THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS.

Evening Star, Issue 6915, 30 May 1885, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS.

By B. L. FAEJEON.

(Copyrighted in New Zealand) Book IT— The Battle with Conscience. CHAPTER XVI. I'IKRKE LAMONT SEEKS THE HOSPITALITY OF THE HOUSE OK WHITE SHADOWS. The following day Pierre Lamont did not leave his bed, and was visited in his room by the Advocate and Christian Aimer. To the Advocate he said : " I trust I shall not incommode you, for I am compelled to throw myself upon your hospitality." "Get well, then," said the Advocate, " and enjoy it—which yon cannot do, thus confined."

“I do not know—l do not know,” said the old lawyer, gazing at the Advocate, and wondering how it was possible that this profound thinker and observer could be blind to the drama which was being acted at his very door, “one can still follow the world. Have you lead the papers this morning?” “ No—l have not troubled myself to look at them.”

“ Here is one that will interest you. What is called the freedom of the Press is growing into a scandal. Editors and critics abuse their charter, and need some wholesome check. But you are not likely to be moved by what they say.” He handed a newspaper to the Advocate, who walked to the window and read the editorial comments upon the trial and the part he had played in it. “ The trial of Gautran is over, and the monster whom all believe to be guilty of a foul murder is set free. The victim, unavenged, is in 'her grave, and a heavy responsibility lies not only upon the city, but upon the nation. Neither for good nor ill can the words we write affect the future of Gautran. Released by the law, lie is universally condemned. Justice is not satisfied. In all Switzerland there is but one man who in his soul believes the degraded wretch to be innocent, and that this man should be right and all others wrong we refuse to believe. Never in a cause so weighty have we felt it our duty to raise our voiceagainst a verdict reluctantly wrung from the citizens whose lot it was fo judge a human being accused of a horrible crime. The verdict cannot be disturbed. Gautran is free! There is a frightful significance in these words— Gautran is free! “ Removed from the feverish excitement of the court in which the trial took place, the report of the proceedings reads more like a stage drama than an episode of real life. All the elements which led to the shameful result are eminently dramatic, and were, without doubt, planned by the great Advocate who defended the accused with an eye to dramatic effect. It would scarcely surprise us were the climax now reached to be followed by an anticlimax in which Gautran’s champion of yesterday would become his accuser of to-day. Our courts of justice are becoming accustomed to this kind of theatrical display. Consider the profound sensation which would be produced by the great lawyer coming forward and saying: ‘ Yesterday, after a long and excited straggle, I proved to you that Gautran was innocent, and by my efforts he was let loose upon society. To-clay I propose to prove to yon that he is guilty, and I ask you to mete out to him his just punishment.’ A dangerous temptation, indeed, to one who studies effect. But there is a safeguard against such a course. It would so blacken the fame of any man who adopted it, however high that man might stand in the estimation of his peers and the people, that he could never hope to rise from the depths of shame into which ids own act had plunged him.

“ Many persons who believe that way will doubtless argue that there is something providential in the history of this ruthless murder of au unfortunate being. She is slain. Not a soul comes forward to claim kinship with her. None the less is she a child of (iod. Human reason leads to the arrest and imprisonment of Gautran. Providence brings upon the scene a great lawyer who, unsolicited, undertakes the defence of a monster, association with whom is defilement. The wretch is set free, and Justice stands appalled at what has been done in the name of the law. But this is not the end. Providence may have something yet in store which will bring punishment to the guilty and unravel this tangled skein. What, then, will the great Advocate have to say who deliberately and voluntarily brought about a miscarriage of justice so flagrant as to cause every honest heart to thrill with indignation ?” The Advocate did not read any further, but laid the paper aside, and said : “ Men who take part in public matters are open to attacks of this kind. There is nothing to complain of.” “And yet,” thought Pierre Lamont, when the Advocate left him, “ there was in iiis face, as ho read the article, an expression denoting that he was moved. Well, well —men are but human, even the greatest.” Later in the day he was visited by Christian Aimer, to whom he repeated his apologies. “ I have one of my bad attacks on me. They frequently last for days. At such times it is dangerous for me to be moved about.”

