THE CHEVALIER DE MAISON ROUGE.

Western Star, Issue 2216, 24 June 1898, Page 5

THE CHEVALIER DE MAISON ROUGE.

“Have T ever deceived you?” said Maurice. “ and is this the time 7 I au\

CHAPTER XXXlX.— Continued. dishonoring myself for yon.” Genevieve approached her lips to Maurice's, and remained hanging on the neck of her lover.

“ Yes. you arc right,” said Genevieve; “it is I who deceived myself. What I feel is not remorse, perhaps it is a degradation to my love ; but you will comprehend, at least, I love yon far. too much to feel any other emotion than the all-engrossing one, the fear of losing yon. Let us go far away, Maurice ; let ns go far away, where no one can reach ns.”

“ Oh, thanks 1” said Maurice, transported with joy. “ But how can we floe ?” said Genes vieve, trembling at the thought. “It is not so easy to escape nowadays from the poniard of the ass»wins of the 2nd of September, or the hatchet of the hangman of the 21st of .January.” “Genevieve,” said Mai.•re, “God will protect ns. Listen to me. A good action which I endeavored to perform', apropos to this 2nd of September, which you have just named, is now about to receive its reward. I wished to save a poor priest who had studied with me. I went to Danton, and at his request the Commune of Public Safety signed a passport for the unfortunate man and his sister. This passport Danton forwarded to mo, but the unhappy man. instead of seeking it at ray house, as I had recommended him to do, was shut up by the Carmelites, and there he died.”

And the passport ?” said Genevieve.

“ I have it now. It is worth a mil lion. It is worth more than that, Gone vieve ; it comprises both life and luippi ness.”

“ Oh, God be praised!” cried the young woman.

“ Now, my property, as you are aware, consists of estate, managed by an old servant, oi the family, a dtanch patriot, and strictly loyal, in whom we may confide. Ifc will send a. remittance whenever I wish. On (arriving; at Boulogne wo will go to his house.” “ Where does he reside, then?” “At Abbeville.” “ When shall wo go, Maurice 7” “ Within an hour.”

“ No one need know of nnr departure.”

“No one will know it. I will run to Louis ; he haa a cabriolet and no

horse, while I have a horse and no carriage. We will set out immediately on ray return. You remain here, Genevieve, find prepare everything for our departure. We want but little luggage ; we can purchase all that we require in England. I shall give Scevola some commission that will remove him out of the way. Louis will explain our departure. We want but little that time we shall bo far away.” “ But if wo should bo stopped upon tbo road ?”

“ Have we not our passports ? We shall go to Hubert's house ; that is the steward's name. Hubert forms part of the municipality of Abbeville ; from Abbeville to Boulogne he will accompany us as safeguard. At Boulogne we will purchase and freight a vessel. I could besides, proceed to the committee and make them give me a mission to Abbeville. But no, not iby fraud, Genevieve. Is it not better to risk our lives to save aud secure our happiness ?” “ Yes, mou ami ; and we shall succeed. But how you aj-o perfumed this morning,” said the young woman, conceal-* ing her face on Maurice’s breast. “ True ; I purchased a bunch of violets for you this morning, passing before the Palace d’Egalite ; but, on my ,Ire turn, finding yon so slid, I thought of nothing but inquiring tine clause of your diettress.” “ Oh, give' it to mol; I [will return it. Genevieve inhaled the odor of the bouquet with intense delight, when suddenly hen eyes suffused with tears.

“ What is it ?” said Maurice. “ Poor Heloise !” murmured Genevieve,

“Ah, yes!” said Maurice, with a sight ; “but lot us think of ourselves and leave the dead, wherever they may bo. to rest in the grave dug by their devotion. Adieu ! lam going.” “ Return quickly.” “ In less than an honlr I shall be hero again.” “ But if Louis is not at home ?” “What does it matter? his servant knows mo. And even in his absent'd I can take what I please, as he would do here in mine.”

“ Very well.” “ Now. my Genevieve, prepare everything; but, ns I have- told you, confine! yonsclf to necessaries. Ido not wish our departure >to appear like a removal.” The young man advanced a step toward the door. “ Maurice,” said Genevieve.

