace remember,” she asked wrathfully, “the last adventurer -your Grace took up with, who borrowed ninety francs of your Grace and -then skipped off to Paris?” - -“Yes, my good Mathilde, I know,” responded the Bishop, using a soft -answer to turn away wrath. “But this gentleman, you see--for he is -a gentleman--belongs to a family which were exceedingly kind to my -family, and especially my father. He was a laborer upon the estates of -this gentleman’s father. Think of it!” - -“That shows,” cried Mathilde, “what a good-for-nothing scamp he must -have been. Who ever saw a gentleman standing on his head, like this -fellow does, and playing tricks with cards? I kept my hand upon my -purse in my pocket all the time I was serving the General and your -Grace and this ragamuffin at breakfast.” - -“Mathilde,” said the Bishop, trying to be stern, “I cannot permit you -to call a guest in my house a ragamuffin.” - -“Then,” cried Mathilde, “I will give him his right name, and call him a -rapscallion!” And then she flounced out of the room, banging the door -after her. - -The Bishop sighed. He was a celibate, and yet he was henpecked worse -than any man in Bienville. - -François, listening outside, walked away laughing and resolving to pay -off Mathilde for knowing the truth about him. - -Two days after that, François again met the Bishop face to face in -the street in front of the palace, and was warmly greeted. François, -eying the clock in the cathedral steeple, saw that it was ten minutes -of twelve, and remembering the history of Scheherezade and the Arabian -Nights, began telling his crack story to the Bishop. In the midst of it -came the bells announcing noon, and the odor of broiled chops from the -kitchen window of the old stone house known as the palace. The Bishop, -like other men, was subject to temptation, and he could not do without -the end of the story, and besides he had always that excellent excuse -that his father had been a laborer upon the estates of François’ father. - -“Come in,” said the Bishop, “and have breakfast with me. My brother -will not be here.” - -“Thank God,” replied François. “Now, if you could get rid of that old -battleaxe of a housekeeper while we are at breakfast, it would be -better still.” - -“That I can’t do,” said the Bishop ruefully. “But after all, she is -a good creature, and my brother, the General, says it if were not for -Mathilde I would never have a sous in my pocket or a coat to my back.” - -“He is probably right,” answered François, taking the Bishop by the arm -as they marched up the steps. “It is your cursed good nature that will -always be giving you trouble.” - -François’ reception at the hands of Mathilde was a trifle more hostile -than before. - -There are some tricks of legerdemain which can be played without the -aid of a confederate. In the midst of the breakfast, while François was -telling some of his best stories, the Bishop inadvertently took his -purse from his pocket with his handkerchief, and left the purse lying -on the table. When breakfast was over, the purse was missing. - -Mathilde assumed an air of triumph, and the Bishop looked very -sheepish. At once a search wits begun, Mathilde shaking the cloth, -looking under the chair occupied by François, and doing everything -except rifling his pockets. The purse contained eighty francs, a large -sum for the poor Bishop, who lived from hand to mouth. In the hunt the -dining room soon looked as if a cyclone had struck it; drawers were -pulled open, chairs knocked about, and Mathilde watched François with a -hawk’s eye. - -“That is a good bit of money to let lie around in the presence of a -servant,” said François, impudently. “Come now, you woman, haven’t you -got that purse in your pocket this moment?” - -Mathilde, furious, thrust her hand into her own pocket where she -carried a handkerchief, a notebook, a large bunch of keys, a -prayer-book, a rosary, and a little figure of St. Joseph in a tin case, -and her own purse. But what she brought out of her pocket was the -Bishop’s purse. The Bishop laughed long and loud, and François laughed -louder than the Bishop. - -After this was over, the Bishop invited François into the study. -François, in addition to telling some of his best stories, proceeded -to go through some of his most comic antics. The good Bishop laughed -until he cried, and excused himself on that ever excellent plea about -his father being a laborer on the estates of François’ father. Then -François went to a wheezy old piano in the room and began to play and -sing some simple old songs of the Bishop’s youth--the songs his mother -had sung to him in the laborer’s cottage in the meadows. Presently the -tears were trickling down the Bishop’s face. - -“Go on, M. le Bourgeois,” he said tremulously. “I love those simple old -airs that take me back to my childhood when my good mother worked for -us all day, and then had the heart to sing to us in the evening. As -you sing, I can hear in my heart the tinkling of the cow-bells and the -sharp little cries of the birds under the thatched roof--for our roof -was only thatch, you remember. Oh, my mother, my dear, dear mother! -Her hands were hard with toil, her back was bent with hanging over -washing-tubs and the soup pot on the fire; but in Heaven I know she is -straight and soft of hand, and one day all her children will surround -her and pay her homage as if she, the peasant mother, were a queen!” - -François continued to play soft chords, the Bishop listening and -sighing and smiling. Presently François heard from the Bishop’s big -chair a gentle snore. Then François, rising noiselessly, pulled off his -own shoes, which were cracked, and with professional sleight-of-hand -took off the Bishop’s new shoes, which he put on his own feet, and -then slipped his own shoes on the Bishop’s feet. There was a desk -in the room, and François scribbled on a piece of paper, “I would -have taken your Grace’s stockings, but they are cotton. If I were a -bishop, I would wear silk stockings. I hope your Grace will remedy this -impropriety, and in the future wear silk stockings worth the taking.” -This scrap of paper he pinned to the Bishop’s cassock, and went softly -out through a door opening on a balcony, from which he swung himself -down into the garden. As he walked along, he saw a row of beehives -on a bench. Stepping gently, he took off his coat and threw it over -a beehive, and then lifting it carried it out into the street. A -policeman stopped him, saying: - -“What have you got there, my man?” - -“A beehive,” replied François, “just out of a hothouse, and the bees -very active.” - -The policeman suddenly backed off, and François marched away with his -beehive, which he subsequently threw over the stone wall around the -Bishop’s garden. - -Meanwhile the Bishop waked, and reading the piece of paper, looked down -at his feet to find full confirmation of François’ words. In the midst -of it, Mathilde tore into the room. - -“Well, your Grace,” bawled Mathilde, “what does your Grace think of -your rowdy friend now? He stole a beehive off the bench as he went by. -Pierre, the cobbler’s boy, was passing and saw him and told the cook -who told the footman who told me, and I went out, and the beehive is -gone! And look at your Grace’s feet! The wretch actually stole your -Grace’s shoes!” - -“Why do you speak with such violence?” said the Bishop, loath to lose, -for a single pair of shoes and a beehive, the joy of François’ company. -“Suppose I meet a man whom I have known as a boy, when I was in very -humble circumstances and he was very high up in the world, and suppose -that man’s shoes are worn, and I choose to give him a good pair and -take his in return? Is that anybody’s business except my own? And -suppose I gave him the beehive by way of a joke, you know?” - -“It would be exactly like your Grace,” snapped Mathilde. “But it was -the only good pair of shoes your Grace had in the world, and I shall -have to go out into the town immediately to buy your Grace another -pair.” - -“Do,” said the Bishop, delighted to get rid of Mathilde on any terms. - -When the door had slammed after the excellent Mathilde, the Bishop drew -a long sigh of relief. - -“I did not tell a single lie,” he said to himself; “I merely stated a -hypothetical case. After all, the poor fellow needed the shoes, and he -turned it into a pleasantry. I owed him that much for the hearty laughs -he gave me, and for singing my mother’s old songs to me.” - -The Bishop was always meeting François in the street after that; it was -as if François were lying in wait for him, and by the simple expedient -of beginning a good story, or intimating that he had a merry song, just -as they reached the gates of the Bishop’s palace, François could always -get a meal. - -The affair of the purse had made Mathilde his mortal enemy, and she -complained to the General that the Bishop was giving scandal by having -that acrobat and juggler, François What’s-his-name, to breakfast at -the palace about three times a week. General Bion, who was punctilious -beyond any maiden lady in Bienville, felt it his duty to remonstrate -with his brother about having François so often at the palace. - -“But, my brother,” mildly urged the Bishop, “you would not have me, -the son of our father, a laborer, uppish to the son of the Count -d’Artignac. And besides, François has a good heart, and I am trying to -bring him to penitence and to leave his present uncertain mode of life -and to settle down somewhere. I think he is very amenable to grace, and -I shall succeed in doing much with him. And then, he sings to me the -songs our mother sang--ah, me!” - -The General was silenced for the time, but Mathilde gave him privately -some valuable information. It was true that whenever she came into -the study François was always talking about his soul, and his desire -to repent. But as soon as her back was turned she could hear sounds -of laughter--François was none too good to be laughing at her--and -sometimes she thought she heard the patter of feet, like dancing. It -could not be his Grace. If the General could pay an unexpected call -some day after François had breakfasted at the palace-- - -The General took the hint, and one day when he had seen François going -into the palace arm in arm with the Bishop, the General bided his time. -When he knew breakfast was over, he unceremoniously opened the door -of the Bishop’s study. Mathilde was close behind him. There sat the -Bishop in his great arm-chair, his hands crossed upon his waistcoat his -mouth open as if it were on hinges, while François, in a ballet costume -improvised from a table-cloth, was doing a beautiful skirt dance and -carolling at the top of his lungs one of the gayest of the music hall -songs. The entrance of the General was like a paralytic shock. The -Bishop forgot to close his mouth, and François stood with one leg in -the air. - -“Good morning, brother,” said General Bion sarcastically. “So this is -bringing M. le Bourgeois to penitence and reforming his wandering life. -I am afraid he is laying up material for you as a penitent.” - -The poor Bishop knew not where to look nor what to say, but François, -with unblushing impudence, ran behind the General, caught Mathilde in -his arms, and proceeded to do a high kicking waltz with her, in spite -of her screams and protests and fighting like a tiger. Not even the -General could stand that with gravity; he laughed in spite of himself. -After that day, when François breakfasted at the palace the General had -a way of dropping in, and there would be an audience of two instead of -one to the antics of François in the good Bishop’s study. - -Meanwhile, things went on in the lodgings opposite the Hotel Metropole -without the slightest change. The Marquis still haunted the place, -and Diane still gave him rare interviews in the presence of Madame -Grandin. François chaffed her unmercifully about this prudery, but Jean -encouraged her. - -“Don’t let that man see you alone,” said Jean sternly to Diane. “A -marquis and a cheap music-hall singer is a bad combination.” - -“It is because you are jealous, Jean,” said Diane frankly, at which -Jean looked at her with an expression so piteous, so heartrending, in -his honest eyes, that even Diane was touched. - -One afternoon about three weeks after Diane’s adventure in the maze -with the Marquis, it was the same sort of an afternoon, the white fog -from the river enveloping the town like a muslin veil, and making a -mysterious light that was neither day nor night, darkness nor light. - -Diane, on going out for her walk, determined to live over that hour of -tumultuous joy in the maze, to indulge her imagination in the notion -that there she should meet the Marquis. She started out, therefore, -tripping lightly along, and made straight for the park. Once more she -entered the wide driveway, half veiled in the floating white mist, -and with an unerring instinct, she found the opening to the maze. As -she walked between the tall, green walls of the clipped cedars, she -felt a hand laid on her shoulder, and looking up, there was Egmont, -his military cap sitting, as ever, jauntily on his handsome head, his -cavalry cloak draped about him like the mantle of a young Greek. - -“I caught sight of you as you came out of the house, and I followed -you here. Don’t you suppose that I have lived over in imagination the -half-hour we spent in this place? And then think how tantalizing it is -to sit up in that stuffy room and talk to you across the table in the -presence of that silly creature, Madame Grandin.” - -“She isn’t silly, she is one of the best women-jugglers in the -profession,” answered Diane, loyal and illogical as ever. - -There was no resisting him on the part of poor Diane, and presently -they were sitting on the bench together, Diane’s soft, cool cheek -resting against the Marquis’ mustache. Presently he said: - -“Now, what do you suppose I followed you here for, besides these sweet -kisses? Your obstinacy has conquered at last. Will you be my wife, -Diane?” - -Diane gave a great gasp, and before Egmont knew what she was doing, she -had slipped to the damp ground and was kneeling against him, weeping -and laughing. - -“Do you mean it? Do you really mean it?” she was crying. - -“Of course I mean it,” said the Marquis, lifting her up once more on -the bench beside him. “You are one of those women, Diane, who can make -their own terms with men.” - -“I will never be the least trouble to you,” said Diane, still weeping; -“I never will be in your way; I will never utter a complaint. I know -what it means for you, but I will efface myself. I will go to live in a -hovel in the country if you like. All I ask is a little love.” - -“That you shall have,” said the Marquis, kissing her red lips. “Not -a little, but an immense deal. And as for living in the country, it -is quite true, Diane, that you would be happier and better off living -quietly and out of sight for a while, until you learn how to be a -marquise. I am thirty years old, and I have no family, so there is no -one to protest. The chateau of Egmont is leased, because, to tell you -the truth, Diane, I am a poor man. But I have a little shooting-box an -hour from Bienville where you could live very comfortably, eh, Diane? A -little box of a house with a garden and lilac hedges around it, and a -summer-house and some trees and fields and a little river where I often -go to fish when I am off duty. Now if you were there--!” - -The prospect was so dazzling to Diane that she had to close her eyes to -see the splendid vision, and her lips could only whisper: - -“A summer-house, a lilac hedge! Oh, glory, glory! One maid will be -enough!” - -When her first rapture of gratitude and joy was over, Diane, ever -practical, said trembling: - -“I am willing to live quietly and never to bother you, but I want my -people, the Grandins and François and Jean, to know that I am really -married to you. I could not live--I could not live, if they don’t know -it.” - -“Certainly,” answered the Marquis readily. “You see, I really belong -in the district where the shooting-box lies. My Colonel will ask me -questions, for an officer can’t get married on the sly, but trust me -to manage that. Let me see, I can get three days’ leave three weeks -from to-day; this is Saturday. You and I and Madame Grandin can go to -the little place and the civil and religious ceremonies can both be -performed the same day.” - -“And M. Grandin and François and Jean can go too?” asked Diane -anxiously. - -“What’s the use?” replied Egmont. “Grandin will be certain to talk -too much in that rumbling big voice of his, and create remark. As for -François and that great, hulking Jean, I object to them decidedly. You -will need two witnesses. Madame Grandin is one, and I can find another -at my place.” - -Diane remained silent; a great lump was rising in her throat. But the -idea came into her mind, “This is the first thing he has asked me. -Shall I refuse him and make it unpleasant for him when he is doing me -the greatest honor in the world?” - -They