“Then do not be moved about,’" said Aimer, with a smile. But despite this smile, Aimer was inwardly disquieted. He had not been aware on the previous night that Pierre Lament occupied the next room to his. After the departure of the Advocate, Adelaide had not been careful; her voice had been frequently raised, and Aimer was anxious to ascertain whether it had reached the old lawyer’s ears. “ You slept well, I hope,” he said. “Yes, until the early morning, a little after sunrise. I am a very deep slee er for four or five hours. The moment I close my eyes sleep claims me, and holds me so securely that, were the house on lire, it would be difficult to arouse me. But the moment the sunshine peeps into my room, my rest is at an end. \V hen I had the use of my limbs I was an early riser.” Aimer’s mind was relieved. “ Sleeping in a strange bed is often not conducive to repose.” „ “ I have slept in so many strange beds. And Pierre Lament thought as he spoke: “ But never in a stranger bed than this.” “ You can still find occupation,” said Aimer, pointing to the books on table and bed, , , „ ~ “Ah, books, books, books! said Pierre Lament. ‘ ‘ What would the world do without them ? How did it ever do without them ? But X am old. and I am talking to a young man.” “My father was a bookworm and a student,” said Aimer. “ Were he alive, he would be disappointed that I do not tread in his footsteps.” . . , “ Perhaps not. He was a wise man, with a comprehensive mind. It would not do for us all to be monks.” CHAPTEP XVII. FRITZ THE FOOL RELATES A STRANGE DREAM TO PIKKRF. LA.MONT. Half-a-dozen times in the course of the day Pierre Lament had sent in search of Fritz the Fool, and it was not till the afternoon that Fritz made his appearance. “ You should have come earlier, fool, said Pierre Lament, with a frown. “ I was better engaged,” said Fritz coolly. “You fired me with those love-verses last uight, and I have been studying what to say to my peach.” _ ' “ The pretty Dionetta ! Rehearse, then; I am dull.” T “ Ah, I have much to tell you. 1 am thinking of saying to the peach : ‘ Dionetta, place your hand in mine, and we will both serve Pierre Lament. He will give us a home; he will pay us liberally ; and when he dies he will not leave us unprovided for. “ And if the peach should laugh in your facer “ I would reason with it. I would say : ‘ Look you now; you cannot be always ripe, you cannot be always mellow and luscious. Do not waste the precious sunshine of life, but give yourself to a clever fool, who carps

quite as much for your fair face and beautiful skin as lie does for the diamond baubles in your ears.’ ’ “ Diamond earrings, Fritz I You are dreaming?” “.Not at this moment—though I had a dream last night, after I left you, which I may tell you if I don’t repent of it before I disclose it. Yes, Master Lamont, diamond earrings—as I’m a living fool, diamonds of value. See, Master Lamont, I don’t want this peacli to be gathered yet. It is well placed, it is in favor; it is making itself In some way useful, not to finer but to richer fruit. Heaven only knows what may be rained upon it when the very first summer shower brings a diamond finger-ring, and the second a pair of diamond earrings. A diamond brooch, perhaps; money for certain, if it will take a fool’s advice. And of course, it will do that if, seeing that the fool is a proper fool, the peach says kindly, ‘I am yours.’ That is the way of it, is it not, Master Lamont ?” “I am waiting to hear more, Fritz," said Pierre Lamont, with a full epjoyment of Fritz’s loquacity. “Behind the summer-house, Master Lamont, lies a lovely lake, clear as crystal in parts where it is not covered with fairy lilies. lam as good as a pair of eyes to you to tell you of these beauties. The water is white and shining, and at one part there is a mass of willows bending over; then there is a break, clear of the shadow of branch and leaf; then there is another mass of willows. From a distance you would think that there was no break in the foliage; you have to go close to it to make the discovery, and ouce you are there you are completely hidden from sight. Not more than two hours ago I was passing this spot at the back of the willows, when I heard a voice—a girl’s voice, Master Lamont—saying quite softly, 1 Oh, how lovely ! how beautiful—how beautiful!’ It was Dionetta’s voice ; I should know it among a thousand. Through the willows I crept with the foot of a cat till I came to the break, and there was Dionctta herself, bending over the water, and sighing, ‘ Oh, how lovely ! how beautiful!’ She could not see me, for her back was towards me, and I took care she did not hear me. She was shaking her pretty head over the water, and I shouldn’t deserve to be called a fool if I had not felt curious to see what it was in the lake that was so lovely and beautiful. Perhaps it was her own face she was admiring. Well, she had a perfect right, and I was ready to join in the chorus. I crept up to her as still as a mouse, and looked over her shoulder. She gave a great scream when she saw my face in the lake, and I caught hold of her to prevent her from falling in. Then I saw what almost took away my breath. In her ears there flashed a pair of diamond earrings, the like of which I never in my life beheld in our village. Her face got as red as a sunset as I gazed at her. ‘ How you frightened me, Fritz !’ she said. I set the earrings swinging with my fingers and said ‘Where did you get those wonderful things from ?’ She answered me pat. ‘My lady gave them to me.’ ‘ They are yours, then ?” I asked, ‘ Yes, Fritz,’ she said, ‘ they arc mine, and I came here to see how I look in them. They are so grand that I am ashamed to put them on unless lam alone. Don’t tell anybody, will you, Fritz? If grandmother knew I had them she would take them from me. She would never, never let me wear them. Don’t tell anybody. ’ Why, of course I said I would not, and then I asked why my lady gave them to her, and she said it was because my lady loved her. So, so ! thought I, as I left my peach—l would like to have given her just one kiss, but I did not dare to try—so, so ! my lady gives her maid a pair of diamond earrings that areas suitable to her as a crown of gold to an ass’s head. There is something more than common between lady and maid. What is it, Master Lamont, what is it?”

