The Novelist

Lake County Press, Issue 790, 13 January 1898, Page 3 (Supplement)

The Novelist

GUBvailer He iMson z^Boige.^-

A TALE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. THRILLING AND REALISTIC STORY UK THE REIGN OF TERROR.

CHAPTER XXV. THE BILLET. Immediately following the events wc nre about to relate, the lust scene of the drama enrolled itself, as a sad finale to this sudden change in the wheel of fortune. The woman Tison, struck as by n thunderbolt, at what had occurred, and totally abandoned by those who had escorted her (for tb*re is something even revolting in mi involuntary crime, and it certainly amounts to a great crime when a mother condemns her own daughter to tin ignominious death, were it even from excess of zealous patriotism), the woman, after remaining for some time in a state of insensibility, at length raised her head, looked wildly around, and finding herself deserted nnd alone, uttered a ioud cry, and rushed toward the door. ' ■ At this door a few idlers, more Curious than the rest, still remained congregated together, who dispersed when they beheld her, and pointing with their fingers, said one to another, “Do you sec that woman ? It is she who denounced her daughter.” The wretched woman uttered a cry of despair uiiTl rushed toward the temple. But on reaching the third house of La Kuc Michel le Comte, a man placed hiiuspii in irout of her, impeding her progress, and concealing his face and figure in his mantle. "Are yon content,’’ said ho, "now you have killed your child?” “Killed my child !” cried the poor woman. “killed my child! No, no, it is not I*ossible !" “It is so, notwithstanding, (for your daughter lias been arrested.” "And where have they taken her?” “To the conciercerie; from there she "in oe sent to the Revolutionary Tril)Un«l, and yon know what becomes of IbVtse who are sent there.” ( ~li!t ni[> aside,” said the woman Tison, "and let me pass.” “B here are you going 7” “To the conciergcrie.” are you going there for 7” “To sec her again.” "They will not allow yon to enter." "They will peril!t me to lie at the floor, to live there, to sleep there. I will remain there till she goes out, and then, at least, I shall see her onec more.” “Suppose some one promised to restore you your child ?” “Bhat is that you say?" "I ask you, supjiosing a man were to promise to give you hack your child, ■would you do what this man required of you in return ?” “Everything for my child; all for my Hel ( oiee !" cried the woman, wringing her hands. “All, nil, all!” “Listen,” paid the unknown. "It in God who mow punishes you.” “And for. what 7” “For the tortures you have inflicted so mercilessly on n poor mother as unhappy as yourtelf.” ur wholn do yon speak. 7 B'hat do yon mean 7” “Ton have often driven the unhappy prisoner to the very verge of despair, where you are yourself at this moment, by your revelations nnd brutalities. God now punishes you fur all this by conductfug this daughter, whom yon love so much, to the scaffold,” “Yon said there was some man who fould save her; where is this man ? what does he want ? what will he demand?” "This man requires Hint you reuse to persecute the queen, that you deinanA pardon for the outrages already committed again, t her, a.nd if at any time you perceive that thus woman,who is also a weeping, despairing mother, by any uni forseen clremnstn nccs.or by some miracle from Heaven, is uism the point of saving herself, instead of opposing her flight, you do nil in your power to aid land abet it." "Listen, citizen," said the woman risen. “You are the man —is it not so .’ “B'ell ?” “It is you who promises to save my fhi 111 ?” The unknown remained silent. “Will you engage to do it ? B ill yon promise ? B'ill you swear it ? Answer me." “All that a man can do to save a wo-man-I will do to save your daughter. “He cannot save her," cried the woman, uttering piercing cries, “he cannot save h°r. B'hen he promised me he lied.” "Do what you can (or the queen, and I will do all in my power lor four daughter.” “B’hat care I for the queen 7 She is not my daughter. If they must lecapitate someone, it shall not be my daughter, it shall be her. They may -at any throat so that they spare my child's. Thev mav lend me to the guillotine, so I hat they do nolt harm a hair o5 her head and I will go there singing : “ ’Ah ! cu irn, cairn, ca ira.’ ”• And she commenced singing in a frightful voice, then suddenly stopped short, and burst into a fit of frenzied laughter. The man iu'the mantle himself apppeared alarmed at this burst of folly, and retreated a step or two from her. “Ah. you shall not escape me thus,” said the woman Tison in despair, and retaining her hold of his mantle; you shall not at a moment say, ‘Do this find 1 will rescue your child,' and afterwards say, ‘perhaps.’ Will you save her ?’ “Yes." “How ?” “The day she is conducted from the tjie scaffold.” i . “But wh“wait—why not to-night ? this evening—this moment, even ?' “Because I cannot do so.” “Ah ! you know von cannpt: yon well know you cannot,” cried the woman lison "Bnt, as for me, I can.” "B'hat can you do?” “f ran persecute the prisoner, I eoji watch the queen, ns you term her, aristocrat as roil are, ami 1 can enter *lhe prison nnv hour of the day or night. AR fhi? will do. We wll see how much she will escape: we will see. Yes, we shall see, since they do not save my daughter, who ought to do so if they

YOU SHALL NOT ESCAPE ME THUS, rould. Head for head. Do you ]ike Iba t7 Marie Antoinette has been queen. Heloiso is oiUnt n poor girl. 1 very

in the mautle. “But you perform your part, and 1 will fulfill mine.” “Swear.” “1 swear it.” “But what do you swear?” anything you choose.” “Have vou a child 7 i i I "No.” “8011, then.” said the woman, in a disappointed tone, “by what can you swear 7” “Listen. 1 swear by God I” “Bah!” exclaimed the woman Tison, "von know very well they have demolished the ancient nnd have not yet derided on the new." •T swear by the tomb of my father. “Swear not by a tomb, for that is prophetic of evil. Oh, my God ! my God I When 1 think that perhaps in three days I may swear by the tomb of my 'child also.’ My daughter! My poor Heloise!” cried the woman Tison. frantically; till nt the sound of her voice, raised *o a shrill scream, several windows were opened. At the sight of the opened windows, another man, who seemed to detach himself from the wall, advanced toward the first, “There is nothing can bo done with this woman," said he; “she is mad.” “No; she is a mother,” replied the former, nnd dragged his companion a way. B'hen she saw them leaving her, the woman Tison again returned to the subject, “Whore are you going?” cried she. “Are you going to rescue Holoiso 7 B ait for me, then; 1 "ill go with yon. Bn-it for me; do wait for me.” And the poor wretch followed them, screaming, till nt the corner of the nearest street she lost sight of them altogether; and not knowing which way to turn, she remained for an instant undecided. looking on cveryside, when, seeing only in the silence of tho night a double symbol of death, she uttered ft cry of horror and fell on the pavement without sense or motion. The clock struck ten. During this time, and while the same hour was resounding from the temple clock, the, queen, as usual, sat in her chamber, between her daughter and her sister. Near her was ft lighted lamp, concealed from the sight of tho municipal by Mine. Royale, who pretended to embrace her mother, who was reading over again n small billet written on the smallest piece of paper imaginable, nnd in characters so minute that her eyes, already blinded by her scalding tears, scarcely retained strength to decipher it. The billet contained the following lines ; “To-morrow, Tuesday, demand permission to walk ii the, garden ; this " ill be ntcorded without any difficulty as an order Ims been issued granting yon this favor whenever you think proper to solicit it. After two or three turns, feign to feel fatigued, approach the cabin, and ask the widow Plnmeau to allow you to sit down Then, in a moment, pretend to feel worse, and taint away. They will thcr close ull tho doors, that they may be able to render yon assistance, and yon will remain with Mum. Elizabeth and Madame Royale. Immediactely the trap door of the collar will open. Precipitate yourself, your sister, your daughter through this ajicrture, and yon nre all three saved.'” “Mon Dien !”’ said Mine. Royale, “one evil destiny tires in the pursuit.” “If this billet should prove only ft trap,” said Mine. Elizabeth. “No, no,” said the queen; these characters have always indicated to me Hm presence of a mysterious but equally brave nnd faithful' friend.” “Is it the Chevalier 7” demanded Mine. Koya le. “He, himself,'” replied Hie qneen. Mine. Elizabeth clasped her hands. “Let us each read the billet again, very softly,” replied the queen, "so that if one of us forget nay particulars, Hie others can supply them.” They all three re-read the letter, nnd had. just finished so doing, when they heard the door of their chamber turn slowly on its hinges. The two princesses turned round, the queen alone remained stationary, except l>.v an imperceptible movement she raised her hand to her hair and hid the billet in her head dress. It was a municipal who opened the door. “B'hat is .vjiir business, monsieur ? ’ demanded Mine. Elizabeth and Mine. Royale at the same moment. “Hum!” said the municipal, "it npj>ea rs, to me that you retire very late to-night.” “Is there, then,” said the queen, with her usual dignity, “a new decree from the Commune, stating the hour at which I am to go to bed ?” “No, citoyenne," said Hie municipal; “hut if necessary, they will make one.” "in the meantime, "monsieur,” said Ma rie Aiitoinaette, "respect Ido not say the chamber of the queen—bnt that of a woman.” “Truly,” growled tho municipal, “those aristocrats always speak ns if they was something.” But, in the meantime, subdued by the haughty dignity of her prosperity, bnt which three years of suffering had calmed down, he withdrew. An instant afterward the lamp was extinguished, a.nd the three females retired in darkness, ns usual. The next morning at nine o'clock, the queen having reread the letter before she arose, ju order that she might not misconstrue any of the instructions contained then*, tore, it into almost invisible fragments. She then hastily finished her toilet, awoke her sister, and entered the chamber of the princess. A minute afterward she came out and called the municipals on guard. "B'hat do you want, citoyenne ?’’ said one of them, appearing at the door, while the other did not even discontinue his breakfast to answer tho royal appeal. “Monsieur,” said Marie Antoinette. “I have just left my daughter’s chamber, and found her very ill. Her limbs arc swollen for want of exercise, and you know, monsieur, it is I who have doomed her to this life of inaction. I received permission to walk in the garden; but in 1 descending 1 must necessarily pass the door of tho room occupied by my husband in his lifetime. B’hen I made Hie attempt my heart failed me, »nd 1 had not courage to do so, and I have since limited m}' walks to the platform. Now, however. 1 find this exercise insufficient for my poor child. I, therefore, entreat you, Citizen Munirinal. in my name, to claim of General Sftuterre the renewal of this privilege.” The queen had pronounced these words' in a manner at once so mild, yet dignified, bad so strenuously avoided all allusions to anything could wound the the feelings of the Republican, that he who had entered her presence with his bend covered, as for the most part was th'vrustom of those men, gradually raised his bonnet-rouge, and said, when she, had finished, bowed respectfully to her : "Rest assured, madame, your petition ftynll bo laid before the citizen general.” Then, on retiring, ns if to convince him»elf be had yielded to justice rattier Ilian weakness ; “It is just,” said bo, “after all ; it is only right.” “B'hat 'is just ?” demanded the oilier municipal. “That this woman should be permitted to walk in the garden with her child, who is an invalid,” “BnL 1” said the other; “when she asks to Be allowed to walk from the temple to La I’lacc dc la Revolution, that will be permitted her fast enough.” The queen heard those words, nnd turned very pale, but still drew from them fresh courage for tho great attempt she meditated. Tho municipal finished his ureakfust, and descended. The queen requested she might take hors in her daughter’s room, which was granted. Mine. Royale, to confirm the statement concerning her ill-heulth, did not quit her bed; the queen nnd Mine. Elizabeth remained near her.