He turned round, and saw the young woman extend her arms toward him. “An rovoir, an ravoir, fliear love, said he; “in half an hour I shall be here.” Genevieve remained alone, occupied, an we have said, in preparations for their departure. She accomplished her task in feverish haste. As long as she remained in Paris, the part she was acting appeared to her dpnhly culpable. Once out of Franco, once among strangers. fit seemed that her crime—a crime rather of fatality than her own, would weigh the less heavily on, her conscience. She even hoped, isolated and in solitude, she might finish by forgetting the existence of any other man than Maurice. They would fly to England ; everything was arranged. There they would hire a little cottage, standing alone, very retired, shut out from all eyes ; they would change their names, and instead of two names would have one. Then they would jiayc two servants, who would bo (perfectly ignorant of the [>ast. Fortunately, both Genevieve and Maurice spoke English. Neither the one or the other left anything to regret in France. Thus Genevieve commenced making preparations for their voyage, or, rather, flight. She took singular pleasure in selecting from the rest those objects for which Maurice had evinced any predilection. The coat sotting off his tall figure to advantage, the cravat and waistcoat suitable to his completion, the books whoso leaves he had most frequently drawn upon. She had already nvule her selection ; already the waiting trunks were on the floor, while clothes, linen and books were strewn on the chairs, the sofa and the piano. Suddenly sho heard the key turn in the lock. “ Why, Scevola has returned !” said she. “ Surely Maurice could not have met him.” And she continued her occupation. The doors of the saloon were open, and she heard Scevola moving in the antechamber. She held a roll of music in her hand, (and was looking for somq string to tie round it.

“ Seevola !” cried she. Au approaching step sounded in an adjoining room. “ I am here,” said a voice. At the sound of his voice, Genevieve turned quickly rotind, and uttered a terrible cry. “ My husband !” cried she. “ Himself,” said Dixraer, coolly. Genevieve was on a chair, searching for some strings in the wardrobe. She felt her head turn round, and, extending her arms, fell backward, wishing she could precipitate herself into an abyss beneath. Dixiner took her in his arms, and carried her to a sofa, where he seated himself also. “ What is the matter, my dear ? What is it ? My presence seemts to have produced a most disagreeable effect upon you.” “ I am dying,” murmured Genevieve, turning from him, and pressing both hands over her eyes, that she might shut out the frightful, apparition. “ What,” said Dixmer, “ did you believe mo dead, my dear, and did you take me for a ghost ?” Genevieve looked round her with a bewildered air, when, perceiving the portrait of Maurice, she glided from the sofa and fell upon her knees, ns if to implore the assistance of this powerless and insensible imago, wbicAi still continued to smile. The misqru.ble. woman fully comprehended the menaces concealed by Dixmer under his affected calmness. “ Oh, my dear child,” continued the master tanner, “it was well for me, perhaps, that you thought I was far from Paris ; but I remained there. The day alter I had quitted, the ho use j I returned, and found in its stead a heap

of ruins. I inquired after you. No one had soon you. I then commenced a search after you, and have had much, trouble to find you. I vow I did not think you wore hero, however, I had. my suspicious. So, as you see, I came. So here I am. and you see me. And how is dear Maurice ? Indeed, I fear you have suffered much. You so stanch a Royalist, compelled to seek shelter under the roof of a Republican.”

“ My God ! my God !” murmured Gene* vievo, “ take pity upon me !” “ After all, my dear,” continued Dixmer, “ what serves to console me most, is that you arc so comfortably lodged here, and that you do not appear to have suffered much from the proscription. As for myself, since the burning of our house, and the ruin of our fortune, I have, had my share of wandering adventures, sometimes living in a cave, another time a boat, sometimes even in the common sowers with which the Seine abounds.” “ Monsieur !” said Genevieve. '

“ You have there some beautiful fruit; as for me, I have often gone without any dessert, not having had any dinner.” Genevieve, sobbing bitterly, supported her head between her bauds. “ Not,” continued Dixmer, “ that I watt destitute of money. I have, thank God ! generally carried with me thirty thousand francs ; by means of which the ‘collier,’ the ‘fishermen,’ or the ‘rag merchant ’ drew the lonis from his pocket to purchase a morsel of cheese or a sausage. Eli, my God t yes, madamo, I have successfully adopted these three costumes. To-day, the better to disguise myself, I am on patriote, en exagere, on Marseillais. I lisp and I swear, an outlaw eanuot conceal himself as easily in Paris as a young and pretty woman, ami I Lave not the happiness of knowing an ardent young Republican! who would hide me from every eye.” “ Monsieur ! [monsieur !” cried Genevieve, “ have mercy upon mo ; you see that £ am dying.” “ Anxiety ; 1 can understand that you have had much anxiety about mo ; but console yourself, you see me now. I have returned, and wo will now part no more, madamo.” “ Oh, you will kill me !” cried Genevieve.