remained sitting on the bench and exchanging the sweet nothings of -lovers until the faint sound of the church bell again startled Diane, -when, as before, she rose and ran panting through the park and along -the streets until she reached the lodgings. Once more she found them -all at supper, and, as before, she sat pale and silent and eating no -supper, but her eyes were glorified. Jean looked at her with a heavy -heart; he knew without telling that she had seen the Marquis. - -When supper was over, the table cleared away, and they were about -starting for the little music hall, Diane, looking about her, said in -her most dramatic manner: - -“Listen, all of you. I said I knew something splendid would befall me -in Bienville. It has come this afternoon. The Marquis Egmont de St. -Angel asked me to marry him, to become his wife, to be a marquise. Oh, -how glad I was!” - -Madame Grandin clasped Diane in her arms, while Grandin sank on a -chair overwhelmed with the magnificence of the thing. Neither Jean nor -François spoke. - -“I shall maintain a dignified silence with the reporters,” said -Grandin, “and refuse to say a word upon the subject of whether Diane is -to marry the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel or not. But I shall meanwhile -write a circumstantial account of everything, mentioning all our names -as frequently as possible, and send it to all the Paris newspapers, -anonymously of course.” - -François threw himself back in another chair and laughed uproariously. - -“I always said, Skinny,” he cried, “that you were the most obstinate, -pig-headed, impudent, determined creature that was ever on this planet. -Here you have actually bullied a marquis into making you an offer of -marriage!” - -Jean, almost as pale as Diane, spoke composedly: - -“I wish you happiness, Diane,” he said. “Now, tell us all about it.” - -“We are to be married this day three weeks,” said Diane. “When I think -of it I am so happy I feel as if I could fly. The Marquis has a little -shooting-box an hour from here, and we are to drive there, the Marquis -and I and Madame Grandin. She will be one of my witnesses, and the -Marquis will provide the other. The civil and religious ceremonies will -both take place the same day. The Marquis says his colonel will take a -hand in the business, but that he can manage that.” - -A slight chill fell upon all present. Diane, realizing it, blushed and -felt every inch a traitor. Then Jean spoke: - -“It seems to me, Diane,” he said, “that you ought to have some man -friend with you, M. Grandin, for example. Not that _I_ wish to go. Oh, -no, not for a moment!” - -As Jean said these words, his strong, clean-shaven face was distorted -for an instant. Everybody knew that he least of any one in the world -wished to see Diane married to another man. - -“Diane is a quick study,” said François, laughing, “but it will take -her all of three weeks to learn her part as a marquise. It is the best -joke I ever heard--a joke on her, and on my cousin the Marquis, and on -all of us!” - -“I left it all to him,” said Diane, bursting into tears. “I could not -find fault with him when he was doing me the greatest honor in the -world, and he a marquis. And then,” she continued, recovering herself -and speaking boldly, “I am as good as twelve men and a boy, anyhow to -take care of myself.” - -“Oh, it’s all right,” broke in Madame Grandin, cheerfully. “Marquises -have their own way of doing things quite different from people like -ourselves. The thing is, now, to get some one in Diane’s place and -rehearse her so she can appear this night three weeks.” - -At that Diane wept afresh. There was a strange shock in the thought -of some one else in her place; she began to realize the tremendous -dislocation of her life which was coming. This feeling grew upon her -as she entered the little music hall, and she acted her part with -extraordinary power, born of her beating heart, the tension of her soul. - -When the performance was over, and she was putting on her hat in the -little canvas den, she found herself trembling and weeping a little, -and called to Jean in the next den, and he came to her. - -“Oh, Jean!” she said, “think, in three weeks it will be the last time -that I shall ever step upon the stage again! It will be the last time -that I shall ever see those hundreds of eyes full of interest in me, -and good will! It will be the last time that I shall make up and wear -funny little short skirts, showing my ankles that are so nice! And -I do so love to show my ankles! And it will be the last time that I -shall ever see any of you as Diane, your fellow-player! After that, I -shall be a marquise, the happiest person in the world, no doubt, but I -shall never feel quite at ease with any of you again. I shall always -be watching and thinking that I am being too kind to you or not kind -enough. Oh, Jean!” - -And then Diane did a strange thing for the happiest person in the -world; she burst into a passion of tears. - -“It’s enough to make you cry,” answered Jean stolidly. “You are being -removed from one world into another. In our stage world everything -goes right, and the villain is always punished before the curtain -comes down. That’s why it is the theatre is a necessity of life; it -represents the ideal world where the sinner always repents and is -forgiven, and where lovers are always united in the end, and where the -scoundrel is paid in full. We, who live in this ideal world, find the -real world very dull in comparison.” - -“That’s why, I suppose, I feel so badly about leaving the stage. But I -never thought of anything to-day, when I felt Egmont’s arms around me -and his lips were upon mine.” - -Jean gave a strangled cry, and sat down heavily on the box which was -the only seat in the little den. - -“A man can’t stand everything, Diane!” he cried desperately. “In the -name of God, don’t tell me anything more like that!” - -“You mustn’t take it so hard, Jean,” said Diane, drying her eyes. -“After all, I am only one woman out of millions and millions of them, -and you are so nice and so good and act and sing so well, I am sure you -could marry some girl much higher up in the profession than I am. And -then, everybody has a thorn in the heart. Come, let us start home. The -Marquis does not need to dog my steps now.” - -The Grandins had already left, and Diane walked home between François, -who joined them outside, and Jean. François called her Madame la -Marquise, and made all sorts of good-natured fun of her. Jean was glum -and silent. - -When the two men parted with Diane on the landing and went up to their -garret, their beds separated only with a canvas curtain, François -slapped Jean on the back, and said: - -“Never mind, old man! It’s easy enough to forget a woman.” - -Jean turned on François a look of contempt. - -Jean undressed quickly and laid down upon his hard bed, but not to -sleep. He would not give François a chance to gibe at him next day -about a sleepless night, and so lay rigidly still in the blackness of -the long, low-ceiled garret. - -He knew when it was one o’clock by the sound across the street of -the closing of the Hotel Metropole, the banging of shutters, and the -barring of gates. By some strange psychic intimation he knew that -François, although perfectly quiet, was as wide awake as he. Presently, -he heard strange sounds from the other side of the canvas partition, -something like suppressed sobs and groans. Jean, thinking François was -ill, drew aside a corner of the canvas at the end. François was huddled -in a heap on the floor, clasping his knees and rocking back and forth, -while strangled sobs and smothered cries burst from him. Jean, abashed, -returned to his own bed. - -The next morning, a bouquet of roses and a little note arrived from -the Marquis. This gave unalloyed happiness to two persons--Diane and -Grandin. - -“A bouquet for a lady in my company from a marquis!” cried Grandin. -“It’s enough to make a man mad with joy!” - -Before breakfast Diane sallied forth, and came back bringing a book on -etiquette which she immediately proceeded to study diligently. - -When they all assembled for the twelve o’clock dinner, Diane could -scarcely be torn away from her book. - -“You see,” she said to the assembled table, “I have got to learn how to -behave like a marquise--and all in three weeks.” - -“_You_ behave like a marquise!” said Jean, somewhat rudely, and -laughing. “You will be about as comfortable as a mackerel in a gravel -walk! Excuse me, Diane.” - -“Yes, I will excuse you,” said Diane, serenely. “You have been so good -to me for so long, and now I have but eighteen more performances with -you.” - -Her lips trembled a little at this, but she quickly resumed: - -“The book says that a girl must never see her fiancé alone, and a -fiancé should not call oftener than twice a week. That I shall arrange, -and Madame Grandin will stay with me.” - -At this, even Jean laughed. - -“How about your trousseau, my dear?” asked François, “especially your -court costumes?” - -“That will have to come later,” replied Diane. “I shall be so busy -seeing the Marquis, and studying up this book, and trying to help you -with the new girl that I sha’n’t have time to get a regular trousseau. -Besides, I don’t want to spend as much as three hundred and four -francs, which I have now, in a hurry. It is a great deal of money, and -I must think over it and look well about before I spend it. I have -my nice white muslin trimmed with lace at fifteen sous the yard, and -I can wash and iron it so beautifully it will look like new. I shall -be obliged to buy a wedding veil and wreath, but, by looking around a -little, I think I can get one for five or six francs. How amusing it -will be when I am a marquise thinking about these things!” - -Grandin set on foot plans to secure a young lady in Diane’s place. -In this, he was immediately rewarded, and succeeded in getting -Mademoiselle Rose le Roi, as she called herself, a strapping young -woman, blonde and beautiful, and as tall as Jean, and exactly the -opposite of Diane in every respect. In this, lay a pain new and -sharp for Diane. She had hoped that Mademoiselle le Roi would prove -excessively stupid. On the contrary, the young woman turned out to be -very bright. - -No one knows the meaning of pain who has not suffered jealousy. The -iron entered into Diane’s soul when she overheard Grandin saying to his -wife that the new girl would soon be as good an actress as Diane, and -was much handsomer, which was the truth. And everybody was so taken up -with rehearsing Mademoiselle Rose; Diane felt herself already thrust -out from that ideal world of the stage which to her was the real world. -True, the anticipated joy of being married to the man she adored lost -none of its delicious charm, its soft seductiveness, but with it was -mingled much real suffering, and a strange and awful dislocation of -life. - -In those three weeks, Diane was so torn by powerful emotions of all -sorts, love, pain, grief, jealousy, fear, triumph, and a thousand other -minor things, that she neither ate nor slept, and grew even thinner -than ever. And Mademoiselle Rose was so fresh and fair! Nevertheless, -Diane’s acting did not suffer. On the contrary, like the poor princess -who had burning needles in her shoes, Diane was keyed up to do better -work than ever in her life. Never had been her comedy so good. Off -the stage, she had no more humor than a cat; on the stage, she could -throw an audience into spasms of merriment. Her voice, too, had in it a -celestial thrill that made her little songs move to laughter or bring -to tears as never before. - -The Marquis was often at the music hall in those evenings, and Diane -unconsciously played directly at him. - -Every night, as she made up before her little scrap of a mirror in the -canvas den, she would think to herself, as a condemned person thinks of -the day of execution: - -“There are but ten more nights for me.” - -And the next night: - -“There are but nine left.” - -As to the Marquis’ visits, which Diane rigidly fixed at two a week, and -had her own way about it, as she always did, they, like everything else -in the extraordinary time, were full of joy and pain. First, was the -joy of being with him, of hearing his delightful voice, and seeing him -in his beautiful uniform, and the stupendous triumph of it all to her. - -At these visits, Madame Grandin, frightened half to death, was always -present. Diane invariably rose in a stately manner at the end of half -an hour--her book of etiquette prescribed that--and the Marquis, acting -just as the book said all fiancés should, complained bitterly of being -turned out, and promised reprisals. - -It was a strange time to all who were drawn within the whirlpool of -emotion that dashed them around in a circle of agitation, stunned -and amazed them, made them to be envied and pitied, and in short, as -François said, they were exhibited as the puppets of the great God. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE BRIDAL VEIL - - -The Grandins were perfectly satisfied with Mademoiselle Rose, to -Diane’s infinite chagrin. This reconciled them to Diane’s marriage, -which, of course, overwhelmed them with its splendor. Grandin let -his imagination loose, and told so many lies about the Marquis’ -shooting-box, which was magnified first into a large country house, -then into a chateau, and finally into a mediæval castle, that he really -came to believe the story himself. In vain Madame Grandin corrected him -and pointed out amiably that he was lying. But Madame Grandin herself -grew capable of believing anything when she saw a real, live marquis -sitting in a chair discussing wedding plans with Diane. - -Jean Leroux plodded about in the daytime, and at night, like Diane, -would say to himself: - -“There are but ten more nights; there are but nine more nights.” - -Alas, like her, the storm and stress of feeling improved his acting. -He conceived a hatred of the innocent and buxom Rose le Roi, and -began to dread the idea of making stage love to her. Being an honest -fellow, however, he kept this to himself, although in his own mind he -called the tall, handsome Rose a great bouncing lummux, and about as -impressionable as a Normandy heifer. - -François was the only one of them who behaved unconcernedly, or who -laughed during those three weeks. He chaffed Diane remorselessly, but -always with good nature, and offered to provide her with a pedigree -as long as that of the Marquis, and advised her to return to what he -declared was the original spelling of her name, D’Orian, and boldly -proclaim herself a scion of that noble house. The family, he declared, -antedated the Cæsars, and was founded shortly after Romulus and Remus, -and asserted that the planet Aurania was named for Diane’s ancestors. -At these jokes, all would once have laughed; now, nobody thought them -amusing except François himself. - -François breakfasted with the Bishop several times in those tumultuous -days, and on every occasion, as Mathilde sardonically remarked to the -Bishop, something mysteriously disappeared. A handsome muffler of the -Bishop’s apparently evaporated, also an excellent umbrella, and several -other useful trifles. - -“But,” said the Bishop, boldly, to Mathilde, “suppose I gave that scarf -to M. le Bourgeois? I never liked it. And as for the umbrella--well, -it stood in the anteroom and may have disappeared in any one of a -hundred ways, and an umbrella is like innocence--once lost, it is never -recovered. Why are you so suspicious, Mathilde? And besides, do you -think I can forget that my father was a laborer on the estates of--” - -“So your Grace has told me a thousand times,” rudely interrupted -Mathilde, flinging out of the room. - -The Bishop winked softly to himself; as usual, he had merely suggested -a hypothetical case. He knew as well as Mathilde where the scarf and -the umbrella and the rest of the things went. - -Even the General succumbed to François’ charms to the extent of ten -francs which François asked as a temporary assistance. - -“Because,” as François said, “you know the proverb--‘God is omnipotent, -but money is His first lieutenant.’ Virtue cannot secure a man from -poverty--else, would I be lending money instead of borrowing it.” - -General Bion promptly handed out the ten francs, and as promptly put it -down in his notebook under the head of “Charity.” - -The Bishop, by way of excusing himself for listening to François’ songs -and jokes and watching his delicious antics, began to urge François -quite seriously to repent and confess. At this François balked. - -“If I should do that, your Grace,” he said, “I would commit the only -one of the sins in the calendar of which I have not had experience; -this is hypocrisy. I don’t repent of anything I ever did except one -thing. The other sins I repented when I was caught.” - -“François,” cried the Bishop, scandalized, “after what you have -admitted to me that you have done! And what, pray, is the only sin that -troubles your conscience?” - -“Once,” said François, “I saw a young lady, an actress now in our -company, who is soon to be married, dressing in her dressing-room at -the theatre, and I looked at her in her unsunned loveliness for about -two seconds. I am very sorry for that.” - -“It was indeed wicked, gross, beyond words,” said the Bishop. “But -there are other wicked things.” - -“The others,” said François, grinning, “were merely sins against -myself. I think I have been remarkably free from injuring other -persons.” - -The Bishop could not concede this, and delivered a long lecture to -François. In return for it, François did some of his best stunts with -only the Bishop as audience, and then going to the wheezy old piano -played and sang some of the old songs which always made the tears rain -upon the Bishop’s gentle face. - -On the Thursday night was Diane’s last performance, as it was desired -that Mademoiselle Rose should make her début before the Saturday night, -when they always had the biggest audience of the week. - -No prisoner dressing for the guillotine ever felt more acutely that -he was crossing the bridge between two worlds than did Diane on the -Thursday night. That night she would dwell for the last time in the -world where lovers were always true and the villain was always punished -in public. Beyond, in the other world, lay Paradise, but it was -unfamiliar. That day she had seen the Marquis for the last time until -she and Madame Grandin were to step in the carriage which the Marquis -was to send for them on the Saturday morning, and go out to the village -near the shooting-box where the wedding was to take place in the -village church. Diane had begged the Marquis to remain away from the -music hall that night. She said to him in Madame Grandin’s presence: - -“If I see you, and even think you are in the audience, I shall break -down; I can never go through my part, and I shall be forever disgraced.” - -“How ridiculous!” cried the Marquis, laughing. “What difference can -it make to you now that you are to become the Marquise Egmont de St. -Angel?” - -Diane made no reply; she could not make any one understand, who had -not lived in the ideal world, what it meant to disgrace one’s self in -public by breaking down. Madame Grandin said, however: - -“That is true. But how can a marquis understand common people like you -and me, Diane?” - -Everything was ready; the white muslin, nicely washed and ironed, was -in Diane’s chest of drawers. The wedding veil and wreath of orange -blossoms, which had cost all of ten francs, lay on top of the wedding -gown, carefully wrapped in tissue paper. That wedding veil was floating -before Diane’s eyes just as a poor mortal, leaving this world which he -loves and all the people in it, sees the silvery cloud that masks the -gates of pearl leading to Paradise. All the time, whether on the stage -or off, she was saying to herself: - -“It is the last time, the last, the last, the last.” - -And all the others said the same: - -“It is the last time, Diane.” - -The Grandins drove a knife into Diane’s heart by adding: - -“But we expect to do just as well with Mademoiselle Rose.” - -Even Jean, the taciturn, said: - -“Think of it, Diane, after to-night we shall never act together any -more! To-morrow you will be a different person, and Saturday you will -have a different name and be living in a different world.” - -“But I will never change, Jean, while I live,” cried Diane, -tremulously. “I will always run to meet you when you come to see me.” - -They were both off the stage for two minutes while they were speaking. - -“But I sha’n’t come to see you,” said Jean. “Good night will be good-by -for me.” - -François’ reminders were totally different. - -“I sha’n’t expect to be noticed by you after you are a marquise,” he -said. “My family is not as ancient as that of the Egmont de St. Angel, -although we are related, and my ancestors fought with Philippe le Bel. -But the Marquis’ family were ennobled before mine, and as for you--good -God! we are all parvenus when compared with the D’Orian family, going -back to Romulus and Remus.” - -This made Diane laugh a little, but it did not loosen the clutch of -something like the hand of fate upon her heart, and she frankly burst -out crying when François added: - -“Nobody will ever dare to call you Skinny again.” - -Diane, when she wiped the grease paint off that night, washed her face -with her tears. - -Madame Grandin suggested that she leave her make-up and little mirror -for Mademoiselle Rose, as they represented several francs, but Diane -would neither give them nor sell them to her successor, and jealously -carried every scrap of her belongings back to her lodging. - -All night she lay in her little white bed staring at the winter sky -through the window, and at a mocking, grinning moon that obstinately -refused to leave the sky until day was breaking, a pallid, wet, and -dreary day. As soon as it was light, Diane slipped out of bed and went -to the chest of drawers and took a look at the wedding veil and wreath. -It seemed to her as if she had spent a night of agony, and that the -sight of that veil and the memory of Egmont’s kisses were all that -could solace the strange passion of regret that possessed her. - -Diane contrived to busy herself the whole morning through. It did not -take her long to pack up her small wardrobe, but she could not persuade -herself to sit down in splendid idleness like a true marquise, but went -to work in the kitchen, cleaning out presses and boxes, anything, in -short, to keep her at work. Even that was the last time she would have -the privilege of cleaning up a kitchen. - -The Grandins were very much taken up with Mademoiselle Rose at the -music hall, and Jean and François were assisting in rehearsing the -newcomer. - -At the midday dinner Mademoiselle Rose was present, and received, -so Diane thought in the bitterness of her heart, entirely too much -attention. In the midst of the dinner a magnificent bouquet for Diane -arrived from the Marquis with a letter sealed with a crest. It seemed -to Diane during that meal that the storm of conflicting emotions -reached its height; she felt herself to be the most triumphant and the -most humiliated of women, the most reluctant and the most eager of -brides, wretched beyond words, elated beyond expression, miserable, -happy, and utterly bewildered. - -In the afternoon a fog came up, cold and white, and Diane was thinking -of once more going to the park and seeking in the maze of clipped -cedars the spot where she had known a tumult of joy. As she stood -looking out of the window of her little room, an omnibus passed and -stopped. From it descended a lady and a little girl who came straight -to the door and pulled the bell. Steps were heard ascending the stairs, -and a knock came at Diane’s door. When she opened it, the lady--for she -was unmistakably that, in spite of the shabbiness of her attire--walked -in unceremoniously, holding by the hand the little girl, and, turning, -locked and bolted the door behind her. Then, throwing back her veil, -she said in a smooth and composed voice: - -“This, I believe is Mademoiselle Diane Dorian?” - -Diane bowed, and her quick eye took in the appearance of her guest. -She was a woman of thirty, and had once been pretty and even now was -interesting, but sallow and thin like a person recovering from an -illness. The little girl, too, who was about six years old, was as -pale as a snowdrop, and sank rather than sat upon a little stool, -leaning her head against her mother’s knee, who sat down at once. - -“Pray excuse me,” said the newcomer, “but I am very tired with -travelling, and I am not strong.” - -“Can I do anything for you?” asked Diane with ready sympathy, and -advancing as if to take the child’s hand. - -The visitor held up one hand and put the other around the child as if -to ward off Diane. - -“Wait,” she said, “let me tell you who I am. I am the wife of the -Marquis Egmont de St. Angel, and this is his child. Here is my wedding -ring.” - -She drew off a small and shabby glove, and handed a plain gold ring to -Diane. Inside of it was clearly legible, “F. E. de St. A. and E. F” -with a date seven years back. Then the wife of the Marquis de St. Angel -took from her breast a large locket containing three miniatures painted -on the same piece of ivory. One face was her own, another was that of -Egmont de St. Angel, and the third was the baby face of the little -child. On the back were engraved their names. - -Diane handed both the ring and the locket back to the wife of the man -she loved, and stood motionless for a moment. Then she reeled and fell -upon the bed. The silence in the room was unbroken for five minutes -except for the coughing of the pale little child. But Diane had not -a drop of coward’s blood in her body. At the end of five minutes she -rose, and, drawing up a chair, said: - -“Tell me all about it, please.” - -“We were married,” said the wife of Egmont, “seven years ago in -Algeria, where my husband was stationed. We disagreed as a husband -and wife will disagree when the husband learns to hate the wife and -forgets his child. I was willing to remain in Algeria in a very quiet, -small place suited to my limited means, and the climate was good for my -child, Claire. The Marquis, you know, is head over ears in debt, so it -was easier for me in my position to be poor in Algeria than in France. -I called myself Madame Egmont. He often proposed a divorce, and I as -often refused and offered to return to France, although I did not wish -to come, because it suited me in every way to remain in Algeria. Some -weeks ago I heard that he professed to have got a divorce from me, and -would marry a music-hall singer. I came home at once. But I was ill on -the way and could not travel for a few days after landing. I found out, -no matter how, that you were the woman he proposed to marry. I found -out, also, that his conduct in other ways has been such that he will -soon be dismissed from the army, so that I suppose he was willing to -take desperate chances, for he is a desperate man, you may believe.” - -“I do believe,” answered Diane. “And I promise you that I will see him -but once again, and that is to-morrow morning when he comes to take me -away--but he will not take me.” - -The two women talked in an ordinary key and with strange calmness. - -“How could you fail to suspect the Marquis?” said Madame Egmont. “Have -you no friends to advise you?” - -“Oh, I have very good friends. But we are very humble people--except -one of us--and we don’t understand great people.” - -“I shall remain here,” said Madame Egmont, “in this town for some -days, until I can see my husband’s colonel--I want to save the name my -child bears. Besides, I am not really able to travel--” - -She rose as she spoke, and then, suddenly turning an ashy white, fell -over in a dead faint in Diane’s arms. Diane, who was strong and supple -despite her slimness, carried Madame Egmont like a child and laid her -on the bed, Diane’s own bed, and loosened her clothes and did promptly -what is to be done for a woman in a faint. The frightened child began -to cry, and the sound seemed to bring back Madame Egmont’s wandering -consciousness. Diane picked up the child and placed her on the bed, and -then ran and fetched a glass of wine for Madame Egmont. - -“If I had a bit of bread,” she whispered. - -A light broke upon Diane’s mind. She ran back into the little kitchen, -started up the fire, and put some broth on it to warm; then rummaging -in the cupboard she found some milk which she heated, too. - -In ten minutes she walked in the room with a tray. Madame Egmont, -sitting up in the little bed, ate her broth and bread, while Diane fed -the child sitting in her lap. Then laying the little girl in the bed by -the side of her mother, Diane took out a fresh night-dress, and going -up to Madame Egmont proceeded unceremoniously to undress her. - -“What do you mean?” asked Madame Egmont, weak and bewildered. - -“I mean,” said Diane, “that neither you nor this child are in any -condition to leave this house to-night, and that you are to sleep in my -bed, and I will make a comfortable place on the sofa with pillows for -Claire, and you shall stay here, and I will take care of you until you -are able to leave--for you are the best friend I ever had in my life.” - -Madame Egmont suddenly put down her spoon, and covering her face with -her hands, burst into wild weeping, crying meanwhile: - -“I thought that you would not care, that you would have my husband on -any terms, and now--” - -“The broth is getting cold, and the child is getting frightened,” -interrupted Diane with authority. “Now pray behave yourself, and stop -crying, and let me put the child to bed.” - -Madame Egmont did not stop crying at once, but Diane, drawing up the -sofa to the other side of the bed, proceeded to make with pillows and -covers ruthlessly taken from Madame Grandin’s stores, a comfortable -little nest for the child. She then proceeded to put a dressing-sack -of her own on the little Claire, by way of a night-dress, and bundled -her up in bed, where she gave her more hot milk. Next, she started to -make a fire in the little fireplace. The wood was sullen, however, and -would not go off at once. Diane, opening the drawer in the bureau, took -out the wedding veil and wreath, and thrusting them into the fireplace, -a cheerful, ruddy blaze sprang up immediately. Madame Egmont laughed -softly at Diane’s action. - -Kindness and warmth and food worked a miracle in Madame Egmont and the -child. Madame Egmont lay in bed, calm and resigned; she was a feeble -creature physically, not strong and robust like Diane, and the limit of -her struggles was reached for the time. - -As for the little girl, she lay quite happy and peaceful and dozed off -into a soft sleep. - -“Now,” said Diane, “you shall stay here as long as you wish. I claim -one more interview with your husband at which I shall treat him not -as a fine lady like you would treat him, but as an honest girl, a -music-hall singer, would. I promise you I shall make him sad and sorry.” - -Something like the ghost of a smile came to the pale lips of Madame -Egmont at this frank admission of the social gulf between them. - -“I am going out now,” said Diane, “but I will come back at seven -o’clock and bring you a good supper, and make you both comfortable for -the night.” - -Madame Egmont held out her arms. - -“I can’t kiss you,” she said, “because I know my husband has kissed -you, but you may kiss my child.” - -The two women looking into each other’s eyes understood perfectly; -Madame Egmont, in giving Diane permission to press her fresh, red lips -to the cheek of the little snowdrop of a child, was being accorded the -greatest honor that one woman may accord another. - -“I thank you,” said Diane, “from the bottom of my heart,” as she -kneeled by the sofa and took the child in her arms and kissed her. - -It was five o’clock, and the fog was increasing every moment, but -something stronger than herself drove Diane at full speed toward the -maze in the dusky park. She did not want to face the Grandins and -François and Jean, and especially Mademoiselle Rose, until she was -obliged to do so. - -At supper, which was at six o’clock, the party missed Diane. As it -was the first night of Mademoiselle Rose’s appearance, they were all -rather hurried, and made no search for Diane, expecting her to appear -at every moment. Just as they were about to rise from the table, Diane -walked in. Her face was flushed, her eyes brilliant. She had to make a -terrible confession, but, with the undying instinct of an actress, she -meant to do it in the most dramatic manner possible. - -“Listen, all of you,” she said; “the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel is a -scoundrel, a criminal. He has already a wife and child that are now in -this house. Just wait until to-morrow morning when he comes to take me -to the village that we may be married--Ha, ha!” - -Her laugh, studied and rippling like an actress’s, made Jean’s blood -run cold. - -“Ask me no questions, and I will tell you no lies,” she added. No one -spoke, except Madame Grandin, who, after a gasp, said that it was well -Diane had found it out in time. - -Mademoiselle Rose looked a trifle uneasy. She thought that Diane might -want her old place back again. Diane knew this by clairvoyance. - -“Don’t be alarmed, Mademoiselle,” said Diane, who considered the -innocent Rose as her worst enemy next the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel. - -“I can get an engagement in Paris without the slightest difficulty. -When you come back from the theatre, Grandin, please to go to your room -the other way, because I shall have to sleep on the sofa here to-night. -The wife and child of the Marquis are in my room. To-morrow I shall be -gone.” - -They all were stunned and dazed, but governed by the iron discipline of -the stage which required them in five minutes to be in their canvas -dressing-rooms, rose to go. - -“I always told you I was ashamed to own the Marquis as a cousin,” said -François after a moment. - -“But the advertisement is not utterly lost,” bellowed Grandin. “I only -hope Mademoiselle Rose will have an adventure with a marquis.” - -“Oh,” cried Madame Grandin, reproachfully, to her husband, “you always -think of advertising first! Well, Diane expected something great to -happen at Bienville, and I am sure something great _has_ happened.” - -Only Jean lingered a moment as he passed Diane, his strong face working -in agitation. - -“I will kill him, Diane!” he said. - -“Oh, no!” cried Diane, catching him by the sleeve, “that would be doing -him a service. And besides, it would cost your life. No, leave him to -me; I will do much worse than kill him.” - -Jean went out, and Diane, taking off her hat and cloak, busied herself -with arranging a little supper on a tray for Madame Egmont and the -child. She took it in, stirred up the fire once more, and lighted a -softly shaded lamp. Madame Egmont made no fresh protests of gratitude, -but her eyes were eloquent, and the little girl clung to Diane. Warmth -and food and attendance were luxuries to the wife and child of the -Marquis Egmont de St. Angel. - -The next morning at ten o’clock a handsome livery carriage drove up to -the door, and the Marquis in ordinary morning dress got out and came -upstairs. He knocked gayly at the door of the little sitting-room, and -Diane’s clear voice called out: - -“Come in.” - -The Marquis entered, and, instead of seeing Diane in bridal array, -found her wearing her ordinary black morning gown, and sitting by the -table with a basket of stockings before her which she was darning -industriously. He started in surprise, and said: - -“What is the meaning of this, Diane? I have come for you and Madame -Grandin.” - -“I am not going to be married to-day,” responded Diane, coolly, holding -up a stocking to the light and clipping a thread; “I have changed my -mind.” - -The Marquis stood in stunned surprise for a few moments, then gradually -an angry flush overspread his handsome face, and he shouted: - -“What do you mean? This is the most extraordinary conduct I have ever -known.” - -“Not half as extraordinary as yours,” answered Diane, still darning -away diligently. - -“I demand an explanation,” replied the Marquis, violently. “I do not -choose to be treated in this manner.” - -Diane finished a pair of stockings, smoothed them out, rolled them up -carefully, laid her sewing implements in the basket, and taking from -her pocket the locket of the Marquis and his wife and child, showed it -to him. - -The face of Egmont de St. Angel changed to a deadly pallor. - -“That woman,” he said, “was my wife, but she disappeared in Algeria, -and I have not seen her or heard of her for seven years, so that I have -a legal right to presume that she is dead.” - -“Oh, what a terrible lie you are telling!” answered Diane. “You have -heard from her in the last year, but you thought she was out of the way -in Algeria. And I don’t think now that you ever really meant to marry -me.” - -Here was the chance of the Marquis. He smiled and answered: - -“Well, I was doing you a great honor in taking up with you on any -terms.” - -He had remained standing, and Diane rose, too, and went toward the -bedroom door of Madame Grandin. She opened it suddenly, and Madame -Grandin, who had been on her knees listening at the keyhole, tumbled -into the room, but speedily got up on her feet. Behind her were -Grandin, François, and Jean. - -Then Diane turned, and, walking back to the Marquis, lifted up her -strong, young hand and gave him a terrible blow on the cheek. - -The Marquis, stunned with surprise, staggered back, then, recovering -himself, advanced with his fist uplifted. The gaze of the man and woman -met, hate and fury in the eyes of the Marquis, fury and hate in those -of Diane. - -Meanwhile, the Grandins, François, and Jean had all burst into a -concerted stage laugh. - -“Come now, my dear Marquis of the Holy Angels!” cried François; “you -haven’t done the handsome thing, I must say, and this young lady has -served you right.” - -Jean said nothing at all, but making a lunge toward the Marquis, -collared him and threw him on the floor. Then with his knee on the -Marquis’s chest, Jean thumped and pounded his enemy. - -Diane stood by, laughing and clapping her hands. The Marquis was a -strong and lithe young man, but Jean, a maniac in his rage, was a match -for two of him. In the end he had to be dragged off the Marquis, who -tottered to his feet, wiped the blood off his face, and made some vague -threats. But he was evidently in the house of his enemies. - -“You shall pay for this, every one of you!” he shouted; “I will call -you all as witnesses to this assault.” - -“Do!” cried François; “I will go before the police and swear that you -struck this young lady and were threatening to kill her, and were only -prevented by Jean Leroux holding you, and that you have made threats -against the lives of all of us. Of course, the whole affair will come -before your colonel, and then we shall see what we shall see. And by -the way, don’t ask me to supper with you any more, for I wouldn’t be -seen with a low dog like you. And in particular, I disown you as a -relative.” - -There was nothing for it but for the Marquis to leave. He got -downstairs as best he could, limping, with no look whatever of a -bridegroom, slipped into the carriage, and was driven away. - -Jean then went to wash off the stains of his encounter, and Diane -disappeared. - -François ran off to tell the story to the good Bishop, who dearly loved -gossip. - -When they met for dinner at noon, Diane was not present, but on the -table lay a letter addressed to Madame Grandin. It read: - -“Dear Madame Grandin: I thank you and Monsieur Grandin for all your -kindness to me, and I thank François for teaching me to act, and Jean -for teaching me to sing and being always good to me. I don’t know how -I can live without all of you, but I cannot face you after what has -happened. I shall be far away when you read this. Take care of the lady -and the little girl in my room until they are able to go away. You will -find one hundred and fifty-two francs in the cupboard in the kitchen, -and I want you to use that for them and buy a plenty of milk for the -little child. Don’t tell them where it comes from; I think they are -very badly off for money. Oh, Madame Grandin! truly, there is a thorn -in every heart, but--” - -Here the sheet was blotted apparently with tears, but at the bottom was -scribbled the signature, “Diane Dorian.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE DELUGE - - -One brilliant afternoon in July, five years later, all Paris went -crazy. Vast multitudes surged through the streets cheering, laughing, -shouting, singing, for were not the days of glory to be repeated? War -was declared on Prussia, and, after more than fifty years, the eagles -of France were to take their majestic course across the Rhine; again -the soldiers of France were to bivouac in every capital in Europe, for -once started upon the path of conquest, France has ever been impossible -to stop, so thought everybody in Paris that July day. - -The streets were like great rivers of humanity, with wild whirlpools -and clamoring cataracts, all drifting toward the ocean, and that -ocean was the Palace of the Tuilleries. Bands rent the air with the -Marseillaise, the great battle hymn of liberty. Often wrested to -unworthy purposes, often sung and played by those who hate liberty and -love anarchy, the mighty hymn ever remained the battle-cry of those -who would be free. Troops were marching along, splendid hussars and -chasseurs trotting gayly through the sunlit streets, steady, red-legged -infantry swinging along to their barracks, Zouaves in baggy trousers -and hanging caps sauntered and swaggered. Officers clattered along -joyously as they made a brilliant streak of color in the great river -of men and women. Everywhere a uniform was seen a ringing cheer went -up from men and women, young and old, palpitating with pride and joy -in these men called to repeat the glories of their ancestors. As the -Emperor had said, whatever road they took across the frontier they -would find glorious traces of their fathers. Wherever the French had -crossed in days past, they had left a trail of glory behind them. - -Many groups of soldiers loitered along the streets, or stopped to -laugh and joke on the street comers. Men clapped them on the back, -and handsome young women smiled and waved their hands at them, and -gray-haired grandmothers blessed them. Great ladies in their carriages -stopped and laughed and talked with private soldiers; even the beggars -forgot to beg, and hobnobbed with everybody. A beggar was as good as -the best, provided only he were French. - -All was sunshine, a splendor of hope, magnificence, joy. Once more -France would “gird her beauteous limbs with steel,” and smite with her -mailed hand those who would oppress her. - -What were her resources? Every man who could carry a musket. What -was her matériel? All the iron, all the steel, all the lead, all the -gunpowder in France. What were her soldiers? Heroes, backed up by all -her old men, her children, her maidens, and her matrons. - -The crowd was most dense in the splendid open space before the -Tuilleries gardens, and extended for a long distance on either side of -the palace. The air was drenched with perfume from the gardens; the -river ran red like wine, in the old Homeric phrase; the windows of -the palace blazed in the afternoon light. On a balcony occasionally -appeared the Emperor, who bore the magic name of Napoleon, the Empress, -a dream of smiling beauty, and the Prince Imperial, a mere lad, but -who was to go out on the firing line along with the veterans. - -All the gorgeous carriages and all the graceful horsemen and horsewomen -that were usually found at that hour on the Bois de Boulogne formed a -great procession moving at a snail’s pace, and often stopped by the -congestion in the broad Rue de Rivoli and all the fine streets adjacent. - -From many points could be seen the Place Vendôme with the great column -made from captured Prussian guns surmounted by the statue of the -immortal man who made Europe tremble at his nod. - -The police were good-natured, the crowd was amiable; there was -tremendous excitement, but no disorder. At the slightest incident, -multitudes burst into cheering. The ladies sitting back in their -victorias clapped their delicate, gloved hands and waved their filmy -handkerchiefs, laughing at the soldiers who paid them bold compliments -ten inches away from their faces. The cavaliers and ladies on horseback -exchanged patriotic chaff with those who surged about them. - -Among the crowd directly in front of the Tuilleries was Jean Leroux, -not the Jean Leroux of that winter in Bienville five years before, -but another Jean, well dressed, well mannered, successful, but modest -withal. - -As the carriages moved slowly past, going a few feet and then stopping, -blockaded by the crowd, a pretty victoria, well horsed, came directly -abreast of Jean Leroux. In it sat Diane, whom he had often seen on the -stage in those five years, but to whom he had never had the courage to -speak; for if Jean was successful, Diane was a hundred times more so. -She was on that day the most popular music-hall artist in Paris. Like -Jean, she was Diane and yet not Diane. Her beautiful, mysterious dark -eyes were unchanged, her frank, sweet smile was the same, but she was -Mademoiselle Dorian, not merely Diane, or worse still, Skinny; that -expressed it all. She had eaten the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge; she -knew the great, ugly, beautiful, laughing, weeping, snarling, generous, -wicked, pious world; she was able to take care of herself; she could -stand upon her feet and look the ferocious human race in the eye as Una -faced the lion. - -She wore a charming white gown and a lovely flower-crowned hat, and -carried a tiny white lace parasol as if she were accustomed to lace -parasols. Her white kid gloves were dainty, and a great bunch of white -and crimson roses combined with the blue cornflower made a tricolor in -her lap, while on her breast was pinned a tricolor rosette. - -As her carriage stopped, the crowd recognized her, and a huge shout -went up: - -“La Dorian! La Dorian!” - -Diane was used to this cry. She bowed and smiled prettily, like the -experienced actress she was, but that was not what the crowd wanted. - -“Sing us La Marseillaise!” they shouted; “you can sing it as no one -else can! Sing it, sing it to us!” - -Diane stood up in the carriage holding her tricolor bouquet, and a -great roar of cheering a thousand times greater than she had ever heard -before, stormed the air. Diane stood erect, with her head thrown back. - -At last there was silence, and Diane, pointing with her white gloved -hand straight at Jean not ten feet away, cried in her clear, -practised, penetrating voice: - -“There is a man who can sing La Marseillaise better than I can. Bring -him here, and make him sing it, too.” - -The crowd, cheering and laughing, immediately seized Jean, and, in -spite of his modest protests, hurled him into the carriage, where he -sat down protesting and embarrassed. While the multitude was quieting -down, Diane and he exchanged a few words. - -“Why haven’t you been to see me in all these years?” said Diane. - -“Because you were too grand,” said Jean. “I didn’t want to thrust -myself upon a great artist. You might have thought that I wanted you to -do something for me, or to get me an engagement. But I have often gone -to the music-halls to hear you.” - -“You were always a goose about some things, Jean Leroux!” was Diane’s -reply. - -And then the silence was complete, and the multitudes that packed the -streets a mile on either hand waited to hear the first word of the hymn -of battle. - -As Diane stood up in the carriage, her slim figure grew taller, and -her blood turned to fire in her veins; her voice cleft the air like -a silver trumpet, sweet and penetrating, and vibrant with patriotic -passion. When she proclaimed, - - “The day of glory has arrived!” - -the effect was like Jeanne d’Arc striking her spear upon her shield. -Then came the great refrain, - - “Aux armes! Aux armes!” - -One voice arose--the voices of tens of thousands, united in one vast -ringing call to victory, one great demand for the rights of man, one -last appeal to the God of Battles. The mighty echo rose from earth to -heaven; it seemed for a time to fill the universe, and then to leave -the universe listening for it. - -The chorus ceased--a chorus greater than ever mortal ear had heard -since first the men of Marseilles marched to the thunder of their -battle hymn--and Jean Leroux stood up and sang the second verse. His -was the voice of a man ready to march and to fight. The artist’s soul -within Diane quivered as she heard Jean’s splendid basso like the -tones of the organ of Notre Dame pealing out. Again the refrain was -thundered from the multitudes that filled miles of streets, and the -sound seemed to shake the towers of the Tuilleries palace. Then it was -Diane’s turn to sing the third verse. The nation that produced Jeanne -d’Arc respects the patriotism of its women; they are as ready to die -for their country as are the men. At the lines, - - “Great God! By these our fettered hands, - Our brows beneath the open yoke,” - -Diane lifted her eyes to Heaven, and raised her clasped hands above her -head. It was like Charlotte Corday demanding God’s blessing, while she -armed to do Him service by killing the enemy of His children. Again did -the voice of the people make the splendid refrain sound like a great -Amen. Men were weeping and clasping each other in their arms. Women -with upraised hands prayed for France. The meanest and lowest among -them were made respectable by love of country. Never again were any of -those who heard the song of the nation sung on that July afternoon, -to hear it so sung. They knew it not, but it was for them the last -triumphant singing of the hymn of triumph. - -Diane and Jean sang the hymn through to the end. Then Jean, looking at -Diane, saw that she was as pale as death, and she was trembling like an -aspen leaf, while floods of tears ran down her cheeks. He spoke to a -policeman at the carriage wheel. - -“Get us out of here as quickly as you can. This has been too much for -Mademoiselle Dorian.” - -A couple of brawny policemen, recovering their senses a little, got the -horses out of the line, forced back the crowd, and the carriage rattled -down one of the small streets leading toward the Champs-Elysées. - -“Home,” said Jean to the coachman. - -He thought the sooner Diane was in some quiet spot the better. He had -no idea where she lived. - -The horses trotted briskly along, the coachman avoiding the great, -thronged thoroughfares. As they drove along, Diane’s composure -gradually returned. The color came back to her lips and cheeks, and her -tremors stopped. - -“It was enough to shake anybody,” said Jean; “I, myself, felt