4.1 'l lNllllllllllllll I ll Hi i

Published Every‘ CBeadZe g”: fldcuns,

Two Weeks.

The Irish Captain:

A TALE OF FONTENOY.

BY FREDERICK WHITTAKER,

Airmen on "THE RUSSIAN srr," “Tar. rum mm,“
mm, 1:70., ETC.

CHAPTER I.
ms. HUNT.

“TA-RA-LA-LA-LA—LAHl" rung the deep, mellow
notes of the great French huntin «horns, throu h
the arches of the Forest of Fontainebleau, and t 1e
music of the clamoring pack, as the ' ran to and fro,
haying in different tones, announch that the hounds
were at fault,” the quarry having temporarily es-
ca ed them.

esently there was a loud burst of cries, the horns
sounded a ay burst of triumph, and away went the
hounds on he recovered scent.

The morning sun shone down through the early
mists that hung over the forest, where the great
trees, undisturbed for many hundred years, had at-
tained enormous size. Here and there little hills,
whose craggy and broken sides offered a charming

 

98 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y., June 4th, 1879.

miniature of larger mountains, relieved the mono-
tony of the woods and gave support to banks of
beautiful orchids, that simulated with curious fidel-
ity bees just aligbtcd on the flower-cups.* Violets
and anemones perfumed the air of the valleys, and
the sharp clatter of the squirrels was heard on the
trees, as the saucy little creatures scampered up and
down, whisking their tails as if to ask one another
what all this noise was about; for the haying of the
hounds echoed for miles.

There is something peculiarly inspiring and delight-
ful in the sound of a pack in full or , that communi-
cates a vague longing to the coo est listener. and
causes even delicate ladies to be carried away in the
rush of the chase. When to the sounds of a great
hunt are added its sir/ha, the 8 er pack, the horsos,
with their eyes aflame, striving n noble emulation,
the ay colors of the riders, and the echoes of the
mel ow hunting—horns, it is no wonder that the en-
chantmcnt is overpowering. and that persons once
addicted to the chase soon iscovcr a perfect passion
therefor.

Such was the case with a young man, who was
wandering (pensiver through t e ais es of the forest,
on foot, an had been so wandering since sunrise.

He was a handsome young fellow, tall and strong,

* The bee orchis is ver
Fontainebleau.
on a flower.

common in the forest of
It exact y resembles a bee alighted

 

 

SAKE SPARE HIM!

‘ll

 

mu

\

“W will in v:

Ten Cents a Copy.
$2.50 a Year.

with the mien of a rentleman, though his dross wm:
that of a private so dier. off duty. Something in his
pale intellectual face, lighted up by dreamy dark 9 es,
and distinguished from that of civilians by a b ack
mustache, announced that he was no ordinary man.
To a military observer, there were. some points about
the youth that indicated his osition to be somewhat
above that of a common sol ier.

To explain these signs is to say
was what was then called a ‘
teer."

The osition was then a common one for ouths of
good amily, without the money and in ucnce to
secure commissions at once. ’1‘ is uniform of tho
volunteer in question was that of Lord Clara‘s regi-
ment of horse in the renowned Irish Brigade, and hi:'
name was Gerald Desmond.

Young Desmond was wandering dreamin through
the forest, his eyes roaming in a sort of sensuous
ecstasy over the beautiful scone around him, and
his face indicating a state of erfect llafipincss, when
the distant cry of the houn s first bro 0 on his ear.
Faint, and mellowed by the hazfr atnios hero of
early morning, the sound blendm in per ect has
mony with the mild monotone of the breeze among
the branches. At first the wanderer hardly seemed
to notice it, so absorbed was he in vague dreams of
beaut . Then, as it grew louder, and plain] ' a1»-
proac ed him, he started from his reverie nndl sten-
ed, his eye kindling with pleasure, for, as we have

that the young man
a gentleman volun-

HE IS MY Baornua!”

 

‘-.

said, the contaflion in hard to resist, and this youth
was a keen hnn man.

He turned and peered anxiously in the direction of
the sound. and a moment later clap his hand
with excitement as he involuntarilyu red the mer-

ry cry:

“A la hauls! Tums-sol"

There, before his eyes, at a hundred es dis-
tance, a noble stag bounded past, horns aid back
on the shoulders. nose ointed orward, as the hunt-
ed creature darted un er the shade of an avenue of
grand old oaks and sped away through the forest.

Then the loud ha of the hounds sounded near-
er. The stag was ust out of siglht when they came
into view in full , and swept own the same ave-
nue with unerring scent led by an old black-and-tan
hound, whose deep, bell-like voice rung out in tri-
nm b as he went.

voted to the spot in admiration, uiverlng with
con ons excitement Gerald Desmon stood watch-
, w u out of the forest swept a brave train of
following e si le man, small and mean in
figure, bumping up an down in his demi ique sad-

9 in a manner that showed him a. poor der, but—-
wearing the broad blue ribbon over his shoulder that
announced him to be of re a1 blood.

“ The king himself, by eve!“ muttered Desmond,
with a start, as he watched. the glitterin train
sweep by. At the word he stepped behind a ree, as
if fearing to beseen andwatc edthehunt from a
safe covert. . He could see several ladies in the train.
and strangest of all a long, lumbering coach of curl-
one make came on the bee of the fidelrhsltsirawn at full
greed by a. half-dozen ay horses. strange ve-

cle boasted a lofty, gilded box in front, with a gor-

eons hammer-clot , embroidered with the arms of
rance. The body was some twenty feet in length,
and cylindrical in shape, with a double foot-board.
On it sat five or six chasseurs, as if in the saddle a
foot on each side, their us before them. Over t e
hind wheels was a ho and seats like an ordinary
wgon and within the latter vehicle was a 
erald recognized in a moment the cele rated
hunting-chariot of the king but he could not help
laughing at the awkward gure out b the chas-
seu astraddle on the body, as the c ot bumped
over he uneven ground.

A moment later the hunters had swept by, and
Desm d was alone. -

“We " said the youth, with a deep breath of re-
lief, “ ‘tis just as well I was not seen, or it might be
a week's guard-room for me."

He stood for a few moments listening to the
sounds of the chase.

“ They are getting round toward Melun," he mut-
tered. ‘I must make the best of my way back to
the  If they see me I may get into a scrape
for ing out of bounds."

And he turned his face in the direction of the pal-
ace. where his re out was then on guard. It was
as he had said. nder the forest laws of France
and still more under the ceremonial that overned
the troops, the young volunteer was liable severe

unishment he having wandered out of bounds, in-
o the royal reserves, where no one was allowed
save by the k ’s invitation.

It was no wonder that Gerald turned to retrace
his steps to get out of the further track of the hunt.
I He had hardly gone twenty feet toward the pal-

when he heard a sharp, cracked voice calling:

“ olal monsienr, who are you?”

 

CHAPTER II.
A saliva Ac'r.

Tn young soldier stopped at the sound of that
voice, and looked aroun .
him at a tie trot,

Some one was a3?
mounted on a fat tie cob and very e
ed him? 31° $3: Jinn}: liy'm tagging
0 appre e on it
discovered. with no little amusement.
The new-comer was wrapped from head to foot in
a long brown roqtulaurs a sort of sack-coat reach-

tothe heels and o worn b old is. Al-
” h he was on horselbiyack, he segmed be unpro-

with to, then deemed indispensable, and
his buckled shoes and silk were fitted for
s. drawing-:oom. From under broad, three-
oornsrcd t,and between the of then turned

collar of the roquelaure o
with in nose and $5? sharp eyes, while an
ahpersonalgfe': on the h ed

. was crouc e
bisssddle,ssif ve withcold,th h
the air was quite mild, audaddressedring the youngo‘fsgl-

, cracked voice:

“y’all, monsieur; you do not answer. Who are
Gerald looked up at the other somewhat haugbti-

l .
”“Does not my uniform tell you? For my name. it

is nothing to you."

no keen-looking old gentleman—his voice told his
age—allowed a smile cross his wasted counte-
nance, and the eifect was magical. The sneezing look
disappeared, and the withered, parchment-er face
ssemsdto be illuminated with a 10 of kindness.

“ younifrlend," he said, “ d d not mean to
be s, but took you for one of his majesty‘s for-
esterl, and as wished to ask you which way
the hunt had gone.‘

, Gerald’s face cleared, and he removed his hat.

“Pardon, monsieur,’ he said, res f . “ The
hunt has passed toward Melun. but t is sure tows
adrcuit.Thes alwaysrunsina and
comes back to his 0 d haunts at evening. Listen to
thaw and you'll and they’re heading to the

he sci-anger uttered an im tient exclamation.

“8am! ruster a :35 to come out! When
I might be enjoying a quiet do with my books, here
I am foilowi a willof-the- , to gain the favor
of Louis the ollBoloved. inill gohome.
Who am I at m age. to come out on cold mornings
nndtrustmyse onawildhorsei".

Desmond could hardly hell) laughing at the other‘s
com hints

“Why monsieur" he said, u on can
not complain of the'animel You ride. g2 Basins quiet
"nun acknowledge it, my friend. Have 1 not

told the stabieman to give me the gentlest creature
in the stalls? A pretty figure I should cut on a

 

 

The Irish Captain.

prancer. But is there no short cut by which I can
get to see the hunt?"

“ Certainly,“ said the soldier, politely. “If you
stayrhere you will soon find them crossing the aths
to ontainebleau. If the Grand Huntsman s not
abroad, you will have no trouble.“

The stranger eyed the youth keenlyi
wright do you mean by the Grand untsman?" be

e .

Gerald crossed himself pious] , and his compan-
ion‘s face instantly became moc ing and sarcastic,
as the soldier said:

“The Grand Huntsman is a demon that haunts
these woods, .and God deliver us if we hear his
hounds, monsieur. One of us will die within the
year.

The stranger burst into a shrill cackling laugh.

“Eh, man Dteu I” he exclaime , “ who woul have
thought it? The eighteenth century has not lost all
its superstitions et. Come, man (Iml, let us 0 hunt
up this Grand untsman, and show him t at de»
mons vanish in the light of reason.“

Gerald drew back.

“ I am sorry, monsieur," he answered, “ that I can
not go with on, but I have strayed out of bounds
in my love 0 nature and if I am found by those 0
the court, I may suffer punishment. , I must return
to my qtuarters."

The s ranger shook his head musingly, as he mur-

mnred:

“ And these men they call heroes, ke t in bounds
like truant school-bng and proud of t eir degrada-
tiifn, for they hold eir heads up, these same sol-

ers.’

Then he turned to Gerald with the same rare and
beautiful smile that he had before shown, and ad-
dressed him kindly:

“My young friend, if you will stay with me and
guide me into the path of this hunt, so that I may
see it without endangering my old bones, I can_en-
gag: to hold you harmless for the not."

gold stared at the enigmatical old man, who

laug ed.

“ Ah! thou believest not that an old fellow like me
can do such things; but know, oung man that
brains are a commodity of which t e world is e 1n-
ning to a preclate the value at last. I tell thee t lat
I can in e the king for ve thee. if I wish.”

Gerald bowed respect ull , saying:

“ Your excellency mustt on be a minister of state
or some very great personage. trust you would
not deceive me, monsieur."

Again the stranger smiled.

“ atever men say of me, they never call me a
deceiver. I proclaim the truth, and they call me
infidel, but my worst enemies, the priests, admit
that I tell the truth as I believe it, if they curse
me for it. Let your mind he at rest about me.
1virilitsee you harmless. Now guide me toward the

un "

Gerald made no more objections. There was
something about his singular companion that im-
ressed him with a sense of superlorlt , and his

rusque manner did not tend to remove t e impres-
sion. Without a word, the young soldier started
forward on the track.

The sounds of the chase were still faintly audible
in the still woods, and, as Gerald had predicted,
they were evidently sweep in a vast circle to-
ward a point where he knew t at many of the hunts
hadterminated in times Blast. It was in a lonel
glade, in the center of w ich towered a single gl:
EM 0 oak, twenty feet across at the butt, and

nown throughout the forest as “ The Pharamond,"
from a tradi onthat it was planted by the first of
the French kings, a likely conceit, in view of its

great age.

It was beneath the shade of the Pharamond oak,
likewise, that “ Robin des Rois,” or the Grand Hunts-
man, was said to hold his nightly meetings, wi h

t
spectral hounds, before taking he trail of invisible

oer by moonlight.
It was atfinite ruffle that the young soldier might
have h tate to roach t is mystic spot at

nightfall, for Gerald esmond as brave as a lion,
was yet superstitious as all of his race and creed.
Inthe mornin light with a companion who laugh-
ed all snpersti ion to scorn, he was ashamed to hesi-

tate.
08ficcordingly he led the way toward the Pharamond

As they approached the place, they could hear
the bounds coming toward them, tho h in a. cir-
cuitous direction, and they plunged ea or and
deeper into the forest, takin advantage 0 the val-
leys to ease the route. All t e wa Gerald’s eccen-
t c companion kept up an anima d conversation,
succeeding, wi at skill, in drawing the lyoung
soldier to talk of self his hopes, and wis es in
allof which the old gentleman seemed to take a
lively interest.

At last they entered a grave of trees of remarka-
ble hight, and then sud enly emerged in an o n
lsde of the forest, surrounded with all

birch in the midst of which towere
gigantic size, whose to waved
in thebreeae at a hundred and fifty feet mm the

und. It was the renowned Pharamond oak, stand-

in solitary grandeur in its forest tem is.
rald‘s comfianion uttered an express on of rest
admiration. as e gazed up at the forest gian , but
he was Prevented Pom speakin . The next minute
into the soil glade dashed t e hunted stag, and
up to t e old oak, turned and stood at bay,

with back to the a old tree_

Right fiesta to e two wanderers was an open
avenue, ugh the birch ove, over-arch with
bright foliage and within 1-. at icturesque frame
the royal Pack came dashing orward, a brilliant
mass of co or in the midst of which a splendid black
horse, eviden nagovernable, bore the re of one
of the ladies that raid had noticed in t e hunt.

She was alone, the rest of the hunters having been

at the severe pace,

Oncame the bounds and the runaway horse, and
then, with “flowild clamor of haying voices, the pack

at 
But the king 0 the woods was not dismayed. His
Mulching horns waved in the air, and came down
with a fearful blow on the foremost dogs transflxing
two of them. With a deep bellow of anger the stag
shook of! his assailants, and lun ed among the
, strikl with his sh fine-feet, and oring
be (1083, till he boldest ran owling back, an bay-

 

 

ed i a circle. It was all done in a few moments,
and en the wild runaway horse came dashing up.
excited by the chase, and was charged by the angry

sta .

(gram and his companion had been watching the
scene spellbound, but now the young soldier flashed
out his ra ier and ran shouting across the glade.

He was 00 etc!

Before he arrived, the furious stag had gored and
overthrown the heedless youn horse, and stood
with his fore-feet on the anima , his e es sparkling
with furv, while his horns menaced eath to the
fallen lady. . ,

Gerald could see her instinctively throw up her
arms in vain defense, and then the antlers of tho.
stag were descending, when the volunteer, with a
last su erhuman effort reached the sta , wreathed
his le hand in the shaggy hair on t e animal’s
breast, and drove his rapier through and throu b
the heart, throwing the carcass of! t e horse by t 0
main stren th of his rush.

In an ins nt the hounds were clamoring round the
carcass, and the lady was safe.

Gerald turned, an. found her lying partly under
the (i in horse, which was strugglin to rise.

Wit t e same quick courage an decision that
had marked all his conduct, the young soldier
snatched her away from the new dan er, and car-
ried her back several paces, when he d covered, by
the lifeless weight that hung in his arms, that the
lady had fainted.

hon, for the first time, he looked closely at her,
and discovered that she was young and beautiful,
with fair curling hair a sweet face, full of intellect
even in the swoon, with a beautifully-rounded figure.
which was attired in a riding-dress of the richest.
materials.

Involuntarilv Gerald’s heart swelled with a new
and stran e eelin . He had saved the life of a
beautiful ady, evi entl of the highest rank, and
she lay in his arms help ess and unresisting.

How long he might have stood thus, and what

0 dreams he might have dreamt, is uncertain,
bu he was awakened by the sharp voice of his ec-
centric companion.

“ Brave] done. by my faith, young Irelanderi By
the blue eavenl I thought she was doomed. Whom
hast then there?"

As he spoke he piessed his cob forward to get a
nearer view of the dy’s face, and uttered an excla—
mation of surprise.

It was drowned in the shouts of the rest of the
hunters, who ust then dashed into the glade, with a
tremendous b owing of horns, and came galloping
up[ to surround the pack.

11 the confusion hat followed, Gerald'was hardly
conscious of his actions. He remained with the in-
animate lady in his arms, forgetful of all else, while
the buzz of uestions and answers above his head
sounded bewi daring.

He could distingu sh the sharp tones of his new
as ueintance among these, but presently there was
a s ence, in the midst of which a smooth, somewhat
querulous voice demanded:

“ Who is be? What does be here?“

“I asked him to ide me hither, our modesty,"
answered Gerald's rlend, “and but or his courage
and presence of mind, madame would now be out of
your majesiév‘s reach in the place where kings are
never wishe , except by their successors.“

Gerald looked up for the first time, and found him-
self the center of a group of courtiers on horseka
all of whom were regarding him with glances of
covert dislike. His new friend stood on foot b the
side of the king‘s horse, and Louis the Well Be oved
was regfirding the young volunteer With 8. look of
fretful -temper.

At that moment the young lady stirred in his
arms, uttered a deep sigh, and came out of her
swoon. ’

When she opened her large blue eyes, they met
the dark orbs of oung Desmond fixed on her own,
and she smiled f ntly, murmuring softly:
“ 0'”)? tot. man amt, grace a Dies J"

“ It is thou m friend, thank God i"

Gerald flush scarlet at the address. He did not
dare to look up, but he heard a faint titter among
the courtiers, and then his eccentric friend bru ue-
ly advanced and relieved him of his lovelyb en,
saying, in a low, guarded voice:

‘Ifctire at once, young man. You are in dan-

er.

g Gerald’s eyes met his doubtfnliy,-but« there was
something so warning in the look of his late com-
panion that he involuntarily obeyed. The horsemen
made way for his departure, with sneers on their
smooth faces. and the oung soldier Elucked out his
rapier from the slain ear, and left a glade, in I.
state of bewildered amazement.

CHAPTER 111.
was up Is ms. sacs.

Is" the cafes of the Palais Royal in Paris were col-
lected crowds of emcers and of he entlemen volun-
teers of varions regiments com g the son,
for there were wars and rumors of wars w th Eng-
land and Austria, and Marshal Saxe had been ap-
pointed commander-in-chief of the frontiers.

In one of these 6%”, the st on the square, the
green uniforms of 6 Irish B ade were prominent,

or it was their favorite restaurant. At one of the

largest tables sat three tlemen volunteers, all
wearing the culrass of are's re ment of horse,
wagered-skirted coats. heavy cots. and long
8 r swords.

One of these was a man of great stature, with a
fiery red mustache, curling u 0 his eyes, while the
glow of his hair seemed 5’ ‘90 bum h “‘6
powder with which it was dressed. His face was by
no means handsome. being deeply pitted with the
small-pox, but its owner had an air of satisfied van-
ity that proclaimed his own opinion of his good
00 s.

Th d was a short young man, with broad
shmildggoigtensel black hair and thin mustache.
with black eyes. e was tacltnrn and somewhat
sullen in mange? but had a low, sweet voice of re-

bl me .
m’l‘rhllgd game agrald Desmond, the handsomest of
rt . ,
th’l‘lleathge seemed tobe old and intimate friends
from their manner toward each other, and the red
gent was just finishing a speech to Gerald inthe
nglish tongue, with a strong brogue.

 

1

\—

 

 

 

91v

 

 

«no

“Ye did foinely, me boy, foinely, and it's not all
the courtiers of the French king that’ll make Jack
Carroll deny that same. What matter if the black-
guards did trate you rudely, isn‘t it the way an Irish-
man must expect to be trated by all the world, till
we come to our own again? Ah, Gerald, it won‘t be
forever we‘ll be loungin‘ ‘round Paris. ‘ating our
hearts out with impatience. We‘ll meet the red-
ooats soon now, and then we‘ll see if ould Louis
\\ on‘t think better of his Irish Brigade."

Gerald shrugged his shoulders.

“ What’s the use of boasting Jack?" he said,
quietly. “ We Irish always have been fools enou h
to throw awn ' our blood in other people‘s uarre s
and always s iali. I suppose I was just suc i a fool
to save the lady‘s life. I own I expected a civil
word, instead of sour looks, but it’s no more than an
Irishman always gets. What do on say, Billy?”

The dark oung man spoke, in iis low voice.

“I think hat you must have saved some cat
court lady, perhaps one of the princesses, an the
courtiers are iealous. 'That‘s all.”

Jack Carrol burst into a roar of laughter, as he
clap ed the other on the shoulder.

‘ lgilly Cavanagh, ye’re a jewel, so ye are, to foind
out the whole mystei . Sure it’s as lain as the nose
on yer face, Desmon . What woul ye he wantin',
to go stickin‘ your Irish mug in among thim Frincli
101' s, and they all ban in‘ on the king 5 skirts for a
male of victuals. Wha for should they thank ye?"

Desmond laughcd. He was used to his friend's
rough jesting. I

“ suppose you‘re right, Jack,” he said; and there
the subject ended; for at that minute a party ad-
vanced and occupied the next table to that at which
the Irish volunteers were sitting.

The new-comers were also private soldiers, but of
a ver diflerent corps, one in which the privates were
all 0 noble blood, and able to rank as officers in
other coxc'Ps. The; belonged to the famous regiment
organize in the ays of Louis XIII. and known as
the “Black Musketeers," whose duties were round
the king’s rson, and whose commander took pre-
cedence o the marshals of France themselves.

There were three of these Black Musketeers at
the table, all handsome, conceited young fellows, of
the best families, dressed in the magnificent uniform
of their corps, of white and crimson. The title
“ Black ” was given to them from the color of their
horses, there being other companies known as the
“Gray” and the “Red” from the same circum-
stance.

From their very first entrance there had been a
hush in the restaurant, for it was seldom that a Mus-
keteer was seen there. Each regiment had its favor-
ite haunts and this 6 e was considered sacred to
the Irish, écotch and 0 her foreign tree 5, who 
entered the king’s service from that o the exded
Stuarts of En land.

As the Mus steers, and indeed all the Household
Tree 5 were notorious duelists,_it was at once (i.-
vine that the three gentlemen in question had a
quarrel with some one in the room, and when they
selected their table, every one judged that they must
be near their antagonists, whoever they were.

Such were the notions of honor prevalent at the
time, that no one in the room took any notice of the
strangers beyond an occasional glance that way over
the rim 0 a glass, while drinking]. ‘

The Musketeers rap ed on t e floor with their
scabbards, and called or wine which was speedin
furnished them. The Irish c assiers at the next
table had become silent or conversed in low tones in
their own ltongue, which was incomprehensible to
the Frenchmen, as the knew. _

Presently one of the usketeers filled his glass. and

said: ,

“ Messieurs, I am about to pro ose a toast.”

“Let us have it, St. Foix,” 59.1 a fair-haired youth,
stretchin his frame, lazily. “Only give us one we
can all nk.”

St. Foix was a handsome, insolent young man
with dark face and aquiiine features. He iooke
around with a peculiar smile at the next table and

sai .
“I will lve you one, Granville, that all must

drink, or ‘11 know the reason why. Fill your
8868 V)

is. .
3 Then be staged 11 close to Desmond, and ad-

dressed him wi grea politeness, but with a. mock-
ing smile: .
Monsieur, you Will not refuse to drink our toast,
I am sure i” I . ‘
“ When I know what it is, I may answer, ‘ replied
Gerald uietl .
“ Yoh aveyreason, sir. My toast is, ‘France for

Frenchmen l‘ Refuse it if you dare."

In a moment Gerald was on his feet. Ifrom the
first he had suspected that an insult was intended
to him, and he felt ready to meet it. The toast
was unexceptionable in words, but its spirit was
a reflection on the foreigners. Gerald raised his
glass, and spoke in a loud, clear tone, amid a en-
eral hush, for every one was now watching t em
kcenl .

“ Cginrades, I ho e we shall all drink that toast. I
will for one, and ve it in full: ‘ France for French-
men, Ireland for be 111811, and (3011 for us all!’ "

In a moment a rousing cheer want u from every
table, and every glass was em tied. raid smiled
at has antagonist, who was en quite aback. and
sat own. .

St. Foix remained standing, with his untested glass
in his hand, surveying Desmond with a. sneer. As
soon as the lroom was silent, he spoke very clam-1y
and distinct :

“Sir, I agiYee with your sentiments. Ireland is
the best lace for you, for example. To ‘our me
arrival t ore, and ma on never come book.

And he tossed off lass, then flirted some of
the on Desmond, a rop touchin the latter’s
face. time there was no mis e. The in-
sult was undeniable. The Musketeer sat down at
his own table with a triumphant smile. and a dead
silence supervened. Every one was watching to
see how Gerald would take it. Jack Carroll s hard,

k-marked face was a study, He had not ut-
mda word during the little of com li~
monts, but sat with both hands on the mum of
his sword, his chin on the former, 100 ng from
one to the other, and twisting his features into the
most extraordinary Cavanagh did not
seem to notice any ing, and he played with his
glam.

 

The Irish Captain.

Gerald Desmond remained a moment in his place.
His heart gave a sudden leap at the insolent manner
of the other, and his voice trembled as he rose and
tried to speak.

“Monsieur,” he said, addressing nimself to St.
Ili‘oix,  you are too careless with your wine—(lo you

ear‘f'

St. Foix did not answer. He merely leaned over to
fill his glass at. his own table, with a sarcastic smile.

Then Gerald made a single step to the other’s side,
and for the first time exhibited excitement. Down
came his strong right hand on the other‘s shoulder
With a clutch of iroiil

“ Monsieur,” he thundered, “s01‘Wul/.l./"*

At the same moment he brought his left hand in a
back-handed blow full in tlic insolent face of his
enem .

That done he stepped back, picked up his hat and
cloak, and stalked toward the door.

The action was so prompt and vigorous that the
Musketeer, who had come IN) ared for a duel, was
for a moment overcome. lie ilood poured from his
nose, and he was compelled to munch it with his
handkerchief, before he could rise to follow.

As for the rest of the room, it was all in a tumult
instantly. The companions of Foix leaped up, and
half drew their rapiers, but not so quickly but that
Carroll and Cavnuagli were quickest. The red giant,
with a single stride, reached Granville, whom he
seized with his powerful gras , shouting:

“Not a step, mousieur, or y the toenails of St.
Patrick I’ll break every bone in your body! Your
friend escrved iti“

Cavanagii was equally prompt to seize the other by
the arms, saying, sternly:

“Fair play, monsieur. You shall have all the
fighting you want, but in the right way."

l‘hen Scotch, Irish, and French officers and volun-
teers crowded round, and a hubbub of voices was
hear . Desmond was sto pcd on his way to the
door, and an animated iscussion ensued, which
ended in a few minutes 1) the appointment of a
meeting in the Pra am: 6' m, or Cierks‘ Meadow,
behind Notre Dame, the dueling ground of Paris.

St. Foix, who had succeeded in stancliin the blood
from his nose was much less insolent in s demean-
or iiow, but his face, pale as death, was set in an ex-
pression of fierce resolve. He made no objection to
the meeting; indeed, behaved with rent courtes to
the Irish gentlemen round him. Tie fact was t at
every one respected his daring in comin almost alone
into the midst of his enemy‘s strong old, and the
cliivairous generosity of the higliborn Irish nobles
was punctilious in its observance of courtesy to him,
in SE to of his unprovoked insult to Desmon .

T e latter was still in a state of bewilderment as to
the cause of attack. The Musketeer had s led him
out so pointedéyé that it was evident that e knew
him, and et raid could assign no cause for the
others be avior.

He was too true an Irishman, however, to refuse
to fight on that account. Like all his race, he would
fl ht for fun, if required. In a quarter of an hour
a ter the fracas, he was on his way to the Clerks’
Meadow, with his two friends, while the three Mus-
keteers sauntered carelessly after in the same di-
rection.

In half an hour two large arties were on the
grounds, the news having spre with lightning speed
35d seeirecy, the only parties left in the dark being

e po cc.

Just as the clock of Notre Dame struck six and the
sun was setting, Gerald and his two friends stood
opposite to the three Musketeers, sword in hand.

CHAPTER IV.
was 'rairnn DUEL.

Aocoanmo to the custom of the age, the princi-
pals did not fight alone. Each had his seconds, who
engaged alongside. and any one dispatching his an-
tagonist had a right to help his friends afterward.

There was but little tme wasted in ceremony.
Both parties were armed alike, both were culrasses,
and carried long three-cornered ra iers. Merely re-
moving their hats to bow formal y to each other,
the instantly replaced them. and crossed swords
wi aclash. The twilight at that season of the
year afforded ample light for an hour to come, and
the thrusts and parries were delivered with great
vi or and recision for several moments.

 

orald esmond agood swordsman at anytime,
found that in St. F’oix he had met a dangerous an-
tagonist. The Frenchman‘s rapier played around

his own blade in small glittering circles, with wonder-
ful ra. idit , and each thrust gained on his own parry
h 8. met on of a second, so that the ponit came
c oser and closer momentarily.

As both wore cuirasses, it was useless to thrust at
the body, and the combatants confined themselves
to the limbs. At last Gerald felt a sha prick in his
shoulder. St. Foix‘s point had touch . Then the
Irishman executedatrick that took the other b
surprise. With a. sudden whirl, he brought his is t
foot foremost, and the ra ier, plowing up his shoul-
der, pierced the sleeve of is coat, and ran out on the
other side. Pressing forward. so as to on age it still
more, Desmond seized the Musketeer Wl h his left
hand, drew back his sword, and stabbed the other
ifghull inhthe right thigh, spitting liim through and

roug .

Then he sprung back. and St. Foix fell to the
figund with a cry of unconcealable ain, while the

h cuirassler turned tosee how he fight went
with his companions. His shoulder smarted and
gained worse than if the wound had been deeper,

at he knew that he was not dangerously hurt.

He beheld Jack Carroll, evidently bearng down
his slight adversary, Granville. The antic volun-
teer was thrustin at the other, and e1 with true
Irish delight. w ehis fie mustac e stied over
his grated teeth. The Mun eteer was being driven
back with increasing rapidity, while Carroll compli-
mented him with sarcastic epithets at eve fresh
thrust, too nick and strong to be denied. efight
was plainly a no means e ual.

Presentl ranville, exci by the taunts of the
other, in e a desperate rauy, executed the same
trick that Gerald had just performed, and by taking
a wounded shoulder and torn coat, succeeded in
stabbing the Irish giant. His thrust caught Carroll

* Simona—let us go out. The ultimate challenge to
instant duel, whic no Frenchman, in those dueling
days, could refuse without i:-.iol.:rable disgrace.

 

3

full on the face, for it was wildly given, and ran
him through the cheek, breaking a tooth in the pos—

sa .

fith a roar of rage, the cuirnssier staggered back
a moment, and then, forgetting his seience in his
fury, be rushed at the lirenchman, discharging a
shower of blows from a weapon without an edge, as
if it had been a shillelah.

Under this novel assault to him-Granville ro-
treated in dismay. His hat was knocked off and hii;
head bruised in a few blows, and Carroll, raspiiii:
him by main force, disdainful of his swor , would
have strangled him a moment later.

He was lnten‘upted by a fresh antagonist.

Cavanagh had been the most unlucky of the
Irish party. A small man at best, he was but a
youn swordsman, and his anta onist was a inas-
ter 0 the weapon. Defending iimself as well Is
he could, lie was forced to retreat as fast as Car-
roll's opponent. Just as Granville struck at Our-
roll‘s face, Cavanagh’s foot slipped, and his antago-
nist spittcd him through the sword arm with a grim
lau ,h of triumph.

T ien, without wasting a moment, the Muskotecr
rushed to the help of Granville, and reached the
scene in time to give the Irish ant a prod in the
rear that caused him to fling ranville down with
a howl, while he turned like a lion on his treacher-
ous foe.

But this was the moment for Desmond to act, and
he did act, with a promptitudo that restored the con-
test immediately.

Seein that the Frenchman was unwounded, and
evident y a su Jei-ior swordsman, he flew to Carroll‘s
he] , just as t e Irish giant received a third wound
in t e sword arm.

Before the Frenchman could interpose his rapier,
Gerald‘s point caught him in the arm-hole of the
cuirass and the Irishman buried his sword in the
bod of the Musketeer.

e duel was Over, and the Irish party had tri-
umphed, for Granville surrendered to us two foes.

CHAPTER V
To His unr‘s BOWER.

LATE that evening, two cavaliers, wrap in large
cloaks, were passing through the dimiy- hted and
narrow streets of the Faubourg St. Honors, in Paris,
when a youn lad in the dress of a p e, hastily ac-
costed the s citer of the two, in a ow voice, say-
mg‘ Monsieur, ma I speak with you a moment?“

“ With me? ant why with metn demanded Gerald
Desmond, for it was he, in some surprise.

“ You are the cavalier that was at the hunt in the
forest," said the boy, in a positive tone; “ for I saw
you there.”

Jack Carroll gave a short laugh, checked by a
grant, for his face was tied up, an pained severely.

“ Go along with ye, Desmond,“ he mumbled. “ ll
bail it‘s the party cr’ature that ye’ro dr'amin' about,
sint for e. Ye re in luck, at last."

Coral disengaged his arm from that of his com-
panion with a strange tremor of excitement. Thu
words of the boy had suggested the same train of
thou ht to himself. '

“ es, I am that cavalier," he said, eagerly. “ What
would on?“ -

 

Wi monsieur come with me, and submit to be
blindfolded i" asked the boy, in a whisper.

The volunteer drew back.

“ Blindfolded—for what reason i“

. “ I can not tell, inonsleur," said the .boy, confiden-
tial] , “but the lady ave mo strict orders."

“ he lazily! What y?“ asked Gerald, eagerly.

“The l y whom monsleur saved,“ whis ered the
boy. “You must not say another word, ut come,
or stay. Which is it?“

It is needless to speculate on Gerald's answer.
Young, ardent, and full of Irish inipetuosity, he
hesitated no longer. The beautiful lady had sent for
him and it was eno

“jack,” he said urrledly, to his companion,
” ou‘ll excuse me or leaving you, will you not?"

‘And I will that," said Carroll, heartily. “Good
luck with 91" ,

“Now en boy,"said Gerald to the young mes
sen er “1 on.‘

“ ill monsieur, then put on this bandagte?" said
the boy, producin a b ack bandage and o ering it
to the young sol er. “I must trust to monsieur's
honor to blind himself completely."

Gerald tied on the bandage without a word. and
the appeal to his honor compelled him to do it more
effectually than he mi ht have otherwise done.

Carroll, with a she “good-i ht.“ turned away,
whistling an old Jacobite air, an took the road
the barracks of his regiment while the boy. keeping
hold of Gerald‘s hand, turne a. corner and down a
side street, whence the proceeded to thread a mass
of narrow lanes and eys, Desmond following his
guide with quiet trust.

His Irish comrade had no sooner lost ht of
them than be halted, listening to their foo tepl.
Then, with a muttered we be stooped down and
unbuckled the jin ling spurs e wore, which hetr -
ed his coming a ong way ahead put them in 1:
pocket, threw his cloak over his oft arm, so as to
act as a shield, and to free his motions from incum-
branoe; and finally turned and deliberately began to
dog his comrade and his young _ ide. The clung 0t
Gerald’s urs was distinctly au ble 9. street ahead,
and Carro by keeping in the muddy gutter, was
able to follow without being heard or seen.

“ By the bi bell of Athlonel" muttered the giant.
as he stole ong, “it‘s m¥hty foine intirely to, he
trustin‘ the ladies; but Jac Carroll isn‘t the boy to
let his comrade run into dnn er blindfolded. Maybe
it‘sall ht and maybe ag n it isn’t. It‘s mix ty
(Kilian Musketeers should have kicked up that
s indy this afternoon with a man the never saw be—
fore. Ye may give yer honor, Geral .biit I haven't
ven mine no to follow 'e, and by the cross of St.

atricki I’ll know where e take ye.”

Thus muttering to himnef the culrassier stole
along with a caution and stillness of which no one
woud have deemed his huge frame capable. He
was wounded in three laces, it is true, but none of
them seriously affec his war? the Sword-arm
wound being a mere scratc ; an Carroll, when
cool. was a splendid swordsman, on account of his
length of reach and great strength of wrist. In a
few moments. he turned the same corner round
which Gerald and his conclqu had gone. '

4.-

They were no ion or to be seen. There was but a
single lamp in the s rest, a dim, smoky thing, ha -
ing on a rope over the middle of the kennel, for Par 5
in those da 3 was innocent of as. He could hear
the clash o Gerald's splurs an the pattering foot-
steps of the lad in shot or lane, and he stole on, with
immense strides, steppli as softly as possible in the
mud. When he reac c the next corner he dis-
tinguished the forms of his friend and the boy, just
vanishing round a third corner. Encour ed in his
object, he ‘proceeded with increased rap dity, and
succeeded keeping them in sight during along
and apparently aimless, ramble amid the crooked
streets. First they left the aristocratic Faubourg
St. Honors and lunged into the squalid slums of the
Faubourg St. ntoine, the Five Points of Paris.
Threading street after street, in along circuit, they
finally emerged by the banks of the Seine, only to
turn again, and enter the precincts of the most aris—
tocrat c o‘uartor of all, the Faubourg St. Germain.

“ Ahal muttered Carro “sure we’re comin’
there at last. Ye‘re a sharp oy, but Jack Carroll‘s
behind ye."

As the' Irishman had susifcted from the first, the
boy began to walk slower w so he got into this quar-
ter. It was evident he was nearing his destination.
Once he stopped and looked round, but Carroll was
prepared for the maneuver. He had been slinki'n
along close to the houses, and when the boy turue ,
he stopped and stood like a statue his form blend-
iniwi a sculptured urn in front 0 a gateway.

t last the page and his conductor aused in front
of a_ large‘ house, dark and gloomy n appearance,
and where-the 01;}?! light came from the lit e window
of the porter‘sl e, beside the carriage archway.

Carroll shrunk c ose to a house, and watched them.
They did not go to the 10 e. Theirage stopped at a
little alle ay beside the ones ved down it with
Desmon and van' bed.

When the cuirass er arrived at the same alley be
perceived a small gateway in a hfilh, brick gar on-
wall and the door was closed, the e empt .

“ the Hokeyl but I've’ ot ye a las , ye slip-
pery ittle divill’ muttered arroll as he Withdraw

nto the street to- examine the outside of the house.
“ Now who mag all this belong to?"

He scanned t e outside to discover some traces of
ownership, but the night was too dark to distin ish
the coat—of-arms over the carriage-we , an the
cuiraseler was too cautious to enter at he porter's

e to inquire.

ere was only one thing to be done, if he wished
totrace his friend, which was to remain where he
was till the other came on , and this he resolved to
do. Retiring to the opposite side of the street, Car-
roll took his post in the loomy archwa of a corre-
sponding alley, wrap himself in h cloak, and
leascefll against the wall, prepared for a patient
wa

Minute after minute flew b , and all was perfectly
still. It was long past thet e for balls and route
for in those da 5 earlier hours were kept, on account
of the want 0 the lights with which we now turn
night into da . The lamp in the rter‘s lodge was
now extin shed, and the great ousc was as dark
as a tomb.

