DISHONOURED.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 1724, 5 September 1873, Page 3

DISHONOURED.

On the evening of Sunday, the 30th of October, in the year 1792, a hackney-coach conveyed a party of four persons, with a small quantity of baggage, from Billingsgate wharf to a distant part of London. The weather was wet and cold, and, as the coach slowly laboured through the foggy, deserted streets, the great city presented an unusually cheerless aspect. But had it been ten times more dismal, the travellers would have uttered no complaint; for they had arrived, at last, in a place of safety, and the sense of securi y outweighed, lor the moment, every other consideration The perils of a stormy passage from Dunkerque on board a crazy, ill-found smack, had been their latest discomfort; bui the sea r sk was uothiog in their estimation to the dangers which they had left behind. Nor can this be wondered at, when it is explained that they were refugees from Paris at a moment when, frightful as recent events had been, the prospect of the future was even yet more terrible. Glad enough, then, they were to find themselves in a place which was not only a present asylum, but, to one of their number, the haven towards which his hopes had long been directed. This person waa Monsieur Morin, the head of the party, a gentleman some fifty years of age. His companions were his daughter, Adelaide, a beautiful girl, just turned of nineteen; her old lonne, Marguerite, more housekeeper than nurse, nio:e family friend than either; and a middle-aged, confidential man-servant, whose i ame was Louis. Monsieur Morin was no stranger in London; and what was then a rare accomplishment, could speak a little English; enough to enable the hackney-coachman to understand whither he wished to be driven, and to prevent the Jehu from charging very much more than double the proper fare, when, the wearisome journey at an end, the vehicle stopped at the door of a moderately-sized house in a respectable portion of the town. It appeared that Monsieur Morin was expected; servants being in readiness, fires burning, and other preparations made for the reception of himself and family. The trim appearance of the house, the size and disposition of the rooms, rising in five pairs from basement to attic, the scanty hall and narrow staircase, offered a striking contrast to the home which Adelaide had quitted iv the R e de Mirabeau; where everything was large, lofty, and en suite. But, if her .new ab de seemed strange to her unaccustomed eyes, it was at least free from painful associations, and after the scenes she had lately witnessed, any place out of Paris waa welcome. The house, in fact, was only small by comparison Early on the morning after his arrival, Monsieur Morin went from home. Besides the removal of certain effects from the ress 1 in which he came from France, he bad affairs of importance to transact. The nature of j ;

his own occupation in Paris had long connected him with a London firm, the founder of which was a fellow-countryman, named Devaux; aud to his place of business in the City Monsieur Morin at once proceeded. A painf uL surprise awaited him. Greatly to his sorrow, he learnt that the head of the house had died only ten days before, after a brief illness. " Mr Richaid Devaux, the only son, sir," whispered the clerk who gave this information, "is now our principal. Our late Mr Devaux was buried on Saturday, and to-day is Mr Richard's first appearance here since his father's death. But he, takes to it, sir; ihe takes- to it. O, yes, shy he will see you, no doubt. Who shall I cay, sir?" Richard Devaux was a short, thick-set young man, apparently five-aud-twenty, with a colourless cheek, thin lips, and dark, restless eyes. At Monsieur Morin's entrance, he rose from a table, on which several folios were lying open, and came to meet him. " Monsieur Morin, of tbe Ruede Mirabeau," he said, in a low voice. " The same, sir. The correspondent of your house, and the old friend of jour father.'' They shook hands, and there waa 6ilence between them for a few moments, each apparently occupied with the past. Monsieur Morin was the first to speak. " I grieve, sir, he said, to trespass on your attention so soon after your sad bereavement; had I known of your recent loss, I would have deferred my visit till you were bet' er prepared to receive me." " It does not matter," replied Richard Devaux; "a day sooner or later, when the worst is over, is of no consequence. You perceive," he added, pointing to the books before him, "that I have already begun to distract my thoughts by application to business." " You are right," returned Monsieur Mori v ; " I, too, find my only relief in active pursuits. But for them my miud would sink altogether, when I contemplate the position of my unhappy country." " Are affairs, then so much worse iv France? Forgive me, sir, for asking the question, but the last few weeks have been for me a perfect blank." " I can well understand it," said Monsieur Morin, again pressing the young man's hand ; "yes," he resumed, "everything hastens from bad to worse; aud this will be the caso till the ve'y worst an ives." , " The worst ?" repeated Richard Devaux, : with an inquiring look. " Unless our efforts can prevent it ; the horrors of September have reached your ears ?" " All the world shudders at them ; can . anything more terribly befal ?" " Every day the hand of murder strikes , down a nobler victim ; every day witnesses a bolder and bloodier tyranny ; all sooa will be anarchy ; the king is already accused ' before the Convention ; that was the natural i consequence of the inf amove decree by which royalty was abolished in France j see, then ; , what hope we have of the future, unless we find it here ?" " And is that, sir, your only expectation ?" " I fear it ; everywhere on the continent . the armies of the revolution triumph ; and this brings me to the object of my present visit. Thesumswhichhavebeendepositcd with your house must shortly be made useful to our cause ; you are aware of the extent of my transactions in this respect with your la'.e honoured father." ' Not entirely, air, for my father kept those accounts under his sole supervision ; it was only this morning, for the first time, that I have had access to the volume in which they are entered ; it is one that has been kept apart for that special purpose." " I have some large additions to make," continued Monsieur Morin ; " I waited to the last to collect all I could, as well of my own capital as of that which I was empowered to raise." " And bave you finally left Paris ?" " Alas, yes, till better times, should we ever behold them, arrive." " Well, sir," said Richard Devaux, after a short pause, "whatever amounts you are prepared to lodge with us shall be held in trust — or, as we bankers say, at call -till you require them ; I am, moreover, quite at your service whenever you wish to go through the accounts ; my poor father's principles are mine, political as well as commercial ; you may rest assured that what he would have done I shall ever faithfully perform ; this is not only a duty I owe to his memoiy, but a tribute of my own personal respect to yourself." Monsieur Morin was gratified to har Richard Devaux speak in this wise, and tl ay parted on the friendliest terms, after the refugee had entered into some further explanation of his present position, which ended by an invitation to the young banker for come and see bim. An intimacy consequently arpse ; and, after the first visit paid by Bichard Devaux to Monsieur Morin's house, there was uo necessity for pressing its repetition. (To be continued.) :