as weak -as a cat when I sat down. We have never in our lives heard anything -like that. It has not been heard since before Waterloo.” - -Diane said little except some murmured reproaches to Jean for not -coming to see her. - -“All of you forgot me,” she said. “I suppose it was because that tall, -red-cheeked, awkward creature who took my place, absorbed you so there -was no place even in your memories for me.” - -Jean smiled. This was the same Diane. - -“No,” he said, “your going seemed to finish up everything. Mademoiselle -Rose was not a success. The public did not like her.” - -Diane gave a little gasp of vindictive joy. - -“That was bad, of course, for the Grandins,” continued Jean, -“particularly as they lost François the same night they lost you.” - -“How?” - -“God knows. After the performance, when François acted miserably, and -was hissed and hit on the head by a cabbage thrown at him--and he -deserved it for his bad acting, and nearly breaking Madame Grandin’s -neck in his acrobatic turn--he disappeared. Grandin owed him some -money, too. All we could ever find out was, that François was seen -during the night on board the old boat, tied up on the riverside. -The police saw a man with a lantern moving about the boat. They went -on board, and found it was François, and they drove him off. Oddly -enough, not two hours later, there was a fire on the dock, and the -wind blew the sparks to the boat, and it was burned to the water’s -edge. You may imagine, with you and François gone, and Mademoiselle -Rose a flat failure, and the boat burned up, it was pretty serious for -Grandin. They had a little money, you know, and so they gave up the -show business and went to a little town in the French Alps and took -to raising chickens. It was as if, with your going, the old life and -everything melted away like a dream.” - -“And then, what did you do?” - -“Oh, I got an engagement in the Bienville theatre that took me through -the season. I got on very well, and in two years I came to Paris.” - -“And how about that scamp, the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel?” asked -Diane in a perfectly natural voice. - -“I didn’t like to mention him,” answered Jean; “I thought you -might--perhaps--well, I--” - -“You needn’t mind,” promptly responded Diane; “I was a great fool, -of course, but no more so than any other inexperienced girl in my -position. I thought I loved him. I know now that he was nothing -more than a peg to hang my emotions on. It sounded so grand to be a -marquise!” - -She laughed so naturally and unaffectedly, that a great load was lifted -from Jean’s heart. The Marquis was rightly appraised by Diane, and she -had no regrets for such a scoundrel. Then she kept on, still laughing: - -“I should have been perfectly ridiculous as a marquise!” - -“He was kicked out of the army,” said Jean. - -“Served him right,” replied Diane, vigorously. “One thing rejoices -me--that awful whack I let him have in the face, and I shall always -love you, Jean, for the beating you gave him. He deserved it all for -his treatment of his wife and child. What became of the poor lady?” - -“She went to the Marquis’ colonel and told him the whole story. The -Marquis made a stiff fight because he had powerful family connections, -but they got rid of him. It was really true, though, that he meant to -marry you and commit bigamy.” - -“Oh, Jean,” cried Diane with the deepest feeling, “how often have I -though of poor François’ saying, that God takes care of women and fools -and drunken people! If I had married the Marquis, I should have killed -him, certainly.” - -“But tell me,” said Jean, “how did you get up in the world so quickly?” - -“Because I am a woman and a fool,” answered Diane with great -simplicity. “I had a hundred and fifty-two francs--” - -“After you had given half you had to the other woman,” interjected -Jean. - -“And I travelled third class to Paris. On the train I bought a -newspaper and looked out for all the advertisements of singing teachers -whose terms were reasonable. I found one in a musician and his wife. -They took me to live in their house for what board I could pay. The -singing master said at once that I had a better voice than I supposed, -and he got me into the chorus at the Opera. That paid me something, -and I worked, I can tell you, at my singing. The first engagement I -had was at a cheap place on the other side of the river, but I went on -steadily, earning more money and more people knowing me. I didn’t visit -Bohemia, nor go out to supper, nor do any of those crazy things that -ruin the voice. I think my singing teacher valued my voice above my -soul, but at all events, the time came when I was able to pay him well -for his trouble, and began to lay up something comfortable for myself. -And here I am.” - -“And buy diamonds,” suggested Jean. “I saw you blazing with them.” - -Diane laughed scornfully. - -“No you didn’t,” she said. “They were pure paste. I am not half such a -fool in some ways as you think. But why, why didn’t you come to see me? -How could you look at me when I was singing and not think enough of the -old days to seek me out?” - -“Because you were too grand,” replied Jean. “I took the paste things -for real diamonds.” - -Presently they reached in a quiet street a small, pretty house with -a charming little garden. Jean was surprised; he expected to find -something much grander, and plainly said so. - -“No indeed,” answered Diane, dismissing the coachman and showing Jean -the way through the drawing-room by glass doors down the steps into the -pretty garden. “I think I am of a saving turn. I know what very few -singers do, and that is, one day my voice will be gone, so I am saving -my money now, that I may be able to live here always, and have you to -tea with me in the summer afternoons. I always knew I would see you, -Jean, and tell you this.” - -Jean scowled fiercely at Diane. She was making fun of him and his -honest and modest love, but he did not think she ought to say such -things to any man. So he declined to notice Diane’s speech. When they -took their seats on the iron chairs in the garden before the little -tea-table, Diane continued her confidences: - -“When the foolish men would send me diamonds, I would coolly exchange -them for paste and pocket the difference. No indeed, I have heard of -music-hall artists with a great many diamonds who were sold out by -their creditors.” - -Jean looked at Diane with admiration. - -“I didn’t think you had so much sense, Diane,” he said. - -Then the maid brought the tea, and they sat in the sunny garden until -the purple dusk came and a new moon smiled at them from a sky half ruby -and half sapphire. - -They talked much of the coming war. Jean, who was a capital shot, was -to join the franc-tierurs. - -“I could not keep on singing, you know, when I could be potting the -Prussians.” - -“As for me,” replied Diane, “I shall keep on singing as a patriotic -duty. These Parisians look upon their theatres and operas and -music-halls as a barometer. As long as these are open and we sing and -dance and play for this great tyrant, Paris, so long will she believe -that all is going well, but let us once stop, and she will become -panic-stricken. However, I expect to sing before our Emperor in Berlin -next season.” - -This seemed quite natural and reasonable to Jean, and Diane, laughing, -but wholly in earnest, promised him an engagement to sing with her. - -“For you know, Jean, you would have been just as high up as I am, -except that I had more impudence. Now that you have had your tea, come -into the drawing-room and let us sing together some of the old songs -and do some of the old tricks. I have a companion who can thump the -piano a little for us.” - -Diane ran into the drawing-room, called for her companion, a decorous -and withered person, Madame Dupin, who sat down to the piano and -managed the accompaniment while Diane and Jean sang some of the old -songs together with immense spirit. Then Diane proposed to do their -singing act together, which meant a love scene and a quarrel that had -always brought down the house in the cheap music-hall in Bienville. -Jean remembered it well enough--only too well. The memory of the pangs -he suffered when Diane, after she met the Marquis, would hold away from -him and would not throw herself into his arms as a real actress should, -was vivid and painful. But in the pretty drawing-room with Madame Dupin -playing away at the piano, Diane hurled herself into Jean’s arms and -acted as if inspired. When the quarrel came, it was acted so naturally -that Diane’s man-servant, who was peeping through the door, suddenly -rushed in and, seizing Jean by the collar, shouted: - -“I will report you to the police for abusing and insulting my lady!” - -This amused Diane so much that she threw herself on the sofa convulsed -with laughter, and Jean laughed as he had not done since he last saw -Diane, while the man-servant, when the circumstances were explained, -ran away sheepishly, to be the laughing-stock of his fellow-servants. - -It was all so merry and free, and like a last look at a happy past, -when before one lies victory, but with it, war and guns and wounds and -death. - -Jean gave himself barely time to hurry back in a cab to his music-hall, -while Diane rushed upstairs to make ready for her own performance. - -Great as had been Diane’s fame before, it grew greater in those days -when France marched forth to conquer Europe again, and was smitten on -every hand. - -In August and September, when disaster followed disaster, and the -universe seemed tumbling to pieces, Diane still sang La Marseillaise -every night at the music-hall. It seemed to comfort and put new -courage into the hearts of her listeners, mostly striplings and -weaklings and old men who could not go to fight the Prussians, and -could only hate them from afar. The music-hall did a rushing business; -many persons skimped their daily bread to save a couple of francs that -would take them into the music-hall where Diane with her glorious -singing would reanimate their fainting souls. Not even when the siege -began did Diane cease her singing. The prices were then put down, and -the hall was not so full, but all came who could. - -Jean was gone. He was in the armies that were defeated, or that melted -away, or that never existed except on paper. But he was never captured. -Two or three times in those frightful months, Diane got a brief line -from him. Once he wrote: - -“Whom do you think I have seen? François! And François decorated on -the field, too! But the next day, he was found dead drunk--he had sold -his boots for liquor--so he disappeared. We had some talk, however. He -asked about you, and said he always knew Skinny would come into her -own. I inquired what he had been doing for a living in the last five -years, and he said he had been picking flowers off century plants for -his living. You see, he is the same François, but as brave as if he -were honest.” - -One morning in January, every door and window in Paris was closed and -barred. The Prussians were marching in through the Arc de Triomphe, -and the gayest city in the world lay as if dead in her grave-clothes -on that winter morning. Not a wheel turned in Paris that day; even -the dead remained unburied. No theatre or music-hall opened that -evening, nor was there a note of music heard in the whole city. Paris -was indeed the city of Dreadful Night. Then, after a little breathing -spell like that given a man when shackles are put on his feet and -handcuffs on his wrists, Paris, the conquered city, sat in her -sackcloth bewailing herself for her lost glory. And presently, in her -wretchedness and despair, some of her children were turned to devils -and fought and mocked her and lacerated her and dragged her shrieking -and blood-covered in the mire of disgrace. The frightful orgie of the -Commune was an episode in hell for the great, beautiful, miserable, -burning, starving, shrieking city. - -Through it all Diane sang, not with the rich, full voice of a well-fed, -well-sleeping woman, but with diminished volume and a little off the -key; for in those days it was remarked that all voices were raised a -semitone higher. - -How the months passed when the Commune, that concentration of -wickedness, that collection of fiends who sought to murder their -country in her hour of misery, few who lived through it could describe; -certainly Diane could not. Food and money were scarce enough, though -there was not actual starvation as during the siege, but the guns from -Montmartre thundered incessantly, and those who were to rescue Paris -had to surround her and fight their way inch by inch. - -It was in the springtime, and the horse chestnuts in the Champs-Elysées -were pushing out their green leaves through their pale pink sheaths, -and the insensate sky was blue and gold by day and black and silver -by night. From the beginning it was bad enough, but as the sun grew -warmer and the days more halcyon in their beauty, the hell made by -men grew worse, the roaring of the guns more constant. The frightful -disorders in the streets, murders and horrible orgies, were more -frequent. The Commune died hard, as wild boars do. The great city had -no defenders within her lines, and lay at the mercy of fiends. The -few men who had crept back from the battle-fields could do nothing, -and when the Communards in their dirty National Guard uniforms began -to be pressed hard and caught in their traps like rats, they began to -throw barricades across the streets and fight behind them, wildly and -foolishly. - -Diane still lived in her small house, although the neighborhood was -daily growing more dangerous; the tide of fighting was pouring that -way, and the quiet street resounded with the rattle of ammunition -wagons and the yells and shouts of drunken National Guards, who were -yet not too drunk to fight. The small house remained closed, and the -two women within it--Diane and old Marie, a faithful creature whom -Diane had picked up some years before--lived in two cellar rooms. -There, they were reasonably safe. They dwelt in darkness, because they -had few candles, and would have been afraid to show lights if they -could. When the one dim candle was lighted, all windows, doors, cracks, -and crannies were tightly closed to give the idea of an uninhabited -house. The upstairs had long been dismantled, and there was little -there to steal. - -In those terrible spring days, neither Diane nor the old woman ever so -much as showed themselves in the garden, and only stole forth by night -to buy such meagre supplies as they could afford. For Diane was no -longer well off. She had given freely of her store to her country, and -unless she could once more sing to crowded audiences, she would die as -poor as when she first set foot in Paris with her hundred and fifty-two -francs in her pocket. - -One afternoon in the last of May when the fighting had grown fiercer, -the incessant booming of the guns nearer, and the sharp crack of the -mitrailleuse louder and more frequent, a great crash resounded in the -street before Diane’s house. The mob of National Guards had upset a -cart-load of stones, and were beginning to tear up the pavement to -make one of those simple but effective barricades that were sometimes -better than a good many fortifications. It only took a couple of hours -to build this fort in the street, and it was one of the best barricades -so built in Paris, because it was directed by a man trained as a -soldier, who had once been called the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel. -Diane’s first view of him after she had slapped his face was as he -stood or walked about the narrow street, now crowded and noisy with -disorderly National Guards. - -The Marquis had changed considerably for the worse in his appearance. -Six years before he had been of superb figure and handsome face, -and dressed with military elegance. Now, he was red and bloated and -slouchy and dirty. His voice had once been sweet and persuasive. Now, -it was a bellow of rage and drink, but enough sense was left amid his -degradation yet to do some harm to his fellow-men, and the barricade -would have been a credit to an engineer. - -Many persons had warned Diane to leave her house and seek refuge -somewhere else, but this she refused. Now it was too late. For any -woman to show herself was to court death and horrors unspeakable. - -Against a house on the opposite side of the street was piled wood -enough to start a fire when the Communards were ready, for, if they -could no longer defend a point, they set fire to the surrounding -buildings. Meanwhile, the real French soldiers rigidly carried out -their plan to surround and overwhelm the Communards without destroying -the city, and ever the cordon tightened. On this May morning it drew -closer around the barricaded spot, and there was fighting in the -near-by street. But seeing the danger of fire, the French commander in -that quarter played a waiting game. - -In the afternoon the day grew dark, and in the evening