“ A secret, fool, which, if you get your peach to tell, will I e worth much to you. And as you and I are going to keep our own counsel, learn from me that this secret has but one of two kernels. Love or jealousy. Set your wits at work, Fritz, set your wits at work, and keep your eyes open, I may help you to your peach, fool. And now about that dream of yours. Were you asleep or awake at the time

Fritz stepped cautiously to the door, opened it, looked along the passage, closed the door, and came close to the bedside. “ Master Lamont,” ho said, “ what I dreamt is something so strange that it will take a great deal of thinking over. Do you know why I tell you things ?” “ I might guess wrong, Fritz. Save me the trouble.”

“You have never been but one way with me ; you have never given mo a hard word ; you have never given me a blow. When I was a boy—twenty years ago and more, Master Lamont—you were the only man who spoke kind words to me, who used to pat my head and pity me. For, if you remember, Master Lamont, I was nothing but a castaway, living on charity, and everybody but you made me feel it. Gutted by this one and that one, kicked, and laughed at—but never by you. Even a fool can bear these things in mind.” “Well, well, Fritz, go on with your dream. You are making me hungry.” “ It came nearly two hours after midnight. At that time I was in the grounds. All was dark. There was nobody about but me, until the Advocate came. Then I slipped aside, and watched him. He walked up and down, like a machine. It was not as if a man was walking, but a figure of steel. It was enough to drive me crazy, it was so like clockwork. Twice he almost discovered me. He looked about him, he searched the grounds, still with the same measured step, lie called aloud, and asked if anybodyVas near. Then he w'ent into the house, and into the study. I knew he was there by the shifting of the lights in the room, being alone with the shadow's, your love-verses came into my mind, and you may believe me, Master Lamont, I made my way to t.ic window of the room in which Dionetta sleeps, and stood there looking up at it. I should have been right down ashamed of myself if I hadn’t been dreaming. Is it the way of lovers, Master Lamont? ‘Faster than bees to flow'ers they wing their way '; that is how the line runs, is it not? Well, there stood I, a bee, dreaming in the dark night, before the window of my flower. An invisible flower, unfortunately, lint thoughts are free ; you can’t put chains on them. So there stood I, for how many minutes I cannot say, imagining my flower. Now, if I had known that her pretty head was lying on the pillow, with great diamond earrings in her ears—for that is a certainty —I might not perhaps have been able to tear myself away. Luckily for my dream, that knowledge had still to come to me, so I wandered off, and found myself once more staring at the lights in the Advocate’s study windows. Now, what made me step quite close to them, and put my eye to a pane which the curtains did not quite cover ? I could see clear into the room. Imagine my surprise, Master Lamont, when I discovered tliat the Advocate "was not alone \ Master Lamont, you know every man in the village, but I would give you a thousand guesses, and you would not hit upon the name of the Advocate's friend. From where !■ stood I could not hear a word that was said, but I saw everything. I saw the Advocate go to a cupboard, and give this man liquor; he poured it out for himself. Then they talked then the Advocate brought forward a silver basket of biscuits, and the man ate some, and stuffed some into his pockets. They were on the very best of terms with each other. The Advocate gave his friend some money —pieces of gold, Master Lamont; I saw them glitter. The man counted them, and by his action asked for more ; and more was given ; the Advocate emptied his purse into the man’s hand. Then, after further conversation, the man turned to leave the room. It was time for me to scuttle from my peep-hole. Presently the man was in the grounds stepping almost as softly as I stepped after him. For I was not going to lose him, Master Lamont; my curiosity was whetted to that degree that it would have taken a great deal to prevent me from following this friend of the Advocate’s. • How will he get out ?’ thought I. ‘ The gates are locked ; he will hardly venture to scale them.’ Two or three times he stopped and looked behind him ; he did not see me. He arrived at the wall which stretches at the back ; he climbed the wall; so did I, in another and an easier part; ho dropped down with a thud and a groan; I let myself to the ground without disturbing a leaf. Presently he picked himself up and walked