Presently the deep boom of the clock of Notre
Dame tolled slow out on the air.

, There were but hree strokes.

Then clock after clock followed, all over the city,
and in a. few minutes all was still again.

Carroll folded his arms and waited patiently.
Presentl he thought that he heard the distant sound
of foots ps in a neighboring street. He was not
mistaken. Tramp, tramp, clash, clash—it became
plain that two gentlemen, with spurs and swords,
were coming.

The cuirassisr arranged his cloak so as to leave his
sword-th read to his hand, and maintained his

He hes the sound of deep voices, in the low
grumbling tones of men in confidential conversation,
and was not surprise , when they turned up the
street in which he stood and came toward him. He
had felt all along that something mysterious was
going to hop . .

Presently t 6 two mmassed in front of him, but,
contrary to what he _ ted, both wore the
uniforms of the carabineers o the king‘s household.

Both halted front of the very house he was
watchi ; and one of them, a slight, youthful figure,
said in a ow tone:

“ Pardieu, Etioles, the fellow must be a fool after
dn‘t catch me trustingmyself blind-

all. You woul
fold to a x." '

“These Will do anything ” said the second, a
tall cavalier, whose face was ldden from Carroll’s
Flew." “ They will run into any danger after a pretty

ace

“ One thing, we have the dog now," said the slight-
er one, savagely. “ By the b no heaven, Etioles, it
was well thought of, to send the be after him. It

wills risgmsdame,andgiveusbo agoodexcuse

to kill .

“I wonder has he arrived yet?" muttered the one
called Etioles. “ If I thought he were, now would
be the time to go on."

” Best not," said the other, with a sneerlng laugh.
“ It is never fair to enter a lady’s house without

ving her notice. He is in by this time, for Jacques
a faithful boy. When he comes out, we can finish

“Th b the wars e‘ll have to dale with Jack
Cairo entog," mggtered 3the cnirassier, as he eyed
the unconscious plotters. “I was afraid of this, ye

thaves.
W! some one comes, " suddenly whispered
E liggfi starting to one side. “There he comes,
be 8 doubt "

ll looked across the street. The light of a
lantern was seen moving behind the brick wall, and
a key was rattling at the little door.

The two Musketeers, With drawn swords, stood
waiting on either side of the alley-way.

CHAPTER VI.
was amines-rm.
Wm Gerald Desmond

surrendered himselfto
hilyoungguide, hehadno fear of theresultotliis
adventure. Ever since his encounter intheforest,

the image of the
had saved fioatedpdflore his mental vision. Young
and a soldier, he had yet never before been in love,

 

 

:I‘he Irish Captain.

 

and the assion that he now entertained was cor-
respond ngl violent strong enough to overcome,
scruples an fears alike.

Ho accompanied his little conductor in silence
along their tortuous route. Once, when he did ad-
dress him a uestlon, the boy made no answer but a
whispered “ uin I" and after that, Gerald spoke no
more. His word pledged to retain the bandage
nothing would have induced him to remove it, 11ml
he soon lost all idea of locality in the rapid and
ca ricious turns of his guide.

on the turned into the dark alley-way. and
stopged at t e garden door, he asked his conductor:

‘ re we there yet i”

“Almost,” said the lad in a. whisper, “ You must
not 5 eak now. I am going to take you upstairs,
and cave you alone in a room. When you hear a
door shut, you may remove the bandage. Do you
give your word 1’"

“Ida,” replied Gerald, unhesitatingly. Then he ‘

heard a key grate in the lock, and he stepped over
the thresho d of a door, on soft grass.

His companion locked the door behind them, and
then, taking his band, led him on, till they ascended
a flight of stone steps. 11 a few moments later, a
door softly o ened, and Gerald felt the warm air of
a house on h s face.

“ Step softly,” whispered the lad. “ Your spurs
clatter too loud.“

Gerald proceeded with due caution down a stone
Eassage, and up some softly-carpeted stairs, when

8 came into another )assage that seemed to be very
thickl covered, for is foot sunk noiselessly into
somet in soft, and even his spurs made the faint-
est of jin es.

At last is ide opened a door, and he was sensi-
ble, through he bandage. of a flood of light, in con-
trast with the dense darkness he had before felt.

“ When you hear a door close,” whispered the lad,
“unbandage your eyes. Go forward as far as you
can, and good fortune attend you.”

A moment later there was a subdued noise, as of
the shuttin of a door and Gerald Desmond took
off the ban age, to find iniself alone in a small ante-
room, sum tuously furnished in white and gold, in
the gaudy ashion of Louis XV. and his times.

It was several moments before the young soldier’s
eyes grew accustomed to the light, of which there
was a rfect glare in the room, from a central
chande er. Then he remembered his guide’s advice,
and marched straight forward.

Before him was a closed door. The lock yielded to
his hand, and he behold a second room, larger than
the firs furnished in pink and gold, and equally
em ty 0 human presence.

ondering, but resolved to e lore to the last, the
Irish volunteer passed boldly rou h the second
room. He saw a door ajar before h m, and heard
the sound of voices behind it. He step d to listen.
Both were female voices and one—he
but once, but he remembered every tone—was the
same that hadonce murmured, “ O’eet tot, man. amt.”
He recognized eve note.

It can not be den ed that Gerald Desmond experi-
enced a serious feelinglof embarrassment as be ad-
vanced to this door, w lch se arated him from the
lady of his adoration. Had s e been alone, it might
have been different, but the presence of a compan-
ion altered the case. Who was this com anion. and
what were two ladies doing sitting up at hree in the

mornian . '
Revo vin these uestions in his mind, he stepped
upto the oor an threw it 0 en, standin in he

doorway. There he stood as' meted to t e spot,
dumb with surprise. _

He beheld before him the most charmmg of bon-
dolrs,hungland furnished in ale-blue silk and silver
lace. In t e midst was a litt 6 round table and chairs
covered with ivory, the table bearing a co fee-service
of liar delicate and beautiful porce ain.

t one si e of the apartment was a br ght wood—
fire in an open chimney, and seated before it, in an
easy-chair, of which t e wood was ivory the cush-
ions blue silk, was Gerald‘s enigmatical old friend of
the hunt, who had warned him against danger.

Relieved of his long roquelaure, this strange old
gentleman afigeared in a suit of pearl-colored satin,
with white~s stockings, and his shriveled yellow
face looked keener than over, under the snowy tie-
wig. He was looking at the blaze, and leisurely sip-
ping a cup of coffee.

At the table, presiding over the coffee-service. was
a young lady, very small, vei pretty, with spark-
xligg black eyes and black eye rows, while her full

lips pouted bewitchingly over sno teeth. She
wore a magnificent evening-dress of w ite and am-
ber satin, which suited her dark Italian face to a
charm and her hair was thickly powdered.

But erald's eyes left all the rest, to gaze on the
h of the lady he had saved. -

here she was, sure enough, as lovelyl as over her
fair hair thrown back from her fore cad, with an
imperl coronet-like wave, crowned with diamonds.
She lay k in a large couch, with whose blue and
silver trimmings her dress, of blue satin and white
lace, harmonized perfectly. _

As she la indolently against the cushions,’ near

the old gen eman, her face was turned toward the
door, as were none of the others, and she was the
first to perceive Gerald.
The apfiarltion of a tall dragoon, with breast—
plate an sword, his black hair falling over his
shoulders in the wild stgrle of the Irish Brl ado. who
disdained wder, his eavy horseman’s c oak trail-
lnéhbehln him, was enough to 8 rise an one.

e ladfitaited, uttered a slig ,t shrie , and re-
mained s ng at the door, as if terrified. The
young brunette looked round in surprise, then in her
turn uttered a scream of terror, and sprun to the
side of the blonde lad , still screaming an hiding
her eyes in the other‘s 

The old gentleman turned his head to the door,
and remained staring as if spellbound a moment.
Then he started up, with the alacrit of a oung

 

man, t down his cup on the table th a de bera-
tion t showed the possession of firm nerves, and
advanoed'on the young soldier

“ What do you here, monsieur?” he asked. sharp-
ly. “#7110 are you, how did you get in, what do you

Geraldwas for a moment dumbfounded. The sur-
prise of every one in the room was so natural and
uni! ed,thatfor the first time he be an to re-
alize at some trick had been played on im.

ad heard it ‘

 

He was too bold and straightforward, however, to
hes1tate now.

' Advancing two steps into the room, and address-
ing; the fair lad directly, be said, in a distinct tone:

. Madam (li( you send your page to find me and
him me hither?"

“ ‘ood Heavens, no!" ejaculated the lady, with
every n pearnnec of terror.

“ hem for you J" cried the 01d gentleman, angrily,
“a common soldier, a dragoonl Are you mad? Who
are your"

“ am sorry on have for otten me so soon,“ said
Gerald, somew iat sadly, as 6 turned his face to the
door. “I can only say that I was brou ht hither
blindfold by a page, w 0 know me as t 8 person
who saved this lady‘s life a week ago. If I war;
brought here to make sport of, take your fill, ma»
dam. ,An Irish gentleman never resents a lady’s ill-
usage. '

During this speech the old gentleman had been lls~
tonins atteiitivel , and scanning Gerald’s face keen--
ly. \X’hen he ha finished, he said:

“Do you mean that madam’s page brought you
here, monsieur?” ,

“I do," said Gerald, coldly.

“.Tbeu here is some dark wor ," sudden] ' ex-
claimed the lady herself, wlio had been listening to
the conversation, and growing calmer.

“ And if I mistake not, madame la baronne, this in
the same gallant outh who saved you from tho
stag‘s horns the ot er day,“ said the gentleman.

In a moment the lady had flown toward Gerald.

“It is thou, indeed,“ she cried; “and in danger
again for me. ’

 

CHAPTER VII.
A BEAUTIFUL cums.

Fnon that moment the situation was changed.
The blonde lad came close to Gerald with strange
intentuess, an placing both hands upon his shoul-
ders, looked earnestly into his face.

The volunteer blushed like a girl under the
scrutiny, while the lad seemed entirely uncon-
smous of any im roprie y. She had the air of one
used to common every one round her, and earnest
as was her gaze, there was none of that tremulous
eagerness t at accompanies love.

At last she withdrew, with a long sigh, sayin :

“It is thou, indeed, poor boy, and I shall know
thee now."

Gerald was intoxicated, as with some sweet and
subtle perfume, by every word and action of this
strange y fascinating being. The very form of ad
dress she used to him—the second person singular
—has'in French a peculiarly swee and caressing
meaning, used in family intercourse and between

lovers. v

Then the lady addressed him with the some sweet
freedom saying:

“What is thy name my friend?”

“ Gerald Desmond,’ re lied the soldier.

“ And thy re ment, w at is it?” she pursued.

“ Clare’s Iris ciiirassiers," he answered, proudly,
for his corps was famous in France.

“ Thy rank i“

:1: Single ioldiereaind Eighteen” if m

e y umm a' etune.as co dering.
Then she abruptly asked:

” Wouldst thou be an officer 1*“

Gerald started.

t. “madame—I—I—of course every soldier is ambi-
ious.

“ Good," she said, nodding her head, with a
strange, absent look as if she was thinking of some-
thing else. “You shall be one to-night. Shall he
noAt’sTlllieresel: h t d t th 1

sesoeseumeosouner who
sat on thegouch, a little we omylroo ng (Sidayt this
strange scene in perfect st ness, without any ex-
pression of wonder. With the tact of high-breeding
—for it was evident that all those people were of
high rank—both she and the old gentleman had re-
sumed their usual quiet demeanor, as if nothing had
occurred to disturb them.

Now Mademoiselle Therese, as she was addressed
raised her great dark eyes to those of Gerald, and
instantly dropped them, with a vivid blush, as she
said in a low tone:

'_“I am sure monsieur deserves it, Antoinette, for
his gallantry in rescuin you the other day."

Thelady who was ca ed Antoinette went ra idly
toalittle bureau, of which the front, like all) the
furniture in that room, was thickly crusted with
ivory, and opened a drawer.

She drew out therefrom a parchment covered with
writing and bearing a huge green seal, seized a an
which a on the top of e bureau, and turn to
Desmon .

“ Spell your name " she said, in the rapid, imperi-
ous manner in whie she did eveig thing.

Gerald obeyed, and she wrote t e name in a blank
space on the parchment, in two places, then handed
it to him with the ink still wet, sayi :

.“There thy commission as capt n in the cars.-
bmeers. 'It is thine. Take care of it."

Then, while Gerald gazed with stupefied amaze-
ment at the archnient, with the si n manual of
Louis XV. at t e foot as plain as coul be, the lady
turned to the old gentleman, who was still sitting by
the fire and said:

“Will you see to the orders being issued, Arouet,
that our captain may have no trouble?"

“Certainly, madame “ he re lied, brlskl rising.
“ Young man, you are ucky to ave found Elladame
Antoinette to-night, I can tell you."

Gerald could only bow, and stammer out his grati-
tude and surprise in a. few bungling words, when
Arouet continued:

“ And we do not yet know, monsieur, to what com-
bination of circumstances we owe this unexpe
Visit of yours. Madame Antoinette has been kind
enou h to overlook the accident, but at least she
woul like to know how you came to be at that door,
Without notice or warning. Do you know where you
are " ~ '

“Frankly, no," said Gerald.

The ladies exchanged quick glances.

“ Do you mean to say,’ began Madame Antoinet
sharply, “that you do not know where you are, an
who am?“

“I do not,” said the volunteer, simply. Then he
entered into a history of how and why he had come,
to all of which the three listened wit great intent»

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ness. When he had finished, Madame Antoinette
turnec} to Monsieur Arouet, and said, in a.low tone:
“ It 5 he, Without doubt. I recognize his work.”
Arouet merely shrugged his shoulders. ‘
“Ifa man were to tempt me like that,” he said
“I would let him have the benefit of the crime, if I
were a lady, which I am not.“ .
And he twisted his keen old face in a sarcastic

I'll].

g Madame Antoinette turned on him with her quick,
im erious manner.

‘ And I, on the contrary, shall do no such thing.
Do you not see that it is a plot against this youth‘s
life because—“ .

Iiere she leaned over and whispered in the other’s
oar.

Monsieur Arouet‘s fnco underwent a change as he
listened, ‘

“Parbleu J" he exclaimed. “that is sufficiently
likely. But I, too, have Hoiiicthing to say in that
quarter. Monsieur may play his cards as well as he
likes; this young man came in by chance, and he
shall not be cheated of the stakcs.’

“So I say,” repeated Madame Antoinette, firmly.
“Now, man amt, what shall we do?"

“Leave it to inc,” said Arouet.

Then he turned to the Irish volunteer, saying,
gravely:

“Monsieur, you are to understand that you have
had a narrow escape to-niglit, and that you have
fallen on your feet with wonderful luck. The boy
who iiiveiglcd you hither is not a servant of Madame
Antoinette, but of—well—of some one else, who is

our deadly enemy. It is probable that you have
lyleen followed hither, and may be waylaid as you go
out. Are you armed?"

“I am,” said Gerald, shortly. He felt like a man
falling from a hi h precipice, quite disillusmnized.

Arouet notice his blank look, and added, with
rare tact:

“ My young friend, consider that if an enem al-
lill‘ed you hither, you have found friends in t roe
people, who may .do you good service. Madame
Antoinette has placed you on the first step of tho
udder to-niglit. Try to climb so high that you will
do credit to your protectress. I will see you out my-
self at the rivato door. Draw your sword and pre-
pare to on your way out. You are a soldier and
used to these things. But, live or die, remember
that your honor is pledged never to betray Madame
Antoinette.”

The young soldier, for all answer, sunk at the
not of the beautiful lady, who extended her hand
to him with a sweet smile. He covered it with
lzisses, then rising, howcd low to Mademoiselle
.‘lierese, and followed Monseiur Arouet from the
1 com.

He had hardly left it, when Therese sprung for-
ward and spoke rapidly and impetiiously to Madame
Antoinette.

“ Antoinette, he is going to be murdered. Can we
not save him?” '

“ He is a soldier ma chem," said the lady, quietly,
"‘ and must take 5 chances."

“ Not of assassination," cried the young girl, ener-
"etically. “ It must not, it shall not be, my sister.
:le must be saved!”

“But how, how?" asked the lady, impatiently.
“ If his own skill is insufficient to defend him, I have
«lane all I can to help him."

“ Then I will save him," cried Therese, her eyes
nparkling as she hastily caught 11 a. hooded cloak
of white satin lined with swan’s- own, and threw it
«.ver her shoulders. “They shall think he is my
1 )ver, and I will defy them to harm him.”

“Therese, you are mad," cried Antomette, has-
tily. “ COnSider, your name, your reputation—”

‘ Reputation l" echoed Tlierese,scornfully. “ What
i; that at this court?"

Before Madame Antoinette could stop her she
hid flown across the two outer rooms, down the
mirridor and stairs, and ran swiftly down the stone
*iissage below into the little square garden where
' is found Arouet in the very act of unlocking the
* trden gate to give egress to Desmond.

“Stop stop,’ she cried, in agitated accents. At

ie wor she was obeyed.

Then she swept up like a whirlwind to Arouet,

iatcbed the candle from his band, and opened the

)or herself.

“Retire, Monsieur Arouet," she said, waving her

ind with a. grand, iin crial manner; “twice has

us entleman expose his life for our house. It

1 fit ing that one of us should share his perils now. ”

Before the astonished Arouet could utter a. word
he had flung 0 en the door, and, signing to Des-
iond to follow, ed the way out of the alley, candle
i band, with a firm step.

Gerald was unconscious of the danger that im-
“mded, but he felt that it was of some nature that
sndered this act imprudent. Firml but respect-
illy he seized. the young lady and row her back;
ion placing bunsel before her, drew his sword.

“ Pardon, Mademoiselle Therese," he said; “it is
r. man’s place to meet perils first. You must retire,
« .' at least on] follow. '

“I will do is e last,” she said, in a clear, distinct
1 me, audible in the street; “ God prosper you, man.
:zicur. Strike and sesame not."

Without a word, .rald wrapped his cloak round
i is left arm for a shield and marched out, the girl
1‘ )llowing, holding the light.

A moment later, two masked men rushed at him
with drawn swords.

CHAPTER VIII.
AN IRISHMAN'S nonon.

HAD the volunteer been taken by surprise, his
r.:sassins would in all probabilityhave succeeded in
their efforts. As it was, expecting an attack he
was for it. He received the thrust of’tbe
1 \ft- man in the thick folds of his cloak, parried
the other with his rapier, and leaped into the street
whirling round so as to wrench one weapon almo
from h s adversary's grasp, and bring them both on
the same side of him. It was then the work of a
moment to stab the entangled assassm on his left in
the throat thrice, with a quick, nervous motion.

He might not have fared so well at this, but for
unforeseen help. At the instant he leaped into the
street, Jack Carroll strode forth with drawn sword
with a furious Irish curse. and fell on his ht-hand
antagonist, thrusting with avlgor that sent t 8 other

 

<‘r

 

5

 

The” Irish Captain.

 

reeling back, and retreating, in the vain endeavor to
escape the enraged lrisli trooper.

A moment later, the Frenchman tripped on the
slifipery stones and came on his back, while Oar-
ro , setting his foot on his chest, his sword-point to
the otlier’s throat,

“ Surrender, ye 4 ench thief, or b the big bell of
Athlone, I’ll spit ye like a lurk, ye 'rty coward, so
ye are!”

The assassins were totally discomflted, for Ger-
ahl’s cncmfi had fallen mortally wounded when
Mmlcmoisc e Theresa, who had watched the whole
struggle, suddenly emerged from the dark alley-way,
holding the light, which cast an auieole around her
beautiful head, and running to Carroll cried:

“Monsieur, monsieur, for my sake spare himi He
is my brother.”

The Irishman drcw back with amazement and
admiration on his countenance.

“Holy Moses, if it isn‘t an angel!”

Then, as he scanned the pleading, beautiful face
and costly dress, he suddenly drew back with great
i‘cspcc .

“If you wish it, mademoisello, lie is safe; but he
must unmask."

Here Gerald. who had disengaged himself fromjhis
dying antagonist, came up, and the young lady
turned to him imploringlg':

"Monsieur Desmond, e merciful. You have the
secrets of a family in our hands by an unhapp
accident. Remember, t e honor of Antoinette is
involved in this matter. Ask no questions, but go,
for our sakes."

Gerald looked hesitatingly at the assassin. He lay
sullonly in the place where he had fallen, hise es
glaring through the holes in the mask, without ut er-
iiig a word. It was very hard to let him go without
being able to recognize so deadly and treacherous a
foo; but the Irish volunteer was the soul of honor.

“In that case, mademoiselle " he said gravely,
“ we will take our departure- For this cavalier, he
owes his life solely to your intercession."

Ho bent on one knee at the feet of Therese, and
kissed her hand.

“ Come, Jack,” he said.

Carroll removed his hat, and awe t the ground
with a low bow before the beautiful 1‘].

“ Mademoiselle,” he said, “if ye ave any influ-
ence with this gentleman, who on is our brother,

ersuade him to kee clear 0. the Ir sli dragoons,
or by the head of t io Shun Van Vpgt, it won’t be
healthy for him to let the boys see him; and ye may
tell him that I‘ve heard his voice, and his name, too
often not to know both again.”

Then he replaced his hat and stalked off, accom-
panied by his friend, while Therese was left alone
with the fallen cavalier.

The latter waited till the d oons were out of
sight before he rose, and out 0 hearing before he
spoke. Then he turned savagely to the girl. who
stood by the arch of the alley-way, listening to the
receding ste s.

“So, you 001 of a girl, it is you that hires Irish
ruffians to dishonor our house, and stab your brother
in the back?”

She turned on him, with a singular expression of
measureless scorn.

“ Who are you that speak, monsieur? The masked
murderer or the complaisant husband 7”

Then, without another word, she turned proudly
away, and swept up the alley to the house. As she
passed‘the other man, fallen, and now almost dead,
she gave a visible shudder of horror; but, as if she
had nerved herself to the task she passed on into
the open court, leaving the little garden gate wide
open.

The masked cavalier shook his fist at the retreat-
in figure with stealthy ferocity, then went to the
be p of his (1 ing comrade.

" Are you adly hurt?" he asked, in a cold, heart-
less tone.

The dying man tried to speak. thrice, but in vain.
The sword had pierced the windpipe, severing the
ju ar vein in its passage, and a moment later he lay
st and dead.

“ Curse on your clumsy sword!" muttered the
other assassin. “ Harl‘you done our duty, we might
have killed the houn . As it a, there is only one
thing left—to hush up the scandal!"

As he spoke, be dragged the body up the alley into
the mysterious house. A little later, the garden
gate was closed and all still.

rowled out:

 

CHAPTER IX.
A SUDDEN rmnsronnnou.

Tun trumpet sounded “ To horse” outside the bar-
racks of Clare‘s dragoons, and the men, in full uni-
form, were lemiing out their horses from the stables
to the arade- ound.

Ger d and is friend Carroll were in the same
squadron, and in common with the other ntlemen
volunteers, occupied the right of the line. 3 squad-
rons were already counted ofi! in threes and latoons,
the trum ts bra ed out the “ assembly ’ and the
great re ent o cuirasmers formed in line with a
ponderous tram ing of horse-hoofs, while the stand-
ards tossed aylly in the wind above the plumed hats
of the cav ers.

Now a deep silence reigns alon the line. as the
regiments of carabineers, the blue white and 
Musketeers and the horse-grenadiers, take a r
glaces on the right of the Irish horsemen. for the

ay is a grand field-(lav. and the Irish are on the left
of the King's Household, to be reviewed in the Elysi-
an Fields before starting for the frontier.

Then follows the thunder of cannon, as the batteries
peel out the royal salute, and a. cloud of dust comes

oward the center of the line, in the midst of which
shine the breastplatos and swords of the Body
Guard, around three carriages, coming at a gallo .

Now the word rings along the line. up go he
swords to a present, and Gerald sees the carrl
flash by with twmklin wheels in the dust. Ami all
the confusion, be cute as sight of the beautiful faces
of two ladies in the first carriage and recognizes
them instantly as his two friends. Then. with a clot-
ter and a cloud, they are whirled by, and he remains
sitting on his horse n a state of semi-stupefmum.

“ Who can these ladies be?” he thinks,

There is not long to consider. The can-[fies dash
down the line to the left, come whirling ong the
rear, and return to their first sition; then the
troops wlzccl by squadrons, and raid finds himself

“approaching him, mounted

 

ridin away at a rapid trot, amid the clanking hosts
Bass g in reView. As he nears the reviewin point,

is eyes eagerly turn to the first carriage. here is
no one in t now but the well-known figure of the
king, sitting with a sim’Fering, self-satisfied air,- to
watch his troop: s. he ladies are gone!

With a blan eeling of disappointment the dra-
goon passes by, and in due course regains his place,
when the review is over.

And then, just as he is expecting the order to take
up the homeward march, an officer, followed by
a numerous suit, rides out into the 0 en space!!!
front of the king, and again a dead 3 lonco reigns
along the line.

The officer is a man of huge and powerful frame,
dressed in glittering armor in the st in of a. bygone
age. He is somew at cox-pulent an the black, full-
bottomed wig he wears can not disguise his age. On
his cuirass litter a perfect galaxy of stars and
crosses and e wears the crimson scarf of 9. mar—
shal of Trance.
0 “ Wlllio is that?" whispered Gerald to his neighbor,

arro .

“Sure and it’s ould Saxe himself, had luck to him
for n. plaguey ould martinetl" grumbled the his]:
cuirassier.

t'l‘hein the nearest officer turned his head, and said,
s cm .

“ Si once in the ranks, therei"

The marshal rode 111]) to the colonel of Gerald’s
regiment, and saida ew words to him, delivering
him a paper, then rode oi! toward the carabineers.
Gerald 3 heart beat fast as Lord Clare came toward
the volunteers, and audibl called for:

“Gerald Desmond, gent eman volunteer.”

Desmond rode out and saluted.

“Mr. Desmond,” said his lordshi , kindly “you
are relieved from dut in my re ment. are is

our discharge. With t is an order to report to the
hukc de Richelieu. He commands the carabineers."

Gerald bowed to his horse's mane as he took the

pers. Hitherto he had hardly dared to hope that
Ell-i commission, given him in such a strange way
goll‘ltld be real. Now he began to believe in his good

0 une./

He turned his horse with milita promptness, and
rode off to the next regiment. arshal Saxe, with
his brilliant suite, was just leaving its commander.
Gerald trotted up, and saluted, in silence, a middle-
aged man, with a handsome. dissipated face, who
wore the uniform of colonel of the carbineers, be-
sides the littering star of a lieutenant-general.

It was t c duke of Richelieu, grand nephew of the

cat cardinal and bearing somewhat of his ances-

or’s intellect n his keen face.

Richelieu looked at the young man with a glance
in which even his practiced muscles could not w
press on expression of surprise.

“You are Captain Desmond just assigned, I boo
lieve," he said, coldly. “I w' not disguise from
you, monsieur, that our officers will not be very cor-
dial with you at first. You are noble, I presume."

“M famil are earls,” said Gerald, proudly. “I
myse f am t e last of In line, and the rightful earl
of Athlone. though an ex le."

“It is understood,” said Richelieu, airin waving
his hand. “Of course his majesty would not have
commissioned you if on had not been noble. Well,
sir, you are allowed ,t ree days for your outfit, when
gun will report to me for du y. Meahwhile, you are

appl to the quartermster-general for quarters,
present nfi this order.”

He ban ed the new captain a paper, and suffi-
ciently displayed by his manner that the interview

was over.
Gerald bowed low and retired, feelin strangely
solitary and forlorn. His promotion h come, and

with it he was separated, as by a gulf. from hip for»
mer companions, while in his new regiment he was
all alone, not, as yet knowing a sin is person. Then,
too, bis outfit puzzied him not a ttle. He was al-
most penniless, and an exile. At home, his estates
had been confiscated in the time of his grandfather.
and the last earl of Athlone had dropped histitlc
when he was driven to serve as a private soldier.

A glance at the s lendid uniforms of the curabl-
neers had satisfied a young cgtain that a heavy
sum would be needed for his on t, of which he had
nothing, save horse and arms.

Full of despondency, s lie of his
aid rode slow! off to t e address ndorsed on the
paper handed iin b Richelieu. As he went, the

cat line of review roke up, and the troo tool:

eir. way home. With a strange, and fee of
loneliness, Desmond watched his old regiment file
on toward the stables, and found himself almost
alone on the parade.

The court (norm had driven off, and Marshal
Saxe, with his b t staff. was leaving the place.
The oung soldier gnlloped after him and soon
tom: the quarrermastor-general, to whom he do-
livered his order.

atgerfcct courtier, was all smiles and
affabilit . A 9 same time like Richelieu, he
scan the new-comer with sible curiosity, and
as he gave him a. billet to a. certain quarter of the
palace, he said, with e. si flcant grin:

“ Monsieur le ca tain a avery baggy man. Ihope
that he will not 0 at that I have friended him.
It is not every one w 0 has had the luck of monsieur
lIehcapitalne. He will find the quarters comfortable,

ope.

Gerald thanked him and retired, more than ever
puzzled at the mystery that surrounded him. He
went to his new quarters, and found to his
that they were on the und floor of the Tulierlea
itself, two large and lo ty rooms, turn with all
the heavy muggificence of the do .

But be was asgrcat a quan as ever as to
means of living. He had a horse wh ch he had just
tied to a tree, and here it was, late in the afternoon,
and he had neither food. forage nor money, save a
few francs. What was to be done?

Completely at a loss, he stood in the doorway of
his new apartments, looking gloomin out~ on the
Tulleries gardens, and feeli at the momentasif
howould rather be back in t e ranks again, where
he had no cares, and where his pay was sufficient
for his wants. ,

As he stood thus, he soon spied a well-known
on a sober cob, an fol-
lowed by throe servants with led horses. a

“Monsieur Amuet," he exclaim joyfully, as
that eccentric gentleman approached wrapped

romotion, Ger-

6

 

 

as usual in his roquclaurc of brown, “I am glad to
see you. "

“And I have only to say, monsieur, as I said the
other night that you are a remarkably luck man,"
said Arouet with his dry, cynical grin. “ 0 you
know that I have come on purpose to see you, a
thing I have refused to do to dukes?"

“ hardly dared hope it,” said Gerald, frankly;
“but I knew you were my friend, and I rejoice to
see our face. ’

“ it possible? Well I, on the contr , am no
man’s friend. Do not deceive yourself. care no-
thing for you, but your intellect. - But I see in you a
man of action. I adore action. It is the end of man.
Sol have come hither to do you a favor. fish! you
do not know what it is?"

“ I can guess, monsieur, but I say nothing.”

“ You have reason. See your equipments. I have
it here, fit for a captain and a count. You are a
count of Ireland i”

“B right, yes: but I have dropped the title.”

“ i you have wit. Well, here is your servant,
and here are two battle-horses for yourself, with
trunks and apparel fit for your station. I will fur-
nish you with all the means necessary, and that will
be ten thousand francs in all. Now, monsieur 1e
comte, what say you, will you sign me a bond for
re yment with interest?"

raid hesitated.

“ Monsieur Arouet, I do not see what I have to of-
fer as security.“

“Parbleui” exclaimed the other, laughing, “but
these soldiers are not all alike. Some would grasp at
the offer and sign an thing. Decidedly, you are a
curious young man. I wished security I would
not be here. You are a man of honor. Sign this
bond and you are rich."

“What does it contain?" asked Desmond, doubt—
fully. His sudden fortune seemed too good to be

true.

Arouet looked it him keenly. Then he said, in a
low tone:

“ Sign it without speaking before these servants.
It is t e wish of Madame Antoinette. See here."

He handed him a little ink note. Gerald opened
it with trembling hands. I: ran thus:

“Do whatever Arouet bids you. He and I will
protect you from the enemies that surround you. It
is necessary that you should obey him."

Gerald tin-nod to Arouet.

“Monsieur, I am in our hands. For her sake I
will sign the bond, an I put you to your honor to
make no impro or use of my imprudence."

Arouet bowe and smiled his very rare smile.

“Yo man," he said, gravely, “you love like
the knigh sof old, and you make a worn-out courtier
think well of humanity. I will tell you what is in
this bond. It is a promise to pay ten thousand

francs within three years, to obey my orders when
not contrary to the k‘ ’s, and to give me interest at
twelve r cent a year.

“II I been le alone,” said Gerald, quietly, “I
would never have signed it. As it is, I do it for her
leaks. Be pleased to wait."

He went into his new apartments, caught u a pen
and signed the bond, then delivered it to rouet,
without a word. The eccentric gentleman put it in
his breast with equal” silence, then turned to the
servants:

/ *“ Behold your master," he said. curtly. “ Farewell,
count "

Without further adieu he rode slowly away, and
baflor? he tliladbgénlssed tl‘iieflglngawlalk, u caimeng
oero e -guar gopwoum
off hisyhorse and as uted Gerald. ,

“ Captain Count Desmond of the Second Carabi-
neers? '

“The same. What is it!"

“ Orders, monsieur lc comte.”

A moment later he was one, leaving Gerald loci:-
ing at a great white pac e directed “ Captain
Count Desmond."

He opened it and read as follows:

“ Captain Count Desmond will immediatel pro-
ceed to the frontier, where he will report to arshal
Cormontai e in the trenches at Tourna , if he does
not meet m sooner. He will procee by way of
Meaux, St. Quentin, and Douay, and will be accom-
panied b thirty troo rs, who will report to him to
night. y his majes ‘s orders.

“ Cmumnz, Sec."

Even as Gerald raised his eyes from the rape:- he
heard the clatter of weapons and behold he party
of mbineers trotting up to his quarters to report.

 

CHAPTER X.
.l muons counrssicu. ’

A NAB-ROW country lane in French Flanders wound
here and there through fertile fields, bordered with
thick hed es. The country was of that rich and
closely c tivated kind, intersected with fences and
ditches, that is exceedingly dangerous for cavalry to
pass thro h, while the great weeping trees that
stood at iggervals along the hedges, made the scene

«13ng delightful to an artist.
wn this narrow lane rode a long file of horsemen,
in white coats faced with crimson wearing glitter-
breastplates, and broad, lace hats over their
iv'vfite  They looked fitter for Paris vements
than not ve service, but the were none 1: e less the
famous carabineers of the rench king’s household,
the most redouhted troo of their day at a charge.

At the head of the y rode a yo omcer with
white plume in his t, glitte fig aiguillettes
hanging over his breastplate, whi e horse's hous-
ings were bordered with gold lace. In the rear of the
party followed several loaded summer-horses.

The officer was of course our old friend Gerald,
now re as Captain Count Desmond, and he
was ap reaching the end of his journey. Every
nowaml’thenthe sullen boom of a distantgun an-
nounced the a roach to the ci of Tourney close-
Kgnvested by e renowned on r Cormontaigne,

mccessor of Vauban. The lden glow of sun-

, an the horses ressed

on, scent e camp from ar, and
u t it with sq

instinct.
say you, t?" asked our hero.
" You have been here before. How far is it yet to
Tournay?’
“ About five miles, man cupit'liue.”

 

The Irish Captain;

“And yonder grove of trees, with those towers
surmoun ing it. What is that, sergeant?”
“It used to be the head-quarters of the marshal.

captain, but I hear he has moved in closer to the

cit .”

‘yThen we shall soon meet the pickets.“

He had hardly spoken when the lanigave a turn,
and a soldier in the middle of the re cocked his
carbine, with a sonorous “ Halt l"

The part stopped and Gerald rode forward alone
to answer he questions of the vidette.

“Who are you, and from whence?"

“ Captain of Carabineers, to report to the mar—

“ You can not pass till the officer arrives with the ‘v

relief."

“ How long will that be Y"

“ When the sun goes down. I expect them every
moment."

“ Where are the marshal’s quarters?”

“In the camp, captain, but be generally comes
round regularly to visit the pickets. Hark, they ap-
proach even now."

Gerald listened and heard the tramp of horses
and the clatter of accouterments in the lane at the
next turning. Presently a‘ large party of horsemen
a proached, preceded by two men with raised car-
b hes, the party being a glittering cavalcade of staff
officers surrounding a gray-headed officer, in the
uniform of a marshal of rance.

Gerald reined back respectfully.

“ Marshal Cormontaignc," said the picket, in a
low tone.

Presently up came the marshal, and halted in front
of Gerald.

“ Who are on, monsieur?” he asked, shag-ply.

“ Captain esmond, monsieur 1e marech , to re-
port to you. "

The marshal’s countenance grew grave, and he
scanned Gerald with a strange look.

“ You are prompt monsieur. I did not ex out
you till to—morrow. have received orders a out
you. Ride with me and I will tell you." ,

Then he turned to a dark, gloomy-looking officer
on his staff.

“ Baron d‘ Etioles, take charge of monsieur‘s
part and see them quartered near my tent. They
will e my escort, till his majest arrives. Captain
Desmond, Lieutenant Baron ’ Etioles, of your
squadron. You will be comrades in future. Baron,
this is Captain Count Desmond."

The two 0 men saluted with stifl courtesy.
Gerald coul not tell the mm but he e rienced
a sin lar dislike to the baron at first sig t, a feel.

w ich the other seemed to reciprocate, from his
co d and disagreeable manner. And yet the baron
was a very handsome man, with an unmistakable
air of haughty nobility.

The two . rties now so arated, and Gerald found
himself I1 alone wit the marshal, who soon
entered into conversation.

“Monsieur ie comte,” he said, “I have orders to
send you on a ve peculiar and dangerous service,
for which I heari y wish his majesty had chosen a
person of less consideration. But, as you are aware,

he king‘s orders must not be questioned.”

“What is the service, monsieur le marechal?”
asked Desmond, as the old officer became suddenly
s an . a

“ It is to take charge of a powder-mill, in a lonel
forest, by a pond, Within ten miles of the Eu lis:
outposts," said the marshal, in a low voice. ‘ The
garrison is small, there is every likelihood that the
enemy may attack it, the powder is useless out
there, and we want it; yet I have strict orders not to
dismantle it, till his majesty comes to join the
troogls."

“ hen am I to go there?” asked Gerald.

“To—night, as soon as we get back to camp," re-
Eliecl the .msrshal. “By-the-b , you came from

iare’s cuirassiers, did you not?’

“Yes,” said Gerald, wondering.

” Well, there is an officer of your old regiment a
new promotion, one Sub-lieutenant Carroll, w o
arrived here this morning. The orders specify him
as your second in command."

‘ Jack Carroll here, monsieurl Oh, that is indeed
good news. He is my sworn comrade. Now we
shall perform 'our duty well."

The marshal looked keenly but kindly at the
youn man as they rode along.

“ onsieur 1e comte," he said abruptly, “I like
you and your comrade. Tell me, have you any
reason to believe you have an enemy at court?"

“ I do not know, monsieur le marechai. I have at
least one ood friend there."

“Ah! w ois that?"

