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The Only Young Ladies’ Library of First-Class Copyright Novels Published!

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Entered t the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates.

November i. 1881‘.

 

 

 

N0. 103. VOL. IV.

PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST.,_ N. Y.

PRICE, 5 CENTS

 

 

 

i Desperate Deed.

BY ERSKINE BOYD.

CHAPTER I.

On Tuesday, the 6th day of March, 1862, the day following Ash Wednesday,
in the above-mentioned year, five women, belon g to the village of La Jou-
chere a pea red at the police-station of Bougiva , a small town near Paris, and
situa on the banks of the Seine.

Having asked to see the commissary of police, they informed him that one of
their neighbors, a widow called Lerouge, who inhabited singly a detached cot-
tage just on the outskirts of the vill 6, had not been seen by any of its inhab-
itants for two entire days, and, notw thstanding their repeated endeavors, they
had failed to gain admittance. .

The shutters bei up at each of the windows, and the doors being bolted
and barred, they h found it egually impossible to find even a crevice which
might have given them a peepl a the interior. This strange silence, this sudden
disa pearance, had caused t em great uneasiness, and earing a crime, or at
the east an accident, they begged that the police would kindly break open the
door, and relieve them from‘t eir present anXiety.

Bougival is an agreeable sort of place, overflowmg on summer Sundays with
Paris olk who have been pent up at the desk or in the counting-house, or kept
prisoners behind the counter,’on week days. “Small misdemeanors ” are of fre-
quent occurrence on these festive occasions; but anything in the shape of crime
had hardly ever been heard of. Therefore the commissary‘of police of this peace-
able little town refused at first to '
accompany his five lady visitors, and
somehow pooh-poohed their Solicita-
tions. However, finding them to be
so evidently in— earnest, and seeing
no other way to rid himself of their

v rescues, the wearied magistrate at
ast ave in, and sending for the
brig- ier of geudarmerie, two police
officers and a locksmith set off for
the cottage of the Widow Lerouge,
the five women leading the we .

La Jouchere is an insio'ni cant
hamlet situated on the declivity of a
bill, which overlooks the Seine be-
tween Malmaison and Bouglval. A
steep ath, unconnected with the
einban ment and high road, takes
you to it by a short cut; but the lit-
tle procession with the gendarmes
at its head, f0 lowed the road by the
embankment, and after a sharp
walk of about three- uarters of an
hour’s duration, h ted before a
habitation of unpretending yet re~ ,
spectable appearance. ,

The house, or rather cottage, had ,~ \ i 1 I
probably been built by some retired -:‘ ‘-  ' e - ,[m‘ L. ,1,
tradesman, fond of “an open view,’ _ ‘ e » 'nmmumml;
for all trees had been carefully cut 
down, and any intrusive ivy Or other ' I"
crteegmg plant as seeiduously ban-
is e .

The cottage consisted of two large
rooms on the ground floor, with an
attic or so above. Around it was a
luegiected garden, badly protected
from maraudersb a stone wall of
about a yard in eight, which in
some places was crumbling into
ruin. A wicket-gate with an iron
latch opened into the garden.

“This is the place,” said the wo-
men.

The commissary of police stopped
at the little wicket-gate, and turned
round to his men. During their
wal’r their suite had been considera-
bly increased by all the idlers of the
neighborhood, and now consxsted of
about some forty (persons, all in a
Yery inquisitive an talkative condi-
“OD. “Let no one enter the gar-
deni”said the commissary. V >

And to enforce his orders, he
Faced the two gendarmes before
' e gate, while he advanced. to the

0‘158, accompanied by the brigadier
of gfifmene and the llocksntiliflihs

e Wl
loaded knocked lou 1y
“out door. then at all the shutters.

cane several times ‘at the
After each blow he placed-his ear to

 

e we,
, I

 

 

the wood and listened attentively. Hearing no sound or movement in answer
he turned to the locksmith.

" Force the lock," he said.

The workman unfastened his and took out his tools. He had just intro-
duced one of his picklocks into the keyhole, when a great uproar burst from
the crowd of idlers behind. \

'A boy, playing with one of his comrades, had icked up a large key in the
ditch b t e roadside and, pushed by a dozen 0 clone hands, presented it in
trium to the comm ssa .

The ey,von bei tried, was found to be that of the front door; and as it
swung back on its es, the commissary and the locksmith glanced uneasily
at one another.

“_This looks suspicious "murmured the brigadier as he entered the house,
whilstthe crowd, with di culty held in check the endarmes, stamped with
impatience, craning their necks and crawlin ong t 9 wall, in their vain en-
deavors to see or hear what was going on witiin.

Those who had suspected foul play were, unfortunately, not deceived in their
conjecture, for the practiced eye of the commissary detected the awful presence
of crime the moment he placed his foot on the threshold.

The disorder that reigned in the room they entered announced, with a dismal
eloquence, the traces of its footsteps. Chairs, tables a chest of drawers, and
two large trunks were overturned and thrown pell-meil on one another;

In the second room the confusion was if possible, still worse. It seemed as if
thgillafléd of a madman had taken a wild pleasure in imaging everything to right
an e . ' ,

Near the’flre’place, her face in the midst of the ashes of the burnt-out logs
lay the corfise of the Widow Larouge; so near,in fact, that one of her cheeks ha
absolutely een scorched by the heat, and a portion of the long, ay hair con-

n ca d with an
portion of the unfortunate woman s

sumed, though by some miracle the fire had not commu

I H I 
it

dress.

“The cowardly dogs!” murmured
the brigadier of endarmerie.
“ Couldn’t they have re bed without
murderin the poor woman?"

“But w ere has she been struck?"
asked the commissary. “ 1 don’t see
an blood.”

‘ Here, sir,” answered the gen-
darme: “just between the shoul-
ders. Two steady blows, and no
mistake. I‘d wager my next month’s
pay that she hadn’t time to utter
even a groan."

He bent over the body and touched
it with his hand.

“ She’s as cold as marble ” he con-
tinued, as he proceeded th his ex-
amination; “and if my ex rience
goes for anything, more t an one

ay and night have via sed since the
poor creature got her eath-stroke."

The commissaoig shrugged his
shoulders, and pr ucing h 5 writing
implements, placed them on a cor-
ner of the table, and proceeded to
draw up the necessary judicial re~

H

l

\I.

e‘ l i
i 
“New. ,lgl
\ JIM” 

por .

“ It’s no usemaking long eeches
or wasting our time in suppo tions,”
said he to the b ' adier' “we can
do that when we ve scovered
the assassins. All we have to do at

resent is to inform the f)ustice of

0 peace and the mayor o the facts
of the case. The next, to start for
Paris, and present this letter at the
office of the public prosecutor. Be
fore two hours have elapsed the ex-
amining magistrate may be here. In
the meantime I will make a provi-
sional in uest, and endeavor to gain
some add tional evidence.”

"Am I to take the letter?” in.
quired the brigadier.

“ No; send one of our men. I
shall want you here kee back
the crowd, and find me the wi esses
I may requu'e. I shall leave every-
thing as you now see it, and take u
my quarters in the front room a
present.”

A glendarme was at once started
for t e nearest railway station, and
the commissary commenced pro-
ceedings according: to the law.

Who was this Widow Leronfigf
From whence did she come? W t
was her occupation? How did she
live—and upon what? What we her
habits—her conduct—her ac unint-
ances? Had she enemies? as she

 

 

 

 

vance, but reins

V tective police, accompanied by one of his

2

A DESPERATE DEED.

 

 

miserly? Had she money, or was it reported she had
mono ? , 

Thais  the inquiries that it was the duty of the
commisssry of police to make. in pursuance of the
French 1w. , - -

Butthe witnesses, though numerous, gave but little
information.

The depositions of the neighbors were empty, inco-
herent, and unsatisfactory. Nobody knew anything of
the victim; she was an entire s g '

ardener's wife, wholhad been i'rlen y with the Widow

rouge, anda‘snflk-wsman, whom she dealt with, were

the only people _.'Wh0 could give any information of a
precise and tangible nature. ‘_ ~’,

At Last, after three weary hours of questioning and
'cross-questionin after. having listened to all the vapid
gossip of the vil a e, received the most contradictory

evidence, and hear themost ridiculous titties-tattle, the‘

following contained the ' only reliable statements
gathered.“ so much difllculty by the commisssry of
P0 05‘ .

...———..
1.,

CHAPTER II.
Two years before. at the commencement of 1860, the,

twoniau Lerbuge had arrived at Bougivsl with a large

van full of furniture, clothes, and other property. She
stopped at a small inn, where she took up her quarters
for t s time being, informed the people that she in-
tended settling in the neighborhood, and at once set
about finding a house. This cottage being according to
her tastes, she had taken in at the yearly rental of
thirty pounds, pa able every six months, and in ad-.
alease, although offered at more ad-
vantageous terms.

The agreement being drawn up, she had entered the
same day, after having spent five pounds in repairs.

She was a woman of about fifty—four or fifty-five

ears of egg} well-preserved, and enjoying robust

saith. No y knew why she had settled herself in
a place. where she was an utter stranger. It was sup-
posed shehed come from Normandy, because in the
morning she wore linen caps common to the women of
that province. This rather homely sort of cap was,
however, discarded in the afternoons, when the widow
burst into. blood in the shape of very bright~colored
dresses, gaudy head-gear, and showy jewelry.

In all probability she had come from some novel port,
for allusions to the sea and ships were of constant oc-
currence in her conversation. ,.

She had I. dislike of speaking of her hus-
band, who had died, she said, in a shipwreck ; but upon
this subject she had never been heard to enter into
any detail. Once only she had said to the milkwoman,
in the presence of three other persons, “ Never was
ghere 3 woman more unhappy in or married life than

was. ' ' ‘

On another occasion she ‘had said, “ Novelty alone

8?”! the man. My husband got tired of me after the

year.’

Widow Lsrouge had the reputation of being comfort-
ably 93, if not rich, She was also generous with her
money. Had once lent a woman of Malmsison sixty
tunes to enable her to pay her rent, and afterwards re-
fused repayment. Another time she had advanced two
hundred francs to a fisherman of Port Marly. She
113de good living, ordered her wine by the dozen, con-
stantly gave excellent dinners to her friends, and was
fond of patronising them. When complimented on be-
ing rich, was never known to deny it. Was often heard
to say, “I have nothing in the funds, but I have all I
wait. If I wished for more, I could have it."

'Apart from what has been mentioned above, she never
allowed the slightest allusion to escape her concerning
herself or her past life. At night she barricaded her
house with bolt and bar, as if t had been a fortress,
and never went out after sunset. It was said she he-
bltually drank too much at her dinner, and generally
went to bed immediately afterwards. >

It was very seldom any strangers visited her. Four
or live times a lady and a young man were seen to enter
the cottage, and on one occasion two gentlemen—one
very old, and wearing several orders; the other young
and evidentl ." a great swell." These last had- come in
a handsome carriage. , '

A pork-butcher of Bouglval, in pecuniary diflculties,
had sen known to propose marriage to her, but had

‘ been summarily dismissed, with the observation that

she had had one husband, which was uite sufficient,
and that she was by no means disposed 0 repeat the ex-'
periment. '
Nevertheless, on several occasions men were seen to
call on her. At first, a young man having the appear-
ance of arailway guard; then, a tall, dark. elderly man,
dressed in a blouse, and of a sinister and disagrmjaame
aspect. After the incident of the porktbutcher, the vil-
lage gossips put these men down as the widow’s ad-
mirers, ' ' v I I .
Whilst the‘commissary was collecting this evidence
and uttiu it to aper, the examining magistrate. ar-
rive . He roug twith him the chief officer :2 the do-
an s.
Monsieur Daburon, the examining magic rate, was at
this time about thirty-eight years of a e. In figure he
was tall and well made; and, notwit standing a cer-

tain coldness and hauteur in manner, with a gentle

and melancholy expresion of face. This melancholy
had remained indelibly marked on his features after a
severe illness” which turo years'before had nearly
proved fatal to him. I . .
He hsdbeld his present important position since
1859, and had rapidly acquired a brilliant reputation.
Eardhwhrking,‘pstient, and endowed with a sort of sub.
tie common sense. he could unravel the most to led
steinin‘the most puzzling law case, and in the fidst
of s thousand threads pick out‘the right one. ,
With so many, rare qualities, be, however, hardly
seemed fitted by nature for his,,terrible office, He

 

or to. the place. .A'

 

never condemned without a shudder, into
own in nt, and, fearing to be '
himself y the extent of the authority placed in 

The chief of the detective policewss no other than
the celebrated Geml, who has played so eaten s~ rom-
inent part in the criminal drama of our time. . very
able man, with one fault—4n obstinate persistenoy,
whether right or wrong, in his own ideas. ,“Ho never
confesses himself wrong, and, the scent pnce lost, stub-
bornly refuses to retrace his steps to take up another
which a subordinate might have discovered. With this
exception, he is the beau ideal of a police officer—cool
andcour eous, gifted with a herculean strength, not-
withstan his me e appearance, and ever ready to
confront a danger. an arrest-witch single—handed—the
most desperate criminals. But his special peculiarity,
his glory, his triumph, is an extraordinary memory for
faces. A face once seen by him is never forgotten. In
the most unlikely places, under the most incredible
disguises, he never fails to recognize it. This remark-
able and unerring precision, he explains, is due to his
novel“ troubling himself about any other part .' of a‘
man’s face but the eyes. He could remember a glance,
or detect a look, when the other features often escaped

, his

his. memory,- To quote Is, example; a-feijeels be» ,

fore the occurrence we are now treating of, a question
of identity had arisen concernin three malefactors, ac-
cused ofa grave. offense, Drape with heavy coverings,
so as, to utterly disguise both height and figure, their
faces were hidden by thick veils, in which openings
were so managed as to show only their sinister eyes,
and in this state they were placed before the keen-vis-
ioned detective. Without a moment's hesitation he
reco nized each of the three rascals, and pointed them
out y name. ,

Gevrol's assistant in the matter he had now in hand
was young, but, at the same time, one of the most
promising of his staff. Keen as a razor, and loving the
profession he had adopted, he saw the one great fault
of his master, and never failed, when op ortunity of~
fered, to take advantage of it. But Geer , on his side,
,re arded his younger colleague with a Jealous disdain.

his agent’s name was Lecogi . A

The commisssry of police, w e was beginning to feel
uneasy at the responsibth of his present position, re«
ceived. the magistrate an the detective officers as a
captive receives his liberators. He gave them a rapid
recapitulation of the facts, and read the deposition of
the various witnesses. v

" All this is very satisfactory,” said the magistrate;
" but there is one fhct you have omitted to ascertain."

“ And what’s that,‘sir l" inquired the commissary.

“ On what day was the Widow Lerouge last seen, and
at what time ?"

"I wasjust about to inform you, sir. She was met

returning from Dougival on the' evening of Show

Tuesday, with a market-basket on her arm."

“ Are you quite sure of the hour 7'” asked Gevrol.

"Perfectly, and I'll give you the reason why. Two
witnesses, whose depositions I have taken—the woman
Tellier, and a wine-cooper who lives close by—were get-
ting cut of the omnibus that leaves Mai-1y every hour
when they saw the Widow Lerouge crossing the to
in front of them. They quickened their pace, and,
joining her, walked with her as far as her door.”
tr:th what had she in her basket ?" asked the magis-

e. .

" he witnesses can't say. They only saw the necks
of two bottles of wine, each one with; red seal. She
complained of a bad headache, and remarked that
though it was custom to entertain, and ‘keep it up'
on Shrove Tuesday, she ntended to go to beddirectly.”
“ I’ve got it 1" suddenly interrupted the chief detec-

ve.
" What i" said the chief magistrate, eagerly.
“Why, it's clear as the day. We must find out the
tall, dark, elderly man in the blouse. The widow ex-
ted him to supper—that explains the wine."

“Oh,” said the brigadier of gendarmerie. with great
disgust, " the widow was old and ugly I”

Gevrol looked with an air of much contempt at the,
aim le-hearted gendsrme. v y

" on don't know the world, my friend, or ou'd
have known that a woman with money ,_is a we
young and beautiful." ,, , g

“ Perhaps you may be on the track,” child-the magis.
trste,‘ reflective] . " But what has strucxme the most
were those war 'of the widow—' If I'wished for more
I could have it.’ " . "

" I must. own I was struck by those words-also," re-
peated the commissary.  ‘ ‘ .

But Gevrol did not stay to listen. Hem on the
scent, and was inspecting minutely every hole and cor-
ner in the room. '

Suddenly he turned towards the commissery.

" I’ve Just remembered,” he cried: “ that there was a
change in the weather on Tuesday. It been
ing for a fortnight, when it turned to rain; At what
time did the rain commence here ?” ' v ' ,

_"At half-East nine.” answered the  “I'd
just finishe supper, and was going e{my rounds, when I
was caught in a regular-shower one by the bridgi.
In less than ten minutes halfsn inch of waterhsd

(P
H.

len on the roadway.” r '

“Very'good,” said Gevrol. momma mm m .

been here at, half out nine, his boots would have been
covered with mu , unless he arrived earlier. You ought

to have been able to ascertain this, as the hearts osken, "

and has been recently beeswaxed. Were there any
marks of footsteps whenlyou first entered ?" '

" I’m sorry‘to s3 we never thought of looking."

“‘9th grumbl the detective; g” what a pity—what
 y M

" Wait a moment," said the commissary. “ It’s not
too late to see the marks—not in this room, but in the
next. Nothing has been touched there. My footprints

 

led sway in spa "or

and , of the brigadier can be easily distinguished.
ilpomealong." " .  7 » '
And so saying, he was who deer ofthe second

room, when he was stoppmy 7 rol.‘

" May I ask your permission."sir," saidhe, turnin to
V the magistrate, " to be omitted to examine every n’g
before any one also is allowed to enter 1' It is a matter
of great iniportsnce to me,":' - _ ' ' -

" Certainlywerts’inl ,” acquiesced M. Daburon.

Gev‘i'oi :passed in M, and all those behind him
paused on the threshold. Thus he took in at one
glance the scene beforerhimi. v '

CHAPTER III.

Evnnmme appeared as the commissary had already
stated, to have been scattered pellwmell as by the hands
of a madman. .

In the middle of the room stood a table covered with
a fine damask cloth, white as the driven snow. At the
farther end was a magnificent antique goblet of cut
glass, an ivory-handledknife, and a plate. Next to these
was placed a
of brandy, from which about five or six liqueur glasses
hadbeen taken.» ' , . ,- ; . . a _

To the right, along the wall-3 stood -two handsome
oaken presses, one on each side of the window. Both
ware empty, and their contents strewn about the floor.
These litter; consisted of‘ wearing apparel, linen, and
dthersrticles‘of clotting, all rumpled, unfolded, and.
“domains heap together. ~ ,

At the other end of the room, near the chimney, a
large cupboard, containing crockery, was wide open, and
next to it an old secretary, with a marble slab, had
been broken open, and then smashed in various places,
evidently with the intention of discovering its inner-
most rooves. rllie shelf, half torn away, still hung by
a sing e hinge, whilethe drawers had been taken out
and thrown on the ground. The bed also, on the left.
hand side of the room, was complete] unmade, blan-
kets and sheets lying in a disorders heap beside it,
even to the mattress, which had been half ripped open,
and the horsehair strewn about like straw in a stable;

“ Not even the faintest footprint," murmured Gevrol,
with illvconcealed annoyance. “ He must have arrived
before half-past nine. We can enter without ,disturb.
in anything now.” i

(1 so saying, he walked right up to the corpse.- and
knelt beside it. -

" Well, there's no denying but this affair has been
neatly done," he grumbled. “ The assassin, whoever
he may be, was no novice. This is the work of a mas-
ter, and not of an apprentice." Then, glancing from
right to left, “ Oh, o l” he continued, “ the
girl was busy with her cookin when the b ow was
struck that sent her into kin om come in so unex-

ected' a manner. Yes, there the fryin -psn on the

cor; the rashers of ham and the eggs at were to
have made the omelette. My gentleman was in a
hurry, or he wouldn’t have done the little business on
an empty stomach. He hadn't even the patience to
wait for his dinner. At any rate, he can't plead in his
defense that his head was confused by the gsyety of the

" It's ve evident," said the commi of olice to
the exam ng magistrate, " that, robbery as n the
motive of the crime."

“ I should rather think so," said Gevrolnvith a sli ht
sneer. "And perhaps it was for the same reason t
the forks and spoons have disappeared from the table.”
" Hilloh l here’s some gold in this drawer!" exclaim-
ed Lecoq, who was rummaging about on his own so-
}:ount. "No less than three hundred and twenty
rancs."

“ You don't mean that," said Gevrol, somewhat
absshed; but recovering uickly from his astonish-
ment, he continued, with h s usual confidence, “I’ve
heard of queerer things than that. I knew a man ones
who so completely lost his presence of mind after he
hadnoxnmitted the murder, that he ran away without
anything, and forgot his hot and gloves into the

Our friend, on the present occasion, must
have been nervous. Perhaps he was interrchted by
some one knocking—who knows ? I’m inclin to this
on the more readin from the appearance of the
candle. You see, he didn’t leave it homing, but took
the troubleftc blow it out.” ‘

_ “Fudge!” said Loco? "That proves nothing. He
the have been a man 0 economical tendencies."
‘ invest igations of the two detectives were com
tinned over t e whole premises; but after the minutest
they discovered nothin that ave them the
slightest clue. Even the papers 0 the W dew Lerou e,
h she ever possessed any, had disappeared. N a
letter, or an envelope, or a scrap of paper of any 11nd,
could be found.

Evian new and then the disappointed Gevrol paused
to swear at the world at large, an himself in articular.

"Well, whatrdo you make of it '3 ” asked he judge,
out ofpstience at the slow pace of the roceedings.

‘v‘, We are sold,” replied Gevrol, wi h a des airing
shrugof the shoulders—u“ com- letcly sold! or the
present. that is. v The scoun e1 has taken no end of
precautions ; but we shall have him yet. Before the

' evening 1le set my bounds on the scent ; and he'll
be run

to a dead certainty.”
, "Then, as it appears to me,” observed Monsieur Da-
buron, ‘,‘ we are no farther advanced than we were this
morning?’
“an does one’s best, and the best of us can‘t do the
impaisible,” replied Gevrol, sullenly.

“If Old Corkscrew.now, were only here," muttered
mallow voice, which, however, reached the ears
of Ilng" ur Daburon, “he'd draw the cork if any one
can .- V ,

"What :conld the old fool do more than we have

 

 

done ?" asked Gevrol, darting an angry glance; at his
subordinate. _ _' , 7

 

ottle' of wine,"hardly touched, and shuttle ’

 

 

 

 

A nurses rs Bern."

 

 

 

Lecoq , t9 \.
the vanity of his toohconiident shiatbu
b ' or n 11 111180112 1 . .
We 1:15.22 ” dsm dad ‘Monsieur Daburon.
“And who is this person 1d Corkscrew, as you call
himv—that he is likely to succeed where experienced
men have failed? I somehow fancy I have heard oi him
before.”

“ He's a wonderful man,” replied Leoq, not sorry to
be thus appealed to. ,‘fTouse his own words, he can
get at the heart of a mystery aseasily as another would
draw a cor]: from a bottle.” .

“ He was formerly a poor clerk in a lawyer’s omce,’
added Gevrol.
money now. His real name is Tabaret. He has con-
stituted himself a sort of detective for his own amuse-
merit." .

" And to augment his revenues, I suppose ?” sneered
the commissary. _

“Not he i ” answered Lecoq. “It’s a labor of love
with him. He’s'never so happy as when he's ferreting
after some dimcult case, that ’ud make another chap's
head ache for a week. We call him Old Corkscrew, Just
as well as we mi ht call him Old Gimlet, because he
ean‘worm himself to anything. Why, it was he in
that business of the robbery at the banker's. you know,
sir, who asserted that it Was the wife who was the. thief,
and proved it, too.” ; I, _

"That’s all very well," retorted Gevrol; “but how
about the poor little tailor whom he accused of havmg
killed his wife, and nearly got him condemned ?. He’s
too clever by half, that‘he isq”, .

" Come, come 1 '{ interrupted the magistrate, impa-
tiently, “ we ' are wasting time! "'3 Then, turnin to
Loco , he said, " Fetch me this Monsieur Tabaret. 've
hear a great deal of him, and should like to see him at
his feverite employmentlf ~ , _ V - _

.Lecoq was gone in an instant, while Gevrol looked
much mortified. - A ., .

" 01 course, sir,” he commenced, “ you have every

turned away, secretlng have wounded

too wise to

right to employ any one that you. may think proper; ‘ =
but”———

" Don’t be ofl’ended, Gevrol,” said the magistrate,
good-humoredly. “ It was not yesterday that I made
your acquaintance-I know your value. in. today
we differ completely in our opinions. You sti to the
tall, dark, elderlyman in. the blouse, and «I am con-
vinced you’re bathe wron scent." t

v

"1 still‘think 1am rlgh  ansWer’edflth'e" detective, ,.

“and I no 6 seen to prove it. I’ll hunt up the rascal
wherever sis." ’ ,. I, ,‘e- H} 
" That’s right,  Let us all do our best.” - ,
" There’s only One thing, however, which I hope you»
willpe t me to observe, without thinking that ’m

11w ‘

"Well. sir, since you are so kind, just allow me to

warn you against 'Old Corkscrew—I beg your pardon, ,

Monsieur Tabaret, I mean.".

" Indde and for what reason ?" y _ ‘

“Because the old boy is too hobheaded, too enea

getic, too eccentric ; and as he is as vain as a pee-
‘ cock, he is very likely to lose his temper and betra
everythi . The moment he is made acquainted wit
a crime— 6 this of to-day, for instance—he has the
impudence to explain eve thin ofl-hand. In short,
sir, he'd think nothiu of
situation. He proton that from one fact he can build
up the whole scenes of an assassination, like that
learned chap-.1 forget his name-who from the frag-
ment of a bone embedded in the earth was able to re-

construct upon paper the entire bird. Sometimes he ,

ueeses right, sometimes he guesses wron . How about
'ghxatt 3&0! ttle tailor ? I assure you. sir. i I hadn't in-
to e ” ‘ ‘

n—n—

“That's enough," said Monsieur Daburo'n. _.“I’m

much obliged to you for your advice; be sure” I shall mac

grofit‘by it. In the meantime we must find out at all
azards where this widow lived before she came here,
and to what part of France she belongs." ’ V _

The procession of witnesses brought in by the
brigadier of gendarmene‘how'commenced to demo
bleg‘gre the magistrate. But nothing new was discovs

e . H H , ,
The Widow_Lerou89.. When alive, must certainlyhave
beena most discreet woman.‘consillering that. 011111
the words she had uttered—«and as she was'agreat
talker, the number must have been beyond human
calculation-mot one or any significance remained in
the memory, pg mayor. her gossiping friends. I .,
All the, witnesses, however, were obstinater bent on
making the magistrate a confident of their convictions
and their personal opinions, and these coincided with
those W«M‘Gevfiol.' ‘ ' ' ' '

They unanimously, and as with one Voice, accused ;
the dark man  t e blouse‘ot having yoommittedfithfe; ‘

crime, _ . . . _ , , , .
Every one remembered-his ferocious air, his sinister
aspect ; and their lively imaginations were not slow to
add innumerable details to the sometvhat :i‘ano‘y portrait
they had sketched. g ,
One evening, somebody declared that he had threat:
shed a woman; while anther asserted that he had
. cruelly beaten a child. It is true that neither the
woman no:- the child were forthcoming; but such-
small verificationsware not at all necessary, and the
Dahlia gave its ready belief to the wildest statement.
past: an instance, while Monsieur Daburon was im~
thrust upon him. « v
. , were women who kept a sort of chandler-'3 shop
“1 Beams, at which the murdered woman had dealt;
andmnthora lhnrpveyed little ragamuflin of a boy,-
g’ffih 9‘ Whom, it was loudly asserted, knew “allabout
The wet;  the first who appeared. r. r I
“31;: hand the Widow Lerouge speak of a son still

‘ ' Wire

“ The old fellow has come into

- Q “ Well, that was according. 
months—sometimes more; because when she took her
liquor, she always took not the best. Rest her soull

ven ng in story to suit the.

fllimping the room, two fresh witnesses were

 

 

on quite sure of that}? said the magistrate.

“ Aso my own existence, Mr. Judge,” replied. the
chandler-Ts shop-keeper. “ More betoken that, on that
very same evening—for it were an evening both wet
and chilly, as I well remember—she, the poor defunct
one, as is now no more, was, if I may venture to state
such a thing, before a respectable gentleman, a little
topsy-turvy.” .

“ What?”

" I mean a little on the slack-rope. which is as much
as to say, in vulgar language, that she’d been taking a
drop too much. Poor creoturl she was always a, con-
versible woman, and not being on that occasion equal
to walking, she stayed at my shop more than an hour.”

“ Well, Well, what did she say '2"

“ I think I see her now," said the chandler’s shop-
keeper, brushin away an im inary tear with the back
of her hand—“ think I see or now, with both her
elbows Planted on the (counter. close against the box.
that he 6. the bacon and the candles, a chafling one of
the boatmen. as she called but a ‘ poor fresh-water
make-believe, as was good for nothing but to pick up
tickle-backs with a crooked in and a stick.’ ‘ My hus-
band,’ says she,‘ was a reg ar sailor, salt as this ’ere
bacon’—-and she laid her hand on the ditch—J who was
away a year at a time on his voyages, which was a com-
fort to both of us, as he often said. She went on to
say that she also had a son a sailor, like his father, but
where he was at the time‘ she was speaking she couldn't
even guess."

“ Did he mention the name of‘her son ?"

" She said his name was Jac use.” .

“ Did she speak against her usband i” ,

v “Never; only that his manners were brutal, and he
had a Jealous disposition—a good man enough, but
that he led her a miserable life. His great fault was
that he had a weak head, and would fly out about
nothing. In short, that ho was a fool, and not too,

, honest.”.

, "Did hereon ever visit her?" . , r ‘

‘ " She was a close woman, and never spoke of that.”

‘ “ Was she a’ good customer-at your shop 1’" ~ ,

About sixty francs a

she was a worthy woman, and paid ready money."

Here the shopkeeper, diverging upon the advantages
of ready money payments ass princi e, and the disad-
vantages of; trustee a Iractice, was a ruptly dismissed
by the ma istrate, whi e the other witness—the boy—-
was shove, forward. , ,  i , .

"Now, my boy,” said the magistrate, “ what do you
m? 2t?“ “:13”: ? th - a ' be! tera‘ I

" o _ns.e . on .. 6.5;! erases 13.:
saw a man standing in liadame Lerouge's gateway.

“ With adark complexion, dressed in a blouse, eh, my
little man ?" ' .

"No, sir; quite the contrary. ~ The man I saw was
short, fat,.and fair.” -

" You are sure you are not mistaken l" ,

“How could I be," said the boy, smartly, “when-I
spoke to him i"

“ Andhe replied l" .

" Yes.” _ I

" Tell we what you both said."

" Well,'when I saw him first, he seemed rather cross-

about something—angry, I may say, which is more than
being cross. His face was as red as a sliced beetroot,
and so was his head—for his hat was amend he was as
bold ass billlmdball.” ,

f” Did he speak to you first?” , , l '

" Yes ; he called to me without waiting for an intro-
duction. 'Hilloh, little ’un P says he, ' you’re a pair
of good legs—do you want to earn half a tune l" ’0!
course I do,’ says . ' Then,’ says he. .‘cut along down
to the river, go on board the big black boat, painted

, k with a red streak, that lies close down by the
landing-stage, and, ask for Jervis, the master. Tell him
to make all ready to start, that my business is over,

nd- I'll be with him in the hauling or a rope.‘ Then,
lacing the half-franc in my hand, he stirred me up
with chick, and I bolted ofl' to the river.”

1" Hall the witnesses were as sharp as this little boy,”
said the commissary, “ to examine them would be a
pleasure 1 And now tell us how you performed the
commission." a.

' 3‘ I got aboard the boat, found the _man, and gave the
message, and—Land that'sall." , ,

Geri-cl. whozhad been listening with the most‘oagOr

attention. stooped towards the ear of M. Daburon.

“ Iijit is not asking too much, sir, will you be kind
enough to lot meput a few questions to- the young-
ster " 1 _ r t .

:{Cartalulyfl answered the magistrate. ‘

1‘ Look here.,my little man.” questioned the detective;

‘ “ do you-think if you saw the man you’ve been telling

us aggut, that. you‘d recognize him again i” »

'w.es'~:rx» 
“ There was something queer about him, than ?’

J“ Well. his red face.” . ' ,

“ Was that all 7” ' ~ ‘

. “.Yes, sir." , : . , , ,

" ’But don't you remember how he was dressed! Had
hea blouse 2’7 _ . . .

“ No; he had on a round Jacket with large pockets at
the sides. and sticking out. of glue was a blue-striped
pocketshandkerchief." ' ‘ r ‘

“ What sort of trousers did he wear 5"

f' 1 don't remember.” , .

"And his waistcoat '9” ’ i , -

“ Stop 1" said the child," sadder I; brightening up
again. " Had he owaietcoatl I fill note—perhaps he
had, and perhaps he hadn’t. I don’t remember. But

* be had a neckerchief,‘ I know, with the ends pulled

through aring.” . _. , \
“That’s a wouderiul boy i” remarked Gevrol, in a
half-aside; “ and if I Were a single iuaml’d adopt him."

      

 

The child, meanwhile, hed._ knitted his soft brows
tightly together, as with a violent effort of memory.

“ I remarked something else," he said, after a short
pause.

“What ‘2" ,

‘,‘ The man were earrings—large earrings—~very lar l”

“Bravo i" cried ,Gevrol; “Nothinghglse is wante . I
feel I’ve got him already. Let me
his arrest, and the thing is done.”

These words were scarcely out, of his mouth than
Lecoq, eager and energetic as usual, burst into the
room.

“ Here’s 01d Corkscrew—I mean, Daddy Tabaret —
that is to say, Monsieur Tabaret-speaking to strangers,
I caught him just as he was leavingl his house. What a
man l—what a remarkable man' e is I He wouldn‘t
hear of waiting for the train, but took a only—the first
on the stand—never bargained for price, but drove
down here like a madman. Here he comes-shore he is!
A wonderful man—a remarkable man! He’ll draw the
cork for us in less than five minutes i”

The detective became suddenly silent, as there ap-

peared upon the threshold of the room amen, whose ’

aspect, we are bound to confess, by no means war-
ranted the eulogy so loudly expressed by his enthusi-
astic admirer. ' ,

 

CEAPTEB IV.
Tan new-comer was an elderly person, turned of six-

~ ty, and whose appearance loudly proclaimed that fact.

Small, meagre, and slightly bent, he learnt, with two
long, nervous hands, crossed upon a bamboo cane, with
a carved ivory top. His round, man may
remarkable only for an expression of stu " v: _ h~
ment. cheeks and chin were closely ehavcn; and
hisnose, which was a frightful pus. seemed t!) be com
tinually shilling the air. His small eyes mode up for

_ their deficiency in size by their perpetual movement— .
r they were never still fora moment; while his hair,

which thatched but thinly: skull that set you in mind
of .that of a“ greyhound, no wise interfered with a
pair of long ears, which stood boldly out hem his head,
tits if they had been thawing: which adorned the cap of
ercury. , t , _ '
He was comfort-.131  in a suit of 
cloth, wore cotton gfoves a little too in or
gaiters a little tee small. as , 'massfie gold ,
in the extreme ofbad taste, went ‘1: rec times round his.
loan, neck, and descended, in a cascade to his waistcoat

v pocket.

Daddy Tabaret, otherwise Old calms. . sto

-,abruptly on the‘ threshold of the door, gavst

sharp, quick glance at the magistrate, than lowered his

eyelids, and said, in avoice of deferential politeness, r

“ You have done me the honor of sending for me 1‘”
"Yes," answered Monsieur Daburon, bowin in re.

turn to the other's salutation, which Was of sugch a 113- I
specttul nature that it nearly caused him to go on all- ,

fours.

“If I can be of any use to you, ’ continued the old

man, " I shall be only too happy."
" You can be of very

finding out some clue that will enable us to. track the
assassin; for I must own to you that we all deem to be
on the wrong scent. If you. will taker. chair, I will
have the whole business explained to you as far as we
have gone.” '

“ Oh, I know enough of it already," interrupted 

Corkscrew.
alon ."

" But still ”-—-—- insinuated the  .

“Leave it to me, sin—leave it to me. I  to trust
to my own first impressions, unbiased by the obser.
vations of others, however valuable they may be; be-

"Lecoq gave me’ thed'etailsaswo canto

cause, you see,air, despite ourselves, we cannot help ‘

being influenced by them. But I fear I’m was

time, so, if you wt '1 allow me, I will commence at once

my researches with Lecoq.” ' '
And as the little old gentleman spoke, his

Bray

small
eyes brightened and gleamed till they shone, like sparks

ofiire ; his whole physiognomy reflected a sort at in-
terior joy, and there was a laugh in every wrinkle. He
seemed to grow talleruyoun'ger, even : and it was with
althost buoyant step he creased the room. and entered
with" eagegdprecipitancy the second chamber. _

He stay there some half an hour at "least, then
came rushing out as quickly cells had entered ; rushed
back again~returned,“but only to vanish again and
again asyquickly. 4 ‘ ' ‘ '

The in _
self of the notion that in this strange ,old man‘s every
motion and look there was a startling resemblance to a
dog who searches ascent.“ The upturned ,nOse' and
trembling nostrils appeared toseek in the air itself
some subtle emanation of the assassin impalpable to
others, while. in his nick comings and goings, , his
restless movings to an fro, he esticulated and spoke.
aloud, apoatro hising himsel‘ heaping abuse upon
his own stupid ty, or, by little exclamation of ap
bstion and triumph, appearing to encourage emetic
a more energetic search. His activity was incessant,
and his njiend and admirer, Lecoq, was not left for one
moment in peace. Daddy Tabaret required this, Dod-
dy Tabaret required that. Now it was paper and a
pencil, then it wasa spade :next he shouted for sores
wfet icilay, some plaster, watch and, last of all, a bottle
0 0 a l '

More than an hour having passed in this  the ‘
_magistrate began to grow impatient. and demanded of
the 'brigadier what had become of their 

tive. . .
" He‘s in the road,” replied the brigadier'wit ’  ‘.
-- When I last saw hm, he was lying dowriagi‘n the
mud on his stomach, and mixed up some 1) ' ' ‘ ’8'
plate. He told me to
would be at your disposition in a moment." ‘

 

vs a warrant for

are
v . :

great serrlcetoue,hion 7"
Tubal-st," said the magistrate, "ifyou can succee'dog ’1

.. .._ e... 1..“ c......_._..n,.4___l..,4 -‘

agistrate, M. llaburon,’ could, not 'divest‘ him- '

say he had ‘ nearly 

 

 

 

 

 

 

, that‘is

A DESPERATE DEED.

 

 

The words were scarcely out of the gendarme's
mouth, when Dadd Tabaret appeared, joyous, radiant,
triumphant; look g positively younger by twenty

oars.
y At his heels, close as his shadow, followed Lecoq, car-
rying with the greatest precaution a large basket.

“ I’ve ot it i" cried the old gentleman, as he ad-
vanced firrlskly towards Monsieur Daburon. “I’ve
drawn the cork, though it's the very tightest I’ve ever
wormed the screw into. Lecoq, my ood young man,

put that basket down upon the tab e; but gently—’

gently i One rough shake, and I shall have all my work
to do over again.”

At this interesting moment, Gevrol also reontered the
room. He had returned from his expedition almost as
triumphant as Old Corkscrew himself.

“ I’ve marked down the chap with the ear-rings," he
said. “It’s aheautii‘ul trail to follow. The boat went
down the river, pnd I’ve got an exact description of its
master.”

“ Now, Monsieur Tabaret, I am anxious to have your
report," said the ma strate.

All e as were now urned on Old Corkscrew, and every
word at mi ht fall from his oracular mouth. He

I had already em ed out upon the table the contents of

the basket—via” a large clod of clay, several lazgfi
s

sheets of paper, and three or four pieces of plaster

~ wot.

Standing upright before the table, the queer old gen-
tleman looked oubly grotesque, and the eccentricity
of his appearance was not lessened irorm the fact that he
was covered with mud from his toes to his chin. With
the air of a lecturer, and amidst the deepest silence, he
commenced, in a tone whose studied modesty could not
alth hide the pride that possessed him :

“ first discovery is this: that robbery has nothing
to the crime in nestion, and that we shall do
there. oriatprivato in more terrible motives that
have led to the murder of the unfortunate Widow
I arom.il

 

I ., GEAPTER V. I.

" he." continued Daddy Tabarot, in atoneof convic-
tion that evidently impressed his hearers, " this has
been no common murder. The assassin, in perpetra-
zigg his awful n has been im some so-

and am do ation, that as ’ e all other
thoughts subservient to it. ,I will, prove [this to you by
.theevidonoo. and afterwsrds, if you will allow me, I
willgive you mrymhumble opinion as to the probable
motive oftho c o." r

Gem! glanced at, the magistrate. to see the, efl'ect
Old Corkscrew was having upon him; but, observin
the fixed and attentive expression or his face. he check
the sneer that he was preparing, and censoled himself
by yawning. ’ v

" It is obvious, then," proceeded Monsieur Tabaret,
" that he assassin arrived here before half-past nine—-
say, Harare the rain commenced. Like Mon-

, ,ssieur Gevrol,I have. notsucceeded in detecting any

a.

mudd footprints ; but under the table, Just where the
feet 0 the visitor must' have been placed, I found a
considerable guantity of dust. Consequently, we are
pretty fairly zed about the time. The Widow Lerouge
never ex ’ d the new-comer ; she had, in fact, com-
menced o undress, and was just winding up her clock

' when the knock came to the door."

“Rather minute details,” murmured the commis-
sary of police, with Just the shadow of a smile round
the corners of his mouth.

‘5 They can be easily authenticated," said the self-
coimmuted detective. 7' Examine this cuckomclook
above the old high writing-desk. It is one of those that
go from - fourteen to ‘ilfteen hours at a time; but,
whether it does or not, one thing is positive—that the
widow Was winding it up before oing to bed. How,
then, is it that this clock should ave stopped at five
o'clock 1 Because she had Just commenced to draw
the weights up when the knock came : and to sup art
the assertion, let me draw your attention to this 0 air
under the clock, and to the footprint upon its cover.
New look at the costume of the victim. The body of
her dress has been taken off, and, in her hurry to n
the door, she had thrown this old shawl round or
shoulders."

“Well, I never i" exclaimed the brigadier, evidently,
much struck. , ‘

" The widow," continued Old Corkscrew, " “:25;
nixed the knock. Her bur in o ning the door
we at first suspect this. at 1'0 ows proves it. ‘ Thus
the murderer was admitted without the slightest
domnr. and must have been already known to his vio-
tim. Be is a man still ym, a little above the middle
height, and elegantly dro . He wore, on the even-
ing in question. a hat, and not a cap. He had an um-
bg-ella, and was smoking a Trabucos cigar with a mouth-

eco.” ~
p "Oh. come, draw it mild I” cried Gevrol, unable to
restrain his feelings any longer. " I can swallow a great
deal, but this is too much."

’“Too much, or too little,” rotortod Old Corkscrew,
"it's the truth. If you are not as minute and careful
as I am, that's your fault, not mine. I seek, and Ifind.
Too much, is it ? Well. just come here, and, ifyou will
be so condescending. lance at these pieces of wet plas-
ter. Th represent a boot heels of the assassin. of
which I ound two magnificent impressions near the
ditch where the key was found. Upon these sheets of

paper I have traced the entire footprint, which, being

upon sand, I could not succeed in otherwise bringin

away. Look! Hi h heel, arched instep, foot little an

arrow—an slogan boot, you must own. You will and
this footstep twice repeated on the road, and five times
in tho garden—which proves. by the we , that the wear-
or of the boot had knocked. not at the 001-, but at the
shutter ofthe window, throu h the chick of which he
must have seen a light. At t e entrance of the garden

   

expectation, but were, if possible, more eagerly curious

 

our man made a jump to avoid stepping upon a flower-
bod, as the point of the boot, sunk deep in the soil, suf-
ficiently betrays. Thus be cleared, with apparently lit.
tlo exertion, a distance of nearly two yards. .This shows
him to have been light and supple—therefore, a young
man.” >

Old Corkscrew spoke in high, shrill: tones, metallic
and cutting as a razor, and his restless eyes wandered
incessantly from one to the other of his auditors, watch- -
ing their impressions.

"‘ Is it my remark about the hat that has astonished
you, Monsieur Gevrol ?” pursued Tabaret. “ Examine
the perfect circle left upon the dusty marble slab of the
old writing-desk. Is it because I have fixed on the
height of the individual in question ? Be so good as to
look at the top of those oak presses, and you will per-
ceive that hands have been passed over them, as if in
search of something. Don’t tell me that he stood on a
chair, for in that case he could have seen without being
obliged to feel. Are you sceptical about the umbrel-
la? This clod oi earth contains an admirable imprint
not only of the top, but of the round piece of wood
that holds the silk. Is it the cigar that annoys you?
Here is the end of the ’I‘rabucos, which I picked out of
the cinders. Has the extremity been bitten, or is it wet
with saliva ? No. Therefore the person who smoked it
must have used a mouthpiece."