off, with more haste than before. I followed him. He stopped; I stopped ; ho walked on again, so did I. Again he stopped, and cried aloud : ‘I hear you follow me 1 Is not one killing enough for you ?’ And then lie gave a scream so awful that the hair rose on my head, ‘ She is hero!’ he screamed; ‘ she is here, and is driving me to madness !’ With that he took to his heels and tore through field and forest really like a madman. I could not keep up with him, and after an hour’s running I completely lost sight of him. There was nothing for me to do but to get back to the villa. I returned the way I came—l had plenty to think about on the road—and I was once more before the windows of the Advocate’s study. The lights were still there. The Advocate, I believe, can live without sleep, I peeped through the window, and there he was, sitting at his table reading, with an expression of power in his face which might well make any man tremble who dared to oppose him. That is the end of my dream, Master Lamont.” “ But the man, Fritz, the man !’’ exclaimed Pierre Lamont. “I am still in ignorance as to who this strange, nocturnal visitor can be.”

“There lies the pith of my dream. If I were to tell you that this man who makes his way secretly into the grounds in the darkness of the night—who is closeted with the Advocate for an hour at least—who is treated to wine and cake—who is presented with money, and grumblingly asks for more, and gets it—if I were to tell you that this man is Gautran, who was tried for the murder of Madeline, the flower girl, and who was set free by the Advocate—wiiat would you say, Master Lamont ?” “I should say,” replied Pierre Lamont, with some difficulty controlling his excitement, “that you were mad, fool Fritz." “ Nevertheless,” said Fritz with great composure, “it Is so, I have related my dream as it occurred. The man was Gautran, and no other. Can you explain that to me in one word ?”

“ No,’’said Pierre Lamont, gazing sharply at Fritz. “ You are not fooling me, Fritz?” “If it were my last word it would make no difference. I have told you the truth.” “ You know Gautran’s face well ?”

“I was in the court every day of the trial, and there is no chance of my being mistaken. See here, Master Lamont. I can do many things that would surprise people. I can draw faces. Give me a pencil and some paper.” With a few rapid strokes he produced the very linage of Pierre Lamont, sitting up in bed, with thin, cadaverous face, with high forehead, and large*nose; even the glitter of the old lawyer’s eves was depicted. Pierre Lamont examined the portrait with admiration.

“ I am proud of you, Fritz,” he said j “ you have the true artist’s touch,” Fritz was busy with the pencil again. “Who may this be?" he asked, holding another sketch before Pierre Lamont.

“The Advocate. To the life, Fritz, to the life.”