“ Monsieur, I do not even know her name, except
as Madame Antoinette. It is through her I obtained
my commission."

Cormontaigne looked at him again, from under
his ray brows.

t ‘Ldndeed—well, well—I do not Wonder," he mut-
er .

Then he sunk into a fit of absence that lasted dur-
ing the rest of the ride, and till they came mto the
camp by a circuitous route.

There they found the city of Tournay, with its
low, white lines of wall, under green embankments,
surrounded bya still larger city of white tents, in
regular order, while the rums and trumpets were
soundliiig “ retreat,“ and the soldiers were answer-

ro .

e marshal invited Gerald: into his tent and dis-

tched an orderly with some instructions after

which he sat down at a table and began scribbling
at some pers.

Prescn y there was a tap at the tent door.

“fining” said the old marshal, and resumed his

ng.

The next moment the gigantic figure of Carroll
stood in the tent, in the dress of an officer of Clara‘s
cuirassiers, and the friends silently grasped each
other‘s hands.

The could not speak, out of respect to the mar-
shal, ut their eyes devoured see other with ex-
pressive glances.
and for some time there was a. dead silence. At
last the old warrior rose, with a sigh of satisfac-

tion.
“It is finished. Monsieurs, I am at your service."
“I was ordered to report to you, monsieur le
marechai " said CmolL “ Have on any orders!"
“Yes, lieutenant. You will place yourself under

Cormonfaigne went on writing, .

 

Captain Count Desmond, with ten men, and follow
his directions. " .

“ And where will I get the men, monsieur?“

“ They are ready now, a detachment of volunteers
for s ecial service.”

“ aith, then, I‘m ready now, monsieur." said
Carroll, carelessly.

“It is well. ow for you, monsieur 1e comto.
Here are your orders.”

He ham ed Gerald the papers on which he had
been writing.

“ Your instructions and authority are here. I
have sent for the escort, who will be here in a few
minutes. By-the—by, you will have to take care
of a lady to achateau in the vicinitioflyour sir.-
tiou, count. She is Mademoiselle e ormaml,
niece of the former general of the revenues. You
will make the journey to-night, and the guide prom-
ises to have you there long before morning. Read
your orders carefully, when you ct to your post,
count. There is no time now. emember, they
are to be obeyed to the letter. I hear the escort.
Your servants and horses are with them. God be
with you, gentlemen, and briufi you safe back.
When his ma esty arrives, I sha ress at once for
your relief. t present you are on ( esperate duty.”

The old marshal held out his hands with soldiel‘l'
frankness, and the comrades grasped them Will
res ectful cordiality. Both thought they had never
me a more kind and genial leader.

Then there was a clutter of armor at the door; and
a big burly sergeant of dragoons, wi h a hangdor,r
face, and an ugly red scar across his nose and both
cheeks, stood stiflly saluting at the door.

“ Escort ready, monsieur lo marechnl.”

“Very good, sergeant. This is Count Desmond,
your lender, and Lieutenant Carroll, second in com-
mand. Who‘s the guide 'r"

"I am, so please your honor."

“ See that on do our duty, sergeant."

The mars xal spo re in a stern, sharp tone, and
looked keenly at the ugly sergeant, who, Gerald saw,
had but one eye.

The sergeant silently saluted, standing like n, post.

“ Gentlemen good-evening," said the old marshal.

Then they left the tent, and found a party 01'
dragoons outside, in the dusk of the evening, sitting
on their horses around a covered beam-litter.
Gerald‘s serum 6 and led horses, and Carroll's single
lackey, were in waiting, and the chargers of both
officers.

The mounted, and Gerald spoke to the sergeant.

“ ch way, sergeant?“

“ Toward the frontier, your honor,” said the man,
respectfully.

Gerald gave the word, and the party moved off
into the gathering gloom. As the. marshal’s tent
was in the rear of the camp, they were soon clear
of the tent; and as they approached the JleetS the
moon rose. The sergeant gave the won , and they
were soon past, and on their way to the open coun-

try.

“ And now, Jack,“ said Gerald, as they rode along
a broad, flat road, bordered with willows, with a
ditch on each side for miles ahead, “tell me how, in
the name of all that is wonderful, you came here,
with a commission?”

“ ’As enough, darlin‘," said the giant, coolly.
“Sure was the senior volunteer. and they‘ve been
flliin' the squadrons. Clare behaved like 0 gentle-
man entirely, and helped me to buy epauiettes and
such. But if that’s a quare thing, what d’ye
think of this?"

He lowered his tone cautiously.

“ D’ye mind the purty cr’ature that came out, the
tilrlne ye pinked the Frenchman in the street by the
a ev

“Yes, yes," said Gerald, eagerl . “What then F"

“ She s in the litter, beyaut," sai( Carroll, in a whis-

r. “Sure it hates me entirely what she’s doiu‘

ere, but I’ll go hail she’s the some."

“Impossible!” ejaculated the young count—“ and
yet if so—”

lie sunk into a profound reverie, and Carroll was
equally silent. The cavaicade pursued its eastward
marc .

 

CHAPTER XI.
TEACHING A MAN MANNEllB.

Tun road on which our adventurers were travel-
ing went on, straight as an arrow, mile after mile
over the same unvarying flat, with the same eterna
row of pollard willows on each side. The land-
scape was more Dutch than Flemish, in its monot-
ony,.and the only variety was given by the occa-
sional spire of a village church, embowered in trees,
on either hand. ,

For at least an hour the steady tramp of the
horses and the dull :{ingle of accouterments were
the only sounds aud ble. The men in the escort
kept strict silence, or conversed in occasional mut-
tered words, the two officers were buried in thought,
and the occupant of the litter, whoever she might
be, was as silent as if inanimate.

The ser cant, who officiated as guide, rode on
ahead, an so they kept on, till the road gave a
sweep to the left, meeting another road at an acute

wfile.
ere Gerald trotted up to the sergeant, and de-
mended:

“ Which do we take, sergeant?"

“ The left hand,” responded the man, grufily. He
seemed to have lost in a. moment all the respect he
had shown in camp.

“Whom are on addressing?" cried Gerald,
sharply. “ Do t ey omit to teach manners to their
soldieiis‘in your regiment? Salute when you address
me s .

The sergeant turned his face on Gerald, with a
forbl‘igding 800“ng f Pi rd ” h aid 1y

re men so ca , es savae.
“ andslve gave no Irish—” y ' g

The words were not out of his mouth when Gerald
struck him with his clenched fist a blow that sent
him over the side of his horse, and the youn cap-
tain, at the same moment, tip d the foot n the
stirrup nearest to him with the e of his own heavy
boot. The result of the maneuver was, that the
ser eant tipged out of his saddle and came down on
his cad in t 6 hard road,

“ Now, my friend,” said Gerald, coolly, “you’ll
learn respect to all officers, of whatever regiment,
after this. Get 11 . and tell me civilly, where does
the other road lea to?” _

 

lines o

The discomflted sergeant rose to his feet, with
the blood streamin down his face, His demeanor
was entirely alters now, being humble even to ser-

vili .

“(The other road leads to Brussels, captain," he
said. “ The English are on it, about ten miles oif."

“ How far are we from our destination i”

“ From the Chateau Dillon, about three miles,

monsieur le comte," said the sergeant, still more

humbl ; “ from the powder-mill, flvo."

“ at is your name?" asked Gerald, sternly.

“ Jean Bonnrd, monsieur le Comte, but they know
me best as ‘ Le Borgne ’ One-Eye)"

“Well, master Bonar ,“ said Gerald, authorita-
tively, “get on your horse and lead on. It‘s lucky
you were not insolent to Lieutenant Carroll, for he
would have dashed your brains out._"

The sei eant humbly removed his hat, and then
mounted is horse, just as the rest of the party
came up. Without another word he led on in the
new road, while Gerald not still on his horse and al-
lowed tlie paity to'pass him. The behavior of tho
Sergeant had roused a suspicion in his mind that
the rest of his party niigh be of the same kind,
dos rate characters, hard to control. The lesson
be ad given their chief seemed to have sobered the
latter completely, and the young captain desired to
inspect the rust. He made an imperceptible si n to
Carroll, who was hesitating whether to spea , to
move on, and by slowly falling to the rear, took a
good look at every man s face as he passed.

When he had concluded the inspection, he thought
to himself that he had seldom seen a more desper—
ate-looking set of fellows, every man With the hard-
ened look of an old criminal, rather thana soldier.

Touching his horse with the s ur, he cantered up
to regain his lace, and in so do ng passed the cur-
tains of the orse‘litter. As he did so, he cast a
curious glance that way, and beheld the curtains
parted, while the inmate beckoned to him With a.
white am. He could not see her face, which was
behind the curtain. _ _

In a moment Gerald was beSide the litter,

“ Fall back,“ he said, curtly, to the nearest guard,
“and you, the next, ride ahead. We Wish to
talk."

Both men obeyed with perfect docility. It was
evident zhat they had witnessed the summary treat-
ment of “Le Borgne,” and were not yet prepared
to show open insubordination.

“Monsieur,” whispered a sweet voice, the next
moi out, “I can not be mistaken in your face. You
are Cou t Desmo cl."

“And you are Mademoiselle Therese," said Gerald,
in a low tone. “ I am sure of it.”

“ I am Therese Le Normand," answered the lady,
softly; and she put out a little white hand in the
moonlight. Gerald took it, and felt a gentle pressure
of the soft palm, as he raised it to his lips. .

“ Monsieur l‘é comte," said Therese, still in a
whisper, “do you know that you me going to great
dan ers?"

“ have been told so," sail Gerald, somewhat

' stifll .
' “gen are going to ail-eat danger,” she repeated;
" “and for the sake of c

r whom you saved from
Feath. One eril you have escaped by skill with
the sword. 'l‘he next will be far more deadly.”

“Then why are you here iv" asked Gerald, unable
to conceal his surprise. “ If Iain indanger, you are
itill more so.“ u

“I am in no danger,“ she answered. Not one
if these wretches that are around you would dare
L0 harm a. hair of my head." .

“ Then wh are on here?” he asked :1 am.

“ Antoinet e sen me,“she answered. ‘You have
powerful enmies, and I an the only one that can
..ave you.“ ' _

“ Indeed, mademoiselle,“ said Gerald, politely,
out alittle coldly; “it must he confessed t at you
riut me in a curious position. A soldier looking to
protection from a lady." .

Therese heaved a deep sigh. Hitherto she had
stained his hand as if she was unconscious .of what
he was doing. Now she suddenly threw it may

..vith a petulant motion.
“Go away then,” she said. “ You are insensate.
Leave me.“

The next minute the curtains of the litter werg
r losed tightly, and Gerald found himsrlf shut ou
,rom further intercourse with the young lady. It
must be confessed that he turned aw..y himsel with
a feeling of something like pi ue. .

He was dee ly, il‘l’etl’l' va 1 in love With Mar
dame Antoinetga, and on the ot or hand, he had on-
ly seen Madame Therese once, and was by no means
in love with her. I dead, he felt guilty at allowmg
himself to assume a tender tone. towa d her, as a
sort of breach of fidelity to the fair one he adored.
Yet there was something so leasant in the sweet,
:dmost caressing manner of herese, that her sud-
den revulsion to anger and coldness, struck him With
-.~. nameless chill.

With compressed lips, he spurred away from the
dangerous Vicinity, and arrived at the head of the
narty where to found that during the short con-
versation, the character of the road had changed.
it was now climbing a gentle ascent, and the ark
outline of a forest rowned before it in the moon-
Light. Carroll was riding at the head of the part ,
and s'lently pointed ahead. The towers of a. cast 9
loomed above the trees.

“ I’m thinking there‘s the place to l‘ave the lad ,"
"9 said. “Sergeant Bonard tells me it's c;i ed
Chateau Dillon, thou h how an Irishman comes to
own it, is more tran can tell.

“ Has Bonard been ciVil?” asked Gerald,

“ Faith and he’s as soft as a cat askin' for crame,
ave him that little tap. Ye did it well,
couldn‘t have bettered it myself."

“Well, then, Ithink that you and I together can
toe the rest in order—eh, Jack? Thgy re a. rough
ila , but they won‘t mutiny just yet.

“ rue for 9, my boy, it's little I care for them in
r. mutiny. ut where are we to 0, Gerald 9"

“ I‘ll tell you as we go along. Ieantime, we must
see to our duty.”

The one-e ed sergeant here rode back and, hat in
hand, repo that they had reached Chateau Dil-
lo

11.

A few moments later, the escort passod up 8-11
avenue of telms and halted before a Wlde caver-
nous . w o a train of servants
Mug fights, as if the guard but been expected.

 

 

r r HTheflIriswl‘i-fl Captain.

CHAPTER XII.
AN noLy macs.

GERALD dismounted from his horse, and advanced
to the litter. The curtains were alread drawn back,
and he perceived that Therese Le ormand was
masked in the fashion of ladies traveling in those
days. He assisted her, in silence, to dismount, and
handed her up the steps to where a group of sci-v-
ants stood awaiting her.

Then he drew back and bowed respectfully.

“Has mademoiselle any further orders? If not,
my duty is done.“

‘ I have nothin but my thanks for your escort,
monsieur " said T arose, in her sweet tones. Then
8118 wide , ill a Whisper, “ Be cautious for my sake
—no, I mean for hers.”

Gerald bowed still lower. There was a tender so-
licitude in the tone that penetrated his heart in spite
of his devotion to another.

:‘dI will be cautious, as far as my duty permits," he
sai .

Then he turned and descended the steps, remount-
ed his horse, the lady entered the house, the door
closed and the party of dragoons was riding slowly
down the avenue.

Desmond and Carroll kept tofetlier at the head
and conversed in low tones, whi e Sergeant Bonar
acted as an advance. ,

“We are goi%0n desperate service, Jack," be

an Gerald. “ at the danger is I do not know,
fiut the marshal seemed to think it great. He warn-
ed me to read my orders carefully and obey them to
the letter, but w at they are I d not know yet, ex-
cept that we are to occupy a powder-mill, within
two miles of the English out sts.”

“ A owder-niilll Holy osesl" e aculated Car-
roll. ‘ What the divil do they want be uttin‘ a
temptation into the Englishmen‘s way for, 0 put a
hot shot into us, and send us all to glory?"

“ Those are our orders, that's all can say.”

“ Mighty quare ordershthen. Where is this blessed
ould mill ?"

“ Bonard is leading us there."

The young captain gave the word, and the little
column quickencd its pace and trotted alonfilthe
road. The latter had ch ed froma broad ard
stone road to a. narrow, so t bridle-path, windin
here and there amid a wood that grew darker ans
darker eve moment.

In lace o the oaks and beeches that surrounded
the hateau Dillon, the trees were now mostly firs,
dark and somber in hue, and excluding the wind. A
dee stillness was over the forest, and the footsteps
of t e horses, muffled in the sandy soil, were dull and
faint. The jingle of accoutormeiits was lost in the
soft masses of foliage that acted as a cushion to ab-
sorb sound, and insensibi the influence of the scene
wei hed on the spirits o the party, who sunk into
de silence, even the officers canal to converse.

Mile after mile of the solemn wo they traversed
in the gale moonlight, the road winding here and
there, e scone remaining of the same dull and
lu brious character.

very now and then, where the path rew broader,
they could see the tracks of wheels, 0 d and nearly
effaced, but the absence of other marks provel that
the road was seldom traversed.

After ten minute's trotting they sunk into a stead ,
rapid walk, the horses stepping out in a long, slash
ing gait, as cavalry horses are wont to do on night

more es. .

At last Bonard, who was in advance, halted. and

as the party came up, they instinctively followed his
e

exam .

“ “g are close to the mill,“ saidLe Borgne, in a
low tone. “ At the next turn we shall come on the
sentry. Is it our pleasure to advance, monsieurle
comte or sha I give the watchword?"

‘ at is it?” asked Gerald, who remembered for
the first time that he had it not.

“ It is Neerwinden," said One-E e, respectfully.

“ Then you may give it," said t e captain, after a
moment‘s hesitation.

Le Borgne saluted and rode on.

A moment later they wore challenged by a sentry
from the side of the road The co umn alted Le
Borgne dismounted and advanced on foot, and a
muttered conversation ensued between the sergeant
and the sentry, which lasted much longer than the
usual formali y.

Gerald rew impatient and suspicious at once.

“ Hola, chard," he exclaimed, “ what’s the mat-
ter? We can‘t stay here all night. ls the word cor-
rect or not?”

He heard a few ra id mutterings, and then the
voice of the sentry sai , in a sulky tone:

“ Countersign correct. Advance, relief guard.“

“ Relief guard i“ echo? the captain, spurring for-
warldd to, the man. “ told you this was a relief-
E‘m '

The sentry looked up. Gerald could see that he
wore the uniform of the regiment of Picai-dy, to
which One-Eye belonged, and was equally villainous
in ex ression.

“ a sergeant said so, captain,"‘he answered,
somewhat sullenl , but maki a salute at the same
ime.
ter‘ than toddotylvhtat I arpfitclg. " said
on o a my on , weshall ton

Geraldy, more kindly. “Forward, mung?“ ’

The little cavalcade moved on, and the road, after
a circular sweep came out on the borders of a
pond, around which it wound, in front of a forest
of pine trees, of which many were bare and naked
others twisted and blackened, and but a few, an
those of a small size, presenting a healthy appear-

ance.

Somewlfiitttomfleii-ald‘s surprise, rttheflono-eyed ser-
ean spa is o m namaimer e ec res tful,
ut more confidential than hithgrto. y pee

“ The trees look wretched, sir, do they not? It was
the explosion of about five ears 84:0."

“ How did it hap n?" asked Gerald, interested.

“ The artillery rain was here, monsieur, loading
up, and no one knows how it came. It may have
been a bootdmil struck fire. Anywa . Iremember
it well. I was near here, by the lak do, and saw a
great white flash over at the house yonder. Mon-
sieur sees it?"

Gerald looked across the pond and saws t
black shed in a bare patch surrounded with 
Five or six tents were near it, by we 's edge,
and age? lantern was hung on the top of a pole in

c r: s . '

. in

“ I am on y a poor sol “er and knows no bet-‘

 

'7

 

“ That is the mill, monsieur lo comtc. In a mo-
ment the air seemed full of fire, and I, who was at
the other side of the lake was blown into the bushes
and knocked senseless. ’When Icamo to, monsieur,
I shall never to et the ht. Men were lying
about, on the Ian and in t 9 water, all torn to
pieces. ‘Twas there I lost the sight of my eye, and
got that scar."

Insensibly Gerald‘s heart softened as Le Bo e
spoke. He accused himself of having taken adi e
to him for his scarred face, and wished to make up
to him for his injustice. ,

“ Never mind, sergeant," he said, kindly. “Many
a. soldier has ot a wound in a worse way. Only be
faithful to o ers, and you and I will never quarrel

n.
Borgno made a rueful grimace.

I hope not, monsieur le comte. I own it is the
fashion of us soldiers to try the patience of new
officers, but we bear no ill-will to one that puts us
down. The men will stick to you, monsieur. The
path turns here."

The ad was here filled in by a straight-edged
emban ment for a. considerable distance, eovi a
broad esplanade. which seemed to be covered w th
dried clay, for it echoed loudly under the feet of the
horses, in contrast to the soft sand that hitherto
made e road.

Gerald halted and dismounted his party.

“Jack,” he said to Carroll, “we are in a den or-
oua place, and I don‘t mean to run an risks by -
ing shod horses over tty sand. co the men
acre while I go on with he sergeant to rid who is

ere.

“True for ye," said Carroll, uneasily. “It‘s a
Eighty quare position intirely. I‘ll be glad of day-

g .

“ Not more than I shall," said Gerald, in a low tone.
Then he and the sergeant crossed the esplmade
$1“ got, and approached the white tents and the rod

rn.

There is something peculiarly awe-ins irln to a
soldier in the vicinity of apowder magazing. focus
tomed as he is to witness the destructive eflects of
powder in small quantities, when he comesin the
presence of hundreds of s, he inevitably feels
subdued. If this is the case in a heavy, stone case-
mate where the wder is care stored away,
the access of visi rs boned, and w ere every pro-
caution is taken to prevent d r, the case is
magnified where he comes to a fr wooden shed in
a forest, without even a fence around it to keep oi!
any strs, animal that might wander in, and w are
the pow er lies around loose on the floor, or floats
in fine black dust out of every crevice.

As Gerald and the sergeant approached the tents,
moreover, a fresh source of uneasiness was discov-
ered. Gerald thought that he perceived a limmer-
ing light near the water‘s edge, not far in the
post which held the lantern.

-“ Come this way, Bonard," he said, curtly, and
bent his steps thither. '

What was his rise, and for the moment con-

Burp
sternation, to find that the glimmering li ht was '

neither more nor less than the dull red cm of a
little wood-fire! It was covered with ashes, it is true,
but the end of a blackened stick had been left pro-
truding, and a red line of smoldering sparks was
cree log out into the airi

W thout a moment’s hesihtion, Gama withdrew
the stick and threw it into the 0nd, where it ex-
piredwithahiss. Thenhetooko hisbat.

“ Come, Bonard,“ he said in a. low tone of anx-
ietyI  drown every spark. These fellows must be

The one-eyed sergeant made no objections. What»
over his s irit miifiit be, he was too sensible not to
ivet tthe ves of surmount wereindanger
while the fire was alight. W thout a. word, ca
and se cant filled their hats with water, and sing.
ed the , whence a cloud of steam instantly-arose.
Not till it was completely out did Gerald turn away.
Tiben he said: t m t be Le
ome sergean; ey seem 0 nice . tun
awaken them. " p

 

CHAPTER XIII.
Tin: taigN gums to with
young on a vance w a ten

where all was mi and silent. It struck Gerald Witt?
amazement, as contrary to all military rules, that
when there was a. sentry on the road outside, bore
there seemed to be no guaid or relief.

As he align-oth the first tent, he was admonish-
ed by ion snares that some one was inside, and

asleep.

“ Pretty work, this.“ he said no he sailed
the flap of the tent door and threw it ’ , allowing
the moonlight to stream inside.

There, on the floor, around a barrel, which stood
uipright, lay three soldiers, fast aslee while an ex-
t nguished candle stood on the h of theme,
hazian burned down to the socket of the candle-
s

A strong smell of brand rvaded the ten and a
tin cup, half full of “gum-Pagan by thatcuidlo.
gave rise to a strong suspicion tho the three men
were dead drunk, as indeed their stertorous breath-
ingsufllcientl testified. ‘

erald stoo looking at them in silence forefow
rli‘ilinu‘tlgs.b Then he turned to the sergeant, who stood

en .

“A 0% guard they kee here, Bonard " ho could
not be p say n , with some itterness. “ Is this your
re ment of cardyi"

e one-eyed sergeant‘s countenance for amoment
assumed the look of a demon, and Gerald woo al-
most son-{Ike un The next it BIVO
place to a umbla and apologetic expression

“Your honor has reason to say so," he replied.
with a choked voice. “ They o ht to be shot. '

Gerald taunted him no more. e leaned over and
took the candlestick.

“Throw it into the lake," he said, briefly. “It is
not your fault, sergeant.”

Lo Borgne saluted gravely, stalked down to the
lake and threw the candlestick far into the water.
abet: he returned and followed Gerald to the other

11 .

They wore four in number. Two were piled with
stores of provisions and the other two contained a
man each, fast asleep. Without an exec tlon, it
turned out that every one in camp was den drunk.

In one of the tentsa candle was stillburning. in o

8

bayonet-shank the point of the weapon being sunk
in the sand, w lie the tent was full of straw. This
fight also Gerald threw into the lake, and then, with

s mind somewhat easier, proceeded to the mill it-
self, which was about a hundred (yards back of the

tents.
The at black shed loomed u in the moonlight,
v and to is still greater surprise, a perceived that a

small side-door under the gable-end of the shed was
wide 0 en.

‘_‘ , e l, sergeant,” he said, with a forced laugh, “it
must he confessed that we have a pleasant post to
occu y. My only wonder is, that we find the shed
still ere."

“It is shameful, your honor," said the sergeant,
humbly. “ I am heartily thankful your honor came
here to save us all. "

Gerald stopped, and kicked off his heavy boots,
studded with nails. He knew too well the danger of
strikin fire to neglect any precaution. He advanced
to the ttle door alone, for Bonard remained as if
rooted to the gpot. The big sergeant was trembling
from head to oot.

Gerald peered into the shed. The roof had several
large Eggs, through which the moonlight streamed
down the place, and he saw the orderly piles
of black barrels ranged one above the other, while_
the floor was covered with black dust. Away in
the rear of the shed he heard the drippin and
regular s of falling water, and reahze that
the whee by which the nginding machine was
worked must be there. 0 had noticed he ore a
narrow ditch leadiniafrom the pond beside the

t shed, and saw t t the ground sloped down
ehind the mill, where breaks in the trees afforded
glimpses of an open country.

He softly closed the door, and slid the rusty bolt
into its sta le, then went back to Le Borgne.

“ Has th mill been worked lately?“ he asked.

“ Not since the siege be an, monsieur le comte."

“ Well. that is lucky. t us go."

They turned.away, gassed through the little camp
and crossed the esp node to w ere theyhadlet
the horses.

As the approach, they heard the voice of the
Irish lieu nant raised in she , ang tones.

“I don’t care who the dvil toud ye to come
back, I say ye don‘t go a step further, ye thief of
the world. Ground yer carb no and stand still, or
I’ll brain go with the butt of this fiigtol,"

' Gerald ed up. and found gigantic friend
stand in front of the dismounted dragoon of
the re ment of Picardy, who had been acting as
sentrlylagho had come back, and seemed to be ex-

post ng.

“ Here’s this boy, comin’ back ofl his post as if

.‘twas all right," said Carroll, indignantly, as Des-

mond came up.

“Please, monsieur, I am but obeying orders,"
said the soldier, in an injured tone. ‘ The se ant
figve me orders to come back and wake up t e re-

' f when the moon was over a certain tree, and this
officer has stopped me."

“ What sergeant are you talking about,my friend Y"
’ivsked Desmond.

1 “ Sergeant Poirier, your honor.“
I “ Is he in command of your squad?"
. “ Yes, your honor."

“Very well my d. I am in command here
now,” said Gerald, sternly; “and I have serious
thoughts of shootin your whole part for neglect
of duty. They area dead drunk in t e tents. As

- foi‘f you, stay where you are. I relieve you my-
se . ’

The dragoon made no more resistance. He ste -
.ped back nto the midst of thefilgarty to whom e
s‘zefiised‘go be known, while Ger beckoned Carroll
‘ s e.
“ Jack," he said, “we must keep awake all night."
“ And that’s ’asy said."
“ Ay, but we must do it to-morrow, too, or at least
only one must sleep at a time.“
‘ ’11 take the first watch, then.“
“ No, I must do that. The responsibility is mine."
“ Very well. Anything to pl’ase a"
“ First, we must put every one of present guard
in irons. ’
." What for?”
“ They‘re all dead drunk, the magazine‘s been left
and'candles have been burning close to heaps

0 - v

" Holy Moses!"

"You may wonder. When these fellows wake up,
I‘ll find where they got their liquor, and spill it all n
the lake."

Carroll made a grimace.

“ And not l‘ave a dro ?" .

“ Not a drop," said raid, firmly. “We‘ve got an
unrul lot to control at best. If they get liquor-wild
then ey",l.l be devils. Self-preservation compels the

me .

“ Then it’s no use talkin ," said Carroll, with a
sigh. “It’s a pity to spo good punch with too
much wather, but you’re commander."

Gerald could not restrain a smile at his comrade‘s
speech, but the Occasion was too serious for pleasant-
ry. He ordered the horses to be tied to trees, leav-
ln a single guard, and marched the rest of the men

, to e tents, whence, in a short time, the sleeping in-
ebrlates were brought forth and securely bound
with ropes, for there were no ons about.

Then the young captain ordered the tents to be

taken down and moved away from the dangerous
vicinity, with the exception of those containing
stores. They were put up near the horses and ra-

.tions of forage issued, but Gerald itively forbid

coowldng ofifgod with are, till day ' ht should dis-
a e .

. The menmgde no resistance, and discipline seemed

to be perfectly established. A was set and

. in this condition they waited for e morning, all the

men sleeping, oxce t a single sentry. The two of—

: floors were too ous as yet to slumber.
last the moon set and all was dark. Gerald and
' Curellwaited silently for the coming of the morn-
ing and in the meantime the former removed the
.. from the tall pole, carried it over to the
tents, and by its light commenced the go of his
mysterious orders. They were all in he handwrit-
Wm‘uhal Cormontaigns, and ran as follows:
an r .-
' “¥m€eurlecomte dc Demand,
1 ‘. Gupta!» 241 Royal G’arabiniera:
' , “ Cami! AND Com:—You are hereby ordered to

 

iThe Iristhaptain.

the command of the Powder Mill and Magazine at
the Pond of Doigny, which you will preserve from
any force which the enemy may send against you at
the risk of all your lives. The party which you find
there you will retain with our own, and make fre-
quent {)3th in the neigh orhood of your post to
ascerta if the enemy are moving toward you. If
such a thing should hap en, you are to delay him as
long as you can, and spatch a trusty sergeant to
these head—quarters with the news. In any event,
before stirring, you will lay a train to blow up the
mill when the enemy arrives. You will remain at
our 0st till relieved from these head- uarters or
y or er of the king or Marshal Saxe. on will be
particular to allow no stran ers inside of the sentry
on the road to Tournav by hateau Dillon. If it be-
comes necessary to blow up the mill, and you arc
left alive, return to Tour-nay. Connosmmns."

Gerald read this aloud to his comrade, and Carroll
remarked:

“It’s ’as said, detain the enemy, but how will we
do it with teen men, and five of them drunk?"

Gerald was silent for some time. At last he said:

“ I see only one thing to do, J ack—our duty, and
trust to Providence."

-“ And 1:84;: the powder dry, as ould Cromwell—
bad luck to m—used to say. By the powers, Ger—
ald Desmond, I‘d not cry much if the pond was to
drown the whole lot of it."

“If we could depend on our men, I'd not be so
uneasy," said the young captain, thoughtfully.
“ What do you think of Le Borgne, Jack?“

“I think e’s a gallows-bird ’ said Carroll, pithily,
” but I think you’ve got him nto proper c1vi ity, b
the Whalin’ ye give him. I wouldn t trust him wit
a cold anvil myself."

“ Good or bad, we must make the best of it now,"
said Gerald, yawning. “ Go to sleep, Jack. Youder‘s
the sun rising, and I take first watch.”

As he spoke the dawn broke over the scene.

 

CHAPTER XIV.
A POINT or nmqunrrn.

Anotrr noon of that (la a troop of the re al cara-
bineers, about twenty s rong, headed by t e dark-
looking Baron d' Etio es, passed by the avenue of the
Chateau Dillon, and too the narrow road to the
Pond of Do ny.

By the si e of the baron was a slender Italian-
faced lad, whose limbs and fl 'e were almost femi-
nine in their delicacy, while s countenance wore an
expression of reckless bravado, natural to a spoiled
pa%e, which his dress indicated him to be.

hile the rest of the party bestrode heavy dafiple-
gray Norman horses, the page rode a slen er c est-
nut Arab, of fiery temper, and found it hard to
restrain from walking away from its more ponderous
compamons.

As they passed the avenue that led to the chateau,
the age uttered a sneering laugh.

“ ademoiselle is happy now, I suppose, baron, in
her maiden solitude."

The baron scowled heavily at the chateau, and an-
swered: .

“I hate these devotees, Giannina. if it were not
for her cursed samples, I might be a marquis to-

da I"

‘ylt’s lucky some one else is more accommodating, "
said the disguised girl, with the same evil sneer.
“ Mohegan:- le baron may be a marquis yet if all turns
on we .

“ And it shall, lrl, it shall," said the baron, clench-
inghis teeth. ‘ be time is almost come now, and
she knows how to play her cards well, for the place
she came from.” ,

“What a pleasant reputation you will have then,
my friend," said Giannina, flashing her wicked black
eyes up at him. “We women are bad enough, but
you men sometimes excel us. I am glad I’m not a
man '

“ You ma be sor your woman‘s ton e we s so
fas ," grow ed the n, with a scowf'1 “ Wfiat‘s
m reputation to you, you fool?"

‘ 0h, nothing ” she answered. lightl . “You have
a nice family altogether Etioles. t a pity your
one saint should be all alone."

The baron uttered a stifled curse.

“ Come on, you jade,"'he said shaking his bridle ;'
“ trot up, or we shall never get there.”

“It’s a strange thing " pursued Glannina, tran-
(gillly as she centered a o beside him, “ that Mar-
s al rmontaigne should ve selected you, of all
the gisople in the world, to reinforce this chivalrous
Iris count."

Etioles’s face broke into a triumphant leer.

“There‘s one obstacle that I can remove, at all
events," he said. “I verily believe there is more
dan er in him than in Therese to our plans."

“ on have reason, my friend. There is no tellin
what caprices we women take sometimes, an
madame is capable of throwin aside every thin
for love. He is a handsome fel ow, this count, an
you know he has the opposite complexion. Beauty
oves contrast, Etioles. '

A ain the baron laughed.

“ e'll spoil his beauty before we’re done, how-
ever,“ he muttered. .

Then they allo ed at around pace along the path
which Coral and is men had traveled the night be—
fore, and arrived at the tum 01' the road that led to
the pond, only to be halted by the ominous click of
a combine as a mounted dragoon, in the uniform
of the re ment of Picardy covered the person
of Etioles with his piece. it the same moment
they heard the clatterlng of scabbards and horse
furniture a little way on, and a ve big officer on a

bmtgharger moved up the ro to support his
v e .
The big officer wore fierce red mustaches curling

up to his eyes, and a black patch of plaster on his
left cheek, and at sight of him, Etioles abruptly
ulled up and trembled visibly, while he muttered to

iannina.

“ He here too! Curse the luck!"

Lieutenant John Carroll, of Clara‘s Cuirassiers
rode tran uilly forward to the vedette, and called
out to the baron:

“Well, monsieur whither so fast? No one passes
this way, ye must ow."

' Etioles hesitated a moment before he replied.
Then he spoke in 3 ve sweet tone of oily courtesy.

“I have orders from hnl Cormon ’ e, mon-

sieur, Are you the captain-count Desmon f"

v

 

“ His lordship, the Earl of Atlilone," said Car-
roll, laying an emphasis on the title, “is at present
asleep, having kept watch since yesterday. I am
em owered to receive any orders that come to him."

‘ Ah, then you are—ii“ said Etiolos, inquiringly.

“ Sir John Carroll, of Castle Bally Carroll, in the
county of Kilkenny Ireland, entlemun and baron-
et, but unfortunately doprivct of me ancestral pos~
sessions temporarily " said Carroll, with a lofty air.

‘Ye see monsieur, t mm was a thaviu‘ blackgum‘d
they called William of Oran re, who came with an
immense army of foreign cu throats, and drove out
me grandfather, along with his gracious majesty
King James the Second of blessed memory, on
since that time me grandfather has thought it
expedient to dm 3 the ancestral title till we drive out
the black broo of Sassenachs, and regain Castle
Bally Carroll."

Having delivered this little speech with an air of
charming afl‘ability, he added, as if with an after-
thought:

" So at present, I'm Sub—lieutenant Carroll, of
Clarc‘s Horse, at your service, monsieur."

Etiolcs listened to the vaporing Celt with wonder
which he forbore to show in his face, for he he
reasons for keeping the gigantic lieutenant in good
humor.

He raised his hat with great courtesy.

“I am charmed to know a entleman of such
noble family, Monsieur Carroll, he said, sweetly.
“ We shall be comrades, I presume, for the marshal
has dis etched me hither with these men to rein-
force ount Desmond—well, the Count of Athlone,
if you prefer it. We Frenchmen find your northern
names hard to pronounce, monsieur, so you will
excuse my saying Desmond so often.“

Carroll removed his hat with a grandiloqucnt how.

“If it‘s clearly understood, monsieur, that the
title to the earldom of Athlone and the baronetcy of
Bally Carroll are recognized and respected by you,
we’l not quarrel about the difficulty of names.'

“ M dear sir," said the baron, with e uul court-
esyfi ‘ I’should not for an instant think 0 disputing
eit er.’

“Then let it remain plain Desmond and Carroll,“
said the Irishman, w th a lofty air. “After all we
don’t use English titles in France. And now, mon-
sieur how may I call ye?“

“Lieutenant Le Normand, of the 3d squadron, 2d
regiment of Royal Carabiniers,“ said Etiolesr, add-
ing, “ the barony d‘Etioles is one of m titles, but as
we are comrades, monsieur, we will rop titles and
be plain Carroll and Le Normand to each other.”

In mentioning his title, which he could not well
help, the baron slurred over the word with great
rapidity. He remembered the scene in the dark
street of Paris and the terrible antagonist who had
fou ht him down, and he trembled lest Carroll
mig t recognize his voice and figure. 0n horseback
there was not so much danger of this as yet. Car-
roll did not seem to notice anything, for he asked:

“ Well, monsieur, and to what do we owe the pleas-
ure of this visit f“

“ I have already said, monsieur," re lied Etioles,
” that I have been ordered to report ere, by Mar-
shal Cormontaigne."

“Are the orders written, have ye them with ye?"
asked Carroll, with an air of suspicion.

“ Of course they are, monsieuri”

“ Can I see them?“

“ Monsieur," said Etioles, somewhat haughtily, “ I
am a full lieutenant of some years’ standing in the
Kin ‘s Household. You are a sub-lieutenant of a
wee '5 commission.”

“ Faith, e‘re wrong there Le Normand. It‘s only
five days ‘ said Carroll, cool y, with a smile of lofty
self-satisfaction. “ It’s not a Carroll of Bally Carro i
that needs a dirty little commission to make a
gentleman of him. And what then?”

“ I was about to say, monsieur, that it is not mili-
tary etiquette for an officer to submit his orders to
the inspection of a junior."

“ True for you, Le Normam ."

“ Then you must see, Monsieur Carroll, that your
request is inadmissible. I must report to Count
Desmond, who alone ranks me here.’

“ Faith, that‘s well spoken."

“ Then allow me to pass."

This was said with a sudden assumption of an air
of authority.

“ Ye can t do it," replied Carroll, coolly. ‘

“ And why not?"

“ Because it‘s against the orders of Captain Des-
mond, Earl of Ath one." ‘

“I tell you, monsieur, I bear orders from the
marshal. Are not those enough to override your
earl‘s?"

“ Possibl ."

“ Then w y not allow me to ss?"

“ Because it‘s a ainst my or e s.”

“What the de l,”began Etioles, thoroughly ex-
asperated, “ have I to do with your orders?

‘ That‘s jist what I was thinkin’, darlin’,” said Car-
roll, with a grin.

“ Do you mean to say you refuse to obey Marshal
Cormontaigne‘s order?‘

“ Faith, an I don’t know if he‘s given any, yet.“

“ But I tell e, be has."

“ Do ye? T at’s quare."

Etioles drew back and glared at the cuirassier,pale
with rage. For a moment he felt inclined to use the
force a his command to overpower the other. On
second thoughts he said, more mildly:

“Monsieur Carroll, may I ask what are your

orders?"
“ Well, since e ask civilly, I‘ll tell ye, though I‘d
wish e to sta e first that ye recognize ye have'

no ri ttoask."
“V ell, then, tell me, only as a favor, if you

p1 .