Locoq endeavored, but with very small success; to
conceal his enthusiastic admiration of his old friend;
and, in order to repress any outward si no of a proval,
rubbed his hands softly to ether, as t ough‘ s were
going through the process washing them.

The commissary of police seemed stu iiied’; the ma-
gistrate looked delighted; while Gevro ’s face on the
cont ,‘grew longer and ion or. As for the bri ardier

g;th appeared

of , he 0 be in the seven hea-
ven of oyment. » ~

“ New, ‘ continued the old ntloman, " pray give me
your most earnest attention. e have come to the point

where the young man has entered the cottage. How he
accounted for his presence at so late an hour, of course,
I cannot tell ; but one thing ia‘very certain, he told the
Widow Lerougo he hadn't dined. The worthy woman
immediately set about preparing a repast—a ropast in
which she herself did not join, because in the cupboard
there are still the remains of her dinner, and you will
perceive plates are not laid for two.” '

Here Old Corkscrew auaed, elevated his inquisitive
nose in the air, and, wi h twinkling eyes, annoyed the
assembled company. Never was a man more delighted
with his audience. All were deeply interested in the
marvellous exposition of cause and efi'ect. Attention
was upon every countenance ; and even those who had
been prepared to scoff, not only gave up such absurd

than the rest. ‘

The cunning old ferret had produced his effect. His.
pause was the pause of the popular speaker or the fa
vorite actor, who, having "struck fire,” by some, glow-
ing phrase or well-turned bit of “ sensation," waits till
the excitement has just a‘little cooled. before he electri-
iies them with his next. ‘ t ' - ‘

'A murmur of impatience from every side, and Daddy
Tabarot, after snifl‘ing thrice in a manner very irritating
to the nerves, went on.

"We now approach the'great question of hormone—-
Who was this young man i’ It is evident t at the wi-
dow' considered his position in society to be much
above her own. In the cupboard there is aztableccloth,
hardly soiled at all; but instead cf making use of it she
brings out acloan one, and decidedly one 'of her t.
This splendid oblet of cut glass Was of course intended
ior him, and splayed in‘honor of his coming; And,
lastly, I think, it is probable slw‘ seldom made use of
this handsome’ivory-handled knife."

“ All this is very exact," murmured the magistrate—
" very exact.” - ‘1

” Behold, then, our young man seated at table. He
began by drinking-a glass of wine. while the widow pre-
pared the ham and eggs, and placed the i’ryin -pan on
the tire. Then, his heart failing him‘, he asked or bran-.
dy, and [drank right ofl' about four or five liqueur

losses. After an inward stru gle of. let us say, about

a minutes—4t must have ta on about that time to
have cooked the ham and eggs to the degree that we
nowseo them—the young man rose, approached the
widow, who must have been on her knees or bent over
the are, and stabbed her twice in the back. Death was
not instantaneous. She half rose. and clung to the
hands of the assassin, while be, starting backwards,
must have dragged her sudden] forwards, and then
thrown her on her face in the pea tion that we and her
atfpresent. This brief strs is is indicated by the pos-
ture of the corpse. Bent orwards and struck in the
back, it is upon the back she should have fallen. The in-
strument the murderer used for his purpose was asharp
and pointed one. This instrument, if I am not greatly
in error, was a foil with the button taken off, and at-
terwards sharpened, He has left us an indication of
this in wiping the weapon upon the pottiooat of his
victim. Another fact is that he has been neither
scratched or in any way injured in the struggle. The
widow, as I have said before, clung to his hands, but as
he had not taken of his pearl—gray kid gloves "--—-

" Oh, come i you’re not writing a novel, Daddy Tab-
aret l“ expostulated Gevrol. “

"Have you examined the ilngervnails of the widow,
my dear, sir '3”

“ Well, oblige meb ‘ doing so, and I’m sure~ you’ll
agree with me as to t o latter detail."

Having thus “ settled ” thesce ticism oftbe head of
the detective force, Monsieur beret continued his
discourse. .

“The poor woman being new disposed of, the next

uestion is, what was the motive of the murderer?

 

rhaps you have surmised it to have been her money,

 

or dated bills, or some sordid meanness of that sort?
No, gentlemen la hundred times no 1”

Here Old Corkscrew, in his energy, pounded the table
and shook his flat at the company-in general, but as no.
body ventured to hazard 'a remark, he cleared his
throat and went on. _

” What the young gentleman wanted, what he sought
for, what he determined to have, were papers-family
papers—which he knew to be in the possession of the
widow. To become master of these he inspects every.
thing—empties the oaken presses, unfolds the linen,
smashes the old writing-desk, of which he cannot get
the key, and ripe open the mattress. At last success
crowns his efforts—he finds what he seeks. And do
you know what he does with these papers ? He burns
them. Not in the fireplace, but in the little stove in
the front room. The end he had in view being new ac-
complished, what is his next move? To fly from the
scene of his crime, and in taking with him every ob-
ject of value endeavor to put justice ofi‘ the scent by
indicating robbery as the motive of the murder. Hav-
ing made a collection of every portable article he can
put his hand on, he makes a bundle of them in the
table-napkin intended for his use at dinner, blows out
the candle, shuts and locks the door behind him,
throws the key into the ditch by the roadside, and than
—-and then, gentlemen—that's all i”

80 saying, Monsieur Tabaret, with ashrug, abruptly
subsided into a chair, and wiped his forehead wit an
old red silk pocket-handkerchief.

"Upon my word, Monsieur Tabaret,” said the mag-
istrate, “ I must compliment you uggin your inquiry
into this business. In fact, from its 11 so clear, so
precise, and so probable, I am inclined think that
“2%” tiheDixdaflt'I ? ri a Leo ringin

“ ' n’ say'so ” c e oq,
from his chair, and, forgetful for a moment «’3... pres?
once of Monsieur Daburon, sla ping his thi h in his
enthusiasm. “Didn’t I say he‘ draw the cor , if any
one could ?” ' p

" Yes," said Gevrol,with ill concealed iron ; “ Dadd
Tabaret has certainly an inventive ability, 1: at, if on -
tivatod, would make the fortune of a novelist.
I'm a little doubtful about that parcel of oods he
spoke ofjust now. Fanc a young swell wal ng about
with a bundle enveloped n a table-napkin, asif he were
taking his own linen o the wash I"

" I can't fancy it at all,” returned old Corkscrew,
quietly. "You will agree with me, I so , that he
wouldn't have been so idiotic as to have on the om-
nibus at Marly l"

“ Of course not,” acquiesced Gevrol.

" Now, my impression is that he went on foot by the
short cut to the banks of the seine, and, there—unless
he has overmatched me in cunning, and baffled me alto-
gether—that he at rid of his suspicious-looking and
troublesome bun Is by throwin it into the river.”

"Do you think so, Daddy Ta aret ?" asked Gevrol,
reflectivsly. ' ,

“ Think sol I'll bet you an ,thing you like upon it;
and the procfis. I have sentlt ree men; under the ‘ di—
rections of a endarmo, to d the river at the s ot I
have indicate . ' If-the find t ebundle, they sha 1 be
handsomely rewarded, can tell on.” '

" You don't mean to, say you re going to stand the
damage on your own account 9" ' ' ' ‘

“Yes, Monsieur Gevrol: I shall pay the reward from
in own purse, and for my own satisfaction," said the
ol enthusiast, grandly. “

“ It would indeed be a lucky chance if they found the
bundle," commenced the magistrate; but before he iin-
ishod what he was about .to say, a gendarme entered

the room, and placed the very bundle in question upon ‘

the table.

It was drippin with water, and contained plate,
money, and some gewelry.

" One; hundred francs was the reward promised,"
said the gendarme, as, ,with a military salute, he
dropped the clinking trophy on the table.

Daddy Tabaret, w th an air of intense satisfaction,
drew from his pocket a bulky and somewhat greasy
pocket-book, from which he extracted a bank-note, and

anded it to the gendarme; then after annihilating
Gevrol with a look of triumph impossible to describe,
he turned to Monsieur Daburon.

“ Now air, will you t me to ask your opinion?"

“Well, really," sai the gentleman addressed, with
difficulty repressing a smile at the grand air of the lit-
tle old man, “ your powers of penetration are so extra-
ordinary that ’ --—

But here a, before he could complete his sentence,
the doctor w 0 had been summoned to make the poet

t examination presented himself.

He simply confirmed the assertions and the conjec-
tures of lionsieur Tabarot. He agreed with him in his
opinion that there had been a struggle previous to
the fact, which accounted for the position in which
the body had been found; and as a confirmation of
this, he pointed out a bluish le faintl visible
round the throat of the victim, as ough p need by
compression; and lastly, he stated that the Widow Lo-
soufi: bad partaken of food about three hours before her

ea . c

There now remained only a few odds and ends of
evidence to be collected, which might be of use ata
later period in convicting the murderer.

01d Corkscrew, with the most extreme care, again ex-
amined the finger-mails of the dead woman, and with
the most infinite patience succeeded in extracti from
beneath them the few atoms of the kid glove e had
spoken of. Infinitesimally smal as those atoms were.
yet the color of the glove was 1 easily to be distin-
guished. He also put aside the pieces of pstticoat upon
which theasaassinhadwi his r. Those, with
the bundle which had been found in t e Seine, and the
divers foot-grin“ extracted by the old man, were the
only’ traces ftby the murderer.

B ight material enough; but slight as it may appear

But -

 

 

 

 

A DESPERATE DEED.

~r 5

 

to us. in the eyes of Monsieur Daburon it was of very
.greatiznportance, and his spirit rose with his hopes.

The rock that the police in general split upon, in
crimes of a complex and mysterious nature is an error
as to the motive of the act. Once they start on a false
«scent, they go further and further from the truth, in
proportion to the order with which they pursue their
investi ations;but in the present case, thanks to Daddy
Tabar , the‘magistrate was nearly certainthat he was
on the swing track. ‘ -

___—.

CHAPTER VI,

NIGHT had come.

For the time being, the magistrates had nothing more
to do at La Jonchere, Gevrol, who was burning with
impatience'to be alter the dark man with the ear-rings,
declared his intention of taking up his quarters at
Bougival, and to spend the rest of his evenin in ferret-
ing about the wine-shops, and hunt up, 1 possible,
new witnesses.

At the moment of starting, when the commissary of
police and the rest had taken leave of him, Monsieur
.Daburon proposed that Daddy Tabaret and he should
return to Paris together.

“ I was just about to solicit that honor," said the old
man. bowing; and, as they walked side by side, the
newly- discovered crime became the subject of their con-
versation. ~

“ Shall we ever succeed in. discovering the antece-
dents of this woman ‘2" repeated Old Corkscrew, for
about the ixth time. “ The whole thing lies in that.”

“ We shall succeed in discovering them,” said the
magistrate, “ lfthe woman who keeps the tallow-chand-
ler‘s shop has spoken the truth. If the husband of the
Widow Lerouge has been a seaman—if her son Jacques,
is in the same profession—I can easily get the neces-
sary information from the naval authorities. In point
of fact I’ll make a point of writing to them this very
evening." _

But Daddy Tabaret had become suddenly silent. He
was reflecting, seeking, combining, and his face, ex-
pressive of the intensity of hi" pro-occupation, amused
the magistrate; who, sitting Opposite, looked curiously
at this singular old man, whose eccentric tastes led
him to place himself at the service of the detective

olice. .
P " Monsieur Tabaret,” said he, at last, abruptly break-
in the long silence, “ how long is it since you've been
a elective ?" I

“ Nine years, sir—nine years and more," replied Old
Corkscrew, starting from his reverie.

“ Indeed! 'So long as that ?”

" Yes, sir; and if you won’t think me too presuming,-
I am surprised you hav’nt heard of me before.”

“ I knew you long ago by reputation," answered
Monsieur Daburon; “ an it was the excellent reports
I had receivedbf your talents in this sort of investiga-
tion that induced me to call you to my assistance.
'What I am curious to know is what were the circum-
stances which flrst tem ted you to adopt this career ‘2"

‘~‘ Sorrow i" said the o d man, sim ly. “ Sorrow, lone-
liness, and weariness of mind on body. Ah, sir i I
have not been always happy—far from it.”

“ Yet'l am told you are rich.”

The old man heaveda profound sigh, ashe answered:
“ I am in what is called easy circumstances~well to do,
as they say, in worldly matters; but it has been other-
wise with ins—hr otherwise—in times past.“ ;

The bitter recollections of the mourninl past seemed
for a moment to overwhelm the speaker. He passed
his thin hand several times over his forehead, as it by
the action he could sweep it away from his memor , as.
a hgfisemud might sweep the dust and cobwebs gm
3 “1 . ’ I “J I

' I dragged on, rather than lived, :a life  Ifwas
o _

‘ forty-live ears of age,” he continn ; “a ii I sag
orifice—a life of absurd and useless rivation. I hada
father who blighted my youth, a d my manhood...

and made me one of the mostyuniortnnate of men." ‘

There are some professions which nonfisuchape- .

culiar character that they wrap those who belong to
them over like a cloak-La cloak that they never succeed
in laying, aside.’ Monsieur Daburon, for instance, was
always, and everywhere, it little’too much of the lawyer.
and so he commenced unconsciously to interrogate
Daddy ,Taboreto ' v - . -
“And how was it," Monsieur Tabaret." he asked,
" that your father was the author of all your'misfor-
tn ." »
"Iwm tell you presently, sir. I can forgive him
now. Time is an er‘s best medicine, and heals even
the sorrows of the heart. I was earning a hundred
.a year as chief clerk in a lawyer’s ofllce, when my
father came to me one morning, and informed me
in the most sudden manner possible that he was ruined
-—that some mercantile speculation in which he had
been on ed had suddenl failed, and that he had not
a faflhigggln the world. s ap cred to be in the ut-
most despair, and darkly hints at suicide. Now, sir,
I loved my father. It made my heart ache to see his
detection and his misery. I looked at the poor old boy
With e as half blinded with tearshand then calling my
finven ve ability to my aid, gave him a glowing account
‘ of my future prospects in life. I told him hat per-
L‘m’l’! the lawyer might take me into partnership——
‘qfieerer things had happened than that. I said that as
11038. is I had a crust of bread in the cupboard he
should aha-alt, and finished off by asking him to come
mid livswith. nae—4. proposition which he eccede
with alterlty; and for twenty years, sir—twenty ong
Years I var-abandoned with this—«this “—
The admflfisto ’ ’ , as if choked with emotion.
Game. W313. onsieur Tabaret; don’t repent of
333mg dons a noble action."
"But I do l«Idol” vociferated Old Corkscrew. “ I
have repented it all my life. Better far would it have

 

 

been for me had both of us died—poisoned by the crust

- we shared in our, penury andgmisery I"

Monsieur Daburon made a gesture of pained surprise,
which did not escape his companion. ' .

" Hear. me out. before you condemn me,” he con-
tinued. “ Behold me then, at theearly age of five-and-
twenty, enduring. the utmost privatth to. surround
my father with a few comforts. In order to augment
our revenues, I ave up smokinguand spent myeven-
ingein copying arrister’s, briefs and , theatrical manu-
scripts. But 0 what I could, the old man was always
complaining, always regretting his past comforts.
‘Not a farthing in my pocket/he would say; ' not a
farthing tobuy a pinch of snuff!’ - No effort thatI made
contented him. And yet the efforts were many. Bea-
ven only knows what I suffered! I wasn’t born,” con-
tinued the old gentleman. after a pause that was in it-
self pathetic, a strong will alone controlling a strong
emotion—“I wasn’tbomto live the life of a dog in a
kennel—a merose and solitary existence, caring only
for my meals, and a passing pat of the hand. 0n the
contrary, my dream,my ambition had ever been to find
a heart responsive tovmine; to find a wife, in fact, whose
firesence would make a Paradise of my home, however

umble, and see children grow up like flowers to
brighten our existence, and make everything joyous
by their babble, just like the spring and summer
song of birds. This was In dreamy-a dream I soon
found it would be impossib e for me .to realize ; my
sense of duty was too strong for me even to make an
attempt to do so. The thought of my father, old, ail-
ingand destitute, was never absent from my brain; and
of on, when the fires of youth struggled and lowed in
my bosom as in a volcano, I quenched them y a flood
of remorseful tears, and said to myself, with all the se-
verity of an impartial judge, saving your presence,
Monsieur Daburon, ‘Look here, my had.- when one even
by the hardest labor gains at the most but a paltry hun-
dred a year and has to support out of that a father well
stricken in ears, with no one but yourself to keep him
from the eworkhouse, you must put an extinguisher
upon all the domestic aspirations, and make up your
mind, poor devil, to remain a bachelorall your life.’ ”

“ A brave, if not a wise resolve, Monsieur Tabaret,"
said the magistrate. “Of course, you argued upon a
theory, an idea—you had never really loved '1”

The old man started, and his eyes filled with tears, as
he replied : “ You may the better appreciate thesacri-
lice I made when I tell you that there was one I loved
with all my heart. Ah! thirty years have rolled by
since then ? The world has changed, and I have changed.
Look at me,” said the old fellow, with a laugh which
he meant to be jocular, but which was full of bitter-
ness; “I am not a particularly handsome man—far from
it; but she loved me, poor thing i ’ Her name wasHor-
tense.” He paused again for a moment ; then, after a
gulp, spoke very hurriedly. " Who knows what has
become of her, what herfate has been? She was doubly
cursed, being handsome and poor. I had only enough
to keep one. I chose my father, and—and—well, I‘ve
forgiven him long ago. He wasa cruel, bad man, but "
—here Daddy Tabaret shook his head sadly—“ he was
my father.” , .

“ What do you mean ?” demanded Monsieur Daburon,
somewhat shocked. _

“Mean! Simply that on the day after my father’s
death I foundby doouments, pa rs, investments, all
carefully concealed from me, he ad died the possessor
of what, to a man like me, was enormous wealth. With
his last breath he. had complained of his pave , and
had died the possessor of twenty thousand pou .

" What ? He was rich 1" - -

“ Rich 1" echoed Tabaret, with a lad ii that was full
of a mocking bitterness. . “ Besides t e, sum. I have
mentioned, he was proprietor of a  near 0r-
,leans, which brou ht him in six thousan francs a
year.‘ He had, be des this, the housein Paris I now
inhabit. We then joint] been led asmall apartment
in it, and 1.4001, ape, diot, olt that I waste—paid
the rent every quarter, out of my scanty earnings, to

the porter of the house, which rent went into my fa. -

ther’s o‘cke't." , ' _ I .

“"We 1, I must say it was too had,” said Monsieur
Daburon, an instinctive delicacy of feeling preventing
him from expressin , his real indignation at the author
of the blighted exis use of the poor soul before him.

“ Bad 1 ’ said the other, pathetically :‘ “it was worse
than bad—it was positive robbery. And to make mat.
tens worse, and to die, as it were, with a saroasm on his
lips, he left a will, declaring, in the name of all that is
held sacred, that his one aim and view in life had been
my happiness and prosperity. He desired—so ran the

words in the will-etc teach his beloved and only son '

the grand principles of order and economy, and by so
doing, save him‘ from the folly and absurdity oommbn
to youths of his age. Yout 1 He must have been
laughing at me. I was then fortydlve ears of age, dis.
pirited and weary with the headlight had been fight
ing for twenty years against poverty, hunger and cold.
He had been speculating upon the strong afl’ection I
had for him,npon’my soft
that's what he had been doing, Monsieur Daburon—
that’s what he had been doing.

There was something so . grotesque in the grief of Old
Corkscrew, that it was with difficulty that the magis-‘
irate prevented himself from “laughing, in spite of
£118 c{sally painful nature of the story he had just

ear . .

f‘At least," he said, at last, “ this fortune must have
been a great gratification to you."

“Not in the least, sir—«not in the least. It came too
late. What's the use of a good dinner when you have
no teeth to eat it with f I had not the heart to marry.

“‘ What woman would accept such an old scarecrow as

me ‘P The first step I took on coming into my fortune
was to res my situation in favor of a poor clerk
under mc,w 0 had been promised promotion on my re-
tirement or death. But I had been accustomed to a

‘x.

-, sick of doing nothing,.and to fill up the

cart and utter self-denial ; r

life of business routine. At the end of a month I was
aching void of
my existence, resolnved, to cultivate an eccentricity, a
passion, a mania of some sort, so I set about coflecting
books. Perhaps you imagine, sir, that a man, to have
a taste of this sort, must be ascholar ? "

“ I know that he must have money,” said the magis-
trate, smiling. - .

“Well, I am not poor, andhave some knowledge of
the mysteries comprehended in the words reading and
writing. But the books I so ardently collected were
those which more exclusively treated of the secret
business connected with the police, which detailed the
subtle skill that mesh by mesh unraveled each criminal
web, however carcitu spun. I felt more and more
fascinated by that mysterious power Web sleeplesst
watches over our public and riv safety, whose
agents penetrate everywhere, w .myriad unseen
hands lift up the thickest veils, and draw aside the
darkest curtains. I studied each case as a clever and
striving barrister studies hisbrief, till, in time, a de-
vouring ambition took possession of me, a craving de-
sire that I might myself become an agent, however,
humble, in the great work—a portion of the vat ma-
chine which intellect directs in its movements and the
hand of justice puts in motion. Yes, even I, by a careful
development of the faculties I felt within me, might
become a sort of providence on a small ,in aid
of the punishment of crime and the triumph of lime.
cence."

4“ A creditable resolve, Monsieur Tabare ," said the
magistrate. , , .

~ " And I owe to it," returned the old gentleman,
“ some of the purest enjoyments of my life. All, Mom
sieur Daburon, let no one speak to me of the pleasures
of hunting down the stag or the fox, of the delights of
striking down the swift-winged bird in its night ; but
talk to me if you will of the hunters ofnwn I " That is
a chase which alone brings every faculty into active
play ; a chase in which the hunted down is on a' par
with the'hunter, having with him intelligence, strength
and cunnin ; it is a fight in which the arms used are
nearly equ —-at least, they are the some in character.
With a moment’s pause, to take , breath, the old man,
now uite carried away by his subject, went on. “ But
unfo unately, grand crimes—I mean crimes remark-
able for their depth of subtlety and boldness of concep-
tion—are becoming more and more rare, The race 01'
illustrious scoundrels, as clever as they were fearless.
is nearly extinct, and We shall szfn have nothing left
to us but asst of sneaking, pe y larceny rogues. as
cowardly as they are common-place. It can’t be denied,
of course, that every now and then we come across a
few clever scoundrels; but their “little game " is so
very apparent, they present us, as it were. with their
photographic cards, and one feels no pride in bowling
them out. The case once proved, all we’ve got to do is
to go quietly and arrest them.”

“ It appears tome. however,” interru ted Monsieur
Daburon, with a smile, “ that our frien the murderer
in the present instance, hasn’t‘been such acontemptible
fellow’as those you have been 311st describing."

" Ah 1 ” said the old enthusiast, “ he’s an exception.
It would be a feather in an man’s cap to nd him out.
I will spare neither tron is not expen’ L Indeed, I
would’nt mind even going sofar as to ‘ 
promise myself in the busness ' for,” he continiegd,
with a sort of embarrassment in his manner, “ I must
confess that I do not boast of m loits in my own
private circle of friends; in no , I do them with a

'scrn nlous care, for it is more than probable that, 

won (1 be far less friendshi in the _ of their ‘

if they knew that the gals . putts and utterly re-
spectable citizen, Daddy Tabsret,‘ with Just into
enough to keep his nose from the door-post, was no
other than the famous unraveler of criminal mysteries
--~the r’edoubtable Old Corkscrew himself.”

In pronouncing the last name the speaker drew him-
self up with an air ofconscious dignity, that it mwlth
difficulty that the magistrate could hide a smile.

“You are not the only one, by many, Monsieur Tab-
aret, who has turned out to the world an impenetrable
agar, and deceived its curious eyes by a false ex-

or."

The magistrate said this with something like a, h;

phat their conversation, for t a present, was over.

It was arranged that old Corkscrew should, an the
moi-row, take up his abode at Bougival, and make us-
cret and searching inquiries everywhere in the neigh-
borhood; while Monsieur Daburon was to keep the old
gentleman well posted with such intelligence as his

ants might glean concerning the pasture and conduct
0 the un ortunate Widow Lerouge. -’ ‘ g .

" In conclusion, Monsieur Tabaret,” said,the magis-
trate, throwing on for the moment all oihclsl reserve.
f‘ I am at all times visible to you. Should you havens»

my own house n the Rue de Seine, or in my own pri-
vate oflice at the court, and I will give orders for your
immediate admission at whatever time you maYiPre‘
sent yourself.” ,

They were leaving the railway~station as Monsieur
Daburon made this promise, which, together with the
general kindness of his manner, gave great dell, t to,
Daddy Tabaret: but the latter refused, the magistrate's
offer of a seat in the cab he had called, on the leathat
his own home, in the Rue 8t. Lazaro, was buts w paces
mutt:th ‘th ' a  

“ «sorrow, en," said t e ' , ' , ex 7 ,
his hand-“to—morrow you star-tenths trail of the
murderer.”     

“ And I shall run himdown.” ; 0W, 00m.
with all that self—confidence in wbfle Music

which marks the savaged weller in the wilderness ’ V _ at

 

than the civilized inhabitants! a great city. _ "The

. u

' r

:hen, by a slight repressive gesture,gavea pelifii . t ,_

casion to speak to me, do not hesitate about the place
or the houréunéght or day, it is the same tome. I go
abread but . and you will and me always either at, '

 

 

“humor? "r

 

 

 

 

 

 in

5" 
[ewes

"’  than himself, but, had

A DESI’ERA TE g DEED.

 

 

scent is weak, and the trail is indistinct as yet, but the
one will strengthen and the other will broaden in time.
Ami when heleast expects it, when his confidence is at
its hi host, when his laugh of triumph is at its loudest,
I slagl have run this fox to earth l"

The magistrate smiled at the other's enthusiasm, and
slightly raised his eyebrowe as he said: “ The mur-
derer, whoever he may be, will surround himself with
a myriad precautions to prevent even the possibility of
suspicion reaching him. You must remember, as
proved by your own admirable analysis, that this is no
common crime, Monsieur Tabaret.”

The old man laid a finger respectfully on the arm oft
the magistrate, and there was a bright gleam in his
piercing eyes as he said, in low, firm tones, that had in
them nothing of vul ar vanity: " This is no common
crime, as yogsay, an it is exactly that which gives me

. almost a co ainty of its detection. I do not say to-
morrow or next day—no, not for days, weeks, months to
come; but the scent of blood is the strongest scent of
all—it never dies out, and the crimson mark that will
lead us on is to him, the man we seek, a red mist,
through which he gropes and stumbles towards an open
grave?!” "

Thenraising his hat, and with a muttered apolo y
for theiliberty he had taken in touchin ‘so familiar y
the arm of the magistrate, the strange o d man turned
on his heel and hurried away.

 

CHAPTER VII.

b THE house of Daddv Tnbaret, as he had said, was only
four or five minute:.' walk from the station in the Rue
st. Lazaro. ' —

It is a capital piece of house property, and from its
central position ought to reduce him a splendid in~

, come—that is, if he is pru nt enough to ask a reason-

, . able-rent in the lettin of its various stories. As for

"himselfhe occupies t e first floor, which consists of
five handsome and spacious rooms, comfortably fur-
nished, with his magnificient collection of books as
their chief adornment. ‘

He lives here in a simple way—simple“ and fru al
from a natural taste as much as from habit—attended
by one servant, an old woman, to whom the porter upon
grand occasions lends a helping hand, refreshed in a
pecuniary way by his landlord and master, Monsieur
Tabaret. ,

Nobody in the house has the faintest suspicion of the
peculiar occupation and tastes of their landlord. They
suppose him to be a quiet, inoffensive sort of man,
whose solitary life is commencing to have a softening
eRect upon his brain. They remark, with pity, his

' ,"siugular habits, his irequent and almost mysterious
. grabsences from his home, and his eccentric, pro-occupied

‘ manner on his return. As they observe among them-

selves, never was there a young man about town in all

V.‘ i m the bloom Of health and spirits later in his hours and

t more irregular in his ways than this queer old man. He

, could not be counted upon at meal-time, did not care

if his dinner was cold or hot, ate it at all times and at

all hours, and sometimes went out in the middle of the

night with bread and cheese in his pocket, and never
came back for a week.

80metifles also he received strange visitors. Men

‘were seen knocking at his door of a most ueer appear-

ance: women also who excited suspicion n the minds
of several of his virtuous female lodgers, and who cal-

-‘ ’umniated poor Daddy Tabaret in consequence; but the

_ old man,.when expostulated with, only shrugged his

' gonldsrs, andlaughed silently to himself, refusing all

r . vitations to dinner even tom the most sincere and
‘ (flirtation of his lady friends, who were anxious to make
anonvert of a reprobate, who had the double attraction
being both old and rich.
: There was one of his lodgers. however that the land-
lord delighted to honor, and who formed an exception
in every way to the rule he had laid down.

; was a widow lady named Madame Gordy, who
lived on the third story with her only son, Noel.

Daddy Tabarst, intact, was more " at home" in the

widow's apartments than in his own.
, Noel, was a young man of about thirty-three

a, locking rather older than he really was.

, well made, and had anoble and intelligent

. expression of face. To add to his natural advantages,
he had also large, dark eyes, and black hair, which

. curlednaturally. By, profession a barrister, he had

“gutted a certain reputation. He was what is called a

"hard worker,” rather obstinate in his opinions, very

coldin his manners, and thoughtful in all be under,-
took. He professed also—perhaps with a little too
much ostentation—-a great severity in his religious
prégfiples, and was extremely rigid and austere in his
in s.

In Madame Gerdy’s apartments Daddy Tabaretcon-
,sidered himselfas one of the family. He looked upon
her as a kinswoman, and treated Noel as,his son. ,He
' had often meditated offering martin: c to the charming
:v‘ widow, notwithstanding that an» «as [much younger
. esisted, not so much from the
. fear'of a refusal, but from the iear of the consequences
. ,pf-iiispro osal. .
V  . .mppo ‘ g she refused him, then good-bye forever
 lathe quie .‘happyevenings and the delicious halo cf
' rhesus she had than about his desolate heart.

In the meantime he had made a will, drawn up in full
form, making his young friend, the barrister, his resi-
duary legatee, with thesole condition that two hun-
d pounds a-year were to input aside in favor of any
detective "who drew the cork" out of a difficult and
bathing police ease. ' '

7‘ "Short as was the distance from the railway-station to
his house, Daddy Tabaret took more than a quarter of an
hour to  there, No sooner had he quitted the
magistrate than he resumed .his self-communing and
reflections, and so, deeply was he wrapped up in them

.1 .

  

 

shat he walked onvwithout heading the passers by, and

10’

 

 

was so pushed and elbowed. that for every stop he
took in advance he lost the space of half ofit. '

It' is un’nec to say that the subject of his
gought was still the mysterious murderer the Widow

rouge. » -

For the fiftieth time, the old man repeated to him-
self her words, as reported by the milkwoman :

“ I have nothing in the funds ; but I have all I want.
If I wished for more Icould have it." v

" At the bottom of the boat," he muttered, " lies
clue to the whole business. The woman Lerouge was
in possession of some secret which it was the interest
of some person or persons, rich and highly placed, to
keep hidden. In that secret lay her fortune. It was
her bank, from which she drew at pleasure. She has
abused the power she £0556866d, and they driven to
desperation, have wipe her out ; that’s about the
whole truth of it. But now comes the question—what
was that secret, and by what means did she become its
ficssessor? It’s possible that, in her outh, she might

ave held a situation in some great amily, and while
in the service of that family she may have seen, over-
heard, or ferretted out something of importance, or
something hurtful to itchredit, dangerous to its honor.
Had it been merely a rich man, a piece of common clay,
whose only strength was his wealth, he would have
hired some other hand to deal the blow that was to
silence her menaces forever ; but here there was no
second party concerned. The hand that did the deed
belonged to the brain that had conceived it, thus pre-
venting the constant danger of betrayal that must ever
exist when, in some delicate matter, one works with
an accomplice. A bold spirit whoever it is, and one
who, his crime accomplished, will calculate every
chance of discovory as calmly as a mathematician con-
siders his figures, trusting to his clearness of brain, to
his depth of knowled e, o produce a desired result.
He, the murderer, w ‘oever he is, is playing a bold
game, evidently for a large stake; but he has not yet
taken Daddy Tabaret into his scheme, and the old man
will sweep the chess-board yet."

So saying, he entered the gateway of his house, and
passed, without a word, the porter and his wife, who
sat in their little lodge—he, the man, cobbling shoes ;
she, the woman, cooking a greasy omelette Over a
smoky stove.

“ There goes our landlord," remarked the man, as
Daddy Tabaret, with ,a quick glance inside the lodge,
and a half-nod, glided quickly by. ’ ‘

" He must have quarreled' with his ladylove this
evening,” said the porter's wife, with a prolonged sniff,
which enabled her to express the extent of her dis-
dain, and at the same time refresh her snufi-grimed
nose with the fumes of the omelette ; “ and she’s sent
him home two hours earlier, with a lies in his ear. The
old boy seems to have something more upon his mind
than ordinary.”

" It isn't decent, the way he sometimes sto 3 out of
a night," grumbled the cobbler, as he pause in ham-
mering out the sole of a boot to lance out of his win-
dow into the court-yard of the ones. “He’s one of
those soft old chaps whom every one can take advantage
of. Any one might lead him by the nose. Look at him
now? 'Pon my word, it would be a charity if his
friends would club together, and buy him a straight-
waistcoat.”

" Relations !" said the woman, also coming to the
window, frying-pan in hand. “ There’s nobody as ever
we've seen related to the likes of him. Just look at
the poor old unprotected soft one, and see what he’s up
to in the middle of the courtyard.”

It must be confessed that the conduct of our friend
Monsieur ’I‘abaret was. to say the least, eccentric.

He had suddenly halted, and after taking ofl‘ his hat,
was rubbing his head violently, and gesticulating in a
manner that was to a looker-on sumo ently ludicrous.

‘7 No i no! no i” he murmured to himself. " I haven't
got the clue to this affair. ‘As the children say in their
games, ' I burn, I burn l‘ but I have not had my hand
upon it yet." ‘ ,

He mounted the staircase of the house, and rang at
the door of the apartments he ocou ied, entirely for et-
ting that he had the latch-key his pocket. is
housekeeper hurried. not without surprie, to open

“ Is it you, sir, at this early hour l" .

"Eh! what ?" asked her master, still pro-occupied.
" What did you say?" repeated the old man.

" I. say it is only half-past eiglht o’clock, and you
rarel enter till long after midnig t. It would not as-
tonis me now if you hadn't dined.”

“ Certainly I have not. However. ifyou’ve nothing

ready, Marie, it doesn’t matter."
_ “ Ahl that's just like you; as if a man’s stomach was
like a pair of bellows, to be filled only with wind.
Luckil , I've the dinner you always order and never
eat it, ike a sensibleman." .

Daddy Tabaret, who was thoroughly accustomed to
the rou h honesty of his housekeeper. only smiled at
this ad rose, and took his seat with much docility at
the table. It was the second phase in his eccentric life
he was commencing. He raised the first spoonful of
soup to his mouth, but it never got there. '

The mystery. of the Widow Lerouge again troubled
his brain, and With his eyes half closed he remained
like a statue of marble, his spoonful of soup suspended
in the air.

“ I begin to think thpt all, the world must be right,”
thought Marie: “a man must be wrong in the . upper
story—he must have a tile off somewhere, when he
ceases to care for a good dinner when it’s placed before
him."

As Dadd Tabaret still remained motionless in the
same 0 tion, the housekeeper, losing patience,
touch him on the shoulder, screaming into his car,
as if he were deaf. “ Why don’t you eat?’ Why don’t

ou eat ?" '

"Eat! oh, certainly—yes, why not? Of course, I s " Thunder and lightning!" he gasped, “t In“; “mt

 

 

 

  " ‘ H  IV".

ought to be hung:e , veryhungry, because, since this
morning, ,Ivhsve en obli I d to ’e— '
\ He paused,'ss'if struck y a thunderbolt, his mouth
open, and his eyes fixed. ' '

“Ihave it i” he cried; “ yes, I have it at last i”

 

CHAPTER vm.

Tim movement that accom ' led the word recorded
in our last chapter Was so su den and so violent, that
Daddy ‘Tabaret’s housekeeper started as if she had been
galvanized, and, hastily retreating to the door, waited,
with a palpitating heart, for the further development
of her master’s sudden fit of madness.

" Yes," he continued, “ I'm certain there's a child
mixed up in it." . '

"A child mixed up in itl Good heavens!" thought.
Marie, “ is he alluding to the soup?” And, fearful of
the consequences, should it be made public, of this
extraordinary delusion, she advanced quickly towards
him for an explanation.

“ A child, sir? What do you mean, sir?"

Her voice recalled Old Corkscrew to himself, and he
erceived, for the first time, that he was being watched
y Marie.

“ What do you want?” he cried, in a voice of thun-
der; “ and how dare you stand there, prying into my 1
private business, and picking up the words that fell 2
from my lips, to repeat them again to your gossiping
friends? Retire to your kitchen, and don't come out of
it till I call you!”

“ The fit’s on him,” thought the poor woman. “ He’s
becoming rabidl”—and, slamming the door behind her,
she fled precipitater to the kitchen.

Daddy Tabaret retreated himself, and commenced
swallowing, with extraordinary rapidity, spoonful after
spoonful of the soup, which was now com letely cold.

“ How was it I never thought of that efore? Poor
humanity! I'm not worth much, after all! l'm/ ‘get- ,
ting old, and my ideas are not so fresh as they were; 1
yet it’s all as clear and palpable as the day. A fool ;
might have guessed itl” ;

As he spoke, he struck a bell that lay upon the table. 3
and Marie reappeared. ;

“ The joint, ’ he said; “bring in the joint, and leave

me. I want to be alone. Yes,” he went on, digging his
knife with furious energy into a small leg of mutton,—
“ yes there’s a child mixed up in it—I’m positive of it,
and these are the circumstances. The Widow Lerouge
was a servant in the service of a very rich lady. The
husband, probably in the navy, leaves on a long, jour-
ney. ‘ Frailty, thy name is woman l' as the English
poet said. So the wife, during his absence, is false to
her marriage vow. To hide the very natural conse-
quences of her guilt, she confides her secret to the
Widow Lerouge, and, with her assistance, hides the
exisfince of her child from the knowledge of the
wor .”

Here Old Corkscrew ran the bell violently.

“ Mariel the dessert—an leave the rooml” 

Certainly our old friend hardly deserved the skill in
cookery that. Marie displayed in his behalf. He would
have found it difficult: if called upon, to mention what; .
he had eaten for dinner. Nay, he would have found it

equally difficult, so much was he preoccupied, to say

what he was eating now.

“ But the childl” he murmured slowl , masti-
cating a spoonful of stewed pears. “ T a child!
what has become of it? Did they kill it? No. Be-
cause then the Widow Lerou e would have been
an accomplice to the infant cide, and therefore I
not to be feared as to betrayal. The father of the child. i
must have wished it to live, and intrusted it to the care ~
of the widow who nursed and brou ht it up. It was 3
easy enough to take the child from er; but not quite 
so easy to destroy the proofs of its birth, and existence. 1
There was the dimculty. The father was the man who i
came in the handsome carriage, and the mother was no
other than the person who called once or twice with
the aristocratic youth mentioned by the village gossips.

No wonder that the dear old lady wanted for nothing.

tThere are some secrets that are worth asmuch has

good piece of landed property. ‘

" To get hush-money from. two people at once was a
lucky stroke of business for her; but she-s leant too
heavily upon the prop of her declinin years, and- it
broke. Poor, short-oi htcd woman! he must have
threatened them, and their fear they determined to
get rid of her. But which of them undertook the
business? The papa? No: he is too old. I'va got it~_—-
it was the son! He wished to save the {honor of his
mother—so commenced by murdering the widow, and
finished off by burning the proofs of his illegitimacy."

Marie, during the whole of this time, yes airing her
eye at the key-hole. alternating it every now and then
by placing her ear to the same orifice. It was intensely ‘
aggravating and tryin to her temper, however, to find 4
she could not succee in catching anything but a few
incoherent 'words, interspersed, ever now and then, _
with a, mild oath or two, accompanied x sudden jumps ‘9
in the air, and fist-shaking at invisible persons; .‘

“ It's very probable." she thought, .‘r‘that, some
designing women have got hold of my poor master, and
are endeavoring to persuade him he’s the father of many
of their children. Well, it serves him right, running
after such disreputable people-4t his time of life, too I"

She got into such a state of irritated curiosity at last, ‘
that she hazarded a soft tap at the door. No answar
:30ng forthcoming, she turned- the handle and peeped

u .

“ Did you ring for coffee, sir i" she said, timidly.

“ No; I didn't!" said Old Corkscrew, shortly; “ but
you‘can bring it in, all the some.” ‘ .

His usual cup of coffee being handed to him, Daddy
Tabaret swallowed it off at one draught, and scolded
himself so horribly in the promos, that he was forced
to dance a maniac dance of pain before the frightened
Marie, 'who again fled precipitately.

 

 
   

 

 

 

 

 .4 DESPERATE prep.  '

‘ l. I ‘1 1a a" 1.. 7' dentl a. ‘ ‘ ' iii-A A . :11; .

. hot, and no “shot. Bother the Widow “No,air;,I won not con second to mean yself y onhim by the hand ants 
u w“o—she'll drive grins“ Bendes, I shall to such basenessi" said the servant, color-in ; “but mont. . ' g x , . 7;.

boeomealaughing ii! I gain: inthis way, to my missus was almost shrieking out her worfi. She Hisagoniee of doubt-his despair at,

detective friends! But whichofthem, after all, could said"— a the, Proof, sewed nigh over; ma,  , . n

have done what I have done, and by the shear force of
habit have built up the whole story, bit by bit? Not
Gevrol—poor creature i—he’s too obstinate 1” And at
the thou ht of Gevrol. Taberet‘rubbed his hands
with do to “ Won't he s voted 7 Won't be be
humiliate ? Won't be be sold? Shall- I- go off at once
and communicate with Monsieur Daburon ? No; on
second thoughts, I’ll sleep on it. I can manage my
ideas better in the diet of the night, and pick up the
various little thr of the web I have been weavin .
0n the other hand, if I remain here all alone, lab

at too excited, and may have a rush of blood to the
gead. They say intense thought, directly after eating,
is bad for the health. 80 I'll go out—— Stop! What
if I pay my old friend. Madame Gordy, a visit ? She has
been ill lately, and will think it unkind if I don’t call.
I'll have a chat with Noel; it will help me to pass the

' time. and have a soothing influence on my nerves.”

So saying, Daddy Tabaret arose, put on his overcoat.
hat. and gloves, and informing Marie that he was un-
ge as to his return, rang the bell at hisf riend’s

oor.

 

CHAPTER 11:.

THE home oi Madame Gordy was one of the highest
respectability. She was comfortably ed in her circum-
stances; and the rising position of her son at the bar
had increased these circumstances into something like
afiluence.

Madame Gordy lived a very retired life indeed, seldom
seeing any company, with the exception of a few of
Noel’s friends who were occasionally invited to dinner.
During the fifteen years that Daddy Tabaret had visited
her, he had only met three people—the clergyman of
the parish; an old schoolmaster who had taught Noel
in his youth; and the brother of Madame Gordy, a re-
tired colonel in the army.

When these three visitors found themselves together,
which was but rarely, they played a round ame at
cards; but Noel seldom remained after dinner—s utting
himself u in his rooms, which were apart from those
of his mo her. He was known to prolong his studies of
the law far into the night, and often in winter his lamp
was only extinguished at dawn.

The mother and son lived but for one another; and
those who knew them intimately spoke in terms of
admiration and respect of the filial devotion of Noel—of
the sacrifices he was sup osed to make for her sake in
living. at his age, the sec uded and austere life of a
hermit. The rest of Dadd Tabaret's tenants would
often contrast the conduct 0 this grave, studious lyoungi
man with that of their landlord, whom they coke
upon as a gray-bearded Satan of incorrigible and
irregular habits. I

As for Madame Gordy, she positively worshiped her
son. In him she saw united every moral and physical

rfection. If he spoke. she was silent, and listened.

word from him was law; ¢urglance of his eye, a. com-
mand. Her existence, in sh , was passed in studying
his tastes, divining his desires, forestalling hisi'ancies,
and envelo ing him in the soft and tender atmosphere
of matern love.

But to return to Daddy Tabsret. " Is Madame Gordy
at home ," he shod of the servant who opened the door;
and without waiting for a reply, went in, with the con-
fidence of a man who knows the house he visits, and is
almost sure to be welcome.

A ’single was candle was burning in" the drawing-
room, which was not in its accustomed order. The
round table moron stood in the middle of the
apartment had», pus into a corner. The large
arm-chair of Madame Gordy-zoo near the window,in-

stead of in its accustomed p by the chimney corner.
The volunteer of the detective police took in all these
details at a glance. ‘ *

“ Has anything unusual happened today?” he asked
of the servant. . _
" Oh,.don'.t speak of it, sir-don’t speak of it, sir!”