Dixmer regarded her with a frightful smile.

“ Kill; an innocent woman ! Oh, madame, what makes you say so ? It must be that grief for my absence has turned your brain." ” Monsieur l" said Genevieve, monsieur, I beseech you to kill mo at once, rather, than torture mo with these cruel railleries. No, lam not innocent; yes, I am criminal ; yets, I merit death. Kill me, monsieur, kill me—” “ Then, yon acknowledge that you merit death ?” “ Yes, yes !”

“ And to expiate this crime of which* you' accuse yourself, you will submit to death without complaint 7” “ Strike, monsieur ; I will not utter a cry, and, instead of cursing, I will bless the hand that strikes me.”

“ No, inadamc ; I do not wish to strike you, though, in all probability, you will die. Only your death, instead of being, as you seem to fear, an ignominous one, shall be most glorious. Thank rue, madame,. while famishing, I will immortalize you.” “ What,l then, will you do, monsieur ?”

“ Yon will follow the end to which we wore tending when interrupted on our roi.Lc. In your own eyes and in mine you die guilty ; in thet eyes of the world you will die a martyr.” “ Oh,, my God ! you will drive me mad by speaking thus. Where are yon conducting mo ? where are you dragging me ?” “ In all probability, to death.” “ Leave' me to offer up one prayer.” “ To whom ?” “It matters not to you. The moment yob deprive me of life, my debt is canceled— my debt paid, I owe you nothing." “ True,” said Dixmer, retiring into another room ; “ I will await you.” And he left her once more alone. Genevieve sunk on her knees before the portrait, pressing her hands against her bursting heart. “ Maurice," said she, in a low tone, “ imrdon me ; I could not expect to be happy, but I hoped to have made you so. Maurice, I am depriving you of a joy that constituted your life ; pardon mu for causing your death, my best beloved !” Then,, severing a ringlet from her mass of curls, she hound it round the bouquet of. violets and placed them beneath the portrait, which, insensible and speechless as it was. still appeared to assume an expression of grief at her departure. At least, so it appeared to the unfortunate Genevieve, as she gazed at it through her tears.

“ Well,i are you ready, madame ?” de*, manded Dixmer. “So soon!” murmured Genevieve.

“ Uh, take your time, madame,” replied Dixmer. “I am in no hurry. Besides, 1 dare say, Maurice will not be long, and I riball bo delighted to thank him for all his kindness aud hospitality toward you.”

Genevieve trembled with terror at the Idea of a meeting between her lover and husband. She raised herself by an effort, saying, calmly : “It is finished, monsieur, and I am reads ynow.” DixmeD went out first, and the trembling Genevieve followed him. With halfclosed eyes, her head turned round to look her last, she ascended the carriage which was waiting at the door. It rolled away. As Genevieve had truly said—if was finished.

CHAPTER XL. THE CABARET DE PUITR DE-NOE. This man, attired in the blouse, whom wo have seen traversing with long and rapid strides the Salle des Pas-Peirdus, whom we have heard (during the efxpc/iition of the architect Giraud, General Heuriot and Richard) conversing with the turnkey left to guard the subterranean passage, this enraged patriot, who had introduced himself to Simon os having carried the head of the Prineons de Lamballe, found himself, on the next evening, about seven o’clock, at tho Cabaret du Puit»-de-Noe, situated, as we have said, at the corner of La Rue

de la Vielle Draperie. Hu wne seatx.* at the eud of a dirty room, redolet of tobacco and candles, pretending' to devour" a plate of fish swimming in black butter. The room where he supped was nearly deserted ; two or three habitues of the house alone remained after the reet who enjoyed the privilege of a daily visit to this establishment. The tables were, for the most part, empty, but we ought to remark, in honor to Cabaret dn Puits-de-Noe. that the stained' table-cloths denoted the departure of a satisfactory number of satisfied guests. The three last successively disappeared, and at about ft quarter to eight the patriot found himself alone. Then, with true aristocratic disgust, ho pushed awav the greasy plate, which an instant before he had appeared to think so delicious, and drew from his pocket a tablet of Spanish chocolate, which he eat slowly, and with a very different expression to that have endeavored to portray on his counteannce. From time to time, while eating his chocolate and. black bread, he cast toward a glass door, shaded by a red and blue checked curtain, aiycious and impatient glances. Sometimes he interrupted his frugal repast to listen ; in short, evinced an absence of mind sufficient to induce the mistress of the mansion (seated at her counter, and near the door on which the patriot so eagerly fixed his eyes) to conclude, that she might without vanity consider herself as the object of his preoccupation. At length the door-bell sounded in a way that made him start ; he drew the plate again before him, and, without attracting the woman’s observation, threw half the contents) to a famished-looking dog, and the remainder to a cat, who, spitefully seizing the dog’s dainties, received in return' some strokes from his paws. Ihe door opened, and a man entered, dressed almost the same as the patriot, with the exception of the hairy cap, which ho had replaced with the bonnet-rouge. An enormous bunch of keys hung from his girdle, from which also depended a sword.