came a small, -fine rain with the darkness. An adventurous young officer tried to -carry the barricade under the cover of night, but Colonel Egmont, as -the Marquis now called himself, had enough of the devil’s wit left in -him to drive off the attacking party. - -Diane, peering through the chinks of a closed jalousie, saw in the -darkness the red-legged soldiers retiring, carrying off with them -a couple of dead men and some wounded ones. In the dense shadows, -however, two French soldiers remained who were not missed. One was -a small man lying flat on his face with a bullet wound through his -leg and another in his shoulder. The other was a big man with blood -dripping from the back of his neck, who scrambled to his feet and knelt -over the little man whose head rested against the tall iron door that -led into Diane’s garden. In a minute or two the door was softly opened -and Diane whispered: - -“Come in quickly before you are seen. There is a cellar to the house -where you can be safe for a little while, at least.” - -The big man picked the small man up in his arms and slipped within the -garden, Diane softly locking and barring the iron door behind him, and, -running around to the back of the house, lifted the lid of a cellar -door, showing some narrow stone steps that led down into the black cave -of the cellars. As she did this, she recognized Jean in the big man, -and François in the small man he was carrying, and Jean recognized her. - -François’ soul was not in this world at that moment, although it was -shortly to return to his body. - -Jean and Diane wasted no time in polite inquiries after each other’s -health. - -“Can you carry his legs?” asked Jean in a whisper. - -“Yes,” replied Diane, slipping down the stairs and taking hold of -François’ legs, for she could step backward, knowing the stairs well. - -The next minute they found themselves in the cellars. There were two -small rooms. The windows were tightly closed so that no gleam of light -should betray that the place was inhabited. A handful of charcoal -burned in a little brazier, for the spring night was sharp and the -cellar was cold, and one solitary candle in the outer room merely -revealed the gulf of darkness. Huddled over the brazier was the figure -of old Marie, the cook; in all cataclysms of one’s life, some one is -found who is faithful. - -There was something like comfort in the place. A carpet was spread upon -the stone floor, and a couple of pallets in the inner room accommodated -the mistress and the maid. On one of these they laid François, -breathing heavily. Jean stripped off François’ shoes, and Diane, -producing a pair of scissors, cut away the clothing from his leg below -the knee. A horrid wound was spurting blood. Marie ran and fetched some -water from a barrel in the corner, and Diane unceremoniously, in the -presence of Jean, divested herself of her white cambric petticoat, a -thing of filmy ruffles and lace, and tore it into strips to bind up -François’ wounds. Again, with her deft scissors she cut away a part -of his coat and shirt. Old Marie washed the wound in his shoulder, -and Jean, with his rude surgery, bound it up with a part of Diane’s -petticoat. When this was over, François opened his eyes, and looking -about him whispered in a weak voice, and with a weak grin: - -“I think I must be out of my head still, because I see the face of -Diane. Give me something to drink.” - -Old Marie gave him water which he drank as men do out of whose veins -much blood has run, and who are parched with that terrible thirst. -Diane, going to a wine rack where there were many long-necked bottles -lying head downward, picked up one and gouged out the cork with her -scissors. - -Then she poured out in a tin cup some bubbling champagne. - -“Is this good for him, do you think?” she asked Jean. - -“In the name of God, I do not know,” replied Jean, shaking his head. - -“But I know,” responded the patient in a somewhat stronger voice. “Good -champagne will put life into the ribs of death.” - -Diane kneeled down by François and tremblingly gave him the champagne, -which he drank, smacking his lips meanwhile. - -“I feel like another man,” he said, “and that other man wants another -swig at the champagne.” - -But Diane shook her head. - -“You can’t have any more,” she answered. - -“And now,” said François in a much stronger voice, “I know that I am -not wool-gathering, but it is really you, Diane Dorian, otherwise -Skinny, because you are so obstinate, just as in the old days.” - -While Diane was speaking, she noticed that Jean had sunk on a low -bench from which he slipped softly to the floor, his eyes closed and -his face gray. Diane ran to him, and catching his head to keep it -from striking the floor, found blood upon her hand. Jean’s neck was -bleeding--François was not the only wounded man. - -Diane, with her lately gained experience and assisted by old Marie, -turned back Jean’s collar and shirt and found there a wound almost -as bad as François’. That, too, was washed and bound with strips of -Diane’s white petticoat, and then Jean came to himself, and asked, as -all wounded men do, for water. - -“Give him some champagne,” said François, feebly, from his pallet. - -This Diane did, and then, with Marie’s help, laid Jean upon her own -pallet. - -Then began for the two women a silent vigil that lasted more than a -week. They took turns in watching and sleeping. By extreme good fortune -both of their patients progressed wonderfully, the wounds healing with -the first intention. At the end of the week Jean was able to walk about -the inner room, while François, though unable to walk, could sit up in -the one chair which the cellars possessed. - -Still were darkness and silence maintained within the cellars, although -there was noise enough outside. The barricade had become almost a -fortress, and as the Communards were hemmed in closer and closer, the -barricade was extended. The sound of fighting grew nearer and fiercer, -the shouts and cries of men, the rattle of ammunition wagons over the -stones, the cracking of the mitrailleuse, the crash of bullets; the -beating of the rappel, sounded by night as well as by day. - -After night had fallen, old Marie would creep out, and by devious and -winding streets would find her way to places where for much money a -little coarse food could be bought. There was, however, champagne in -plenty, and François had no hesitation in declaring in a whisper that -his recovery and that of Jean depended upon the quantity of champagne -they drank, and that Diane was delaying their convalescence by not -letting them have all they wished. - -The hours, instead of being long, were extraordinarily short because -there was no sunrise or sunset, no day nor night, only a vivid darkness -pierced with the light of a single candle. There was nothing to read by -the light of the single candle that burned night and day; there was no -conversation above a whisper. Familiarity with danger and long immunity -made them all forget their fears, but not their prudence. - -Old Marie, who had the tireless industry of her class, managed to -keep employed by incessant knitting, after she had done the work of -the two cellars. Diane, a worker by nature and habit, put strong -compulsion on herself to sit still for hours and hours, her hands in -her lap. Jean and François, conquered by their weakness, also remained -still and quiet. Through the open door Diane could not see their eyes -constantly fixed upon her in the little circle of light made by the -one candle. She took them their food, and helped them with all the -natural helpfulness of a tender and capable woman. That was her sole -employment. She often wished in that strange procession of time which -could not be called days or weeks, that she had fifty wounded men to -attend to instead of two. - -At last, one night, Jean said to Diane: - -“It’s time for me to be going. I feel strong enough to carry a musket, -and I shall feel stronger still when I get into the fresh air.” - -Diane said no word; she was the last woman on earth to detain a man -from his duty. - -François, who was then able to walk about with a stick made from a -broom handle, protested in a whisper: - -“Who is to chaperon Diane and me,” he asked, “when old Marie goes out -at night?” - -As he spoke, Jean slipped cautiously to the stone steps and lifted up -the cellar door about an inch, showing the black night without. A great -wave of smoke and an odor of flame rushed in, and through the crack -thus made was seen a sky on fire with the luridness of miles of burning -buildings. Paris had been set on fire by the Communards. - -As Diane, leaning over Jean’s shoulder, caught a glimpse of the blazing -sky, there was a crash of doors and windows overhead, a trampling of -feet, drunken men and women shouting, laughing, swearing, fighting. In -the midst of the uproar they could hear the grand piano, the only piece -of furniture left in the house, dragged across the drawing-room floor, -and the crash of music as it was pounded to accompany ribald songs. -Jean quickly dropped the cellar door. They had no arms except each a -pistol out of which their bullets had been fired, and there were no -more bullets to be had. - -As the drunken crew overhead grew more noisy and numerous, they -overflowed into the garden, trampling the neglected flower beds and -laughing like demons. Presently they rushed to the cellar door and -lifted it up wide. They saw no light within, but a woman’s voice -shrieked: - -“If there is any champagne, it’s in the cellar!” - -Then a torch was brought, and a man seizing it jumped down the steps -holding the torch above his head, and came face to face with Diane. -Half a dozen men and women followed him, and, catching sight of the -wine bin, flew toward it with shouts of devilish joy, and began to hand -out the bottles to those above them. - -The man with the torch stuck it into an empty bottle, and the light -revealed, not only Diane, but old Marie and Jean and François. The -invader wore the uniform of a colonel of the National Guard, and was he -who had once been known as the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE DAY OF GLORY HAS ARRIVED - - -“Well now,” said he who had once been the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel, -but who now called himself Colonel Egmont, addressing Diane, “here I -find you, my very proper young lady, in bad company. How long have you -been down here living with these two men?” - -“Nineteen days,” answered Diane, coming a little closer to Egmont and -fixing her eyes, sparkling with rage, upon him. “Nineteen days ago -these two men came here wounded. I have lived in this place with them -ever since--do you understand?” - -“Perfectly well,” responded Egmont with an elaborate bow. “Now they and -you shall share the fate of the enemies of the Commune. Come with me, -all of you.” - -He turned and climbed the narrow stone steps again, followed by Diane -and Jean and François and old Marie. The mob in the garden had already -begun to drink the champagne, and they were so keen to get into the -cellar that they scarcely allowed their commander to come up with his -prisoners. - -“Here,” said Egmont, calling to some National Guards already drunk and -trying to get drunker, “find a cart to take these prisoners to the -Mazas prison.” - -Not the slightest attention was paid to this order until Egmont, -drawing his pistol, covered half a dozen National Guards, who then, -with champagne bottles tucked under their arms, surrounded Diane and -Jean and François. Then Egmont sent one of them to stop a cart rumbling -by. - -“I can’t trust these fellows,” said Egmont, stroking his mustache; “I -shall have to go with you, myself, to see that you are landed safe in -the Mazas just around the corner. As for you, Mademoiselle, do you -remember the blow you struck me in the face six years ago?” - -“With the greatest pleasure,” responded Diane sweetly; “I have never -thought of that blow without a thrill of joy.” - -“Very well,” replied Egmont, smiling, “perhaps you have not found out, -in your retirement with these gentlemen, what has happened to women who -are the enemies of the Commune? Twelve Dominican sisters disappeared a -week ago. They have never been heard from, and never will be. Now, I -intend to make you pay for that blow, not once, but a thousand times -over.” - -“But you can’t deprive me of the satisfaction I have had all these -years in the thought that I struck it,” was Diane’s response, while -François remarked: - -“I always thought that you, my Marquis of the Holy Angels, were a cad -and not a gentleman. Now I know it.” - -At this, Jean, who had said nothing, cast a warning glance at Diane and -François. - -“I know what you mean by that look, Jean,” said Diane, carefully -smoothing her hair. “But prudence is of no use when you are in the -tiger’s clutch--or rather the rhinoceros--for this fat, ugly creature -looks more like a rhinoceros than a tiger. He means to murder us all, -and will do it, no matter how polite we might be. Dear me! I really -am not properly dressed for a drive through the streets. No hat--no -gloves--no parasol.” - -Jean sighed heavily for her, but François only grinned. - -“I declare, Skinny,” he said, “I believe you really are a descendant of -the Oriani family of ancient Rome. You have such a glorious spirit.” - -“Oh, no, I am not,” answered Diane, with a demure smile. “My father was -only the village hatter. Like Napoleon, I am the first of my family.” - -“Come you,” cried Egmont, “and bundle into the cart. I shall go with -you for the pleasure of your company.” - -Then they were all thrown into a cart, and a National Guard, less drunk -than the rest, took the reins, while Egmont sat on the tail-board, -laughing and jeering at his prisoners. - -The night sky was of a frightful crimson, while a gigantic blanket of -black smoke many miles in length lay over the city which was blazing -on both sides of the river that ran red like blood. On the spot where -Diane and Jean had sung La Marseillaise ten months before was a -great blazing pyre, the Palace of the Tuilleries, and a ring of huge -buildings for miles on either side were sending up enormous masses of -smoke and flames. The heat in the May night was terrific, and the smoke -was like the smoke of hell. - -Jean, who had said nothing, spoke a word to Diane. - -“Remember,” he said, “we can die but once.” - -“I know that,” responded Diane. “And after all, I have found out one -thing before I die, and that is, how much I love you.” - -Besides the tumult that raged around them, the noise of the heavy-laden -cart traversing the streets was great, but Diane, accustomed to raising -her voice so it could be heard afar, could yet be heard clearly. She -turned toward Jean with ineffable tenderness in her voice and smile, -while the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel heard every word. - -“I think I always loved you, Jean, but after I came to Paris and saw -the other men, and compared them with you, then I fell in love with -you. Don’t you remember last July, the first time you came to my house -with me, what I said to you in the garden? I meant it every word. I -want you to love me in the way that I love you.” - -Egmont, raising his hand, struck Diane’s white cheek a hard blow. - -“That,” he said, “for the blow you gave me and for your boldness, you -shameless creature, toward this man.” - -Jean raised his foot and gave Egmont a kick which knocked him off the -tail-board and sent him spinning to the street. He got up and dusted -his clothes, and, smiling, climbed back into the cart. - -“Wait,” he said, “see who wins the game of life and death. As for you, -Diane, you shall pay for the kick as well as the slap.” - -“Really, my dear Marquis of the Holy Angels,” said François in his -musical drawl, “you make me ashamed of our class. These people are very -humble, but their manners are better than yours.” - -Egmont laughed, and his eyes, filled with the savage joy of a murderer -who can murder in safety, were fixed with amused contempt on François. - -The noise in the streets grew deafening. The cordon was being tightened -every moment around the Communards. They were being driven in from -every quarter, and a great mass of drunken, shrieking, howling, -laughing, singing men and women choked the streets. - -When the cart reached the prison of the Mazas, the way was blocked by -a crowd surrounding a group of drunken women dancing, and shrieking as -they danced. As Egmont and his three prisoners got out of the cart, -Egmont said to Diane: - -“Come now, tuck up your skirts and dance like those ladies.” - -“No, I thank you,” sweetly responded Diane, “I am not a dancer, but a -singer, and I am not in good voice to-night.” - -“Then follow me,” said Egmont. - -They followed him into the great, gloomy prison, and a jailer led -them into a long corridor with iron doors. There were several vacant -cells, and in the first one François was thrust. Before the door closed -upon him, he caught Diane’s hand, and suddenly, without