“widths , mysteriously. “We've all had such a
fishiti quite upset mail can assure you, and made
  of! tremble." -

, » what has been the matter?" ~ I ‘
4'; ,, " you' know. sir, how ill missus has been for
' the Month, eating nothing, so to speak. and so
nervous that she couldn't sleep a wink at nights.
Why, this veg: morning as never was, she say to me,
she sayai‘e—w ‘ ‘
“ Oh; well well!” said Old Corkscrew; “I don't want
to hear. about the morning. What about the evening?”

Rather disappointed at being thus checked in her hit
of goss‘ig, the serve. at went on to explain that her mis-
tressh one after dinner into the drawing-room as
usual, an , seating herself in her arm-chair, had begun
reading the newspaper. Hardly had she commenced
the first lines when she gave a scream of such a pierc-
ing charcter that it echoed through the house. On
rushin to ascertain the cause, Madame Getty was
found- ying senseless on the carpet. Her son raised
her and carried her in his arms to her bed-chamber.
" I Wanted to run for the doctor," added the girl, " but
the young master wouldn’t let me. He said he knew
what was the matter."

“And how is she now?"

" 3119’s recovered her senses-—that is, I suppose she
,has- for Monsieur Noel made me leave the room—in
fict- uite pushed me out ofit. an I know is thatjust
110W 3 e was speaking very loud—so loud that I could
hear her in the kitchen. Ah,81r. it's very extraordin-
 the same!"

" 9: '8 Very extraordinary?"

“ What missus said to Monsieur Noel.”

" Am a“ my girl i" sneered Daddy Tabaret: “so we
listen at doors, do we?”

       

 

“ My good girl,” said Daddy Tabaret, severely, " lis-
teners hear no good of themselves. Ask Marie—she’s
had great experience in such matters—and she’ll tell
you all about it."

-- The servant was beginning a long explanation, when
the old man stopped her.”

“ Enough—enough!" he said; “go back toiyour work.
Don’t disturb Monsieur Noel by telling him I am here.
I can easily wait his comin ."

And, much satisfied with the little lesson he hsdjust
been giving, he picked up the newspaper, and seating
himself in the chimney corner, drew the candle a little
nearer, and began to read.

CHAPTER X.

A more had hardly passed, before Daddy 'i‘abaret in
his turn sprang to his feet, and stifled acry of instinc-
tive fear and surprise.

This is the paragraph which met his eyes:

" A crime of the most horrible nature has just been
committed in the little village of La Jonchere, and has
plunged its peaciable inhabitants into the utmost con-
sternation. A widow, named Lerouge, who was much
esteemed in the neighborhood, has been murdered in
her own house, under the most mysterious circum-
stances. The police were immediately informed of the
case, and, we have every reason to believe, are upon the
track of the assassin or assassins."

“ Thunder and lightning I” thought Old Corkscrew.
" Is it possible that Madame Gerdy”—,—.-_-

This idea only crossed him like a flash of lightning.
He was ashamed of it immediately after, and returned
to his arm-chair, shrugging his shoulders, as he mur-
mured, “ I think I am rapidly developing into an idiot i
This Widow Lerouge has become a sort of walking
nightmare! I can't get her out of my thoughts 1"

A curiosity over which he had no control, and which
common sense made him despise, prompted him to
read the newspaper right through, from beginning to
en . v

There was nothing in it, except the paragraph above
mentioned, which could in any way justify or account
for the fainting fit or the scream—or, in fact, any emo-
tion whatever.

“ It is a very singular coincidence. all the same. I
don't care who says to the contrary," said the incorrig-
ible old detective. '

He also observed that the paper had been slightly
torn towards the bottom age, and crumpled. as‘ with
the convulsive clutch of a uman hand.

Again he repeated, between his teeth, " it’s strange—
very strange !” .

At this moment, a door in the drawing—room, leading
to Madame Gerdy’s sleeping chamber, was softly opened,
and Noel apgzared upon the threshold,

In all pro bility the sudden illness of his mother
had much affected him, for he was very pale, and his
face, which usually were a calm and self-possessed ex-
pression. was flushed and troubled.

He seemed rather surprised on perceiving Daddy
Tabaret.

“ Ah. my dear boy i" said the‘old man; " I'm so glad
to see you, for you can case my mind about your
mother. How is she ‘3” .

“ Madame Gordy is as well as canbeexpected.”

" Madame Gordy i" repeated the old man, astonished
at the stiflness of the reply. " Come-come, I see
yo‘u’vo had a great shock, and haven'treooverod from it

6 .ll .
" Yes, indeed!" repeated the young barrister,ainking
into a chair, and passing his hand over his forehead;
"I’ve had a tremendous shock." . = .

It was very apparent that Noel was making the
greatest efi'orts to apple» calm, to listen quietly 0 his
visitor and to answer is questions connectediy.

Daddy Tabaret in his anxiety perceived nothing of
this, and entreated his friend to tell him the cause of
his mother's illness. I .

The young man hesitated for a moment, as though
he were consulting with himself as to the propriety of
replying to so decided a uestion. After a long pause,
he‘ssid, “ You are an 0] friend, Daddy Tabaret, and
we have few secrets from you. Madame Gordy was
overwhelmed by an announcement in the papers of the
sudden and violent death of a woman whom she knew
and loved."

“ Thunder and lightning i” stammered Old Cork-
screw. -

In fact, he was so stupefied for the moment that he
was almost betraying his connection with the police,
and was on the point of oxclaiming, “ What i your
mother knew the idow Lerouge ?” when his presence
of mind returned, and he placed his hands over his
eyes, to hide the gleam of intense satisfaction that
sparkled in them at thus being on the high road to dis-
cover something of the past life of the victim of La
Jonchere. ,

“ Yes, Madame Gordy knew the Widow Lerouge,"
continued Noel. “ The widow was her slave—body and
soul her slave. At a sign of her hand she would have
thrown herself into the flames."

“ Then you. my dear boy, must also have known this

worthy woman. ,

“ I had not seen her for a very long .,time.” answered
Noel, whose voice seemed veiled andiiusky Vii-om ex-
treme and sad emotion; " but I knew her. well. I ought
to add—in fact, I don't mind confessing to you that I
loved her dearly. It was very natural; she had been
my wet nurse when an infant." . ,g I .

" The—that woman '1’" gasped Daddy Taliaret.

This time the or old follow an. almost dizzy.
What I the Widow rouge the nurse of col 1 ~

It was too good to be true. Providenceng evi-

 

his success, he bent before Noel, silentan'd amazed. ’
His subtle common sense, however, told him that he

must hide his time, and not compromise himself as

yet—which it was very evident he would do unless he

1 made some remark, however commonplace, concerning

the revelation just made to him by the young bar-
rister. So he cleared his throat, and said. in as quiet
a tone as he could assume, “ What a great misfortune!"

"I cannot answer for Madame Gordy,” answered
Noel, gloomily; " but for me it's a misfortune beyond
all calculation. 1 am stabbed to e heart by the
same blow that has struck the poor dow. Her death.
Monsieur Tabaret, has destroyed all my dreams in the
future, and has, perhaps, crushed forever my most
justifiable hopes. I had the most cruel outrage to re-
venge. but this-sudden death has snap d the wen no
I held in my hand, and has reduc meta help es’e.
hopeless despair. Ah! I am, indeed, most unfor-
tunate."

“ You unfortunate—You unhappy i" cried Daddy
Tabaret, deeply moved at the sorrow of one he loved so
well. “ In the name of Heaven, what has happened ?"

“ I sufl'erl" murmured the barrister. “ Oh, how I
suffer, when I think of it all 1 Not only will the indus-
tice that has been shown to me be never repaired, but I
am left without defense a ainst the bitterest calumny.
The world can now say t at I have been, , ty of's
series of knavish tricks; that I am an~ 'ambi _ advent
1tlurer, without common modesty, and without 

onor." N ‘ " . '

Daddy Tabaret hardly knew whatia'think. 352w
could there be any association betwe’e‘itfile hom'
Noel and the murder at La Jonchere l. A 
ideas, each one dissimilar to the other,  ‘ '
bled in his brain. 1 '

ose yourself. How can calmny ever reach you?

cap 11 your spirits. Thunder and i haven’t
you go friends? Have I desertedy 7'? Trustjn me;
tell me the cause of your sorrow,  in the
casfi if we two can’t ‘strike out a sem’ ething that
m ”—-—  ‘ ,

Before the old man could finish his senteaoetlre bar-
fister rose suddenly, as if struck with a sudden resolu-

on. '

“ Well, yes i" be interrupted. ‘Yes; youshaiiknow
all i I am weary of bearing the burden oia secret that
is choking me. The part I am playing ,ovorwlielms
and disgusts me. I want a friend who can console aid

for we are bad judges of our own causes, and ,
tor lunges me into an abyss of doubt and hesitation."
“ ou know,” answered Daddy simply, “. that Iain

heart as much as ifyou werelmy own son. Make use
of me in any way you may think proper, and Ishsll
be only too happy if it is in my power to serve on.”
m'EI‘he barrister pressed the old man’s hands tween
own.

“ You must know, then "— he comme‘hced. " But.
no; not here. We maybe overheard. Come into my
study.” ‘ ‘

 

CHAPTERXL

Wm Noel and Daddy Tabaret were seated one
another in the barrister's private room, and when the
door had been careful] looked for rearorintrasiou, the
latter remarked un y to the sung man Wiper-

‘hurt at his absence.

swer it." »~

The indiflerence 01 his manner, the icydisihln of -
voice, astounded Daddy Tabaret,  a, 
been to the affectionate relations that had 7 ' ‘ as
istod between mother and son. ‘
allow yourself to be led away by any 1:10me
tion. I see you are annoyed with your mother; by to-
morrow you will have iorgotton thecsnse of that annoy-
ance. In the meantime, drop theicytone' you have
adopted inspeaking of her—it doesn’t please me; and
why this afioctation in calling her Madam Gordy r“. I

"my ?" echoed the barrister, in a hollow voice,— -
n w  n ' I 

He rose as he spoke, paced the room for a few seconds
in an absent, an sort of way, and then, return-
ing. stoodelose beside the old man.

“ Mouse, Monsieur Taborot, Madame Genius: not
my mother I" , ‘

His words fell like the blow of s heavy club upon the
head of Daddy Tabaret. He was stunned, and for some
{incen‘iients sat staring at his young friend. as one pars-

yz .

"0h !" said he at last, in an expostulating way, asif
the words he had last board were beyond all posfibfllty
of belief; "reflect upon what you are saying, my dear
btply Il Think how improbable it is—how utterly incred-
l e " ,

“ Yes; I own it is incredible," answered Noel. speaking
with a certain emphasis. and dwelling on each word in a

manner which was familiar to him. “ It may seemin-
probablo, yet it is true. For thirty-three ' In
the day of my birth, in fact—Madame ' has been

playing a wonderful comedy—ought. I not to call it a
tragedy ?—-to my detriment, and to the profit of her
man son—for she has a son, as I am about to prove to
you." ' g -, ,
"My dear boy. you may speak to me unreservsdly,"
began Daddy Tabarot, who, in the dim distance, fill

 

t
gem M distinct glimpse of the phantom of the w

7

he, '

"Come! come, my boy I" he said cheerily; “com:

 

encourage mo—a friend also who is capable or  .

always at your service, and have your interests at "

haps his mother might require his presence, seated,“

“Istdsmo Gordy ringsthe'bell," wssths was;
ply, made in a short, dry tone, "the  will our

   

 

“For pity‘s sake, Noel," he said, “he  " ' " "

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

r  very

'; . ; e—wee ing willows, marble tombs, grass-grown graves—

 

r . ff‘Mai I'askjhow you‘ve gathered all this curious in-

   
  

 

, ’ V calls a respectable death!

9

  
   

,  give you advice, I m‘LSt know everything you, have to ,

_ in a condition to listen.

I with hasty strides, not glancing at the queer, attentive

" , He seemed annihilated by the tempest of his own pas-
‘ ,gwsre

* since When, after a few minutes’ pause, he raised his
‘  eyes and fixed, them on the bloodshot ones of his ’

 anyundae ting, you might ask the same
 ‘ f many, and would at worse; but when aiming
‘ at a '
 ., Here the old. man moved his chair forward, and darted

‘ charges against one whom I have always respected.

‘ spectable lady in question cannot,ynnder the circum-

 jn-oots ‘2 Two heads are better than one; but before I.

3-.
,But Noel was not listening—indeed, seemed hardly

This young man', ordinarily so severe and cold, so
walled round with'an icy reserve of manner, appeared
to have entirely lost his self-command. The sound of
his words seemed to lash him into frenzy, as the ring of
his harness bell fires the blood or a spirited horse.

" Was there over a man in this world more cruelly
deceived than I have been—more miserably or more
shamefully duped?”

He spoke with a glowing excitement, pacing the room

face'that was looking at him so steadily.

“To think,” he continued, “that her perildy dates
from the moment she took me on her knees, kissing
my baby forehead as she called me ‘her son!’ Her
love for member love, so cunningly professed, was
hypocrisy, her devotion to my welfare a serpent’s cun-
ning, assumed the better to betray!"

" But what end, had she in view? What were her
motives," asked Daddy Tabaret. “No one acts in the
way you describe without a motive, and that a power:
iul one.” “

Noel clenched both his hands tightly together, with
a bitter laugh.

“ Her motive was that her own son might enjoy what
rightly belonged to me."

“ Her son!’ echoed his listener. v
. ,‘" That, unsusp -cted, he should assume a great name
' great name i My name, Monsieur Tabaret,
with a fortune to maintain it—an immense fortune I—
‘Yes l—— high name !-— great wealth 1—- grand position!
This perfldious woman has robbed meof all i”

"‘ Kai" thought Daddy Tabaret, in whom the spirit
of the detective began to be excited, and whose subtle
nose already scented some great secret—" ha! the cork
is beguiling to move at last 1”

was what he thought. What he said was as fol-
lows: “ A serious accusation. my dear boy—a very
serious accusation! And to believe it one must give
Madame Gordy the credit for a mingled audacity and
cunning rarely combined in one and the same person.
To have conceived, and to have successfully carried t
0111:, such a scheme as the one you charge her with, she
must have been advised, directed and held in check by
some more powerful intelligence than her own. She
must have had accomplices-and able ones, too! It’s
impossible that she could have acted alone! Why even
her husband ”—-—- 4

“ Her husband !" interrupted the youn barrister,
with another derisivo lau h. “" And you be ieve in her
pathetic story of along w dowhood—of Weeds and tears

 

 

the paraphernalia which makes up what society
Her husband has ceased to
exist~simmybeeause he never existed!”

Noel paused. r '

and

sion. asunder the strong breast of the hurricane the
turbuleutsea assumes for cinnamon 3 tern-bio calm.
, He looked at Daddy 'I‘abarct as expecting - some out-
burst of feehng on his part; but the old man’s eyes
bent upon the ground, and his long, sinewy hands
his knees. r A '
‘ He was meditating profoundly. ‘ '
 J'l‘here'was no perceptible emotion of any kind in his

fifiignitlet [us wander from the subject. You are
young; youth is im ulsive. You ask my advice. Well,

0 ,
get, the skillful ’mar anion strikes! the bull's-eye

rather than spoke his words.

 

1*: city what means have you obtained
stunts! thinnest extraordinar _ knowledge?
is not evidence. Suspicion is 0 on but a foolish night-
arm. which tortures while. it. deeeives. - Have you
sproofs'!’ If you haven’t. I refuse to listen to such

you “have proofs, then I have a right. considering the
'pgsition in which you have placed me, to demand
 6m.ll ‘ 3:.
"Have proofs." ’ ‘ r '
“Since when?" '
"I‘ve. known all I've told you .for the last three

weeks. ~

“ How did you obtain your proof: ?”

" By accident. [have one h to make any unpreju-
diced mind morally certain of he truth of what I state.
They are but moral proofs, I know; but a word-one
Word only of the Widow Levon a would have turned
the scale, and before the worl , even with the most-
sk tical,~ have made those proofs decisive."

“ ich 'word,” commented Daddy Taber-ct, “ the re-

stances, pronounce."
"Because those who dreaded that she would do so,
have-killed her!" cried Noel, “passionately. "They
, have killed her,in order to shut her mouth forever;
and now Madamoflrcrdy will deniyall. I know her!
"Were her head-upon'theblwkmnd the axewlthin an
inch of her neon-m would deny all—4111 My father,
also, without cowgwill refuse to own moi Ihuve
'papers—substantial;evidence-41ers, under my hand,
when thiswoinan’l‘ murder scatters, my hopes to the
windsmnd nullines‘ them sill" , ‘
Dstddy Tabor-ct shook his head, and mused for a mo- ,

men . - , «
“ You talk of proofs. proofs, prmfs! , What are these

' screw.

the old man. "I will read each letter in my own way,

 

communicatle 7
“Ion shall.” . ~

 

'4 DESPERA TE pm.

Noel paused,-glanoed at the-windows and door, drew
his chair nearer to that of his old friend, and spoke in a
distinct tone, though still in a whisper.

" Valerie Gordy, ielding ‘to a fatal impulse, lived
with your father as s We though, without the right
of t t, sacred title. _

l "Diplomatic relations took him to Italy, and there,
in the a sauce of Valerie, who remained alone” in
CHAPTER XII- I France, notwithstanding his most ardent desire that

" THREE weeks ago," continued Noel, "I was in want she should accompany him, one of those grand marri~
of some papers of importance, which I had placed in I 3893 was formed 5’ his thOOI‘MiO fflmny. WhiCh 00n-
the old bureau, in Madame Gerdy's room. Missin the ' sists in simply bringing two great names and an un-
key' I had to msort to forcing the lock. While oing limited quantity of land together, utterly irrespective ’
so, a random blow of the hammer caused the chisel I y of any of the nobler feelings of the heart.
was using to slide from the place where it was inserted. 1 “ To Judge, by the tone of the letters it proved a most
and strike wrth much violence agamlslt a neifihbcfimg ; unclliaéipyhumon, bringing in its train sorrow, sm, shame,

art of the. bureau. To my astonis men , e ow an es .”
gloved asmall panel, whichI had supposed to be backed , Old Corkscrew Paused for E moment. 83 if Searcmng
by the solid wood. I examined it, inserted the edge of l for a 118W Pomt ‘50 Start erm in his “01‘?-
the chisel 1n the crack or crevwe so suddenly discov- | . " What were youf‘ father 5 mOtiveS." he afiked. bregk-
grad, afid pushed aszde the little panel Without much 1 mg 315:2??? figrlssténsfiizrléif igiglgfgllligd sbtzly alzrgad ‘P t _

1 cu . , ‘r g nse,“no~

The rice“ was fined with paperng crammed, in ; withstanding his age, was an intimate friend of Charles
fact, that they fell out, and were scattered on the desk. the Tenth. and had Qndertaken asqcrct misgion for mm

An' instinct, a mere mechanical instinct, impossible ' In Italy. My father 18 the Count Lionel de Valcourt."
for  to explsiin,t led me 301?]? pp one‘ofatlh?l lstters— gfiddyafibal‘et Stateda by N 1 f tb . t

or 8 were at “ban ' e n unse e 1 o 0 en e n e pronounce oe was one o 9 mos
and sluice at its contents.» 8 p ancient in France, and had, hitherto, been handed down

Old Corkscrew shook his head. " You were wrong," { without blemish or stain from father to son until the
Faggmured’ $33311? at his young mend gravely; ‘ pfigsfgg fiifidfiitinued the young man in alow voice tak

1 “vex. " i , y a ‘

" Gragnted :ybut w§1at is done cannot be undone. I 1 ins up one of the letters. and glancing at its date- " It
read the letter, and before I had mastered sixlines of it, ; was at Naples in the ngiddle of the month of May. 1829.~
3.":er augment“: by,” MW- island‘smsuvgucmingots“

2y 9. er,o w om e or y, esp e mypray~ - _. . . -— -
ers and entreaties, had refused to let me know even the gzgigghigh highcfilrlldmeifllccfimn; 18 aawgy by an ab‘
mama” asslo , o x e o p per sc eme as mon-

lierelthe young man paused, and looked appealinle “ms”: as 112;?” ruinsgilt”, am D dd T bar 1;
in is istener’s lace. ‘ u 01’ a “‘5 0P 3 ” again a a ' a e '

“ You must not blame me; you can hardly realize " Let's BtiCk '50 the bare and Simple facts. Wh¥0h are 88
the hunger. my, the (anguish of curiosity, that p05. follows :--TWO children were born in the same month
{15:3ngsecretfafikgfizrsfiegp 21:6 $21225.“$22212.3’1i2“&t’fii§.§‘i§%£22t§i”“M

e‘, uewaomoo or ,oe : .
by one... y ’7 ~ At the instigation of the Count Lionel de Valcourt,

.. A curiosity which has already been cruelly pun. the children were changed, and the real heir to his
fished. my pom. boy," said Daddy Tabaret' surveying the name and estates was consigned to the care of Valerie,
’worliriing face of the other with a sadness that was full Whlggfeaiggggfi'c?sbi?gggtsgfi "5 the mtg” 03mg!
of . “ eme were em 11, e

“pInymy place, who could have resisted such a tempt- Count’s valet ; a wet nurse. named Claudine Lerouge;
action? It was those very. letters that gave me the thg 001mt hlmself; and; of course- Valerie-
prmgs I Epoketfio  about? just not)”. : Silngfleafiaggsffigé which the plan was executed was

“ ou ave e e are, 0 course ” ‘ ¢

.. Safely ,, you may be sure. you)", my only friend. " The two children, a few days after their respective
I’ve no secrets from yo“. yo“ shall mthem_nay_ you births, were sent in the care of two wet-nurses into
must read them r. - Normandy, where the De Valcourt estates,are situated.

The young barrister opened one of the drawers of his “ These Women were. of course. unknown to 93011
desk, touched a secret spring, and drew from a recess e. Other- _
small packet of letters, which he handed to cm Cork~ Ge 1;; game’s; (311 J33 ggggfilfimguzlgemggsseegvg

9 )
had taken charge of the Countess’s‘ little son, caused
the two women to 'pass the night in the same room at a
wayside inn, where the change was effected.

“A muniflcent reward for her serVices had been given
to Claudine Lerouge, the wife of an honest, but oor
sailor, who I carefully kept the secret, and ten erly
nursed the child of Valerie, who was thus brought up
as the future heir of the Count and Countess.

“ Am I right so far ?” asked Daddy Tabsret.

Noel bent his head in token of acquiesence.

“ And now,” said Old Corkscrew, suddenly sitting
bolt upright in his chair, and fixing his piercing eyes
on the pale face of his young friend, “ where are your
 ‘9”

Noel took back the packet of letters, replaced them in
his desk, and then looked steadily into the sharp coun.
tenance that was peering into his own.

" Suppose,” he said, slowly, and in measured accents,
" that all the proofs I possess in the world stop here.
What then ? " V

Daddy Tabaret took some minutes before he answer-
cdthis question. He was weighing the strength of the
circumstantial evidence contained in the letters of the
Count de Valcourt. . ,

“ Speaking from my own impression." he said, at last,
anal convmced that you're not the son oi" Madame

or y. ' ‘ _

Noel seized his hand, and shook it warmly. ~
', “ Thank you-winch]: you!" he burst out, with a Joy—
ful energy. " You were never more sure in your life,
and I'm sure the world will be on my side when it is
made acquainted with my sad story.”

5 Daddy Tabor-ct watched him as he commenced pacing
the room, talking the while in a quick, excited way, and
waited for further information.

" Of course you may guess," he went on, " that I
sought out Claudine. Lerouge. She loved me, poor
thing! She had suckled. me, and my life, as it were,
had ecome apart of here. She knew the injustice of
which I had been the innocent victim, and her honest
heart bled for me. Need I tell you the thought of her
complicity in the nefarious scheme weighed heavily
upon her conscience ? Remorse, like a viper, was
gnawing at her vitals—the burden Laid upon her in her
old 9 was too heavy for her to bear. When I ques-
tione her, she was deeply moved, and confessed to
rue—whom she so de‘votedly lovedn-tho whole plot.
Three days after my birth the end they had in view was
I attained, and 1—1, a poor, helpless infant, was deprived
of my birthright, of a mother's love, andafather's care.
Poor Claudine Leronge! poor, faithful nurse! aim at
least remained my friend, and promised to come for-
xaidtgas a witness whenever I wished to, assert my

 

 

Now, giving way to his natural and ardent curiosity,
and placing his wonderfully “ detective-looking ” spec-
tacles upon his neon nose. the Daddy settled himself
comfortably in s chair, and unfastened the string that
was round the apers. i ~

He took up e‘ first letter that came to his hand,
and in obedience to a gesture of Noel’s began to read.

_,“ My darling Valerie "—--
. " Valerlg,” remarked the barrister, between his teeth,
“is the name of Madame Gerdy!" ,
“ I know—I know i—pray don’t interrupt me i” said

and we can comment upon the whole afterwards.”

The reading of the first letter concluded, the Daddy
stroked his chin for some moments before he spoke.

"‘ This letter," he murmured to himself, and not ad-
dressing his anxious listener, as he folded it carefully
and laced it aside-" this letter expresses. in burning
ivloir s the writer's deep love for the beautiful Va-

e e." ‘

“ Valerie Gordy "-—-— _

_ “I'm not speaking toyou. I’m only making notes-
notes on my own account. With your permission, I’ll
read all the letters through, and we‘ll postpone our de-
cision till the ing is over." ‘

‘ Then, with a methodical calmness, very irritating to
the nerves of the impatient Noel, Monsieur Taboret read
letterafter letter, now and then pausing to make a pen-
cil note of something that had particularly struck
him, till the last one was concluded and placed with
the others. ’ ‘

“ A strange story," he muttered—" a very strange
story—a romantic and a and one." '

“ And what do you advise 2"

“ Stop a bit, my impetuous young friend—just stop
a bit and let we run over the simple facts. .1! you
think I’ve got them clearly, why, then we’ll proceed to
discuss them."

Half closingahis eyes, but very keenly watchful
nevertheless, ddy Tabaret leant back in his chair,
crossed one leg over the other, then clasped his thin,
restless hands over his knees. and spoke as follows;
Noel listening with a nervous yet absorbed attention,
hanging, as it were, upon the words as they fell from
the old'man’s lips.

 

I came xni.

“ Tessa, then. are the facts—tho simple facts,” com-
menced his friend, “ as or as I can glean them from the
pile of letters I've just perused; and if you'llallow
me, I’ll re at them to you in ‘ sensation ’ paragraphs,
after the bios of some of our favorite novelists.
Your father, the possessor of a great name-1 surmise
this, though the letter is without signature—and an
immense ortune, while yet a very young man, de-
votedly loved a younggirl. . g

“ The young girl was far beneath him in birth and
worldly posi ion. Unable to marry her without the
consent of his'parents,‘ the love of the young people
took a wrong direction.‘

“And she is dead; and her secret buried with her!"
groaned the old man. covering his with his hands.

“ But still," argued Noel, eagerly and anxiously. "I
may have a chance left, you'know. I won‘tmow up
the apgnggias yet.” ht .

“ u to gut nits rig l". murmured his tenet.
f‘I like- a bifave cart—I like courage and pggsever-
slice." ‘

" The widow,” pursued the other, “possessed letters .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Bottom DEED.

9

 

‘ of im «foolish, imprudent, compromising let—
ters, Witter) by my father, some by We
Gordy. I know this to be afoot, for I’ve had them in
my hands. I’ve read them. . ,Claudine even wished to
place them in my keeping. F001! 1001 that .I was to
refuse them i” r . ,

Alas! there was no chance left in that quarter. No-
body waabetter aware of it than Daddy Tabaret.

These letters. of course, had been the motive of the
murder at the vill e of La Jonchere,
' The assassin it found and burned them, with the
rest of the widow’s papers, in the little stove already
described in the first chapters of this story.

 

CHAPTER XIV.

Tun old volunteer detective was once more on the
trail. Stillthere was a flaw in the evidence he was col-
lecting in his own mind. , i

" It appears to me," he said, after a pause, “_ that
knowing your hard struggles to gain an honest inde-
pendence, your iather has scarcely kept his word as to
the dazzling promises he made to Madame Gordy about
your future.” ,

“ He never kept :13: word at all, ' answered the other,
shakin his head 5 . ' .

“ Welgl, I never 1” Eried Daddy Tabaret, indignantly.
“ If I don’t think he has behaved worse than all the
rest 1” . ‘

"Spare my father!" said Noel, quickly. “ Recollect
that he befriended Madame Gordy for many years after-
wards.” ‘

“ Did you ever see him '9" interrupted his friend.

“ Yes. I can still remember being visited when at
colic e byntall man, with a handsome face..and cold,
haug ty manners, who could have been no other than
the Count Lionel de Valcourt. * But the day at last
come when he broke oil all correspondence with the
once adored and beautifulValerie." .

“ 0b, of course l—of course 1" cheered Daddy Tabaret.
“A man in his position—one of the old nobility, you
know—«he could afford to do a dirty action I" -,

“ Stop,” interrude the barrister, with dignity, “ be-
fore you judge him too hastily, and you will see that
he was not to blame.” ' ,

so saying he handed another letter to Old Cork-
screw. 1 .  .

This letter was more crumpled and worn. than the
rest, and the writing appeared blotted in many places,
as with tears. ' , , _ .

Its folds were nearly divided from much ,use, as
though it had been read ‘ and re-read many and many a

weary time. _ ' . -
It intimated, in a few lines, that the Count had be-
I come cognizant of the fact that Valeriewas on the point
of accepting proposals of marria e from a rich trades-
man in her neighborhood; and: at in consequence of
this, she .must consider that in future all relations
whatsoever between them were at an end.

'In her replies, the unfortunate woman indignantly
denied the insinuation, but her letters ivere returned
unopened. She tried to obtain an interview with the

, Count, but in vain, and was at last informed by his soli-
citor that an income of £150 a~year would be settled up-
on her, on condition that she ceased all further claims
upon his client.

“So you see, old friend," commented Noel, as the
faded, ssdelooking letter joined its companions in mis-
fortune iu the pack-woo you see, Valerie’a son had
taken my place, and my hopes are destroyed for
ever”——-— ’_

d He was interrupted by some one knocking at the

cor. ' .
“Who’s there?” he asked, without rising from his
seat.

“ Oh, if you please, sir,” said the voice of the servant
outside, “do come! Poor-missus has been asking for
you this 'alf-hour; but I told her you was engaged.
She’s been asking for you again i” v

The barrister turned very red, and then very pale——
half rose from his seat, then sunk back again. as if irre-
solute what course to pursue. - x

“ Go to herl—go to her at once, my boy if: said Daddy
Tabaret, energetically. , “Don’t be unkind and unfor-
giving! leave those unpleasant feelings to bigots and
narromminded people. It’s a privilege that belongs to
them.“ ' ~ ' -

Noel rose with an evident reluctance andrepuguance;
- then placingbhis hand overhls heart, as if to still its
" painful thro hing, went into Madame Gerdy's rooms.

 

CHAPTER xv.

me one friend had hardly left the room, before
zl‘absgothad risen to his feet, and commenced
pacing the little study. 1

“Poor fellow l" thought the old man. " What a sad
discovery 1 Such a fine-hearted chap, too!
generous, so candid, he hasn’t the meanness to suspect
anybody. But, thank *1 I'm to the fore. I’ll
find out all about it.
but how has it been led up to? There‘s the rub! He’ll
tell me more, presently, without suspecting the inter-
est I take in his words.” *

His eyes had a sin slighted on the packet of letters
which Heel had oft behind him on the table.

“ Ah 1” he sighed, “ ifI could only have one of those
letters just twentyofour hours! Of course, he knows
the exact number, and if I asked him for one, it might
19“. in some way, to a betrayal of my connection with
the palmeg' /

. Old Corkscrew took another turn, and stopped again
in front of theletters.

“ Yes: I'll take one. Out’of evil cometh good. I
gag new be able to compare the handwriting at my

a m‘ll

Daddy Tame had hardly succeeded in thrusting one

He’s so '

partly guess who has done it :,

of the letters into his capacions pocket when the, bar-
rister reap . , , g ‘

.He was one of those men, the hinges of whose charac-
ter, so to speak, have been so well oiled that they bend,
but never rook. ,

He was a late master of his emotions, havin ex-
ercised him 1 in hiding his thoughts and age
from others to such an extent that dissimulation came
to him assecond nature. In short, he was convinced,
and perhaps, after all, he was right, that dissimulation
is the indispensable armor of an ambitious man.

Nothing, therefore, in his manner, as he entered the
room, betrayed what had passed between him and his
reputed mother.

demeanor as unruflled as if he had but just returned
from a common-place consultation with one of his
clients. ,

h“Wcll,” asked Daddy staret, anxiously, “how is
s e?"

“ Worse I" answered Noel—“ much worse! She is
delirious now, and doesn’t know what she is saying.
She leads me with the most dreadful reproaches, and
treats measthoughlwere a monster not fit to ap-
proach her. I’m positive she's going mad i”

“It’s not to be wondered at!” murmmred the old
man. “Poor thin ——poor thing 1” Then he added, “I
hope you’ve sent or a doctor.”

" It’ve just done so, and expect his arrival each mo—
men .”

As he spoke he sat down before his study table, and
commenced putting his letters in order, arranging each
according to its date, and in separate packets, without
discovering the missing one a propriated by Dad‘dy
Tabaret. This done, he place them in the secret
drawer of his desk, and having carefully locked it,,rose,
and began pacing the room, as if by continual move-

bubblingin his veins. , , . ’ r

“ Yes, she thought-to im so upon me—to trick me!
As if she could succeed ,wit such proofeas I hold 2”

" She has grabs.ny warned the Count. and placed him
on his guar ,” said Daddy Tabaret, still pursuing his
detective hobby. -

“ It’s very likely; but she can’t have succeeded. The
Count is away from home, and won’t return till the end
of the week.”

“ How do you know that ?" .

' “Because I wished to see my father—to speak to
him 1”
“You ?” ,

the fight before it has hardly commenced ? 0, you
think that, robbed, despoiled, and betrayed, I will not
raise my voice in protest ? What delicacy of sentiment
should hold me back ? Why shouldn’t I speak ?"

“ Of course l—of course!” assented Old Corkscrew,
trying to sooth him down. “ It’s all right—it’s only
human nature—so you can’t be far out. So you called
on the Count, then i“-

anguish and torture—I decided upon seeing my father.
Oh, howl suffered during that short time 1 1 gave up
work, pretending to my clients that I was ill. In the day
I took walks of twenty to thirty miles, hoping in this way
to gain some rest in the long, weary nights; but in
vain! From the time those letters fell into my . hands,
Ithave never slept an hour!" .

Daddy Tabaret was getting restless. From time to
time he drew his watch secretl
fldgeted about in his chair. “ or i lor l”~=he thought;
“ how these young peo le do talk 1’ I shall miss the
magistrate; he'll be in ed by the time I get away i”
An be suppressed a groan of im stience as be pre-
pared to listen for " further portion are" on the part of
his excited friend. V

"At last, one morning.”,contlnued Noel, "afteranight
, of deep thought and misery, I made up my mind; I
sent for a cab, and was driven to the Count's house.”

The old volunteer detective gave a sigh of satisfaction
and relief. 7

At lasthe was coming to the point.

“ Well, sir,” said-Noe , speaking in his most impor-
tant manner, “ the Count do Valcourt's mansion is one
of the mostemagnincent of those stately edifices that
grace the Faubou St. Germain."

, “Ah l" saidD yTabaret his snufi‘ with an
jolly thing to be

aggrgvating indifl‘erence. “ It’s a'
no u I
“ A princely residence," continued the other, not
heeding the remark; “ worthy of agreat lord. and a
grand gentleman. Infect, it might have been almost
calleda palace. I entered at first a wide court-yard; to
the left and $1“ were the stables, filled with horses of
; the finest b . At the end rose the Iron 6 of the
lmansion, majestic and serene, with its goat ay win-
? dows, and its grand stone terraces. Bob :1 the stately
‘ edifice extended a lag; flower garden—I might almost
call it a park—«hailed y ancient trees almost as old as
m ancestry. . ~
is high-flown speech—this overdrawn descrigiionm
this aggprd enthus asm,annoyed Daddy Tabsret yond
every _ ng.
“ I'm afraid he's a snob, after all 3” sighed his queer
old friend; “but what am I to do? I can't-in fact, I
dare not shut him up. One unguarded word on my

 

3.part might arouse his suspicious, and, like a flash of

lightniu , awaken him to the truth—namely, that he‘s
not s e ing to a friend; but'to an accomplice of Gov-
rol, t e detective l" _ ,

“When I attired}? went on Noel. "a footman, in

my demand, nformed me that the Count Lionel de Val-
court was in the country, but that the Viscount, his
son, was at home. This rather upset the programme I'
had laid down for myself; but having gone thus far, I
did not feel inclined to recede. I insisted, in default of

 

the father, upon seeing the son. After bein passed on
to several at or servants, I was confided to t e care‘of a

 

His face was calm, his voice steady, and his whole,

ment he thought to calm the internal fever that seemed

And why not ?- 'Do you think mi going to we up

“ Yes, after weeks of irresolution—weeks of mental

from his pocket, and.

crimson and gold, opened the door, who, in answer to hi

valet, who begged me to follow him into the presence
of his master.’ ‘ '

"At last,” murmured Old corkscrew, with thither
sigh of relief, and politely suppressinga contemplated
yawn. ' V ‘ "

“ ' was nowcondncted,” Noel continued, “into small
and Big)ng furnished room, whose only adornment
canals in old armor and arms of every kind and sort.
I don’t thinkin all my life I’ve seen such a variety.
Guns,.pistols, swords, daggers, and foils of all shapes
and qualities were scattered about—in short, Ishould
have thought myself in the arsenal of a fencing mas.
ter.”

The arm that had been used by the assassin of the
Widow Lerouge flashed across the memory of the old
detective.

“ The Viscount,” said Noel, “ was half seated, or
rather half lying on, the sofa. “He’s agood-looking
fellow, with dignified yet easy manners, and carries
well the name which b right belongs to me. He’s
about my height, with town hair and eyes like myself,
and there’s a strong resemblance rtween its—stronger,
perhaps, if he didn’tweara bear and mustache. He
looks much younger than I do, by the way, and that’s

and sleep.” ‘
put in Daddy Tabaret.

now. Ten days of mental anguish and sleepless nights
prepare a fellow for the worst. The moment I entered
I broke the ice at once. ' ‘ Sir ’ I said, ‘ I’m a perfect
stranger to you; but my personality is a more trifle
compared with the importance of the mission with
which I am charged.’ ‘

“ He arose at once, and placing the cigarette he was
smoking on the mantle-piece, stood leaning against its
marble shelf. ’ .

“ The mission I have come upon is sad and serious;
I and one that deeply concerns the honor of the name
you bear. v

He seemed hardly to, understand me, andywith a
tone of haughty importinence, asked me ‘ if I thought I
should be long.’

“ ‘ Yes,’ I replied, shortly.

Daddy Tabaret had become exceedingly attentive.

“ Don't omit the slightest detail, he said. “ It’s
most important you should put me in full possession
of the facts.” ...

_ " The Viscount appeared awfully annoyed,” continu ed

N oel. ‘ I’m sorry you’re going to be long,’ he objected.
4‘ The fact is, my time is not my own. I’m engaged tobe
married to a young lady, Mademoiselle d’Arlan e, a. fact
which I believe has already been announ
expected to lunch in halfan hour from this. Can’t you
postpone our interview ‘3’ ” ‘ ‘

" Hilloh i” said Old Corkscrew to himself; “ here’s
another womm cropping up! I wonder if she’s 11
anything to, do with the mystery ?“ ‘ '

" I answered that the explanation I had to make
would admit of no delay, ;, and as I out by the expres-
sion of his face that‘ he was about to dismiss me, I
brought out my packet of letters, and, drawing one out
of the pack, presented it to him. He recognized the
handwriting ofhis father at once, declared himeelf at
my service, asking me politely to allow him to write a
few lines of excuse to the lady who expected him to
luncheon. ‘ ' . r
, “.He wrote a few lines in haste, gave them éto his

slot, with orders to deliver them ‘imniedlwtslyzto-the
Duchess d'Arlange, and then, rising,  follow
him into the library." , - . , 7 .r   ~,,

“One word," interrupted old  ‘f'he
seem much upset on seeing the letters? A. 'C  .

“ Not the least in the world? He was as coolers ell-
number. After carefully shutting the door, he
to an armaohair, begging me tube seated, w t" he
threw himself upon a sofa with the most pea-toot, ease
in the world. r ‘ I

“ 'And now, sir,’ he began, ‘ will you have the good.
nose to explain yourself? 5

“I had prepared, and, so to speak, printed in
the interview, and had decided not to beat j , t fthe

bush, but to strike a decisive blown once. r "

fact, of such a
where to begin. I
"‘Indeedl' hesdd, half 133mg» and raisin!
eyebrows ; ‘it takes a great. to surprise“ alarm
me. I’ve capital nerves, anddon’t know whatpupiu.
“@i’m’hammf’x cred.  in
101m I , "t mw V  . ‘I
won't (regain yo simply {:0er

u long - .I ‘ . wish on

‘these-letters.‘ And, as 1' spoke, I rose Outfde to.
wards him. a ' - r

" ‘ Sir] I went on, ‘I am a barrister. and have the in.
trlcacles of the law at my fingers’ enda.‘

“‘Ibeg youwillproceed,’ e said, the  dying
out of his face ; ’ I'm all impatience to hear the news
you have to tell me.’ r  -

fl ' Sir,’ I continued, " these letters will prove toyon
that you are not the reel-heir to the Vsioourt ‘ ,
and are that timate son ofthe Count Idaho! do Val-
court. The tful heir exists, and it is he who now
Marts his 1’ . I

" He bounded to his feet like a tiger, and, for a mo—
ment, I thought he was about to spring
but he recovered himself instantl . an in a voice that
was almost a whisper, asked for t e letters.

"Without a moments hesitation,l handed them to
m.” ’ . \ r

" What 3" half screamed Old Corkscrew : " you don’t
mean to say you had the folly, the‘imprndenes, to hand
him the real ones—the originals, I mean i” . p
" Never fear,” said the barrister, in a low voice . find
compressing his lips as he spoke. " I was  and
. had prepared in self for any emergency."
There was sue an expression of concentrated unn-

 

 

 

 

“ You must have felt horribly nervous and queer,” V'

“ Not the leastin the world. I felt less than I do,

, and am a

r ted.

" ‘Sir,’ I said, ‘ my mission is a mott‘pflnflil’  L,  In... ‘
,nature that I may now or 

at my throat, ‘

not to be wondered at. I’ve worked, suflered, and strug-  .7
gled, whilst he has had nothing to do but eat, drink, ,1

 

 

 

 

 

r

 

10

s DESPERAZE DEED.

 

 

less and lemony in Neal’s face that .Dsddy Tabaret re- I

called instinctively.

“ He would have strangled him." he thought. " had
heattemptedsny tresehe j l” _

The barrister ‘went on w th his recital.

" What I did for
count Albert do if court—spared him the tedium of
reading through a hundred and fifty-six letters. I told
him to peruse only those that were marked with a cross
in red 1111:.” v

“ And you did (Elite right, my boy. You had placed
him on the rack, ut kindly shortened the torture.

” He was now seated," continued Noel, " before a
small papier mache table, so extremely delicate in
its make, that if he had leaned upon it they would

one over together, and spoiled the dignity of our
nterview. As for me, I remained standing, with one
arm on the chimney- iece. I followed his slightest
movement, and wstc ed his face with hungry eyes.
Never, in my life, or in my varied experience, have I
seen a face so alter. I shall never forget it, were I to
live a hundred years. ,

“ He took his handkerchief from his pocket, and from
time to time eased it across his face and mouth.

“He turns on pale that, at one moment, I thought
he would have fainted; and his eyes were covered with
a sort of film that almost made him look blind.

-“ part trougthis, not an exclamation, not a word, not
a si- h. ’

“[(gmce he made my heart heave with pity. I longed
to admce, and snatch the fatal letters from his hands,
to throw them into the fire, and, clasping him in my
arms, to cry out, ‘ Brother, brother 1 let us forget the
past-let us know and lave each other 2’ "

 

CHAPTER Xl’I.

OLD Connonnw's (gear old face lighted up with
pleasure at the wor pronounced by the young bar-
rister in our last chapter.

“ There I recognize your heart, my boy—your gen-
erous, noble heart l" , .-

" But I didn't . express those words audibly, you
new,” went on Noel, “ because I thought that the
letters, once burned, ten to one he’d have had me
turned out as an impostor.”

" Oi course—«of course.”

“ At the end of about half an hour the Viscount
handed me back the papers, and standing up so as to
face me, leaned against the chimney-piece.

" 'You are right, sir,’ he said: 'and if those letters
were written by my father, everything tends to prove

I that I am not the son of the Countess de Vslcourt.
lisvs you any other roofs ?'

" 'Germain, the v et, can certify.‘

" ‘ Germain died some years sgo.’