to relieve those on guard. When Pun* term had Sully reviewed the battnlloni leaving, and the one about to take its place, and bad paraded his large, heavylimbed horse round the court of the temple, he stood still for a- moment. This was for the purpose of receiving any claims, denunciations or requests. The municipal, availing himself of this halt, approached him. “Well, what do you want 7’’ said San* term, brusquely. “Citizen,’’ said the municipal, “I come to entreat on the part of the queen--” “Who is the queen V" interrupted San- . term. | “True!” said the municipal, astonished at his own mistake. "What have I said? 1 must bo mad. i canto to speak on the part of Madame Veto.” “All it, good time, 1 ' said Santerre. | “Now I understand you; what have you [ to say to me?” I * 1 he f.rimg Veto is ill, it appears, from want of proper air and axercise,” “Well, is it necessary again to bring this before the public? The nation granted her permission to walk in the garden, nnd she refused it. Bon soir.” “That is exactly it. She regrets this now, nnd requests you will permit her to do so.” “There is no difficulty about that. Ton all hear.” said Santcrrc, “that Capets wife will come down to walk in the garden. Now,” addressing the whole battalion, r ‘takc care she does not abuse this favor granted her by the nation, by making her escape over the walls, for if that happens J will cut off every one of your heads." A roar of laughter followed this pleasantry of the citizen general. “Now that is settled,” said Panterre, “adieu. I am going xo the Convention. It appears they are about to reunite Roland and Barbarous, nnd the question in to deliver their passport to another world.” It was this intelligence that had put the citizen general in such good humor. He then galloped away. The battalion just quitted guard followed him, then the municipals also gave place to those who had received Snnterre’s instructions regarding the queen. One of the municipals who went tip to Marie Antoinette perceived, while thanking him, that her daughter turned from rod to pale, while the sister seemed engaged in thanks to God. “Ah I' thought she, looking through the window toward heaven, “your soul reposes there, seigneur, hut will your terrible doom bo allowed to fall heavily upon us 7” “Thanks, monsieur,” said she, with that fascinating smile which had proved the ruin of Bemmiie, and turned the heads of so many of his fcllowmen, “thanks!” Then, turning round to her little dog, who leaped after her, walking on his hind legs, for he well understood from the looks of his mistress, that something unusual was about to take place. “Come, Jet.” said she, wo are going for a walk.’ The little animal began to frisk end jump, and after looking at the municipal attentively, comprehending, no doubt, that from this man originated the intelligence which had made his mistress so happy, ran toward him, and wagging his long and silky tail, ventured even to caress him. This man, who perhaps might he insensible to the prayers of a queen, could noi resist the caresses of a little dog. "If only on account of this little beast, you should go out more frequently, Citoyer.no Capet. ’Humanity commands us to take care of every creature.” “At what hour shall we go out, monsieur?' demanded the queen. “Do you not think the sun would do us good?" “Von can go out when you please,’* said the municipal, “there has been no restriction on the subject. If you like to go out at midday, as that is the time they change the sentinels, there will ho lesfr'bustlc in the court.” “Then let it be at midday,” said the queen, pressing her hand to her side to still the tenting of her heart. And she regarded, this man, who appeared to her less stern than Ids associates, and who, perhaps, for kindly yielding to the wishes of a prisoner,-might fall a sacrifice to the conspiracy which they meditated. Rut at the moment when compassion was stealing over the heart of the woman, the. mind of the queen was a roused, She thought of the corpses of her faithful friends strewed upon the floors of the palace on the 10th of August; phe recalled to memory the End of September, nnd the head of the Princess Lnmbelle, carried on a pike before her windows; she remembered the 21st of January, when her husband died upon the scaffold, the noise of the drums extinguishing his feeble voice; then again she thought of her eon, whose cries of distress had more than once reached her ears, nnd her heart became hardened. “Alas!" cried she, “misfortune is like tha blood of the ancient Hydras—it is teem* ful of crops of future