“ With a thousand pleasures, monsieur, My orders,
comin throufgh the writing of Marshal Cormon-
taigne ‘msel are to allow no strangers from Tour-
nay inside of this post." .

h“ll3‘ut I bear superior orders, Signed by the mar-
s s . ’

“ Monsieur Le Normand,” said Carro lifting his
hat. “As a gentlemen, I never don t another
gentleman’s-word; As a soldier, I wouldn‘t believe
my owp brother if he came to my feet with such a

s . '
“rThen, in short, you wish to compel me to exhibit
my orders."
‘Monsleur Le Normand. you have expressed my

 

 

wishes with perfect truth. Till I see them you can-

not was."

“ ill you allow me then to send in my page under
charge of one of your men to wake the count, and
deliver him the orders?"

“ Well, that‘s reasonable.

“ Pierre, come hither."

Etioles‘s party had halted a little way beliind,while
the colloquy went on. The saucyfio rode up and
saluted while Carroll surveyed from head to
foot with a scrutinizing glance.

Etioles drew a paper from his breast pocket and
handed it to the page.

“ ake this paper, Pierre,“ he said, “ to Count
Desmond. He will send back word to admit us,
which this gentleman denies."

“ Sergeant Lonard,“ called out Carroll, “ come

hither.
The one-eyed se ant rode up. He had been
waiting in the behind, with a picket of five
rt back."

men.

“ Take this m to the captain, and re

Le Borgne uted, and rode off wi the page,
while Carroll turned to Etioles, so i :

“ And now, monsieur, if you 5.35: that I have
treated you with rudeness I shall be very happy
to render you all the s tisfaction you may desire.
It is the first principle of an Irish gentleman to ren-
derto every man his due and I would not for the
world be guilty of the s htest discourtesy toward
you. There’s an elegant it of sand which would
just do for a little brush, and we could get through,
and have the losin‘ man put away decent and com-
fortable under the sand, or in the pond before the
bogs et back with the answer."

tio es stared at the other with amazement.

CHAPTER XV.
mama‘s WARNING.
“ WnA'r should 1 fight you for?" he exclaimed.
"Oh, just fora lit 9 pastime, e know; a sort of
beneficent and sanatory applicat on of our wound-
edhonor. Ye'have no taste for these ittle la ful
affairs. Well, as ye pl’ase. I thou ht ’two d 9.

Where's the page?"

 

pleasant divarsion; but if ye don‘t 6 to fight, I ac-
cept your apology.”
‘ I believe you must rea‘l be mad," an

d‘Etioles, after a use of bank surprise, w on
Carroll interruptedhaimr

“I allow no man to call a Carroll, of Bally Car-
roll, out of his name, monsieur,“ he said, curling his
mustache. “Ye‘ll apologize for that expression at
one? mfngsiziemt'" " hood Eti 1 il Hi

“ poo e,o ou? ec oes,angr y. s
blood was up at set, at the overbearing manner of
the Irishman. “ I'll see you in—"

“ Exactly," interposed Carroll, with the utmost
courtesy of smile. “ I see you understand me, and
we are agreed. Shall we fight on horseback, then?"

Etioles had hardly expected such a prompt a:-
quiescence to his implied challenge, but he had
gone too far to recede, and he answered haughtily:
“a: you please. I think you Irishmen are all

mad.
“Very good, monsieur," said Carroll, with the
same stu ed politeness. “You will please to re-

member that your men must not advance an fur-
;hfr 9n this road, while we are having our lit e af-
a r.’

“It is understood " said Etioles, curtly.

“ Then be please to aocompan me, monsieur."

The pugnacious officer turn round and was
about to ride back on the road to the lake, when
alady on horseback, masked in the fashion of the
day, came centering up past the column of cars-
biniers, and interru the discussion. Carroll was
too thorough an hman to be deficient in polite-
ness to a  .

“Our an must wait, monsieur," he whispered,
hastily to the astonished Etioles, as the lady check-
ed her horse beside them.

Then he turned to her with the blandest of smiles.

“What can I do for ye, mademoisellei"

“Monsieur,” she answered, in a low tone, castigfi
an apprehensive glance at the baron, “ I must ape
with,you alone a moment. Do not refuse, I implore

u.
“Mademoiselle, I never refuse a lady."
He turned to Etioles with stem politeness.
“Monsieur Le Normand will do me the favorto
lead his men back fifty paces, till ihe answer comes

tgmmpnsieur. I depend on monsieur's honor for
t .
Eticles s ged his shoulders.

“ As on p ease. There is, nevertheless, no rea~
son. I ow that lady, who is my sister.”

“Indeed?” said Carroll, with a look of sin lar
meaning. “Then it seems that I have ha the
honor of meeting on before. I thought that I
knew the face an figure of that page of yours.
Well, then, monsieur, s lady wishes to eak to
me, without at the same time, wishing her rotber
to hear. Will you retire 7"

Carroll eyed the other with a pewliar intensity of
glare, in spite of the smile that he ed. In-

eed, the very smile bore a strong mblance to
the expression of a cat standing over a mouse. It
wBa: horribly suggestive of fangs and claws held in
a ance.

E oles was no coward, but his lance sunk before
the stern regard of the ante Irishman. He
turned away without 5 ng. and led his men
back, as he was requested.

As soon as they were out of earshot, the masked
lady turned to Carroll.

"You are his comrade, are you not?“ she asked,
tremolo .

“Dam cunt Desmond‘s leiutenant, mademoi-

“ And you love him, you would lay down your life
to save him!" she went on, with great earnestness.

“ Indeed I would then, mademoiselle."

“on, air, IthoughtI knew your face,” she said
“see, you must know me again."

She ed the features of Therese Le Nor-
mand, and Carroll bent to his saddle-bow.

“I shall never forget on, mademoisello."

“ Mongi’e’ur, will you t me go alone to see Count
Desmon

“Mademgisellg. 1': is , against my orders. No one

ere

must pass .
“ Monsieur, I bring him intelligence of a horrible
{lotto destroy him. Will you not let me go to see
and warn him?"

 

r T-hemIrish Captain.

“ I can not, mademoiselle."

“Hon Dim, mo» Dim!“ she moaned, “what shall
I do then?"

I‘Tell me, mademoiselle, if on can trust me."

“ Alas I can trust. no one, s r.“

Carrol shrugged his shoulders and was silent.

" I can not tell all~and yet—.1 must save him~ I
monsieur, will you warn the count to keepI Etiolee
by him at all times, never to let him out of is sight, I
and on no account to order him away?" i

Carroll stared. i

“ Do you mean that for a message, mademoi- 1
selle?“

“ I do. It is a solemn warnl .
more: but I im lore him to heed twarning. Do i
not allow the aron d‘Etiolcs to so arate from the
count for one instant, as you value a life."

“ ose life?"

“The count‘s, Gerald Desmond’."

“ zgafaith, mademoiselle, it‘s lucky you spoke,"
said mil, with a grimace' “for in ten minutes
later monsieur le baron woul ‘have been food for
the fishes in Doigny Pond had you not come up ‘
when you did to stop the a air.“

Therese turned deadvlfilpale.

“ Swear to me on not harm him," she cried,
vehemently. “ ou do not know what depends on
his life now. That of every soul here, your own, and
most of all, Gerald's."

Carroll puckered up his lips in a silent whistle and
waited for more.

“ D‘Etioles is my brother," continued Therese, ear-
nestly. “ I must not, will not be the means of assist~
ing his crimes, neither will I see him killed. Do you
understand me? Promise me you will not harm
him, or I shall hate you forever. ’

Carroll cast a dou tful glance at the distant form
of the baron, who sat on his horse like a statue,
watching him. At the moment he felt that be long-
ed to go after him. :

Therese perceived his irresolution, and changed
her tone to one of pleading entreaty, making be
best ossible use of her dark, lustrous eyes.

‘ , monsieur," she d, “if you have any it
for an unfortunate lady who is amicted with a
brother, grant in prayer. You have quarreled, and
were about to t my brother. Be merciful to me,
and spare his li e for my sake. You are so strong
and brave. I have seen you once before beat him
down like a child. ‘Twould be no glory to you to
kill him. Spare him, and I will love you for it, in-
deed I will.‘

The big Irishman was complete melted. The
tearés stood in his eyes, and he sai , in broken ac-
can 5:

“0 mademoiselle, I‘ll die for ye. By the holy
cross! ’11 let your brother do anything he likes, and
I’ll never lay a fin er on him i"
ki’l'helrese held on her hand, which he rapturously

sse .

“ You are a gallant gentleman," she said, “and I
love you for that."

Carroll hardly knew which end he was standing on
for the delight which her words afforded.

“And now, monsieur," she said, hurriedly “re-
member what I so . Warn the count to keep aron
d'Etioles close to m at all hazards. The moment
they are a rt is a moment of danger. Tell him I
as so, an farewell.“

hen, before Carroll could realize the full sense of
h°fi“p%’i“3f:’ “it!” ‘1’“ “‘2?” '31‘31 “$153122
ga o e co umn o orse ou
a lance t way, and disappeared.
e echo of her horse- oofs had not entirely
ceased, when Gerald Desmond, with Le Borgne and
the page, came dashing up fr m the mill.

CHAPTER XVI.
A sonnrsn‘s aos.
Tn first question asked by the young captain
w .

as.

“ Where‘s Baron d’Etioles i”

“Yonder with his troop," said Carrol quietly.
“He’s a mighty quare way with him, but a didn’t
pass me, ye know."

“ Wh Jack,” said Gerald, smiling with an ex res-
sion of slight vexation, “he s bro ht orders rom
the marshal to re rt to me. He be second in
command now, an the reinforcement is very time-
ly. I hope you’ve not been rude to him."

“ Faith, I hardly know," said the lieutenant, dryly;
“we had some words, and I belave we‘d have come
to cowld steel, av that purty Mademoiselle Therese
hadn‘t been here tosto us.‘

“Mademoiselle Le ormand here!" exclaimed
Gerald, im tientl . “This is no lace fora lady.
She ought consi or her sition.’

Carr-o looked at his end, with a very peculiar

e ression.
x‘PD’ye think so! And sure, she came to see ye."
m“She‘o ht not to do it,‘ said Gerald in a vexed
ne. ‘

It, '7— at will these rough soldiers say about it?
s no

" HoglmdyCFrrogmstemltg, mh I: manner 01f
unusu or - “ e s an sage
Gerald Desmond, and if she e syherself in or
ignéicence, it is for your sake. he came to warn ye
o a er."

“ or anger?" said Gerald, carelemly. " It is war-
time, and we must e t it."

Carroll sighed d 

“Ah, Gerald, ye on‘t know the luck e have.
Poor ould Jack, with his ugly face, would ve half a
lifetime for what ye throw away. Let it pass. I'll
so no more, sinc‘evye take it that way."

raid turned th sudden compunction.

“Dear old follow, I didn‘t mean to wound you.
Tell me, please. what did she as to you i“

“ She'told you, whatever you c nottolet d'Etioles
out of your sight; that our life and those of all

ur kee t? to er."

here de mi on
“W well, w ‘t of tdo these young

I can not say

Carroll solemnly, “ I’ve ven

the warning, and I'll stake my salvation out o , ’s

 If ye disregard it, my own conscience is qu et.
ve one.

In s lie of himself, Gerald was struck with his
co e’s tone. He felt somewhat irritable having
just been awakened out of a short aloe , by t e mar-
shal‘s orders, but his mind was regfinlng its bal-
ance.

“W we " he said, “I will it, tho h it
puts magic some trouble. I mtendegggy send hix‘dzon a

 

9

wtrol toward the English lines, while I took a fleesi

 

we‘ve men enough now. As it is, I must gowi
in.
Carroll made no answer, and Gerald rode forward
to greet Etioles.
‘ Monsieur le Baron," he said. courteously, “I re-
tyou should have been detainedso lon by my
eutenant, but ( arroll is a strict disciplinagsn, and
play ordetrs were very explicit to allow no one past
a s .“
“I is understood," said Etioles, politely as they
advanced toward Carroll. “I only regret that Mon-

l sieur Carroll should have thought necessary to force

a narrel on me about the matter."
‘ How, a quarrel?“
“Yes. count, a causeless one. You Irish gentle-

rendeg have strange ways with you, it must be allow-

“ How is this Jack?“ said Gerald, sharply, to his
friend. “ Mo eur tells me you have quarreled with
him. Is this right among comrades?"

Carroll blushed scarlet. For a moment he seemed
to be chokin with an or. The next he spoke, with
a strange m xture of umility and dignity.

“I have a duty to perform to monsieur,“ he said,
“which you need no make harder, Gerald."

Then turning to Etioles he removed his hat.

“Monsieur e baron,l behaved with unnecessary
rudeness to you. The ladflour sister, has rsua-
dcdflme‘ of my error. I your pardon or my
we 5.

Etioles curled his black mustache with an air of
insolence.

“So,” he said, with a sneer, “you have thought
better of it."

Carroll grew white to the lips, and his eye glared.
Then he sguietly said:

u Mon eur has reason. I have thought better of

There was a curious air of iron self-control appa-
rent in his face, as the stern cuirassier voluntarily
humiliated himself for the second time, before an

versary he alread despised.

Etioles smiled wi h an air of almost Satanic tri-

um h.

“gVellfl’ he said, slowly and deliberately, “I so-
cept your a lo , aim on have thought Morofu.
Come, coun , we go "

rald gazed with wonder at his friend's unusual
behavior. Then he turned away, and rode off with
Etioles, in deep thought.

Carroll uttered a deep curse of uncontrollable fury
as he saw them disa round the corner. Then
he rode away himse e a madman, till he was out
of sight of his men, in the winding road to Tourna ,
where he stopped and raised his gauntleted hands

heaven.

“Now b the holy cross I adore." said the troo ,
in a dee one of fierce resolve, “ I swear that, w on
this tan? is over, I‘ll tear that man limb from limb
for that sneer. 0h, lady, lady ye don‘t know what
{give done. Ye‘ve disgraced jack Carroll to a cow-

Ahd the iron cuirassier burst into a storm of sost
alone in the wood. ‘

 

CHAPTER XVH.

coxonnnnn .

Glam Duncan and the Baron d'Etioles, at the
head of asmall troop of carabineers and dragoons
rode slowly away from thempowder-mill on the eas
Side, along the crest of a ope, toward the English

cross.
The afternoon was warm and bright and a soft
blue haze hung over every , roun of! the
:- outlines of the prospec and covering it

gab af mgntl:a of azure that besutified the most rug-

0 0 cc . ‘
Behind he powder-mill, as we have noticed, the
country fell away to a lower level. The Pond of
Doigny, at first a mere spring, the orlgln of a little
stream, has been enlarged to ts resent dimensions
by an artificial embankment, in mes long past, and
what had once been a flour-mill had been c to
i: tenable uses, on account of the lonely nature of
on.
bet or severaé mhflesJMItationsfwere few am
ween an e as o

bordered with wingd-mills, announced that the dead
level of the Low Countries had been reached. The
fiend of Doigny was at the edge of the encircling

‘ There are the E , lish," said Etioles, pointing to
adistant field of wh te tents just visible from the
ridge “ We don’t need to goany further to see
them, count."

Gerald pointed to a belt of forest that interrupted
the view of a portion of the country below.

“It benecessary to examine that wood," he.
 “ There'is no telling how far they may push

cav .
“ it worth while to go down there in force!”
asked Etioles, carelessly. “ If you wish, I will take
a few troopers and one? through . You
look haggard and fa ,my friend. 0 wonder _
after so ong a loss 0 sleep. Why should you not
leave this task to me as your second in command,”
while you stayawith the main body)?"

Gerald hesi ted. The baron’s no was very kind
and sympathetic. He seemed to have entirely over-
come his dislike to Gerald, and the latter felt much
better dis osed toward him. Gerald had been with-
out sleep or a riod of nearly thirty-six hours, and
the hurried res he had snatched while Carroll took
thewatchhadonlylastedhalfanhour. _

“ ardly like to send on thither, baron,“ he.
said. “I am not used to lett others go into danger
which I do not share; but I own I am nearly asleep
as it is." >
 W “$133133. ea “k”

onme orsa , oucan o noser-
vice to his matesty, as it is.” y

"Well, wel ” said Gerald, drowsily, “go along,
and come back quick. After it is only a to .
There are no English near us. will stay here and

'w ten for you.”

baro‘ nwavedhishandin farewell. “608111118

a cousin of hoopers, galloped on down the sl
the wood. Gerald remained in his soda:
grovhinihim as hewent, and rawhim disappear in
The ashesatth' announces-ablewa of
drowsniness overcangge' andhebegan to n on
his horse. Only those w 0 have experienced the

.10

 

feeling of soldiers, who for days and nights have
been on the march without rest, can understand
.this drowsiness. It is not a common sleepy feeling,
which can be dissipated by cold water 01' using and
walking about. It is absolutely unconquerable, and
both horse and rid 4r share it. Moving along in the
plodding column, both will maintain the forward
movement, with drooping head and eyes ogening at
intervals. Sometimes a branch sweeps t e rider's
hat off, and he rides on finite unconscious of his loss,
while his horse, left wit rout guidance of rein, by a
sort of instinct sways off into afence-corner, and
for several minutes both sleep soundl , waking with
a start to find strange facos near, as t l8 column has
passed the sleepers.

In this state of somnambulism was poor Gerald,
for he of all his party had had no sleep. Even his
horse was fresher than himself.

As he sat there, his head fell on his breast, and he
fell forward, waking with a start to find himself half
off his horse, clutching at the mane. For a few
moments he sat bolt upright, staring down at the
wood below, with a cenfused sense of something
wrong. Then his eyes grew dim and closed, and he
fell back.

This time he did not fall far. Le Borgne, the grim
scarred sergeant. was close behind him, and the
young leader fell on his shoulder, and was fast

aslee .

Le gorgne moved up close to Gerald, and support-
ed him patiently in his arms.

“ Poor youn gentlemani" he said, softl ; “ he
is overcome wi h slee . Wh should we not ay him
down here? He will goo for nothing till he has
had his rest."

Two of the soldiers dismounted and received Ger-
ald in their arms, as if he had been a child. The
exhausted officer did n t even wake for a moment,
as they laid him on a mossy bank at the foot of a
tree. He only turned slightly on his side, and slum-
bered deepen: than over.

There was a singular light in Le Borgne‘s eyes, as
lizsuweyed the quiet and recumbent figure of his

3 er.

“Come away,“ he said, in a low tone, “lest we
disturb the captain. Those horses make too much
noise. Let us retire to a little distance, so as not to
wake him."

As Le Borgne was a sergeant, every one yielded
him obedience, and the party withdrew from the im-
mediath vicinity of the tree, moved down the hill
0. short stance, and instantly dismounted.

Then they be an to speculate on the robabilities
of the baron‘s ndln any enemies in t e wood be-
low. At intervals t 6 could see the white road
that wound here and t ere among the black pine
trees, and they could trace the course of the baron
and his followers by the cloud of dust that rose over
the tops of the low trees.

“ It‘s very dry weather “ remarked one man.
“ How‘ long is it since we have had any rain, Jac-
clues?

“ You should know as well as I," retorts the cara-
l)ineer addressed. “ We came here with the count
together. The men in the camp say there has been
A, drought for six weeks.“

“I should think so,“ says the deep voice of Le
Tiorgnc. “ Look how the dust hangs in the air.
Why, comrades, I remember a few days ago, when
our regiment went on a reconnoissance, we came
in at sunset and I was sent at midnight to post
pickets on the same road. I swear to you gentle—
men, the dus'. bun: in the air yet, like ac oud be-
tween us and the moon. And we have but little dew
in this fir-wood country."

“ How a fire would spread now,” remarks one of
the men, as he stamps out a match, which he has
dropped after lightingaihis pipe.

“ 's lucky the ca n‘s asleep," said Le Borgne,
“ He‘ put your lpe out for you, com-

signiflcantl .
t the rules, so near

rade. Don t you know it‘s ag
a owder magazine?"

‘Ah, bah, where is the da er?“ says the care-
bineer lightly. “We’re at lees ahundred feet from

the mill and there's no wind. Besides, we will be
care lto stamp out any fire."
Le orgne makes no answer. He is watching the

wood.

“Tell me," hose 5 resently pointin “ on who
have good eyes, is iiotp that dus movingg?" y

Instantly several men are on their feet watching.
The white line over the tree-to s, that marks the

rogress of Etioles, is match by another, more
gistant, but much larger, that is swiftly coming to
with}? “it. t' part ' “N if

n ng scou 'mg- y, ’ an s one. ow
the captain were awake we migh to meet the
rosbifs, and give them a welcome to rance."

“The count ought to be waked," said another.
“ I never saw an officer as ood and brave as he.
We learned to adore him on t e march to Tour-nay."

Le L'orgne sneers.

“He‘s young yet, comrades. I fought at Mal-
filaquet before he was born. Why not go down and

elp the baron, without troubling the captain? Af-
ter all we can beat those English before he wakes."

“He would never forgive us, sergeant,"says a
carablneer.

“ ah,“ sa 5 Le Bor e; " on carabineers are
not much, a ter all. e of .P cardy never trouble
our omcers in little matters of this sort. What harm
isitl Besides, the baton is one of your regiment,
and he‘s running into danger. It's our duty whelp
him. You may stay if you like. I‘m going down to
ht the English."
c goes to his home, and unties him from the
tree, while be pre area to mount. There was a
movement amon t ecarabineers.

“ at r all," ~ d one, “ we can get back before he
wakes. I‘m 01! with the sergeant. The honor of
thb regiment is at stake."

This decided the point.

First one and than the other mountedhishorse,
and went off after the one-eyed sergeant. who was
walki his horse down the hill with great delibera-
tion. t t there was but a single man left, who
seem lot to abandon his commander.

He walked mpatientlv g}: and down, watching
the wood. e saw two ends of dust growing
nearer together marked the sergeant a
do loyal and enter the wood on o
51 Famith hi“ “mig-9d,] " ‘twill be lendid

‘ ‘ .ln ‘ . a
ambush if the amped English pursue thewbaron.

Parhleu, there they begin, cric, cruc.’ Ventre Saint
Gris! I can stand it no longer.

He climth on his horse and tore away full speed,
just as he heard the deep, hollow echoes of distant
shots, redoubled by the repeating effect of the over-
arching woods.

Gerald Desmond lay still overcome with heavy
slumbers, deserted by all his followers, within two
hundred yards of a mill holding many tons of pow—
der, with the enemy approaching.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE WOMAN on GUARD.

WHEN Therese Le Normand assed the column of
carabineers headed by her brot er, she did not deign
a glance in their direction. Circumstances had so
much estranged her from her brother, this or
young girl in the midst of a corrupt court, ea
lily blooming among a heap of garbage that she
rarely spoke to him. Moreover her head was full
of a plan which required her undivided attention.

She cantered along the road toward the chateau
.for about a mile, then reined in her horse and sat
considering in deep thought. She was alone in the
wood.

Presently she drew from her bosom a letter which
she read over with deep attention. It was written
in a delicate. clerklv hand, with man
peculiarities, but sti there were certan turns of
expression in the letter which denoted the writer to
be a man. It ran as follows:

“ Mv Dam PUPIL— Our young protege, the
Count of Desmond, is in rent danger, and I write
to thee to warn him ag nst it. It seems that his
majest has recently been pleased to pardon a cer-
tain ro her and murderer, named Jean Bonard, sur-
named Le Borgne, with several of his comrades,
who were already in the galleys. on very curious
conditions, namely—that they should be sent to
the frontier on secret service of a des crate nature.
Thou knowest how his majesty has be aved of late,
and how thou and I have often quarreled as to the
advisability of a certain measure. Thou knowest
that thine old preceptor adores virtue in the ab-
stract, while circumstances have prevented his fol-
lowing it in the concrete. The Jesuits—whom I
hate, in passing—hold that the end justifies the
means, and if madame is willing to make a certain
sacrifice for the good of humanity, it is her affair.
Still, this must not interfere with our little Irish-
man. I have amoney interest in him now which I
cannot afford to lose. I have found out that the
secret service these men are on will put them un-
der our friend’s command, and likewise that Mon-
sieur le Baron has applied for leave to go with

them. Further, I found that the ardon for these.

men passed throu h the hands of onsieur le Baron
himself. In fine, am penetrated with apprehen-
sion that my ten thousand francs will go to the
devil if I don t take measures to prevent it.

“ Being on the spot, I leave t to thy woman‘s
wit to find out wha the real meaning of all this is,
In due, I onl see one means of safet for my invest-
ment. Let im kee close to Etio es, and do thou
watch both. Hewi not dare to harm him when
thou art near, for at present the cards are not dealt
for the grand stake. Antoinette has sworn to me
that if Desmond dies, she will never perform her
part. Well, it causes me laughter to see what fools
women will be for love. Thou art worse than she.
Still, as a philosopher, I study you both. Keep coun-
sel and watch.

“Thine philosophically, Aaous'r on V."

“Strange mixture," muttered the girl, absently
crumbling the letter. “It was well I bethought me
to enlist our avarice for his rotection. How hard
is it that , the only one who oves him for himself,
should be shut out from his heart because she saw
him first.“

She folded away the letter and put it in her breast.

“Let me see,“ she soliloquized, “tomorrow the
king will reach Douay, and they must do all their
mischief before his arrival. To—da is the day of
danger. Will he obey my warn ng? It is not
enough. I must see him myself. I will!“

She set her white teeth together with an expres—
sion of fixed resolve, and turned her horse into the

wood.

“After all,“ she in ured, “there are many
roads to Rome. If they will not let me pass the
pickets, I must all through the wood."

A few minutes tar she was in the midst of the
low-spreading flr—trees, riding steadily on away from
the road, in a wide circuit.

The ground was covered with a soft carpet of fir-
spines, into which the feet of her light Arab mare
sunk with but little noise, and the dark branches of
the firs and spruces bent aside to give her passage.
In a wood of ever reen where the recs decrease u
ward to a point, he ew below is always limi ,
and Theresa rode quietl along, not seeing any thing
herself and unseen by 0 hers.

Every now and then she paused and listened for
voices, but the wood was silent and she heard noth-
ing. Then she rode boldl on, guessing her direc—
tionzfrom the sun, till she t ought she must be oppo-
site to the camp. -

At last she turned her horse, and rode straight to—
ward the lake or find. She soon found that she
was right, for the s neigh of a horse greeted her
from ahead. Instantlrg' her own mare be to
n h in answer. and Therese trembled wi fear
has she should be discovered. Instinctivcly she
leaned over to gran the nostrils of her mount, but
the mare refused be silent, and neighed louder
than ever, rushing forward through the bushes to-
ward the other horse.

As a last resort. the girl pulled her up with all her

strength, and rode away in the opgsite direction,.as
fast as whip and spur could urge apampered ani-

Several other horses took up the neighinghgnd it
was not till fully a minute of rapid galloping t she
losthearlns of t.

Then she turned her horse once more, and rode on
again toward the place where she fancied» she .would

and tree of Gerald. The oximity of the cogs
frighten: her urn , when she to so
on her sex and youth. and r unproteot wooi-

ti
elPhe further she advanced, the more cautious she

 

became, until at last the light broke through the

 

feminine :

 

trees, and she perceived that she was coming to the
open country.

Soon after she emerged on the side of the rid e of
Doigny, and saw before her the forests and low ands
of ‘Flanders, while far to her right the little rill of
Doxgny fell down the side of the slo )e.

Before her in the forest, she isiinguished the
clouds of dust that told of the appro-ich of the rival
scouting parties, and just as she reached the ridge
she heard the faint, distant reports of fire-arms, sharp
and frequent.

Then suddenly a horseman dashed down the hill at
full speed by the side of the little rill of Doigny, and
galloped into the forest, where the dust rose furious
y now, and where the report of fire-arms became
quite frequent, and nearer momentarily.

Therese listened attentively. Youn as she was
and unused to these sounds it neede no one to in-
terpret their significance. Ii‘ighting was going on in
the forest and the scattering shots grew nearer and
nearer. The French must e getting the worst oi
1t, evrdently, and running away, from the rapid
manner in. which a trail of dust rose over the tree-
tops,tcoming nearer and nearer the edge of the

ores .

And then of a sudden came a rattling volley,
accompanied by a shout, and the dust rose up in a
cloud and hung stationary, while the shots rattled
inces antly.

Again the girl understood all. It was a check from
some unknown part . Therese sat on her horse and
watched the dust elow. White smoke began to
mingle with it now. She wrung her hands in agon .
What was going on, and who was there? She co d
not tell. All she knew was that she was powerless
to help the man she loved, and that some fearful
danger impended over him.

Hardly knowing what she did, she advanced slow-
ly] along the edge of Ihe rid e, in the vague hope
t at from some point she mig t gain a nearer view.
pezhaps even see the figures of some of the combat
an s.

On and on she went, step by step, till she had
passed the little rill, her eyes still riveted on the
contest below. Then on a sudden the deep neigh of
a horse close by startled her.

She looked around and beheld a powerful dapple-
gray horse who seemed to be regarding her with
eyes of fire, as he strug led at the halter-chain
which confined him to a ree, and nei had in thun—
der tones. The horse was caparison inthe hous-
in s of an officer, and a little way off la a cavalier,

th breast- late and laced coat all the ne uniform
of captain o carabineers, while he was fast asleep.

Therese uttered a cry of joy.

“ Gerald i“

It was indeed Gerald, safe out of all battles, and
asleep.

 

CHAPTER XIX.
A sum-Lina nrsoovnnv.

LIEUTENANT Joan CARROLL rode slowly back to
his picket- ard, and soon after, leaving it in charge
of one of t e corporals of carabmeers who had been
left by the baron, the Irish cuirassier took his way
slowly and thoughtfully back along the shore of the
pond toward the powder-mill.

Carroll, like Therese, had been revolving a plan in
his mind since his suspicions had been aroused.

The lady‘s warning not to let Etioles separate from
fiesmfiid was ever ringing in his ears, and he said to

mse :

“ Maybe I‘m right and maybe I‘m not, but I’m
thinkin' that an ndependent patrol by 8. Carroll of
Bally Carroll would be mighty convenient, just now,
to make things sure."

He soon arrived at the camp which he_found al-
most empty.

The hangdog-lookin sentry one of Le Borgne s
pleasant comrades to (1 him. in answer to h in-
quiry, that the cap had taken all the new men
put on patrol toward Brussels, leaving'tha old men

n cam .

“An where are the old men as ye call them?"

“Over onder in the woods, lieutenant, aslee ."

Carroll ooked in the direction indicated, an sure
enough there were eight or ten men, apparently

aslee .

“ Ighought Gerald would be sorry for letting the
drunken brute off so eas ," said the Irishman, sus-
picious! . “ ’ll go bail t 9 ‘re drunk again, though
where 65 ot the stuff he a me.“

It shoul remarked that Desmond, considering
his small force and the risk he ran in retaining a

art as prisoners, had dealt lenien with he
grunkards of the night before, returnng them to
duty on abject promises of good behavior.

From their as t Carroll strongly suspected that

they had got once more. Accordingly, he
rode over to them, and drawin his long rapier,
commenced king them up with e sharp point.

He was sat ed from the surly glances and mut-
tered oaths, as well as from the stagge way in
which they walked, that he was correct. on he
blazed out in a torrent of indignation, and asked
them what they meant daringto repeatan offense

for; which. they had once n f ven.

out, anyway."

No, no," chorused the rest, enco by this.
"Wm? “if?” and limit “it?” a
“ . e oycross, ' on eye ye’
not met an shman this day," said Carroll, grimly.

“ Come out h every man of yei"

A laugh of derision greeted him, which was
changggl‘to curses and cries of fear, as the cuirassier
rode ously at them, slashing right and left with
his lo _ blade.

“Ha e mutinous devilsi" he shouted, at ev
stroke
Take the ,and .thati

61'!
‘ ye won't gbey an won’t ye?

In two minutes hebad driven them from thevwood
into camp, for they had been around totally
unarmed, and moreover. of a man in au-
thority is hard to resist.

Cowed, but sullen, the men of Picardyatlast fell
in as he ordered them. But to all his sections as
to wherethe .got their liquor, be con} get no an-
swer, and at not one of the men blurted out:

“ It?! no nae,.lieutenant' on and the captain won't
know till it‘s too late. e're paid for what we‘re
doing by better than you or him."

The man's comrades all set up a warning growl at

the swo

this, but he, who was the drunkest of the party, per-
sisted:

“I don't care a curse who knows it. I didn‘t pull
an ear for nothing, lieutenant. We’re to blow—"

And then, to Carroll‘s surprise, all his comrades
fell upon him, knocked him down, and struck and
kicked him into instant insensibility with their heavy
boots, regardless of his resence.

This done, they fell nto ranks again with more
(locility than bi-l'ore and the ringleader of the first
mutiny touched his hat with sudden respect.

“ Don't mind him, lieutenant,“ he said, “he’s
drunk, and a fool besides. We‘re sober now, sir."

Carroll looked at the steady hue With amaze-
ment. They hardly seemed like the same soldiers.

“ Each man go and et his horse ready," he order-
ed. I‘I‘ll give you fe ows something to do to kec
you from etting drunk. Where’s Sergeant Picho ,
that was diunk last night?"

“ Here lieutenant.“

“ Get t e men and horses ready. Be under arms
and standing to horse, facing the pond, when I come
back. Do you understandi‘

“ Yes lieutenant."

Carro turned his horse and rode slowly toward
the powder-mill. It was his intention to test their
behavior bya pretended absence, and to come back
and lead them off on some troublesome service.

When he reached the front of the mill, however.
he felt something which seemed to beckon him for-
ward to examine the vicinity.

“ After all,“ muttered he, “ these drunken divils
have been here, ever since the atrol went away,
and there’s no tellin‘ what misc of they mayn‘t be
u to. I’ll take a circuit."

a slowly rode all around the mill.

He had not done this yet.

In front Carroll found nothing but the open as lan-
ade and the two store-tents. The door of one of t ese,
left half open, suggested the place whence the
mutineers had procured their su erfluous coura 6.

“By Saint Patrickl” muttere Carroll, “it’si ear
the he didn‘t spoil all the punch, more power to
him. hat’s on this side?“

On the right was the mill-race and he could see
the great water-wheel, with its dripping buckets, at
the extreme rear.

He rode round to the left side to take observations,
and found that the wood extended nearly up to the
wall of the shed. The ground was as dry as tinder and
thickly carpeted with the dry spines of the fir-trees.
He rode along to the rear and en suddenly pulled
up with a startled exclamation.

“ Mother 0’ God, I see it alll Oh, heavenly Father,
what blackguards! We’re in a trap, so we are."

The cause of his alarm was very simple, and suf-
ficiently awful to a soldier.

A la 6 hole had been cut in the side of the build-
ing, 8. ea ) of black powder half filled it, and a
broad, blac train of powder led away from the
walls into the woods to the left. Where it ended
he could not see, but one thing was plain.

A man at the other end of that train might blow them
all into the air with a spark.

Carroll trembled from head to foot, and the sweat
cured down his face. And as he gazed, spell-
ound, he heard the rattle of musketry in the open

country beyond. '

 

CHAPTER XX.
THE DIRE Dunn.

Down in the forest of Doigny, around the Brus-
sels road, a smart skirmish was taking lace.

Etioles, with a couple of troopers ga loping reck-
lessly along had come on a whoe s uadron of
Austrian cuirassiers with a troop of lish dra-
goons in su port. He had seen nothing, t 1] a turn
of the road rought him plum on their advance, a

arty of ten cuirassiers, with b ack breastplates, and
grass helmets with bear-skin crests.

As we have said, Etioles was no coward. and in
this instance he did just what he ought to have
done.

In a moment his pistol was leveled, and he and
his troo are fired at the cuirassiers, tumbling one
out of s saddle. Then wheeling about, they turned
back, and alloped for dear life.

The sud enness and prom tness of their attack
disconcerted the enemy, and i s audacity made them
sus icious that a force was behind the French pa-
tro . Thus, when Etioles and his followers turned
the corner and disappeared, they gained fully a
minute before the allied column resumed its march.
A minute, to a allopin horse, means a quarter of
a mile, and thea‘rench ad left at least that ga be-
hind them when the enemy discovered the rick,
and opened a harmless fire as they galloped in pur-
suit.

Down the dusty road thundered French and
Austrians, the relative distance gradually lessening,
for the Austrians were lendidly mounted. Etioles
knowing that he was re resting on his friends, did
not urge his horse, as he might have done, and thus
it happened that the cuirassiers were only threo
hundred yards behind at the e e of the forest.

It was then that Le orfine an his men, who had
been hidden in the wood idi their time, ured a
close and deadly volley into 8 advance 0 the en-
emy, that threw fthem tintionilnstéailnt lgonfiasioiii, while
these eant, ro ing y e oc an e urging
sent tiliE wholg of the column whirling up the road
in a sudden panic.

These reverses of fortune are frequent in cavalry
affairs and do not always imply a want of courage
on either side. As soon as he allies found that
there was no serious pursuit, they threw out a long
line of skirmishers, and pushed boldly thro h the
woods, flrl their pistols, while the Eu am.
goons made he echoes ring with their curb e<shots.

Etioles pulled up, as soon as the first volley sound-
ed and warmly raised his men, in the momentary
lull that followed?

Then he rode up to Le Borgne, and said something
to him in a low tone. ,

" Fast 3818361) under a tree by the mill, ’ answered
the one-ey se cant, grimly.

“ d," said a baron, with a diabolical smile of
triumph. “It is time to do your part. then. The
signal will be. when you see them round the mill."

‘It is understood said he Borgne, in a low tone,
but mrningvery pale. “It is not our fault if he is

H

p.
“ A uic " said Btioles, his own face as s
as thz‘xiytger‘s, ‘ut speaking through his clingd

 

The Irish Captain.

teeth. “ Give us enough time, remember. Here
the come. I will manage the rest.“

T e sergeant touched his hat. wheeled his horse,
and galloped off, as if he were striving to win a race.

He took a direction far to the left of the powder-
mill, and as he went he loaded his )lStOl.

Just then the enemy opened a ropping fire, and
began to advance slow y t irough the wood, cautious-
ly eelin their way, dl‘eudingsurprises. The French,
scattere at very wide intervals, so as to interpose a
long line, returned the fire.

In reconnoitering expeditions of this kind, the
amount of force on either side is generally unknown,
and the element of mystery largely adds to the ex-
citement. The allies, fancyin a regiment in front
of them, were daunted and (Fetamed b the tire of
twentyl men. For fully a uarter of an our Etiolcs
held t em in check; and hen just as the su erior
weight of the enemy’s fire was eginning to to and
the carabineers were retreating to the ed e of the
wood, a sudden rattling volley on the lqfl of he enemy
sui rised friend and foe alike.

en Etioles heard a loud, ringing ell, followed
by the crashing of dry sticks; an Jac Carroll, fol-
lowed by the esperate rufflans of the dragoons of
Picardy, came sweeping down the allied line, rolling
them up in confusion, and sending them reeling
back a second time.