" Then I spoke to him of the nurse—the Widow Lev
rouge-«and explained to him how easy it would be to
find her, as she lived at the viii e ofLs Jonehere.”

" What did he say to that l" as ed Daddy Tabsret, in
an or tone.

“ e was silent at first, seeming to reflect ; then end-
denly raised his hand to his forehead.

" ' Ah, I remember now 1‘ he cried. ' I visited her
several times with my father, and on one occasion I
recollect he gave hers cheque for a large mount of
mono .’ -

“ I yobserved that here was soother proof in the
claimant’s favor. He made no reply, but commenced
walking up and down the room. At last he stopped,
and faced me. - r

1' ‘ no you hsppen to know the person who claims to be
the legitimate son of Count Lionel de Valcourt ?'

“ I answered, ' I am the man.’

“5 He lowered his head, and turned sway.

, “"I thought so,’ he murmured; then advancing, he
tailored me his hand. ‘ I bear you no malice,’ he said.
hastily, ' but you have dealt me a reason blow, and I
hardly know what to say or what to think. My father
will return in eight or ten days. I will ask you to ac-
cord me this delay, and immediately he arrives I will
explain to him your case. I must beg you now to leave
me. I feel dessda-ili, in fact ;' and as he spoke. he sunk
‘bsck, as it taint, on the sofa, motioning for me to ring
the bell 10:- his servant.

-“_ I did so. and left him, feeling puzzled myself as to
what my next movo ou ht to be; but all my Plans are
scattered to the winds a use the murder- oi my poor old
nurse. Can you advise me '2" 7

“ Not now—mot now,” said the old man, who was
meditating a. retreat, and was fearful he might be led
into saying something imprudent. " I'll s1 upon it,
and see you again in the morning." Then e added,
afleetienstely. ’ “ Poor boyupoor boy 1 what an anxious
time you must have had of it i” s -

“ Fearful-l and joined to it all, worry all out money
matters.” , / ' ,

“ Money matters! I thought you Were such an eco~
nomioal fellow." .

“ Before this dreadful revelation, which threatens to
change my whole life, I had taken u on myself some
engagement: for a friend, a dear frien . Those engage-
ments I must meet, and, under present circumstances.
I cannot ask for assistance from the family purse.”

“ You’re right—quite right; and I’m delighted you've
mentioned it, for it Just reminds me that t's in your
power to do me s favor.”

" Indeed l-and what’s that r"

“ Can you imagine; new. that I've got in my desk,
poked away among my papers. no less alum than a thou-
sand pounds, in bank notes 1"

, . “ Rather imprudent." remarked the barrister.

“ Of course it is ; that’s just what i meant; and
what I’m about to propose is. that you can take care of
themihrbetterthsnicsn 

maize}, ressed the good old fellow": hand, and shook

with an amused expression of race.

ou,ro_ld Mend, I did for the Vis- -

,,_L colored tissues, that bun

‘5 Thank you all the same,” he objected, " but I'm
sirsid I must refuse."

" You'll do nothing of the kind," said Daddy stsret,
hotly : " I'm accustomed to have my way, and I'll
bring the money to-morrow.” . '

But rememberin he had an appointment with the
magistrate, M. De uron, and rhapsanight be de-
tained all day, he added, imme lately. ‘ o ; not .t --
marrow. I won’t run any futher risks ; you shall
have it this evening. This evening, did I say ‘i—you
shall have it at once i" ' '

And before Noel could stop him, he had seized his
hat and left the room.

In ten minutes he returned, with the roll of bank
notes in his hand.

"If you don’t find them enough,” he said], as he
thrust them into the pocket of the young barrister’s
coat, “ there's plenty more at the same shop ; orders
punctually attended to, and the strictest secrecy ob-
served."

And, without waiting for a reply, he was gone.

“ What a queer old fellow he is,” thought Noel ; “ he
hasn’t taken an I O U, or receipt of any kind.” And he
ran to the door as he spoke, in order to call him back ;
then stopped short, and listened. “ He’ll be coming
again to-morrow,” he reflected ; “ I'll let‘ him have his
own way now.”

He opened his window, and listened to the footsteps
of the old man until they died away in the lonely
Street ; then he wound up is oil lamp, and, after that,
Brranged his hair, and put on an overcoat. Crossing to
the door of Madame Gerdy's room, he listened atten-
tively for any sound that might proceed from the sick-
chamber.

All was silent, as if death already reigned there';
upon which, he returned to his study, and, double-
locking the door, descended the stairs on tip~toe, and,
in a few minutes after. was in the courtyard at the back
of the house.

Opening “a small, green door, half hidden in ivy,
with a key which he ask from his ocket, he closed it
softly behind him, and was soon 0st to sight'in the
darkness of the night.

————-

CHAPTER XVII.

WHEN the young barrister emerges again, it is before
a handsomely~carved door in the Rue de Provence,
glhich opens to him the moment he pulls the bell-han-
e. ‘
The porter in the led e salutes him deferentially, yet
dwii‘tlh an afibuity that snot only respectful, bu cor-

Tbis sort of “ silvery " welcome will be well under-
stood by those of our readers who have been in Paris,
and know the arrangements of those huge houses,
or iligtels, of what was once the Queen City of the
war .

Houses which can only be com to a small Lon-
don street stuck up on end,‘eac floorbeing occu ied
by an entire family, with nothing to connect t em
one with the other but a general staircase—s staircase
which is lgenerally kept in exquisite order and cleanli-
ness by t e porter at the lodge. Sometimes a nobleman
or a rich banker may occupy the groundvfloor or lux-
urious first floor, while the topmost flight or sky par-
lor serves as a shivering refuge in winter, or an over-
heated oven in summer, for milliners, flower-makers,
water-carriers, and others of those who live or starve
by labor. »

Dropping a silver piece into the hand of the obse~
quions porter, Noel ascends the polished oak taircase,
and only pauses when he reaches the third floor.

Then, taking a small latch-key from his waistcoat-
pocket, he inserts it in the lock of the door to the right,
and enters. I

But at the faint sound that the key makes in the
look, a maid-servant, coquettishly dressed in a light
muslin dress, with mauve ribbons in her saucy little
cap, rushes into the hall.

“Oh, it’s. on, sir i"she says, " clapping her hands.
" Misalis has con expectin you for ever so long.”

This exclamation bursts her in such ex remer
loud tones that it must have been heard at the other
end of the rooms, and might have served as a signal of
warning to some one beyond; but the young barrister
seems toe preoccupied to remark the ruse, ii indeed
any rusewere meant. r l ‘

“ Is your mistress at home i" he said.

“ Yes, sir; and in a nice temper, too. It was as much
as I could do, to vent her osllinglon you at our
mother's house. he's pinched me oak and 1119
because I told her as it was sinst your orders.”

“ You did quite right," sai Noel, looking Mghtened,
“ Where is she ?“ .

“ In the smoking-roan; I'm getting tea ready. Will
you take some, sir ?”

“ Yes ; place an extra cup for me. How confoundedly
dark it is ! give me your light :" and, taking it from
her hands, he traversed successively several sumptu-
oust furnished rooms, until he reached the one indi-
cated by the maid—servant. ’

It is an apartment of an oval shape, with a re-
markably hi h ceiling, formed like a dome, painted in
sky-blue, am dotted with stars.

An ordinary mortal would have thought himself
three thousand leagues from Paris or London, and in
1th9 liouse of some opulent inhabitant of the Celestial

In re.

'1‘ e fantastic tumituré with its extraordinarygand
incoherent ornaments ; t e delicious, yet brilliantly-
, from the walls ; the beauti—
ful rose-colored lamps, t st bloomed rather than shed
a light, transported one it once to Hong Kong or
Shanghai. / - ,

Adivan, or sets, \cry large, and vs low, furnished
with piles of cushions. covered with t e some tissues
that hung item the walls, “2.: ;-ta~ci at the further and

 

     

 

of this smoking-room, upon which, smothered up in
cashmare shawls, a young woman was lying, smoking a
are e.

r was a tiny little creature, but her throat, shoul-
ders and arms were exq ter round and faultless in
shape ; whilst her dimpled, yet slender hands, with
their rose-tinted nails, looked like costly Jewels, only
made to be caressed.

Shewas not beautiful—hardly even what could have
been called very pretty ; but she had one ointhose faces
which, once seen, are never to be forgotten.

Her forehesdwas rather too high, and her mouth,
notwithstandm its charming freshness of color, too
large. Her eye rows were perfectly arched, but they
were so alpany artificial in their inky blackness, and
extreme ecision of line, that they gave a certain hard-
ness to the whole face ; but, to compensate for this dc-
fect, her complexion was beautiful and clear, and of a
pale olive color, that had an inexpressibly cool and soft
appearance. Her dark, velvety eyes had a magnetic
power in them very rarely seen. Her teeth were very
white and even ; and her lack hair was long and fine,
with blue learns in its rich, wavy masses.

0n perceiving Noel, who raised the silk curtains that
hung before the door as he entered, she half raised her-
self, and leaned upon her elbow.

“So, you’ve come at last!” she said, speaking in a I
ll!

sharp voice ; “ and it is high time, too

The barrister paused for a moment, almost suffocated
by the tropical heat 01 the smoking-room.

“tht a stifling atmosphere 1" he said. “It’s like
an oven!”

" Do you think so i" remarked the young lady. “ I’m
sorry we differ in opinion. I think it awfully chilly;
but that’s because I'm ill. I hate lying down; it irri-
tates me, and always brings on a nervous headache.
Waitign for you has made it worse. I expected you
yes ay.” ,

“ It was impossible for me to come—utterly im-
possible."

“ You knew very well, however, that two of my bills
twere‘g‘ue today, and that I had several heavy payments

0 m .”

Noel bent his head, and looked as awkward as a
schoolboy whose master is rating him on Monday
morning for having neglected his essons on Sunday
evening.

" Oh, come !" he expostulated: “ you really ought to
forgive me. I'm only one day behind time.”

“And that’s nothing, is it ?” replied the fair occu-
pant of the sofa. "A gentleman—a real entieman I
mean—doesn’t care a fig about his own ills, and all
that; but he cares about those of the girl he loves, and
intends one day to make his wife. Recollect that I’ve
a poIsiétion to make, and if I can‘t pay my way, where
am I!

t “’My dear Pussy,” pleaded the barrister, " only lis-
en ’—

“ Don‘t call me Pussy. I don’t want any pet names
now. My name is Nicholson—Nellie Nic clean; and
you'll oblige me by putting ‘ Miss' before it when you
address me."

" Well, then,’ said the youn man, half amused, half
vexed, " to prove to you, my Miss Nicholson, that
I never forget you when absent, will you accept this
bracelet, which you admired so much in the Palais
Royal last week ?” ‘

Miss Nicholson, without raising herself, extended
her lovely arm and hand to receive the casket, 0 ed
it with the most indifierent air imaginable, loo ed at
its contents, yawned. and said, " Ah l"

“ Is it the right one ?" said Noel, anxiously.

“Oh, yes; it is the some. Only it looked twenty
times prettier in the shop-window than it does now."

“I’m in ill-luck this evening," said the barrister,

discouraged. “Nothing I say or do seems to please
you."

" And why, pray ?" .

" In the iirs place, it’s very plain that you don't like
the bracelet.”

" But indeed I do; it's a perfect love of a thing. and
just makes up the dozen." . i

It was now Noei’s turn to say " Ah 1”

As she made no reply, but simply gazed in a dreamy
sort of way iore her, as thou n she were lookhig into
the dim dis ce, he added, " e11, Imustss you've
a queer sort of manner in expressing yoursstis tion 1”

“ Ah! that's just like you men i" cried the lsdy.
" Never satisfied unless you see us all ablaze with love
and retitude! You bring me a present—prett and
simp e enough in its way—and you expect me pay
you back in ready money." r I ‘

“ 0h, Pussy 1” said the barrister, much hurt.

“Yes, in ready money, I don't mean in pounds,
shillings and pence—of course not. I’m not so mean
as that—but, I mean in the ready money of thanks.
According to your views on, the subject, I ought to an
the whole house with cries of thanks and joy, whilst I
gaspdylour knees and call you ‘ my benefactor, my only

en 1 )l

Cool as be was on ordinary occasions, it was very evi.
dent that Noel was extremely irritated now, and his
irritation seemed to delight the charming Nelly beyond
all expression. »

" Are not my simple thanks suiilcient 1'" she went on.
“ Shall I call in Jeannette to admire this wonderful

bracelet ?"
' Noel made no reply. He kept his eyes persistently
fixed on the ground.
But Nellie was determined to tease and torturehim.
“Oh, I forgot l'Jeennette’s nobod --only my maid!
One of, us, you' know. .Her 1: a would go for

nothing. Perhaps you'd prefer my sending down for
the porter ?"

The young man shrugged his shoulders, like a. phi- ‘

iosopher who thinks it beneath him to notice the pa?-
mlness of s kitten, or the wanton gsmbols of a 3
Charles’ spaniel in its puphood. '

 

 

 

ll'

A DESPERAIEE DEED.

11

 

"Whyido you worry your little head,” he adding;
muesli. “intryingto irritate me! It hasn’t tu'
lites shot, I assure you. It you have any serious

6 sinst me,teil it me simply, and in “low
gig-die: possible; and if I can remedy or remove. any

painml expression from your mind, I will do so at
on It

“ Let's be seriOus, then,” said Nellie. " Iwanta plain
answer to a plain question. Why didn’t you bring me
the three hundred pounds for which I was so ressed ?”

“ Because I had important business, an couldn't
come.”

" And you couldn’t have sent them ?” she asked.

“ If I did not send or bring them, it was because I
hadn’t them. In fact—in fact”-—--

The you girl looked at him for a moment incredu-
lousvlvy, then urst into a merry pool of laughter.

Y " y, you’re trying to act the ‘ Romance oi a Poor

Guns  ’0 I, *

" Act? my poor little Puss i I’m not acting—I’m
telling ou the real truth i 'm ruined, Pussy! I'm
on my ast legs! ‘ I haven’t a fez-thing in the world I
can call my own i"

“ Oh, Noel.,‘cau I believe you i" she said. "Oh, if I
could but believe you were telling me the truth 1"

Her lover received this sudden gleam of Joy like a

er thrust; and placed his hand upon his heart, as
if n sin.

" Sills believes in what I have said," he thought;
“ and rejoices in my ruin 1 She wants an excuse to
break odour long engagement, and to be free to marry
another l” A ,

He was utterly mistaken ‘ -

The ver idea that a man had ruined himself solely
for her, w thout letting a word of reproach escape him,
trans rted this girl with a joy beyond our power to
dose be. She almost felt inclined to love the half-
broken-hearted, penniless man, whom she had despised
when he was pros rous, rich, and proud.

But, suddenly, e fell back on the sofa, with another
and more sudden iit of ion hing.

" What a sentimental l ttle creature I am 1” she
said. “ As if you man could think of anything else but
yourselves i If I spent a ilorin more than you in-
tended me to spend, you‘d take up your heart and your
hat, and say good-bye to me forever 1"

" That's very true i" remarked the barrister, coldly.
"As you never keep an account shout anything,1 am.
forced to do so; and I find it useful in proving to me
how my income is frittered away without the slightest
profit or floation to myself”-—-

The on (1 coming in with tea, put a stop for the time
to this tender duet between the lovers—a duet which
had already been rehearsed on several occasions by.
poor Noel. And we seize this opportunity to introduce
our readers more fully to the lady who has taken the
principal part in the foregoing scene.

 

CHAPTER XVIII. ’

Miss Nam Nxcnorsos was a Frenchwoman, but her
father had been an English jockey, well-known upon
the courses of Ascot and Epsom.

Bron ht over by his master to Paris, he took, after
riding first race at Longchamps. a very enviable po»
sition upon that slippery and irowsy foothold, the
French turf. _

For the first year " Bandy Nicholson,”, as he was
‘ ismiliarl called by his friends, took high honors—so
high the . dos to the peculiar character of his lo a, he
walked into t e alleotions of a certain lady’s~m ' d,’ in
whom the young lord, his employer, took a great in~
terest. They were married. “

A few months afterwards, Bandy took to drink ; and
a few months after taking to drink, he took to his bed.
One month after taking to his bedhe took to his cofin,
and was dul taken to a parish cemeter , which his
master, min ml of his past services, in graciously
procured for him. , .

And Nellie?

Poor child! Three months after the death of her
father, her mother also disappeared with a Brazilian

ontleman, who owned much cattle and cash in Rio
sneiro.

Unfortunate little Nellie! :dn En lira-rose thrown
into the mire of the Paris streets, to e admired tor the
moment, and to be trampled under tootwhen its brief
admiration was over. ,

But Nellie Nicholson had talent.

A talent nickly seen by the ouick
man or, Rigaud, proprietor
hais eater. r

eyes or a Parisian
c the Beaumsrc-

pretty I an em; ment. which—for it was a question
of brag; no brag—was as quickly accepted. It was
a hard life, and the girl’s heart hardened with it.

She had been ilve years upon the boards of this low
Paris theater when, during a chance visit, her peculiar
and striking beauty attracted the notice of the young
barrister. -

Throu h the Mood who had taken him “ behind the
scenes ” 8 made her acquaintance, and a few weeks af-
terwards made a proposal of marriage. - . ,

This proposal, alter a secret inquiry into his ways and
means, was firmly rejected by the fair lady. That is to
fly, that whilst holding him to his bond, she awaited
the tune until he acquired that position which he as-
lerted he was sure to attain.

In the meantime, playing with the madness of his
love. shegermitted him to ruin himself in her behalf.

A m mi se 't—-the tightness of whose cdils were
Ml? “It by t e fascinated victim, because the pres:
“‘1” m 30 sort and radual. -

on my muse be gonad for Nellie Nicholson 7

Christian charity will surely find one—namely, the
T001? 01' her evil education, struck deeply down into the
Pm“ mud; and what, with other and better culture,
mitht Ind would have produced a better result, blos-

Cl'hls enterprising gentleman quickly offered" the.

somed into a Dead Bea gale—wall brightness and beauty
without ; all (last and es within.

But to return to the conversation interrupted by the
entrance of the maiden-vast ‘ -

Ber presence gave the you" x barrister time to recover

He looked at the pretty little creature on the sofa for
whom he had sscri cod so much, and Manager faded
away like a summer storm.

The moment the maid had left the room, he drew his
fililfiil' closer to her, and took one of her tiny hands in

s. '

" Come—come ! ” he said, tenderly ; “ why have you
been so hard upon me this evening “I If I've been in the
wrong, you’venpunisbed me sumciently. Let's shake
hands, and be ends." _

But she pushed hi hand away, saying, in a hard, dry
tone, that she was too ill and too worried “ to talk non;
sense "

“ Ill! ” said Noel, anxiously. " Shall I send for the
doctor ? " ‘

"What for ? There’s nothing the matter with me but
botheration. My life is nothing but a prolonged yawn.
You don't like me to be seen wi h you anywhere, and so
you won’t take me anywhere. A nice sort of a husband
you‘ll make 1 I like life, laughter, gayety ; while you
are as ve as an undertaker, with a black scarf hanging
down 0 his heel, and a board with black feathers on
his head.”

“ You are not very complimentary, Nellie. If you only
knew how much I suil‘er "—-- ’

“ Go on 1 That's just like you men—nobody seems to
enter but yourselves. Why am I not to be seen about
with you ? Surely, you're not ashamed of the person
you have asked to be your wife ? "

“ I tell you there are family reasons "——--—

“ 0h, hang your ihmil reasons! If on loved me half
as much as you say you 0, you'd ‘ no more of your
fine family than I do of the pod of a cigarette.”

" It is a question of money.” -

“ Well, there certainly is something in that," pouted
the little beauty. “ Nobody can get on without money,
and slot of it, too; at any rate, I can't.”

“ I'm ah‘aid that’s very true, Nellie,” said the bar-‘
rister, with a sigh.

“ And talking1 of money reminds me that I’ve my
dressmaker's b to pay, and you promised ”--——

Before she could conclude the sentence, Noel had
filmed on the table a portion of the bank-notes given

ion by old Corkscrew; the very rustlin of which ban-
ished every vestige of a frown from Ne] ‘s lovely face,
and her pouti lips brightened immediately into the
sunniest of em es.

" You are the best _ oi dears," she said, "and, I'm
wrong to teaze you. My bills will come to three hun-
dred pounds. if all are settled.”

" And I have only brought you four hundred. You
must be satisfied with that. I am about to leave Paris
for a few days.”

" Leave Paris I"

"For a few days only, and the result of that short,
compulsory absence may be—nay, will be, our happi-
ness for life."

“ Is it a secret ? Oh, do tell me what it is ‘3” she cried,
eagerly.

“I cant't.”

“ Do I" said the girl,gclasping her hands, and looking
at him in the most coaxing manner imaginable.

“I cannot; in fact. I dare not; but, by-and-by you ,

shall know all. In the meantime. listen to me atten-
tively. Whatever may happen, and under no pretext
of any sort, must you attempt to see me at my house,
as you have already tried to do. Don’t even write. If
you disobey me in this you me do me an irreparable
injury; if goo are ill, or any th u
send roun that old thief-ewhat’s

" Ducroc, the money-lender '1"

“Yes. I must see him to-morrow; he's. got some
bills of mine. And now good-night, Pussy."

" Good-night ; and mind this must be the last of your
awful secrets; for I tell you very plainly, I don’t intend
to put up with them.” -

" This will be the last, I swear it, Pussy—the very,
very last 1" ‘ : V

“ Noel, old boy " recommenced the young lady, this
time very seriou _ y, as she followed him tog‘the door,
"I don't» ieel comfortable about you. You're hiding
something from me. I know Vitehnay. I'm sure'ofit.
For the last row days there, has been something strange
about yew—something I can't describMomething
‘ queerish 'usomething'l don't like.”

He made no answer, but kissing her hand, pushed
her gently back, closed the door behind him,
and a few moments after was in the street.

a: e la a: V as o s:

“ Did you ever know such an annoying creature in
all your life i” said the mistress to. her maid, who had
rushed in “ to hear the news ” the moment the door
had closed upon Noel. r

“ Well, I must say as I never did,” answered the sc-
commodsting Jeannette. “ If my young men was to go
on as he does. I‘d—I’d "-——-— -

" Well, what would you do '9”

“ Well, as he’s only the baker, I’d leave him off lor-
the butcher." ’

“Ah, but, you see, I can’t do that,“ said Nellie, grand-‘
1y. " I’m going to be a lady by-and-by."

“ Lor’ i” said Jeannette, opening her eyes. _

“ Yes, a lady ; and a girl in your position of life can't
understand what m y feelings are.” ,

The maid voucher.de no re 1y. Perhaps she thought
it more prudent to hold her, I gue. ,

" All I know is,” said her mistress, “ that things can i;
go on as they do ; and if I weren’t so afraid of him, I’d
run away ; but he’s so awful fond of me that he’s cap-
able of killing me."

is name 1’"

 

L The maid-servant endeavored, but in vain, to defend

system. Tell me, Noel, tell n.3,“?

unforeseen occurs, '

algal. 3e1- young mistress never heard! yard ch.

" Why is he always away it" she murmured.

"What new home is silent? Eight days" sbsem
looks user. ls he-goingto be married! as, ii'l‘éonly
knew i : t, I'd soon put a stag to his little game."

And in this frame of min , she dismissodher maid,
andth to bed. i ‘ '

 

CHAPTEBXIX.

Winnie rapidly homewards, the young barrister en-
tered by the private door known only to himself, and
waseoon installed in his study before his absence could
have excited notice.

But five minutes had hardly elapsed before them
came art-anxious rapping at his door.

“ Sir-sir, oh, do speak to me i”

He opened the door impatiently.

" Well, what’s the matter ? I thou ht. this was my
study, and it was understood I wasn‘tgohc disturbed. ’

“ 0h, sir,” gasped the servant. wipin
her apron, “ n’t be angry with me; ut missus is so.
awml bad ! I've rapped at your door three times.
You must have been asleep. on, sir, do come! I’m
aikaid she’s dying."

The barrister followed the frightened woman into-
Madame Gerdy's room.

He could hardly restrain an exclamation of fear as he.
looked at her, she was so terribly changed. ,

Heriace was livid in its ashen pallor, and her eyes
which gleamed with man, lurid light, seemed lined
with a line sort of red powder, or dust. .

Her long hair, that had escaped from the not she
wore. fell like a dark veil down her face and neck, con-
tributing, if possible, to the wildness other once.

From time to time a groan or sob m3 lips,
mingled with a few unintelligible words. ,

Sometimes a spasm, more terrible than those thalliad.
preceded it, wrung irom her a cry of pain.

unconscious of the cc of any one in the room.

“ Isn't she awful ? " w ‘ the poor servant ;.
“ and wasn’t I right to ask you to come mdjudge for-
yourself ? ”

would have made such

gross? Put on "our bonus
and run for your life will;  if;

tor Harvey, tell him
come at once.” ‘

I 1 1'

Doctor Herve was the you  inti-
mate friend, Noel knew that  would be.
obeyed at once. , ,

And he was right. for ten minutes had hardly elapsed
before the doctor was in the room. inlets time than it
takes to write, he had taken thalamp tromthe table,
go, after examining the sick woman, comeback to his.

en . ,
“ What’s happened to her ? ” he said, ahrn tl .,
“ Some shock, eh ? p 17'
truth, or I can do nothing,” ,
“ The truth i ” stammered the barrister. . '

. “ Ice ; the truth, and nothing but the truth.  is.
a peculiar case—not at all an ordinary one. 
fering from encephalitis." ' ’ .  l- " ‘2 «
“ Encephalitis ? what’s that? "-,, - ’
“ Inflammation of the brain' ."
“ And the cause ? ” v p
The doctor looked grave, and sin '
" The usual cause is the shock of:
a shock, at any rate, that suddenly; -

\

  
  
 
 
  
 

has Madame Gordy suffered such a shock 3  , I ;
The barrister paused for some moments before he re-
plied, them. tossing his friend's hand, he said, “Her-n,
vey, such a ow as that you hint at has, indeed, fallen“
upon this unhappy Woman." .

Is it thus you

“ Unhappy woman 1 Noah—Noel l
speak of your mother? ” g _
The, barrister raised his hands with a gesture of sor-
rowful entreaty, and his head sank on his breast. ,
" Madame Gordy isnot my mother."
“Areyoumad?” . r ,
“ las ! no ; though the wrong I have enabled might.

weeks since I discovered the dduble iraud; andthe ef
fect of that discovery you-see.” , _,
Another pause ; and then Noel asked, in ’ a low voice,
and without meeting. the eyes of ,his island, “'13 the
malady dangerous? " ,

“ So dangerous," was the solemn, reply, 9‘ that unless
the attack he stayed within twenty-four hours, your
mother—I would say, Madame Gordy—is a corpse!"

 

CEAPI‘ER XX.

ELEVEN o’clock was striking from a neighboring
church steeple, when Old, Corkscrew left his young.
friend’s house.

" What amine I’ve sprung i" he thought, as he walked

' joyoust along the pavement, in a seventh heaven of:

. delight. “ I’ve hurried out my professional friends-I've
forestalled them all! Ha! ha! To think that I, who
am only an amateur,‘should have smashed my clever

right when he said that ‘ Chance was the best detective
of them all.‘ I wasn’t far out, though, about there be.
ing a child mixed up in the business: but I never sue»

cted a substitution. Bless my heart“! 1 :d’ raiought
that sort of thing given over in my grandmother’s time,
and only used by melodramatic authorsat our
theaters. However, as I learnt in my mar, “a word.
to the wise is sufficient for them,’ and it proves the

ginger oi' preconceived ideas in the police. They're.
8

 

is improbabilities that are true ? 'Poor humanity {n.1,

her eyes with '

She did not recognize Noel as he entered—in fact, was. ,

"Yes. But who would have thought that this fever ,

Now, mind, I must know the



have made me so. Madame Gordy has robbed the—falsely ‘
robbed me of my inheritance to enrich her own, son»... R ' '
robbed me alike of fortune and of name i It ienow three ‘

colleagues in the detective police forest Gevrol was -

toned at improbabilitiea, whilst 10 and behold l u"

and.

 

. course I have to pursue.”

, stage effects, had dealt out these last words with erase

. there's sgoed'i‘re‘there’, and lots of books. police re-
' ports, an

,» hot. news: the thin s that

 

, got our man at last i

13

A DESPERATE DEED.

 

 

than tIshouldhavesplit withhughins. h {Iheard
Noel $21 or his gamma relations/:1;l aging. in as

use er—swoman. w, _ . veo -
land as a mkw.sm.wum have lent herself to such
a ham} . {I was, going» propose marriage to her. too.
W’ecli, :Isugpose manoldfool,al£erall._

At this last thought Old Corkscrew shuddered.

He saw himself married and settled ; then discover-
ln , all at once, the past history of his wife. ‘

fie saw himself mixed up in a scandalous law-suit,
with the scorn and ridicule of society falling like an
avalanche on his head.

He leant against a lamp-post, almost overwhelmed
the vision he’had'conjured up.

By this time the Daddy had arrived at the house of
the examining magistrate, Monsieur Daburon, who was
just 11 u going to bed; having left, however, orders
with 13:39:»th admit the old. man, no matter at
what hour he called.

At the sight of his self-constituted detective, the
magistrate hastily put on his dressing-gown and ad«
vanced to meet him. "

a la Grecque from a broad, low brow, contrasting ex:
qulsitely with deep blue eyes, hinged by dark lashes.

She was still very slight in figure, and Walked with a
certain swaying motion, impossible to describein it-
self, but very charming, reminding the beholder of
long reeds in the river, or the waving corn in the sum-
mer fields. She was an orphan, and had been adopted
by an eccentric old grandmother. who alternately
scolded and spoilt her. ‘

But to return to Monsieur Daburon, and the evening
that he remembered so bitterly and so well.

It was in the month of August. The heat at mid-day
had been overwhelming. Towards the hi ht abreeze
had sprung up, and the trees in the gar n made a
pleasant rustling ; but there was asort o shuddering in
the air that foretold a storm.

They were both seated at the bottom of the garden in
an arbor filled with exotic plants; and between the
broad leaves and branches they. could discern, from
time to time, the muslin dress of Clare s grandmother,
who was taking a “ constitutional” after her dinner.

 

“ Something has happened,” he said eagerly, " or
you wouldn't be here at this hour! Are 'you‘on the
trail ? Have you got a clew l"

“Betterthan that i" said Did Corkscrew,- smiling, and
looking at the anxious face before him with an aggra-
vating 0 ss.

“Out with it then; and don’t stand grinning there
like an old baboon i” , .

Daddy 'l‘abaret struck the clenched fist of his right
hand into the palm of his left. ,

“ I’ve got my maul I've found, out the murderer of
the Widow Lerouge !”

“What, already 1 It seems im ssible!"

“I’ve the honor of repeating c you. sir.” continued
Daddy, " that I have discovered the man who commit-
ted the orime at La Jonchere." .

Then, withva precision and clearness to which the
m trate would have hardly believed him capable, he
tol thestory he had gleaned from the young lawyer
that evening.

“And those letters I‘ve told you about, I’ve seen. In
facts! don‘t mind telling you, I’ve ba ged one of ’em—
only to verify the handwriting, m ud you—«July to
verify the handwriting l" w

And as he spoke, he placed the letter on M. Debu-
ron's knee. ' ~

“Yes,” murmured the magistrate; ‘“ I think we’ve
The evidence a ainst him seems
as clear as the day. Crime breeds c me, and the guilt
of the father has made an assassin of the son 1"

“ I've hidden the names as yet, sir," continued Daddy
Tabaret, “because I wanted to hear your opinion first."

“ Oh, you can mention them to me without the least
danger," interrupted the magistrate. “ In whatever
position in life the parties happen to be—however hi b
they may be placed—I have never hesitated in t e

 

“ I knowthat, sin—I know that! But in the present
instance they happen to be very highly placed indeed.
The father, 'who has sacrificed his legitimate son for his
illegitimate; is the Count Lionel de Valcourt, and the
murderer of the Widow Lerouge is the Viscount Albert
de Valcourt.”

Old corkscrew, accustomed, in theatrical language, to

erati og slowness—calculating that they would pro~
grace an immense impression. The effect surpassed his
wildest expectation. ' '

Min Dabnron seemed struck as with a thunderbolt.

He shuddered at first, then stood still, a statue of
astonishment and horror.

Mechanically be repeated from time to time, as soon

as his white lips could frame the words, “ Albert de
Valeourt t—Albert de Yalcourt ‘9”
" " Yes," reiterated the Buddy ; " the noble Viscount—
it.’s him, and no mistake‘; and I must say it's a bill as I
and 'fsomewhat hard to swallow, considering Bi he has
gone through lite as yet without a word that can be said
against him.” I ‘

Becomin suddenly aware of the extraordinary
change in t 6 face of the magistrate, he approached him
in: ’

arm.
" You are ill l-your face is so white! What's the
tter’”

"Hothisg—-nothing. I'm quite well," answered M.
Daburon. “it was only the surprise-the shock. I
happen to know the man on mention; and—and—
well, the truth is, I should ike to be alone for a short
time, just to haves good think, as an Irishman would
say, ‘sll' sloueby myself.' Go into the next room:

all that wrt of literature—just the thing, to
amuse you ;” snd,.so saying. he pushed his old friend
out of the room ; and, directly he was gone, sunk into
a chair, and. covering his face with his hands, gave way
to an uncontrollable fit of sobbing.

 

c  CHAPTER XXI.

Tn name of De Valcourt. mentioned unexpectedly
to Monsieur Dsburon by old Corkscrew, awakened the
most painful memories in his heart. To borrow a
aimile from a great Roman poet, it was like walking
over lava, beneath which the ashes were still burning ;
for the young magistrate had loved, but loved in vain,
a young and beautiful girl, of noble family, and it was
31:} very Viscount Albert de Valcourt who had been his

v . - ,

He remembered the eve men he had proposed to

been.”
 And. whilst he sits ing, we will seize the oppor-
tunity of describing our heroine.

dared’Arlangs had just completed her seventeenth
Tongan” 232;“: 3i“: "" it"s

' ,gen e~ aso , nocenteio
pression of countenance ; hir, silky hair, handed back

They had been sitting there a long time without
speaking, touched with the beauty of he quiet night,
their senses oppressed with the faint odors of the
flowers that clustered round the fountain, when Mon-
sieur Dsburon suddenly took the youn girl’s hand in
his. It was the first time he had ever one so, and the
touch of the soft, white skin sent the blood rushing to
his head.

“Mademoiselle d'Arlange!” he whispered; “ Clare!"

She started. and looked at him with her beautiful
eyes opened wide in surprise.

5' Pardon me.” he continued- " oh, pardon me! I
asked your grandmother before I courage to ask you.
One word from your lips will decide my future happi-
ness or misery, Dear Clare don't repulse me—I love
you !” ‘

Whilst he spoke, Mademoiselle d’Arlange looked at
him as if she doubted her senses. But at the words, “ I
.love you !" uttered with a concentrated passion, she
withdrew her hand with a stifled cry.

“ You—you? But that can’t be possible l” , ,,

Had his life depended on it, M. Daburon could not
have uttered a word. -

The presentiment of a great misfortune tightened the
valves of his heart as though they were pressed in a
vxce.

Clara burst into'tears, and hid her face in her hands,

“Oh, what an unhappy girl I am 1" she moaned-—
‘: what an unhappy girl !"

“ Unhappy l"cried the young magistrate ; " and I the
cause i Clare this is unkind, forl‘d rather die than bring
sorrow to one I love so dearly. What have I done ?
Tell me; don’t turn your head away. You’ll break
my heart if you keep melon er in suspense I"

He sunk on his knees in t e dust and gravel of the
arbor, and tried to clas her hands in his; but she
pushed back with a gent ’eness that was almost tender.

" Let me cry for a little “while,” she whispered. “ It
will do me good. Women are such foolish things, cry-
ing gives them relief! .You’ll hate me, perhaps, for
what I am going to say—despise me, perhaps; but I
declare to you most solemnly that I never for one mo—
ment suspected even that I had inspired you with the
feelings you have just expressed."

Monsieur Daburon remained on his knees, with his
head bent on his breast, like a criminal expecting the
final blow.

“ Yes," continued Clara, speaking in a tone of bitter
self-reproach,‘y‘ what a detestable and heartless coquette
you must think me! I understand it all now. .How
could a man like you, unless possessed by a deep love
have behaved to me as you have done, so delicate
so kind. so tender, and so true? I was so selfish I
thought only 01 myself, and how pleasant itgwas to have
such a sincere friend; because, you see, I have never
thought of you in any other light but as that of the
best and dearest of fathers."

This last word revealed to the unfortunate magis-
trate the whole extent of the delusion under which be
ad been laboring. ‘

“1:: Rose slowly to his feet, with a look of pained sur-

p .

“ Your father 2"

“ Yes." she repeated. " I loved you as a father—as a
brother ; in fact, you re resented to me all the family
I have lost—father, mot er. brothers and sisters.”

Monsieur Daburon could hardly repress a sob. He
felt as though his heart was breaking.

“Ah, by,” continued Clare, with a growing excite-
ment, " was the confidence I had in you not a greater
one still? I then might have s ared you this scene,
which is so painful to us both— then would have told
you that my heart is no ion or in my own keeping, and
that I have given my sole appiness on this earth to
another."

To be soaring up to the skies, and to be suddenly
dashed to the earth.

Poor Monsieur Daburon, we shall not attempt to des-
cribe his feelings!

" You love another 1" he said, after a lon silence;
“ and your grandmother is unaware of it. 6 cannot
be a man worthy of your love, Clare, or why isn’t he
invited here ?"

“There are obstacles l'” murmured the young girl,
her eyes filling with tears-“ insurmountable obstacles!
His family is rich—immensely rich; and, as you know,
I am cor. His father is‘ a‘ very hard man, and won't
hear 0 the match." .

‘,“His father i” cried the m strate, with a scorn he
did not care to hide. " His is er 1.1113 family. And he
thought of them in comparison to you; yet he hesitates,
knowing that you love him! Ah, mu d I were in his
glues. with the whole world against me! What sacri~

ce cans man make for the woman he loves? Even
the greatest is a Joy to him i To suffer—to strive—even
to wait almost despairing, st to hope with a constant
devotion—that's what I love i"

 

 

“ And that's just how I love !” said Mademoiselle d'Ar-

e. simply. _ , _
,answercrnshed the m strate. He felt that his
last chance was gone. Yet experienced a sort of
voluptuous agony in further torturing himself—by“
proving, as it were his misery, by the intensity pf his“.
suflering. '

V“ But, pardon me," he persisted; “ how did you maki"
his acquaintance—have opportunities of as ng with
him, without the knowledge of your gran other?”

“ I will hide nothing from you,” she said, in a quiet
Voice, and with all the dignity that belongs to purity,
" because I think that on have aright to question me.
I have known him for a ong time. I first met him at my
cousin's house, the Countess de Beaumont's, and I have
since frequently met him at various balls and parties.”

" He must belong to a very illustrious ram," remark-
ed the magistrate with cancer, " to hesitate at an al-
liance with such an old county family as yours I "

“ You need not question me ; I will tell you all you
wish to know, without any cross-examination," she
ansWered, with a faint smile. “I will even tell you
his name—Count Albert do Valcourt."

The rrandmother, having by this time taken her
“conet tutional," ap roached the arbor.

“Won’t you come 11, Monsieur Daburon ?” she cried,
in her sharp voice, that seemed to pierce the car like
some potent acid. “ Won’t you come in ? The chess-
board is prepared, and I’ve a move to make that will
puzzle even your logical head."

startled, the magistrate rose, and answered, stammer
ing, " I’m at your service in a moment."

Clare held him back by the arm. ‘

“ I’ve not asked you to keep my secret,” she said.

He seized her hands with a pained expression of face
at the doubt her words implied.

" I know I can trust you,” she said; “ but I know,
also, that from this day forward my peace of'mind, and
my happiness at home, is at an end !"

Monsieur Daburon looked at her in surprise.

“ It’s very plain,” she continued, “ that what I—a
young girl without any experience of the world—failed
to see, my grandmother saw at a glance! In continuing
to encourage your visits, she tacitly consented to your
proposals for my hand." ‘

Briefly he told her that such had been the case; deli-
cately avoiding the pecuniary part of the case, ,which
had so strongly influenced the old lady.

“ I knew it ! I guessedit all l” sighed Clare." “ What i
will she say when she knows I have refused you ‘P"

“ You must know very little of my character,” inter-
rupted the magistrate. "I will say nothing to her. I
will only 0 away, and -— and —- not see you again; that
will expla n everythin 1 Perhaps she will think that
— that -- I've change my mind." He bent his face
upon his hands, and moaned. “ Oh, Clare! the burden
you've laid on me is harder than I can bear 1"

" How kind-how generous you are i" sobbed the
girl, moved by his simple grief.

“Yes, I’ll go away i" proceeded the unhappy lover;
“ and before the week is'out, you will have forgotten
the man whose life you have blighted l” .

He spoke so huskily, and in such trembling tones,
that his voice was hardly distinct. ‘

“ But, whatever happens," he continued, "remember
that in this world there exists a man who would lay
down his life for you i If ever you want a friend, whose
self-devotion is beyond a doubt, come to me! Good-
bye l—good-bye !” .

His eyes were full of tears.

Instinctiver she raised her face to his. He touched
her forehead with his cold lips, and, before she could
speak, was gone.

It! II! II t 1|!

Such were the events that recalled the name of De
Valcourt so bitterly to the magistrate’s memory. He
thought them buried in the sands of time; and here
they were, laid bare again, like words written with sym~
pathetic ink, that start to life the moment the paper is
placed near the fire. 7 .

For some minutes, thanks to the peculiarity of his
position, he assisted, as (it were, at a representation or
his own life, both as actor and spectator.

His first thought, it must be owned, was one of hate,
followed by a detestable feeling of satisfaction.

.Chance had placed the man whom Clare had chosen
above himself, in his power. No longer the haughty
aristocrat, illustrious by his fortune and long descent,
but a nobody—the son of »a woman of light reputation.
who, to keep his stolen position, had committed a cow-

ardly murder.
Here was a revenge, sweet and doe , which he could
strike his enemy

cover under the sh Id ofthe law, an
with the sword of justice.

But it was only a flash of lightning. The conscience
of the honest man revolted and once more asserted its
all-powerful voice,

A revulsion of feeling followed and a project of mad
generosity usurped his former feelings.

" Suppose I save him; and, for Clara’s sake, leave him
at least life and honor? But how—how can it be
man ed? In order to succeed,'Irshonld have to sup-

rese he discoveries of Old Corkscrew, and impose upon

im the complicity of silence; and, after that, iollow up
a false track at the heels of that donkey, Gevrol. who is
now pursuing a hentom murderer. No; it~can't be
done—it can‘t be one i” I

And arain the magistrate bent his head upon his
hands. The clock on his chimney-piece striking three,
aroused him from his reverie.

"I've forgotten Daddy staret, poor old fellow; he
mustbesleepin like a top bythis time. 111:0 snd~
rouse him up. feeling his pulse, 1 may no a way
of getting clear of all my scruples." .

M. Daburon was in . Ills visitorwas not asleep.
but jumped up on his entrance, with the startling
vivacity of a Jack-in-the-box.

 

“Well,” he cried, “I suppose you've been making

 

 

 

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on» warranties» them otzVisoouat‘  devils

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rise; but the latter- ssemed 10st in reflection. Bud.

y he roused himself, as with an wort. audasked

abruptly, .“tht would. you do if you'.were in my
lace?" ' , , .

"Do." cried-the old man. 1‘Cm-yon ask me such a'
question 3' Why I’d!» down. them liken thousand.
of bricks l—like a thunder-b0 ti and bring him here
before he had time to say Jack Robinson ! I wouldn’ t
waste time in asking him captions questions: but I d
crush him at once with my es of his guilt. I
wouldn’t allow him, to'openr his ’r’nonth until I had
finished, and thist how,I’d.begln. .

And then the keen old 1711-! told the strata how
he would proceed ina his examination of .t e prisoner:
and so far. convinced his listener, that he gave way to
his reasoning.and promised that on the morrow a war-
rant would be issued ibrthe arrest at the Viscount A1-
bertde Valcourt. " W

CHAPTER XXII.

0x the same da as the discovery of the crime at the
village of La Jone ere; nay. at the very hour when Old
Corkscrew was proving his case so clearly in the cottage
of the murdered woman, Viscount Albert de Valcourt
entered his carriage, to meet his father at the railway-
ststion. '

The Viscount was very pale; every feature drawn as
by else see days and anxious nights.

All t e servants had. remarked the change in the
" young master.”

" He ain’t hisself," said the cook. “He’s or his feed;
and when ‘a man's off his feed, you may be sure there's
something up.” ,

The housemaid suggested it was love. The valet said
it was billiards.

. The domestic spies were still lost in conjecture, when
the carriage containing the master and. the son rattled
into the courtyard. , ,

The Count descended the first, and leaning on the arm
of hill
mense v ule, the . men-servants stood like .a hedge--
row of corn-flowers and poppies. .  .

Their master cast at [them a scrutinizing glance, just
as an officer mi ht on his soldiers before parade. He
seemed satisde with their appearance, and passed on
to his apartments to change his dress for dinner.
mThe iirst half-hour of the dinner passed in solemn

once.