“This is alas to the life,” said Fritz, producing a third portrait. “ This is Gauran. It is all I can draw, Master Lamont—human faces; I could do it when I was a boy. There is murder in Gautran's face 5 there was murder in the words I heard him speak as I followed him ; *ls not one killing enough for you ?’ There is only one meaning to such words. I leave you to puzzle it all out, Master Lamont. You have a wise head; lam a fool. Mother Denise may be right, after all, when she said—not knowing I was within hearing—that it was an evil day when my lady, the Advocate’s wife, set foot in the grounds of the House of White Shadows, But it is no business of mine ; only I must look after my peach, or it may suddenly be spirited away on a broomstick. Unholy work, Master Lamont, unholy work! What do you say to letting Father Capel into the mystery V” “ Not for worlds !” cried Pierre Lamont. *• Priests in such matters are the rarest bunglers. No—the secret is ours, yours and mine ; you shall be well paid for your share in it. Without my permission you will not speak of it—do you hear me, Fritz ?” “ I hear you, and will obey you.” “ Good lad ! Ah, what would I give if I had the use of my limbs and my eyes—my second self. Help me to dress, Fritz—quick, quick !" “ Master Lamont,” said Fritz, with a sly laugh, 11 be careful of your precious self. You are ill, you know, very, very ill ! You must keep your bed. I cannot run the risk of losing so good a master.” “ 1 have a dozen years of life in me yet, fool. This dried-up old skin, these withered limbs, this lack of fat, are my protection. If I were a stout, fine man I might go off at any moment. As it is, I may live to a hundred—old enough to sec your grandchildren, Fritz. But yes, yes, yes—l am indeed very weak ! Let everybody know it—so weak and ill that it is not possible for mo to leave this hospitable house for many, many days. The medicine I require is the fresh air - of the gardens. With my own eyes I must see what I can of the comedy that is being played under our very noses. I, also, had dreams last night, Fritz, rare dreams ! Ah —what a comedy, what a comedy ! But there are tragic veins in it, fool, which make it all the more human.” Book V.—The Boom of (Jantran. CHAPTER I. ADELAIDE STRIVES TO PROPITIATE PIERRE LAMONT. The following night was even darker than the preceding one had been. In the afternoon portents of a coming storm were apparent in the sky. Low mutterings of thunder in the distance travelled faintly to the ears of the occupants of the House of White Shadows. The Advocate’s wife shuddered as she heard the sounds. “ There are only two things in the world I am afraid of,” she said to Pierre Lament, “ and those are thunder and lightning. When I was a little child a dreadful thing occurred to me. I was playing in a garden when a storm came on. I was all alone, and it was some distance to the house. The storm broke so suddenly that I had not time to reach shelter without getting myself drenched, I dare say, though, 1 should have run through ithad I not been frightened by the Hashes of lightning that seemed to want to cut me in two. I flew behind a tree, and stood there trembling. _ Every time a flash came I shut my eyes tight and screamed. But the storm did not allow my cries to be heard. You can imagine the state I was in. It would not have mattered, except for the wetting, had I kept my eyes closed, but like a little fool I opened them once, and just at that moment a flash seemed to strike the tree behind which I stood. I can almost hear the shriek I gave, as I fell and fainted dead away. There, lying on the wet grass, I was found. A dreadful-looking object I must have been ! They carried me into the house, and when I was conscious of what was passing around mo I asked why they did not light the gas. The fact is I was quite blind, and remained so for several days. Was it not shocking? I shall never, never forget my fright. Can you imagine anything more dreadful than being struck blind ? To be born blind cannot be half as bad, for one does not know what one loses never having seen the flowers, and the fields, and the beautiful skies. But to enjoy them, and then to lose them ! It is altogether too horrible to think of."

She was very gracious to the old lawyer during the afternoon. “ Do you know,” she said, “ I can’t quite make up my mind whether to be fond or frightened of you.” “ Be fond of me,” said Pierre Lament, with a queer look. “ I shall see how you behave. lam afraid you are very clever. I don't like clever people, they are so suspicious, pretending to know everything always.” “ I am very simple,” said Pierre Lament, laughing inwardly. Ho knew that she wanted to propitiate him; “ and beauty can lead me by a silken thread.” “ Is that another of your compliments ? I declare, you speak as if you were a young man.’.

She did, indeed, desire to win Pierre Lament entirely to her, and she would have endured much to make him her friend instead of her enemy. Christian Aimer had tokl her that the old lawyer had slept in the next room to his, and she had set herself the task of sounding the old fellow to ascertain whether his suspicions were aroused, and whether she had anything to fear from him. She could not help saying to herself what a

fool Mother Denise--who looked after the household arrangements—was to put him so close to Christian.

“ I do believe,” thought Adelaide, “ that she did it to spite me.” Her mind, however, was quite at ease after chatting with the old lawyer. “I am so glad we are friends,” she said to him ; “ it is altogether so much nicer.” Pierre Lament looked reproachfully at her, and asked her how she could ever have supposed lie was anything but her most devoted admirer.

“ Lawyers are so fond of mischief, ’ she replied, “that if it does not come to them ready-made they manufacture it for themselves,”

“ I am no longer a lawyer,” he said ; “ if I were twenty years younger 1 should call myself a lover.” “ If you were twenty years younger,” she rejoined gaily, “I should not sit and listen to your nonsense,” Being called from his side she turned and gave him an arch look. “ All that only makes the case stronger, my lady,” he said inwardly. “ Yon cannot deceive me with your wiles.” {To be continued.)