the slightest -premonition, burst into passionate weeping. She had seen him always -laughing, joking, drinking, fighting, dancing, and singing, but never -before, weeping. Even Egmont was stunned into silence at this strange -burst of grief. In a moment or two François had recovered himself, and -with an actor’s command of countenance, his face suddenly shone with -smiles. - -“You see, Diane, it’s rather hard to say good-by to you after all we -have been through together, and then not seeing you for so many years, -and being nursed and tended by you in the cellar. I think it’s those -infernal wounds that have weakened me.” - -“Why, François,” answered Diane, “now I come to think of it, you were -always kind to me. You taught me all my stage tricks, and always let -me take the curtain calls, and when I was in a hurry to get to the -theatre, you often helped me wash the dishes; and when we were living -on the boat, you carried many heavy parcels back and forth for me, -and had always been good-natured and laughing and joking. After all, -whether we are to live or whether we are to die, we shall meet again. -Good-by, dear François.” - -Diane leaned her cheek toward François, who kissed it. - -“By the way,” said, Egmont, himself once more, “an old friend of yours, -the Bishop of Bienville, is a fellow-lodger in the same corridor. The -old scoundrel got caught in Paris, and we nabbed him as an enemy of the -Commune. I think the order for his shooting is already given, but you -won’t be far behind him, I can promise you.” - -With that, the jailer thrust François back into a cell, and Egmont -marched ahead, his two prisoners in the middle and a couple of armed -guards behind. - -When they reached a room which Egmont called his quarters, he very -politely ushered Diane and Jean into it and closed the door. The armed -guards remained outside, but Egmont notified them when he gave two raps -on the floor with his heel that they were to enter. - -“Now,” said he to his prisoners, addressing them both, “this young -woman once treated me with great scorn. I tell her, and I tell you, -Jean Leroux, that you shall be shot anyhow, and so shall Mademoiselle -Diane Dorian, unless she agrees now and here to become my mistress.” - -Neither Diane nor Jean turned pale. They had lived through so many -horrors in the last frightful ten months, that they had come to regard -terrible catastrophies as the every-day incidents of life. - -Jean fixed his eyes on Diane, who turned to him with a radiant smile. - -“You see, Jean,” she said, “how little this wretch knows me! I would -rather die ten times over than be his mistress. People are dying all -around us all the time, and we shall go anyhow, a little sooner or a -little later, and it doesn’t matter, particularly as you are to go too.” - -“Certainly,” replied Jean with equal coolness. “You never were a -coward, Diane, and most women, I think, would die rather than become -this man’s mistress. As for myself”--Jean snapped his fingers in the -air--“I have been looking death in the eye for ten months. It isn’t so -bad, I assure you.” - -Egmont, looking at them, flew into a maniacal rage. He reviled them, -using horrible language. He cursed them; he laughed at them like a -fiend. His revenge was not complete, because he could not conquer their -souls and destroy their courage as he could kill and mutilate their -bodies. - -Two raps on the floor brought the guards. - -“Take this scoundrel,” he said, “and put him in a cell. Lock this woman -up. Twenty-four hours will see the end of all of them.” - -“Have courage, Jean,” cried Diane, as she walked away between her -jailers. “I promise you to die before I become the mistress of this man -or any other man.” - -The next day at noon a shuffling procession of a jailer and two -National Guards opened the door of François’ cell, and walked in. The -jailer, a good-natured ruffian, read the name and number written on the -door, and then said to François: - -“You, Jean Leroux, are to be shot at six o’clock this evening.” - -“All right,” answered François, cheerfully. “I ask one thing--I should -like to see the Bishop of Bienville, who is in this corridor. He can’t -help me to escape, he is too fat, but I should like to see him.” - -There are as many kinds of murderers as there are murders, and the -jailer in this case was an amiable murderer. - -“I must take you to another cell,” he said. “On the way you can stop -long enough to make your confession if that is what you want, you -superstitious fool, to the fat old fellow from Bienville.” - -“Thank you very much,” answered François; “I thought to myself the -first time I saw you yesterday, ‘He is an obliging person.’” - -“Then come along with me now,” said the jailer. - -François got up nimbly, in spite of his wounded leg, and followed the -guard along the corridor, chatting agreeably with him. - -“I swear,” said the jailer when they got to the Bishop’s door, “I am -sorry such a pleasant fellow as you is to be shot.” - -“If you could only have known me in my past days, and seen some of my -juggling tricks and heard me sing, you would be sorrier still,” replied -François, affably. “You are quite a decent fellow, and if circumstances -had permitted, I should have been glad to cultivate your further -acquaintance.” - -The jailer laughed, and unlocking the door of a cell, opened it, -saying: - -“Half an hour is all I can give you.” - -François found himself in the cell with the Bishop, and the door locked. - -The Bishop was not so stout and ruddy as he had been, but pinched and -sallow, for he had been prisoner for a month. He was, however, just as -glad to see François, and kissed him on both cheeks. - -“Now, your Grace,” said François, squatting on the cot, and refusing to -take the only chair in the cell, “I have no time to sing the old songs -for you. I have only time to do what you often urged me in the old days -in Bienville. That is, to confess.” - -“Heaven be praised!” piously responded the Bishop; “I always told my -brother, the General, and Mathilde that you were really an excellent -person, and that some day you would become a penitent.” - -“I have not much time to lose,” said François, “as I am to be shot at -six o’clock this afternoon. By the way, what has become of the General -and Mathilde? I always hated her.” - -“My brother is in a Prussian prison. Mathilde is, I suppose, still -at Bienville. I wish the next bishop joy of her if he gets her for a -housekeeper. For I hardly think that I shall ever leave Paris alive.” - -“It has indeed become a cursed place,” replied François. “I never -thought that I should weary of Paris, but I assure your Grace I shall -be glad to get out of it on almost any terms, even being shot. But as I -have only a half hour in which to confess the sins of thirty years, I -think I had better begin.” - -François went down on his knees, and began a rapid confession of many -and grievous sins. The last item was: - -“And I propose to tell a lie and to say that I am Jean Leroux, for whom -I am mistaken and numbered and put down in a book, and to be shot in -the place of Leroux, an excellent fellow and an old comrade of mine, -who is loved by a woman whom I love. So I think it is better to tell -the lie and to die in the place of Leroux.” - -The Bishop, who had been leaning back, quietly listening with closed -eyes to the most remarkable confession he had ever heard, sat up -straight and looked sternly at François. - -“I shall not permit it,” he said. “It is suicide.” - -“But your Grace can’t help yourself,” responded François, still on his -knees. “It was told you in confession, and you are not permitted to -reveal the secrets of the confessional either to save your own life or -anybody else’s life.” - -The Bishop fell back in his chair, his good-natured, sallow, pinched -face grown more sallow. - -“I can refuse to give you absolution,” he said. - -“But if a man dies to save the life of another man, he is absolved -by his blood,” said François, triumphantly. “You see, I am a better -theologian than your Grace.” - -The Bishop leaned forward, and, opening his arms, drew to his breast -the kneeling François. - -“You will be absolved,” he said. “Make a good act of contrition, and -pray for me.” - -The half hour was soon over, but long before that François had -finished his confession, and he and the Bishop were chatting together -pleasantly, and even laughing. - -When the door was opened, and the time came for the last farewell, they -kissed each other on the cheek affectionately. - -“Thanks for all your kindness,” said François, “and make my apologies -to Mathilde for all the trouble I gave her. Now, your Grace knows that -I am a true penitent.” - -“I think,” replied the Bishop, smiling and blinking, “that I stand no -more chance of seeing Mathilde than you. We shall both be called upon -to make our apologies to the Most High, shortly. Meanwhile, pray that -when my time comes I may be as cool and unconcerned as you. I cannot -say that I would wish to live as you have lived, Monsieur François le -Bourgeois, as you call yourself, but I would certainly wish to die like -you.” - -“Ah!” cried François, gayly. “Living is much more important than dying. -_Au revoir_ to your Grace. These Communards are such fools, they won’t -find out for a week that they got the wrong pig by the ear.” - -With that, the door closed, and François marched off cheerfully with -his jailers to another cell in which he was to spend the three hours of -life that remained to him. The cell was much larger and brighter than -the one he had left, but cold and damp, in spite of the May heat and -the fiercely burning city. - -Of this, François complained bitterly. - -“What do you mean,” he said, “by putting me in this place where I shall -be certain to catch cold?” - -The jailer, who had a rudimentary sense of humor, grinned at this. - -“I have heard a good many condemned persons grumble at their fate, but -you are the first one I have seen who is afraid of catching cold three -hours before he is introduced to a firing squad.” - -“My friend,” replied François, “I am a gentleman, although somewhat in -eclipse, and I want a fire made in this place, because I wish to be -comfortable as long as I live.” - -The jailer, still laughing, opened the door and called to a colleague, -who brought a brazier and some charcoal, of which François secured -several lumps. - -“I feel in the vein for poetry,” he said, “and I wish to write some -verses on this wall.” - -While the jailer made a little fire in the brazier, François stood -in meditation before the whitewashed wall, writing a few words, then -rubbing them out with his sleeve, sometimes finishing a whole line -with many corrections, just as poets usually do. - -He was so absorbed in his composition that an hour passed, and he was -surprised by the jailer bringing in supper at five o’clock. The jailer, -who was more and more disposed to be friendly with his prisoner, -laughed at the way in which François drew up his stool, surveyed the -rude fare, and turned up his nose at it. - -In the crises of life, men revert to their original type; so François, -who called himself Le Bourgeois, suddenly and naturally became an -aristocrat, such as he had been thirty years before. He tasted some -potatoes, and then eyed them disdainfully. - -“It isn’t the fare I mind, my good friend,” he said to the jailer, “nor -yet the austere simplicity with which you serve it, but these potatoes -are only half boiled, and will certainly make me ill. You should have -some care for the health of your prisoners.” - -The jailer sat down and laughed with unrestrained enjoyment. - -“I swear,” he said, “you are such an entertaining fellow, it is a -shame you are to be shot this afternoon.” - -“So do I think,” responded François, attacking a morsel of very tough -beef, “and I am very much surprised, too; but it is the unexpected, -you know, which happens. Life is made up of one infernal blunder after -another.” - -The jailer was so pleased with his prisoner, he put his hand in his -pocket and drew out a little flask of brandy. - -“Here,” he said; “it isn’t much, but it is enough for a swig.” - -“Now, this is the first satisfactory thing I have known you to do since -our acquaintance began,” said François, putting the flask to his mouth -and draining it dry. - -“It was not indeed much,” he said, “but it was a great deal better than -nothing. It will give me inspiration to finish my verses. Excuse me for -hurrying through with this luxurious meal. I don’t suppose you would -serve any better to Lucullus himself.” - -“There is no person by that name in this prison,” replied the jailer -with simple good faith, “and the same food is served to all. That poor -bishop has evidently been accustomed to a good cook, and prison fare -goes hard with him.” - -The jailer found the conversation of his prisoner so agreeable that he -remained until François had finished the beef. The potatoes he refused -to touch. - -“I am taking a great risk of indigestion in eating this tough meat,” he -said, “but it would be tempting fate to touch those potatoes.” - -The jailer went out, repeating that he was sorry that six o’clock would -end their acquaintance. - -Through the small, heavily barred windows looking westward, François -could hear the roar of the battle in the city, the distant, incessant -thunder of the guns, and see the great waves of flame and smoke from -the burning city drifting slowly in the stagnant air. A dun light that -was not day nor night lay over Paris, and, although it was but a little -after five o’clock, the whitewashed cell was dusky. - -François continued cheerfully absorbed in his poetic composition. When -he reached the fourth line and made a period, he stood off and read his -verses with even more than the average satisfaction of a poet. - -“There may be time,” he said to himself aloud, “to write another -verse, so here goes.” - -He then began another line, and wrote three and a half lines more. At -this point, while François was deeply reflecting on a word, the key was -turned in the door which was flung open, and the jailer, with a couple -of deputies, was standing outside. - -“Very sorry, sir,” said the jailer, “but the time is up.” - -“I can only say,” replied François, “that your visit is most -inopportune. I am just in the midst of the best line in my poem. Like -everything else, the Commune annoys everybody. Seven o’clock for my -exit would not have hurt the Commune, and would have enabled me to -finish my poem. Listen, and if you have any poetic instinct, you will -agree that this is the finest thing since Rouget de Lisle.” - -The jailer knew no more about Rouget de Lisle than he did about -Lucullus, and frankly said so. - -“Great poets,” complained François, “are as scarce as seventeen-year -locusts--and when at last I develop into a great poet, the Commune -proceeds to shoot me. If I were a bad poet now, shooting would be too -good for me. Listen.” - -Then standing a little way off, he read his poem with all the force -and feeling of an actor. These were the lines--ordinary enough, but -François’ reading made them respectable: - - “We dream a turbid dream, all strife, - Full of sharp pain and ecstasy, - Pale ghosts of Love and Joy we see, - And call our dreaming, Life. - - “We waken in the darkling hour, - The last before the dawn appears, - Shuddering, we see the Gate of Tears, - When lo! Immortal Light--” - -“If I had a little more time,” said François, “I could finish the -thing.” - -The jailer and his two deputies had but a dim understanding of -François’ verses, but his practised and musical voice, his eloquent -eyes, made them feel something, and the jailer, who had a streak of -humanity in him, suddenly began winking his small, dull eyes. - -“Excuse me,” said François, putting on his hat, “for wearing my hat -in your august presence, but I am determined not to catch cold. And -remember, I am Jean Leroux, the descendant, as the name indicates, of a -family of Spanish hidalgos with large possessions in the Philippines.” - -The jailer knew enough to understand that this was a joke, and he said, -trying to laugh: - -“Oh, yes, Jean Leroux, I won’t forget you, and I shall tell everybody -who asks for you, ‘That fellow Leroux was a cool hand.’” - -The jailer then produced a rope and proceeded to tie François’ hands -behind his back. He was gentle about it, and asked François if it hurt. - -“No,” replied François, “but I hope it won’t take the skin off.” - -Then began a march through the dim corridor at the end of which were -found half a dozen other unfortunates to be stood up against the wall -before a firing squad. - -All were calm except an old priest, who said with a tremulous smile to -François, standing next him: - -“I don’t see why I should tremble so, because I am already -seventy-seven years old, and could not live much longer.” - -“Well, then,” answered François, “you should not mind a little thing -like a bullet, which will send you to heaven.” - -“True,” said the old man, suddenly straightening himself up; “your -words are words of