The Count was a great feeder, on principle. He was
fond ofhisenormous appetite, which, to a. poor man,
would have been an abso ute calamity. He was fond of
remindi his lriendsof the rest men who were famous
for their. gestive powers: hsries the Fifth eat moun-
tains of meat. Louis the Fourteenth absorbed at *each'

“repeat what would have satisfied six ordinar men; and

he maintained that men- might almost bejd edaccorda , '
ing to their digestive capacities, comparin them to
lamps, whose brilliant light was only 0 g to the

amount of oil they consumed. .
On the present occasiOn he eyed his son askance,
tending not to perceive that he was simng
with his knife and fork, and had hardly tasv
upon his plate. I v

At last he broke the silence by breaching a di ,ee-
able subject. He always. adopted these tactics when he
wished to good Albert into speaking.

" Well, I hope you’ve thou ht be ter about that love-
aii‘air of yours; and have gym" up ‘r all thoughts of”
marrying agirl who's as» ' ' 1s a churchmouse ?" g
- “Are you speaking of lare l" asked/Albert. ‘ *~

"Oi'bousse I am i There ought to be no deception be:
tween us. You know I have setniy face against your mar"

a woman without money. A manor your birth
31318141, think only of his earns, and .how further to
exalt it." . I ' ' V y ‘r

The conversation upon this subject might have be-
come in is not Albert, in despite of 1a visi-
ble restraint, kaptzhimself “ outside the ring” of the
discussion, answering some direct question from lame
to time in simple monosyllables. At last the old Count
lost his temper; _

.“By the blood of m ancestors,” he cried at last,
bringing down his hat! upon the table till the glasses
rung again, " I sometimes think‘you're not wor
belong to so great a family neithe De Valcourts l"

pre
pinyin
a morse

There are certain conditions of the mind when the

least conversation becomes extremely painful. For the
last hour Albert had been» suffering an intolerable
agony. The patience with which he had armed himself
deserted him at last. ' , .

"‘ And if I do not belong to your illustrious. race, sir,
berh no one can give better reasons for my misfor-
tune t en on canl’ , ,

‘ The look with which the young Viscount accentuated
t {is sentence was so full of , meaning that his father
“timed beck in his chair.  A ,
’ ‘IaOh't'undertand you." ‘ ' .

Albert would have given anything to recall the words ;
but it was too late.

" " Sir.” he continued, with evident embarrassment,
h‘" ‘0 fipeak to you upon matters of the most ser-
ious kindhmatters so serious, that my tongue hesitates

7 ' But ashamed seeming!

com-ascended the flight of steps. In the im-'

£3:ng mm s
ditl'sl'ent countenance of the co

by to‘

 

how tomorrow-roar
otthefamily,arealikhimp  ,  3. , 
. "Fists. tiniest-l” interruptedejbem harshly.
“I want me effluent-speeches. .

There was a pause oi, some moments; then Albert, ;

lie ' . .timavdthxmtr decision. . ',‘-
“,2 In uyue.iir’nlaeeai<:e, sin, m“ been made acquainted
withsome of, the circumstances of your past life. ,I
have read the squalid? your omresmmlence with
WeValu-ie eGe . ,.’.’;. . r . . . .
Count didn’t loave Albert the time to finish: his

He raprunglto his foetas though stungby a
0v .hischairashedidso. -, r

" Not another word l" he cried, in a menacing voice—
",not another word; m1 your peril l" ,
y of his sudden 'on,“he re-
covered himself almost immediately, and lilting up his
chair with an infestation of extreme calm, replaced it at
the table. , .. - ' ' ' ~

There were long pause. .

The father avoided his son’s eyes, and spoke, this
time in afirm, though low voice. “ Now, Albert, ex-
plain. Tell me b what means you have had knowledge
01 this comspou nee."

“ Sir, I have no intention to hide anything from you.
As far as I know it, yourrshali know all. On Sunday
morning lasts young man presented himself here,
declaring he was charged with a message for me of the
highest importance, which, nevertheless, could be de-
livered only to me. This man revealed to me the
secret oimybirth." , r _ ’

"And you didn’t have the rascal thrust out of our

__-..

' doors ? " exclaimed the Count.

,"No, sir. I might have done so had he not, with a
calmness that contrasted strangely with my passion,
desired—nay, demanded that I ould peruse a packet
of letters which he placed upon» the table before me.
Taking them in my hand"—

" You threw them in the fire, of course ‘i ” interrupted
the Count, leaning anxiously forward. "You had a
are in your room, I know. You can‘t mean to tell me
you had such documents in your hands for a moment
only, and that they still exist?"

“ No, sir ; l entertained no such thou ht. They were

placed in my hands in confidence. sides, I recog-
nized your hand-writing. I took the letters"—
' " And you read them?"

" ve One! " e .
Tie 01 Count turned deadly pale, and, reaching his
hand to a decanter of brandy hat stood on the table,
poured out aglaes 1. but before he could raise it to his
ips, the door was opened abruptly, and a servant. with
a frightened face, appeared upon the threshold, whilst
others ofhis fellows were seen further down the cor-
ridor. their gestures denoting surprise and alarm.
‘CMTEB XXIII. ,
Tun pale faced therein Gaunt do Valoourt flushed

crimson, as he stood facing his servants, with all the
arrogance that beilonged to the traditions of his ancient
race

" What's the meaning of this ? " he commenced; but
before he could finish the sentence, the servant, regard-
less of his master's imperious bearing, had advanced
towards Albert.

"0h,*sir ! " he asped imploringly, clutching Albert
by the arm as he did so. “ Come with me—let me hide
you! I’ve heard the charge-fly whilst there’s time!
They’re here i they're here i " ,

" The police 1 "

Albert shook ofi‘ the hand of the frightened valet, as
the door of the dining-room opened, and a comm

of police entered, wearing his scarf, and holding a paper

in his hand '

Without lancing to the right orleft, be advanced at
once tow the young Viscount. .

" Your, name, I believe, is Albert Lionel de Vsloourt,
commonly5 called the/Viscount do Valeourt ? "

" Such my name.” . _

The police emcer extended his hand, stream at
the, same months usual'formula, " isoount do s15
court, in the name of the law, I arrest your! " ' ‘

“ Arrest moi-«and upon what charge? ” J

' ” Murder l " .

Awaeued suddenly.» iron: the psmnil‘ conversation

that bed token {lines between his father and himself, the

once wandered from face totsce in utter
lament. wIt rested for a moment upon the inn
mm of police, and
then fixed itself upon the eager, scrutinizing visage of

,0 d Corkscrew. ,

. “Here is the warrant," added the commissary, un-
fol ‘ afiperashespoke. _ .

Mec anionily, Albert east his eyes over it. .

“ The Widow Lerouge murdered! “ he cried. Then

in a whisper, but distinctly enough for his

accents tobe caught by the commissary of police and
Old Corkscrew. “Wulamlust I" -

Whilstnthe commissary of police fulfilled the usual
formalities following upon an arrest, according to
French urisprudenve, his agents had dispersed themo
selves a out the Viscount’s apartments, and proceeded
to the most minute examination of all the contained.
They had received orders to obey 01d Cor screw, and,
under the direction of that astute individual, rummagedfl
the prisoner’s private capers ; pulling out the drawers,
upsetting their contentsron the floor, and searchin ,
with an exquisite patience. every article of clothing h s
wardrobe contained. It was a sight worthvwitnessin
certain articles, which were carefully written down in
,the omclal report.  r . ' ‘ '

First. In the passage or ball leading to the risoner’s
roonis,_whieh is prehiser ornamented with o d armor,
was found a broken foil. This arm has a peculiarly;
shaped hilt. not in use in the present day. It is orna~

, ~to hays seen~01d Corkscrews face, when, he called on

. returning!) the salutation,

 

Jain. and “whom! «mashed with acossit’scoroacwwiihlthsemituwnv."

This foilis snap lathe  has. not
yet been muddle, primer. on  Wed,
professes entire, ignorance as to what has. Moment the
“flu  a: room serving alums-y ' pair
is e , J I ‘
of b ack cloth trousers“, spotted with Jnud, the knees
smeared with agrseniah hue.
wail. ,Also. alrent on the right knee, as them snail.
The atomaid trouserswsre nothung with the rest of
the clothing in the wardrobe, but were thrown behind
two traveling-trunks.,, _,
mm. In the pocket of ~ the trousers above-
mentioned were found a l-

plll‘ of,
The palm of the right-hen glovgmii

loves._

grained with a green stain, as hem moss 01-
fresh . Wooded manager-suntaan from
scratc or climbing. The bachot theglov'es also

are fray aaif torn by the hands of nominal, human
01.Dawn '1" pairsfbots n ' '

Fourt . we 0 o , one pa cleaned
and: varnished, but still very wet. Anm, moist
from recent rain, its ferule covered with a vahitish
clay.

Fifth. In a large room, called the library. a box of
cigars. called Trabucos; and u on the chimney—piece,-
several tubes and holders, in am and meerschaum.

These last articles being duly recorded, Daddy Tab-
aret approached the com of as.

“ I have obtained all that I 00:11 have desired," he

whispered. “ That y man has spoken the truth
for once. He is lest he ofrecovery.“
In traversing the vestibule, bert remarked the bud-

dled groups of servants, and how they pointed and
whis ered, as though he hsdbesnastran . Then he '
hearse. long low moan in the room Myonfidbwed by
a heavy tall. His heart swelled, and then turned hint,
as avoice cried for help, saying that the old Count had
just been stricken with an spopleetic fit.

They almost carried the ., poor young fellow to the
cab they had in waiting, and than he remembered no
more, for he had fainted. _

CHAPTER XXIV.

In the meanwhile, Monsieur Daburon, the magistrate.-
wagtawaiting with feverish impatience the arrival of a
ms or.

Besides the warrant issued for the arrest of Albert de
Valcourt, be had issued, others for the immediate ap-
fieannce of the Count do Vdcourt, Hadame Gordy,

eel, and several of the servants belonging to the young
Viscount.

He wished to examine all these people before the
arrival of the accused. r
G Tlse person he now expected was Monsieur Noel

or y.

It was half-past niacin the mornin , his usual hour
for receiving witnesses and common, business; but
never in his life had he felt so nervous and utterly mis~.
erable at the thought of the ordeal that was before him.

At half-past ten an usher introduced “ Monsieur Noel
de Gerdy.” , - »

He entered with the easy, unembarrsssed air of a man
who is perfectly acquainted with all the ins and outs of
a law court, and no one could have recognized in him
the individual who had confided in Daddy‘ Tabaret,
much less the nervous lover of Miss Nellie icholson.

From the exquisite propriety of his dress, his quiet
face, and repose of manner, even the most astute ob-
server would scarcely have imagined that he had
passed an evenin and night replete with the (most vio-

ent emotions, of a furtive visit to the girl he loved,

followed by anxious hours at the bedside of a
dying woman—and that woman, one whom «he had,
until then, believed to be his mother!

What a dinerence betwixt the magistrate and him.

self! . I ' ,
The in tratealsohad passed, 'a sleepless
fact thatfltmyed itself in his languid step, his care-
worn face,and the dark hollows round his eyes. “
v "You sent for-me, sir ” said the, young ban-later,
bowing respectfully: - and I have lost no time in obey-
ing our orders." ' ‘ ' ‘
" on are, of course, aware," said Monsieur Daburon,
me! the unhappy nature. of
£110 bus ess ,that has "compelled your Jppeu‘snee
are l , 4 . . J . I l,

“ Yes, sit; the assassination of thepoor old woman at
the village of La Jonnhere.” ' ‘
,, “Precisely; and if you think the summons some-
what;hasty. it is simply because your name appears
fregpently in the papers found in possession of the
Wi ow Lerougeifi x ' -.

f‘I’m not in'tlraleastsurprisedfiat that,” answered
the barrister; “we were much interested in the poor
woman, She was In! purse,.and I know that Madame
Gerdy wrote to her very frequently." 1

“ Very good! You will, of course, be able, then, to
give us some information.” ' ' - I.‘ ,

“Very insufficient, I’m afraid. In short, I hm
nothing of the poor‘ creature in question. I was than
from her care in early infancy, and since I’ve been a
man, I’ve hardly given her a thought, except to send
her from time to time some pecuniary aid.”
’ “ You neverwent to her house ‘2'?

"Oh, es——scveral times; but when I did, I only
remsmm a few minutes. a Gordy, who saw her
often, and to whom she confided-her most private
2.3mm? cannenlighten you upon the subject far better

an «an. 7

"But," saidthe magistrate, " I am ' Madame
Gordy). She has, ofceurse, received a mug". : .-

" c has; but. she can’tappear; she is ill.”
erously so?” - L I ’

usly that I think it would be advisdole
to give up all idea of her a co in this case. She

Is 
“so

 

is. attacked with a‘ mal y which, Iceordin to-iny
mend Doctor Harvey, whose name you poseib y know,

.\_

 lift "‘~ 1 .

mum ,

 

 

 

15

' J DESPERATE JDHED.

 

 

is “I; It’d ‘semethiagothat has attacked the brain.
I think

Incomes, called it. Her life, he said,
mum-but never bei- reason."
Dsburon looked grave.

very '

“This is bad news. indeed," he murmured. “ And so
you think that it will be impossible to obtain any evi-
deuce in thst quarter ?" v

"It’s not even to be thought of. She is quite de-
lirious, and when I left her, was in such estate of
physical and mental prostrstion that I fear she'll not
get thro h the day.”

" And w on was she taken with this illness ?”

“ Yesterday evening.” ‘ '

" Suddenly ?" .

" Yes, air. a ntly so;:but, for my part, I’ve strong
reasons Yto eve that s3: ha? Bison mtg fozi‘w‘egx

t. esterday,onea g 0 storm e,se
are“: new . and by an unfortunate chance her
eyes fell upon t very pb that announced the
murder. With a loud cry, s e raised her hands to her
head, staggered towards the sofa, then fell face dowm
wards upon the ground, murmur-lug, ' 0h, unfortunate
boy-unfortunate boy! ’ "

“ Boy ‘2. Woman, you mean.”

" No, sir; those were her words. Evidently the ex-
clamation did not refer to my poor old nurse.‘

Upon this important answer, given in the most na-
tural manner possible, the ma strata raised his eyes
to the young man‘s face. The arrister bent his head.
. “And what followed?" ask? Monsieur Daburon,
sfier apause, durin which he ad been makin notes.

“ Those were the t words she uttered. ith the
help of our servant, I carried her to her bed, and at
once sent for the doctor. Since then she has not re-
covered consciousness. The doctor. in fact"—

" Very good—very good!" interrupted Monsieur
Daburon. “ Ste where you are at present; we'll come to
the medical evi nce afterwards. Now, tell me on your

oath, do you know if the Widow Lerouge had any ‘

enemies ? "

" None that I know on", .-

“ Goudi She had no enemies, then; but do you
know if there existed any one who might have been in
any way benefited by her death? "

The ma istrate fixed his eyes on Noel, as he asked
this ques on. '

The barrister hesitated, and seemed deeply moved-
put out of countenance, in fact. In a faltering voice,
he reiterated his former answer, “ None that I know of."

." On your oath." said the magistrate, fixing his eyes
still more penetratineg on the shifting ones that met his
—-“ on your oath, can you say that you are not aware
of any one who would profit by this crime?”

_ “ I only know one thing, sir," answered Noel; “ and
'trilljflt is, that it is likely to dome the most irreparable
i ury.”

“ At last," thought Monsieur Daburon, " we come to
the letters, an, haven't as yet betrayed Old Cork-
screw 2 ” Then he said, aloud. “ An irreparable injury
to ourse‘lf? I don't understand." ,

oel's embarrassment increased, rather than de-
creased, at this inquiry; ,

“ I’m aware. sir," he answered, “ that I ought to
speak the truth and nothing but the truth, but still
there are circumstances so delicate that a man of honor
shrinks from unveiling them."

Monsieur Daburon stode him b a gesture. The
sad hesitating voice of Noe touched im.
“ I know your story," he said; “ but how I came by
that kuowl e, I am not at liberty to revea .”
The young ter turned white to the very lips.
Then. after a pause. he told his story—a story which
, is already brown to the reader.

With a rare eloquence, he expressed his feelings on
the marrow of his discovery that he was not the son of
Madame Gordy, but the le timate son of the Count
Lionel de Valcourt. He spo e with feeling of the shock

.3! t3; discovery, of his grief. his perplexities, his
., ou . r

 

.. Monsieur Daburon listened to Noel’s story with the

 -' most intense attention. : Not a word, not a gesture, not

1 ‘ cyan a movement of the eyebrows, betrayed his impres-

r V 3 0m; _ ,.

’v ‘ é “ And how.sir." observed the magistrate, " after hav-

,  heard what you have told me, can you now say that

“3131.0 one, in your opinion, had any interest in the death

 the Widow Lerouge ? "

“if: The young barrister was silent.
 “ It seems to me that the milieu of Albert do Val-
oourt becomes almost unasssi able. Madame de Gordy
is insane. The Count will deny everything. And all

> your letters prove nothing. I must confess that this

" crime is-the luckiest thing that could have taken place

 

in the interests of the young Viscount.

" on, air!” cried Noel in strcn retest; “ such an
 insinuation is dreadful!” 8 2
w  The magistrate looked narrowly into the face of the
f young barrister. '
' ‘ Was be speaking frankly. or playing a little game of
his own? .
P, :1; Noel never moved a muscle, and replied almost 1m,-
; vgnediately. .
‘ ff- “ What reason could this Ivl'ouug man have to fear, or
g" r ‘ I oven be nervous. regarding. is position ? I have never
, , .;threatened him. even in the most indirect way. J
t  ly told him the facts of the case, asking him to
" thirfi over them. and make a final decision."
“ And he asked {:11 to give him time 9' ’
“ Yes. leaked m to accompany me to the Widow
Lerouge, whose evidence would clear away all his‘
doubts, but he didn’t seem to understand me. He
knew the old woman well. however. having visited her

9

, received large sums of money.”
“(Didn’t this extraordinary generosity appear to you

 

' somewhat art”

I
i
E constantly with the Count, from whom. to my knowl-
E '{ Not in the least." .

 

“ Out: you explun why the Viscount didn’t seem'dism
o I ‘ .

(chew on P
“ Certainly.  told me he wished, above all things,

" You didn‘t intend to to law, then '3" interrupted
the magistrate, in a ship sod tone. ' '

“Not on any account! Do you think, sir," he added,
proudly, “ that to recover a name that belonged to me,

should commence by dishonoring it i"

M. Daburon’s eyes brightened with a sincere ' ad-
miration. ‘ '

“ I admire your unselnshness,".he said, extending his
hand as he spoke, and grasping that of the young berm
rlster; " but it is my painful duty to tel you that
Justice must have its course; and that, perhaps, before
this day is over, you may enter into possession oi our
rights. In fact, that at this very hour, Viscount bert
de Valcourt has been arrested for murder!"

" What!" exclaimed Noel, in a sort of stupor. “ It’s
true. then; andI wasn’t mistaken as to the real sense
of your words! The fact is, I was afraid to understand
their meaning.”

“ You understand them now, however, sir,” inter-
rupted Monsieur Daburon; " and I thank you for your
frank and straightforward explanations. They most

.materially lighten the painful duty I have before me.

Let me see you again..tc~morrow. In the meantime, I
must ask you to forward me the letters which are in
your possession." .

“In an hour you shall have them,” answered Noel.

tAnd, taking up his hat, he left, after having warmly

expressed his gratitude to the magistrate.

A few minutes after, the door of Monsieur Daburon’s
office was again reopened, this time without any pre-
liminary warning. > > ' ' '

He looked up in angry surprise.

In the doorway stood the figure of the Count Lionel
do Valcourt, stifl‘, pale and stem, like one of those ancient
portraits that seem frozen in their golden names.

 

CHAPTER xxv.

V YES; it was the Count Lionel de Valcourt—but rather
the shadow than the man. His head, which he usually
held so erect, was bent upon his breast; his figure was
bent, his eyes had lost their are, and his long white
hzlnds trembled as though he had been smitten with
p sy.

In one night he had aged twenty years. ,

These robust and handsome old men resemble those
ancient trees, whose interiors are eaten with decay,
while the bark retains all the appearance of vigor and
youtllli, but crumble into powder at the first rough
ouc . .

They seem to defy the cruel hand of Time; but the
first tempest lays them low.

The Count looked such an embodiment of despair
ithat the magistrate shuddered with a feeling of genu-
ne p y. ‘

h Heifose, and handed him a, chair, into which he sunk
eav y. .

" Pardon me!” he said; “ but I feel so weak that I can
hardly stand upright!"

Few, even amongst his friends, had ever heard the
proud old man excuse himself; but now he spoke
humbly, and as a child.

“ I fear you are too ill, sir,” said Monsieur Daburon,
“ to be able to aid me with any explanations upon this
most painful aflair 1’”

“Oh ! I'm better—better, thank you i" answered
the Count. “ I feel as well as can be expected alter the
terrible shock Ihave received. I was stunned at the
horrible news—that’s all ! only, stunned i I'm better
now-ubetter now! , My servants thought I was dead—-
would to Heaven that I were i The doctor'says that the
vigor of my constitution saved me ; but I think that
God wills that I should live, for some inscrutable pur-
pose of His own 1"

He stoppedabruptly. . A rush of blood to his face and
throat seemed to suflocate him. '

The magistrate remained standing, hardly daring to
move. v
- After a few seconds, the old nobleman continued,
in a tone of bitter self-r roach: “ Fool that I have been.
not to have foreseen it i Isn't everything discover-
ed sooner or later ? I am punished where I sinned; by
pride! I thought myself above the thunderbolt, and
have drawn the storm about my own house 1 My son a
murderer ! One of the De Valcourts a criminal at the
bar 1 The. very thought is. madness I Oh, sir, punish
me, for I alone am uilty 1 With me, an ancient name,
that has existed wit out a stain for centuries. will be
blotted out in ignominy l" -

Monsieur Daburon had eipected very different lan-
gu from this. He thong t to have met a proud and
inso ent aristocrat, who would have spoken to him with
a galling condescension; and he had made up his mind
to level his pride to the dust. '

Perhaps it was, also, that a drop of bitterness remain-
ed in his innermost heart, when he remembered how
the high-born Clare d'Arlange had refused to ally her
name with his. ’

Whatever it was, his 3 irit changed within him into
one of profound pity, as e witnessed the deep repent-
ance and‘self- nproach of the grief-stricken man before
him:and his 0 y thought was how to console, rather
than to blame.

“ Write—write what I amabout to tell you, for brain
and heart alike seem failing me !" pursued the Count,
with a feverish excitement, of which, a few minute before
an observer would have hardly thought him capable.
-‘ Writs my confession, and don't suppress a word.
want no pity, no delicacy on your part. Besides, what
have I to fear now ? Isn't our shame a thing prcx‘laim.
ed on the house-tops ? Won't it be a public scandal in a

§

H

 

Jew days, that], Lionel do Valccurt, will be forced to
appearincourt, to proclaim the infamy that then
brought on my ancient house and name 7 Write, sir,

=am

’to have an explanation with his father, who was out of write; and let all the world know that I alone
town, but would return in stew days. New I to guilty 1" ,

have arranged ev thing without any public scandal— Re I for a momsnt, as though to collect and
to have washed, 1%; our dirty linen at home." condom ideas, Ind continued. in e voice that be-

camenrmerandmoresonorousashep .
Without reservation. he told the magistrate
of his relation with Valerie Gcrd , of his passionate and
blind passion for her, of his un appy , of his
substitution of the children. and of the cause 'of his
assertion of Valerie. He told how a Mead came-a
cruel n-iend. envious of his happinness—and proved to
him that Valerie was false—the woman he had taken
a garret, where she was gainin - a miserable pit-
tance with her needle, had betrays , and was betray-
ing her benefactor. Ila caused her to be watched,
closely watched, and found that she received the visits
of a young cavalry omoer.
bags-com, Isaw,” pursued the Count, " upon her table a
ri g-whip, a cigar-end, and a pair of military gfiwes.
the cigar-end ati burning. I retired." he con ‘ ued,
“ unperceived. I was too fond to upbraid, too shocked
to ptter sword. Since that time I have never looked
upon her face. She wrote, and I cast the letters into
the fire unopened. She sought fin and again to havo
an interview with me, but in . My servants had
their orders from me, on pain‘ of dismissal. What I
suffered then no words can describe. In partin them
her it seemed as if I were lacerating my own in ; but
my anguish did not end here. Agonizing doubts arose
in my mind as I looked in Albert’s face. Was he really
my child? and had I sacrificed my own son for the son
of another? The mere thouhgkht was torture. Some-
times I was on the point of m ing a public confession,
and reclaiming the legitimate heir to my name and
lands ;.but old prejudices, belonging to birth and rank,
held me back. I reeled, as it were, at the thought of
the scandal and ridicule that would be heaped upon
me. And now see how degraded I am ; I cannot escape

the infamy I have brought upon myself l"

The voice of the old nobleman died upon his quiver-
ing lips. With a gesture of despair, he vailed his face
in his trembling hands; two heavy tears, which he,
brushed away impatiently, rolled down his wrinkled
cheeks. Could this be the Count Lionel de Valcourt—
a man proverbial for his icy hauteur, his reserve, and
insolent disdain even to his equals in rank? This man.
who revealed his whole life, without the slightest re-
strictions—and to whom ? To a perfect stranger i'

There was a silence in the room ; then the magistrate
spoke, in a voice that was rendered soft and low from
emotion and pity. '

“It will perhaps bea consolation to you," he said,
" to know that Monsieur Noel Gerdy is worthy in every
way of the high position in which you are about to
place him. Perhaps you will find his character and
temper are somewha different than if he had been
brought up by you. Misfortune and poverty are me-
ters whose lessons leave deep and lasting im ressions.
He is a man of great talents, and, unless mistake
greatly, worthy of the traditions of his ancient
race"——-

He was interru ted by the entrance of Noel. who was
carrying asmall lack portfolio under his arm. The
young barrister bowed respectiull before the old n-
tleman, who immediately rose, an ,with an innate 53n-
cacy, moved to the further end of the room.

“ Sir,” said Noel to the magistrate, " you will and all
the letters in this portfolio. Imust ask your armis-
sion to leaveyou at once. as the illness of adame
Gordy has taken a most alarming turn.” (

Noel had raised his voice in pronouncing these last
words. The Count heard them, and started with a
pained expression of face, as if the name just uttered
called up sad memories of a once happy past.

" You must grant me a moment, however, Monsieur
Gerdy,” said the magistrate kindly ; and rising, he

lacedhishand on the oun barrister's arm. “ Count

onel do Valcourt.” e d, “I have the honor of
presenting to you Monsieur Noel Gordy."

The Count never moved. Not a muscle of his face
betra ed the slightest emotion. Noel, on the contrary,
reel like a man who has received a saber-thrust, and
wismobliged to support, himself against the back of a
c . '

Then these two—father and son-stood face to nice,
looking at each other with asort of somber distrust.

Monsieur Daburon was dissp ointed. He expected a
coup detheatre-a scene of pa hos which would have
left neither of his clients time for reflection.

The statue-like rigidity of the one.‘ the intense emo-
tion of the other, upset all his calculations, and he felt
himself bound to make another and more decided
move.
“Count de Valcourt," he commenced, in a tone of re-
monstrance. " it was buts few minutes ago that you
owned to me that Monsieur Noel Gordy was your 1 t-
imate son, and that you were prepared to make t at
declaration to the world."

The Count made no answer. One would have
thought, from his extraordinary immobility, that be
neither heard nor saw.

At last Noel, summoning up all his courage, broke
the nful silence.

“ r," be stammered, “ Ihave nothing to reproach
you with." -

" You might have said filther, instead of ‘sir,’ " inter.
rupted the old man, in a tone that expressed neither
tenderness nor emotion. Then, turning to the judge,
“Canl be of any further use to you? Ifso,I am.at
your service." _

“ Ishall only require you to hear your affidavit read
over, and then to si it." 1 . ,

He rang the bell r one of his clerks, who entered like

 

an automaton, read the deposition quickly—all in a

' breath—without the slightest respect for comma.semi-

colon, or stop, or, for the matter of that, neither for

“ One day. entering her sit-"

 

k

 

 

' question or answer. ' When he had entirely exhausted
his

tory organs. he took a long breath, endow»

men . ' sin, reminding one on diver, who,from time
to tihoefgrni‘ses his head above water, takes a good
mouthful oi air, and then .

The young barrister was theonl one who listened to
this reading, pied listen he did wi the most marked at-

tention. , .
It told him many things hehad not known before.
At last. the clerk, utterly out of breath, came to a

stop with the decisive and unalterable words, “ in faith

of which, ton” that end: all official reports in the

French law courts, and presented the pen to the Count.
Without the slightest hesitation it was ’si nod, and

then the old nobleman rose, and turned tow s Noel.

“ I’m not very strong.” he said. "and must, there-
fore, ask you, my son "who uttered the words with sin.
gular emphasis—“ to help me to walk so far as my car-
“ e )1 ,

The young barrister advanced a fly. his whole face
radiant with happinessashe pl the Count de Val-
court's arm in his, and led him gently from the room.

It a at It all *‘1 g

Let us now return to the unfortunate lover of Clare
d’Arlange, who, under the heavy charge of murder, is
lying, miserable and hopeless. in prison.

 

CHAPTER XXVI.

Tun position of Viscount Albert de Valcourt was in'

deed a most painful one. The servants had been care-
fully examined, and their evidence taken. It was very
clear that one and all thought their young master“
guilty. .
The life of Albert from the commencement of that
fatal week of the murder, his lightest Word, his most
insignificant actions, were reported, commented upon,
and explained.

The man who lives in the midst of thirty servants is
like aninsect in a glass box under the magnifying lens
of a naturalist.

Our friend, Monsieur Daburon, had, therefore, in
abundance those trivial details which at first appear as
nothings, but which, when summed up, become a
question of life or death. Thus, gutting this and that
together, the magistrate walks , as it Were, in the
footsteps of the young viscount hour by hour tom
the time 0 his rising on Sunday mornin . And this;
was his pro me. Immediately after t to de arture
oz‘ Monsieur Noel Gerdy, he had given orders to is ser-
vants to announce to all visitors that he had gone into
the country. _ . l .

This aroused the suspicious of his “ domestic" spies,
for instead of going into the country, the young mas-
ter remained in the library, looked in, only opening.
the door when his dinner was served, of which, as the
cook observed, he didn’t est—only nihbled. j

The rest of his actions, day by day, hour .by hour,
minute by minute, even to the writing of a letter to
Clare d'Arlange, were all laid before the magistrate.
Poor Monsieur Daburon was on the rack. .

For about the twentieth time that morning, he
cursed his fate for having mixed himself up in this
miserable afielr. .

“Nothingin the world," he groaned. as he thought
over the whole case, " can chan o my feelings towards
this yo man. him. love‘the women he
loves; yet I am his judge. And what's worse, I
" once wished to murder him, out of the mad passion I
felt for Clare d'Arlange. What stopped my linger on the
revolver, Heaven knows! He might have been the ac-
cuser, and I the assassin. If the will 18 to be taken for
the deed, then I ought to suffer the full penalty of the
law.”

As he sued the door—for he was walking the room
with the lawlessness of a wild animal—he heard in the
corridor the heavy and measured steps/of the police

e rs. ,r _ ,
0%:had just time to sink into a chair before his desk,
and pretend to be busily en aged amongst his papers.

Albert de Valcourt enters with head erect, and a firm
step. His face was very pale, bearing the traces of
' sleepless nfifits and mental anxiety; but his eyes were,

clear and h lent. , ,
D buro‘n, he had already pre-
Luckily for Monsieur a only to follow them,

cred 3 ion of uestions, and bird
fires five of his own inward thoughts. " i

“ cu m, of course, perfectly aware, sir, he com-
menced, in the most gentle and persuasive tones his
voice could assume, “ that you haven’t the slightest
right to the name you have taken ?"

“ Iknow, sir. that I am the illegitimate son of the
Count do Valcourt. lam also hware that, according to
the laws of my country, my father cannot acknowledge
me. even if he would, an I was born after his marriage
with the Countess.” ”

“ And what were your feelings on learnin that l

 l'll not hide them from you: they were hose of the
most intense pain andsorrow. When anyone has held as
high a position in the world as I have, the {all is both
terrible and agonizing. However, I have never for a
single moment thought of contesting the rights of Men.
sieur Noel Gordy.

“ And yet." said the m istrate. losing all self-control,
and sprin rig to his fee .' “ you destroyed the chief
witness in s favor when you murdered the Widow Le-
rou e i"

T is terrible accusation, thundered forth as though
delivered by an accusing angel. made not the all htest
impression upon Albert. He didn’t even start orc ange
color. .

"Before God," he showered. "and before all I hold
stored in this world. I am innocent! I am kept in close
confinement. without the privilege even of songs my
Manda. I am. therefore. powerless. and it is y in
your sense oljustice that hope to establish my inno-
canoe."

“ What an actor he would have made i” thought the

 

I
i

".4 seems:  .

ridge. “ Is it possible that crime,_by some mysterious
'e or its lawman-furnish a man with nerves stated."

He looked over his bundle of- papers concerning the
i, case—referring to' some passages, turning down the
corners of pages. and Maximizer-a thzt contained
i Wich- oi importance. Sn 1y he broke silence;

“ hen you were arrested, you enclai'med, ' I’m last!
i' I’m lost f’ I What did you mean by that i"

i " Yes,“ answered Albert ; " I . ‘ectly remember
v havin done so. Like a gleam of ghtning, my posi-

tion I asked across my mind. In less than asecond I
saw how hopeless it was. A voice seemed to whisper in
my ears, ‘ Who could have any interest in the death of
the Widow Lerouge, but yourself?’ And the very con-
viction of the imminence of the peril in which I stood,
caused the exclamation you speak of to burst n-om me.

Mr. Daburon admired the presence of mind shown in
this answer, and the resources of the perverted imagi-
nation. which, turned in another direction, might have
led to happy results.

" In fact," continued the judge, " you appear to have
been greatly interested in the death of this poor wo-
man ; and there’s another not of which we are equally
certain~namely, that the motive of robbery had noth-
ing to do with this murder, for all the roperty thrown
in the river has been recovered. We ow, also, that
the papers were burned. Could those papers have
compromised any other person than yourself? Don’t
hold anything back. It’s in your interest that I speak.”

" I have no answer to make—I'm entirely ignorant of
the-whole affair.” _

“Did you visit this woman often '1’”

' “ Three or four times with my father.”

“ One of your grooms asserts that he has driven you
there a dozen times."

" He must be mistaken.
tars the number of visits?" .-

" Do you know the place, and the arrangement of the
rooms."

“ Oh, perfectly. Two rooms on the. ground floor;
Claudine slept in the back parlor.”

“ Supposing that any evening you had rapped against
her shutters, would she have admitted you ‘9”

“ Certainly, sir, and given me the warmest of wel-
comes.”

“ You were very ill a few days agoo-why did you for-
bid your valet to call in a doctor ‘2”

‘r My dear sir, what good could a doctor have done'
me? All his science could not have restored me to my
former position as Viscount do Valcourt,” ,

“But you behaved in a strange mannerwdestroyed
your opera and letters ?” _ '

“ I had made up my mind to quit the house. I think
my having taken that resolution explains anything
eccentric in my conduct? '

To all these questions of the magistrate, Albert ans-
wered promptly, in a firm, clear voice, and Without the
slightest embarrassment. '

, “ I’m on a wrong tack,” thought Monsieur Daburon.

Apart irom that what mat-

, “ Questioning him on these minute details won't do—I

must strike a blow l” Then he said, aloud and prompt-
ly, “ What were you doing last Tuesday evening, from
six o‘clock until midnight ?"

For the first time the prisoner seemed disooncerted,
and his eyes fell before those of the magistrate.

“ What was I doing last Tuesday evening ‘2" he stam~
meted, repeating his p rasc, in order to ain time.

“ I’ve got him I" thought Monsieur Du uron, With a
start of trium h. Then, aloud, " Yes; last Tuesday
evenin , from s to twelve ?” ‘

“ We 1, to tell you the truth," said the young man,
smiling—what a haggard smile it was !—-“ I have a very
bad memory.” ,

“ Oh, come, come, sir," interrupted the magistrate ;
“ I'm not taxing your memory as to years ago. o-da
is Friday : surely you can remember what you did on
Tuesday.”

“ I recollect, now. I went out in the evening,” mur-
mured Albert.

“ Bemore exact. Wheredid you dine i’,‘

“ At home, as usual."

'r' No; not as usual. .At dessert, contrary to your
custom, you took brandy and water, instead of claret;
and what's more. you nearly finished the decanter,
which, I am told, contained a pint. You no doubt
wished to brace up your nerves for some ulterior pro~
Ject—some business that required all your courage and
energy." V ‘

" I had no necessity for a stimulant of any sort,"
answered the prisoner, in a voice that visibly falter-ed.

"You must be mistaken. Let me refresh that de-
fective memory of yours. Two friends called upon you
_before dinner, I believer—asking you to accompany
them to the opera. You refused, on the plea of a press
ing engageme t." _

".Oh, that was only a polite excuse to get rid of

t em.

" But why i" 7

"Can on ask me such a question? I was resigned,
but still, heart-broken. I was endeavor! to whom
myself down to endure the dreadful shoe I had re."
ceived. Don’t the siren t of us long for solitude in
the great sorrows of our ife ?"

" The accusation supposes that you wished for , ri-
vacy that evening, in order to go to the village 0 La
Jonchere. During the day you were heard to mutter
to yourself,‘ She must seems. she'll never be able to
refuse me.‘ Of whom were you fleeting "

u or a lady to whom I had tten previously, and

who had just replied to my letter." x

" What have you done with that letter i"
“ I burnt it."
u mised the lady, of course i"

fifi‘f‘i’fit looked very like a flush of anger, dark-

” sued the prisoner’s face. V

seldom compromises herself; and the

u A mm M ofis one in the truest wceptation of

7
M that Iflpflk
theywordl"

 

,ior you—in fact, a

is

The magistrate jumped at a conclusion. The letter
wasfromOlared‘Ar . l’wamtlifihurt
filled him. He loved her still, sud her very we went
likeadaggertohisheart. 

He turned back for a moment. and pretended to!» u-
ronging some papers. « v
" Give me the name of your correspondent.”

'1 élrcayggtd’th I ' I n d 

' .' e . nu me up to his
fuil height, and We severe tone, " I will not
hide irom‘gou that your position is re Ited by the
most culp le reserve. According to t e laws of our
country, you are here tom every question I satin
a plain and straightforward winner."

"Y uestions that concern my own reputation,
but not the reputation of others." ' ‘ -

Albert made this last answer-in an angry tone. Xe w
bewildered, astounded, irritated by this close question—
in , which hardly left him time to bruathe.

he interro ations of the magistrate fell upon his
head like the lows of a blacksmith’s hammer upon the
red-hot iron that he is fashioning intoehnpc. ’ -

This appearance of rebellion upon the of the
prisoner seriously dis uieted Monsieur Do urea. Be-
sides, he felt surpris and almost annoyed to and the
perspicacity of his friend Old Corkscrew at fault. Just
as if the volunteer detective was infallible. _

Old Corkscrew, alias Daddy Tabaret, had predicth
alibi: but here was no alibi forthcoming i End this
cunning criminal some other card topiay which would

“ Gently—gently i" reflected the to. “ I
haven't got him yet! But to-continue," e‘uid‘eloud.
“ After your dinner, what did you do?" ‘

‘ upset all‘theirplans?

o

" I went out.”

“ Not immediately. When you had finished the
brandy, you smoked in the dining- room, which being
contrary to your custom, was remarked at the an».
What cigars do you generally smoke ‘i'f

" Trabucoe." I

"Youvuse a cigar-holder, don't you—in’orller to avoid

the contact of the tobacco gain“ your li 'I”

“ Yes, sir,“ said Albert, e dently asto bed at those
questions. ' ‘

" At what time did you go out ?" -

" About eight."

“ Had you an umbrella ?”

“Yes.”

" Where did you 0 to tl'. ‘

" Only for a stro .”

" Alone, and without an end'in
that evenin until midnight ?”

“ch, jus so.” '

" Now tell me exactly the road you took 2” g

“ 37 dear sir," expostulated the 1young man, “ that
woul be almost an impossibility. wen cut just for
the sake of going out—for movement of some sort, to
shake off the torpor which had weighed uporinme for
three days. I don't think you can uite enter to my
feelin . I scorned to have lost poweroithonght.,
I wal ed he. hazard. not caring where my fleet led
t e bridges—through the streets—any-

W .
_ t" Atll this is very improbable,” interrupted the snag-
18 1'3 8. ’

Monsieur Daburon mi ht have remembered, however.
that it was very possib . Hadn't he wandered, one
unhappy night, after his interview with Clea-e d’Ar-
lange, through the streets of Paris, with onlyone burn-
ing thought in his brain. Had he been questioned on
the marrow, could he have retreced his footsteps?

Certainlynot! But hehsdf tenhis _ ‘ at
that time. and only remembered‘now, that he , 
dut to do in the cause of justice; remindiiw onset
the celebrated fencing-master who. ' through a

intoxicated

mock duel with his dearest Mend, becamm:

at the gleam and clash of steel, and, in the excimnt

of the moment, lost his head. and killed him.

"Thus," continued Monsieur Daburon, “ yon afirm

that you met no one who could swear that he saw you

on the evening in question. You didn’t speak to s mor-

tal soul ? ou entered neither hotel, publieohonse,

restaurant, or theater—not even a tobacccniet’s, to get

a li lit for one of your Trabucos ?" I .

es; I amrm that.”

“Well, sir. all I can say is.that it is mostunfiort'

positive enmity. It is in 4311‘s."

inform you that it was during the eve ‘ o ‘

last, between eight o‘clock and mian t, that m

Widow Larouge was murdered. Once more I napkins
on, in your own interest, to make an energetic appeal

0 your memory." .

The indication of the day and hour of the murder
seemed to overwhelm the prisoner with consternation.
He his hand to his forehead with a gesture ' of
despair. His answer, however. was given in s, calm,
vo cc.

“ I am certainly very unfortunate, sir; but I have no
further observations to make."

Monsieur Daburon was astounded.

Whnti Not even an attempt to prove an
Not a word in self—defensemnothing i This could not
be a. pitfall—.3 snare ! No; not even a plan odd f " 1
He must have been taken when of his guard, or " V
any had been over-confident as to the position he held
in the world! , I , 

The magistrate rose. and took from a shelf. one after
another. the great sheets of paper that covered the
various objects that had been seized in Albert's
rooms.

"We will now pass,” he went on. "to the W
tiou of the various charges that weigh so heavily upon
you. Have the goodness to come here. Do you recog‘
nize these things as belonging to ygn ?"

"Yes, all these are my pegged . _ --
t  Who Maison?"

view, the  or

‘1

arth 1'

“I did, in fencing

 

"Good! Novemth { I”
witnesstothetaot." “a”. “3" 3”“

 

 

thecironmstsnoe
been struck with a toll, depri
‘ ' This

, . 3m? 30
for it, but without success. Now 1 must
tention to

V mgyttheeame or not

16

a,  rm.

 

 

“gas soul’s; :ummoned; And ;whst has become of
, '41 don't known. My servant would be the best per.

son togiv‘e you informationon thatsubject."

“« declares to have car-singlyJ searched

,0“: .tr

that t e victim must have

mm ieoe rang,“ “mafia:
sharps , , p Y 9 st upon w o

 wiped blew alter the murder, is

, “I implore an, sir, to give orders that the most
minute search madeu nthis t. Itisimpossi-
his but that the other an of this oilmust be found”.

“ Special orders shall be given. Now observe. Traced
upon this paper are the footprints of the murderer.
Here is one otyour boots; the solo exactly fits the
mark. This ceofplastor had axed itselfin the im-

ression _ by the heel. You will remark that your

thesis are precisely the same."

Albert followed ,with an intense attention every
movement of the magistrate. It was very evident
that he wasstrugfling against growing terror.

Was he invade by that fear which often stupeiles
criminals when they are on the point of being de-

tectod? , ..
To all this remarks of the magistrate, he answered in a
v V0 We ‘

“ True. true; perfectly true."

‘.‘ _ gin," continued Monsieur Daburon, " here is an-
other piece’oi‘ evidence. The culprit had an umbrella.
The cadet, this umbrella having stuck in some Wet

,the, piece of wood which protected the silk was
deeply encrusted with the same, Now look! Here is
the lane 0! clay, taken of with the most delicate care;

I and sis your umb lla.; The form of the clay ilts
.0 wood '

w do you explain this? Are

r

., W ‘
might'beiinh'sccident," said. Albert. ~ Umbrellas

are made by the thOusand in the very same shape and

'" ' letthatpass . Here is a ci ar end,found on
the on, ' "where the crime wasgcommitted. Tell
me what sort it belonged, and in what manner it
has been smoked?"