But Carroll‘s reinforcement was too small to be
of much avail. The enraged cuirassiers, at length
perceiving its insignificance, and burning for re-
venge, came down a sin, flercer than before.

Then it was that E ioles, with a sudden change of
demeanor, abandoned the fight.

“ Sauce qui pout!” * he shouted, at the top of his
voice, turning his horse. “Save yourselves. Fol-
low me i"

The cravon cry from a commanding officer will
determine the issue in man a fight. In this in—
stance its effect was imme late. Without an ex-
cegion, the carabineers turned and fled, and the
ru an dragoons followed, with sin lar unanimity.

Carroll, who was even then flus ed with his tri—
umfih and shouting out encouragement to his men,
wh 0 he fired his p stol at the chem , was warned,
by the sudden silence in his rear, t at something
had happened. He looked round and found him-
self aione in the wood, with the Austrians and En —
llsh trotting forward and firin at him. The bulls s
whistled round him, and he fe t that he was a mark
for a hundred enemies, while his comrades had de—
serted him!

He had brought down his reinforcement from
camp, ex cti to find his friend Gerald in dan-
ger, and e h seen not a glimpse of the youn
captain. Even in the imminence of his presen
danger a deep conviction of treache came over
him. He remembered the train, whic he had no
time to trace, the powder-mill, Etioles’s sudden flight,
and the stout cuirassier roaned aloud in his ony.

“Gerald, my boy, my 0y, ye’re doomed. t's a
cursed trick.’

Then, as a sudden thought struck him, he shouted

out.

“ No, by the holy cross, he shall not die.”

The enemy came closer, the bullets rattled about
him, one cut his sleeve another passed through his
hat; still he seemed to he heedless of danger.

A big cuirassier rode at him with drawn sword,
shouting:

“ Surrenderl“

The next moment Carroll fired his remaining
pistol in the man's face, turned his horse, and tore
away in the direction taken by Le Borgne, followed
by a rain of bullets.

" There‘s a man to fire the train,“ was the thought
that flashed through his mind. “ If I can cut him
off Gerald may be saved."

The wood was safely passed, and he tore his
horse’s sides with his 5 urs, as he strained up the as-
cent to the rid a of Do gny.

“ Mother of odi I‘m rightl“ muttered the wires-
sier, as he leaned over his saddle-bow at full speed.
“ There‘s the track.“

Sure enou h, in the sandy soil before him, were
the tracks 0 a horse at full speed, fresh and recent.

Carroll followed them like a sleuth-hound. He
heard the shots and shouts dying away behind him.
Then came a volley and a about from the loft, and he
looked hurriedly up.

There, on the edge of the ridge. close to the

owder~mill, the French horsemen were clustered,
ng at the Eniish and cheering defiantly.

He looked bac , and but a single soldier was fol-
lowin him. The rest were coming out of the woods
in a c ose mob, charging up-hill at the French. He
heard a bugle-note on t e ridge, and in a moment
eve horseman had vanished, while their shouts
coul be heard dying away in the distance.

The English and ustrians pressed on with louder

shouts than ever.

“ have m on your son ," said Carroll,
hurriedly, as he gs. oped on. He had taken in the
whole scene at a glance.

A fiofllfiifit Ilatelgthfi  lreached the wood, and
caug o w e een e t .

Le Borgne, erect on his horse, with a fime held
like a istol. ointing downward, in his ht hand,
sat s as a s tue, near the ed 8 of the rl , from
whence he could command a ull view of the bank
by the wder-mill and the crowd of enemies.

“Ho dl" shouted Can-0 , as be rushed at

the sergeant. “ Where is ouut esmond ?"
Le Borgne started and turned round at the voice.

The start gave Carroll time to reach him, and he
demanded:

“ What are you doing here?“

“Wait to fire the train," said the sergeant,
g , ‘ the English dogs all round the mill.‘

He eaned over and inted the muzzle of- the car-
bine into a broad. ow heap of black powder as

he agate.

“ at tell me, in God’s nam " cried the Irish of-
ficera’syizing his shoulder, “e'whcre is Count Des-
mon '

La ‘Borgne, with a sudden 'effort, flinched aw
frdm the other's grasp. Then he looked at Cough
with the expression of a demon.

‘ Asmp by Ma mm," he said, and he laughed!

* “Sauna qui pout!" literally, Save

he
can. “Every man for himself," is he ' ,{hh
equivalent in times of desperate Peril. when no
else can be done.

on

11.

There was a sudden report, and a bright, broad
flash, up from the round. Both horses scorched
and terrified reare wildly and sprung ackward.
The bright flash ran on hrough the woods With
amazing velocity, like a broad ribbon of flame. (‘ar-
roll, as his horse came over backward, cau ht a
glimpse of the black mill, with a crowd of so dicrs
round it. Then the animal fell back on hlin crush-
 him, and a broad white sheet of (lame shot up,

ng the whole atmosphere with fire; trees were ,

torn up and sent sailing through the sky, and the
air was full of black fragments, shooting outward
from a common center.

A fearful crash as if heaven and earth were rent
asunder, followed close on the flash, and Carroll fell
back, stunned and senseless.

The powder-mill had blown up.

 

CHAPTER XXI.
moxmo ovau 'rss mun.

ON the some afternoon when these events occurred,
a numerous train of horsemen was a proacl r the
Chateau Dillon from Tourna . At t is head 0 this
train were two officers, bot: old, both wearing the
uniform of marshals, but of very different appear—
ance. There was no mistaking i 19 erect figure and
keen, hawklike game of old (,ormontalgne, as alert
and active at s ty as a man of thirty sitting in his
saddle as if he had grown there. fis companion
was of a very different appearance, and worth more
than assing notice.

Ha he been standing erect he would have meas-
ured several inches above six feet and his frame was
cast with the bones of 9. am. This colossal frame
was, however, distinguis ed and marred by great
corpulency, and was at prcsint half-sitting, all.“

coining, on the soft cushions of an open litter,
bun between long, sprln y poles, and carried by
two orses, each led by a rngoon.

The face of Marshal Saxe, for it was he, was
marked with the deep lilies of suffering and his
cheeks hung in flabby folds on either side of the
square jaw and resolute mouth of him who had once
been noted as the handsoniost soldier in Europe.
Maurice of Saxe, at the head of the armies of
France, and on the eve of the greatest achievement
of his life, was a dropsical invalid, unable to mount
a horse since leaving Paris, and who had been “tap
ped,“ in sur cal hrase, only three da s before.

Yet, in Sp to 0 his suffering and b oatcd frame,
there were still traces in his lion—like face of the
beauty about which empresses and ueens had quar-
reled, twenty years before, and or which poor
Adrienne" Lecouvreur had wrecked all her hap [—
ness. The profile was as perfect as over, and t is
fierce blue 6 e shone with all its old luster, in spite
of the mist t at crossed it at intervals, when spasms
of sufferi caused the firm lips to close like a vice
over the c enched teeth.

At present he was conversing eang with Cor-
montalgne, and had forgotten h s an er

“ You say that the youth is the same w e was re-
cently promoted?"

“ I say nothing of my own knowledge. The name
is the same. He was sent to report to me, with a
squadron of carabineers, and the orders came the
day previous, to send him to that post, with those
wretches."

“ Strange " muttered Saxe. “What can the young
man have done to merit the king’s anger, when he
has just promoted him i“

Cormontaigne shrugged his shoulders.

“What would on have? His majesty takes
strange fancies. asides, there is a certain person
here who seems to take wonderful interest in his
fate since the order came",

“ Who is that?"

“ Le Normand d’Etioles."

A strong expression of disgust crossed Saxe‘s

face.

" Tele do oochon!” he muttered. “That sharper,
who goes about trying to force cards on the man
that will not play."

“ Softly, my friend, softlyl The game is not over
yet. There are too many interested in its success.

be king is expected here tomorrow, and the court
comes with him."

“I know it. I wish they would stair; at Paris, till
we settle the business with these Engl h."

“They will not. His majesty is emuious of
the example of his ancestors Henry IV. and Louis
XIV. He wishes to be c ed Louis the Great.
Well, the smile of beaut are the fitting rewards of
valor. His majesty nee s a Helen to his Paris. You
will see he will get one.“

“Let him,“ said Snxe. impatiently. “What has
all this to do with Count Desmond?"

“ That is a. mystery. Etioles dis lays a wonderful
gigrgst in him, and yet, my faith, ‘d swear he hates

“ Where is Etioles new?" demanded the marshal,

sudd .

“ At t e mill, with Desmond. After I had sent the
yo fellow of! accordin to orders conscience
troub ed me. l’arbleu, onsiour le arechal I
could not find it in my heart to leave him there, with
fifteen ardoned galley-slaves, in face of on mom
who mfiht try the eifect of a hot shot, just for ,
on the rotten shed. I sent Etioles to him, 33% a
force sufficient to furnish tgamble. and to keep him
informed of the vicinity of e enemy."

“ What said Etioles to that?“

“ Parbleu, he Jum at the offer."

“ And you sent him to help Desmond l"

“Certainl . What of it?"

“ sun 1y 5.13. If you'wished to kill him, you have
meg t 1;.rlght course.

In ow .

Cormontaigne looked disturbed and anxi us‘.” 131‘:

old soldier was as simple as a child, wi

‘ Adrienne Lecouvreur, the test tragic actress
of her day. and a most beaut woman. The story

of her hapless love and missus-lace for the then
brilliantsnd successful soldier. Maurioeof Sate. for
whose Vancement aha gave up all that: wongan
holds doc: is one of t a most mournful pages 01' he
history of the age of Louis XV. :It has been pm. '
ed in the of “Adrienne Wumur," in
which, in our own da 3, Rachel? ton-have‘won
p s.

 

some 0 their W t .ti-ium Matilda H
q. the same task in the m

 

 

 

12

genius as an engineer. Saxe was a veteran oourtier,

 

as well as a General.
“ You say on think Etioles is Desrnond‘s enem f"
“Isayno ng. Iamnotc Heseem to

i

That .

“ My infant,“ said Baxe, witha grim smile, check-
ed b a spasm of pain, “I know thee by heart.
And know more Etioles is Desmond's enemy,

' because he believes Desmond—"

Born I l l l l l i

The marshal started up on his cushion and every
man in the escort jumped half out of saddle at
the tremendous sound, like a clap of thunder burst-
ing over their heads. The ground trembled and
rocked as if under an earthquake, the horses shook
and snorted with terror and every one turned pale,
as that awful crash told in a moment the fate o the
powder-mill.

A huge white column of smoke rose in the air
over the trees, at a distance of less than a mile for
they had passed the Chateau Dillon during their
conversation, and were approaching the pond of

be. Th3 saluted as if they disliked each other.
.3 .

Iriigrt e midst of the white cloud were numerous
black objects, shooting through the air in diverging
circles, and even as the looked, great beams, s are,
tnmks of trees, broken ranches, and other ob ects,
came sailing overhead, and crashing down through
the trees into the road all round them.

“ Ah, bon Dteu .’ what is that?" cried Cormon o,
with a roan of unutterable horror, as somet
crashed own in the sand?, road with a heavy thud!
and splashed red blood ai round it.

Crash! crash! crack! thud!

The horrible shower continued for several seconds,
to he succeeded by a stillness, the more awful be-
cause of the previous peel and crash.

Then the awe-stricken soldiers, with white faces
and compressed lips, looked at the dreadful ruins
around them. .

Beams and branches were not all that had fallen.
The most fearful sight of all was seen in the black-
ened and bloody fragments of the carcasses of men
and horses, blown to a distance of nearly a. mile by
that tremendous explosion.

llFor awhile no one spoke. Cormontaigne trembled
a over.
Maurice of Saxe was the first to regain‘ his com-

posure.

“ Move on, Monsieur le Marechal," he said, grave-
ly. “If we are too late totprevent a catastrophe,
we may at least save some 0 the victims, if any are

left alive."

Cormon e silently, as if by mechanical im-
pulse, raised is hand to his hat in salute, and urged

is horse forward. The trembling beast, slowly, and
with evident a prehension, began to move on, step
33 step, past t e ghastly-looking objects that strew-

the way. As for the marshal, he carefully
averted his eyes from the spectacle, practiced as he
was, for he had a tender heart.

Not so Saxe. Phle atic and cool b nature, and
somewhat selfish wit though not 0 trusively so,
he leaned over (from the litter, and carefully in-
spected the fragments of bodies as he passed.

Suddenly he uttered an exclamation.

“Heinl Cormon s, then is not a French bod
here. They are all n the Austrian uniform, an
there's a scarlet coat."

Arrested by the voice of the commandeein—chief.
Cormontaigne looked, and was compelled to admit
that fine was right.

“I see it a111,)” said the senior marshal, with rapid
intuition. “ esmond has stationed a man at the
end of the train, about which you spoke to me; he
{11:3 enticed the enemy round the mill, and blown

em 11 .

“But should we not have heard firing?" objected
the other.

“ N o, for whatever firm they did must have been
behind the ridge, and lost n the forest toward Brus-
sels. The English are advancing. In a few days
they will reach our lines. Then they are ours."

It was curious to note how the details of a terrible
tragedy became, to the mental vision of the ambl-
tious Saxe. onl the incidents of a great plan. 8 cu-
lating on the nglish advance, he seemed to orget
all about the slaughter that had just occurred.

The cavalcade moved on, and presently turned the
corner of the road, and came in sight of the pond of

Doi .

Asg‘they did so, a small tree of horsemen, black as
negroes came slowly forw to meet them at the
edge 0 the pond. From the rider‘s head to the
horse’s foot, every man was as black as ink, save for
red streaks here and there, that told of recent
wounds. The hotrsiis were clefian shoirgn of tail and
maneso specaces,staggen as .

“Who,rilr-1yGod’s name, are ou ” hastily exclaim-
ed Cormontai e. as he gaz at the figure of him
who seemed t 6 leader.

“ The Baron d‘Etioles ” answered the other, in a
h voice “with all hat is left of the garrison.
We d not so far enough when Le Borgne fired the
grin, and several were urt by the wrecks and the

me.

Marshal Saxe interiposed, with the stern question:

“Where is Count esmond?"

The baron pointed across the pond.

“ The pieces are near Brussels, I think," he said.

CHAPTER XXII.
ran some.

JACK Cannon. came to his senses, to find the red

lare of sunset shining athwart thin clouds of smoke,
t t streamed up from the ground all round him,
while a scorchi pain in his neck caused him to
writhe upon his e bow with a an.

He was lyin upon a. bed 0 white ashes, above a
scorched and lackened ground, and all round him
a low, red line of flame was creeping outward in a.
circle, for the dry grass was on fire, and the air was
suffocating with smoke. Bewildered and stupid,
the cuirassier tried to rise, and found that his leg
was caught in something which lay on it, heavy
and inert. Exertin all his strenitehin a des rate
effort, he wrench it out from neath w t he
recognized as the carcass of his horse, and staggered
to his feet blinded and sufiocated.

His thick coat and boot the buff gauntlets and
heavy uniform wig which e wore, had saved him

from serious burns, and a thick pool of blood that

 

The Irish Captain.

lay by the horse, had still further checked the fee-
ble fire in the scanty wood-grass; but all this he did
not recognize.

Only he remembered a. terrible explosion, and
woke to find himself in the midst of flames, choking
and burning to death.

Half-crazed, and frantic wth un overnable ter-
ror, he stag ered and ran forwa he knew not
where, and y good—fortune, took the way to the
o 11 field, and found himself on the cool sandy

dge, where there was no grass to feed t e fire.
Moreover a. cool breeze was comi over the open
country, doubtless drawn by the suct on of the t
explosion and fire. The poor cuirassier 0 on his

arched and burn 11 s, and breath in dee
raughts of that pure, elicious air, which he h
never till then learned to value rightly.

n he sunk down on the cool sand, and endea-
vored to collect his thoughts. At first, he could
hardly tell where he was, or how he came there;
but gradually, as the cool air revived his fainting
frame, he recalled the circumstances that precede
the explosion, and wondered how he had esca ed.
Also he remembered the diabolical lau h with w ch
Le Borgne had said as he fired the tr n:

“ Asleep by the mi I“

Where was Le Borgne? Where was Gerald?

As he ruminated, Carroll‘s eyes grew dark and
ominous. He slowly rose to his feet and stretched
his limbs, one after another, feelin every part, to
find if he was seriously injured. e examination
convinced him that he was quite sound still. Then
he smiled.

“Gerald Desmond," he said raising his clenched
hand to heaven, “ye may be end, my own boy, but
if there’s a man left, this side of hell, that did ye the
treason, I swear by the holy cross I’ll send him
where he belon for this day s work, if sword and
hand last Jack rroll."

He looked to his weapons.

Defiled and soiled with dust and ashes, as they
were. sword and fiistol were alike unharmed. Even
the cartridges in is pouch had been saved from the
fire by their thick leathern casing.

Carroll did not know that from head to foot, he
was as black as soot, with the horrible dust of the
burnt wder. If he noticed any thing, he did not
heed i , so set was he on revenge for Gerald's death.
From the first, he' had suspected a lot; what, he
did not know. Now, he had fathom its full atroci-
ty in the words of Le Borgne:

Asleep b the mill!

A and lawn to atoms ere this, doubtless.

“ ever mind," he muttered. “First reve e."

Grimly and deliberate] he loaded his pisto and
placed t in his belt. ehad it still clutched me-
chanically in his hand, since he fired it at the Aus-
trian cuirassier.

Where was the man who was then following him?

He looked round. Nota soul was to be seen on
an side. All was still.

en he strode over the low belt of flames, and
entered the wood, seekin for his dead horse.

The fire had burned itse out around the carcass,
and a. bed of white and gray ashes took its place.
Now that he was collected and cool, Carroll could
see the cause of his salvation.

His horse in falling back, had sheltered the rider,
and taken the full force of the explosion and frag-
ments, bei com letely disemboweled, with one
leg torn on elow t e knee.

A little way 01! lay another horse similarl shat-
tered, but not so badly, and beside it the body of a

man.
The Irish cuirassier uttered a sav malediction
ched

I I I

of disappointed fury as he looked at e 
“ Thm‘o mo». ducal!" he growled, with e
teeth, “ the hound is dead, and has escaped me

It was true.

The body of Le Borgne, with the whole side of the
head beaten in b a has beam which lay on the
ground, was stre hed co d and dead, covered with
black dust and crimson stains, a fearful object.

Carroll turned away. Even the stout cuirassier
sickened at the sight. His heart softened, and more
over he was too 00d 3. Catholic to retain revenge
against one punis ed in such a manner.

“God has judged e, Le Borgne,” he said. “Ye
fired the train yourse . Woe beto ye, if ye miscal-
culated the distance."

Then he left the wood with slow, heavy ste , and
advanced toward the site of the powder-mi , with
deliberate caution.

He knew what he had to see there, but he had
steeled his nerves to the si ht. A few minutes later
it burst on him in all its g astly completeness, an
even he was taken aback.

Where the great, black owder-mill and white
tents had been, in the thicke of a dense pine-wood
now was a. bare, empty waste; a doe it, excavated
by the action of the powder, a few 5 a tered stumps
0 trees sticlcingu ere and there out of the sand,
and nothing else. at around this void waste, in a
radiatin circle of death, was a picture of horrible
destruct on seldom aralleled.

Trees were not on y laid in rows but splintered in
fragments, and stuck fantasti y up in spiky
pieces, at every conceivable a le. The pond was
covered with broken pieces of t e wreck, some near-
ly at the other end.

Worst of all were the horrible sights nearolgg. The
ground was covered with the torn and bl y car-
casses of men and horses, blackened with wder-
dust, and not a single body unmutilated. see the
cuirassier had expected He was looking for some-
thi else; traces of the horse and rider he know. At
last e found them.

Twined around the stum of a 1 tree, whose
top had been snapped 0 like a p pe-stem, was
Gerald‘s brass halter-chain. He recognized it in a
moment. In the halter was hanging the head and
mi: of a 1gray horse. The thick tree had sheltered
so much mm the explosion, but the bod Was scat-
tered in horrible fragments all over the l-side.

The cuirassier turned awn. in horror and his eyes
fell‘on something that e him shriek out like a
woman.

At the very foot of the stump covered with blood
from the hanging horse’s head lay a black out mask,
that had fallen there, miraculously preserved from
the explosion.

With shaking ers he raised the little mask.

“ Oh, Mother 0 Heaven!" cried poor Carroll.
“ 'Tis her own little mask that she wore to-day, and

 

she’s been here again to warn him, and they’re both
in lory together! Ochone! Ochone l"
em echoes from the blackened ruins repeated the

noun

It was too lain. Gerald and Therese had been
shattered to 8. ms in the explosion, be end a doubt.

Sick and trembling, the Irish cuirass or cast him-
self to the earth, face downward.

He was all alone now.

CHAPTER XXIII.
m occur or mqnmv.

Tm: camp before Tourney was all alive with jo .
Cannons were Win a loud salute, theiban s
played the old y t air, “ 0h, Richard, oh, man
rot, ‘ the whole army was under arms, in lo , glit-
tering lines of horse and foot, for the king as ar-
riveddin camp, and a grand reception had been pre-
pare .

A train of carriages, driven by servants in brilliant
llveries, advanced at a foot»pace alon the lines of
armed men surrounded by the brillian uniforms of
the Black usketeers. A little arm in itself, six
thousand of the finest hea cava in Europe,
eve rider six feet in bi ht, be celebrated Maison
du oi, or Kin ‘5 House old, followed the Muske-
teers, in a bro and imposing co umn.

Marshal Saxe, in a low basket card 0, was await
ing the king, and welcomed his ma esty, with re-
spectful regret that his disease had prevented him
from comin to meet him.

The dull, l-temp‘ered face of the king was un-
usually gracious t at day. He was posi ivel kind
to the invalid marshal, and enjoined him stric y not
to neglect his health.

“On you, Monsieur le Marechal," he said, “now
definds the safety of France. You are too precious

o e s

xpo ed.

It was the longest speech his ma esty had made
for many a year, for ouis the We Beloved had a
great deal of the oyster in his dull, commonplace
8011 .

Conseqiuently the marshal felt that the trust-
ed him mplicitly, and his face grew brig ter,in
spite of his us.

But all t 5 passed very quickl . The king, who
was ever self-indulgent, was t with his journey
from Douay, and retired to his quarters, refusing to
hold a review.

That night there was to be a “ little supper," and
his maje J was reserving1 himself for it. Business
might, an did, wait for p ensure.

About noon, 3 number of brilliant officers, in full
uniform, rode up to a lar e marquee, not far from
Saxe‘s quarters, and left t eir horses outside, while
they entered in a bod . Orderlies were in wait-
ing and every now an then one issued from the
gut aggtwent dashing away full speed, with a letter

s .

“Whatare they doing in there?“ asked a oung
volunteer of Clara‘s horse who had lounge over
from his camp, near b . The young man’s accent
was forei , his dark ace quite handsome, and he
looked ae from recent illness. He was speaking
to a carabineer, ofi' duty, who was also watching
the tent with great interest.

“ It’s the court of in ulry, about the explosion,”
said the carabineer, loo down at the slender
frame of the other with some disdain.

“ What explosion i" asked the Irish volunteer, in-

 

nocently.
“Wh ,how lon have you been in camp?” de-
mande the carab user, in a tone of wonder, “not

to know that?"
“ Half an hour," said Cavanagh, for it was he,

simply.
“ , for example, that is different. When did
you come i"

“ In the king‘s train. I have been in hospitaL“

“ Ah, sick?’

“No woundedi"

“ Indeed ?"

The b' soldier’s tone was more respectful.

“ Guns ot wound?" ,

“ No, rapier. A little afiair—you‘understand?"

The carabineer softened instantly.

“ M r comrade, thou art in luck to get well in
time or our next battle. I hear the n lish are ad-
vancing, with a number of Dutch an Austrians.
Thou art in luck."

“ ks. Now tell me about this explosion.
What is it t"

“ Did you not hear aloud report yesterday, while
on the march here?"

“We heard something, but we took it for the
sie e-guns.“

‘ It was the powder-le of Doi ny. Some of my
comrades were there, with two 0 cers of ours. The
English drove them in, when they were patrolling,
an they blew up the mill and all the English, too
My faith, it was a dear Price the}; paid, though.”

‘ How? Were an 0 them k' ed?"

“Several, and a more or less scorched. The
senior ofi‘lcer, an Irish count, recently appointeda
through some court favor, was (1 , they say, an
first asleep by the mill. Of course he was blown to

eces.‘

p The young volunteer started.

“What was his name?“ he eagerly asked.

“ Count Desmond. He‘s no loss, for the other
ofiicers had made up their minds to get him out, I
understand.”

Cavanagh listened intently, and his lip trembled.

“ Comrade,“ he said, simply, “ Count Desmond
and I were volunteers in the same squadron. Do
not belie him when he is dead.”

The carabineer flushed slightly. He had all a
Frenchman’s tact and consideration for others‘ feel-

s.
infiI beg pardon, comrade,” he said, "I did not
know that. There was another Irish officer killed
there, they tell me; a brave fellow, too, one of your
re ' ent. ’ '

avanagh turned lpale. v

“Not Jack Carro too?" he said, brokenly. “He
wasm only other riend."

“I 0“ not know the name," said the soldier.
“This one was a huge man, with an enormous red
mustache." .

“I feared it,"said Cav h, witha ' h. “I’m
all alone, comrade. It was ack Carro you de-

scrrbe.‘

 

 

There was a short silence. Then the young volun-
teer turned to the other.

“ Comrade, on said Count Desmond was drunk.
Do you know his of your own self ?" _

“ Certainly, no,” said the carabineer, hastily. “It
is but report." ' u

“ Friend," said Cavan h, earnestly, I am but
one man ainst a crowd, ut I Will venture my life
the report s a lie. If you hear it from any one who
says he knows it, tell him that Will Cavanagh, of the
Third s uadron of Clara‘s Horsehsnys that he hes,

and wi prove it on him wit any weapons he
pleases." .

The bi carabineer stared a little, but he said:

“ I w contradict the report in future, comrade.

You knew this Count Desmond well?“

“ He and Carroll were my only friends, and I know
neither ever failed to do his du y.”

Then he parted from the carabinecr, and walked
awn. with drooping head. He felt incxpressibly
lone y.

 

“ Lieutenant the Baron d’Etioles, to be examined,"
said the orderly on duty.

“ Monsieur le Baron will be seated," said Mar-
shal Cormontaigne, the president of the court.

Etioles advanced and took his scat. He was unin-
{Jured b the e losion, having been a lon way off,

ut his air an mustache had been sings and dis-
figured by the blaze of the burning forest, where the
bushes had taken fire from the flying wrecks, and he
looked pale from the shock.

The marshal questioned him closely about the
skirmish, and his orders to Le Borgue, and his an—
swers were in the main correct.

At last came the question:

“ Where was Count Desmond during the fight?”

Etiolos heltated.

“ I had rather not say, Monsieur le Marechal.
The count is dead.”

“ What is your cause for hesitation, monsienr?”

“ I do not wish to injure the memory of a deceased
officer, who was, moreover, in my own squadron."

“The court appreciates your reluctance, mon-
sieur, but at resent we are cndeavoring to ascer-
tain the trut i. I gave the count certain orders
transferred to me. I would ascertain if the were
obeyed. I repeat, where was Count Desmon ?"

“ Asleep under a tree b the mill.”

“ How—asleep when a ght was in progress 9"

“ Asleep so soundly that the shots failed to waken

99

“ How was this? When did he fall asleep?"

“I do not know, Monsieur le Marechal. left him
watching me as I rode into the forest, and he was
unable to sit his horse at the time.”

“ How—did he seem sick?" _

“No, monsienr; only sleepy. On his feet, proba-
bl , he would have staggered. As it was, he nearly
is ad his horse." '

“ Monsieur le Baron,” said Cormontaigne, gravely
“ do you know that you imply something serious?’

“ Remember, marshal, I begged to be excused
from answer-in ."

“In one wo , sir, answer lainly. Do you mean
to say that the count was runk on duty? Yes or

no.

“Yes, Monsieur le Marechal. Almost all of the
men we relieved in the camp were also drunk. It
was my principal reason for patrolling, for I feared
the enemy might come in on us unprepared

“ Did any 0 your men notice the same thing?"
“I think so, monsieur."
“That will do. You can retire, baron. Call the

senior sergeant, if he is alive, who belonged to the
h

Etloles bowed and retired. He had lutted his
reven e. Were his enem still alive, be new that
he ha mined him as a so dier. Dead, he had caused
his name to be dishonored.

Cormontaigne looked gravely round the board.

“Gentlemen, if the baron was not in error, we
have a di eeable duty to erform; no less than
to censure tge memory of a cad officer, and cause
his name to e stricken from the rolls in disgrace.
Here comes the sergeant."

Sergeant Poiri'er, the same scoundrehwho had
been found b Gerald, two nights revious, dead
mdiuhnkég the hted candle in the s raw, was now

or n.
The sergeant had done his best to clean up since
the explosion, but he had not the advan e of a
change of raiment, like his commander. 5 still
looked pretty dirty. and his red and bloated counte-
nance was a perfect index to his character.

Cormontaigne eyed him sharply.

“ What is our name?“

“ Baptiste oirier."

This was said with a hiccup. The sergeant had
already managed to procure liquor enough to make
him happy. 0

“ a s our rank?"

“ Sergean of the Fifth squadron, dragoons of
Picardy.“ _

“ Where were you when the explosion took

H
p “ Riding for m life, by the pond of Doign ."

“ Did you see ount Desmond, during the ht?"

“ No, monsieur."
“ Were you, or any of your men, drunk on that
H

‘YI den it," said Poirier, valiantl . “ We had
been drin ng but all the brandy in he storehouse
was split in t 9 Send by the captain, and we only
had one bottle hi den away. One bottle of brandy
couldn't make two men drunk, you know, Monsieur
le Marechal. " n

“ Two men—had you no more in camp?

" Yes your excellency, ei ht—two to each bottle."

“ Had you four bottles of randy, then i"

“ Yes, monsieur, I scorn to lie."

“ When did you last see Count Desmond ?" asked
Cormon ' e, after a long pause of silent thought.

“ When ieutenant Carroll took the watch and
went to visit the pickets on the Tourney road. The
count went to his tent to sleep.”

“ Who led you into the ngh ”

“ Lieutenant Carroll, monsieur.

drunk and made us follow him and char e a
whoe s uadron with eight men. We were g to
get out, fore We’d 'been ion in. Then the harm
called out, ‘ Suave gut t,’ an we ran away. Ser-
1 ml}.me hetrainalittletoosoon,

He accused us or

we'nw'

 

N The Irish Captain. g

“ You can go, sergeant. Orderly, report him a
pritsoner to the officer of the guard, as you take him
on .

The sergeant's face fell as he went out, but he
said to the orderly, with an air of trium h:

“I shall not stay long, comrade. here are too
many heads in danger if Itcll all I know. Your
marshal is an old fool."

Cormontaigne, on his part, said to the assembled
officers:

“ Gentlemen, I think we have heard enough. The
whole part was clearly drunk, except perhaps
Lieutenant ‘arroll. Let us make up our report."

CHAPTER XXIV.
MADAME wroma'rrn.

A LARGE and handsome chateau stood on the
summit of a gentle hill a few miles from Tournay.
It was the same at whose doors Gerald Desmond
had left the young and beautiful Therese Le Nor-
mand on the night before the ill-fated ex lesion.

Int e large saloon of the chateau, picturesque
and old—fash oned in its furniture, the same beauti-
ful lady whom we have mentioned before, under
the name of Madame Antoinette, was walkin up
and down, in a manner expressive of great aglta ion,
while near her the enigmatical Arouet was seated at
a table, quietly sipping his coffee.

Madame Antoinette suddenly stopped in her walk
and spoke to him in a manner expressive of great
nervous irritation.

“Arouet, you will drive me mad with your cool-
ness! Have you no heart, no pity? This horrible
news has completely unnerved me, and you sit there
as composed as if nothing had hap oned."

“On the contrary, madam,“ sad Arouet,
lv, “it seems to me that I am the greatest oser.
By the unfortunate death of this onng man, I have
lost ten thousand francs, out of w ich I should have
made twenty, in time.”

“Money money. still moneyl" she exclaimed
iinpetuous . “I eavens, what a strange com ouii
you arel ith a brain such as no man in urope
can boast of you are tied down with a load of
avarice that‘tlie veriest bum-gems might be ashamed
to own. Are on not rich? Does t is loss disturb
your sleep? ave on not plenty still?"

“It is precisely or that reason, ma chere, that I
do not rave. Thank Heaven, I am a philosopher——
in a velvet coat. None the less, I maintain that I
have lost more than you.”

“ It is false," she cried with flashing eyes. “ Have
I not lost my peace 0 mind forever? Did not I
send him here, did I not advance him and make
him the envy of the court, and has it not brought
his blood on my soul? And, oh, he was so young
and handsome, and he loved me, Arouet, he loved
me for myself. Have I lived among these false
cowards so long, not to know that every one is sel-
fish at heart, as selflsh—ay, as selfish as you, with
all your genius? One worships me because he fears
my wit, and another because he sees in my ac-
cursed beauty the signs of future power of which
he may reap the benefits by befriending me now.
Only he loves me—no—dtd love me for myself, not
knowing who I was, not caring, trusting with the
grand faith of a noble nature in me whom he in-
vested with virtues I never shall assess—woe is
me! And this brave, sim le young night, peer to
the great Bayard himse f, I have sent to an in-
glorlollfigndeath for my sake. Can I never forgive
In so

The thin, sarcastic lip of Arouet curled.

“I think you will, ma chars. Well, be it so. You
say nothing of your sister-in-law, my pupil. She too
has disap red. Where is she?"

“Happier than I, Arouct. Therese was wiser.
She saw his nature, and loved him from the first mo-
ment she saw him. What if she did wander off to a
sudden death. She died with him. For her fate I
am not to blame.”

Arouet rose, with unwonted dignity.

“ Pardon me, madame, you are.”

“Me?”

Her tone was indi ant.

“ Explain yourse , monsieur.”

“Simple enough. You took such an interest in
this youth, that you availed yourself of the foolish
pass on of Therese to send her out here to watch
over his safety. A pure young agirl, the only good
member of a vile family, is left one in a house of
servants, between two contending armies, to watch
over a soldier. Why did you not kee him in Paris?"

“You know, none better, that hs life was not
safe an hour. Etioles, Richelieu, all those who are
interested in seein me in power, feared that his
presence might ruin their schemes. I sent him
here to be safe."

d “And”Therese—why should she be exposed to
an er?

“ ecaue she wished it. You do not know what
this love is, Arouet, you, who have no passwn, noth-
inibut an intellect of ice.”
11p

 

uiot-

rouet quivered slightly, and compressed his thin

s.

“You have reason,” he said, quietly. “Yet, I
swear to you, madame, that if .by
hard-earned fortune I could bring ack my pupil to
life, I would go back to-morrow to be the lackey to
great men I once was, before I conquered indepen-
dence, and made even nobles fear the pen and
ton e of truth and eternal justice.”

e shrlveled face of the old man glowed as if
with inspiration, as he spoke with unwonted energy,
and its yellow, cadaverous hue warmed slightly.

Madame Antoinette stopped and held out her

white hand. ‘

“Let us not uarrel Arouet," she said. “You
tell me the trut , at least. You hide your heart
we old friend.“

“ hould I not?“ he answered bitterly. “ Do you
remember when De Rohan’s lackeys avenged the
sarcasm with sticks, that their master’s ton e was
too slow to retort? Two years in the Bastil e is an
education to craft. Let it pass. Therese is gone.
Desmond is‘gone. We must b our dead in our
hearts and hve on. You, too, wi learn selfishness
in'time. To-night you are invited to the ‘little sup-
per‘ of the kin . t is the crisis of your fate."

“What if I 11 not go?” she said.

“ You will," he said, f dly.

“And why, if I do not c 0086—"

“Because you are necessary to France,to pro-
gress, to humanity. "

, ‘._..

ving up all my -

 

.13.

“France progress, liunianit l" slio echoed, bit-
terly. Wil they give back t elite I have sacrl
flood, the love I have lost in him?"

“One can not have every thing,“ he anwerod,
icily. “You are too exacting, ma elm-e; you can
not have two lovers forever, and the one you will
have is too jealous to brook rivals."

She was about to answer, when the door was
t}l;‘0\vll open, and a servant announced in a loud
vo ce:

“ Monsieur le Baron, madame."

Etioles entered the room with a re id step, fol-
lowed by several servants, and abrupt y addressed
Madame Antoinette in a harsh tone. saying:

.“So, madame, i understand that my sister has
disa§peared from the (-liatcau. Is this true?“

“ one should know hotter than you," she replied,
sarcastically. “I am told that you were on duty in
the direction in which she went. '

“ Very good, madame. Then allow me to inform
you. that in that! direction, yesterday, happened a
terrible explosion. If she Went out to carry a mes-
sage to our lover, he and she are buried together.
Do you near?"

“To what end do you tell me this, monsieur?"

“Simply that you may know that he is dead
madame. So perish all that attempt the honor of
Etiolcs.”

“Then you mean to say that you had a hand in
his death Y" asked Madame Antoinette,with a strange
glitter in her eyes.

b He came up closer to her, and fixed his eyes on
ere.

“ You know I did,“ho said, in a deep, grating
whisper. “He is dead. Now, refuse, if you dare,
to do my will. Your name shall be trumpeted from
one end of France to the other, and there will be no
Coronet to hide that shame." it

For a moment it seemed as if Madame Antoinette
would strike the baron in the face as he stood before
her. Her face grew white as death, and her eyes
glared dangerously.

Then she too leaned forward and spoke in a whis-

er:

“You have owned it. Rest content. To—night
the end will be accom )lislied. But you, you who
would sell your honor or money, take care that you
are not cheated of the price."

Without another word she turned and swept from
the room with the port of a queen, leaving Etioles
standing doubtfully looking after her.

He was roused by the shaip metallic voice of
Arouet.

“Hola, man baron, you look thou ,htful. Rest
tran uil.- The game is ours. The litt e supper will
deci e the case."

Etioles turned round sava 'el .

“Old meddler," he hissc , ‘ you were his friend.
How do you like the loss of your ten thousand
francs?"

" My dear baron," said the other, tran iiilly, tak-
ing snuff, “I never i'epine at losses tilli e game is
over. It is not finished yet. We are partners in
future. Why should we trump each other‘s best
cards by uarreling? I own it is a trying ositi'on
for amo el husband like you to be how in, but
courage. The coronet will iide a mult tude of—“

He whispered the last word with a mocking leer.

The baron stamped his heel, uttered a furious
oath, and rushed from the room.

Arouet laughed sardonicnlly.

“ He’ll not quarrel with me,” he muttered.

CHAPTER XXV.
A “um surrna.” -

WITHIN sound of the guns of Tournay, but shel-
tered from missiles b anintervening eminence,
stood the huge, ranibl ng Chateau Gauram, occu-
pied by his majesty. with all his retinue.