evils i ’ CHAPTER XXVI, THE I.ITLTE DOG JET. The municipal loft to call his colleagues, and to ivad the proces-verbal loft by the former municipals. The queen remifiueu alone with her sister and child. They all three guarded one another, 'then Mine. Roy ale threw her arms around the queen and warmly embraced her. Mine. Elizeboth approached her sister and heM out her hand. “Let us offer up our prnjers to God,” said the queen, “but in a manner that no one hem's us,” It was one of those fatal epochs when prayer, that natural hymn of praise which God has implanted in every human heart, became auspicious in the eyes of these men, since prayer is an act of praise and acknowledgment for mercies received. But in Hie ideas of these guardians hope and gratitude afforded subject for inquietude, since the queen could only hope tor flight, and could thank God only for affording her the means of effecting it. This mental prayer concluded, nil three remained without uttering n word. Twelve o'clock struck, then three quarters, then one. But the moment when the last stroke resounded from the bronze timbrel, the n-ise of arms was heard on the spiral staircase ascending to the queen. “They arc relieving sentinels,” said she, “they come to seek us." She saw her dialer and daughter turn very pale. "Courage!" said she, trembling herself with emotion. “It is one o’clock." said a firm voice below. ''Lot the prisoners descend.” “B’c arc here, gentlemen," replied the queen, who, with a sentiment almost of regret, embraced at a glance the black walls, and the rude appurtenances which had been more or loss the companions of her captivity. The first jwicket opened, they gained the corridor, which, being dark, enabled the three captives to coneeal their emotions. Before them frolicked little Jet; but when they arrived at the second—is to say, the door ir**n which Mario Antoinette endeavored to turn her exes—the faithful little animal first placed his nose to the ground, then laid his head upon his paws, and gave utterance to a succession of plaintive cries, which terminated in a prolonged howl. The queen passed on quickly, not having strength sufficient to recall the dog, and supported herself against the wall; then, essaying to advance again a few steps, hey limltf refused their office, and she felt herself compelled to stop. Her sister and daughter approached her, and for n few moments the three female* remained motionless, forming a melancholy group, the mother resting her face upon the head of her daughter, when little Jot rejoined them. i 'jdjgmtfMMMfii ini Hr i i~~ "do you or

TUJii MATGH-MAKING MAMMA. Beene.—A dru wing-room in a French country house. Monsieur ; Well,at last we are to have a little rest, after a season of the seaside, which, I confess, 1 find rather wearing, Madsino : Wearing indeed, especially for a mother, who must sit against the wall for (Ire mortal hours at a lime, while her daughter is being whirled about the room, with her head press* d against a lot of polished shirt fronts, [under any one of which may beat the heart of a [future son-in-law. ‘ Monanur: U was for her sake that 1 bars jsulYt red a similar martyrdom myself. But after •live years of this sort of thing it seems to me ,Ai;nfs might be able to make up her mind, 'What is she waiting for ? Madame : Let mo question her. It may be that she has singled out someone without our suspecting it. Ah, here she is. Come and sit here beside me. I want to talk seriously to you. Agnes : Yes, mamma, (She sits.) Madame (solemnly) ; My child, you are now old enough to marry. : Agnes : Yrs, mamma, Madame ■ You know that every year since you wi re 18 wo have taken you to all the seaside resorts that seemed to promise best. Well, my child, we cannot go on like this for ever. You do not wish to sentence your father and mother to a round ol boarding-houses for ever, 1 hope. Haven’t you ma le a choice from among l all your partners ? Agues : A choice ? I thought it was the gentleman s place to Madame : To propose—of course, my child; But it is the girl’s part to make them wish to da so. Agnes ; But I don’t know how, mamma. Madame (a little sharply) : Let us see—haven’t your partners said anything to you ? Agues : Oh, yes, they generally say ; “ It it very warm this evening; don’t you think ?” Ma dame ; Well, what more do you want f That is the first step —that is the way 1 married your father, I scarcely know him. One night at a ball he said to me '• “ It is quite warm this evening, don’t you think Y” I replied, with a smile,** Ob, yes, sir.” And a fortnight later be was ” Monsieur : Caught ! Madame : A marriageable young girl should read men’s thought’s in their glaucrs. And even if the gentleman does not say anything, il is often just ttien that he is most elegant. Agnes : Ah, I thought so. One gentleman who never says anything when he is with me is M. Latour. Madame : Our new country neighbour ! He has a substantial fortune and a good presence. Ami ho is a confirmed bachelor in the bargain. They arc always the easiest to laud. Where have you met him ? Agnes : Since we have been back here he has called three times when you were out. Ho has always been shown into the drawing-room, and he never says anything but “ Pardon me, mademoiselle, but I wished to see your father,” and then he goes away. ' Madame ; Ho wished to see your father, and you did not detain him Y Agnes ; But lie didn't come to see mo. Madame . You poor innocent ! Why should, be call on the father of a marriageable young girl except tor her hand ? A husband, lot me ill you, should be taken by assault. And if a girl wishes it, in an instant ” Agnes : Oh, here he comes now ! He is coming up the walk. Madame (triumphantly) . “ Well, we shall try conclusions, M. Latour. Your father and 1 will leave you, Agnes, and you will receive him. Don’t by any chance let him got away. 1 shall bo here when 1 am needed.” (They go out.) Agnes (alone) : “ 1 don’t know what to say to this young man. I certainly cannot propose to him myself. (A servant shows in M. Latour.) Latour ; ** I’ruy forgive me for disturbing you, mademoiselle. I called to see your father.” Agues (aside) : “ There ; what did I say ? (Aloud.) My father is at home, 1 believe. Will you not sit down while he is being informed that you are here Y" Latour (aside ns he sits) : “ The old gentleman seems to he pretty hard to catch. However, I am glad to have a moment’s respite to run over my plan of campaign. I have certainly r very delicate matter to propose. Had I better «ny to him,boldly : “ Sir, I am an enthusiastic rpoitsmuu. My preserves are not large i nougU for me. and yon have four partridge fields on your estate,as lam informed. At what [igme would you bo willing to ieaso them to :nc ?” But perhaps he would not like to lease ins ground ;he might be offended. Would it on better, then, to ask permission to ramble aver his lields with my gun ! —for he doesn't she ot.” Agnes (aside) : And this is the gentleman mamma wishes me to talk to ! How easy it is ! Latour (aloud) : Perhaps your lather is busy. I will call again. (He is about to rise.) Agnes : Do not go sir. He cannot be long. I have already told him that you hare called several times to see him, Latour : It is n matter of great importnice to me. Agues (aside) : According to mamma, X should consider great importance an avowal.! (A pause.) Agnes (aside): Now it is my turn to say some' thing. (Aloud.) It is quite warm to-day is il notr 1 Latour : Oh, yes, indeed mademoiselle. (The door opens and Madame enters.) Madame (with empressement) : M. La f our, our neighbour, is it not Y Latour : Yes, madams, I called to see your husband. Madame : My husband, or myself, it makes no difference. Latour (aside) i How much shall I offer hei lur her partridge fields ? Madame (affectionately) : I have divined, sir. tbs* object of your visit. Latour (surprised) : Indeed ? (Aside.) My gamekeeper must have been gossiping. Madame : Your intentions do us honour. Latour: I shall not haggle over the matter, bo Madame (quickly) : Nor shall we, for we drem you worthy to possess such a treasure. Latour (aside) ; Four partridge Helds a treasure 1 Madame : In a ward, we confide to you our most cherished possession. Latour (aside) : Does she imagine 1 am going to robber of her crops Y (Aloud) : Madame, you may rest assured no one could husband more carefully Madame (exploding) : Now, that we understand each other, come to my arms, my son-in-! law. Latcur (startled) : Mo ! I , Madame ; And kiss my daughter. 1 permit it. Latour (startled) ; Pardon me, I Madame : Nay, banish your timidity 1 Latour (bewildered) : But I assure you, I —(stammering). Marriage. Marriage ? No —Partridges I Madame ; Ah. what a mother feels at such a moment ! But calm yourself, son-in-law. (bhe throws hei self upon him and clasps him in her arms.) ' Latourfaside, weakly) ; 1 must have suddenly, gone mad ! Madame (triumphantly) : In a fortnight we ( shall have the wedding. i Monsieur (opening the door and contemplat-| ing the group) : There you are ! (Sighing.) Caught ! From the French.

The Mohawk Indiana will not permit «o much an a blade of grass to grow upon the graves