"It's a Trabucos, and it has been smoked witha

. holder."

the

n Widow Lore
pera

imm-
and ll

“ Like these—is it not so 7” insisted the magistrate,
, the cigars, their amber and meerschaum hold-.
ere, w h had been found upon the chimney-piece in
.  of the Count de Valcourt's mansion.
“Egon,” murmured Albert. "There is a fatality in

"Patienbei I’ve not done yet. The assassin of the
_ a were gloves. The victim, in her des-
Itrugg for life, had pad the hands of the

, and some of the kl leather of the gloves re-
in the nails. The morsels have been extracted,
are they are. Pearl-gray—is it not so? The

gmvos you were on~Tuesday evening were pearl-gray,

 slowly down his temples.
.hledso that hshadn’t the force to clasp them.
' “This is dr "

.esrth

 mt ,. I,
' 'sc ,rmurmu n

   

r ‘ one ’
totter.

atlas
3?

have been found scratched and torn. Com-
Are they not the

. .What was the use of denying it? The evidence was
there clear as the noon-day sun.

1 was terror-stricken.

_ A cold perspiration burst upon his forehead, and
His hands trem-

‘ they
pare these pieces with your gloves.

“ same even in color and texture i"

 , ,eadiulmhorrible!
'"Inshort," pursued the inexorable magistrate “ here
are the very trousers cu wore on the night of the

 Itis very evi cut that they have been wet;

andap'nrt from stains of mud, they bear traces of fresh
. ,Look here—and here! Above all, they have
been torn at the knee. Granted, that your memory
fails you as to the locqlity of your wal on Tuesday
evening, but you cannot make ,me believe that you
have forgotten the rent in yourirousers, and the ,torn
condition otyour gloves." ‘
X t oouWuld resist such overwhelming at-
ks "The , ess and energy of the prisoner were
ving‘ way. His head swam. He sunk heavily
as he did so: ‘ v - '
“Ishall go mad—'- !” ', h
w _f'.Oon{ess,” insisted the magistrate, whose eyes he-

.”Me‘sbeolutely insupportable in their intense gaze
9 ; . the unha py yougg
if“, g on ooul have h

E

“If

t“; I '

man—weenie” that no one
any interest in the death of
idow Lerougle.”

," Albert, “ that i am. the victim of
astounding events that makes one’s reason

~ hose
Still, I am innocent."
“  then tell me where you passed Tuesday even-

‘ , “"01; mum," cried the prisoner, “ it I told you that
.11 should be saved."

Then he added, in a voice that
was hardly audible: " But I must not speak—I cannot
r «4 dare not i” .
Monsieur Daburon rose. In theatrical language he
was about to produce his greatest efi‘ect. ~
. “You have left it then to me,” he said, with just a
tinge of irony in his voice, “ to refresh your failing
memory. and to recall to it all that occurred to its
owner. ' Onflluesday evening, at eight o’clock, you left
your housein’astate of great mental excitement. At
half-past oi , you took the train from the St. Lazaro
Station. at nine you got out at Itueil"——-— '
And'quietly appropriatiu all theideas oi‘Old Cork-
screw as though they were is own. the magistrate re-
peated nearly word for word the improvised tirade that
Daddy haddolivared the night before. And whilst
,hs could not help sdmirin the extraordinary
penetn on ofthis volunteer detect ve. In all his- life
his eloquence had not produced such an impression.
Every sentence—nay, every word—told: and the confl-

deareofifize oner. already sadly shaken, fell bit by
bit. like the '* es from awall that is being bombarded
‘ with cannon. '

 

' into the'room wit all the astonishing suddenness of a

Albert wss like a man rolling» downs precipipr
sees eve branch  him—rover! ' place, ‘
"‘“u‘libm’xfm h ' : I‘ll/Intro“ “
IV ru 11 I I ur , O

“ nomgdconcluded the. " listen to

ood advice. Don't persist inss stem of obstinate

,.which it is utterly impossi is to sustain. We
are in possession now of all the facts. Believe me,
it would be a far better licy for you to throw
murqu on the indulgence'o the court by confessing

Monsieur Daburon hardly supposed that the prisoner
would dareto hold out any longer; but in this he was
entirely mistaken. ’

However great the prOstration of Albert may have ap-
peared, he found, by a supreme odort of his will,
strength enough still to recover himself, and fence again
to protest. '

” You are certainly in the right, sir." he said sadly ;
" appearances are decidedly against me. In your place
I would have spoken asyou have done; and yet I swear
that I am innocent! I am overwhelmed for the mo-
mentabut I do not despair. My honor and my lii‘e are
in the hands of God! Even at this very hour, in which
I must seem to you as a dead man, I still hope and be-
lieve in a most entire acquittal of every charge made
against me! In fact. I await it use certainty.”
t “t: don’t understand you,” interrupted the magi-

ra . ‘

“ I've said nothing more than I mean."

“ Thus you persist in your denial ?”

" I am innocent l”

“ But this is madness 1”

“ I am innocent i" - *-

There was nothing more to be said, and alterach
formalities had been gone through—such as reading
over the prisoner's examination to. him—he was con—
ducted back to his cell, the magistrate still exhorting
him to confess. .

 

CHAPTER XXVII.

WHEN Monsieur Daburon was once more alone, and
could give himself the luxury of “a good think,” he
felt by no means that inward satisfaction whlch all of
us feel when we know that we have made a great suc.
cess. .

He felt that he had succeeded admirably in proving
the guilt of the young Viscount ; yet something—
a something that he could not exactly define—moved
within him, and made him miserable.

He had triumphed ; yet his victory gave him no joy
-only discomfort, sadness, and disgust.

Another reflection, sosimple in itself that he won-
dered it hadn’t occurred to him before, sgumented
his discontent, and gave a finishing touch to his ill-
tem er and self-reproach.

“ hat will Clare d’Arlan ethink of me for having
undertaken this case? Irefnsed it. I 'mi ht have
gone to her. Poor darling! My sweet, out 0, 00d,
patient Glare I Her grief must be dreadiu . ‘ Had re-
mained her friend, as she asked me to be, I might have
had the privilgge of consoling and encouraging her in
her fearful tri —of holding her hands in mine—of
mingling my tears with here. After a time perhaps—
time so one so many sad memories—she might have
been a little grateful to me—she mi ht "——

He paused, and hid his face in his lands.

" No—no ; she knows it all now ! Whatever hap-
pens, I shall bc to her an object of detestation and hor-
iror. I have dug a grave between us~the grave of her

over ’

Never had he hated Albert de Valcourt more than he
did at that moment. And, above all, he cursed Daddy

Tabaret.

“ If it hadn’t have been for that wretched Old Cork-
screw, Imight have taken things more uietly. It
was his horrid—his fiend-like enthusiasm t at led me
on. Oh, ii'I only had him here now! If I only had
him here now. I'd beat his ugly head into a pulp !”

It was precisely at this favorable moment for a visit
that two smart rope ware given at the door, and without
waiting for s repl , the figure of Daddy Tabaret sprung

Jaek-in-the-box.

’ _ CHAPTER xxvm. .

,. 0w Gosksonmwss evident; in a state of wild ex-
,cite’nient, or‘h‘e would have no ced that his friend, the
magistrate“, held a ruler, which he had caught up 'i'rom
his desk, somewhat tightly in his hands, and seemed
about to carry the threat he expressed in our last chap-
ter‘ into execution.

“ Well,” cried the Daddy, “what’s your opinion new?
Isn't he smashed P"

" Hold your tongue, you old fool l" answered the
nla'zistrate. “ He’s guilty, of course; but it is not in a,
Slain of my position to jump at conclusions like you

0 I,

The old man stood petrified. He had expected to be
lauded to the skies, and here, metaphorically speaking,
was a smack in the face, and no mistake !

“ I have come," he said, humbl , “ only in the inter-
ests of justice I" Then he pause , and twirled his old
hat in his trembling hands. “I’m heart and soul in
the case—I am indeed! I thought, perhaps, you
might have wanted me about the al hi, you know !”

“There's no alibi /” answ’cred the magistrate, turn-
ing his back, and walking to the window. 4

“ What i" cried the old man; “ no alibi ? What a fool
lam! Oi‘ course, you checkmated him-bowled him
out, eh ?” ,, , '

"I didn‘t. succeed in doing anything of the sort !"
‘said Monsieur Daburon, impatiently. lie denies every-
thing! He confesses that the proofs against him are
decisive! lie won't give—or, rather, he rctends to
' forget everything that occurred on Tues y'ayening:

 

 

 

’ shake of the he
' Widow Lerouge.

. , “Hymn,

" in the middle or the room stood on ammo. his

round 1ch exper more than ever or a stupid satch-
ishmofit—his pug nose milling the ails.

Notwithstandin hls'lndignationsn in-tompsr,th-
sieur Debut-once daft ‘ I V ,a smile.

" What! no alibi P" m ‘ uredthe amateurdet‘ective.
“ Then I'm a dufler—a fool—an ass! No alibi I It’s
impossible! 1 He mustbe smog us; or else we are
entirely mistaken rt  ’ ‘ ' '

There was a pause; durin which Old Corkscrew
again snifledgthe air, like an 01 hound thatth lost the
scent. Suddenly his head dropped, sndihis- wrinkled
hands fell to his sides—even his coatotails soothed to go
between his legs. ‘ " y ‘

" Yes," he whined, dejectedly; " I’m all in the wrong i
I see it now—it can’t be the man I"

Here he again smiled the air; then suddenly ad;
vanced towards the magistrate, andseized him by the .

“the. same time he protests ii} at; inhbcsfirnce
" ermine u . » : 4: 6

arm. .

" Monsieur Daburon,” he commenced,'“pardon me;
I may seem to you t be unduly excited ”—-——

"Yes," interrupted the magistrate; "and, what’s
more, you have certainly been paying a visit to the
wine s op round the corner ”--- .

" Stop 1" saidthe old man, with dignity- "don't. in-
sult me i My nerves are strung to the highest pitch ! ‘
lam heart and soul in this case! Remember, it's a
question of life and death !"

“Unfortunatel ," said the magistrate, with a sad
, " it is but too clearly proved that the
Viscount Albert do Valcourt is the murderer of the
However, don't let me bias your
oplifnion; read his own evidence, and judge for your-
Se .ii . . ‘.
Without a word in reply, the Daddy sat himself at
the clerk’s desk; and lanting his elbows on the table,
and his fingers in h s hair, commenced reading the
whole case with a hungry avidity.

When he had finished, he rose, with a scared and
tightened look. . '

"Sir," he whispered to the magistrate, his pals
lips quivering so painfully, that. they were hardly able
to frame the words; “I have been the involuntary
cause of a great injustice. This man is innocent I”

‘ Come, c‘ome !” said Monsieur Daburon, gathering
up his papers, and then buttouing his great coat, prc-
paratory to his departure. “You’ve lost your head,
mylpoor old friend. Sleep upon it, and you'll be your-
so again to-morrow. When you reflect upon what
you've just read "-—

“ Yes, sir—yes; when I reflect upon what I have just
read, I implore you to stay the case, or you will only be
adding another error to the deplorable list of Judicial
blunders. The Viscount is in prison, isn't he ‘1"

“ Yes; and there he shall remain, it you please," in-
terrupted the magistrate, ironically. “I can’t under-

stand a man playing fast and loose, as you do. Think
what you sai last night. You were positive as to his
guilt, while I hesitated." 

“ That’s just it i“ cried the old man, dancing about
the room in a sort of impatient self-remorse. “Idiot
and fool that I am, not to have made myself under-
stood! This was my plan; these were my deductions.
A crime has been committed, with its various circum-
stances and details. I construct, piece by iece, a plan
of my own, which, like a Chinese puzzle, s all fit into
each in the most exact manner. If otherwise, then we
have pounced upon the wrong person. Now, sir,” said ‘
Daddy Tabaret, getting more and more elicited as he
went on, “I have paid particular attention to this case.
I have examined the work. and I will give the workman
his due. He’s a clever scoundrel, whoever he is; and
do you think such a manwould have neglected a pre-
caution that would have been resorted to by the most
blundering thiefthat ever came under your experience ?
It’s impossible! I am sure of my plan or s stem, or
whatever you like to call it, as of a sum in en traction
which has been proved. The murderer oftherdow Le-
rouge has an alibi. The Viscount Albert deVslcourt
doesn’tt even attempt to prove one; therefore, he is in-
nocen ." ‘

Monsieur Daburon watched Old Corkscrew with that
half- flying sac that one accords to monomaniacs.

“ ar 01 0y," he said,“ on have only one fault,
you sin on the side of over-en tlety. You think every-
one else as’ clever as yourself. Our. man has been
caught because he was utterly reckless. He thought
hiimself, on account of his social position, above suspi-
c on "—4-

J"No, sir !—-no, sir !" interrupted Tabaret—“a thou-
sand times no, sir 1 You are utterly and entirely mis-
taken I My viilian—the true villain, mind you—:i‘esred
everything!"

“Well,” said the magistrate, losing all patience, “ if
Albert do Valcoul‘t, having interest in getting the old
woman out of the way, didn't commit the crime, who
did ? His father, perhaps 1’" '

This was said with a sneer, but the Daddy didn’t see
it. He was too much in earnest. , ”

“ No, it wasn’t the father—my villain was young.”

'.‘ Good-by. Monsieur Tabaret," said the magistrate,
taking up his hat. " Ithink we are only wasting our
time in useless controversy. To-morrow, we shall
wok: 3p? like giants refreshed with wine. Good-by—

oo - y ”

He had gained the door, but Daddy Tabaret sprang
forward and barred the way. ,

'- Sir ! sir i" he cried, with impassioned gestures,
“in the name of Heaven, don‘t go away without hear-
ing me! This young man is innocent—I swear it!
Help me in my researches—711cm me "——

But the magistrate shook his head, and utting the
enthusiast aside. walked rapi'lly down t to corridor,
and turning 'a corner. was lest t » sight. '

Closing the door behind him, 01.1 Corkscrew followed.

, u

 

A DESPIRA H DEED.

‘ 1"

 

 

 

threading the long, dark galleries of the Palace of Jus-
ticelihealoetspirit. : .  a a -

Business hours were over, and as bandits-1M
WWIIME the  ,, ,itseemed__, to
the old man as thong he were wandering through a,
cityofthedead. - , . , ,_

Beleant _ oneoftheblankwalls andbuiying
hisiacein hada,criadlikaa littlachild.
“Hot-headedfool. thatI am I" he tho ht; "Ihave
helped to convict an innocent maul oer fellowl
Who knows but,’in the horror and anguish of his, posi-
tion, he may commit suicide? Poor humanity~poor
humanity! But I'll be to the forel—I’ll be to the
fore ! 1' i get him off, and I'll pounce on the real ras-
cal yet ; and, what's more, I'll get my old friend Noel
tohelp me. That fellow has brains; and it's a thou-
sand pities he wasn't in the police l"

_.———

CHAPTER XXIX.

WE will now return to the Count Lionel de Valcourt
and his newly-found son. .

From the time of their departure to the time of their
arrival at the Gount’s mansion, not a word had been
exchanged between them. ,

When the carriage drew up before the steps, and
when the Count descended, aided by Noel, there was a
commotion among the servants.

Since the morning, the great Valcourt scandal had
made quitea noise in the neighborhood.
versions Were circulated, reviewed, corrected, and aug-
mentcd by Envy, Hatred, Malice, and all Uncharita-
bleness. Some were simply idiotic, the others abso-
lutely wickedin their venom.

Twenty or thirty of the Count’s friends, some of
them bearing names that dated back for centuries,
were mean enough to send their servants to make in.
quiries at the Count's house.

“ Alas for poor Humanity i” said poor Old Cork‘
screw. And on this occasion we can certainly echo his
lament. _

Atprcsent, the Count is seated in his library.

The old gentleman has recovered his calmness. In
fact, if possible, he is more “ starched ” in his manner
than ever. He feels that he has humiliated himself
before the magistrate. He is angry with himself for his
momentary weakness, and, in consequence, upsets our
young friend the. barrister. .

They have had a long conversation already, in which
Noel has made a great impression upon his father,
apropos of his brother Alhert~a conversation which
we give verbatim to our readers.

" He is my brother, sir, and your son. For thirty
years he has borne the name of De Valcourt. Innocent
or guilty, lm has the right to look to us for help in his
hour of mud; and help him wemust.”

The old mount a cycle were dim with tears. He
grasped the barrister's hands. ,

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m so sorry for the poor
boy! Let’s do our best for him. My heart’s nearly
broken ; ” and he bent his gray head on his hands.

"I’ll save him, if he’s innocent," pursued the bar-
rister; “ and I’m almost sure he is. I’m not an ama-
teur in my profession. I know the law to my finger
ends, and I’ll undertake his case. I don’t care how
heavy the charges may be a ainst him, I'll knock them
away like thistle down. I'l kick all doubts aside just
as I would the snow-flakes from my feet; and I will
flash the light of truth into the minds of those who
are seated in judgment upon him."

“ But slip ose he confesses?" objected the count,
“What then "

“Then, sir,” said Noel, with a tragic air, "I would
render him the last service that true love can render in
such amiafortune. Iwould give him the mean: to
avoid death and degradation."

“ Well spoken, sir," said the old Count—"well spoken,
in son ! '

fie held out his hand to Ntoei, who bent over and

ressed it with a silent respec .

p The barrister breathed again. At last he had found
a road to the heart of this hau hty old aristocrat. He
had made "a conquest. He h succeeded in pleasing
hin'. '

‘- Let us return to the question of yourself," said the
Count. “ We, ofcourse, breakfast. dine and sup to-
gether. My servants understand that. I don't want
to interfere with your present arrangements; but we’ll

0 over the rooms that have been prepared for you.
é’hose of Albert I have ordered to be shut up
for ever, - at as he left them. Poor boy 1—.poor

Noel hadthe courage to place his hand on the old

tlemanfs arm.
86‘l'lsirl' he said, “when you gave me the order to fol-
low you at the Palace of Justice, I did so because it was
my duty. I have another—nay, I say a more sacred
duty to fulfill. Madame Gerdy is dangerously ill—so ill
that the doctor has almoat given her over. Ought I to
be absent from the bed of one who has been the best of
here to me ? "
matValerie ! Valerie i” murmured the Count.

He bent his head upon his arm upon the back of
the sofa, and the past came back to him with all the

'rvidness of to-da .

y “ She wronged Yam 1” he answered to his accusing
angel; “I loved her dearly, but she spout my life!
She deceived me, but I loved her 1 Time has been the
avenger; lean forgive her now, poor Valerie! She is

dyingwher heart is broken about Albert—our son 1 and lip

it was I who made her sin-J suggested the whole plot 1
Poor Valerie! Perhaps, if I went to her now, one word
Iron: me might lumen her great sorrow.

He rose and turned toward eel.

“ Ring for my coat and hat. We will go and sit by
ner bedside together."

The youngman started at this unexpected proposi-
tion.

A thousand '

 

" Oh, sir!” he laid eagerly, " yourself a most
minim . Ge .~may be alive still, but.-

r brain is gone. a sh " ‘
hashoenmore maximisation. The poor
not beable even to recognise yon.'or hear the voice she
once loved so well i"

" Go, than, and go alone." sighed the Count. " Good-
bye, my son 1". ,

{those two words, “ My son,” said with marked in-
tonation, sounded like the trumpet of victory to Noel's
ears. .
I It 3 t II! t It 1 fi t $

When the young barrister had left, the Count fell
back in his chair, with a'great sigh of relief.

To be alone was a luxury i ' Since the morning,
events had crowded upon him with such a giddy rapid-
ity that he had felt "perfectly dazed. At last he was
alone 1 At last he could snatch a few moments for
reflection! ”

“This, then," he thought to himself, “ is my legiti-
mate son—the man who is to bear our ancient name,
like the Ba ard of old, ‘ without fear, and without re-

h.’ t won't do for me to repudiate him now;

e scandal is too eat. He's so like me, also; my liv-
ing portrait at th ? Not :a’bad-lookin fellow, by
Jove I—a devilish good-lookin fellow! - s face is a
splendid letter of recommend our, full of intelligence.
yet delicate and timid as a woman a. He can be defer-
ent without being a sneak, and firm without beingarro-
gent. In fact, he is a De Valcourt, and no mistake l"

The poor old gentleman had worked himself into this
self-lsudatory state; but, somehow, he was entirely
dissatisfied and uncomfortable. I

" Poor Albert !" he thOught—“poor boy! I never
made enough of him when he was with me. How I
loved him 2—1111 1 how I love him still 1'? And, bending
his proud old head in his hands, the Coiint burst into

ears.

Suddenly he sprung to his feet.

“ Yes, I will do my duty as a man !—at least I ought
to see Albert’s mother, and forgive her before she
dies 1" He rushed to the window, in the hope of see-
ing Noel, and recalling him; but. the courtyard of the
mansion was silent and deserted, and the Count had
nothing else to do but sink back in his great arm-chair,
with his own and thoughts (or company.

CHAPTER: xxx. ‘ .

IN leaving the Count's house, Noel had taken a cab,
promising the driver an extra fare for driving quickly.

Arrived at his door, he threw rather than gave the
man his money, and mounted the stairs two steps at a
tim‘e. »

" Has any one been inquiring after me 2" he as]:
of the maid. H

"No one, sir}? '

He seemed relieved, drew along breath ; then asked
again, in a quicker tone, “ And the doctor 2"

“ He called this morning,” said the girl, “ when you
were away, sir, and he looked very grave indeed. He
came back again half an hour ago, and he is still in
missus’s room.” '

. -—your own child l

 

“ All right—I’ll see him. If any one calls, show
(tillemt into my study—here’s the key-«and call me ,

irec ly.”

In entering the sick room, Noel saw at a glance that :
no change for the betterhad occurred during his ah- I
sauce.

The sick woman, with close-shut eyes, and convulsed I
face, was lying on the bed in mortal agony. One mi ht
have thought her dead, were it not for the and n ‘
movements of the pale hands, and the raising of the ,
fouliitzrpane from time t time, as she moved her limbs

11 p .

Above her head, under which they had placed a piece
of oil-cloth, was a large piece of ice, which trickled
slowly down her temples, which were spotted by
strange stains of a bluish tint. Upon the table and the
chimney-piece were phiais and ey-pots of every
size and shape, interspersed wit half-emptied cups l
and glasses.

At he foot of the bed, api cc of calico, stained with '
bloo , announced that leeches had been resorted to.
At the chimney-place, where a brisk tire was burning, l
knelt 9. Sister of Mercy. watching the cooking of some-
thing in a saucepan. In an arm-chair beside the oed‘sat
Doctor Harvey, apparently snperintending with great
interest the operations of the Sister of Mercy.

He rose eagerly at the entrance of Noel.

At last you have come i” he exclaimed, seizing his
friend b both hands.

" I’ve n detained at the court," said the barrister.
feeling it necessary to give some mason for his ion
absence; “ but you can imagine upon what pins and
needles I’ve been since this morning."

Then he bent his head and whispered, in a trembling
voice, “ Well—how is she ?”

The doctor shook his head with a thoroughly dis-
heartened look.

“She’s worse! much worse I” he answered. “Since
this morning, every symptom has increased in gravity ;
in fact, I think its my duty to tell you that I fear there
is but little. hope i " ' v

He sto ped suddenly. The barrister had seized his
arm, an was gripping it so tightly, that he could
hardly repress an exclamation of pain. me Gordy
moved slightly, and a faint groan escaped her white

s. .

“ She heard yen,” murmured Noel.

“‘I wish she had,” said the doctor, quietly. " It is 5
just as well she should know the truth—anyway. let us,
see."

He approached, and leaning over the sick woman,
took her listless hand in his, and felt her pulse. Then,
with his forefinger, he delicately raised her eyelid.

The eye was upturned. fixed and glassy.

 

 

“Come.” said the doctor;
Take hex-hand! Bpeakto her!

Trembling from head to foot, Noel ‘

advancemmd

bending over the {that his  touched
thccheek ofthe f I". mambo murmured, softly,
"Mother, mother, ‘totnel It's Noel; your son
Speak to me! lake me a sign
thatyouhearmel”“‘;"., ' " H ‘
No award. fibers the inner irlghti'ul stillness,
may spasm now agitating t anions-like rigidity of her

urea '

“ You see I ” said the doctor. “ Didn't I tell you 9"

“Poor thing i " si lied Noel. "Does she Inner?" '

“ Not now; but er agony must have been bede
all telling."

The Sister of Mercy had risen, and approached the
side of the bed. ‘ »

“Everything is now ready, sir," she add to t
doctor.

“Call in the servant then, and she will help us
in putting on the mustard poultices," was Dr. Harvey’s
rep y. ‘ ' .

The girl came’at once, and the two women raised
the almost lifeless form of Madame Gordy in their

arms.

Noel, during this time, had retired into the embra-
sure of the window, leaning his burning forehead
against the window-pane. .

Of what was he thinking, whilst there lay dying,
a few steps from him, she who had ven him so many
proofs of maternal devotion, and di terested love and
care ? Did he regret her? or was he thinking ofthat
great and luxurious existence that awaited him in the
grand old house in the Faubourg 8t. Gorinaln ? He
started, and turned quickly, on hearing the voice of his
friend at his ear. 3

“ We have done, now," said the doctor, “ and will
wait to see what efi'ect the mustard poulizloel Will have.
If she feels them. it will be a good sign ; if not; we’ll
try cupping." ‘ ‘

“ And if that doesn't take effect ‘P " ' '

The doctor only answered by one of those movements
of- the shoulders which express that the case wouldbe
then beyond all human skill.

“ I understand your silence, Harvey," murmured
Noel. “ There's no hope—is it not so? ”

“INone from science. Still I don’t despair,” was the
rep y.

“ What makes my heart acne is to see her so utterly
unconscious of all that is taking place around her. Will
she die without recovering her reason ? Won't she re~
cognize me, nor 5 eak to me i”

" I can’t say. his malady, my poor‘ fellow, is one of
those that may, at any moment, utterly upset the rules
laid down for it. The symptoms are always varying,
and the patient that we pronounce neaer out of danger
to-day may be something more than at death’s door-to-
morrow." ,

" She may speak, then ?"

“ Very probably." .

“ And "--Noel hesitated—“ with the full possession of
her senses i”-

“ Perhaps; but why do you ask me ?" And, for the
first time, the doctor looked his friend curiously in the '
face.

" Because one word—but one, pronounced by her lips
—-would be invaluable to me.".

" Oh, you mean about your case '1' Well, as A,
that, I can promise nothing. You have as many
chances in your favor as against you.
count quit the house; keep close at hand. Ifher reason
returns, and it will be as the lightning swam
it whilst you have time; it is the advice of a V
a doctor. And now good- e for the present." 8nd I
without waiting for areply, e seized up his hat, and -
was gone.

But there was no peace for Noel that day.

He was just returning to the sick-room, when the
servant announced that a gentleman—“ a queer sort of
gentleman, who wouldn’t give his name—was waiting
for him in the study.” '

With a half-muttered curse, and a gloomy air; the
barrister turned on his heel, and proceeded to his psi-I

The " queer sort of gentleman," described by the
maid, met him at the door. ,9
‘At last you have come, Monsieur Ducroe. You’ve

been so long about it, that I gave you up alto»

ether."
8 "Ha, ha! Better late than never—better late than '
never I" said the visitor, placing his hat on a chair.
“ That's my motto, sir; that's my motto l” -
Noel muttered something that didn't sound compli-

mentary.

" I’ve called at the desire of a lady, a (learn-tend of
ours; and, Imay say, a dear iriend of mine—Miss Nel-
e Nicholson."
hioel smiled, a forced smile, and pointed to a

c r. ‘

His visitor was a mean well known in the money-
lending world. He no occasion to advertise, he was,
known everywhere. He was quite celebrated for his
amiable and urbane character, and, having a eat deal
of money to spare, he had no objection to len it to his
friends. In recompense of which email service, he
kindly consented to take an interest from twenty to
fifty per cent.

Worthy man i he had a real aflection for his clients.
‘He was never known to have imprisoned a debtoru—he
preferred pursuing him. and huntin him down for ten
or fifteen years; and after he had 0 tained his money
piecemeal by piecemeal, enerally left .him with a-
broken heart. or comforta y settled in the workchouaa. '

The people he preferred princi lyto deal with were
ladies of oubtful reputation; t eatrical poo is, who '
had fallen into difficulties, either from the lure of
some speculation, or through ill—health: also those an-
dacious beings whose existence depends solely on those

'1‘ judge ' for yourself! '

' vate room.

Onlyonnoae-VU

 

  
  
  
   
 
  

18

who i ‘ mastoid-pd mimics, such “Authors,

'I‘ that fill ' tgnpon ei'r'beau, ewhil'e’lt
I:  mtn.%pon thgrqtolent-fwhile it;

"wonderful" people i" he would says;f'_,they’re like,
rare Bohemian glaekthings to  .w 4,.»
lated upon but ’-’-aud here he woul .wlnkd is wicked
old eye—“like! ‘to‘ be broken at any'momen . Give ,a
Womana splen d racer-give, a, man as large talent and
no frich it is only a. daemon of time. Their de-
sires are beyond, their means. ' It only becomes a ques-
tion of time Which will smash Matt-the health or the
pocket!”, ,. .  i .

Adeadly old man‘to call " patron” and friend was,
Monsieur Ducroe. Hewas like the awful “ sea-devil"
described by Victor Hugo—a something soft and pulpy;
a thing of suckers, who embraced tion every way, draw-
ing the life—blood from, you wi its caressing but
deadly touch. And this was the man Nellie Nicholson
had sent to the man she be ed tobe her future has:
band.’ A brain of feather an a heart of lead, like the
Lamia of the old Greek fable; woman and serpent com-

bined, , , , g ..
01d Ducroe had trusted a great deal to Nellie's

beaut . .

"Afcwel ofprlce. sir I" he would say,-—-" a jewel of
priceii Flawed,“ they all are; but, where fools are
plentiful—and where arethey not ?—a safe investment
in the market. Look .at this hard-headed lawyer, to
wit; why, sir, thatmsnwould ‘ botanise on his mother's
grave: as the saying is, if he could only pluck a flower
to place upon his mistress's resplendent bosom. A
great luau, air, is Noel Gordy—a eat man, full of small
sins! , You’ve boards! the tiny .ut ever active worm,
that sets into the stately ship; till, one da , suddenly,
with sails full set for fortune and colors ying, down.
it g ownw-down—into the unfathomable depths
of the sea! in that shi you have a. picture. of this en-
ergetic, all-seeking ba ter; in that worm you see the
woman, one of ten thousand, who slowly drags him
dome to certain ruin and death 1”

.
I

am XXXI.

Tun barrister—own knew theman, he had to deal
with. and  hewoato be softened by considerate
attention,  his. vanity fickled by treating him as an
equal—omenoed _ '9an him a chair, and asking
anxiously after his  saith. .

Dacron gave-hi, _  minute details concernin
it. * had been toja'tlgn‘tist about a back teeth, the
had .. on him “$735350” excruciating agony. Dentist
loo ‘ , ati '  it sound—reinsed to draw it
“emits  " i118“-

"Uost use a po

_  ,‘ sire-cost me a pound !"
limelight, also, was cauai him some uneasiness.
“ to makelbut a little hi 1 the other day at six
months date at  the morning, and had to light the
 to light the gas. Just as if it wereiten at
n i I N “, I
g,  tong/were'getting shaky~couldn’t call upon
mks” sum Maddie m d m h bee sh ht
 ‘_  en swou ave n. oug
y  could have dispensed with-those calls
pertained-loust made. ,
bipter of miseries was exhausted; and,
a V be commenced:
how about those bills I have of yours?
 «y in want of money! Let me see; the
fivehundred—the second for seven hundred
last, two hundred and fifty."
 Monsieur Ducroe i” said Noel, laugh-
» laugh: “ a joke’s a good thing in the right

 
 
 
 
    
  
  
  
  
  

 

 

3
as

v.

«a
w

 4 "" notjoklng !" said the usurer.

_  locks very like it. Why, it‘s onl ten days
, i wrote to tell you I couldn't meet hem, ask-
' ‘ earns time, to have a renewal.’,’
got letter, . sir—n! ot your letter; but I

at, .in the way of usiuess, no answer was
a negative."

, . ' of impatience escaped the young man.
I as yogallke; I’ve already‘ told you 1' can’t _ meet
‘ m 1” . ., ,

        
  
   
  
  
   

" , ‘, some people havens conscience !; Doyou:
thatl’ve reserved these bills four times already
a times. sir? Why, I» wouldn’t-have donelt for my

. other sir—~th for my own mother . ,
‘  say not,” said the barrister, dryl -, chm,
your mother would never have pad the in-
{have-Abe would have been to downy for. that,

   
  
  
   
 

  

,, ‘ that you-are her son 1”
Meantime, was much hurt. .
‘finoouldn't bear the word “interest” to be named;
' fistula atoms that bore in it more of sorrow than
' anger, that hereplied. “ Have I ever complained ?—
  {oversold a word in reproach .? The only remark
' that's tomato is, that "on know l’vo a soft heart, and
" , y upon it accor ingly.“ ‘
 net’s the‘use‘of repeating a thing over and over
, . ‘ n‘T‘Iisaid Noel, still more impatiently than before.
* ' 1 ti. “retold you that, at, the present moment, I’m hard
\ “ p; in  there's’only Just enough ready money left
. to keep 
to car it. for your sake," said the money-
, so you’ll force me to place the whole
g M a, ,e hands of my solicitors.’
' {And whntwill you gain by that?

 
 
 

Come, my dear

   

 V  ‘43 y our cards’on the table. Do you wish to
I myths ' ‘ olyour solicitors? I hardly think so."
" on, have put me to a cat expense, w 11 that put

is your pocket '2‘ oucan't put a distress in,

a it; and. even if you were sold up, they
, ,t cover my ex enses.’
 '-'you intend to t rust me into a debtor’s prison?
peculation that! My social position would be

’ ouse‘  all the‘mrniture belong to Ma- Q

A Brennan: DEED.

v

lostgfn fighrdbea ruined memendwherewouldbe'
n u v . -« 

" Ha. ha, ha i" « laughed the worth ' moneyélender.
" What nonsense you’re talking! Oi _ I
caught with chaff , Why, if you. the ht 'i were capo
able of shutting you-upoand youiknow wouldn’t, ’ be-
cause I’ve got sue ‘a soft heart—emy money would be
there; yes, air, the ~in that very drawer as reuts'un-
der your elbow!” ‘ ' » - ‘ ~ '

And the old man, still laughing, pointed to where
, Noel's arm rested; ‘

1 . " You are entirely in the wrong. Had I the money I

. owe you, it would be in your ands this moinent, I
can’t ask my mother, you see." v

Asardonic, annoying sort of laugh, peculiar to Mon-
sieur Ducroe, interruptedNoel’s expostulation. ‘

‘" Oh, I know all about that ! You’ve borrowed
enough from your mother already; and if the poor old
lady is about to kick the bucket-I’ve heard shefs been
very lib-well, sir, I wouldn’t advance a fiver upon the
goods she leaves behind her." v

The youn barristercrimsoned with anger; his eyes
flashed andfit was as much as he could do to restrain
himsel from the immense satisfaction of giving the old
gentleman a black eye. .

“ One knows what one knows !" continued Ducroe,
tranquilly, taking a pinch of snuff; " and I know that,
whether you intend to marry Miss Nicholson or not,
she's about the most expensive young woman out.
Bless you, sir, apart from reaklng a man’s heart, that
girl would break the Bank of England itself!"

Noel was furious at this. '

"What have you to say against MissNellie Nicholson?
You know she is one of the most delightful creatures in
the world."

" Granted; but you see, I'm not in love with her, and
you are. What I want to make you understand is. that
the one thousand four hundred and fifty was advanced
to you on her account, and that Idon’t intend to renew
the bills; and if you don’t pay me the money, I will put
an execution into our lady-love’s house; and if after
that, she doesn't ve you apiece of her mind, I’m a
Dutchman ! " '

Noel could bear it no longer.
a we. , got the better of him,

“ ough !” he cried, bringin his hand down with a
bang on his desk. ." Go to the evil, Monsieur Ducroe,
and do as you like! Idon't want your advice, andI
don’t want your company! I prefer, in future, to see

our solicitors. I know that I have been imprudent,

ut I can repair all that in a manner that will rather
astonish you. I could pay you the whole sum toomor-
row, if it suited my convenience; but you see, In dear
sir, it doesn’t. Be wise—hes my affairs secre , and
you’ll get your money in the orig run."

The usurer was puzzled.

“ He's not so dipped as I thousht,” he mused. ‘f He’s
found fresh fields and pastures new; but he won’t hide
them long from me. I’ll ferret his secret out-I'll
ferret it out !" ,

“ Thus," continued the barrister, “ take my papers
to our solicitors, and give them instruc one to pro-
ce against me. In eight days from this I shall re.
ceive a county court summons. I shall appear, and ask
for time. You know the law well enough to know
that. I'll get a. month’s grace, and a month is all I
want. Now let us return to common sense. Accept a
bill of exchange, payable in six weeks; or else do as you
have threatened, and place the whole business in the
hands of your solicitors.”

“ Well, well, I never was a hard man, and I don't
want to be nerd now. I agree to our proposition.
Make out a bill for the one thousand our hundred and
fifty, and I’ll call for it on Monday, returning at the
same time your bills.” 

" You don’t be pen to have them with you new?"

His temper, for once in

I am to be argued into a thing—I took the precaution of
leaving them with my solicitors; but it‘s all right, you
knowwall right! I’ve given you my word—and my
word is my bond ! Good-b engood-bye l I’ll see you
on Monday—~11! see you on J. ondsy l” .
Noel listened attentively to be uite sure that his
crafty friend had left for good; an when he heard the
hall door close, shook his fist in impotent rage.
_ “ Scoundrel!” he cried. “ Wretoh! thief! 'old skin-
flint! Didn't he dun into my ears, and no mistake! He
had. made upmhis mind to o to law. too,and that he
would have settled me wi h the count. Vile old
usurer! At one time I was afraid I should have been
forced to tell him all !”
He took out his watch as he spoke.
f‘Hali-past five!” - ' _
He was undecided what to do. Ought he to (line With
his father? Could he leave Madame Gordy ? The din-
ner at the De Valcourt mansion was a strong tempta-
tion; but on the other side there was a sick chamber,
and the dying woman.
“ Of course,” he decided at last, “ I can't go. It
would be an outrage to all delicacy of feeling."
. He sat down and wrote a few lines of :excuse‘ to his
; father, telling him that Madame Gerdy’s death was
i momentarily expected, and that he could not find it in
5 his heart to leave her bedside.
' Whilst he gave the servant directions to send amen-
! sensor with the letter, a sudden thought struck him.
" Has your mistress’s brother been informed of her
i dangerous illness?” '~ I
3 “ I don’t know, sir}; answered the girl. “Anyhow,
1 I’ve said nothin abou it.” , _
, “Good heavegs, what neglect! Ifelt sure that youl
i had told him all about it. Go to him at once, and it he

 

is not at home, find out where he is, and tell him to
come directl .” .

Taking a hick with him, Noel proceeded to the sick.
iohamber. and seated himself in an arm-chair by the
lbedside. The lamp was lighted, and the Sister of
Mercy came and went with noiseless footsteps,dust-
lug, arranging, and putting things in order...

 

 

hirdsfoan’t be head:

" No; and to t i you the truth—knowing how easy

 

There was a
J.”

eggs: look abouther we face, which!
til“ we say dare to hope, sister r”

“ I think we may," she, added. " The last remedies
have-token admirably. The meetith thing is
that she must not dieleft alone."eve’n for a moment. ‘ I
We arranged with the: maid-servant their—when the
doctor calls'agsin that she is to take my place whilst I
sleep", and at midnight I will relieve her.” v ' *

‘ “ Don’t disturb yourself, sister," interrupted Noel,
sadly. “ Sleep in peace until the morning. As for me,
I will remain on guard all night.”

CHAPTER xxxu.

Anrnouen, in military lw uage, Old Corkscrew had
been “ repulsed with loss ” y the magistrate, and tor-
ribly harrassed by the enemy, yet he wouldn’t own
himself beaten.

“I’ve only lost the scent," he re ted, sniffing the

air in the way peculiar to him. “ ’ve got my du y to
do. Is this the time for me to give way, when the life
of a man hangs upon a thread i If I don't stir myself,
who will i I pushed this poor young man into the
abyss, and I‘ll pull him out of it. Alone, too, I'll do it
——that is, if no one will help me.”
- The poor old boy. was nearly fainting with fatigue.
The fresh air was a sort of tonic to him, and he remem-
bered that since the night before he hadn’t eaten a
morsel. He dashed into the first restath he came
to, and ordered a dinner, consisting of soup, chop to
igllow, with fried potatoes, pancake, and a pint of
c aret.

As he ate, his courage rose. Will any of us deny that
it hasn’t often been the case with ourselves? We sit
down to a meal (however moderate) with one set of
ideas, and when we rise they have changed their hues,
just as the hues in a rainbow. There was a wit and a
philosopher—his name we forget—who said that hero-
ism simply depended upon the state of the stomach.

Our friend the Daddy left the restaurant a very diner-
ent man from when he had entered it. The clouds were
dissi ated. Eadn't he time before him -a whole
men n ? What can‘t a man in earnest do in a month ?
His only regret Was that he couldn’t warn Albert that
he had a friend working for him, who was morally sure
of his innocence.

The first thing he did on returning home was to
mount to the fourth story, and ask for r Madame
ng , the woman he had once intend to make his
w e "

Noel opened the door.

This rather disconcerted the Daddy. He only mean .
" kind inquiries," and now he was obliged to enter, if
only for five minutes.

The fact was, he distrusted himself, and would have
geld down a five-pound note rather than have been

rag ed into a conversation about the Widow Lerougc.
Besi he was nervously afraid that Noel—the future
Viscount de Vaicourt—might discover that he was con-
nected with the detective police.

0n the other hand, he was eager to learn what had
 between the young barrister and the old.

on .

J. .

Noel beckoned his friend to, follow him into Madame
Gerdy’s room.

“ What does the doctor say ?” asked Monsieur Tab-
aret, in that whispering voice which we instinctively .
use in the sick chamber.

h " He has just left," answered Noel, “ and gives no
ope.”

The old man, walkin
bed-side, and looked at ti
were dim with tears

on tip-toe, advanced to the
e dying woman with eyes that

” Poor thing! or thing 1" he murmured. " God
has been very go in taking her away before she knows
aill she has suffered much, but what would her suf-
ferings have been could she have known that her son
o—her real son—was in prison under the awful charge
of murder ?"

“ That's what I’m always saying," said Noel. “ to
console myself as I sit watching her by that bed. For
I love her still, old friend. I can't forget that I have
ever considered her as a mother. I know that I was on
the point of cursing her once, but you stopped me. I
thought I hated her; but now-mow, when am to lose!
her-I forget the wrong she has done me, and only ro.
member her tenderness and devotion! Yes, death will
be a blessed release for her; and yet why i for I believe
that her son is innocent !" 4

“ Not guilty, eh ? And you, too, think so?"

Daddy Tabaret put so much warmth, so much viva~
city into this exclamation, that Noel looked “him with
stupefoction. The old man felt that he was blushing
like a girl, and hastened to explain himself.

“ I said, ' You think so, too?’ What I meant by that
was, that I coincided in your opinion. I, too, am con-
vinced that he is innocent. It's so improbable that a
young man, brou rht up as he has been, should have
contemplated sue a cowardly business. I’ve talked
with a lot of people about it, and everybody agrees
with me. The public is in his favor; and that’s a great
point gained.”

Seated near the bed, for enough from the lamp to be

still in the shadow, the Sister of Mercy W88 knitting

away with astonishing rapidity at some waclcn stock-
ings destined for the poor. it was purely mechanical
work, during which she prayed also in a mechanical
way; but since the entrance of Daddy Tabarct she vise
all ears, and entirely forget her everlasting We Downs.
She heardirget did not understand. Her nus-r ow brain
workedth er than her knitting-needles. "

What was the meaning of this conversation between
these two men ? Who could this sick woman be,'and‘
the young man who, callingher “ mother" was still not
her son, and who spoke of her real son as a murderer ?

' She felt very uncomfortable; her small conscience

 

A DESPERATE DEED.

1'

 

 

troubled her. Perhaps she was committinn a sin in
being in such a house. She drew her pale lips together,
and made up her mind to listen to everything, and tell
the rtest “all about it,” directly he saived.

" 0," said Noel~“ no, Monsieur Tabsret. Albert
hasn't the public with him as yet. As you know very
well, the French 0 on an entirely dilferentprinoi is
to the lnglish. are, when a poor devil is arres
innocent, perhaps. of the crime imputed to him—we
are all or to throw stones at him. We reserve our
pity for e guilty one, who, probably, will betray
himself somewhere in his cross-examination. Whilst
Justice is in doubt. we are with her, heart and soul,
against her scapegoat; but the moment that it has been
thoroughlly proved that a man is an out-and-out scoun-
drel, we sympathize with him heart and soul. Now.
that's what public opinion means in France. Albert is
in prison; but as I told my father, the Count de Yal-
court, I will undertake this case; I will defend him;
and, with Heaven’s hel , I will save him.” _

The old man felt inc ' to clasp his arms round his
young friend's neck. but by a strong effort be restrain-
ed himself. “I’ll tell him all about it by-and-by: if
things take a wrong turn for the poor boy in prison.