The Chateau Gauram had been the residence of

werful barons in the middle a es, who had fenced
t with massive walls, turrets w th pointed roofs, a
great square donjon, with extensive outworks, sur-
rounding the whole with a broad, deep moat, which
opened into the river Scheldt. Their successors, in
more civilized days, had converted the fortress into
a palace fit for a king, and which indeed required a
kingly income to render it habitable, so vast was its
extent. For the king of France and his court there
was room and to spare. The old line of the curtains
was now broken by huge windows; the turrets were
only used for side staircases; and the grand hall, a
hundred and flft feet s uare, by fort in hight, was
turned intoa b -room lazing with i’hts.

On the night of the king‘s arrival in ournay there
was to be a “little supper,” at least such was the an‘
nouncement at first, ut it became whispered about
that the “ little supper " was in reality to be agrand
entertainment, as ar as numbers and feastln went,
while its private character was to be main ed by
ithe fact of the visitors being all masked and in dom-
noes.

It was true that the enemy was positively re-
ported as advancing, and that every now and then
a shell from Tournay dropped near the chateau,
while the siege- guns kept up a regular, though slow
cannonade. Still, the danger was not serious, for
that night at least, and its proximity added just
sufficient spice to the entertainment to render it
charming. ,

Just about sunset, carriages and horsemen began
to arrive. There were but few of the former, for
most of the court ladies were lodged in the palatial
extent of the chateau; but generals, colonels, and
cagtains, dukes, counts and barons were galloping
in yscores from the army aroun passingu the
long avenues of gleaming cuirassiers, seat on
their horses, holdinii torches that would be lighted
as soon as it was dar .

A short distance from the chateau rose a little
bill, by the side of the Scheldt, which commanded
an extensive view of the count toward Brussels.
0n the summit of this bill, in t e crimson rays of
the sunset, a low basket-carriage was standing, and
beside it a little group of horsemen.

The handsome dissi ated face of Richelieu, the
king's favorite, the p e and you res of
the Duke do Grammont, and several other officers
of note, were to be seen there, aronnd the hel less
bulk of the old marshal, who seemed to be exp ain-
ing something to them, pointing frequently at the
prospect below. ‘

There, not two miles of! lay the white lines of
tents of the army covering the siege, and Saxe was

 

14

The Irish Captain.

 

explaining the position to Richelieu, who was in
turn to report it to the king.

“ Yonder, monsieur le duc," said the old marshal,
“you see the Scheldt winding awa to the sea. In
that large curve lies the bridge of clone, behind the

arm ."
" i}; it the only bridge?” asked Richelieu, keenly.
“ By no means, monsieur. There are six others,

of pontoons.“

‘ Still, we shall fight with a river behind us. That
will be awkward in case of defeat.” '

“ Monsieur 16 due, we shall not be defeated. Be-
sides it is too late to change our position on the eve
of a battle.”

‘l‘tfilontinue, monsieur lo marechal," said Richelieu,
co y.

“On the right of our position, monsieur, you see
the village 0 Antoine, by the river. In the center,
and close to it, is Fontcnoy. On the left, and drawn
back, is Gauram and the wood of Barry. You see
we are drawn up In a half moon, swelling outward a
little. Fontenoy is the key of the position, and I
defy them to take Fontenoy. It is covered with
works fit to def an army in Europe. Marlborou h
would have fai ed take it, with any sort of e-
tense."

Richelieu nodded.

“ I see, I see. And Antoine?" *

“ It is (finally strong, and one continuous inn-ench-
fint’ ontenoy. n the right weare absolutely
e. '

“ So far, so good. Now the left.”

“ The wood covers the flank, and there is a heavy
redoubt there, also one near Fontenoy."

Richelieu looked keenly in the direction indicated.

“ Between Gauram and Fontenoy, are there any
works?"

Saxe hesitated.

“ To say the truth, monsieur 1e due, I could wish
we had time to ut one more redoubt there, but the
enemy are too 0 ose. Otherwise the position would
be absolutely impregnable. The approach is en-
filaded by the two redoubts, and the ground is diffi-
cult furrowed by ravines. The reserve will be drawn
up behind the gap, and we must trust to French
valor to defend i .'

Richelieu smiled slight] and shook his head.

“ The crisis will come t ere. Do you not think so?"

“ I own it. You see the whole position."

“I will re rtit to his majesty, marshal. Have
you a safe p as for him?"

“ At the mill and chapel of Our Lady of the Wood.
It is a. hill behind Fontenoy and commands the
whole field. Will his majesty there?"

“Without fail. Good-evening, marshal."

The group broke up as the sun set, and Richelieu

alloped to the chateau, while Saxe drove down to

e army.

It was a strange sight to a person standing on the
top of the bill, as the darkness are t on, and espe-
cial] to one knowing the state of tbgngs. Below, in
the istance, glittered the camp-fires o the covering
army, and far away in the gat ering darkness were
the twinkling 1i hts of the Allies, who had been
slowl arriving min the day, and taking up their
posit on op site the such.

On the 0 er side the occasional sullen boom of a
cannon from the trenches before Tour-nay told of a
second army already in action, and yet, between the
two, careless and oyous, the Chateau Gauram was
all ablaze with lig ts, while the sweet strains of the
numerous bands told of the festivities going on in
sight of the contending forces, so to speak.

As the darkness advanced the cuirassiers
lighted their torches, and sat patiently on their
horses on each side of the long avenue, watc
carriages and horsemen dash up to the principal en-
trance. The court of the chateau was crammed
with led horses, and such a crowd was there that the
carriages were compelled to drive out when they
had do ted their loads, and wait in the garden.
In sho , it was one of those grand “crushes,” of
which we in America have but ittle idea, and only
possible under the unlimited expenditure of an abso-

ute monarch.

The grand hall was already nearly full of guests,
and the open doors disclosed beyond it, the 10
vista of the old ard-rooms, armories and chafe ,
nowturned into quoting rooms. At the on of
all was a little oratory, about twenty feet square
now to be used for secular purposes, for in that
little room was laid out the assigned cause forall

festi , the“little supper“ at which only the
king and a ew intimates were to sit down.

In the hall, meanwhile, the guests were promenad-
ing to the sounds of sweet music, and waiting for
the-opening of the ball. The gentlemen were all
masked, but in uniform, and there was little diffi-
culty in recognizing persons. The ladies, with few
exceptions, were dominoes, and were thus effectual-
] disguised

yPresentl there was a bustle at one end of the
room, an the made his a pearance, with a
train of court ers, all unm ed. His majesty
was accompanied b a lady in white satin, covered
with folds of cost y lace, and fairi scintillating
ht as she walked, so profuse were t e ornaments
0 diamonds which she wore. She alone, of all the
train,wore a white satin mask, above which her
bright golden hair was thrown back in a coronetdike
wave, gathered in a comb set with diamonds, and
falling down over her statuesque neck and broad
white shoulders in a profusion of ringlets, undis-
figuredby powder. The lady was tall and stately,
and her bare arms, rounded and symmetrical, were
loaded with bracelets.

Beside her im rial beauty of form, even though
her face was hi den, the king looked small and mean
in  His court dress, covered with jewels,
card not save him from appearing as a foil to the
lady at his side.

Atthe entrance of the royal party there was an
instant hush over the ball, so that a pin ht have
been heard to drop. The musicians, who been
playing a march, stopped sudden] , for they had
not received the proper signal to st e up the royal
anthem. In fact, for a moment, the silence became
o ressive.

p on gradually arose a low, whispered buzz among

the vast crowd.

“Who is she! Who can she be?"

Notioeable among the crowd near the entrance of
the ball, was a man of vast hight and Herculean
name, who wore the uniform of green and scarlet,

 

of the Irish brigade. From under his black mask
rose the curling points of a huge red mustache, the
ends of which came nearly to his eyes, though they
seemed to have been sadly thinned and scorched by
some recent fire.

He stood in the midst of the crowd, gazing intently
at the masked lady on the king’s right hand.

Hanging on the arm of this antic cavalier was
a lad , in a white domino face with yellow satin,
and t e jetty curl that strayed out from under the
hood of the domino at one side, showed that the lady
had consulted her brunette complexion in her choice
of colors. .

As the king entered and his party became Visible,
this lLady uttered a low exclamation from under her
mas .

“Mon Dim, c‘eat Antoinette .’ 0’ eat fini!“

eavens, it is Antoinettel It is all over!)
he tall cavalier pressed her arm warningly.

“ One must not speak yet,” he muttered, under
his breath.

It was true. The silence of the band seemed to
be intentional, for the king turned his head and
s he a few words to an obse uious courtier behind
h m, who bore a long old stic in his hand.

As gold stick steppe forward the yellow, shriveled
visage of Arouet, without any mask, was seen to
apgear close to the elbow of the lady in the white
an ellow domino.

“ hut, ma clterie,” he whis ered, hastil . ” You
aretrembling so that you wi ruin all. I is fated.
Sngtcan do no more. After all, whatever is, is

e lady put out a small white hand and grasped
the old courtier by the sleeve with nervous haste.

“Where is he? ’ she whispered, in a low tone of

“ Not here, for heaven s sake! He loves

“ What matter? Others have loved and lost."

Here there was a low hiss around them, warning
them to silence.

Gold stick was clearing his throat to speak.

“ Marmara et meedames," cried the functionary, in
a loud, shrill voice, “ b the order of his gracious
majest , Louis, Kin of rance, and in order to show
his ma esty’s consi oration for the most fascinating
and beautiful lady in France, I have the honor to
announce to you that his majesty has been pleased
this day to appoint Madame Jeanne Antoinette Le
Normand d’Etroles to the position of first lady of the
palace to her majest the queen.”

There was a low uzz of interest but gold stick
haddreigt flm‘shed. He gave a loud “Item I’ and pro-
cee .

“ And whereas his majesty wishes none but ladies
of the highest rank as well as beaut to attend near
his own sacred person, he has been p eased this day,
by letters (patent, signed with his own gracious hand,
and scale with the seal of France, to create J eanne
Antoinette Le Normand d’Etioles, nee Poisson, to be,
and I hereby announce her as

AME LA MARQUIsa DE Pom’anovn."

As he ronounced the last words the lady by the
king’s si e removed her mask, and disclosed the fea-
tures of Madame Antoine)!“ .’ At the same moment,

old stick slinaled to the band, and eve]?! piece in

e hall struc up the old air written by enry IV.,
“ C'harmante Gabrielle." Then, at a silent but well-
understood signal. ever mask fell from the faces
of the company, and a uzz of conversation arose.

The only exceptions were the tall cavalier and his
fair cha e. They remained masked, and the man
was lookrn eager over the heads of the crowd, as if
in search 0 somet ing while the lady clung to his
arm, trembling violent .

Presently, however, over the music, rose the
sounds of excited voices in the center of the hall,
and a disturbance seemed to have taken place
there. There were cries of alarm:

“ He’s dead." “No, only a faint." “Carry him
out." “ Give him air.”

The lady bynthe side of the gigantic masked cava-
lier ke to 'm in a tone of low but eagerentreat .

“_ onsieur Carroll, for God’s sake, 0 see him. t
is he! Bon Dien I know it must be e, and he has
recognized her. Ills heart is broken." .

Carroll, for the reader has doubtless reco nrzed
our old friend are this, hesitated, and observe :

“ But ou—who will take care of on?"

“ The will I," said the sharp vo ce of Arouet in
tones of unwanted gravity. " Go, brave Irelander,
and rescue th comrade. I doubt it is another, how-
ever, or I mis ake my brave protege."

Carroll bowed hastil , resigned t e ladyto Arouet,
and strode through t e crowd with gigantic steps,
parting the people as if they had been children. In
a few moments e arrived at a little open 3 near
the dais, on which the court was station , and be-
held a strange scene.

In the center of a circle, on the floor, lay Baron
d’Etioles, shakin from head to foot in a violent fit,
while above him, ooking down with a face of deadly
pallor, was the noble figure of the lost Gerald Dee-
mond, sup sed to be dead.

Desmon was in full uniform, more splendid than
ever, but his face wore the look of a man who has
just received a mortal wound.

Carroll looked up at the dais.

The ki was contemplatilntg the scene with a sar-
castilcz e, as if he to t pe ectly satisfied with the
resu

A little behind him Madame de Pompadour, for it
was indeed that brilliant and guilty woman, had
fallen into an arm-chair and was slow] swaying a
feather fan backde and forward, th an air of
serene carelessness, while she contemplated the

scene.

Carroll looked at her earnestly. He had too often
heard her described not to reco e in t e guilty
mistress of the king the angel an idol of Gerald B
vision, the mysterious e Antoinette. He de-
voured her witha fierce hun gaze. Carroll was
a devoted friend, Irish to the kbone, who loved
and bated with the same fiery intensity; and at that
fignfiegtthe execrated the fine lady to the bottom of

e .

There she sat, cold as ice, her face set in the mask
of cold ear-outcry that she was doomed to wear for-
ever after, without a sign of feelin either for the
husband who lay dyinfieto all see ng, before her
or the other and no r nature that she had jus
stabbed to the heart. Risen from the dead, ashe
seemed to her, for she had never believed him alive

 

till that moment, nothing seemed to astonish or
move her.

But the keen, hungry eyes of the Irishman, watch:
ing her when others were looking elsewhere, beheld
one srgn which caused him to turn away with a.
short, fierce lau h of satisfaction.

“Ye feel it, 0 ye, ye cursed light 0‘ love?" he
muttered, savagely.

lie had seen a little drop of blend on the white
chin, under the closely-compressed lips.

adame Pompadour had bitten her lower lip
through and through!

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE PLUNGE.

.Ir seems about time that we should
little, and ex lain how it was thatGerald
left aslee wi hin a hundred feet of a burstin pow-
der-mill, ad escaped unharmed, when Carro , who
had been nearly a quarter of a mile off, had receivtd
such injuries.

Our readers will have likewise begun to suspect,
in all probability, the identity of the lad in the white
and yellow domino; and it seems just t t we should
ex lain the circumstances.

e left Therese seated on her little chestnut mare,
and regarding, with astonishment and deli ht, the
sleep form of Gerald Desmond, whom s 0 had
believe en aged in the fight beyond.

Therese Normand was a very foolish young
lady, it must he confessed, for she had fallen des-
perately in love with the handsome Irish count,
who, on his part treated her with studied coolness,
and ardent] loved her sister-in-law, a married wo-
man, rn all innocence, believing her a pure and per-
fect maiden or widow he knew not which. Theresa
knew perfectly well that she could have shattered
all this bright portrait with a. word, for she was
doomed to see, powerless to revent the vile clan-
destine intrigues by which adame d‘Etioles was
forced upon the king by her own husband, assisted
by an infamous famrly,who hoped to profit in worldl
fortune by the sale of their onor. She knew all
this, and yet forbore to speak that word, from an
innate dehcacy, the more remarkable in this girl,
surrounded as she was by vicious and dishonorable
influences ever since she left the convent in which
she was educated.

But Therese Le N_ormand possessed one of those
rare natures of purrty, that on] seem to retain the
good they are taught, re ecting he evil. The lessons
of the good nuns ad 1e t her strong against all evil,
and she had moved amid the atmosphere of avicious
court, pure and uncontaminate. Out of the foul
mine had come a lustrous diamond.

Now she (gazed on Gerald with a singular mixture
of love an . fear. The love was wholl unselfish.
She knew him surrounded by enemies, w 0 saw that
Madame d’Etioles was inclined, in her caprice, to
mar all their plans by an indiscreet passion for a
handsome youth, who mi ht arouse the jealous of
the king, and cause him 0 relinquish a pursuighe
entered on but coldly. Her own brother was head
of those enemies, alarmed still more by the extra-
ordinary prains taken by madame to advance her
protege. 0 do this she had not scrupled to use her
power with her royal lover, and Etioles had only suc-
ceeded in his counter-scheme by the influence of his
fellow-conspirator, Richelieu. These courtier-s wished
the king employed and amused at an hazard.
Otherwrse, be m ht take it into his head govern,
perhaps to inter ere with Richelieu and his clique,
among them Etioles.

Therese knew her brother was lanning Gerald‘s
destruction, b what means she new not et, but
she dared no awake Gerald. And meanw e the
battle was growrn hotter in the forest.

She was saved mm the necessity by the conduct
of the count‘s horse, which fri htened or excessive-
ly. The animal strained at h halter-chain, reared
and plunged round the tree, and at last in his efforts
lashed out one of his hind feet, and kicked a shower
of sand and gravel over the sleeping officer, stinging
him sharply.

In a moment Gerald was on his feet, awake and
collected, and coming to his senses with the readi-
ness of a soldier who 5 used to night alarms. There

0 back a
esmond,

fierce burst of anger at the horse for waking him, in
which he threw a handful of gravel at him with
spiteful vehemence, bringing the beast to order at.
once.

The next moment the sounds of the firing below
caught his car. He started, turned, and found him-
self face‘ to face with Therese.

“Mademoiselle Le Normand l"

“The same, monsieur le comte. For Heaven‘s:
sake, come away with me. They are fighting below,
and our people are bein driven back.’

Gerald started and loo eddown.

As he did so, Le Bor e dashed out of the wood}.
and went galloping up t e ridge to fire the train.

“What oes the mean?" the young captain mut-
tered anxiously.

Le horgne had hardly disappeared in the wood on'
the rid e, when Jack Carroll came tearing out near
the m followed by the dragoons, and dashed
down-h into the fight.

A moment later the retended page of Etioles
came runnin to them, or face white with frantic
terror. She ell at Desmond’s feet.

“ y God, monsieur le comte, do you know what
they are going to do? In a moment more, they will
all"); 'l‘lp the mill. Le Borgne has gone to fire the

Gerald's face w pale and his eyes glittered.

“ What tram, y? Quick, what train?"

“The train in the woods to the mill,” faltered the
pretended boy, ashy pale. " It is all planned,
monsieur. They are to allop past here and entice
the English to follow. on they are here and our
men across the pond, the mill will be blown into
the air. My God, monsieur, here they come. We
have no time to lose. Save yourself.

Gerald hesitated only a moment. One rapid
glance round. He shook his clenched flat savagely
at Etioles as the baron, with a mob of followers,
thundered past at that very moment in a. cloud of

dust, not seei anythln in the hur and blinding
confmion. Wth loud s outs, the nglish came
streamin up the hill in pursuit. Then, with a

mutter curse of fiery rage at the treacherous.

 

trick he had been subjected to, he strode to Therese,
plucked hcr oif he: nurse witu desperate strength,

were no rubbing of eyes and yawning, but mm“, a.

and ran along the ridge. to the edge of the water.
carrying the '1‘] and followed by Giannina, who was
shrieking an crying with useless terror.

A moment later he stood by the deep black pool,
with Therese in his arms and looked fiercely round.
The En lish had reached the mill, and were ridin
round t, waving their swords and shouting witi
triumph. Several were rushing toward the little
group of three by the edge of the water shouting,
‘ Surrender!" _

Gerald cast a glance across the pond. Etioles and
his mob were sti'eaniin along the other side, spur-
ring frantically, and 9. out a third of a mile from
the mill. Then he spoke to Giannina harshly, for
the moment was one of supreme danger, and he
thought her a boy:

“Silence, you cowardly hound! When I leap,

Still he stood by the bank, watching, and careless
of the cuirassiers ilrin at him.

He was watching/or eflus/i. (27' the train.

Presently he saw a serpentine ribbon of lightning‘
come tearing throu h t e dark wood beyond the
mill. It disapicare behind the shed, and at the
some instant t iree flgures plunged down headlong
into twenty feet of water.

follow. "

CHAPTER XXVII.
swan nr WATER.

DOWN into the cold depths of the pond plunged
Gerald and his two companions, at the very instant
of the explosion. With the coolness and self—com-
mand of a veteran, the soldier had waited for that
moment. Had he leaped sooner, he would have
risked coming to the surface while the explosion
was taking place. A moment later, and the air would
have been a sea of flame. The exposure of an inch
of surface to that fiery blast meant utter annihila-
tion. standing as he was, not two hundred feet from
the mine.

Down, down, into the dark depths he plunged
perpendicularly, the bank being at its steepest, the
water at its deepest. Therese was clasped in his
arms, nearly insensible, and Giannina, .the. false
pa e, was at his side. The water roared in his ears

8 went down, and it seemed an age to the diver,
as he descended, never so slowly as then,

The bubbles were still circling above his head, not
six inches from the surface, when a tremendous
quivering shock took place. Gerald felt as if he
had received a stunning blow in the chest, knock-
ing all the breath out of his body, and heard the
heavy crash that told of the explosion. Down in
the dark water, it sounded like the peel of ten
thousand thunders, bursting close to his ears.* Se
fearful was the shock that he became partially in-
sensible.

And then succeeded an awful silence, broken, af-
ter a. while, by successive dull blows, that vibrated
through the elastic medium from every direction,
for and near, as the fragments of wreck were scat-
tered in the water.

Then, slowly, slowly, his breath nearly spent, he
felt himself rising to the surface, till, with a sense
of ove owering gratitude, his head rose out of the
water, ust 10mr enough for him to take breath, and
he found himsaf going down again. '

The reason was ve aim is. His ounces and
sword were carryin in own, when the elastic
rebound of the exp osion had caused him to rise.
But he was an old swimmer, and a Vigorous man.
Moreover, he was not ten feet from the bank. By
desperate efforts he managed to swim that ten feet,
almost under water. and felt in his hand the soft
clay of the embankment” His fair char 9 seemed
to be now into insensible, and offere no hin-
drance, by ciuging or otherwise, to his eflorts.
Once having his hand on the bank, the rest was pos-
sible. Digging his fingers into the clay with desper-
ate tenacit , he Succeeded in drawing his head out
of the we er, and allowed himself to hang for a
moment, while_he anted to recover his breath.
Therese, not weighs down as be was, floated mo-
tionless beside him, her face pale and lifeless, her
eyes close .

Then the soldier cast his eyes round, and shud-
dered at the peril he had escaped.

The water seemed to be covered with wrecks, for
his eyes, close to the surface, metnothing but spars
and trunks of trees, or the horrible fragments of
human bodies. ‘

A little way off, he heard a splashing and struggl-
in?. with the gurgling shrieks of a drowning person,
half-choked by water. He saw the arms of theyun-
fortunate page tossed wildly in the air, and realized
for the first time that the boy could not swim. And
he could not save him!

Even had he been able to leave the senseless The-
rese, he knew that he could not rescue a. drowning
person, incumbered as he was With armor.

What was to be done 9—for the boy was evidently

si .
Has whirling round, in some vague expecta-
tion of elp, his ead receIVed a blow from some-
t sharp, and he found that the Jagged, splintered
end of a lar e post had floated close to him.
With re i decision he pushed Therese close to the
bank, on fine arm that was clutching the clay, and

. gave a powerful shove with his left hand to the spar,

ust as the boy‘s head came to the surface, uttering
a. wild shriek. . . ‘

“ Catch the spar!" he shouted. as it went JOg‘g‘hng
slowly through the water, toward the drowning
one.

He had no time to see more, for at that moment
his hand slipped from the treacherous clay, and
down he went with Therese under the water.

'Recent experiments made with large bells and
other loud sounds on the lake of Geneva, Switzer-
land. demonstrate that, cent to the general
opinion, shocks are transmitted t ou h water With
greater intensity and to tor stances than
through the air. An expl on of suflicient force to
shake the earth would therefore be plainly h in
the water, even if the chief of its strength
were wasted in air. This note thought necessary
b the author for the benefit of those who might
(fink the incident in his; story impossible.

 

 

The Irish Captain. 7 7

But he was too close to the bank to be in any seri-
ous danger now, and soon regained his old position.
Finding that there seemed to be no holdin ~place
that was not subject to the same dan ers, ie be-
thouglit him of a plan, which he instant y adopted.
Slowly and cautiously digging his fingers into the
bank to retain his place, he caught hold of tho
loosened hair of Therese with his teeth, so as to sus-
tain her head and leave one of his own hands free.
It was his left, and with it he managed to pull out
his sword, and raise it out of the water. Then, hold-
ing it by the blade. he struck the she point into the
soft embankment, and felt safe. nce having it
there, it was an easy matter to drive it deeper and
(ice er, till it was buried nearly to the hilt, and af—
fo: ed a firm hold.

Then he had time to look round for the boy, and
to his delight, found that the latter had seized the
piece of wreck and was lying half across it, ex—

uusted, but safe.

“Thank Heaven!” ejaculated Gerald, fervently.
“ Having done so much for us, God will not desert
us surely.”

The water was cold, and his situation irksome.
Therese was still senseless, and to all appearance
dead. His hold on the rapier, though secure, re-

, quired a constant muscular effort which became

more and more distressing momentarily. When it
relaxed, as it must at last, 3 must go down. More-
over the weight of the insensible 'i'l was becoming
like lead small as it was when hal sup orted in the
water. he bank was far too steep to c iinb, except
by diggnig fingers and toes in its sides, and he was
too ut r y exhausted to do that. Still the young
soldier despaired not. He had acmmplished much,
and he determined on more yet.

First he shifted hands on the sword, and allowed
Therese to sink lower in the water, so that only her
face was out. Twining a tress of her hair on the
hand grasping the sword, he was enabled to rest a
moment. '

Then he turned and shouted to the boy:

“Pierre! Pierre! Whatever your name is, hello
there! Answer!“

b The boy slowly rose on the spar, and feeny called
ac :

“Here, monsieur, nearly dead.”

“ Bah! you’re worth twenty dead men et,” cried
Gerald, scornfull . “Don‘t be a coward, ad. Listen
to what I say. our life and mine depend on it.”

f “Slice, monsieur," responded the seeming boy,
or y.

“ Come, come," summon our courage, Pierre. I
saved (your life by shovin t at beam toward you.”

“ Di you, nionsieur" asked Pierre starting.
Tlhen he rose up with more aiacrity than he had yet
s own. .

“Was it really you, monsieur, that pushed the
beam this way?"

“Of course. What of it?"

Pierre threw a beaming glance of affection and
gratitude at his deliverer.

“Oh, nionsieur le comic," then you have saved
me twice. Now, I am ready to die for ou.”

“Nonsense,” said Gerald, sharply. ‘ No drivelin , ,
Pierre. I don’t want your life. want you to be p
save mine. Be a man. Don’t behave like a girl. One
girl is enough to take care of.”

In spite of the cold and exhaustion, a crimson
blush came over the face of Giannlna at Gerald‘s
words. This girl was a bad, brazen creature or she
would not have been the mistress and too of the
villain Etioles, and yet there was something of the
ring?! still lurking in her debased nature, which
we. ened to sudden life at that moment. She saw a
brave, noble lyoun man, at whose destruction she
had connivec , on who, when her villainous lover
deserted her in the very moment of peril, had saved
her life. Now, in his unsusE-ilcious innocence, he
could not even recognize the t 'n disguise which hid
the sex she had dishonored so often; and Giannini).
felt a thrill of debaseinent in the thought that if he
had he would have des ised her.

From that moment is e seemed a changed being.

“ Be tranquil, monsieur," she said, with sud en
calmness. ‘ I will obey your orders as well as I
know how."

“Good.” said the young count, cheeriiy. “You

are on that iece of wreck. Look round. Which is
the nearest 0 your”

Giannina looked round. -

“The nearest is that broken tree. I can almost
touch it.”

“ Good. Now paddle in the water with lflour
hands, and urge your s ar there._ So, very we . It
is a_ heavy piece of tlm er, and Will hold us all. Get
on it. Now turn the iece ownst left toward me,
Eake good aim, and ove t 5 way with all your

orce.

Giannina did as she was bid, and the ragged spar
came 10 ling through the water, slowly but surely,
till Gera ’s outstretched hand fell upon it. In an-
other moment he and Therese were resting on it,
and he uttered a fervent thanksgivin .

He was stopped b a warning ‘hhi " from Pierre,
who made a rapid sé-n, pointing up to the top of the
bank, that some one approached. All oowered
under the bank in dead silence. Gerald listened
with intense curiosity. He dreaded it to be an en-
enr'iy. He hard! dared hope it was a friend.

hey heard ‘stinctl the clatter of accouter-
ments, as a man cast h mself heavily down on the.
earth, and a well-known voice aned out:

“Ochonel Why did ye die, raid? Why did ye
die? I'll never see your like again—Ohone a reel
Ohone a reel”

And then thedeep, choking sobs of poor Cami!
broke on the stillness. Gera d raised his hands to
Heaven in thankfulness.

“Jack Carroll saved, too! God has been very
merciful. “

Then be elevated his voice, 0 'ng:

“ Help, Jack, help, if ye ever oved me. We’re all
in the water, and too weak to get up the bank.”

In a moment the culrassier was on his feet with a
stentorian yell of de ht.

“Whoop! hurrool ringo b h! And he ain't
dead, at all, at all only kiltl O ,the murdering
thieves! the dirty tinkersl We’ll ve them B
Carroll before we’ve done, for this y’s work."

fingdst al‘ih his exclamations, tin: gratis ginntlflng up
an own ebanhpreparing p s endsI
with the readiness of an old campaigner. Pieces %
bridle-icing, his own belt, and every thing capab

 

15

of making a strong cord, were athercd and knotted
in haste, tho delighted (Juno 1 humming an old
Irish lilt all the while.

Ten minutes after the whole party was on the
bank, gathered round the insensib e form of Therese.
Long and persevoring were their efforts, at last
crowned with success, for she opened her eyes, and
sighed just as darkness set in.

And almost at the same moment the were star-
tled by the sound of a horse‘s feet, com 11;; from the
ruins of the mill. -

CIIAP'J‘ER XXVilI.
MONL'IEL'B AROUET.

In the atherlng shadows of evening they could
distinguis that the approaching horseman was
muffled in along roquelaure and rode a little fat cob.
From the absence of clinking weapons, it was evi-
dent that he was a. civilian.

Gerald uttered a joyful exclamation asuhe distin-
guished the well-known outline.

h“tllilionsieur Arouet, it is you? Thank God for
t a "

“Who is this thanking God for being blown up i“ ask-
ed the high, sarcastic voice of Arouet, in his c iiical
manner. “ It seems to me that he has not le t you
much to be thankful for, except life. and that is not
to be envied, if one is crippled."

Carroll looked up with amazement.

“ Who the divil are ye, ye blasphamin‘ haythen, so
ye are? It’s little your hfe's worth if ye hold thim
opinions. Doesn't the raste tell us to be thankful
for our mercies, and ven’t we saved ourselves
alive, when a. hundred poor cr’atures were blown to
smithereens before our eyes?"

“An Irishman, by the sentiment," exclaimed
Arouet. “ I can not see thee in the dark, my brave
fellow, but I’ll swear 'tis an Irishman one of that
nation of giants that leb the priests lead them all by
a. hook in the nose.”

Carroll was about to rep] angrily, when Gerald
laid his hand on his arm, ant whispered:

" "Tie a friend, and he does not know us. Hush."

Then turning to Arouet, and disguising his voice,
he asked:

“ Who are on, monsieur, and what seek you?"

“if I were 0 mention my name, friend, you would
all know it, for it has made Europe ring. At pres~
ent, I am plain Francois Arouet, and I am search-
ing for the remains of a little investment, which, I
fear, has departed to the skies.”

Arouet spoke in his usual cynical, sneerlng tone,
but there was an under-current of anxiety in his
manner, as he continued:

“Who are on, messieurs? Have you, like me,
come to view t ese horrible ruins? Are you French
or enemies?"

“If we were enemies, monsieur, you would not
have been safe so long,” said Gerald, smiling.

“ Oh, I do not know," said Arouet, carelessly. “ I
am a non-combatant and not liable to seizure. So
much law Ilearned in the days of in youth. But
if you are French you must know who her any were
saved‘from this explosion besides Etioies and his
“9‘0 ' at?"
saved?”

“For exam is, what a questionl" cried Arouct,
mockingly. ‘ Isthe Baron d’Etioles a man to be
blown up? More likely to blow up others, as I fear
is the case. Yes, he is safe. But have you seen or
heard anything of the commander of the post, one
Count Desmond?"

“ ave you a great interest in the count, mon-
sieuri”

“Eh, pmbku, I should think so. If he is dead,
giyéeyn thousand francs are gone to the skies, in-

ee . ’

“ Well, inousieur, he lives, and I am he."

Arouet uttered a shrill “oacr-r-re mm,“ and bun-
dled 0!! his pony in less time than one would have
believed ssible. The next moment he was hug-
ging Ger (1 with an impetuosity that belied his pre-
vious cynical tone, crying out:

“ M brave boy, it is thou indeed, better than
fifty t ousand francs to old Arouet l‘hanka to the
flood Goii, that even the priests can not hide from

o o e.’

“ imp Monsieur Aroue ," said Gerald,
“ you know not who else is here, saved by
merciful God.“

He related in a few brief words the arrival of
Therese the explosion, and their escape, and con
signed the young lad to the charge of her old friend,
just as she recove her full senses.

asked Gerald-eagerly, “ were they

only,
e some

Two hours later, a party of four people on foot.
surrounding a lady on a little ny, entered at a
remote wing of t e Chateau auram, which had

11 assigned in advance by the grand chamber-
laln as the residence of the “court historiogra-
pher," during the king’s stay at Tourney.

The lad was taken ofl her home, and tenderly
handed in o the anteroom by old Arouet, who look-
ed the door when his friends were admitted

“It is well fortunate, my friends " said. Arouet,
rubbing his hands, “ that I concluded to precede the
allowed it.

king by a da , and that his molest
Otherwise, I should not have heard e explosion,
and ridden over to inquire about it, and you would
not have been saved so nicely. A8 it is, remember,
you are all dead, till I give the word. For you, mon-
sieur le comic. I have your word and bond to obey
my orders. For an, my pupil, I trust to your
honor. For you, onsieur Carroll, I know you will
not disobuge mademoiselle. Pierre, 1 know will
not speak. Hold, my friends, I have a plan which 1
willnot tell you yet. It is supposed on are all
dead. It is best ou should seem so, tomorrow
night. Meanwhi e, the historian to his majesty has
room and to spare at our service."

While he was spea ng, the old c)ggltleinan was
bustling about from one room to an . Prepmng
quarters for his unexpected visitom. Luckily. 85 he
hadsuid he had room and to spare, though far 03,
for the chateau was nearly five hundred feet long,
and1 the soon had them comfortably settled for the

will thus not behardfor the reader to guess
that it was according wag scheme
and by his means, mfl‘i‘k . emld one}: we

I ._. -z‘tms. n.-.

.__.-_..._._.‘—— A

 

 

16

The Irish Captain.

 

s

made their appearance at the “little supper,” to
which we can erefore return. ,

 

CHAPTER XXIX.
mm ARREST.

MONBIEUR Amounr was, before all, an intriguer
and it need not be wondered at that be concealed all
knowledge of his little lan from Madame AntOi-
iiette on the (lay of the “ ittle sii per.” ‘

He had fitted out Gerald an Carroll, With the
more readiness that the baggage of the former had
been discovered, almost uiiinJiired, in the r. oods
near the site of the old camp, where it had been
several'bundred yards from the explosion sheltere
b woods. True, the animals were all kilied by the
S Oak, but the heavy leathers trunks had protect 2d
their contents from the straggling grass fire, and the
uniforms were unhurt.

Business-like in all things, Arouet had drawn up
an exact account of his expenditures, for which he
made Gerald sign an acknowledgment, which the
soldier readily did to oblige this strange compound
of opgosite qualities. .

In t e evening they all went to the “little su ) er,”
as we. have seen, an Gerald soon found himse sep-
arated from his companions by the crowd.

The young officer wasin a strange state of mind
when he arrived at the ball. All day long, since the
previous midnight, he had slept the deep sleep of
utter exhaustion' and his faculties, before confused,
were now quite c ear. .

Prominent over all other feelings was a burning
desire for revenge on the persons who, he was satis-
fied, had attempted his life by the baSest treachery.
Carroll had explained to him all that was before
obscure, and herealized that Etioles was at the head
of his enemies. He (lid not yet know the full extent
of the plot, nor its causes.

In a state of flery but suppressed excitement he
entered the hall that evening. He had not seen he-
rese all day; the wily Arouet havi carefully kept
them asunder, till the moment for eparting, when
nothing assed between them but a formal salutation,
before 0 here. Gerald was far from suspecting what
Therese had done for him. Carroll, in all his confi-
dence, had avoided mentioning her name. The loyal
Irishman was jealous of the smallest detract on
from the di ity of the lady he adored as a su erior
bein , and erald was too modest and simple 0 sus»
pact er of, any such thing as a assion for himself.

Thus, when the crowd swept im away from his
friends, he had but one object in view, to find Etioles
and to punish him. He wandered here and there
in the crowd, searching for the uniform of the cara-
bineers, and whenever he saw such an officer, he
came close to him, and tried to ascertain his identity,
in 3 its of the masks worn by all. Many times was
he isafliointed, and still he went from one to the
other, t he found himself close beneath the royal
dais, when his attention was attracted by a scrap of
conversation between two officers of Musketeers.

“ It ,is understood. The king proclaims her to-
night. He has taken a new mistress at last, and La
Tournelle is fo otten.”

“And who is t, this time?”

“The little Poissonfihe butcher’s dau hter, who
mmieilgiltioles, nephew of Le Normand, t e farmer-
genera .

“Her! Sucristi .’ why, she is not even noble.”

“ The king will make her noble. Pompadqur will
be revived. You know the old title has been in abey-
ance for long.”

“But was there not a lover, somewhere? Some
Irishman? I heard so." _ .

“.Parbleu yes. I ought to remember him. Etioles
and the du e set three of us on him and his friends,
and we got the worst of it. I limp yet from the
thrust I got then." _

Gerald felt a thrill of excitement. He recognized
the voice of his old antagonist, St. Foix. What did
all this mean? He did not turn his head, but contin-
ued listening intently. St. Foix uttered a low, mock-
ing laugh, as he continued: _

‘ Yes, morbleu, but Etioles was too much for him.
They say he was blown u in that mill, by Etioles's
orders. He is a luc fe ow, Etioles."

“ Sacristi ! I shoul think so. The king must make
him Governor of India, at the least, to heal his
wounded honor."

Both the Musketeers burst into a scornful laugh at
this, which instantl died away, as a low, smooth
voice said, close to t em: _ ‘ ‘

“Take care, messieurs. You are nesting on seri-
ous sub ects. ‘

Geral wheeled sharply round and beheld the

pale, aristocratic features of Richelieu, unmasked,
while beside him he recognized with fierce exuitation
the figure of Etioles.
The Musketeers, overwhelmed with confusion,
bowed low and backed awayi muttering incoherent
excuses. Gerald, his mind a whirl of confusion
was at sensible of a sudden bush in the hall and
100 up, saw the entrance of the king and the
scene t t we have described ending With the pro-
clamation of the Marquise do Pompadour, and the
disclosure of the face of Madame Antoinette.

Then the whole truth burst on him at once and
he realized that the el of his dreams, the idol of
hisheart, was none 0 er than the Wife of Etioles,
and the base creature who had sold her honor to the

echnnically he followed the exam le of the rest
and unmasked. As he did so, his erce lare of
mortal anguish and hate met the eyes 0 Etioles.
Its effect was immediate. _

The baron uttered a. hoarse cry. his eyes distended
with horror, and he fell to the floor, shaking innn
attack of epilepsy. In the midst of the confusion
that followed. Gerald stood stupidly stai at his
too, hard] conscious of an thing but a d sense
of  He was awakene by the voice of St. Fou.

‘ Monsieur, I arrest you, in the king‘s name."