“ My soup ! my chop !” cried the man, entering tlie public room without removingl' his bonnet, ox* even saluting the mistress of the house by an inclination of his head, but, with a sigh of fatigue, seated* himself at a table adjoining that where our patriot was discussing his black bread and chocolate. The mistress of the cabaret, in consequence of tin; deference she entertained for the newcomer, rose herself to ordex* the requisite viands. The two men turned—one to look into the street, the other toward the end of the room—not a word was exchanged between them till the mistress' of the cabaret had totally disappeared. When the door had closed behind her, and the light from a single candle, suspended from the end of an iron wire so tux to divide the light equally between the two guests, when at length, the man in the bearskin bonnet—thanks to the light placed before him—saw that the room was deserted : “Ron, soir,” said he to his companion, without turning round. “ Ron soir,” said the newcomer. “Well," said the patriot, with the same affected indifference, “ where are we now ?” “ Well, it is done.” “ What ie done ?” “ As wo agreed, I have had some convolution with Father Richard about the situation. I complained of swimming in the head, dimness of eyesight—* in short, of general ill-health, and a continual pain altogether.” “ What then ?” “ Father Richard called his wife, and she rubbed my temples with vinegar, and that revived me. Then, as wm had arranged between us, I said that want o! air produced the swimming in the head, that I made blood too fast, and that the duty at the conciergorio, which contains lit the present moment four hundred prisoners, was killing me.” “What did they say to that?” “Richard’s wife pitied me, and he took mo to the door.” “ It was not enough to take 3*oll to the door.” “ Rut wait. Then his wife, who ia a good soul, reproached him with having no heart, seeing that I wins the father of a family.” “ \\ hat did he say to that ?”

“ lie said that she was right; but that the very first condition .annexed to the situation of turnkey was to remain within the prison to which he was at-

•wrorg,, T IS DONE.” inched ; that the Republic did not jest, but would, without ceremony, cut the throats of those, who grew dizzy in the •exercise of their duty.” “ Diablo !” said the patriot.

“ Ami he was not far from wrong either; for since the Austrian has been there,' it is a perfect hell of surveillance. Confound her !” The patriot here pave bin plate to the dog to lick, who was directly bitten by the cat. “Go on,” said he, without turning round.

“ Atf last, monsieur, I began to groan, and to nay that f felt very ill ; asked concerning tin; infirmary, and said I was certain my children would die of hunger if this pain was not removed.” “ And Father Richard ?”

“ Tho .Father Richard replied that turnkeys 'had no business with children.” “ Hut you had his wife on your side, I suppose ?" “ Fortunately. She made a great todo with her husband, reproached him with possessing a had and hard heart, and Richard finished by saying to me :

“ ‘ Well, Citizen Gracchus, lyieak to Borne one of your friends who will give you some security for his attendance, present him to me, and I promise to accept him as your substitute. Upon which I left him, saying;

“ ‘ Very good, Father Richard, I will directly seek one.’ ”

“ And you have found one, my brave fellow." At this moment the mistress of tho establishment entered, bringing the Citizen; Gracchus his soup and chop. This did not suit either the patriot or Gracchus, who had still some communication t(/ make.

“Citoyenne,” Baid the turnkey, "I received a slight remuneration from Father Richard to-day, which will permit me to treat myself to some better fare,' So bring me some pork, a drinking horn, and a bottle of Burgundy wine; send your servant to fetch the one from the pork butcher’s, and bring me the other yourself fresh from the cellar. The hostess immediately left to execute his orders. “ WeH,” said tho patriot, “you are an intelligent lad.” .... “ So. far intelligent that I do not hide from myself what, notwithstanding all your fine promises, will he the end of us both. Do you suspect what it may be ?” “ Yes, perfectly.” “ We stake both onr necks.” “ Do not he imca>v about mine.” “It is not yours, monsieur, I must confess,; -that causes me the greatest uneasiness.” “ It is your own ?” TO BE CONTINUED.