He contented himself by shaking the hamster by
the hand, as he rose to leave, saying. as he did ’80.
"Bravo, my childl—you’ve got a ood heart. I was
afraid it might have been spout by t e riches and gran-
deur that it is coming into. I know that your head is
all right, but I confess I trembled about your heart.
Thank goodness, it's in the right place! Good-night,
my boy— ood night. . .

01d Cor crew closed the door sofgldy behind him, and
creeping down the stairs, endeavor to gain his own
apartments with as little noise as lossible.

The fact was, he was maid to ace his housekeeper.
He had been twenty-four hours away from home, an
naturally expected “a scene." .

Marie was in a temper, and no mistake—“of her
hinges," as she said; and intended to give her master
warning on the spot, if he did not keep more regular

ours.

All the night he had sat up shivering and shaking
with fear, listening at the keyhole for every step she
heard upon the stairs, and expecting each moment to
see her master brought in upon a. stretcher. To make
matters worse, the whole house seemed to have gone
mad. Nothing but running up and down stairs—one
in search of the doctor. another for ,medloinHuch
" goings on” she couldn’t stand; no respectable Woman
could; and if her master could spare her half an hour
to-morrow, she'd give him a bit of her mind.

She burst out in reprosches whilst she laid the sup-

r.
peOld Corkscrew never answered a .word; but the mo-
ment she had finished her own pre stations and seed
the wine on the table, he rose, an taking her y the
shoulders, turned her out of the room, double locking
the door behind her.

 

CHAPTER XXXIII.

"Pnrwl" muttered the old man; "if she had re-
mained ten minutes' longer, I might have committed a
des crate deed myself.”

e had his work cut out for him that evenin , and
that was to arrange a new plan of action, and p ace it
before the magistrate. Rapidly be analyzed his situa-
tion. Had be deceived himself in his investigations?
No. His calculations as to probabilities, were they er-
roneous? No. He had started from a positive fact--
namely, the murder itself—and all his one had
been realized. Necessarily, therefore, e would find
out the guilty man as he ad already rodicteda—a man
answering to every detail in the case a had made out.
And this man, he felt positive, was not Albert do Val-

court.

" To the devil," he argued, speaking aloud in his in-
tense earnestness, “ wit all your trite sayings and old-
fsshioned maximal They are only the sign-posts that
conduct fools and idiots on the road of me. use; been
left to my own inspirations, I would have dug deeper
into this n s a, and not have hosted on the surface. he
old formula, - Find out those who will profit by the
crime,’ may he sometimes as abmrd as it is true. The
inheritors ofamurdered man gain, in reality all the
profit by his death ; whilst the murderer, at the very
most, gets onl ' the watch and ’ purse or
his victim, room had an interest
in the ' of hte Widow Tonga—Ellie
Viscoun 'Albert‘de Valcour , s Gordy, 5
old Ocuitit de Valcourt. It has been proved to me that
Albert isn’t guilty. It can't be Medians Gordy, for the
sudden announcement of the murder has killed her.
Therefore, there only remains the old Count himself.

‘ awful! ' bad ered l” ,
I tillers theyDaddgr commenced walking up and down the
room, biting his nails to the very quick.

" If it’s the Count, he must have hired somebody to
do it’s brokelbdown swell, perhaps, because of the
smart little boots, and the Trsbucos, smoked with an
amber-holder. Yet these broken-down swells orally
fail in pluck. They can swindle and cheat, an all that
sort of thin : but they seldom commit murder.’

Here Old kscrew diversified his proceedings. He
left ohbiting his nails, and began scratching his scanty
hair till the bald places between looked quite pink.

“ 1'40, I haven’t got it yet!" he said, sinking into his
old armchair in a sort of despair. “ The young Vis-
> count, itis true can't account for his prooeedings on
that fatal evening. Now, I have uothin . to-do with
that; the question I
at the village of La Jonchere (:11; Sgtfit in

—-an 0 crack
“gain kiwi-5:330:11 his chair, and recommenced his
tour roundwhe room. At last he halted before the
mirror oven the nntlmufilzngggggyod his on face
with an express on o e c . .
" Well. ugly mug !" he said, apostrophlaing himself;

a ' had now become in his eyes a terrible Moloc

have to decide is, who her he was
It's all in a nut»

 

" you haven't come out strong in this anir, and I ' and the whole atmosphere was impregnated with s

shouldn't wonder iiGevrel won’t beat you, after all I” ‘r curse.

Gevrel-—-if our readers will refer to the first chapters
of this storywwss chief of the detective
and our friend the Daddy diflered entirely in theircourae
of procedure concerning the murder of Widow Lec

rou e.

Ҥes," continued Old Corkscrew, getting tearful at
the thought; “ Geavel will win the game this time.
And I hope he will; it would be only a proper punish-
ment for my presumption and vanity. I have helped
to condemn an innocent man ! The alfoi' my fortune,
could I only liberate him, would be but a small sacral-
flce. And if I fail? If, after laboring so hard to do the
evil, I find myself powerless to remedy the wron I
have done ‘1" And Daddy Tabaret sunk back into llis
arm-chair, shivering at the thought his conscience had
conjured up.

police; and he . veryl foot of t e scaffold; nay, even up several rounds

 

!

!

Poor old man ! at all times an ardent worshiper of I
justice—indefati able in his pursuit of the criminal— : into a frantic scream ; “ and let me undo the evil that

with the scent o the bloodhound and the persistency of
the ferret—yet he had a heart full of charity for the
suffering and the innocent; and in that category he now
placed Albert de Valcourt.

Thread by thread had he, Tabaret, woven the web,
strengthening it at all points, till the struggling fly
was quite enmeshed; but now, how to undo the too ef-
gciemt work he had—befall he had—so wronle

one

That was the uestion.

Itis easier to 0 than undo!

His victim—for so Daddy Tabaret be an to consider
the unfortunate Albert—has passed, so 0 speak, out of
his hands intb the remorseless, rarely—relax? grasp of
the law. The law, that dread power be h so often
evoked to punish the guilty and relieve the o‘pprcssed—

, destroy-
ing its victims, innocent or guilty, the moment they
were pressed against its fiery breast. .

That the murderer of the Widow Lerouge had yet to
be discovered and denounced, and that an nnocent man
was about to be sacrificed through his means, he was
but too painfully aware.

What was to be done ?

The old man, tortured by a thousand conflictin
thoughts, at last sou ht his bed, where he tossed an
tumbled for many a eary hour before, worn out with
excitement and fati no, he fell asleep.

And then Old Daddy Tabarct dreamed a dream.

He was in an immense crowd—a crowd with cruel
faces, which were all. as moved by one impulse, turned
fixedly one way.

A crowd without much noise, save the tram ing of
feet, and the hoarse fetching ofbreath as that 0 some
vast multitude thirsty for blood l

Yes, for blood! for as poor Daddy Tabaret strug led
with his dream, the faces of the crowd that was no-
sistibly beating him along would chsn . Now they
wo‘uld appear a pack of wolves—a herd of igers—demons
from the pit; but all and always thirsting for blood. At
times, the crowd would come to a halt, and then—it
seemed so in his dream—the eyes ofsll would turn on
him, and an applauding murmur that made him shiver
would break from amyrlad of pantin lips. ‘-' Why was
he there 'I” the old man asked himscl , as, half fainting,
he was once more lifted from his feet and borne upward
—onwsrd by the mob.

What had he done, that creatures such as these should
applaud him ? Yet, at each halt, the same thing 00.
curred, and Daddy Tabaret was the hero of the hour.

A sudden swinging backwards and forwards—a sur -
ing as ofs mi hty sea, and thegreatoonoourseofpeop e
comes to can den pause. _

This time, to move on no further. What it has come
to seek, it has found; the purpose of that holiday is
there; standing dark and dreadful against amelanoholy

sk .
vlbs crowd gives one about of satisfaction, then re-
lapses into si once; while poor Daddy Tabaret, who has
raised himself on tiptoe, the better to see, falls back
half taint ,‘ with a groan; he has recognised the heads-
msn’s grim phernalia of deaths—the guillotine !
Again again—~with all the force that is left to him,

he str gles toesca through the dense mus
human ings that ems him in. lie even oflers

mltimsy. much money, to be allowed to pass ; but in
v n.

A voice comin from what lips he knows not, hisses
in his ear, " Loo up, thou hunter down of men l—look
up.snd behold your work! The man your boasted
.cratt has selected—~the victim your vanity has desired,
is there, side by side with the executioner, an innocent
man awaitin a shameful death ! Look up. Daddy
Tabaret—-loo up !” _ "

And—for it was beyond his power to resist—the old
thief-taker did look up, and uttered a t despairrigldg
cry ; for there, with pinioned arms and end uncove ,
stood Albert do Valcourt. _ ‘

The priest was whispering resignation in his ear. the
exocutioner was preparing to per am his terrible office,
when another strange movement came over the gazing
multitude.

Suddenly it parted, rolling back in two black waves,
to leave a passage free—an open space, to be occupied
by one man only ; and that man was Taber-ct.

It was then the young man on the scaffold advanced
a few steps, and, looking down. fixed his haggard eyes
upon the now livid, trembling old man.

By a‘gigantic effort, the cords connnin his arms
were burst asunder ;‘ and, raising one ban , Albert de
Valloogit‘ pointed downwards‘ , with outstretched anger.
an s . ‘ - . ,.

- " I die innocent l" he exclaimed in a voice of thunder:
“ and that man is my assassin ! By his cruel arts have
I been broughthere. Let him too, mount the fatal
ladder, and he his place beside me.” -

Then, as in his dream it seemed to the wretched old
man, no voice of approval was now heard in the crowd;
but on the'oontrary. hands were clenched y,

 

I

of a wine-shop in the village, that he had spotted his

 

The mob ain closed in, hurrying Tabsret .up to the
of t ke ladder, that he might the better his
war . '

The voice of Albert do Valcourt once more. and for
the last time, dominated the crowd ; while his eyes-—
those sad, accusing eyes-had never once leit
the eyes of Tabaret.

“I am innocent," he said, “even of the thought of
this terrible crime, but the guilty man I know ? His
name is ”—-—-— ‘

Oh, how the old man stru gled to hear f—how every
sense was strained to catch tie words! He even clung
touthe steps of the ladder, and strove to mount; but in
v n.

A name was uttered, and heard by all but—Tabaret.

“ The name, the name 1” he cried, his voice rising

I have done i“ ‘

Despair gave the old man a sort of superhuman
energy. He climbed the ladder, and stood upon the
scafl'old, to shrink back, awe—struck, into the pltying
arms of the priest.

The horrid work was done. The executioner, accord-
ing to the hideous custom of his ofice, had raised the
severed head, and turned the angry face towards him.
Was it fancy? The'eyes again opened, but the lips nt-
tered no sound; and as Daddy staret met that re-
proaohful gaze, he threw up his armsin agesture of
agonized entreat , and—awoke with a scream!

“ Oh, what as am i” moaned the old man. “Oh,
what an awful dream!” He wiped the clammy perv
spiration from his, forehead, then clasped his hands in
prayer. " With heaven's help," he said, “I will yet
lindedolut the man, and Albert do Valcourtshsll be
“v 1.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Home); Damn, the magistrate, had his work be-
fore him. and passed all Saturday and Sunday examin-
ing witnesses, from the village where the murder had
been committed, and its nearest town, Bougival.

Whilst he snatched a half hour or so for his meals, he
had audiences with the various agents of the detective
force, whose investigations. however, were any
but satisfactory.

They had heard a great deal of talk about a woman,
who asserted that she had the murderer coming
out of the widow's cottage, bu nobod learned able to
give them a description of this myt ical woman, or
even to furnish them with her name. '

But they all thought it their duty to infant: the
magistrate that an inquiry was being conducted. by
"a private individual," at the same time as theirs.
This person was sparing:l no end of money, and had
about a dosen men under im, who were always coming

across them, and forestalling them in everything.

The magi:th looked somewhat startled.

" You vs, of course, discovered who the party
wall—.—

“Old Corkscrew, of course, who was s-sninln and
a-prying about the place, in an old gig, ha to s.

young bay mare, as knew what work meant, and no mis-
take. He must have got up very early in the morning,"
said the disconsolate detective ; for wherever we went,
we found he'd been there afore us. l-met the old beg-
gar once, and he had the impudence to s tome.
' What,’ says he, ‘ do you mean by showing t sulphate.
runs about? Before the - end of the week. you’ll
crowded with witnesses, who, for a live-franc
piece, will dye their hair and boards to any tint, pull
out their teeth, and even maim themaelves. to" suit

whatever rtrait {on ma present them. He called
another our, tel ows. w wax-slug him on the
high-road. and made a sign him. ' What a

fool you are,‘ he cried out, 'to waste, your time in
seeking amen who has left the high-resd,sndisnow
skulking in the byways l’ At last, he finished all by
telling two of the police-agents, who happened to be in
man.
Three garcons had seen him—two railway guards. and
a thir person, a woman whose evidence would be
decisive; for she had a ken to him, and she re—
membered quite well the he was smoking." ’

Monsieur Daburon lost his temper on .t 9 spot. ;

" The omcious old idiot 1" he muttered between his
teeth. , " Here! get me. my hat and rest coat! I’ll
start for Bougival tomight, and I’d ring, him back
with a flea in his ear 1", ,

The journey was useless, Daddy Tabaret, the gig, the
swift bay mare, and the twelve men had vanished. '

On returnin home. tired and dispirited, the mag;
trots founda to egrsm on his table, from thechiefof '
detective force.

It contained these few words; . V '

, "We have fimnd the mono Lease M m this
evening. Valuable evidence. ,

O

“ Gama."
# * II! it it ' it I! t I: 3

At nine the next morni Monsieur Daburon was
preparing to start for the ' of Justice, where he
expected to meet Grevrol and the man he had on
{rapped—l" perhaps also the meddling Old Corkscrew

so .

He had collected his papers, ut on his coat and hat,
when his servant informed m that s you lady,
accompanied by an old woman, requested to see .

She wouldn‘t give her name. say that it was
entirely unnecessary, as it was absolute y imperative
giggthe magistrate should spare her a few minutes of

me. ‘ ' «

" Show her up !" said Monsieur Dsburon.~

- Es thought it was probably some relation stamens:- ‘

whose case he had undertaken previous to the murder

= ’MMimMm,d«~i¥h:m.arsammo. n... .. .

  

 

 

 

 

 

   

A DESPERi TE DEED.

     

 

 

fit Inglorious“, and made 11%)}; glad to dismiss the
e. '

136,1” standing before the chimne place, with his
back to the door, looking over some le ters.

The noise of the  door, the rustle of a silk
dress, and the sound, a lig t footstep behind him, did
not til-concert him in the least. ' , ' ’ .

He didn’t even turn his head. When he had. finished
reading the letter he had in his hand, he condescended
to lift his eyes and cast a rapid glance at the new-
comer. ‘ ‘ '

He started back, as thou 11 he had seen a ghost. The
letters’fell from his nerve ess grasp into the fender at
his feet.

" Clare !" he gasped. " Clare!”

And then—as if, he believed himself. and hoped to
believe himself, the plaything of some illusion of the
brain, and yearned to see the emb diluent of her whose
name ' he 'had uttered—he turne slowly, and leaned
heavily against the chimney-place.

Yes, it was Clare ! ‘ _ ' _

What? “This young girl, at once so proud and yet so
shy, had summoned up sufllcient courage to call upon
him, alone-Rafe, she had left her old governess outside.
Mensieur Dabs ne‘elt’puzzled. Some great sentiment

' or powerful motive had annihilated her natural timidity
and aristocratic reserve. , '

Despite himself, his heart gave a. great throb of happi-
ness. He knew he was lost to him, but he loved her
still! It was such an exquisite luxury to look on her
sweet face a sin! ' , '

' He said u thing; only looked at her with a wistful
gaze, almost sad in its intensejaffection.‘ '

’ He thought her more beautiful than ever. Her sweet,
'pale face, andJarge dreamy eyes, usually veiled in a
melancholy that was habitual to them, now flushed.
and gleamed, like a summer-sky that threatens storm.

He felt that she had made up her mind about some-
thing; and whatever that. something was, that she
would carry out her resolution with all the noble

, resolution that belongs to simplicity and truth. '

; - She advanced towards him with aquiet dignity, ex-

tending her hand in a pretty friendly way, that .some

women do with a'gracethat is intuitive. ‘ »
.“ We are still friends, are we not ?" she said, with a

" tremalous smile. - - v ’ .

trate felt like a great awkward schoolboy.

He looks at the little white, ungloved hand, and only

touched it with the tips-'of his fingers. '
'1 , ends, of course," he murmured._‘

that I am devoted to you. ., v > . -

. Mademoiselle d’Arlange‘sub'sided gently into a vast

armchair-4m very same arm-chair t at Old Corkscrew,
only two nights before, had argued the guilt, and
succeeded in eflecting the arrest of Albert.

Monsieur Daburon remained standing, leaning against
the chimney-piece. ’ -

“ You know why I have come ?" asked the girl.

yith a bend of the head, he made a sign which meant
u .65.” ,

He was battling with himself. Could he resist her?
Could he refuse supplications when they came from
such a mouth ? .

“ It was only yesterday that I knew all about it,”

. continued Clare; they kept it from me; without my
dear old governess, I wouldn't have known it even
'now. Oh, what a night I have passed! I was quite
overwhelmed at first; but directly I heard that it was
you who were directing all inquiries, my fears were

dissipated." Then she added, in a tone of confidence,

 “ You’ll get him off, of course ?” '

The magistrate was silent. He half-admired, half-
tied her girlish simplicity—her pure faith, that
ubted nothing.

“ And if I tell you, Mademoiselle d'Arlange," he 'com
menced, “ that the Viscount is not innocent ?" '. ‘

She half rose, with a gesture of protestation.

“ If I tell you that he is guilty ?"

‘ Clare looked at the magistrate in wide-eyed wonder.
Had she understood him rightly, or had the sorrow of

' the last day or two dazed and stupened her? Every-
thing of the most impossible and improbable sort

, seemed natural now, after those last terrible words of

his. ’ a
He, not daring to raise his

“ You know

‘ eyes, went on speakin , in
a voice that trembled slightly, but that increase in
strength as he went on. V

"I cannot tell you what I feel in speaking to you‘

now: but, cruel as it may seem, I still feel it is my
duty to tell you the bitter truth. Muster up, then, all
the courage that I know you possess, and meet with
noble firmness the greatest misfortune that can fall
upon 7ntrue-hcarted woman. The 1mm waters is

W

' ‘ Likes physician who pours out a dangerous medicine

--calculating it drop by drop—Monsieur Deburon pro-

nounced slowly, word by word, his last sentence.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, expect-
ing, in prison language, that she would " break out."
or t, or scream. .

He was entirely out in his calculations. She did
nothing of the kind.

she rose. as if galvanized, strong in her youth and
energy: her usually e and delicate face-crimson
with excitement‘ and ,er beautiful e , that had be-
fore been dim with tears, sparkling w th righteous in-
dignation.

I "It is false 'I” sheer-led ; “and those who have put
‘auch an idea intoyourhead have lied! I can't mince
words now, because ' know I am speakin the truth!

I know Albert-J knowthat

it is impossi is for him
to do a cruel or an

(1 action! Were he‘in

this room at this very moment,” she said, vehemently;

stretching out her arms towards the magistrate. 'f and
, were he on his knees, before me, confessing his. guilt,
I  push him back, and tellvhlm he was dream-

"Es hasn’t confessed yet," said the magistrate,

is entirel‘ on the wrong

left me, and cruelly murdered a poor old woman!

him—that, nothing can wash away.

 

greatly upset, and wipin in: moist forehead with his
still moister hand. " It n't matter whether he does
orvnot—the evidence against illusion-clear asthe
3023!!” sun! Facts are stubborn things, Mademoiselle

Q use") y

“I deny that they are," said Clare, now thoroughly -

at bay. “ I repeat—nay, I swear to you l—that Justice
tack this time! " Yes 1" she
insisted, with a little stamp of her foot, catching a ges-
ture of pity on the part of her listener : “ lam as sure
of it as I see you have made up your mind to the con-
trary ! I know Albert better than he knows himself !"

Monsieur Daburon was about to make a timid ob-
jection ; but she waved him impatiently aside.

“ It is new four ears that we have loved each other.
Since that time] ave had no thought that has been
hidden from him, and—yes, I will answer it before
Heaven-4w has had no secret from me. - Alas I he was,
calm, alone in the world. His father never loved
him—oh, never! and it was for that reason, I suppose,
feeling our-loneliness in the world, that we trusted so
much and clung so close together. We had but one
heart, or, rather, two hearts that beat as one. And will
you tell me that Albert is criminal—that a soul, which
I know to be as pure as an angel’s, is sullied and
stained by so base a crime as murder 2”

“Desperate positions have long ere now driven bet- -

ter men, or as good men as "—he hesitated a moment
what name to call him, then added—-“ as this one, to do
cruel and desperate acts. Suddenly he finds that
neither the name or the fortune of the De Valcourts be-
long to him. , This secret—this terrible secret, which
was to hurl him from the topmost round of Fortune’s
ladder, to be spurned and trampled on in the mud, was
known to but one personubut (me, an old woman!” ,
“,Thefirl was listening to him with dilated eyes. ‘He'
fancie he could almost hear the beating of her heart.

" This woman," he went on, “ held his fate in her
hands. His ha 7
youth and ambition could desire, was ban g upon an
igcautious word—a spiteful breath. To 961) \all, he
dared all, found out this woman, and killed her I"

‘f What an infamous calumny !" cried Clare. " As
shameful as it is stupid ! Why, he has already told me
this f terrible secret ‘ you speak of about his fallen for-
tunes. He told it to'methe very day he knew it him-
self. He didn't think of his own position ; he only
thou ht of me. He was broken-hearted» at the thought
that might grieve and frets-that the golden future
his love had made for me was now mere dust and
ashes. I grieve and fret ! What was .his grand name
and great‘fortune to me? I owedto them the only real
sorrow I had ever known ; and so I told him. He he-

,came uite happy after that, and said that as long. as I

loved im, he cared for nothing else. Then I gave him
a severe scolding for having ever doubted me. Then
we made it up,‘and were so happy; and after thatTlfie

e
idea is preposterous ! I’m sure you will never dare to
repeat it!‘ ’ ‘

Mademoiselle
her lips. \

This smile signified, " At last I have convinced him—
at last I have gained the victory. ~ And he hasn't a
word to say in reply." v -

“ You are perhaps unaware," said the magistrate,
shakin his head sadly, “ that sudden fits of frenzy will
drive t e ,best of men to deeds of the most fearful
ferocity. How can you tell that, after leaving you.
whether a feeling of despair, approaching madness, did
not make his reason totter and render him unaccount-
able for, his actions ? This is the only way that I can
explain the crime.”

he face of Clare became ashen pale.

“ Mad! he must, then, have been mad!" she mur-
mured, with a look of intense terror. _

“ Perhaps," answered the m istrate. " And yet all
the circumstances of the crime enote the most careful
and subtle premeditation.” Then seeing the agonlzed
expression ofh'er' brow and eyes, he chan his tone of
cold analysis to one of entreaty. “0h, i—if you
will let met call you so—llsten to me. I'm a man of
the world-you are a mere child, inexperienced in its
ways. You have lost your father and your mother.
You told me once you looked upon me as sort of elder
brother; listen to me, then, for I speak to you in all the
sincerity of a pure and unselfish aflection; give up this
man; he is unworthy of your love. Iknow that this
sorrow will 0 nigh to break your heart. The ordeal
that you wi have to go through is a terrible one. It
would kill an ordinary woman: but you are not anor-
dinary woman. You are young—you are strong—you
are brave. You have a bright life before you yet. In
the time to come. you will look back upon this por-
tion of your life as upon some dream,
thank Heaven that you were awakened from it 2"

He spoke wimMsion and deep sincerity; but she
didn't unders a Word he said. She heard his
voice; but the meaning of the words he uttered en-
tirely escaped her. She felt confused—dazed—and ut~
terly miserable !

“ I don’t quite comprehend your meaning,” she said,
after a pause, ressin‘g her burning hand to her aching
forehead. “ hat is it you advise me to do ‘2”

“ I advise you to wipe all memory of Albert de Val-
court from your heart. Pray on your knees every
night forgetfulness for alove that. was thrown away.
In the eyes of the world, by the verdict of his judges,
this young man is guilty. Perhaps, for certain consid-
erations, his sentence may be commuted; but the moral
enact will be the same. The stain of blood is upon
Try to bear it,
Clare, and close your heart against him forever !”

The oung girl-stopped Monsieur Dabnron, with a
look 0 almost savage anger.

“ So I am to understand," she cried, in a voice that
trembled with passion. "that on ‘omnsel me to de-
serthim in his misfortune! Al the world is against

d’Arlange stopped, with a smile upon

and

of a union with you, everything that v

 

.; as. ’

'i". -. 

him, and you prudently advise me follow its example !
Hen do these selfish things, I have been told, women
never 1 Look around you—however unfortunate, how.
.ever humiliated, however fallena man may be, you
will alwaysvnnd some true-hearted woman near to con-
sole and sustain him; when the last of his friends
sneak off—when the last of his relations have turned
their backs on him—still the woman “aniline !"

The In ‘ tratefelt that he had gone too far. The
excitemen ofClare frightened him. He tried, but in
vain, to interrupt her enthusiasm.

“ I may be timid," she went on, “ but I never was a
coward I I chose Albert of my own free will, and, come
what will, I won’t renounce him ! He would have
shared With me his prosperity and his glory! I will
take, whether he likes it or not, the half of his shame »
and misery! You counsel me to forget—teach me first
where forgetfulness is to be foimd! I forget him! I
couldn’t do it, even if I wished; and I don’t wish. I
love him still ! Nothing shall separate us~nothing
but death 1 And if he is to die on the scafi‘old, I know
I shall die from the same blow that strikes him l”

Monsieur Daburon had hidden his face in his hands.
He couldn’t bear her to see the dee emotion he felt.
m“ How she loves him i" he thoug t—“ how she loves

m ..

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE deathless silence that reigned through the room
recalled the magistrate to his senses. _

Clare had fallsn into an arm-chair. Her eyes were
closed, and through the pale, parted lips the breath
came quickly. He thought she was on the point of
fainting. He stretched his arm out eagerly towards the
bell that was on his desk, and was just about to strike
it, when, by a quick movement, she stopped him.

" What are you going to do '1’" she asked.

" I thought you were ill," be stammered.
intending to call your governess."

“ Oh, it's nothing!" she said, smiling, “I’m only a
little upset; that’s all. I don’t look: strong, you know.
People think I'm very delicate. because I am so pale;

“Iwas

.but I am strong. I’m mu of nerve, and I can stand a

great deal; much more than your fat. chubb -cheeked
girls do i What I feel the hardest to bear ii, that I
should be. forced to make the confessions I have 'just
made. I feel degraded in my own estimation. A man
like Albert de Valcourt requires no defender; he only
requires you to prove his innocence." <

She rose as. she spoke, and advanced . to the door.
Monsieur Daburon stopped her by a gesture.

_The fact was, to use a common phrase, he had lost
his head. In his aberration, he had thought it his duty
to tell the poor girl the whole truth, and thus destroy
all the false he as she had conjured up. A surgeon
(he argued to h mself), who has commenceda terrible
operation, doesn’t leave it unfinished because his pa-
tient screams, kicks and cries.

“ It is extremely painful for me, Mademoiselle d’Ar-
lange "— he commenced, but she cut him short.

“ You have said quite enough, sir ; any further re-
marks from you will be quite thrown away upon .me !
[fyou were really my friend, I would have asked you
to have helped me in saving a poor forlorn and ship-
wrecked brother ; but I see you are too busy—you have
doubtless a score of other shipwrecked wretches to at-
tend to. Good-bye i”

The magistrate turned crimson.
at this last insult. .
He remembered a remark of Old Corkscrew’s relative
to the fairer sex, a remark which came back to him in
gull force, as he looked at Clare's beautiful, sensitive

ace.

“ Women,” he said, ” seldom analyze, or reason about
a thing. They only feel and believe—instead of dis-
puting, they affirm."

£22131? wits 3116021011356 gith ‘Clare.

eso or ,e ture; this ti o
ing his hand $131: her  , me by lay

ggtaty, fordone gifment 1"h b

e urne ,an eanin er sckaains
“0.0;; “staging. th as b g t the door,

‘ you new e on on ted proofs that I have in
my hands," he said, in those cold, concentrated tones,
which announced that whatever provocation she might
give him. he was determined not to lose his ten —
'1' if you r2311} :llllozrflme evenhto mentgion a few of the; ,

am so a efhlse c at on are a
will fade away into thin air.“peg ‘y we we

" YBpes.kh,stheni!” said Clsi-l e, impegously.

“ ou vegven me eavezm ou mutn
blame me afterwards, if I pain you‘ll. niw." hes emf:
menced, nervously. _

"Goon I” said the girl, with an impatient stainp of
 .. ....

" , amongst e thousand and one is we have
against the accused. there is a special one, which, to my
mind, is decisive. The murder was committed on the
evemng of Shrove Tuesday and he absolutely refuses. or
rather pretends to forget, how he passed his time during
that evening. He was absent from home, however; and
did not return till two in the morning; his clothes ware
spotted with mud, and torn in various places ; whilst
in s gloves were scratched and split, as ough he had
been engaged in some tight or struggle."

"0h, sto , stop !" cried Clare,breathlessl , her e e
beamin th a sudden gleam of Joy. “$011 said? 2
thuinlkéitd " it was the evening of Shrove Tuesday ?"

“ Oh, I knew I was right! Didn't I tell you he was
innocent t"

She clasped her hands as she spoke, and then raised

a ..

hegyesnsinp ! .
e_ expression 0 the most fervent devotion (1
faith, caughtby some of the Italian pointers, rsdisftlgd

her pale and lovely lace. whilst she thus stood, in a

He felt very angry

 

sort ofecstacy, rendering thanks to God, in the over-
whelming allusion of her gratitude. .

The magistrate was so thoroughly put out, that he
forgot to admire the pretty picture before him.

“ Well i" hesaid, impatiently waiting an explanation.

"Monsieurhburon," answered Clare, “if that is
your strongest proof, it exists no longer. Albert'de
l’alcourt spent the whole of the evening you mentzon
with me I "

“With you ‘9" stammered the magistrate.

“Yes; with me.”

He was astonished—almost stunned. '

"What!" he asked ; “ the Viscount spent the evening
at your house? Your aunt—your governess—the ser-
vants spoke to, and saw him ?”

“No; he came, and went, in secret. He wished that
no one should see him. He wanted to be alone With

“Ah i" said the ma 'strate, with a sigh of relief.

This sign slguifle , “I understand it all now. It
beats everything I’ve come across! She intends to
sacrifice her reputation, in order to save him. Poor
child! poor child 1" I

This sigh was, however, interpreted in quite a difi‘er-
out way by Mademoiselle d'Arlan e. She then ht that
Monsieur Daburon was surprise and shocks
lacing Albert without witnesses. .

" Your surprise is-an insult 1" she said.

“Mademoiselle d’Arlange I” .

“A girl of my blood and education, can receive her
betrothed lover without even a whisper bein raised
against her, unless she so far degrades horse f as to
have to blush that such an interview should have taken
place at all !"

These were the words she said, but at the) same time
she was crimson with shame, with grief and rage. ~

If a look could annihilate a man, the unfortunate
Monsieur Daburon would have been annihilated on the
8 ct. , _ . , , ..
p“I didn’t intend to insult you, mademoiselle,” he
said, quite humbly. “I only meant that I couldn’t

at her

quite understand why the Viscount should visit you in j

scant, when his approaching marriage gave him the
right to come and gain the most public manner, at all
hours and at all times. I want to know, also, howhe
got himself into such a dilapidated condition on this
particular visit in question ; I should like to show you
the condition of his clothes, for instance "—

Olare was more indignant than ever. .

“ This man doubts my word," she said.

The sneer and the tone of her voice annoyed her
listener. '

How dare she speak thus? Did she think she was
going to make him her dupe?

“Once and for all, Mademoiselle d’Arlange," he said,
sternly, “ I must remind you that you are speaking to
a man who has his duty to fulfill in the eyes of the aw
A crime has. been committed, and all the evidence I
have collected tends to prove that the Viscount Albert
de Valeourt - is the guilty man. You come here, and
tell me that he is innocent-all I ask of you is to prove
it'l! ..

“I have given you my word "—

“ Prove it i" . ' ’

The girl raised her head and advanced towards him
slowly, with eyes full of pained astonishment.

“ Is it possible, then, that it would be a pleasure to

, you to find Albert guilty ? Would you feel a gratifica-
‘tion in condemning him ? Do you hate him? Remem-
ber, his fate is in your hands! What about your im-
partiality? Certain memories come back to me~how
will the toll against you ‘2 Are you sure that in perse-
cutin this man you are not revenging yourself upon
a rive , whilst you hide behind the shield of the law ?"

“0h, Glare! Clare 1” said the magistrate, his face
quivering under the nervous pain he suffers ; “ it is
in your powar to wound-«it is not in mine to answer i”

“ But you must answer! You represent the law 1”
She saw the emotion in the magistrate’s face, and her
tone softened. for there was no doubting the genuine-
ness of his tears. “You will help moi" she said, ex-
tending two imploding hands. ” May I trust in you 2"

11; wag-by an efiort, yet with the firmness of a man-re-
solved. that hémgzrod: . r

U   r

' T131231,  clasped hands and streaming eyes, Glare

told the strange talethat Was to prove the innocence
of her lover, Albert do Valconrt. I v _

 

CHAPTER xxxvr. ‘
~ “ know " commenced Clare, "that there have
alwarfiwbeen great obstacles in the way of my marriage
“fitment Daburon nodded in Sign of acquiescence. "

“ I wonder what new fable she about to invent,
he thought. “ The fact is, she is so devoted to this man
that she’s capable of saying she committed the murder

. p9 ‘

“9.5133; cm Count do Valoourt," she continued, " quite
disapproved of the match, because I had no dowpy,
He’s such an ambitious old man that he would pile
riches upon riches simply to keep up the stately n-
deur of the family name. It took five years for her:
to bring his father to his way of thinking ; but at last
he triumphed over his scruples, and obtained his con-
sent." _ n

u is consent, did he ? said the magis-
trate all}: 5331111, looking wistfully into the earnest
eyes 'and the sweet, flushed 1309.

"-Ylfsli his“? th long delay
_ n a e -
glitch ;' and I think this time she, was right. .
d ' v y hurt, considering that our ibmlly dates iur-
ther back than that of the De Valcourte, at the slight:
that had been put upon her, only because our account
at the bankers was less than theirs. and we had lost our
landed estates. Although the day was the  grand.

You know how proud
She was

 

continued Clare.

ve his consent ; but my grandmother was.

 

‘4 ' DESPERATE DEED.

mother declared that the strictest etiquette should be
observed until we were married. You know her
way i ” y .

Monsieur Daburon nodded. He did not dare to trust
his voice, for fear it should sound bitter.
old lady. He had been snubbed by her, and had not
relished it. 3 i g _ ,

“ Grandmamma is. very proudh you know, and she
hates to be placed in . , false position. Peo 16 might
think,”_she argued, “ that I had set a trap for 8 young
man with his immense wealth and distinguished posi-
tion, therefore she decided that we were only to meet
once a week, and then in the presence of her friends and
acquaintances. We felt this to be rather hard ; but
grandmamma was obdurate, so we were obliged to give
in. Such was the position of affairs, when one Sunday
morning I received a little note from Albert, telling me
that important business would prevent him accepting
my grandmother's invitation for that day. I had a pre-
sentimeut that some misfortune had happened. I never
slept that night. I awaited the morrow with impa-
tience—with anguish. At last, instead of coming him-
self, he sent his servant with. a letter. In this letter
Albert implored me to grant him an interview. It was
necessary, he said, that he should speak to me alone,
and without delay. Our future depended upon it. I
didn’t hesitate a moment. I wrote in reply that he
would find me at the garden-door that opened upon a
little by-street at the ask of our house. I told him to
come on Tuesday evening, and to knock three times as
the clock struck nine from the Hospital of the Invalides.
I knew my grandmother expected some friends that
night, and I thought that in fei 'ng a headache I
might be allowed to retire at an ear y hour. I alsoknew
that my governess, owing to her great capacities as a
whist player, would be retained b , some gray-headed

old partner, thus leaving me to ful ll'inyen ment.”
" Pardon me for interrupting you," put in onsieur

.Daburon. “What day did you write to the Viscount?”
“ On Tuesday.”

“ Can you tell me at what hour 1*”

“ I think Isent the letter somewhere between two and
three o’clock.” »

" Thank you. Pray 0 on.”

“ Everything took p ace exactlyas I had foreseen,”
“ In the evening I found myselfalone
——uuwatched. In the drawing-room they were absorbed
in music and cards; in the servants’ ofllces the prepara-
tions for supper were engrossing the minds of our
housekeeper and her maids. Down I crept to the ar-
den a little before the time fixed. _ I had succee" in
finding the key to the garden-door, and I set to work at
once to open it. But the key wouldn't turn in the lock,
which was encrusted with dirt and rust. I blew

pinto it—rubbed it with my pooket handkerchief—

and then used all my strength to give the he a
turn. I gave it up in desperation when nine o’c ock

struck, and. Albert knocked. Through a chlnk in the

panelI told him all about it, and he at once advised
my throwing the key over the wall, for him to have a
try—4.3, of course, his hands‘were stronger than mine.
Try as he might, he didn’t succeed a bit better than I
had done, and so I implored him to put oil our inter-
view until'the marrow. He wouldn’t hear of it—what
he had to tell me admitted of no delay. For three long
days he had hesitated about telling me; but he felt he
couldn't keep it from me any longer. He said, if he
didn’t tell me, he felt he should go mad, or do some-
thing worso—perhaps, make away with himself. We
were talkin all this time through the ohink I told you
about. At ast, he got so impatient, that he proposed
climbing the wall. I implored him not to attem t it.
The wall, as you know, is a very high one, an the
coping is covered with broken glass, and the branches
of the acacias make quite a hedge upon it. But he only
laughed at my fears, and said, that unless ,I gave him
express orders to the contrary, he'd be over~in a
minute. Before I couldmake. up my mind. he had ac-
complished the fast, and descended, without a scratch
or a bruise, into the garden. The news he had to break
to me was the dreadful catastrophe that had fallen
upon him. We sat on the bench in front of the shrub-
bery; but when the raiu'commenoed, we went for shel-
ter into .the’ summer-house. Midnni‘gxlit had struck
when Albert went away, calmerin d, and almost
happy in spirits. He left by the same way'he had

amorous-on y with less difficulty, because I persuaded ,
him to use the gardener’s ladder, which I lowered. after

he had gone.”

This story, told in the simplest and most natural way
possible, astounded Monsieur Daburon. He did no
know what to think. ’

“ One, ueatién more. Mademoiselle d’Ar ,“ he
said. who the rain commenced when the V unt
climbed the wall ‘1”

"No; the first drops fell, as I told you, when we
were seated near the shrubbery. I remember it well,
because he opened his umbrella, and I remarked to him
that we looked like Paul and Virginia.”

“ Grant me a few minutes longer,” said the magis-
ate ;'and, as he spoke, he sat down at his desk, and
rapidly wrote two letters.

The first contained an order that Albert should be
brought, without delay; to the Palace of Justice.

The second was more minute. It contained instruc-
tions to the superintendent to proceed immediatel to
the Faubourg St. Germain, and examine the w ,at
the end of the garden, belon ng to the mansion of the
Ddchess d' ange. It exp ained that the wall had
been twice scaled, and the traces of coming and going
would naturally be diderent, especially as to the ioot-

pr nts. , ,

Whilst writing, the magistrate had struck upon a bell
for his servant. _ v ~‘

" Here are two letters. Take them to the superinten-
dent, and ask him to attend to them at once. There.
be off! Take a cab, and don’t lose an instant. i if
you can’t find the superintendent, inquire where e is

.shall‘be

 

a
—-he ems. mes—ma tell him to “(about us'
business. Without delay." i  .r

, Then;_3turn‘ing to Clare, he asked, “nave  kept
thelfitefiih, which the Viscount asked you; to meet

He knew the him

‘ “ Yes; I think I have it in my pocket. Here it is !"
And she handed him. a very, rumpled piece of paper.

A suspicion flashed across his mind. This compromis-
ii'igl letter.’ was very conveniently at hand. " Young
1 'es," he thought, "don’t 'nsuall'y carry about mis-
sivespf thissort.” :At a glance, he rendith'e few lines
the letter contained. “No , date,” he murmured; “ no
addreés ; ‘not even an envei e !"' ' ‘ I

Clare'was too pro-occupie to hear 1 him. She was
trying‘if she could find some means to prove that the
interview between her lover and herself had really

aken place. ;

“Monsieur Daburon." she said, abruptly breaking a
long silence, “ an idea has just struck me. Very often,
when we think ourselves most alone, is the very time
that we are being watched. Now, I took every pre-
caution that my meeting with Albert should be known
only to ourselves ; but somebody might have seen us,
you know. Suppose you summon all the servants "—

> “What?” blurted out the magistrate ; “ compromise
yourself to your servants ? You must be raving !"

“ What ?” she said, opening her lovely eyesin wonder;
“ you talk to me of my reputation ? I don’t care one
bit about it, as long as he is n-ee !" ' '

In spite of himself, the magistrate could not help
admiring her noble self-devotion. . _ V -

“And, then, the key,” she went on ; ‘7 you remember
about the key I threw over the wall to Albert 1‘ He
didn't return it to me. Perhaps he put it into his
pocket ; and, if you find it in his possession, won't'thot
prove he was in the garden on Tuesday night 1" _

“ I will make a note of it.” ,

“I’ve another idea." said Clare. " Send some of your
people to examine the wa .” ’ . '

She was quite excited now, and was walking up and
down, the room, puckerlng h‘er fair, broad brow into
unaccustomed wrinkles in search of "ways and
means." v ‘ ' > .

“ It has been already done," answered Monsieur
Daburon. “ One of those letters just sent contained
orders for an inquisition to be.made at. your house—a
private inquisition, of course”? " ' ' -

"-Oh, thanks !—-a thousand thanks!” And for the
second time she extended him her hand. “ I see that
at last you intend- to help us! otheridea occurs, to
me. I also wrote to Albert on esday." Ask him for
my letter—that will be evidence, won't it 1‘”

“He has burnt it.”

Clare lowered her eyes, and the bright flush faded
out of her face.

She thought she detected a certain irony in the
magistrate’ voice. In this she was mistaken. He was
thinking of the letter Albert had thrown into the fire.
It must have been concerning this very letter that he
had used the words. “ She cannot resist me."

“ Don’t you think it would have been better, made- '

moiselle,” he said, after a pause, “if the Viscount had
told me all this at first, and so have avoided painful
scandal and useless inquiry i"

The girl raised her head proudly.

“ It seems to me that a man who really loved and
respected a woman would hardly own—unless he had
received her consent—that she had granted him I -
vate interview. A man ought rather to die than be
the honor of a woman !" . , ' ’

To use a , slang phrase, the magistratexas " shut

_ ‘;I have still one more favortoaskyen,"he ma,
meekly. ‘“ It’s a mere formality, but a painful

one-—

" that is, that you will repeat all that, on have told me
before a witness, and then sign your ,
She didn’t feel it in the least painful—she was only

position." .

"I know.” she went on. with a deep , "that I

dreadfully talked about, andbe pet I laugh-
ed at as a sentimental girl whose headhasbeen turned
by sensation novelsg but I
praise orb'lame as long as I am sure ethic

level” .
~, How themagiah‘ate envied the

prisoner-in his nar-

row oon—glorified by the devotion crouch a  v ,- ,

._,..._ ,
at. W. “ultimo bimmmmmmfim
e‘ or u  on , the
Palaceof Jugtioe. g ‘ _ « ,
'M... fighilmm m” are” nurse .3?
u e resenoe o ;
2nd although-aligned kissedherinafisroesortot 

on entering, and taken one of her hands in hero, to the

imminent peril of the glove that enclosed“, she never 
. and

looked at her, though she still held her hand
spoke, as it were, at random. , ‘ . a

" What a miserable, useless being I uni-t" she said.
" He is suffering and in prison; I am has, and can do
what I like, and yet I can't help him. 011, heaven 1"
she sobbed, heading down onathe hand she heldin hers,
the fingers of which clasped her own in silents -
pathy; “help me now! In remylips with we to
touch the hearts ofthese h hearted men 1 Oh! what
shall I do ?——what shall I do ‘1’"

"Clare! Clare! calm yourself. You’ll have such a
headache to-morrow i” said the quiet V9160 attire gov-
erases.

But Clare did not hear her.

" To whom shall I go next 2” she went on; " atwhose
feet shall I throw myself to obtain his pardon 1" >
She stopped, as it shocked at the words she had
uttered :' and, to the great relief of bar, can ’ .
flung the hand she had so long held 
temptuously aside. , .
.“I’m notworthy ofhim after all! Isaidhin Mon,
as he is innooent, it would be a degradation rm to

don't care for ' the vol-id's"

~ hammer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“ drape a pull that nearly brought it down.

 

.4 Brennan plum.