Richelieu looked at him, smiling sardomcally.

CHAPTERXXX.
m canon or nnmsn.

Tim under of hen as had been ro inces-
santkvtgince daybreakygnu the moral of t e 11th
May, 1745, announcing that a. genor action was

 

taking’kplace in front and around the village of Fon-
enoy.

In the apartments of the royal historiographer, at
the extreme left wing of the Chateau Gauram, a
young officer of carabineers was sitting, in an atti-
tude of deep dejection, listening to the sounds of the
cannon. It was none other than Gerald Desmond,
under arrest since the evening before, on charges
preferred by Richelieu.

Near Gerald, acing up and down like a caged
tiger, listening 0 the same cannonade, was Jack
Carroll, also under confinement.

The Irish cuirassler’s offense was that he had in-
terfered when his friend was arrested, and had
almost drawn his sword in the presence of the king.

“ Ah, bad luck to yel” growled Carroll, furiously,
as a more than usually heavy discharge shook the
windows of the Chateau Gauram, “ it‘s fine times
ye’re havin’, all to yerselves out there. And to say,
when the ould brigade gets face to face with the
cursed Sassenachs, or the first time since the Boyne,
we're both tied here like two hos ital nurses, listen-
ing to the guns and waitin for t it: stretchers. Ah,
Gerald, Gerald, ’twas a ba day for us, when ye went
out roaming beyond bounds in the forest at Fontnine-
bieau, and saved the life of that painted jade that’s
betrayed us both.“

Gerald made no answer. His head sunk lower and
lower. At that moment he wished for nothing in
the world but death on the field, and even that was
denied him.

“ And that Etioles, too,” continued Carroll, bitter-
ly; “to think that the mean scoundrel who sells his
own wife for court favor, should now be on the field.
when we’re here. Oh, but the day of reckoning will
come yet, for us twol We’ve both been fools, I worst
of an , to ive the dog his life, to lease that sister,
that ooke so pure. Ah, diaoul / . I"

The stout cuirassier shuddered all over with strong
fur , and ‘his face grew purple. Carroll, too, was
disi lusionized, for he had fallen down and worship—
ed Therese, and now he felt that he could not but
suspect that she was soiled by that foul and corrupt-
ed court. Sister to Etioles, sister-in-law to Pompa-
dour, what else could she be? Carroll groaned in
agon at the thou ht.

To is surprise, erald looked up for the first time.
His face was pale as death, but he spoke in alow,

veice:

“Sir John Carroll, don’t presume to connect with
this plot the thought of Mademoiselle Le Normand.
The man that insinuates dishonor to her, lies.”

As he s oke the last word, he slowly rose up, and
stood 100 'ng at his friend with a fixed and menac-
ing stare.

. As for Carroll he fell back several steps, etrifled
with surprise. This was so great as to mas r even
his indignation at the tone assumed b Gerald.

“Holy Mother of God!” he ejacu ated, “are ye
stark wild? when ’twas only two days ago ye tr‘ated
her like a—”

“I know it,” said Gerald, interrupting him; “ but
since that, Jack Carroll I’ve lived ten years.”
“Ten years?” said arroll, innocently.

’twas only forty-eight hours, Gerald.”

“ Carroll,” said esmond, solemnly, “ a man may
live ten ears of suffering and experience in a night.
I have one that since my arrest. Listen. When I
entered the hall of the C ateau, last night, I was a
boy, burnin for revenge on Etioles. I thought he
was my riva in her love; I dreamed she was a prin-
cess I; thought of every wild thing that a young
man’s brain could think of; I thought of everything,
except the truth. I heard St. Foix and his comrade
talkin of the kin ’s new mistress, and a moment
later ound who i was. In that moment, I found
that I had lovedewhat—a woman of the street,
driven to vice by want?—a woman sinnin for love?
No—a creature hi h in every gift of Go and man,
beautiful, talente , rich, yet—a purchased mistress
to a thin without brains or beauty, king though he
be, foul byfa hundred low intrigues before, and
selling horse to this creature for a price! In that
moment, Carroll, with a flash like lightning, I saw
Therese Le Normand, in my mind’s eye are as an
angel in the midst of a foul family, an saw that
she had loved me. And I, fool that I was had
thrown away a diamond, in the darkness of my
ignorance, to clutch at a corpse shining from its
own putrefaction. Let it pass flack, let it ass.
My eyes are open at last. Let t em strike me rom
the 1 st. Let them degrade me and shoot me. I
have fallen below dis race in loving that woman.
But, Jack, never brea he a word against Therese
Le Normand. She is too good for any of us to speak
of. I’ll stake my every hope of future salvation on
her purity.”

He turned away, and sunk in the eat arm-chair
again, and a deep silence reigned in t e room. Car-
roll was completely sobered and silenced before the
greater grief of his friend.

“ Sure

After a little while longer, the cannonade became

less frequent, and they could hear the distant rattle
and growl of volleys of musketry. Carroll began to
fldget about again.

‘ An attack," he muttered. “ 0h, Hol Mother
if we were only therel Where the div 1 can old
Arouet be? He promised to do all he could to get
us out for the battle.”

Gerald made no answer and Carroll pursued:

“ I wonder who the ould chap can be Gerald? He
seems to be migihty powerful about this coort, any-
way. D’ye min how grand he spoke to the officer
that was taking us to the prison, when he asked him
who'd be responsible for our safe-keeping if he
turned us over to him? ‘I will,‘ says he, as if he’d
been the king himself. ‘Is that enough, monsieur?
Tell it to Richelieu, to the king himself, if you
please}, And St. Foix bows to the ground, and says,

 

*There is some confusion existing in the contem-
porary histories as to the exact date of the battle of

ontenoy, arising from the change which occurred
about that time from “ old style” to “new st le,”
or from the old J'ulian calendar (so called from ulius
Caesar, it’s romulgator to the Gre orian calendar,
as rectifl by Pope re ory. “ ew style” was
adopted finally by most uropean nations in 1752,
but some confusion still exists amo the historians
of that century as to dates on accoun of the change.
We have taken the 11th of May, 1745, as the best au~
thenticated date, by “new style,” for the battle of
Fontenoy. Under old style it was 27th of April.

. took a surname, like the old

 

‘If you are res Jonsible. all is well, monsieur,’ and
the ould chap ta es us off without another word.”

Gerald rose listlessly, and went to a table, on which
lay several books.

‘ Do you really want to know who he is?" asked
the Iyoun count, in a tone half absent, half melan-
cho y. “ long suspected it nowI am certain. Look
there, and you will not wonder, for we are befriended
by the greatest mind in France.”

Carroll looked at the book which Gerald had
thrown open on the table. It was acopy of Racine‘s
tragedy of “ Andromache," and bore on the fly-leaf
these words:

“Francois Maria A/‘ouel DE VOLTAIRE.”

Carroll started.

“ Voltaire .’"

“The same, monsieur ” said the sharp voice of
the great author himself, just behind him. “ You
have been'a long time finding it out but, In faith,
I'dld not he when I told you it had made {Europe
ring.” '

“.But you called yourself Arouet," said Carroll,

gazmg stupidly at the other, who had entered so
softly, that they had not heard him.
. “Arouet is my patronymic,” said Voltaire, smil—
ing; “ that is to say, ’twas m father’s name and I
omans, which has be-
come somewhat well known. But you seem dc~
pressed, gentlemen. What think you? I bring you
good news."

Carroll dropped on his knees before Voltaire, and
shouted out:

“Oh, Monsieur Voltaire, I always said ye were a
blackguard for talking bad of the prastes, but by the
holy cross, if ye’ll on] tell me I can get out of this,
I’ll swear ye're a gin eman, with the last breath of
me bod , so I will.”

Voltaire laughed heartily at the cuirassier’s queer
conceit, and spoke with unusual kindness.

_“ Even the devil, that your priests terrif on
with, is not uite as black as they painte im
in their illuminations, my friend. You may find
Arouet de Voltaire better than some of the priests.
I have been to Madame de Pomgadour for you—nay,
do not start up and frown like t at, mad Irelander—
I am Voltaire, that did not nail before de Rohan,
a prince of the blood. . Smoot thy face, or I say no
more. ’

Carroll’s frown changed to an expression of puz-
zled respect, as the frai figure of the poet and phi—
losopher seemed to swell to his own vast dimensions,
at the first sign of menace. The big cuirassier bow-
ed low before the demonstration of pure moral and
dauntless courage in a feeble invalid and he said:

_ “Monsieur de Voltaire, I apolo ize: but I do not,
hke to owe favors to a king‘s mis ress.”

f‘ Ah, bah I" said Voltaire contemptuously. “You,
With your airs of virtue, are you a pure virgin? Out
on your creed that curses a woman for doing what
all men dol Which would you rather, sta here, and
be shot in the mornin for treason to t ekin , in
drawin on a kin ’s o cer, or go out to a flelg of'
honor, through t e kind intercession of madame le
marquise?”

Both Carroll and Gerald were silent, and the latter
looked at Voltaire in a. sort of bewildered way.

“ Madame has her faults,” continued the great
post, c nically. “ So have we all. What would
you? c take the world as we find it. We have a
fool—speak low, mesieurs—for our kin . He needs
guiding. The good ueen is another foo , and priest-
ridden at that. The ‘ng hates her. He must have
mistresses. He will have them. We have iven
him a woman of wit, mind, and soul, one who oves
art and letters, one who loves France, one whose
first act has been to raise letters, in my person, to
court dignity. Well this lady, who has sacrificed
her goo name for F‘rance, progressghiloso by, has
unfortunately been the means of b nging wo gen-
tlemen to harm. Messieurs, she is not a stone, this
woman, and if she were, there is an angel near her,
whose tears would melt a stone. Finally, the kin
has found that others value her, and he sets a higfi
price on this new-found treasure. He will grant her
any thing. She has risked all Lg asking for your
pardon. The king is jealous, but e has granted her
this. You are re eased from arrest. Here are your
orders to report to your posts. If you behave well,
every thing 3 possible. After the battle, you will both
be tried in the king‘s chamber, by the king himself.
Is that eno hf”

He hands them two folded papers. Each opened
his own. Gerald's ran:

“ Captain Count Desmond is released from arrest
for one day, and will report for duty to the Duke of
Richelieu, at once. LOUIS R.“

Carroll’s was as follows:
“ Lieutenant John Carroll of Clare’s Horse, is re-

,leaed from arrest for one do , and will report for
Louis B.”

duty to his colonel, at once.

ed by the  himself, but the
orders were in e handwriting o a lady. Voltaire
smiled cynically.

“ You soldiers are strange beings. Your eyes glit-
ter with l10y, because I have brought you—a chance
to get ki ed. Go, then.”

Both were si

 

CHAPTER XXXI.
_ 0N ms mum.

THE Duke of Richelieu sat on his horse, almost
alone, about a hundred yards from a little hillock
surmounted by a mill, which commanded a view 0
the whole battle-field of Fontenog.

Close to the mill, and surroun ed by a glitterin
staff, one might see a fat dapple-gray horse, witfi
docked tail, on whose bac was erched the mean
httle figure of the king. By his side, on a horse of

eat weight and bone, towered the colossal form of

xe leaning slightl forward on a huge pillow,
who was placed on is saddle—bow.

The old marshal’s face was contracted with pain,
for his posmon in the saddle was a positive torture
to him, and at the moment there was no excitement
to make him forget the pain. In fact, there was a
lull in the battle.

The king sat on his horse cracking jokes, for the
danger seemed oven, Thrice the English and Dutch
had assaulted Fonteno and Antome, thrice had‘
they fallen back in co

hind heavy earth-works. Now there was a pause in
the carnage. .

sion before the murderous-
flre of a hundred and twenty pieces of cannon, her

it

on

-.n~ -

The Irish Captain.

17

 

“ Fl done, mom-lea)" le marge/ml,” said the king,
gayly, “ your English, about whom you make such a
fuss, are not much of fighters after all. See how

uiet the are."

q The ma’i‘shal smiled a painful smile. .

“Yes, your majesty. They are preparing an at-
tack elsewhere.“ . “

“Let them come," cried Louis, scornfully. We
will cut them to pieces with our Musketeers alone.
W11 ,
shall make us a song about them."

“Richelieu looks grave your majesty. Perhaps

where is our wit, the brave Richelieu? He :

he is afraid," sug osted t ie young duke of Biron, 1,

pointing at Richelieu. , ,
“ Richelieu is thereby my orders, monsieur 1c due, ’

said Saxe, turning his lion-like face on the young fop >

in calm disdain. “If all you gentlemen of the
court had his brains, his majesty would be well
served, better than now. I

Louis laughed long and loud at the little retort.
The king was, for once, in a good humor. He was.
elated at being in a battle, and finding it pleasant, so
for, thanks to Saxc’s precautions in keeping him out

of the fire. Ho felt like a hero. There was no
dai er ct.
‘l‘ih, ah, let us sing,” he cried, and forthwith the

complainant courtiers struck up a gay drinking song,
somewhat broad in its allusions, which was caught
up by the household troogs in the rear, who. stood
by their horses or loun e on the grass, while the
clinking of bottles tOlL that they were enJoying
themselves.
the jolly chorus:

“ Touketi din-don, ma grosse Marie,’ . "
Touketi din-don, ma femmc, ma p tite verre.

While the whole force of the Maison du Roi was
gavly singing in the lull of the battle, a couple of
o cers on horseback came galloping up from the
bridge of Colonne at the rear. .

One of them, a tall, bony man, kept on Without
stopping to the left, and was seen to reach the Irish
brigade, whence a rent cheer soon went up. .

The other broug it his horse on its haunches in
front of Richielieu, and silently saluted. It was Ge—
rald Desmon . _

Richelieu looked coldly and sternly at him; de—
manding: .

“ Who sent you here, monSieur? You were under
rrest.” ' '
a Without replying Gerald handed him the kings
order, which the duke read with aEparent wonder.
Having finished, he handed it bac to Gerald, and

stared silently at him. _

Presently his face softened 8. little.

“If it is the king's order it must be obeyed. Who
gave it you?" ' ‘

“ Monsieur dc Voltaire.’ _

Richelieu elevated his shoulders With an expres-
sion of ill-tom er.

“He will begneddling, this scribbler, and madame
believes in him. Well, I suppose I can make on
useful. At all events you may as well be kille as
an one else." I I

‘ That is certain,” said Gerald, frigidly. “Before
the da is over you may be led of the life of even
an Iris man between on on death.”

Richelieu looked at iin with. more interest.

“ What do iyou mean ?” he said, quickly.

“ I mean t at the battle is not begun yet," said
Gerald. “ En lish troops don’t stay still long under
repulses. As left the Chateau Gain-am, I could see

their lines forming, between Fontenoy and the
Wood of Barry."

Richelieu started. ‘

“ Do you mean that? How man

“ Three, all red, but there are
them.” i H

“ One can not see them from here?

“ No, the ravines hide them."

Richelieu looked doubtfully at the young count.

" Do you know you’re a fine-looking soldier? It's
a lty you and I are enemies, mousieur le comte."

P‘ I see no need for it,” said Gerald, boldly. “ You
gen lemen of the Pompadour clique tgive yourselves

eat deal of trouble about a sol ier of fortune,

w io has nothing left but his honor. Do you seriously
think, monsiour 1c due, that Gerald Desmond would
condescend to use his influence with the mistress,
even of a king, to forward his fortunes at your ex-

nse? I swear to you, before God and in presence
of the enemy, that I would not hurt a man of the
whole cabal now, not even Etioles, the crawling
worm. Let him fatten on corru tion, I ll none of it.
I would not stain my sword wit_ his “18 blood. I
should be com elled to break it. ‘

Richelieu loo ed at him With wonder and some re-

Bp‘e‘xltf'ou are a bold”man, monsieur le comte, to ad.
e like that. -
drssIsaTn a desperate man, monsleur la duo, with but
me wish left—an honorable death. You have lent
the power of the first houses in France to crush me,
Show me the we. to an honorable grave to-day, and
I u ‘  . I!
I wllifi'fireTylbung to wish to die. I am fifty, and I
' If

fin‘gsllifgul‘dvlewish to live," cried Gerald, ind antly,
“when you have dishonored my name by 8,155 ac.
cusations, so that all the glory I may gain on the
ii 21d will not avail to shield me from a court-martial,
at which Etioles will bring a dozen pBI'Jul‘ed men to
swear away in reputation? There is but one way
to save it, and but way is to die in arms in sight of
the arm .“

raised his hat. His selfish, callous heart
wfictgfiéi‘éd by the desperation of this young man,

“Monsieur 1e comte,‘ he said I am very sorry
we have been enemies. As for Etioles, you mistake.
He was some one yesterday morning. Now, he is
nothi . Hisp'lrt is played. Take the word of Ar.
inand e Richelieu for this: Do your duty todaafi‘
and you have made a friend of an enemy. After ,
France is first.“

He was interrupted by the boom of a. bee. gun
from the redoubt of Fontenoy, almost immediately
followed by one from the opposite fort of Barry.

Richelieu broke off, and assumed in a momentthe
demeanor of an officer on (11513 cold and severe.

“ Monsieur le comte,” be (i “gallop down and
see what they are firing at. Then come back and

)

Wad silently saluted, and then dashed on, full
speed. A great 1 fted

hues ?"
hlanders among

cad seemed to have been h

The Musketeers, near by, trolled out ‘

 

 

from his heart by the words of Richelieu. He no
longer felt the depressing consciousness that his
every step was over pitfalls. Such a sense will
render the bravest man either timid or desperate.

Richelieu walked his horse up the hill, and Saxe
came to meet him. He heard Biron make some jest-
irig remark to the king, to which his majesty re-

led:

p “ I am sure the marshal will do all that is neces-
sary but I shall stay here.”

“ ell, duke what is it?" asked Saxe gravely.
The pain had left his face, to be replaced by an ex-
pressmn of anxiety.

“The crisis is coming,“ replied Richelieu, “The
English are massing their forces to pierce between
Fontenoy and the wood. Count Desmond has seen
them forinin ."

“ Count esmondl" ejaculated the marshal.
“ Why, he was under arrest. Who has released him?"

“ adame," said Richelieu, quiet] . “She has
filled in two of the blank orders from t e king, in her
own hand. Carroll is out, too.“

“I am glad of it.“

“ Humph! So am I, for reasons."

“ What reasons?"

“That we shall want every man we have to fill the
ga between our redoubts."

‘ Then you think they are coming, seriously?"

“ I know it. The are in three lines.“

“ Never mind. ey will find it hard to pass the
batteries.”

“Marshal, they will pass them. Listen."

First one up, then another, thundered from the
redoubts, a out a mile apart, that covered the ga
in the French lines. The two redoubts were wra pe

, in white smoke, which hung in a dense cloud 0. ove

them, through which the red flashes incessantly
darted, answering from right to left.
Of the enemy nothing was to be seen or heard, as

et.

“Order forward the French Guards " said Saxe,
sudden . “ Stop, have you sent an o cer to recon-
noiter?’

“ Count Desmond has gone."

“Good. Send him to me when he comes back.“

“ I will if he comes,” said the duke, emphatically.
Then he bowed, and dashed away.

 

Gerald Desmond gallo ied down the slope of the
little hill with the wiiidini l, and ’found himself in low
ground. Before him there rose a gentle slope, which
shut out any further view till he had mounted it.
Spurring his horse—a splendid dap le gray, cross-
bred between the heavy ormandy c iarger and the
recently imported Barb—he soon reached the top,
and saw before him the whole panorama of the En-
glish forces.

A shallow ravine, the remains of an old sunken
road, ran down into a plain below, which was cov-
ered with troops, against a bac tround of green,
dotted with the white tilts of an immense wagon-
rain.

Across this plain, and within a short distance of
the broad ravine, came steadily marching three lines
of infantry, in the stiffest order of parade, with
sloped arms, in perfect silence.
eit er flank were firing at them without rep] ,but
still they moved on. Even as Gerald looke , sev-
eral go 3 appeared in the front line, as a salvo of
cannon- ails swept through them. Ere he had time
to notice it, the gaps closed, and the line moved on
without a pause.

Bright scarlet coats, with white facings were in
the front line, the second, and art of the t ‘rd; but
on the flanks a ared the dar plaids and waving
tartans of the ighland regiments chief of all the
{£12035 Black-Watch, to receive its baptism of blood

a a .

Without beat of drum or sound of trumpet, the
English attack pressed silently, grimly forward.

CHAPTER XXXII.
THE COLUMN or romsxov.

Guano Dnsiioun paused but a moment to look at
the English line. then dashed forward along the
crest of the broad ravine to reconnoiter more close-
ly. The nearer he drew, the more was he struck
with the imposin a pearance of the English. He
noticed, in t eir ron , and already sheltered by the
low ridge, six brass field- ieces, bright and burnish-
ed, drawn by hand with ong ro es, the cannoneers
marching grimly alongside wit stolid faces, as if
they were pass in review.

Looking over 9 plain behind the long lines of
infantr , he could see the gleaming sabers of a
strong orce of cavalry, drawn up in eiéually stii‘i' or-
der and halted, as if to watch the flgh .

He could not help a certain feeling of apprehen-
sign a: he turned his gaze once more down on the

ii an ry. .

Part of the first line had already entered the ra-
vine, and in order to pass, had been compelled to
break into a column of the breadth of two full
battalions. The plain below was still swept b a
fearful fire of round shot from the French redou ts
of Fontenoy and Barry and, in the midst of this
fire, thesecond and third lines called a hall, to allow
time for the first line to break.

By this time, the young captain had arrived at
the edge of the ravine, so close that he could almost
distin uish the features of the enemy below.

S and silent as if on Parade stood the long lines
of grenadiers, each hne our ranks dee . The ofl'i-
cers hadnot even drawn their swor 5. Instead,
they carried canes,. and with these they were point-
ing calml to their men, as they gave the usual
parade or ' ers:

“ Eyes rightl What are you doing, Private Jones?
Dress up, sirrahl Steady! Froutl'

Boom .’ boom .’ born! went the guns at Fontenoy,
flrlng by battery, and the iron swept like a storm
through the scarlet ranks. Not a movement or
tremor was seen. A am the stern orders rung out,
“ Close upl Eyes rig ti" and silently the men shift-
ed over and closed up the aps. The dark tartans
of thefiigbland regiments gimed a heavy cloud on
either flank, and naturally they were most exposed
to the fire. Gerald'looked at them, and saw be-
hind them along train of dead bodies on the plain.
marking the track they had come. They were
stantiiilinlg still, With theirsilxliuslilgts a; an order, resting
on 6 won naan 'en wating' e sad to
the storm of eath without a murmur. ' no

The young camblneer gave a shudder ashe looked.

 

The redouth on.

 

“ My God i" he muttered, “ what will our troops do
when they meet those men? Not a regiment in
France would stand like that, under such a fire."

The first line had broken, and was now a broad
column, solid and mflHSlVO, filling the hollow way,
from side to side. The second line was beginning to
follow. The third stood patiently waiting its turn.

Its men had ceased to close up at last.

Like the Highlanders, they stood u doggedly,
with ordered anus, and met their deat 1 without a
murmur. The only moving figures among that
scarlet line of grim statues were the mounted oili-
cers, who walke their horses 11 and down in from.
Every now and then one was illed, or a horse fell
dead under its rider. If the latter was not slain or
cri ipled, he remained in front of his men.

ot a straggler could be seen going to the'ronr.
Where the wounded fell, there they lay. Discipline
had turned these men into iron.

Suddenly Gerald started, and looked at his watch.
He had forgotten the lapse of time. '

He found that he had been watching the English
attack for an hour and a quarter. It was almost
noon, and the third line was at last breaking into
column to enter the ravine.

He turned his horse, and rode along the edge of
the ravine. It was pack (1 full of troops from end
to end, the tall grenadier caps of the English and the
towering black plumes of the_Highlandcrs moving
on with the same regular swaying motion. The solid
tramp of the marching column echoed from side to
side of the hollow way, with a more solemn and im—
posing sound than if they had been accompanied by
all the blaro of martial music.

Grim silent, ominous of vengeance, tramped stead—
ily on t e “ Column of Fontenoy."

With a sense of ove owering anxiety, Gerald
dashed the spurs into his ores and flew to brin the
news to Richelieu. When he was within a. bun red
yards of the head of the column, the [ire from the ra-
doubts ceased.

He knew the meaning of that.

The whole of the column was at last in the hollow
way, and out of_ range of the French guns. Ven-
geance was coming.

Again he lanced the sides of his charger, and tore
along). He was at the head of the ravine at last, but
not efore the eneni . Before he could et there,
he saw their field art ery emerge from t e mouth
of the pass and go into battery on the crest of the
dividing ri e. behind which was the French army.

A moment later, they opened furious! .

Gerald uttere I a roan of anxiety. W t if he had
stayed too long? e feared he had, for he must
pass ctxhrough the English battery to get back to his

men s.

Nav, worse than that.

Before he can reach the head of the ravine, one,
two, three broad lines of men stolidly tramping
along, have emer ed on the upland!

f lie must pass y their flank, within a. hundred
ee

Setting his teeth, he spurred his horse for the last
time, and shot away ahead. A moment later, he was
abreast of the fourth of these solid battalions, and
glanced down the rigid and perfectly dressed lines
of white cross-belts, on scarlet, below the tall white
and gold fronts of the grenadier caps. Four ranks
were there. each as straight as a plum-line, with
gleamin muskets sloped back, shaven faces looking
grimly orward.

Nota man turned hishead as the French officer
galloped by.

A general officer on a gra horse gave him a care-
less glance, as he passed, on turned to his men
and called out sharply:

“Colonel Campbe , keep your men dressed, sir.
You‘re not in the militia. Close u ."

Gerald galloped 3n t the co umn, through the
batteiéy,land out in at e plain, unchallenged. Nata.
man signed to notice him.

They were after higher game, in the terrible Col-
umn of Fontenoy.

CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE imsn BRIGADE.

A Gnom- of officers was gathered in front of the
Irish B ado, talking to each other in low ton and
gesticula in with the a pearance of sup resse ex-
citement. ray were t e colonels of t 6 different
regiments an conspicuous among them was the
gray head andhmartial figure of Lord Clare, senior
colonel and. brigade commander. Dillon, who led
aha first regiment of foot, was talking earnestly to

m. .

“ We ouglbt to be closer up, in ' lord. It’s my be-
lief that tie blackguards are ehind the bill now.
Hark, the firing from the redoubts has stop d.
Yes Itold ye so. See the guns going into bat ry
on the crest. The time has come. ’

Bang]! bang! bnng/ .

Three clouds of white smoke, three red flashrs
from the crest of the swell, announce that the enemy
have reached the French center, and commenced.
their attack.

Below them, in the lain between the mill and the
ravine, are arranged t e camps of French infantry,
in 0. ion line.

The ‘ng‘s Own is on the lit, Aubetcrm next.
then Courten, then the four but aliens of the Franc-n
Guards, last the scarlet coats of the faithfu‘ Swiss.
The Irish are drawn for back, no rthe wood of Bar-
ry, abreast of the mill where the king is statl med.

‘There q? the Guards at them," cries an officer.
“ Now you see fun, ntlemen."

Two of the four but chaos of French Guards siir'v
denly started forward at quick-step and swept over
the lain, toward the battery which had just opened.
As t e moved, three more guns went into battery
on the eft of the English and bgfian to fire.

A wild cheer broke from the sh brigade at the
sight. Their blood warmed as the battle opened.

Presently, out of the Eu lish battery comes a.
horseman, film! at a de crate gallop. I see
him dash past t e flank o the Guards, waving: his
hat, and a second cheer bursts out.

Every one can see that this horseman is a French
officera for he wears the white coat and crimson fac-

ings o a carabinoer. ,
Whoopl hurrool Gerald Desmond, by the Holy
Cross!“ yells a voice f Clara's regiment. Th: ‘n :-

wilder yell goes up from c impatient brigade, um”:
a. riotous movement of men . e s] 
afraid the Guards will rob theme fight. I m

  

 

Lord Clare rides back and holds up his sword,
shouting sternly:

“Steady Irish, steady! You‘ll have work soon
enough! Silence in the ranks!"

Like rebuked school-boys, the soldiers fall back
into the ranks, and only a hoarse murmur of impa-
tgrncc gives token of the smothered fury that rages
B are.

Patience, old brigade, your turn is coming.

Gerald Desmond is seen to dash up the hill and
salute the marshal. Then they see that Saxe throws
away his pillow from the saddle and gallo s on to-
ward Antoine. Now all eyes are turne on the
French Guards. Steadily they sweep on, quickcning
their pace to a run. [I the ill they charge in the
face of the artillery, Wl h a. loud cheer. A rattlin
volley, the cannon are silent, the crest is crowns
and over the hill go the Guards, in a line of fire an
smoke.

Again the savage murmur breaks out
Irish bri ado. The Guards are out of sight

Then, ark! Whatisthat?

A sharp sound, like a clap of thunder, so close
and loud, so true and regular, it seems impossible
that it can be a volley.

But it is a valley. I

One, two, three, four cla l Then a silence as of
death. A moment later, t c hill-top is covered with
flying figures, as the French Guards, scattered and
running for their lives, come streaming down the
hillside, a disorganized mob.

Again the regular red flashes, again the white
clouds, and the liberated guns reopen on the fugi-
t ves.

Then silence. No more shoutin now. The Irish
fret silent too. They know their t me is coming at

as .

A moment later, the English 5 are limbered up,
and come tearingdown the hi toward the French
lines in the plain. The latter are all in commotion.

The Kin '5 Own and Aubeterre are running to the
center ont a double uick, to meet the enemy they
have not yet seen. T e crest of the hill is again bare.

And then, on a sudden, a yell of such deadly fero-
city that the blood curdles to hear it, bursts from
the Irish bri ade; for over the hill. rank on rank
in scarlet, w to and gold, comes the column 0
Fontonoy, moving down to the plain with a solid
tram .

After that one yell, a silence as of the rave, as
the men, with pale, set faces, com ressed 1138, and
eyes flushing with fury, asp the r arms and wait
for the word to advance. e sight of that lordly
column has struck the conviction to every heart that
no wild attack will shake it. It must be met with
discipline as iron as its own.

Now the King‘s Own and Aubeterre come sweep-
ing on at a run. Courten, the Swiss, and the remain-
der of the Guards are before them burnin to
avenge the defeat of their comrades. On come th
lines. Biron, and the young Count de Chabannes

from the

‘ are gallo ing along in front, frantically urging the

men to “ cop the ranks dressed.“
‘ The imposmg order of the English has taught
‘ their foes a lesson of discipline.
On go the French at a. run, breaking into cheers.
/‘ The Column of ontenoy moves on at funeral
time silent asdeath. Something in that solid front

I checks the French. Their pace slackens without

an order, the ch e lessons to a trot the trot to a
walk, and at last t ey come to a (1 stop at fifty
aces from the English. The officers dashing along
e front, sensible of the sudden halt and silence,
turn, and find themselves face to face with the Eng-
lishh d and the towering black plumes of the
n ers.
he French, without a word of command, dress
up their ranks, in imitation of their unmovable
foes. and the English column halts. Then the two
lines stand looking at each other with a fixed stare.
One feels as if there were nothing but eyes there.

And then——

A strange thinglfifcurs.

Military lifeis of formal courtesy and its in-
sglnct 0 habit, stronger than nature, breaks out
t ere.

Facing the death that looks from those lines of
eyes, the high-bred nobles who are officers can not
forget their manners. The full uniforms of both
sides dincrease the illusion. It seems only a gigantic

ra e.
pubs Biron and Chabannes on one side, Albemarle
and Churchill on the other, mechanically raise their
hats and solute each other. In a moment every
officer in front has followed the example.

Followin that a dead silence, broken by an Eng-
lllsdh coione " who rides out, removes his hat, and
c as:
“ Gentlemen of the French Guards, please to fire. ”

A French officer bowin , answers:

“ We never fire re you, gentlemen."

The compliments were over. Death only re-
mained.

Down came the front rank of muskets in that for-
mal column to a level. One, two, three, four! Like
single claps of thunder each of the four ranks deliv-
6 its fire amid a rattling fusilade from the French '
and when the smoke blew aside, the French line had
vanished in a mob of dying men and fugitives.

Without shout or cheer the Column of Fontenoy
moved randly on down t 6 bill, and debouched in-

to the p while before it fied in confusion several
regiments of the flower of France.

The Irish brigade murmured loudly, and gnashed
their teeth wit rage, but the Column of Fontenoy
moved on.

Gerald was with Richelieu near the king, who had

{ceased to jest. The Eng h cannon were firin
ain. and the balls whistied too near to be pleasan .
raid saw the sweat rolling down the face of the

king. After all, these English was worth more
than he had thought. Richelieu begs his majesty to

*Lord Charles Ha Lieut-colonel of the Foot
Guards. Carlisle has bored to throw discredit on
this story as to the form of words used, which he
insists were more banter-ing, on the testimony of
asupposod letter rom Lord Charles Hay, written
after the battle, but his letter is at least of more
doubtful authentlci than the famous story, first
told by , w 0 was present and wrote un-
der supe on of Saxe. Like many truths, it is
stranger than fiction, and we insert it without apol-

9

 

 

The Irish Captain.

retire across the bridge; that, his sacred person once
assured, he would answer for the battle. The king
says obstinately:

‘ N o, I stay here.
in them."

n fact, at that moment the King‘s Own and Au-
bcterre char ed the left flank of the column cheer-
ing loudly. ‘ilently a single battalion wheeled out
from the English, delivered another of those wither-
ing golleys, and both regiments were scattered to the
wm s.

The Column of Fontenoy moved on.

A little more and it would be at the mill, the
French army cut in two, the king a captive, if some-
thing was not done.

An officer comes gallo ing from Saxe. The king
must retire over the bri ge, or the battle is lost.

“ No," says Louis, obstinately, “ I know he will do
all that is roper, but I stay here.”

But the goiumn of Fontenoy moved on.

Richelieu beckons to Gerald, and dashes away to
the carabineers, who are drawn 11 near the Irish.
The are detached from the king‘s ousehold.

“ his must be stopped somehow," he mutters.

A few moments later, the solid gra squadrons of
the carabineers trot ponderously orward. The
earth trembles under their tread and at the sight of
the horsemen the great column halts. Gerald finds
himself in front of his own squadron, and sees
Etioles in command. He rides up, with pale face
and set teeth. Even the battle can not extinguish
his disgust and hatred for the man.

“G0,” he says, imperiously, pointing to the rear.
“ This is my squadron.”

Etioles, pale and haggard from his recent shock,
obeys silently, and the me thunders down.

Silent and motionless stood the Column of Fonts-
no . till the horsemen burst on them with a shout.

en rung out another of those awful volleys,

and rider and horse fell in hea )s, rolling over and

over to the feet of the rigid nglishmen. Gerald

found himself almost alone one minute, the next,

allo ing instinctively back in a knot of fugitives.
he 0 9 had failed.

Towar the mill, relentless as fate, the Column of
Fonteno moved on.

Now s outs are heard in front, and the bulky form
of Saxe comes galloping back. All pain forgotten,
his lion-like face lows with excitement. The battle
has cured him. e is bringing back reinforcements
from Fonteno and Antoine. The regiments of
Vaisseaux an Hainault are coming, and presently
open fire on the column. There is no more shouting
and enthusiasm now. The business is too serious.

Vaisseaux and Hainault in turn are swept by those
withering volleys, and break and fall back. But they
rally 8. little way off, and retain their ranks.

The English halted at last.

Saxe sat on his horse and watched them, then
turned to an officer near him. The column was then
within three hundred paces of the wall.

h“10rder forward the Ilia/L Brigade,” said the mar-
s a .

At this moment Richelieu, followed by Desmond,
galloped u to the king, who sat, with his face

inched an white, watchin the battle. In spite of

is obstinac , he was tremb 'ng all over.

“ What news, monsieur?" he asked, anxiously, of
Gifarlald,_asRichelieu galloped past toward the mar-
s .

Gerald’s eye was sparkling with excitement. He
had seen that the E lish were halted. He had also
seen the whole of the aison du Roi standing idly by
their horses, not a hundred yards back, with a strong
battery of artillery. And Gerald had a soldier‘s e e.
He forgot that he addressed the king of France. 6
only saw France in peril, and a chance to save her.

“ What new!” he cried. “ The battle is ours
sire. Order up those guns that stand idle behind
the mill. Charge with the Maison du Roi, surround
firear’with our troops, and the day is ours. Look,

re.

As he spoke, a tremendous yell attracted their at-
tention to the left of the army, and a magnificent
s' ht burst on them.

be long line of the Irish brigade, in beautiful
order, was sweepin down on the right flank of the
English column, be ind the white and green stand-
ar s that proclaimed their joint allegiance to France
and Ireland. The two wings of Clara's Cuirassiers
rode on either flank, and the foot regiments charged
in the center.

For the last time peeled the sharp volleys from
the Column of Fontenoy, but not with the old
crushin eflect.

The ad met men of sterner stamp at last.

Wit a wild yell of vengeance that rose high above
the roll of musketry, t e Irish B ' ade char ed
home—ragged with gaps of dead men, ut invincl le.

Amoment later t 0 mass column was rent with
the cold steel, an Clara's orse buried their long
ra iers at last in Saxon bosoms.

erald turned to the king, quivering with excite-

Scc, my own regiment is charg-

ment.
“ In God‘s name, sire, ma I take the guns?"
The king hesitated, tremb ad like a leaf, nodded.
Away went Gerald like the wind, and found Riche-
lieuclgrinding his teeth and watching the column,
whi was now wrapped in flame and smoke, telling
of a furious contest.

“ Well 1’” he cried, in a tone of fierce inquiry.

“ His majest consents."

Richelieu w eeled round, and sped toward the
Maison du Roi, spurring like a madman.

Bang! b12119! bang! bang! .' .’

Four bro es four clouds of white smoke,
and the column of ontenoy was plowed in twain
with a horrible gap, piled with rows of corpses.
The reserve battery went into action at pistol-shot
distance, and every shot told.

A moment later, down thundered the heavy squad-
ron of the Maison du R0 on the front of the column.
Then came Aubeterre, ourten Hainault, Norman-
d , King’s own, Penthievre, the Guards, Carabineers

usketeers, Swiss Guards and all, beaten troops an

, ch together all round on the devoted
column of ontenoyhtorn with the artillery strug-

gling with the Mad rlgade of Irish; and the day
WES W011.

The Irish Brigade had turned the wavering scale,
and the column of Fontenoy was annihilated.

Richelieu beckoned to Gerald and rode up to the

 

 

king as he sat on his horse, the ground before him
covered with captured standards, a sullen crowd of
prisoners standing by.

"Sire," said Richelieu, “I have a favor to ask
your majesty."

 

CHAPTER XXXIV.
MADAME us POMPADOUR.

IN a magnificent boudoir in the Chateau Gauram,
reclining on a sofa of ivory and blue satin, lay
Madame de Pompadour, surrounded by every luxury
that heart could wish but wearing an expression of
anxious care on her ace. The wealth of the king
had transformed an old-fashioned turret chamber
into a miniature of her boudoir at Paris; her dress
was exquismc, her osition .assured, her beauty in
its fume, and yet t e Marchioness of Pompadour
loo ’ed anxious and unhappy.