wisdom.” - -“Now,” continued François, ranging himself by the side of the old -priest as the sombre procession marched two and two down the stone -stairs, “I have a great deal to answer for in the next half hour, but, -I tell you, I believe God is a good deal easier on His poor children -than men are to each other. The devil is a _sans culotte_. I chummed -with him, but I never mistook him for a gentleman.” - -“Really,” said the old priest as he clumped feebly down the stairs worn -by the feet of many prisoners, “you do for me what I should do for you.” - -The grewsome procession, headed and flanked and enclosed by guards and -jailers, passed through the courtyard until they came to a garden. On -one side was a long, lately opened trench. - -Around them, afar off, was a gigantic circle of leaping flames. Over -them hung the greatest smoke bank the world ever saw, while the stench -of powder and blood polluted the soft May air. The place was full of -National Guards, many of them drunk, all of them bewildered, stunned, -and terrified by the cordon of fire and steel that was tightening -around them every hour. But they were murdering to the last. - -When the procession was halted, and the prisoners were stood up against -the stone wall of the garden, the officer in command was the Marquis -Egmont de St. Angel. He grinned when he saw François. - -“Here you are,” he said. “Come now, before we spoil your beauty, give -us a song and dance.” - -“My regular price for a performance,” said François, “is five hundred -francs, and you probably have not that much about you. Besides, -although, like you, my Marquis Egmont of the Holy Angels, I have not -lived as a gentleman, unlike you, I mean to die as a gentleman.” - -“Forward!” cried Egmont to the firing squad, which marched out and took -their places. - -The old priest lifted his bound hands and blessed and absolved them -all, prisoners and murderers alike. Egmont laughed loudly at this, -but François bent his head. Then he raised it and fixed his bright, -dark eyes full on Egmont. The gaze seemed to fascinate, to accuse, to -condemn, and to terrify him. Just then, a sudden, sharp, vagrant wind -cleft the dun cloud of smoke, and a ray of pale splendor shone for -a moment on the face of François. Egmont, in desperation, to escape -the piercing eyes of François, shouted, “Fire!” A straggling volley -rang out, and François and the old priest and the other four men fell -forward prone to the ground. The little spark of life left their -mangled bodies and sped with ever increasing light and glory to the -other world. - -The bodies were rolled in canvas, and thrown into the trench and -hastily covered with earth, but the jailer, who had seen it all, -observed that François was laid at the head of the trench. - -Then was heard a quick, wild thunder of guns as if coming from the -ground under their feet, and from two streets they saw a disorderly -multitude of National Guards being driven before two red-legged columns -of soldiers. The jailer, who was not without sense, saw that all was -over. He ran back to the prison, raced up the stairs, and along the -corridor, unlocking every door. Some of the prisoners, he thought, -would save his life for that one act. - -When he reached Diane’s door, it was the last, and he flung it wide. -She was standing calmly in the middle of the cell, and asked: - -“Have you come for me?” - -“No,” replied the jailer. “The soldiers are here; listen to the wheels -of the mitrailleuse down in the courtyard. I am trying to turn these -prisoners loose before a fire breaks out.” - -The man’s face was deadly pale, and with his hand he wiped drops from -his dirty forehead. He had seen enough of the death of others not to -like the prospect for himself. - -“Such a pity,” he mumbled nervously; “not ten minutes ago six prisoners -were shot, one of them an old, tottering priest, and another, Jean -Leroux, the bravest--” - -“Jean Leroux, did you say?” asked Diane, coming up close to him. - -“Yes,” replied the jailer, “an actor and singer, and Colonel Egmont, -as he calls himself now, though he was a marquis the other day, taunted -Jean Leroux thirty seconds before he was shot.” - -“Where is Colonel Egmont, as you call him?” asked Diane, still calmly, -and without a tremor in her voice. - -“God knows,” answered the jailer. “He was in the courtyard a moment -ago.” - -Diane rushed by the jailer, and ran along the corridor, down the -stairs, and bareheaded into the courtyard. Egmont was there trying to -subdue the panic among his men and to induce them to make a last stand, -but no one heeded him. There was running to and fro and throwing down -of arms and the steady cracking rifles of skilled soldiers. - -Egmont, cursing and swearing, turned, and was faced by Diane. - -“So,” she said, “you have killed the man I love. Well, then, I can love -him just as much dead as when he was living. Did you not know that?” - -“I know,” responded Egmont, “that women are great fools where men are -concerned. I didn’t know that Jean Leroux had been shot, but I am glad -of it. François le Bourgeois has just been put to sleep.” - -Behind them a string of prisoners was trooping out. One of them, a big -man, came up and caught Diane around the waist and began dragging her -down the steps and into a blind alley that opened upon the courtyard, -for bullets were now flying and cracking, and a gun was being trained -down either street. - -As Diane turned and saw that it was Jean Leroux whose arm was around -her, she suddenly became as a dead woman in his arms. She was so slim -that it was easy enough for Jean to pick her up and carry her into the -blind alley, where he was about to lay her flat upon the cold stones -when she revived and stood upon her feet, for Diane was a strong woman -and not given to fainting. - -“They told me you were shot,” she said. - -“Not yet,” answered Jean. “Come, let us find a cellar. We have been in -cellars before, and found them pleasant enough.” - -The soldiers did not make as short work as they expected of Egmont -and his crew. For an hour, Jean and Diane, listening in a black and -slimy cellar, heard desperate fighting going on around them, the few -wretches who remained dying hard, like wild animals at bay. Half a -dozen smouldering fires were put out in that time, and the soldiers, at -their leisure and without burning anything, finally got possession of -the prison of the Mazas. - -It was black night, but the sky was still illuminated with a dreadful -and appalling glory when Diane and Jean finally crept once more into -the blind alley. The soldiers were carrying off a badly wounded man, -cursing and denouncing all men and their Maker. It was he who was once -the Marquis Egmont de St. Angel. - -The officer in command was surprised, if anything could surprise one in -those frightful hours, to see a woman in such a place. Diane showed an -admirable calmness, and Jean, as usual, had little to say. The jailer, -hovering around and seeing Diane, came up cringing. - -“This lady will tell you, sir,” he said to the officer, “that I opened -the doors of all the cells as soon as I could, fearing a fire.” - -“True,” answered Diane, “but why did you tell me that Jean Leroux was -shot?” - -“Because he told me so himself,” cried the jailer, nervously. “When I -showed him the warrant for the shooting of Jean Leroux, he said, ‘I am -Jean Leroux,’ and he told me so a dozen times. The Bishop that was in -the prison knows the man who was shot. The Bishop has gone back to his -cell, because he has nowhere else to go until to-morrow, and if this -officer will let us, I will take you to him.” - -Ten minutes later, Diane and Jean were in the Bishop’s cell, which was -lighted only by a lantern carried by the jailer, for prisoners were not -allowed lights. - -“Will your Grace bear me out,” said the jailer, who had decided to -recognize the Bishop’s dignity, since the Commune was at an end, “that -the man who was shot this afternoon gave his name as Jean Leroux?” - -“Did he?” cried the Bishop with animation, rising. “Well, then, that -man, whatever his name may be, or whatever his life may have been, died -nobly.” - -A silence which the jailer could not understand prevailed in the -cell. The two men and the woman looked at each other with a strange -understanding and eloquence in the eyes of all. - -The jailer, very anxious to make favor for himself, continued: - -“If you will come with me to the cell that the dead man occupied, I -will show you his handwriting on the wall.” - -Still silent, the Bishop walking heavily, they went down the corridor, -and the jailer opened the door of the cell, large and with many -windows, and swung the lantern so that its yellow gleam fell upon the -whitewashed wall. - -The Bishop read the first two lines, and then his voice broke. Neither -Diane nor Jean took up the reading. - -The jailer, still obsequious, chattered on. - -“He was the coolest hand I ever saw, and making jokes until the very -last, complaining that he would catch cold if he didn’t wear his hat -on the way to be shot. He was very proud of his poetry, and complained -only that he had not time to finish the last verse.” - -The Bishop, a man of simple mind, went down on his knees, and Diane and -Jean knelt, too. So did the jailer, who did not mind a little thing -like that in order to keep the good-will of his recent prisoners. - -The Bishop made a prayer for the soul of François, known as Le -Bourgeois, a prayer that came from the heart of an honest man. - -When they rose, Jean said to the Bishop: - -“Now we know that François, whom the world reckoned a rapscallion, was -a better man than most. He stood up against the wall, and was huddled -into the trench in my place, not so much for my sake as for this woman, -whom, I know now, he loved well.” - -“Is he then buried in the trench?” asked the Bishop. “He must be taken -out this night and given Christian burial.” - -A heavy silence had fallen over the quarter where lately there had been -the shrieking of bullets and the thunder of guns. Still the city was -burning and shrouded in smoke, but the Commune was throttled and dead. - -In finding François, everything was done quite as informally as -shooting him. The Bishop stood by the trench in the darkness, which was -lighted only by the jailer’s lantern. - -The trench was the last one dug by the Communards, and was so hastily -filled that the dirt was easily thrown aside by a couple of soldiers -hired to do the work, Jean helping with a spade. They lifted François -out, looking strangely young and natural when the canvas in which his -body was wrapped was removed. - -Diane was a little way off,--it was no sight for a woman,--but at that -moment she entered the garden in the dusk, carrying something in her -hand. - -“Here,” she said, “is something in which to wrap François. I went to -the officer commanding at the jail, and told him that François was a -soldier of France who had died bravely, and that he was entitled to -have the tricolor laid upon him dead.” - -It was a small flag, such as batteries of artillery carry in case they -should lose or be separated from their colors. - -Diane, kneeling on the ground, wrapped François’ body in it, and then -leaned over and kissed his dead face. - -There was a little half-wrecked church in the neighborhood, and -there François was carried by the soldiers, with the jailer and Jean -assisting, and followed by the Bishop. They laid him down on the -pavement before the desecrated altar, and there Jean watched by him the -whole night through. - -The church was dark, although the windows were broken out and a shell -had made a great gaping hole in the roof, but the light of the moon and -the stars was quenched by the great pall of smoke that enveloped the -vast city. - -Occasionally Jean would rise and go near the altar and look down at -François, mute and meek, for even François le Bourgeois was meek in -death. - -Jean’s memory, travelling back slowly but accurately to the beginning -of things, recalled that François had loved Diane from the first, but -had been clever enough to keep the preposterous thing to himself. Well, -François was ever a mystery and a contradiction, and so his death -contradicted his whole life, and atoned for it. - - * * * * * - -Two weeks later, on a beautiful June morning, the Bishop had what was -left of François le Bourgeois interred close to the walls of the little -old cathedral of Bienville. - -“Because,” said the Bishop, to Diane and Jean Leroux, who were -present, “when I die, they will put me in the church on the other side -of the wall, and I think I should like to be near François, for, to -tell you the truth, I loved him better than I ever acknowledged. He was -such an amusing fellow, you know, and I had known him when he was the -child of greatness and I was the boy who tended the cows. François and -I, having been together in our boyhood, will be close together at the -end, and I am sure when the last trump sounds, François will rise with -a joke upon his lips; otherwise, it would not be François at all.” - -After François had finally been laid to rest, Diane and Jean went into -a side chapel of the cathedral, and were married by the Bishop. When -the ceremony was over, the new-made wife of Jean Leroux went out and -laid her bridal bouquet upon the grave of François; who called himself -Le Bourgeois. - - Dramatic and all other rights reserved. - - - - -The following pages contain advertisements of a few of the Macmillan -novels. - - - - -_Important New Fiction by Leading Authors_ - - -The Man in the Shadow - - By RICHARD WASHBURN CHILD, author of “Jim Hands.” - - _Decorated cloth, 12mo, illustrated, $1.25 net_ - - The human note in _Jim Hands_, the reality of its people and the - universal appeal of its story were much commended by the critics upon - the publication of that novel last year. These same characteristics - distinguish the new book. 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The delightful humor which pervaded the earlier books, and - without which Barbara would not be Barbara, has lost nothing of its - poignancy.”--_Congregationalist._ - - -=The Open Window= Tales of the Months - - “A little vacation from the sophistication of the - commonplace.”--_Argonaut._ - - -=Poppea of the Post-Office= - - “A rainbow romance, ... tender yet bracing, cheerily stimulating - ... its genial entirety refreshes like a cooling shower.”--_Chicago - Record-Herald._ - - -=Princess Flower Hat= _Just Ready_ - - A Comedy from the Perplexity Book of Barbara the Commuter’s Wife. - - -=The Love that Lives= - - With a frontis. by H. C. WALL. _Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.30 net_ - - - - -JAMES LANE ALLEN’S - -=The Doctor’s Christmas Eve= _Cloth, 12mo, $1.50_ - - “Kentucky in its rural aspects and with its noble men and women forms - the scenery for this romance of quaintness and homeliness which - lovingly interprets the career of a country doctor who has lost faith - in life but not in ideals. Incidentally the author has interpreted the - new spirit of American childhood in its relation to the miracles and - legends and lore of other lands and older times, which have through - the centuries gathered about the great Christmas festival of the - Nativity.”--_New York Times._ - - “What so many have so long hoped Mr. Allen would do he has - accomplished in this work, namely, a description of Kentucky and the - bluegrass farms as seen by a youngster.”--_New York American._ - - -GEORGE FORBES’S - -=Puppets= _Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net_ - - On the surface this is a story; but that is not the principal thing. - Through the pleasant, humorous, kindly talk of the principal character - is developed a philosophy of life so simple that it will appeal to - every one who thinks at all, yet so comprehensive that it removes many - of the difficulties the average person has in trying to conceive what - life really is. - - -WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE’S - -=A Certain Rich Man= _Cloth, 12mo, $1.50_ - - “This novel has a message for to-day, and for its brilliant character - drawing, and that gossipy desultory style of writing that stamps Mr. - White’s literary work, will earn a high place in fiction. It is good - and clean and provides a vacation from the cares of the hour. It - resembles a Chinese play, because it begins with the hero’s boyhood, - describes his long, busy life, and ends with his death. Its tone is - often religious, never flippant, and one of its best assets is its - glowing descriptions of the calm, serene beauties of nature. Its moral - is that a magnate never did any real good with money.”--_Oregonian_, - Portland, Oregon. - - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jugglers, by Molly Elliot Seawell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JUGGLERS *** - -***** This file should be named 62927-0.txt or 62927-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/9/2/62927/ - -Produced by D A Alexander, David E. 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