What was the reason?

The booming re orts that momentarily shook the
wmdows of the c ateau answered the uestion.

Fontenoy was still in sus ense, and efeat meant
She capture of a French ‘ng, the fall of Pompa-

0111‘.

Near the marchioness was Therese Le Normand,
seated by a window, her face pressed 0. ainst the
pane, watching in silence. Every now an then she

urned away with a weary sigh, and looked at the
Pompadour, with a mournful, desolate look. Then
you might see that her eyes were dry, her cheeks
flushed with a feverish glow.

The next moment she would start and turn, to
look out aiain with the same hungry, desolate look
which she ad worn for hours.

So the two women waited for news of the battle.

At last the hot cannonade ceased, and silence fol-
lowed. Therese turned to her sister-in-law, and
spoke for the first time.

“ T?hey have stopped, Antoinette. Is the battle
over “

Madame had raised herself to listen.

“How can we tell? I wish I were a man. Oh, it
is maddening to lie here and listen, and listen, and
know that one‘s fortune depends on others. I wish
I were a man."

Therese shuddcred.

“ And go out there? Oh, heavens, no. I was not
thinking of that."

“ Of what were you thinking then mademoiselle?“
demanded the marchioness, sharp y. She felt in-
censed against every one, in her gnawing anxiety.

. “ I was thinking of Gerald Desmond,” said Therese
Simply and solemnly, “and wishing I were dead if
he were killed."

Madame started u and began to ace the floor.
As she walked, her ace was very a e and set, but
she tore her handkerchief apart w th a nervous mo-
tion. Therese watched her, quietly.

For several minutes neither spoke. At last the
marchioness turned on her, excitedly. speaking in a
low tone of exasperation, very rapid .

“What would you have, you, with, your airs of
virtue? Am I to lame for every fool that falls in
love with me? What do you want me to do? Have
I not stretched m power to its utmost limit to send
him to the field 0 honor? The kin left me without
a farewell, simply because he is jea ous. What more
can I do? S eak then. Do not sit there, with your
solemn eyes coking reproaches you dare not utter!
What can I do?"

"Nothin now, God help us both. He may be
dead, for a l we know.”

‘ “And he may not,” interrupted madame, impa-
tientl . Her face grew very pale, however.

“. ell, well, what would you, if he comes back?
Quick, give it a name. I swear todo it, if only to rid
myself of your haunting eyes. Purdieu, Therese,l
shall hate you next.“

“I do not wonder," said Therese, her dark eyes
filling with tears for the first time. “He is not the
chi one you have injured."

. adame de Pompadour looked at her with glitter-
in eyes.

‘I understand you, mademoiselle. I have injured
on, too I su pose, with the whole house of Le
ormand, in t e person of your sainted brother. Is

that it?"

Therese drooped her head before the thrust. There
are moments when modest, shame-faced virtue is
abashed by the bold front of shameless vice. Ann

oor Therese felt that she was indeed disgraced in

he name she bore.

Suddenly he burst into tears, and fell at madame”:

feet sobbing out:
“Oh Antoinette, do not think me hard like the
rest. lknow your temptations. Not on have dis~
graced me, but my own brother, Etio es. But, oh,
Antoniette, grant me but one boon, only one! If he,
comes back— 'he comes back—send him awa , send
me awayl sen us all awn from this wicks place
where I hve in torture (in ly. Ido not blame you,
Antoinette. We are different. The ood nuns made
me unfit for this court, where every! ling is worldly.
You are happy here. Do send me away, and him
also, or they will make him had too.”

The guilty marchioness looked down at the girl
With a strange expression. The anger in her face
gave way to a look of deep pain and mortification at

e artless words of Therese. Every one was a stab
through her brazen mail. She turned away and
walked to the window, whence she gazed out over
the landscape in silence.

Bitter thoughts crossed her mind. Potted and
caressed by_th court, the first lady in France; yet
here was a litt e creature that she had tenderl loved
in her way begging to leave her forever, 5 owing
m every artless war a repugnance that she could
not conquer, and asking her to send away the only
man that had ever loved her t , for fear of con-
tamination. Great and poweifu as she was, she
felt that two people at least despised her. She had
read it in Gerald’s eyes before the dais. She read it
in the words of Therese, now.

Then, as she gazed from the window, she became
sens:ble of something neither had noticed. Gun:-
had been boomin again during their conversation,
and she heard a eep, incessant grow] in the far dis-
tance, rattling louder and louder momentarily.

Presently a long train came streaming down the
road, men on foot, men on horses, wagons, all com-
ing rapidly toward the chateau.
were several hussars, at full speed, stragglin one
after the other, according to the powers org their

horses; and the foremost was close to the moat; He

Far in advance -

...a» .

 

 

came thundering over the drawbridge, and a great
hustle ensued, as the guards ran out and clustered
round him. There was scant discipline in the Chateau
Gaul-am, for the king was away, and the queen was
not there.

The hussar seemed to be telling some story of the
field, for he gesticulated violently, frequently point-
ing up the road; and the crowd in front of the draw-
bridge grew eater, while the anxious watcher
heard confuse( cries from below. Madame de Pom-
]vadour turned pale. It does not need a veteran to
read the signs of a defeat. The train of fugitives
came rolling on past the chateau, the growling rat-
tle of musketry came nearer and louder, and the
guns fired furiously.

Madame threw up the window and leaned far out.
The sounds came plain] to her car from below.
Suddenly the hussar crie : .

l “ Sauve gut peut.’ The Enghsh will be here in an
iour.”

Then he turned his horse and galloped away on
the road to Paris, joining the stream of stragglers.

The marchioness turned, with lpale face, to con-
front Therese, who had come 0 ose and heard the
last words.

“Allis losti" she whispered, huskily.
been defeatedl"

To her sur rise, Therese thrust her aside, and
listened, her ace earnest, intent and hopeful. The
young girl clutched the arm of the Pompadour with
(in unconscious force that buried the soft fingers in
the flesh like claws of iron. She looked like one
inspired, as she cried out:

‘ It is falsel Hark to the firingl It comes 7w
nearer. I have heard that sound before. The day
is not lost. He is there. I tell you, Antoinette, we
are not defeated yet."

Then the nature of the little one, modest and
shrinking in ordinary times rose to its true sub-
limity in peril. The load of the old race. that was
degraded in Etioles, reasserted its old heroism in
Therese, as she repeated: _

“Antoinette, it is but the crisis.
aloof, but she comes .”'

The marchioness had lost all her courage. Trem-
hling and tearful she sunk at the feet of Therese.
They had changed natures.

“ Oh, Therese God grant it!" she moaned. “ only
prove our wor true, and I swear to do anything
you sh. Iswcar onm .alvation." '

h Wliith gleaming eyes herese held the crucifix to

or s.

“ Sv’vear it aln,” she said, eagerly.

Madame de ompadour kissed the crucifix.

“ We have

Victory hovers

 

CHAPTERXXXV.
THE TWO nonssnsn.

Tum the two women staid by the casement, one
erect, proud, looking toward the all of smoke that
hung Over the distant field 0 Fontenoy, like a
prop etess awaiting inspiration, the other crouched
at her feet, clinging trembling to her hand, desolate,
(les airing.

The din of that distant conflict grew louder and
louder till it seemed as if the air was never to cease
quivering, and still Therese stood watching without
a tremor.

Suddenly madame felt the hand she held contract
like a vice.

The firing grew louder a moment, died away again
and over the air game the digital? echo 1])! vdvild gng
lon continued c eering, w c grew on or 11
longer, till it ova; ulwered t1? firing, and the latter
(1 ed awa ina t cannons e.

i'l‘heresgv kept her eyes on the road. The stream of
strag lers had stopped short. They had heard the
chee . v
Madame de Pompadour clun to Therese and
looked wonderineg up. The gii' ’3 face seemed to
shine with inspire ion, as she stood With her ii 5
apart, her eyes fixed in a stare of intense, unwin -
i eagerness on the road.
uThe marchioness, sensible of the bush and cheer-
ing, with a wild hope at her heart slowly rose up,
and staggered to a chair, into which she sunk help-

less.

She was amused b a she cry from Therese,

“ U‘ert lui! Queledia JR

(It is be! What said I?

As she spoke, the distant cheering came nearer
and nearer. The long stream of stragglers vanished
from the road into the fields on either side, and two
black dots could be seen coming rapidly down the
road from the Bridge of Calonne.

The black dots changed color as they came nearer.
They were horsemen on gray horses, dark with
foam. As they came the road was aredbefore
them as if by magic, while the cheering grew louder
and louder. .

{ow the watcher can see the homes straining

.-n between an avenue of shouting stragglers in
n 0 old. The nearer they come the more rapidly
"my seem to fly. Now one can hear the clatter of
l h i horse-boots and see the uniforms of the riders,
th s glitter of cuirass and bridle-bit, the white coat
A i th crimson-and-gold facings-

& moment later and the drawbri e is covered
win a black sea of heads, and the c ateau rings
\v‘th the cheering, as the two horsemen come shoot-
' - is. ,

fig: 32326059131: behind and Voltaire bolts in, wav-
lnfi £35302, madame, victory is ours! Richelieuzand
Count Desmond are coming with the news. They
are ere."

Madame de Pom adour burst into tears. Themse
says never a word,pbut leans hungrin from the win.

0W.

Thunder of hoofs on the drawbrldge a clatter be.
low, as glchelleiu and Gerald pull up’on the pave-
ment an esp own.

Therese turns to madame with burning e es, disre-
finrd Voltaire. She sweeps upto her and clutches

6““ We havg Eon," she whispers. “ Remember your
.th. Sen 'm awa .‘
“The marchioness lgoks at her witha half-fright-

ens? gill asqu hears me. He shall go with Vol-
“ ”

The comes ii clatter of spurs on the stairs, a noise
in thenanteroom‘, and a servant as the door with
beaming face. ‘ Monseigneur chelieu, madame.

 

The? Irish Captain.

“ Admit him," says madame, straightening up
with an effort:

Then Richelieu and Desmond enter the room.

“ Madame la Marquise," says the duke, with a pro-
found bow, “I have the honor to present the com-
pliments of his majesty and to inform you that the

nglisii are beaten an in full retreat, having lost
nine thousand men and forty cannon.
the honorto resent to you my aide-de-camp, Mon-
sieur le Com D’Esmonde, whom his majest has
promoted on the field for gallant conduct. ade-
moiselle Le Normand, will you kindl take charge of
the count and carry him to the sa oon? Monsieur
de Voltaire will stay. I have business with him and
madame." '

What has come over Therese, the inspired heronne,
that she trenibles and blushes like a school-girl, as
she advances to Gerald‘s side and timidly whispers:

“ Will monsieur be pleased to accompany me?“

And what ails Gerald, the ale, desperate soldier
of the morning, only longing or an honorable death?
He too is confused as he offers the young lad his
hand and conducts her into the saloon, but one t ing
the all notice. He neither looks at, nor bows to,
Ma ame do Pompadour, the first lady in France.

Richelieu closes the door and comes back, the
courtly smile gone from his face. It is serious and
dignified.

‘ Look on, madame “ he says, abruptly “ and
you, Voltaire old scribbier of verses, I have changed
my mind to- ay. You with all your wit, monsieur,
don't know what a solder is. I tell you, that young
man must not be sacrificed. Henceforth I am his
friend, for he is brave as a demigod. You think
that nothing, rhaps. Had you been with me to-
day, you won (I have changed our mind. Brave
men (fro not picked up on every ush. He must be
save ."

have also

“ Monsieur, monsieur, who wants to hurt him?" ‘

cries Voltaire in a peevish tone. “Parbleu, not I
fothave in him an interest of twelve thousand
francs, for which I expect interest."

” Aha, old usurer, said Richelieu, mockiugly;
“ so you have been speculating again. Parbleu, you
would not have given much for your investment at
one time to—day. Well then, we are in accord, but
what es. s madame? Is she willinii| to help save
this foolish youth who stands in t e king’s light
to go away from herel7 That is his only safety, re-
member.’

“ I have considered " said madame, in a low tone.
“ He has no better f end in you than me, monsieur.
Monsieur Voltaire is going to Berlin. The king has
granted me so much. The count can go as his secre-
tai‘y of legation."

oltaira kneels to kiss her hand.
“Grant but one favor more, madame, and I am

ha ."
‘PWhat is that?”

“ Twenty thousand francs of income " whispered
Voltaire. “ In a few years Monsieur e Comte will
be able to pay his debts to me."

She smiles coldl .

“ What is the amount, up to to-day, interest, usury
and all?"

Voltaire whispers a sum nearly double.

“ You shall have it tonight," she says haughtily.
“Prepare for your journey, monsieur.
Fontenoy will please his majesty of Prussia."

Voltaire bac 3 out, and Richelieu is left alone with
madame.

“After all madame " he sa s, cynlca
lovers are a dangerous luxury, f one is a ng.

Madame answers bitter

“ You put me here.
gixasgq yet. My turn will come when my power is

e . ‘

‘ it two
I!

CHAPTER XXXVI.

A EAST? WEDDING.

Two large travelin carriages are waiting before
the principal ate 0 the Chateau Gauram, which is
all ablaze th lights, echoing to the strains of
bands, the buzz of agay conversation and laughter,
for a magnificent b l i van in honor of the vic-
torv and all the world is t ere, or at least the court.

The ki has been iously pleased to appoint
Monsieur oltaire emgassador to Berlin. on his
excellency is receiving his credentials before depart-

. There is a buzz concerning the embassador
and his secretary, a fellow nobody knows, exce t
that the king gave him the cross of St. Louis on t e
field of Fonteno

While the chatyeau is full of guests and music the ‘

little chapel at one end of the north winglis lighted
up, and a priest and acolytos are waiting ere with
an air of expectation.

The kin ’s apartments open into this chapel, and
a roup 0 people are gathered in the king’s cabinet.

is majesty himse is there, with a puzzled,
weary expression of face. Madame de Pompadour
is near him. Voltaire and Richelieu stand before
the 1:2? and a little retired, are Carroll, Cavanagh,
and -i edSei-geant Polrier, the latter with an
itiom utated arm, bound up in white, looking ready
rop.

Richelieu says to Carroll:

“Take the man away. It‘s luc Etioles was kill-
ed or this plot would have cost im his life now.
Friend, On have saved yours by telling all. Go."

As Po ieris taken out Madame de Pompadour
addresses the king:

“I knew your majesty’s ma animous soul
would revolt at the foul plot ag nst Count Des-
mond, whom on have sighted to the post of
Secretary of egation at rlin. It recompenses
me for the dan r incurred in requesting our ma -
esty’s pardon or him who had unwitting y ofi'en -

0

ed u.

'fiie king grunted, and darted a suspicious glance
at madame, as he peevishgi said:

“It seems to me you m e 2. eat fuss about this
Irishman, madame. One woul think you are in
love with him. Richelieu and you are in plot togeth-
erz I behave."

‘We are," says madame, boldly, “and I will tell
your majest the cause. The count is a rson
we both in. and my sister, Mademoise 9 Le

he news of l

l :
Chnsequently you are the .

 

 

: successful, and

.19

 isagood match. Let them be sent for. I will:

'hLlooking keenly at madame he continued in a
w s r:

“ 1] see if your story is true, cherie—I do not
trust you yet."

 

“Mademoiselle, I have only one word to say.
Farewell."

“ Farewell. Do you depart so soon, then l"

“ This very nigh , for Berlin, by the king‘s order."

“ Then I can but wish on a fgood journey, count. ‘

She stands in the bou oir o madame. iin Grill] 3 1
her dark beauty for she is attired for t o hnh.
Gerald bows low fore her, and then lingers owl.—
wardly. Therese is very pale. .

“ Mademoiselle “ he begins, “ I was going without
an ng—I—I find that I cannot go without myillF—J'

ere he breaks down. Therese does not u 'tcrv.
word, but seems very busy examining the lace on
her handkerchief.

“ I was aboutto so , mademoisolle," he continues,
more coherently, “ t at I did not know until to-day
what I owe to you."

“ To me? Nothingl“——trembliug excessively.

“ Pardon, mademoiselle. Carroll has told me how
£011 exl‘osed your own life at the bursting mill of

oigny to save mine."

“ But ‘twas you saved me there, Ger—monsieur."
she says, lifting her eyes a moment. and dro ping
them with crimson cheeks. “ I‘m sure—had t not
been for your courage and coolness then-I should
have never—never seen the light again."

Gerald is silent awhile, then he speaks with a cer-
tain gravit of demeanor that shows he hi1. made
lfip histmin to a solemn duty, and is about to per-

omii .

“Mademoiselle Therese Le Normand," he says,
“I am about to do a thing that will lower me in your
esteem, and at I owe it in honor to you to tell
the truth. adeinolselle a few months ago I saw
and loved one whom—I w ll not mention again while
I have breath. I thought her a pure and perfect be
inf, and I found when too late that I had loved 9.
vi e thing. Mademoiselle, I met you onl the second
time I saw her, and you saved my life y a timely
warning. A second time I met on, and again vou
came to warn me. In my mm passion fora ad
woman I slighted the warning, and met—ruin.
Mademoiselle, my unishment now is, that, loving
you as I do moret an my life, recognizing in you
the real angel which I fancied in her, I see that I
have thrown away the whole ha piness of my life
and in. slighting you have m c you hate me. I
know that I deserve it, and I bow to your decision
mademoiselle', when I am far away from you I wili
prayathat you may be happy; I am self-doomed to
soil ry despair.”

He was retiring slowly when she rose up eagerly.

"What do you mean?" she said, in a low tone.
“1 hate you! Are you mad or mocking me? Is it
that you hesitate to ally a name like yours to the
dishonored house of LeNormand that you s it
like this to hide your real motive? 0h, mo our,

on might have spared me that blow. I never in-
ured you."

She sunk back weeping on a couch, and somehow
in a moment Gerald was beside her. He looked at

i her shakin form a moment with an appearance of

doubt hal -frantic, then threw himself at her feet,
and cried out:

“Let them call me a fortune-hunter. Let them
sneer at me as ihe like, I will do it. Therese
Therese, Inot only ove you, I offer lyou in hand
and heart. Reject them if you will. shall eserve
it for daring to aspire to an heiress like you. But
you shall not doubt I love and honor you more, in
your purit and truth, than if you owned for your

cuss the ourbon itself.”

Therese looked at him between her fin ers.

“Do you mean you love me, and 0 or to wed a
girl whose name is tainted with—"

It‘s not exactly fair to say what Gerald did here.
Enough that he met her eyes full and read their se-
cre .

Voltaire opened the door and hustled toward two
people, who were sitting at opposite sides of a very
large boudoir as if they were strangers. He looked
pe lexedas esaid:

“ am very sorry, count, and you, mademoiselle,
but his majesty is in a very strange humor to-
night, and he insists on noth ng less than that you
two shall be immediately married together, and
leave for Berlin to-night.“

The old gentleman is somewhat amazed to hear
the count answer, coolly:

“Very well, Monsieur Voltaire, I am extremely
happrv and thankful to his majesty. I am ready.”
ca] 0 taire looked from one to the other with a quini-

n.
“srliei Oliei So it is understood. Well, I can
tell you one thing, monsieur. that is majesty does
not order this to oblige you, so much as to get rid
of both of you."

“I know it. But the result is the same. For
me, I never wish to see France again. I take to
Berlin all the land has to oflcr to me when I take
Therese."

“And I will follow you to the world's end," says
Therese."

 

CHAPTER XXXVI}.
A LE'I'IEB AND Arswnu.
“ Ennnssv or FRANCE,
“ BERLIN. Pauseu, JULY —, 1745.
“A Madame,

“ Madam la Marquise do Pompadour.

“Mann Aim my nun sexism—According to
your desire, Iwrite to you at the earliest possible
date, with news of my mission. It has been entirely

his mnjest of Prussia has been

more than gracious, 0s tiv y caressing toward me.
He is, there is no oubt, a man of the atesv
rowers 01 mind. mid a magnificent warrior, ut as a
est in a drawmg—room he has several faults.
articularly, he writes execrable French verses,
and lays on a flute in the most Y'subtioul Mpg.
me to the nerves of even a phlosopher. (~

Normand, is greatly attached to him. The count is 3 Prumians are, be ond all things, and instead of all
too poor to wed her, and we wish to see them united. ' minim, 00d sol ers. Cabbage and beer seem to be
The their 05y food,

is our reason for urging his lip intinent."
The king brightens 3, on say risk -
“ Mademoise is is ii

i

s, . a
enoughforboth.lyDeddedly I go them to understand a stroke of w

 

and one must take a impaired
and bore a hole in their hands if he would
it. The king,

20

in assing, is more French than Prussian. He even
bulbs his own tongue, and speaks nothing but
French. Yesterda we signed the treaty, which
I send you herewit , by embassy courier, With dis—
arches.
p “And now for our little Secretai of Legation and
his young wife. I must sa tha Count Desmond
is a man of the most varie talents, and I congrat-
ulate you on having induced the king to aPpouit
him. Between ourselves, it was Just as wel. His
majesty of France is jealous, and the Sight of one
who was a rival, even defeated, is not a eeable,
near one. It was lucky for us all that Etioles was
killed by those obliging English. As for madame la.
comtessc, it is enough to say that Therese Desmond
is more lovely than ever was Therese Le Normand.
She seems very ha py, and the count is ridiculousl
in love with her. nlyfine point do I quarrel Wit
him and her about. either will ever mentionyour
name. If I s eak of it, both maintain an obstinate
silence, and can not induce them to talk of you, :
either in praise or abuse. I can not think that this ,3
is even common gratitude to one whose favor has.
done so much for them as you have. Still, asp.
philosopher, I laugh at them both. I suppose it Is
some notion they have of honor. Deigln, madam,
accept the assurance of my unboundm devotion.
“ Your very humble servant,
“F. AROUET DE VOLTAIRE."

“VERsAILLEs GRAND TRIANON,
AUGUST —, 1745.
“ A. meiear, ' .

“ Monsieur de Voltaire,

“ Embassador Extraordinary from France to
Promo, at Berlin.

“ MY DEAR FRIEND:—Your letter does not surprise,
and yet it pains me. Send me no more disagreeable
news. I never wish to see the count or Therese
again, and yet I love to hear of their ha piness. Re-
member how I cursed that man‘s 1i e for saving
mine, remember that he loved me when Therese
loved him, and judge if it is not a foolish thing for
you to drag my name before them. If they do owe
worldly pros rity to me, is it not a torture to them
to be remin ed that they owe it to me! Ispeak

lain, my friend. I have sinned with m eyes 0 en.

en shut yours, and pretend to be a rec-thin or,
when you are, after all, but a bigot to your own
deism, as superstitious as any priest. I have chosen
my lot. Worldl splendor now, and a name of dis-
grace to posterity when I am gone. Meanwhile, I
shall try to please myself by making Gerald and
Therese happy. If they do not thank me, I know I
do not deserve it. I am but paying them adebt I
owe them, which I began to pay when I forced them
to marry each other, in spite 0 his modesty and her
scru les. Let them live in Berlin and be happy.

“ This will be brought to you by a special messen-
ger of the court, recommended to me by the Duke
of Richelieu. He is an Irish gentleman, of that
regiment recently disbanded. wish you to s eak
for him to his majesty of Prussia, as a fine 0 cer,
who is anxious to enter his service. His name is
Carroll.

“ Send me all the good news of my proteges. Let
me know their wants, but never speak of me to them.

“ Receive, monsieur and dear friend, the assurance
of my distinguished consideration. .

_ “ EAN'N INETTE DE POMPADOUR,
“Nee POISSON.”
THE END.

 

The Fireside Library

Of notable works by notable authors. Beautifully
printedin the popular folio form, from clear, open
t ; each issue a complete novel and sold at the
DWOm price of Ten Cents each. No double price on
doubleorea'lra 8i“ numbers. The cheapest library
ever published; embraces only the choicest of recent

fiction.

1 WAs SHE His WIDE? Mrs. Mary R. Crowell

2 FLEEINC FROM LOVE. By Harriet Irving . .

3 DID HE LOVE HER? Bartley T. Campbell.

4 A STRANGE WOMAN. By Rett Winwcod .

5 NADIA THE RussIAN SPYL F. Whittaker. . ..

6 Two dmbs‘LIVEs. ByMrs._Ma R. Crowell. 10c.

7-8 LADY AnnLEY‘s SECRET Miss . E. Braddon 100.

9 THE WAROE HEARTs. Corinne Cushman  1 .
10 LEIOHTON GRANGE.’ Miss M. E. Braddon ..  100.
11 THE FAIHE WIDow. ‘Mrs. J. D. Burton  .. . 10c.
12-13 LosT FOB. LOVE. Miss M. E. Braddon. . . . .. 10¢.
“‘15 TOILERS or THE SEA. By Victor Hugo. . . .. 10c.
16 THE QEADROON. By Catharine A Warfleld... 10c.
17-18 UNCLE SILAs. By J. S. Le Fanu 10c
19-20 DEAD-SEA FRUIT. Miss M. E. Braddon. . . . .
21-22 LITTLE KATE KIRDY. F. W. Robinson. . ..
23 SOWING THE WIND. Mrs. Maiy R. Crowell....

, 24-25 limbs or PREY. Miss M. .Braddon  .. 10c
26 THAT BOY or NORCOTT’s. Charles Lever  .
27-28 OmmTTE’s INHERITANCE. By Miss M. E.

Braddon ..   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..

29 A GmL’s HEART. By Rett Winwood . . . . . .. 100.

30-81 RED As A Row Is SHE. Rhoda Bronghton 100.

82 THE LILY or ST. ERNE. By Mis. Crow . . . . . . 10c.

33 STEANCELY WED. B Mrs. J. D. Burton .... .. 10c.

34 THE GIPsY BRIDE. M. E. O. Mulen   100.

35 ANNIE TEMPLE. B Y. J. H. In sham.  10c.

86 WITHOUT MERCY. y Bartle T. ampbell. .. 10c.

87 BLACK Ens AND BLUE. Co nne Cushman. .. 10c.

88 BRAVE BARBARA. By Corinne Cushman  10c.

39 ADANOERous WOMAN. By Margaret Blount.. 10c.

40 OmnA’s LOVE. By Henrietta E. De Condo. . 100.

41 LOST: A WIFE. By Corinne Cushman..  10c.

"Z WmNINo WAYS. By Margaret Blount- 10c.
l A Wom‘s HEART. By Mrs. M. V. Victor.. 10c.

14 THE DEAD LETTER. By Seeley Regester .. 10c.

45 Loan LIsLE’s DAUGHTER. By C. M. Braeme. 10c.
46 A WOMAN’s HAND. By the author of “The

' Dead Letter,“.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 10c.

47 VIAIs or WRATH. By Mrs. MaryReedCrowell. 10c.

48 A WILD GIRL. By Corinne (Bushman... . .

49 THE MADDERT MARRIAGE EVER WAs. By Mrs.

. . . . . . . . . . .  . .. 100.
For sale b all newsdealers, or sen stage id
on receipt 3! twelve cents. t’ W pa ’
BEADLE AND ADAM Publishers.
98 street, N. Y.

‘ The Irish Captain.

Beadle’s Dime Library
.

1 A HARD CROWD. By Philip S. Warne.... .... .. 10c.
2 THE DARE-DEVIL. By Col. P. Iiigraham. .. 100.
3 KIT CARSON, JR. By Buckskin Sam. .. 100.
4 THE KIDNAPI’ER. By Philip S. Warne. . 100.
5 THE FIRE FIENDs. By A. P. Morris. Jr . . . .  100.
6 WILDCAT 13013. By Edward L. Wheeler . . . . .. 100.
7 DEATH-NOTED,- TIIE DESTROYER. 011 Coomes. 106.
8 THE HEADLEss HORSEMAN. By Mayne Reid... 10c.
9 HANDY ANDY. By Samuel Lover . . . . . . . . . . .. 100.
10 VIDOCQ, THE FRENCH POLICE SPY. By himself 10c.
11 MIDSHIPMAN EAsY. By Capt. Maryatt . . . . . .. 100.

12 THE DEATH-SHOT. By CAPT. Mayne Reid... 10c.
13 PATHAWAY; OR, NICK WIIIFFLES, THE OLD
TRAPPED. on THE NORTHWEST. By Dr. J. H.
Robinson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..
l4 TIIAYENDANEOEA, THE SCOURGE. Ned Buntline
15 TIIE TIGER SLAYER. By Gustave Aimard.’ . . .
16 THE WIIITE WIZARD. By Ned Buntline . . . . . ..
17 NIGHTSIIADE. By Dr. J. H. Robinson . . . . . . ..
18 THE SEA BANDIT. By Ned Buntline . . . . . . . ..
19 RED CEDAR. By Gustave Aimard . . . . . . . . . . ..
20 THE BANDIT AT BAY. By Gustave Aimard. ..
21 THE TRAPi’Ea’s DAUGHTER. Gustave Aimard

22 WHITELAW: OR, NATTIE ON THE LAKE SHORE.
By Dr. J. H. Robinson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..

23 THE RED WARRIOR. By Ned Buntline . . . . . ..
24 THE PRAIRIE FLOWER. By Gustave Aimard.
.25 THE GOLD GUIDE. By Francis Johnson . . . . . ..
26 THE DEATH TRACK. By Francis Johnson. 
27 THE SPOTTER DETECTIVE. By Albert W. Aiken.

28 THREE-FINGERED JACK, THE ROAD-AGENT OF
THE ROCKIES. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr 

29 TIGER DICK, THE FARO KING. P. S. Warne.
30 GOSPEL GEORGE. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr .

31 THE NEW YORK SHARP. ByAlbert W. Aiken.
32 B’HoYs or YALE. By John D. Vose . . . . . . . . ..
33 OVERLAND KIT. By Albert W. Aiken . . . . . ..
34 ROCKY MOUNTAIN Ron. By Albert W. Aiken.
35 KENTUCK, THE SPORT. By Albert W. Aiken.
36 INJ'UN DICK. By Albert W. Aiken . . . . . . . . . ..
37 BIRD, THE HUNCHBACK. By J. H. Robinson.
38 VELVET HAND. By Albert W. Aiken. . . . . ,.
39 THE RUSSIAN SPY. By Frederick Whittaker.
40 THE LONG HAIRED ‘PARDs.’ J. E. Badger, Jr.
41 GOLD DAN. By Albert W. Aiken . . . . . . . . . . ..
42 THE CALIFORNIA DETECTIVE. A. W. Aiken...
43 DAKOTA DAN. By 011 Coomes . . . , . .  . . . . ..
44 OLD DAN RACKBACK. By 011 Coomes . . . . . . ..
45 OLD BULL’s EYE. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.,...
46 BOWIE-KNIFE BEN. By 011 Coomes . . . . . . . ..
47 PACIEIC PETE. By Jos. E. Badger, .Jr. . . .  .. 100.
481DAHO TOM. ByOllCoomes. .. .  100.
49 THE WOLF DEMON. By Albert W. Aiken. . . .. 100.
50 JACK RABBIT. By JOs. E. Badger, Jr . . . . . .. 10c.
51.RED Ron, THE BOY ROAD-AGENT. Oll Coomes. 10c.
52 DEATH TRAILER. Bv Wm. F. Cody . . . . . . . . . .. 10c.
53 SILVER SAM. By Col. Delle Sara . . . . . . . . . . . .. 10c.
54 ALWAYs ON HAND. By Philip S. Warne . . . .. 10c.
55 THE SCALP HUNTERS. By Capt. Mayne Reid . 10c.
56 THE INDIAN MAZEPPA. By Albert W. Aiken. . . 10c.
57 THE SILENT HUNTER. By Percy B. St. John.. 100.
58 SILVER KNIFE; By Dr. J. H. Robinson. . . . . .. 10c.
59 THE MAN FROM TEXAS. By Albert W. Aiken 100.
60 WIDE AWAKE. By Frank Dumont . . . . . . . . . .. 10c.
61 CAPTAIN SEAWAIF. By Ned Buntline. . . . . . . .. 10c.

62 LOYAL HEART; or. THE TRAPPERs or THE AR-
KANsAs. By Gustave Aimard...  ..

68 THE WINGED WHALE. By Albert W. Aiken... 100.

64 DOUBLE SIGHT, THE DEATH SHOT. By Jos. E.
Badger, Jr 10

65 THE RED RAJAH; or, THE SCOURGE OF THE
INDIEs. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker... .. 100.

66 THE SPEOTER BARQUE. A Tale of the Pacific.

By Captain Mayne Reid. . . 10c.
67 THE BOY J OCKEY. By Joseph E. Badger. Jr" 10c.
68 THE FIGHTING TRAPPED. By J. F. 0. Adams; 10c.

100.
100.
100.
10c.
10c.
10c.
100.
10c.

'69 THE IRISH CAPTAIN: A Tale of Fontenoy. me

By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.  .. .

70 HYDRAEAD, THE STRANOIER: or, ALETHE, THE
CHILD or THE CORD. A Tale of Jun lo and
Bungalow Life. By Dr. J. H. Ro inson.
Ready June 18th.. . . . . . . . . . . . .  . . . . . . . . . .. 100

A new issue every two weeks.

Beadle-’5 Dime Library is for sale by all
Newsdealers, ten cents per cop , or sent by mail on
receipt of twelve cents each. EADLE & ADAMS,
Pubhshers. 98 William Street, New York.

 

The Sunnyside Library.

1 LALLA ROOKH. By Thomas Moore . . . . . . . . . . . 100.
2 DON JUAN. By Lord 11 . . . . .. .. talc.
3 PARADIsE LosT. B Jo 11 Milton. .. 10c.
4 THE LADY or THE AKE. Sir Walter Scott... 10c.
5 LUCILE. By Owen Meredith .. . .. 
6 UNDINE, OR THE WATER-SPIRIT. From the
German of Friederich De LaMotte Fouque...~10c.
For sale by all newsdealers, or sent. postage d,
on receipt of twelve cents for single num ers.
double numbers twenty-four cents.

ADAMS, VICTOR '& 00.. Publishers .
9S ‘ N. Y.

 

William street.

. the unlearned.

 

Btitgg“..”..;;ts¥
STANDARD DIME PUBLICATIONS.

Speakers.

BEADLE AND ADAMS have now on their lists the fol-
lowing highly desirable and attractive text—books,
prepared expressly) for schools, families, etc. Each
volume contains 1 large pages, printed from clear,
open tylpe, comprisin the best collection Of Dia-
logues ramas and ecitations, (burles ue, comic
and otherwise.) The Dime Speakers for he season
of 1879—as far as now issued—embrace twenty-one
volumes, viz.:

1. American Speaker. 12.

National Speaker. 13.
. Patriotic Speaker. 14.
. Comic Speaker. 15.
. Elocutionist. 16.
. Humorous Speaker. 

. Standard Speaker.
er.
19. Serio-Comic Speaker.

. Stump Speaker.

. Juvenile Speaker.
20. Selects eaker.
21. Funny pecker.

10. Spread-Eagle Speaker
22. JOLLY SPEAKER.

11. Dime Debater.

These books are re lete with choice pieces for tho
School-room, the Ex ibition, for Homes, etc. They
are drawn from FRESH sources, and contain some of
the choicest oratory of the times. 75 to 100 Declama-
tions and Recitations in each book.

Dialogues.

The Dime Dialogues. each volume 100 pages, em-
brace twenty-three books viz.:
Dialogues No. One. Dialogues No. Thirteen.
Dialogues No. Two. Dialogues No. Fourteen.
Dialogues No. Three. Dialogues No. Fifteen.
Dialogues No. Four. Dialogues No. Sixteen.
Dialogues No. Five. Dialogues No. Seventeen.
Dialogues NO. Six. Dialogues No. Eighteen
Dialogues No. Seven. Dialogues NO. Nineteen.
Dialogues No. Eight. Dialogues N o. Twenty.
Dialogues No. Nine. Dialogues No. Twenty-One.
Dialogues No. Ten. Dialogues NO. Twenty-two.
Dialogues No. Eleven. Dialogues NO. Twenty-three
Dialogues No. Twelve. Dialogues NO. Twenty-four.

15 to 25 Dialogues and Dramas in each book.

These volumes have been repared with especial
reference to their availabil ly in all school-rooms.
They are adapted to schools with or without the fur-
niture of a stage, and introduce a range of charac-
ters suited to scholars of every grade, both male and
female. It is fair to assume that no volumes yet
offered to schools, at any price, contain so many
available and useful dialogues and dramas, serious
and comic.

Dramas and Readings.
164 12mo Pages. 20 Cents.

For Schools, Parlors, Entertainments and the Am-
ateur Stage, comprisin Original Minor Dramas,
Comedy, Farce, Dress ‘eces Humorous Dialogue
and Burlesque, by noted writers; and Recitations
and Readin s, new and standard, of the reatest
celebrity an interest. Edited by Prof. A. M. ussell.

DIME HEB-BOOKS.

Young People’s Series.

BEADLE’s DIME HAND-BOOKs FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
cover a wide range of subjects, and are especially
adapted to their end. They constitute at once the
cheap/ct and most useful works yet put into the
market for popular circulation.

Ladies' Letter-Writer. Book of Games.
Gents’ Letter-Writer. Fortune-Teller.

Book of Etiquette. Lovers‘ Casket.

Book of Verses. Ball-room Companion.
Book of Dreams. Book of Beauty.

Hand-Books of Games.

BEADLE’s DIME HAND-BOOKS or GAMEs AND POPULAR
HAND-BOOKS cover a variety of subjects, and are es-
pecially adapted to their end.

Book of Croquet. Yachting and Rowing.
Chess Instructor. Riding and Driving.
Cricket and Football. Book of Pedestrianism.
Guide to Swimming.

Manuals for Housewives.

BEADLE’s DIME FAMILY SERIEs aims to supply a
class of text-books and manuals fitted for every per-
son’s use—the Old and the'yonng the learned and
They are of conceded value.

4. Family Ph sician.
5. Dressm ng and Mil-
linery.

Exhibition S eaker.
School Spea er.
Ludicrous Speaker.
Komikal Speaker.
Youtli's S eaker.

Elo uent .eaker.
Hai Colum in. Speak-

wmflcaauzocgo

1. Cook Book.
2. Recipe Book.
3. Housekeeper’s Guide.

'Lives of Great Americans.
Are presented complete and authentic biographies

of man of the men who have added luster to tho
Republ c by their lives and deeds.
braces:

I.—George Washington.
11.—John Paul Jones.
IH.—Ms.dAnthonyWayne
IV.—Ethan Allen.
V.—Marquis do Lafay-

The series em-

! VII—David Crockett.
VIII. -—Israel Putnam.
lX.—Kit Carson.
X.—-Tecumse ‘
XI.—Abraham coin.
ette. Jill—Pontiac.
Ill—Daniel Boone.

SONG BOOKS.

BEADLE’s DIME SONG Booxs. Nos. 1 to 88, containing
the only popular collection of copyright songs 'to be
found in he market.

MISCELLANEOUS DIME BOOKS.
Robinson Crusoe. Jim Crow Joke Book.
Pocket Joke Book. Paddy Whack Joke Book.
Tfiflfifi piimicationasjgor sale by all newsdealers,
or esen. os- onreceito ric b
BEADLE & ADA'iiIs, Wmu STE N. Y? e’ y