 

 

22
ask it. Oh i if Icould find some one to be] but I am
only a weak, inexperienced girl! If I can d have the

advice and assistance of a man of the world 1" She
paused, as if reflecting. Then said, turning to her —
verness, " Yes; there is a man who owes something to -
bert. and who has indirectly placed him in the present
position!” '

" The Count Lionel do Valcourt l" r

" Yes; his father. Surely, he will not desert him
now. I will go to him, and remind him that he has

still a son !"
s a a: s: a: a a

Half an hour afterwards, Clare was seated in the old
Count’s study; and, ten minutes afterwards, she had
placed him in possession of the facts she had already
narrated to the magistrate.

Since the arrest of Albert the Count had remained
plunged in a sort of gloomy stupor. In his profound
grief, seeing nothing around him but ruin and dis-
grace, be b not made the slighest effort to throw ofl'

r the torpor hat clouded his brain. This man, ordinarily
so active so ,i‘ull of passion and energy, was stupefled,
and felt his mental (paralysis rather a relief than other.
wise, as it prevents him from realizing the intensity
of his sorrow. ..

The voice ofClare sounded like the clarion of hope in

his ear. The darkness of the fearful night rolled away,
and he saw the light of dawn in the sky.

"The Count took' between his hands the small, soft
hands of Clare, and pressed them with a paternal ten-

‘wdcr‘ness. ‘ ’ , '

. .,;',.'-",.You are a brave rl i” he exclaimed; “ a noble,

‘oourageous girl! Goo blood will never lie! ‘ I didn't

.fknow you, my child. but I understand you now. Yes;
’ ppy in the love of lbert, as he will be in possess

that precious treasure-41. true woman’s heart ! But
 mustn’t run wild and cackle like geese upon a com-

“ on, my dear; we must get good legal advice. Ah! ,I
,have it—Noel i" - -

Clare raised her eyes to the old Count’s face in won-

’ “"i Noel is my son," he said, falteringly; “ my other
16?, Albert’s brother. He has a great reputation as a
Winter; he will help us with his advice."
iii‘he name of Noel, thrown like a bombshell into the
 of their hopeful talk, went like a dagger to Clara's

,t., r
“.2. 15 Count saw the sudden pallor and the pained

start. I

“Don’t be uneasy, m dear,” he went on—" don't be
uneasy. Noel is a g and conscientious man, and,
what’s more, he loves Albert. Don't shake your head,

, glittle skeptic. Noel told me himself, in this very room,

that he was morally convinced of Albert's innocence;
 declared that he would employ his whole intellect
and ener y to clear away a fatal mistake, and that if I
would ve him permission he would undertake the
case."

These affirmations, however, hardly seemed to re-
assure the oung girl: “ What, after all, has this N‘oel
done for Al rt as yet ?" she thought; but she wisely
kept thiareflection to herself. ‘

‘ We'll send for him," continued the Count. "He is

now beside the bedside pf Albert's mother, who brought

~ .41 from his infancy, and who is nowdying !"
‘Wflgurt’s mother '1’". ‘

4? Yes, ‘my child. Albert will explain to you what
mustnow seem an eni a. Remember, if we wish to
save'Albert, how time es.”‘ -

He stopped making ; a sudden thought struck him.
Insteado sen g for" Noel, why not go to him ? He
,‘v’muldthen have an opportunity of seeing Valerie, and

 ears he’had so lon ed to meet her again i
'  s in th, life to which we are impelled

. are
' ‘byafeeling' ‘ ot‘ he heartalone, and which we hardly
dare to ris

‘ ,’because athousand subtle or interested
reasons-'c’anseusto pause and think. We» wish-iong,
.withmi ardent longing, and yet we struggle and fight
with them. At last an o portunity occurs, when we

‘ row all our scruples to t e winds, and rush to meet

, th
them withasort'of delirious joy. And then the ex-
cuse was, orally “make is, "It was not I that willed
it—it was ‘ i' V , I _
" twould certdnly save time," observed the Count,
"ifweoalionlloel! " ‘ ' i » '
. u"Certainly ; let us go at once,” said Clare, promptly.
, "But—but,"_hesitated the old, nobleman, "would it
. be right—I mean would it be'proper for you to accom-
"pan 'm?‘.:Etiouette.youkn0w.” ‘r w »
g..." priety and eti uette!" echoed Clare, impetu-
 ‘ y; "don't think 0 them at such a time as this.

' a; ‘th you and with Albert loan go anywhere. Isn’t my
'- ‘ggidence of importance-i You will never be able to

get 01‘s,,without mam take mei don’t leaveine be«

. x I I
_ ‘ This she saidpleadingl‘y. - »
, ‘1'? You shall»come."sai the Count, giving the bell-
“ The car-
 to his servant ; "and lose no time."

ridge i’

 

' Charms xx'xvm.

 Amwby the instructions of Daddy Tabaret’s porter,
the Count and the young girl mounted the stairs to
Madame Gerdy’s suite of apartments. ,

The Count ascended very slowly. leanin heavily on

' {he waters, and stopping on every Ian ing to take

res . . .

He was about to see her ainl His heart beat so
fast. that he felt faint and sic !

“as Monsieur Noel Gordy at home i” he asked the

“No, sir. He has this moment gone 'out; but he

left word that he would be back in half an hour.

. “We will wait his return,” said the Count; and he
passed into thehall, followed by Clare .

Three persons were in the room into which the

‘ou shall be m dau hter; and on will be he ' -— -
is ' y y ppfng ‘de Valcourt, a man well known in the political as well

.the pinched features, rec

 

Count and Mademoiselle d'Arlange were shown—the
cure of the parish, the doctor, and a very tall man
wearing the Legion of Honor, whose dress and bearing
betrayed the retired soldier.

They were all standing talking by the chimney-piece,
and the arrival of the strangers seemed to cause them
considerable astonishment. ‘

The military man was the first to recover himself.
Advancin , he placed a chair for Mademoiselle d’Ar-
lange, an bowed slightly to the Count.

The latter felt that his visit was an intrusion.

It was a false position, and the only way was to get
out of it as speedily as possible.

“ Gentlemen," he said, “ I fear that my presence here
may seem somewhat indiscreet.” His words failed
him, and he drew himself up abruptly. “ Gentlemen,
I am the Count (is Valoourt."

At this name, the old soldier let his hands fall from
the chair, the back of which he still held, and drew
himself to his full hei ht.

There was a flash 0 angerin his eyes, and his hands
closed with a gesture of menace ; but with a powerful
effort be controlled his emotion, and walked, with a
pale face and compressed lips, to the window.

Neither the Count nor the other two men perceived
these rather eccentric proceedings upon the part of
their military friend ; but they did not escape the
watchful eyes of Clare.

The Count advanced to the cure, feeling as awkward
as a school-boy.

“I hope Madame Gordy is better,” he said.
heard that she has been very ill.”

The doctor, whose sense of hearing would have beaten
the finest terrier in Europe, advanced at once.

He was glad to make the acquaintance of the Count

“ I have

as the fashionable world.

" She is very ill, sir,” he said, gravely.
fear there is no hope."

The old. gentleman turned away, and leaning his arm
upon the chimney-piece, heaved a deep sigh. ‘ ‘

After along gulf of‘icy silence, he spoke again. '

“ Has she recovered consciousness?” he asked, almost
in a whisper.

" No, sir ; but there has been a great change since
yesterday. She has passed a restlessnight, with more
or less of delirium ; but an hour ago she became calm-
er, and asked to see her old friend the cure."

The priest shook his head sadly.

“ My visit has been of no use ; she did not even re-
cognize me. Poor thing ! poor thing! For ten years I
have known her, and a dearer creature or a more chari-
table soul I have never met."

“Her sun'erings must be horrible,” said the doctor.

Almost immediately, and as an echo to his words,
muffled cries and moans of pain were heard from a
neighboring room. »

“ Do you hear—do you hear '1” said the Count, shud-
dering lrom head to foot, aud‘turning a haggard, wist-
flul ?face to the bystanders. ' " Can't any 0 you help

or '.’.

Time looked so small to him now. She was only a
few feet from him. It' seemed but yesterday he had
said good-b e to her.

“ I shoul like to'see her," he said, almost timidly.

, “That’s impossible l"’said the soldier, shortl . -

At any other time, the proud old man wo d have

remarked this tone, and have resented it ; but his

“ In fact, I

thought was elsewhere, and he was thinking of the

past.
“ And why mayn’t I see her '9". he said, pathetically.

“ Because,” said the soldier. sternly, " I think you
might, at least, have the generosity to let her die in

eace !"
p The Count recoiled as from a blow. His eyes not
those of the soldier, and, bending his head, he sunk
into a chair.

“ I see no reason why the Count do Valcourt should
not see Madame Gordy,” said the doctor, wishing to
cut short a scene that threatened to be di eeable.
"She would‘hardly perceive his entrance; an even if
she did, what then f”

“ Pardon me." put in the cure, “ if I say that there
would not be the sli htest danger in the Count's visit-
in the sick-room. he is quite unconscious. I spoke
to or a few minutes ago, and took her hand in mine;
but she never made an sign of recognition."

The old soldier stoo bolt upright in the middle of
the room.

The deep lines on his careworn face seemed to deepen
in the dim light around him.

It was evident he was giving himself the benefit of
" a good think."

At last he advanced to the old nobleman, and, with
with an expressive gesture, ointed to the sick-room.

“ You may go and see er,” he said; “ and may
heaven comfort you both i" .

The Count rose, but he staggered so painfully, that
the doctor advanced to his assistance.

He ushed him away gently, and walked in first, fol-
lows by the doctor and the priest.

Clare and the old Soldier remained on the threshold, ,

facing the bed upon which the dying woman was laid.

 

CHAPTER XXXIX.

Tnn Count made three or four steps forward; then
stood as if petrified at the si ht before him.

That dying woman i ".Cou d that be Valerie?"

Nothing in the wan, deep-lined face—nothing even in

ed to him the beautiful girl
whom he had so adored long years ago.

But sue—she recognized him at once, or . rather by
some extraordinary intuition she divined his presence.
Asif alvaniaed, she rose to a sitting posture, whilst
her 11 ght-dress, which had become unbuttoned in her
recent convulsive straggles, betrayed her attenuated
neck and shoulders. i h a quick movement of her

you in a

 

wasted hands she cast aside the band containin
crushed ice, which had been placed upon her foreh ,
and then threw back the masses of her long hair, which
were scattered on the pillow.

“ Lionel !" she cried. “ Lionel l”

The Count shuddered from head to foot, but never
moved a stop. He was too absorbed in the memory of
the past, too unconscious of the miserable present, to
see what the bystanders saw. A chan e— startling
change—had taken place in the occu ant of the bed.

Her features, contracted by pain, came softened; a
light, as if from heaven, brightened her whole face;
and her eyes, hollow from sufiering, beamed with an
infinite tenderness.

“ Lionel i” she said, in a heart-rending voice. “At
last you have come: Oh, how I have longed for this
meeting! You can never know what anguish your
absence has caused me. I would have died of grief had
I not clung to the hope of seeing) you again. You have .
been kept away from me, and y whom? Your rela
tions. Ah I it they could only have known how much
I loved you—that no one on this earth could ever love
you as I have done, they might have relented. No; 1
have forgotten—my memory fails me. I remember
now, it was you that were angry with me. Your
friends had told you that I was betraying you for an-
other. What had I ever done to make such enemies ?
I suppose my intense happiness made them envy me.
Oh, "how happy we were 1 It’s an agony to think of it
now! But you never believed what they said? You
never lent an ear to their absurd calumnies? You
treated them with the contempt they deserved, I’m
sure Of that, or else why are you here ?”

The Sister of Mercy, who had arisen from her seat at
the entrance of so many people into the sick-room,
opened her eyes” in evident astonishment.

“ I betray you 1” continued the dying woman. " It's
only a madman could have believed such a thing!
Why, I worshi ed the very ground you walked
upon. I woul gladly have given my life to have
saved you a pang of pain. I was only a poor
lace -worker, and barely gained my living. You
told, me you were very poor, too, and were study-
ing the law, and it used to make my heart ache to
think that you were pinching yourself to make me
comfortable and happy. Do you remember that you
insisted upon arranging our little room on the Quay
St.. Michel, and how we papered the walls our own
selves with a bright paper, covered with forget-me-nots
and rose-buds? 0h, happy—happy days—gone now
forever 1" '

The sad voice paused for a moment, but the sad eyes
were still eloquent in their appeal. '

“But one day I found out you had been deceiving
me—-you were not the poor student you had repre-
sented yourself to be. It was about four o’clock in the
afternoon, and l was taking home my work, when I saw
rand carriage and pair, behind which there
stood two ootmen in crimson and gold. Ifelt faint,
and sick, and giddy—my work fell from my hands, and
I stood as one paralyzed. That evenin you told me
the truth—that on were immensely ric ,and belonged
to one of the 01 est families in France. Oh, Lionel 2—-
oh, my beloved one i—would that I never had known
it i—would that you had never told me i"

Wasrshe in her senses? or was her mind wandering
in a land of dreams? '

Heavy tears rolled slowly one by one down the
wrinkled face of the Count de Valcourt. The doctor
and the priest were silent, touched by the sad spectacle ‘
of an old man cryin like a little child. ,

But a few hours efore, the Count had felt his heart
to be dead ; and now this dyin voice recalled it to life
again, with all the fresh pulsat one of youth. And yet
how many long years had down between!

“ Then," pursued Valerie, " we had to leave our poor
little room in the Quay St. Michel. You told me you
wished me to try to be a great lady. You gave me
masters—for I was so ignorant. that I could hardly sign
my name. It was then I felt the burden that was laid
upon me. I felt I wasn’t worthy of you. I lost all
confidence in myself. I lostm careless happiness—
my youthful aiety. You thoug t to raise me ; but, in
doing so, you owered me. You were proud of me, and
made our love public; in doing so, you mined it. Had
I remained obscure and unknown, we might' have both
been happy still."

She paused again, and leant back exhausted. There
was an extraordinary stillness in the room, and those
present hung upon her words with a feverish emotion.
The Sister of Mercy alone remained calm and unaffect-
ed. She had often seen delirious people before, and
gould not understand the meaning of the scene before

er.

"These people must be mad themselves," she
thought, " to isten to the incoherent ravings of a
lunatic." ‘

She felt that she was the only person in the room
possessing a particle of common sense, and that it was

or duty to interfere.’ She therefore advanced to the
bed, and tried to make the patient lie down; at the
same time smoothing and arrangin the pillows. ,

“ Come, come, madame i” she said; “ cover yourself,
or you’ll be catching your death of cold.”

“ Hush! Let her speak i—let her speak 1" mur-
mured the Count, laying his hand gently on the Sister
of Marcy’s arm, and leading her from the bed.

“ Who, then," went on the sick woman, unconscious
of all that was passing around her—“ who, then, could
have told you that I had betrayed you? Spies must
have been set upon me; and they discovered that a
young officer came to see me. Yes, but this young
officer was my brother—my brother Louisa—my only
living relative."

The tall military man before spoken of left his place
at the door, and advanced towards the Count, but the
old nobleman was quite as unconscious of what was
passing around him as the dying woman herself.

“ When my brother was eighteen years of age, and

 

 

A perineum; DEED.

 

 

found himself out of employment, he enlisted as a sol-
dier, telling my mother it would be always one month
less to fill, and that she could not afford to keep him at
home. He went with his regiment to Al rs. . He
studied hard, became a great favorite with h s officers,
and was re idly promoted. He was a lieutenant when
he heard 0 what he called my disgrace. He was almost
mad with grief and an er, and mi he would never look
on my face again. Bu he yielded to my prayers and
entreaties, saying that my constancy and devotion were
my sole excuses. He came to see me, but in secret. I
had laced him in the dreadful position of being forced
to b ush for his sister. He male me promise never to
mention his name‘ in your presence, and, to avoid a
scandal, never to allow you to meet each other. Ah,”
she moaned, “ I have paid dearly for my few swift years
of happiness l” Then brightening again, she said,
" But you have come at last, and all is to otten—for
you believe me, Lionel—you believe me, on’t you?
I will write to Louis, and he will tell you that I have
spokenithe truth. You won’t doubt his word—he never
deceived any one in his life? .’ I, _ -

“ Upon my honor," said the old soldier. “ all that my
sister has told you is,the,trut‘;i." . ' r -

The sick woman did not hear him, but contmued,_in
avoice that pantedfrom ’exhapstion. “ Your coming has
done me so much good ;‘ 'I ' eel almost well again. ; I
have been ill, very ill. halve‘lost all my good looks—
but you will kiss me, won'tyou? '

She extended her amuse—then, as it were, repulsed
some phantom her iinagin’ation‘had conjured up.

“,No. I can’t kiss .you until you promise that you
won’t take my child away. 'It will break my heart if
you do. " You’ tell mé it will be to his advantage—that
you Will give him an illustrious name and a teat-for-
tune. No, I'cannot part with him. He is my c iild, and
I will keep him to myself. Earth has neither honors
nOr riches that can compensate me for the loss of my
son. What ! will nothing move you ? Oh, unfortunate
man, listen to me. I cannot do what you ask—I cannot
take the child of another woman away from her. I can-
not consent to this scheme. '1 want my own child, my
own darling l ' Lionel! Lionel ! listen to me! Renounce
this fatal project—the thought alone is a crime! What !
can neither tears or prayers move on? Well, have
your own way. But we shall reap a itter harvest in
our old a e? I foresee the future. I picture my son
justly i tst'ed against me, asking me to render him an
account of the past. 0h, Heaven, how I suffer ! He
won't even believe that I am his mother. Lionel, par~_
don me! Oh! my only friend, I hadn’t even the
strength to resist, or the courage to obey!” I

At this moment a door at the further end of the room
opened, and Noel appeared, paler than usual, but calm
and self-possessed. I

The dying woman saw him, and started up as if gal-
vanized. A terrible shock shook her from head to foot,
her eyes dilated, and she raised her right arm, and
pointed in, the direction of Noel. , _

"Take him avvaymtake him away i " she cried, in a
loud and piercing voice. “ Oh, save me from him—save
me from that murderer l ” ’

There was a convulsive movement ; then she fell
suddenly back. They one and all advanced to her
assistance. But they could give her no aid. 1

She was dead !

A solemn silence reigned in the room.

Such is the malesty of death, and the terror that sur-
rounds it, that even the strongest and the most skepti-
cal bow their heads in fear and awe.

All present had been profoundly touched at the scene
that had just taken place, and at the confession which
111d been wrun from delirium and sin.

The last war of Madame Gordy, owever, surprised
no one except the Sister of Mercy, Ag‘art irom her,
the knew the dreadful accusation .w ch had been
made against Albert.

It was, of course, to him that the unfortunate mother
addressed her malediction.

Noel seemed com letel‘y overwhelmed with grief.

Kneeling beside e be of her who had always been
to him as a mother. he took one of her cold hands and
pressed t to his li . V '

"Dead! " he sob "She is dead.’

'Near to him knelt the Sister of Mercy and the priest,
lmplorlng, in a monotonous tone of vo , the mere
Heaven for one who had suffered so much upon cart .

hair, with head thrown back, and a hoe
"Eggngfijm hers he had once loved so well, was the
Count de'Valcom-t. d1 m Th ,

0111' he doctor were ben ng over so. ey
had £13131: his cravat and unbuttoned his shirt-
collar, for he seemed €1le8 10“ bmm'

With the help of he old soldier. whose red and
swollen eyes told a tale of suppressed grief, they had
rolled. the arm-chair to, the open window to giye him

 da Iago such ascene Would have killed the
Count; bu beamed‘lharidggto grief and misfortune, as
den 9. r.
h‘ggddfdlguthe old 1inch burst into ache, and wept
‘ hild.
kiwfigititslesife now,” whispered the doctor to Clare,
drawing her gently away, for she was crying, too. " Let
us leave him alone with the dead.

———-—u

CHAPTER XL.

' that this sad scene was taking place,
M35333: 11333:)‘1111333, with a preoccupied and worried ex-
on of countenance, was mounting the staircase
 to his offices in the Palace of Justice. . -
‘ A d I was descending at the same time. With an
exclamttion of surprise, a, mo zed 01d Corkscrew.
"Monsieur staretl I'm so 3 ad to meet you! The

' man want!" 
31’ quelerold fellow, who was evidently in a state of

 

!

 

ofle

, full in the prisoner’s face.

 

great fuse and agitation, simply raised his hat, and wav-
ing it in the air, on.

“Step!” cried the magistrate; “I wantto speak to
you”) . >
V ‘“ Pardon me. sir l-pardon me! but I have important
business athom'e ! " .

“ But have you any news?” commenced Monsieur
Daburon.

“ Innocent, sir l-innocent l ” said the Daddy, always

ing upon the one subject. “ I’ve fresh evidence ;

and, before three days are over, you'll open your eyes,
and no mistake I alt till you see the man with the
ear-rings ! Gevrol's got him I Gevrol’s risen in my es-
timation ! He’s not near such a fool as he looks ! ”

And, without waiting for a reply, he continued his
headlong course, still waving his hat in a melodramatic
fashion, taking four steps ata time, at the imminent
risk of breakin his neck.

“ Obstinate o d fool l” muttered the magistrate, evi-
dentl annoyed. “And I have so much to tell him ? "‘

, In t e waiting-room adjoining his private ofi‘ice, upon
a bench, Albert dc Valcourt, in the custody of a. police-
omcer, was seated, waiting. his arrival.

".I will see you in a few moments,“ said the magis-
tlrate, speaking over his shoulder, as he opened the
cor. -

In his study, his clerk was talking to alittle withered-
1ooking man, with a depressed expression of face, whose
dress and make-up ave you the idea that he was a
dramatic author in It _ 3 last stage of poverty and desti-
tution. .

" You have received,
Daburonof the clerk.

" Yes, sir.
Martin; who, has just arrived from the Duchess d’Ar-
lange’s house." - ' ,

" That’s all right i” said the magistrate, rubbi his
hands withva satisfied air. Then, turning to the ‘ttle
old man, “ Well, sir, what have you discovered?"

“ That some one has climbed the wall.”

“ How long ago ‘2”!

“ About five or six days.“

" Are you sure about it '2" -

“As sure as I am sitting here. The trees and foot-
prints are as plain as the nose on your face, if you’ll
pardon the liberty I take in so expressgiig myself.”

“ Go on," said the magistrate, with ' culty repress-
ing a‘smile at this unintentional insult to the most
prominent feature in his physiognomy.

my letters?" asked Monsieur

“ The thief—I suppose it was a thief, sir,” continued ,-

Monsieur Martin, who prided himself on his oratory—
“ must have taken advantage of that time of day which
is commonly called twilight to get over the wall before
the rain commenced, and have gone away almost direct-
ly after the afore-mentioned rain was over. These cir-
cumstances are easy to be proved when we compare the
wall on the outer side of the arden to that on the inner
side. The fellow—he must ave been as nimble as a
squirrel l—climbed hand over hand in going up, but
made use of a ladder “u goin down.” ‘

" How did you find hat on “i” asked the magistrate.

“Because of the holes in the wet earth, upon which
the ladder was placed ; and because at the top of the
wall some of the lime, against which it leant, has crum-
bled ofi‘."

“ Is that all ?"

"Not all, sir. Threebroken necks of bottles have

been displaced from the coping, and a branch or two of
the acacias are twisted and bent. Also, on a thorn
sticking out from one of the branches, I found this
little piece of gray leather, which looks to me as though
it belonged to a glove." ,

I The magistrate seized the fragment eagerly.

It was a piece torn from a pearl grey kid glove.

“ I hope you took care, Martin," said Monsieur Debu-
ron, “ not to raise any suspicious in the house at which
you have been making these investigations."

" Don’t you be afraid, sir; I know what I’m up to.
I’man old bird, and ain't to be can ht with chad. The
first thing I did was to leave :11
round the corner; then I rings 1: e bell-at the Duchess
d'Arlangs's door, raging as how I was the servant of a
lady who lived in t e nextstreet, and that during my
mistress's absence a favorite parrot had escaped out of
the window,and made for her arson.
t ms in, and gave me the run 0 the garden. ’

" You're a clever fellow. Martin," interrupted
the magistrate; “ and I shall not forget to mention your
name at headquarteraf',

He ulled the bell as he spoke, whilst the detective,
mu of the praises that had been bestowed upon him,

ked out, nearly going on all-fours to express his
gratitude and humility. \

Then Albert was introduced. 7

“ Have you decided, sir,” said the magistrate, without
mrther beatng about the bush. “ to explain to me
how on passe your evening on Tuesday last i”

“I ave already told you how I passed it. I have
nothing more to say.”

" No, sir! you have not-told me; andI regret to be
gablliged to tell you that the version you have given is

as!” - . i - _ '

At this insult, the prisoner’s face flushed crimson.
and his eyes flashed.

“All that you did upon that evening I know,” con-
tinned the magistrate; *' I have it upon the clearest evi-
dence.” He paused, and, speaking very slowly, looked
“ I have it upon the evi‘
dence of Mademoiselle d’Arlauge herself."

At the name of Clare, the face of the accused, con-
tracted by a firm determination to betray nothing,
quivered for a moment. , -

A close observer would have said that the change was
one of a great relief, such as might be seen in a man
who, by a miracle, escapes a danger‘thatseemed almost
imminent. ~ ‘ ' , '

Still he was silent. ' '

“ Mademoiselle d’Arlange,” continued the magistmte,

o

The prisoner is here, and this is Monsieur.

at at the wine-shop '

Thsypolitely I

 

«to told me all. Nay, she has told me in detail enem-
th‘iflg that occurred on To '

esday evening."~

Still Albert hesitated.

“ I’m not laying a trap for you,” added Monsieur Da-
buron. “ I am speaking to you as one outleman
would to another. I repeat, then, that emoiselle
d’Arlange has told me a ." '

This time Albert made up his mind to speak.

His explanations coincided exactly with those of
Clare Either Albert was innocent, 'or, if guilty, she had
been his accomplice.

The magistrate felt convinced that this could not be
the case. He knew she was innocent and above all
suspicion. .

Where, then, was he to seek the assassin ?

“ Youssee, sir,” said the magistrate, severely, “that you

have been deceiving me, You risk your head, sir; and -

what’s worse, you are exposing'justice to a most dc.
plorable error. Why didn't you speak the truth from
the very first ‘3” V _ '

"Sir," answered Albert. “Mademoiselle d‘Arlsnge,
in granting me an interview, confided to me her

onor." . ' r ‘ -‘ ~

“ And you would rather die than speak Of this inter—
view ?" interrupted 'Monsieur Daburon, ironically.
“ You arequite a hero, Monsieur de Valconrt: ant-tin-
stead of living in our prosaic times, ought to have
flourished in the days of chivalry."

“I’m not the hero you suppose me to be,” said'the '

young .mau' simply. “If I told you that I hadn’t
counted upon Clare, I would be telligglyou a falsehood.
I was only waiting. I knew that; directly she'knew of
my arrest, she would brave all to save me. But I
thought perhaps she mightn't have heard of the great
misfortune that had fallen lupon nae—that her grand-
mother Would have taken some means to hide it from
her; so I‘made up my mind to keep her name out of
the whole affair." . _ '  .
There was not the slightest tone of bravado in timers-
ply. Monsieur Daburon regretted his irony, cuddle-
missed the prisoner with a few kind words, expressive
of his hope that his innocence would shortlybe proved.
{firing in Gevrol now,” said the magistrate 3.9.3213
cer. ‘ I v ,1 
The chief of the detective forceiwas absent: bit-:his
witness, the man with the ear-stings, was waiting firthe
corridor. ‘ .  
Accordingl ,he was brought in, and placed in
Monsieur D uron. "

 
     

sly”, ,
A short man, with a neck sunk into hisshouldersa" ro-
bust, and stunted like a dwarf oak. His hair and
heard, as white as the driven snow, made his sunburst
face look almost the color of mahogany. A

He had large hands, unwashed, hard and horny, with
kngfibly knuckles, reminding one of the hands cit-a
80 . 'f‘fiz:

He wore the dress of a well-to-do fisherman from’fim
north coast of France; and carried in his great brown
earsha pair of enormous'ear-rings, in the shape of an
she or.  .-

It required“ two policemen to push him into the
magistratels presence. ' '

This old made was very' timid and‘bsshfnl. '

He came in, bagaucing himself as though he were in
the last stage of drunkenness, after the manner of his
tribe, rolling his quid of tobacco them one side of his
mouth to the other, and hitching up his trousers, serif
they were in danger of tumbling about; his knees at
every lurch he made. ' . V ~

The moment he entered, Monsieur Daburen -

recognised
the portrait drawn by the [little ragamn‘mn witness, at. g

In Jonchere. . . I . I

"Be hsdafsceuredas syslicedboetroot. He was»
round gasket, with large pockets at the sides, and 8 ~
ing on of one was a blue-striped ockebhandkerch ‘ .
He also wore ear-rin ear- —very large." 2

The magistrate also recognized that the man before
him was as good a creature as ever breathed.

Honesty and kindness beamed from every wrinkle in
his bronaed face. . ' (I

" Your name i" r « »

" Pierre Lerouge.” , 

" Are you any relation to a qunan called Claudine
Lerouge ?" .

" I'm her husband, your honor.” ' - ' “I

" What i" thought Monsieur Dsburon. ' “The hm
band of the murdered woman is alive, audyetths police
are ignorant of the fact I" '

“But.” resumed the
itooglghe Wow.

ers in ."

“Incourse she did i” put in the sailor. ‘
up that yarn between us. I was dead to seesaw
was dead to me.” I fill?

“Ah l that was the state of adults, wasit? You 

to, " I've always 

1 her friends said so,

I suppose, that she is dead for good and all this tints?"

Poor thing, she has been cruelly murdered!" ' , ,-

“I've been told all about it, your honor,” said ‘
man. “ The gentleman who came to arrest me toldfine
the particulars.” Here he wiped his forem with his
pocket-handkerchief, which, in size, resembled a table-
cloth. "Ah l « she was a, bad , ’un—a bad’un. and, no.
mistake !” “ ,

“that l—and you, her husband. can have the heart to
blame her, now she’svgone ‘2" . _ ' V, 

“ Blame her 1‘” interrupted the man. ""And who has
got the right and title to blame her as I have? Wash, ‘ ’t

her husband l—md hasn’t it been through her that; I
have been watched by the police as though I were».
thief or a convict ? Yes she was a had us; and "many-
th‘e time I've told her that she’d come to, a badend'.” i

“ You told her that, did you 7" '

" A! hundred times over, your honor—chunde times
over " F

' “and why? Come, come, my disamdon'tgatex.

cited. How long ago was it when you thought it proper

to tell your wife her fortune in this particularly chem
tul and sagacious manner l” ‘ . ' '-

«we

 

Lm‘

vi;

 

'd

 

a.

.4 :DESPERA m Dean.

 

 

“ Long ago, your honor?" said the sailor, quite sim-
ply. “It might be thirty year age when I told her so
for the first time. She was always flighty, and stuck
181K, and wanted to meddle in the affairs of her betters.

e used to say that many a gold piece was to be

alned in has ing secrets for people as didn't know

ow to has 1: m for theirselves. ‘Gain 'f' I used to
say. You lgain nothin but shame and sorrow. To
lend your hand to hide t e villanies and wickedness of
the rich—why it’s for all the world like stufiln your
mattress with thorn, with the idea that you’l sleep
the better for it 1’ But, lor’ bless your honor, she was
as obstinate as a young donkey, and wouldn’t listen to
a word I said 1”

"And what business was it your wife got mixed up
in, eh '1" asked the magistrate. “Come, come, my
friend, don’t begin a thing without going on with it.
mulls? here to tell the truth, and nothing but the

Lerouge had placed his hat upon a chair, alternately
pulling at his fingers, and crackin each knuckle, or, by
way of variety, scratching his he violently. This was
his way of summoning up his ideas.

"For the first two years of our married lifs,‘excepting
 , a sha squall or‘ two, we ct on famously. Claudine
' steers me wherever she c ose. Ah, she was a crafty

one, she was 1 Her great hull: was her love of dress.

All that I gained she spent.upon her back. At the bap-

tism of the boy that was born to us (I called him

Jacques, after in old father), I spent all my savings

which Ihad at y to purchase a small piece of land

that adjoins our cottage."

Them istrate was boiling over with impatience. The
honest s lor was losing the thread of his discourse,
and flounderin about ike an old porpoise in the vain
endeavor to pic it up a sin.

“ Well, go on i" said onsieur Daburon, " let’s come
to the ‘business’ you were 5 ing ’ about—the busi-
ness your wife got mixed up n '4’"

" I'm coming tothat directly, your honor," said 136‘
rouge, commencing at his finger joints again, till they
went ofl' like so many crackers. " Now we were getting
on pretty well, as I said before, and I was as
fond art my wife as ever, when, one morning, I
saw sneakin into our house a servant belonging to the
Count de V court, whose estate is about hali‘a mile off.
He was a fellow I never liked at all. His name was Ger-
main, and' he had a way of humbugging the women as

' didn’t suit my reckonings at all. asked my wife what
that good-for-nothing land-lubber had to do in my

house. ‘ 0h,‘ says she, ‘he’s only come to ask if I’ll

take a child to nurse.‘ I wouldn’t hear of this ; we

weren’t so oor but, that Claudine could afford to nurse
her own ha y. She said she wanted to buy me a piece
of land out of her own earnings—a piece of land which

I had setmy heart upon. 80, as usual, I gave in, and

she had her own way at last.” r , I

“ Go on i" said the magistrate getting more and more
irritated. '

“ I am go on, your honor,” said the sailor. " I've
now come to be part where Claudine got a letter, tell-
ing her to start at once for Paris to st the child. I re-
member as it was in the evening, an the wind was son’-
aou’wvsst.” v . .

"Don’t mind about the wind, as long as it carries you
to your destination—that’s all you've got to look to,
said Monsieur Daburon, smiling in spite of his annoy-
ance. “ Well you went to Paris."

" I remember as it was in the evening. and the wind
 was sou’-sou‘west," went on the ancient mariner,
 clinging to his drifting thoughts like a drowning
7 man to a raft, " and, my wife, scein as it Was
‘ beatin upfor rain, put off her Journey ill the next-
day. never says a word, but when she gets into the
coach, dressed a; like a ship in full sail, what does I do

 

-.
v.

 

 

but gets up on t s top, and follows her unbeknown to

the railway stat on." ' i

- Here Lerouge paused, and winked three consecutive
times at the magistrate, as indicating his extraordin-
ary shrewdness and penetration. , v

 

cums XLI. '

I Ar last the patience of the magistrate culminated.
' I, ." Stop 2" he said ; “ Isee, ifrws c on at this rate,
you’ll newer finish till the, middle 0 next week."

"I'm very sorry, your honor.” said the man; " but I
am trying to tell the truth. and you can‘t think how
,it puzzles and bullies a chap’s brain to get at it,"

, ' ' ' ‘" Sup 6 I question you, and you answer me;
’ won’t at do t” -
,, - " Famous i” said the sailor, his sunbumt face broad-
ening into a rin of intense relief. “Fire away, guv'-
5.: Mr, and I'll or right ahead 1" '
, . g In “ Well," said the magistrate ; " you and your wife
‘7 I ‘ Jnurneycd up to Paris together?"

1:." Yes,yonr honor, we did. She gave a little shriek
, . which she saw me a-top of the coach"-——--
a," V “Ido ?" ant to hear about that; whatI want to
i - “ know is; name of the woman from whose house
‘ you took the child.”

“ Madame Gordy. I learnt a lot about her whilst I
was waiting for my wife in the wine merchant’s round
the corner ' ' a

“ fltop i" said the magistrate; " stick to your sub-
Jcct. I don't carewhat you heard at the wine mer-
chant’s round the, corner. Come to the point. Were
you resent at the changing of the children i"

F‘- " “wee,” said the ea or; " and this is how it hop
)3 .’ ,  ,
 Monsieur Daburon gave a sigh of relief. I
 "‘ We—my wife and lurode down in a carriage and

air, as grand as though we were lords and ladies. In

’0 evening, after a long drive, we came to sylllage
Inn, at which we drew u ; the coachman, who seemed
to have got his instruc one, telling us he was to put
up there, and that we were all to turn in. Directly we
enters, who do you think I claps my eyes on. but that

 

 

 

Man; we

l.

 

‘ husband sat down,and eyed the

beggar Germain, in company witha young woman car-
rying a child, so exactly similar in dress and features to
the one my wife was a-nursing, that I bursts out into a
cold perspiration, and calls for a glass of brandy-and-
water directly. After supper, the two women spoke
about going to bed; and then we found out that the
inn had only two sleeping rooms. When I think of it
now, it seems to me as if that inn had been built ex-
pressly for them to carry out their plan. The landlady
eggs that the nurses could sleep in‘ one, and I and the
v at in t’other. All of which we agreed to. I I was in
a devil of a temper the whole of that evening, because
I can ht signals going on between my wife and that
rasca Germain; besides I felt awful uncomfortable in
my own thoughts: and to make myself forget all about
the scurvy trick I was lending a hand to, I drank more
than was good for me. I knew I was doin wrong, and
I was wild with my own self for letting C audine twist
me round her finger to help her in her deceit and
wickedness. My family, your honor, are known on the
coast as the honest Lerougss. We haven’t had a stain
on our name since first we came into Normandy. And
now I felt I was lending myself to a fraud and a lie 1"
Here commenced an extra cracking of the knuckles
and a fiercer ontslaught in the shape of a head scratch-

in .

Monsieur Daburon’s only response to this last speech
was a thundering blow on his head.

Lerouge hitched up his trousers, and hurried on.

" I didn’t go to bed that night: I sat up and listened.
Germain was in bed, and soon as sound a sleep as a top.
Towards about two in the morning I hears amoving in
the room where the women were. I holds my breath
and listens. I’m an honest man, your honor, but I
don’t mind owning that on this particular occasion I
peeps through the keyhole, and what do I see but my
wife standing beide the bed with the child in her arms,
a—peering down into the face of the other woman, who
was snoring for all the world like the wind when it’s
beating up for a gale.”

“And what di you do ?" asked the magistrate, in-
terested for the first time in the disjointed narrative he
had been listening to.

“ I bursts open the door, and rushes at my wife.
‘ Don’t you do it, Claudine l’ I cries out—‘ don’t you do
it i If you do, you’ll live to repent it 1’ I didn’t speak
this in a whisper, mind ye; Iroared as though I were
speaking on deck through aspeaking-trumpet. At the
hullabaloo I r kicked up, in rushes the valet with a
lighted candle. At the sight of him I loses my head,
and drawing out my clasp-knife, I snatched the child
from my wife and marks it on the arm with a deep out.
‘ You can’t change the little one now,’ Icries out ‘ with-
out my knowing it. v He is marked/or life I"

The sailor paused, as if overcome at the scene he had
conjured up.

Heavy drops of sweat gathered on his forehead, trick-
led down his cheeks, and paused in the deep wrinkles of
his face, from whence they fell on to his sunburnt
hands, which were clasped upon his knees.

The poor “ old salt" was puffing for breath like one
of the sails of his bark when becalmsd on the eve of a
hurricane.

But the magistrate held him with his calm and glit-
tering eye—~or, rather, by his impatient gestures goaded
him on, as the whip goads on the slave who is drop
ping with fatigue.

“ The woun I had given the child was a terrible one.
The poor little thing nearly bled to death. But I was
mad—mad with shame, with rage, with jealousy! I
thought nothing of the future; I only thought of the
present. I swore by all the oaths I knew, and I’m
pretty well up in that ’ere rubbish, that I'd write down
in my log-book—I mean my pocket-book, your honor-—
all that had passed between us; and if they didn’t sign
it, they’d better look out for themselves "

“ Did they sign ?” said the magistrate, incredulously.

" They did your honor: the rascal of a valet putting
his name, the first, with this provision—that on my
solemn Word of honor, as a sailor. and a man, I wasn’t
to say a word to the Count do Valcourt, which word I
have kept; and if the Count was to come in here this
blessed minute. I'd be asdumb as a dead cod 1"

With which characteristic finale, the Widow Lerouge's
magistrate withthe

virtuous indignation of smartyr.

 

OHAPTEBXLII.

MONSIEUR Danoaon was astonished at the revelation
that hadjust been made to him.

After walking up and down the room for a minute or
two, during which his nautical friend occupied himself
in cleaning his face with a piece of brown paper which
he “ hauled" out of his pocket for the purpose, the
magistrate suddenly returned to business.

“ And where's that declaration, or rather affidavit,
which all of you signed ?'

" Here it is, your honor. Monsieur Gevrol~and a
hard nut he is to craclo~told me that I’d get into
trouble if I didn’t go straight and above board with
your"-=-——-

“ Give me the paper." ’ .

After fumbling about in pockets that seemed un-
l‘athomable, Lerouge fished up an old pocket-book, tied,
round with a bit of tarred rope; and, after unknotting
it with his teeth, he took out a piece of folded paper,
yellow with time, and carefully sealed in four places
with what was evidently his own thumb-mark.

The ma strata took the paper, and, as he unfolded it,
some san --“ the sands of time," he thought-that had
been placed upon it stumbled upon his fingers, and fell

,to his feet. .

Monsieur Daburon sighed as he looked at the old
sailor. “ I wonder what has become of the witnesses
who signed this a l”

Lerouge thong t the question addressed to him.

/

 

“ Germain is dead,“ he said—n“ drowned by the up-

 

 

setting of a boat. My wife has been murdered; but the
other nurse is still alive."

“ Where does she live ?" ‘

" In a cottage on the De Valcourt estates."

"‘ Her name i” _

" Brosette."

“ And what happened after the night in question ?”
asked the magistrate, as he wrote down the name and
address, of the second nurse. '

“The next day, your honor, Claudine had along talk
with me, and succeeded. in making me promise to keep
the whole thing a secret. The baby was only a little
feverish after the wound I’d given it; but, as I said be-
fore, it was marked for life.” '

"‘ And Madame Gerdy,—-did she ever know of the
scene that passed at the village inn '3”

“ I don’t think that she ever did. Howsomevsr, I’d
rather not enter into any conversation upon that point.
I never prospered after that miserable night. Money
ill-gained brings no profit. My wife took to drink, and ’
my home became a shame to me.

“ And what did you do then ?" asked the magistrate.

“ Well, your honor, I did the next best thing I could
do. I left her, taking my son with me.”

“ And what became of her after that ?” inquired M.
Daburon.

“ I don't know ; but I was informed that she left her
cottage in Normandy about a car after I did.”

“'And you never saw her ag l”

“ Never." 1

“ Come—come ! said Monsieur Daburon -— “ refresh
your memory. You were seen ;at the house only a day
or two before the murder.” .

" So I was 1" said the man, scratching his head, con-
fuschy ; but, you see, I only went because I was ferced
to go. And a deal of troub e and money it cost me tc
find her. No one knew what had become of her. It
was like trying to find a needle in a bundle of hay.
Luckily, a lawyer fellow as I knew, who had managed
business matters between me and my wife, found out
the address of Madame Gordy and it was through her
I traced Claudine to La Jonchere. A friend of mine, '
Gervais by name, on’ered me a place in his barge, anc‘
that's how I came to Paris. Ah, your honor! I shall
never forget the day when I saw her again. She didn't
reco ize me in the least She’d made up her mind I
Eves 1and, and when I told her my name, she fell back

n a I!)

“ All this doesn't explain in the least the cause of
your visit to your wife.’

“ It was only about our son, your honor, that I called
upon her. Our little one had become a man, and
wanted to get married ; but, according to our laws,
your honor, he couldn’t do that without the consent
of his mother, so I brought her a deed, prepared bya
notary, which she signed, and here it is." '

Monsieur Daburon took the dpaper, and examined it
attentively. Then he said,,su denly, “Has it-ever cc-
ourred to you as to who could have, sex; the murderer
of your wife 1'” ' . )

Lerouge made no answer. *

t ‘giave you no suspicions ?" persisted the magir
ra .' -

“ None whatever, 4 said the sailor. simply. ,“ I‘ve
sometimes thought, howsomevsr, that the rich people,
whose secret she’d ot hold of, had got tired of her and
her evil tongue, an
of the way,”

This being all the evidence the man had to give, Mon»
sieur Daburon dismissed him, with orders that he was _
to remain in Paris, in case he might be required ; but, '
at the same time, he was to be under the supervision of
the police, and kept at the expense of the government.

“80, then,” thought the ma strate, as he returned
to his desk, feeling utterly disp rited at the turn affairs
had taken, “ guilty, or not guilt , Albert de Valcourt is
the legitimate son of the Count e Valcourt, and Noel is
the son of Madame Gordy. ‘ '

The magistrate felt he had acted with too much. re~
cipitation, and that he had laced himself in a post ion
that bordered en the ridicu one. - , v

The first step, that it was incumbent in on him ‘to'
adopt was to send for the Count, and exp :1 to him

'howmatterszstood.’ ‘ J ,
He would be obliged to say to the old man, “811',
your legitimate souls not the one that I thought, but
thcotherfif , v i ~ I 1
What a situation! Not only painful, but «simply ab-
surd. The only consolation is that Clara's lover is
innocent“ Noel also! He would have to be told the

had paid somebody to put her out

'bltter'truth. All his bright hopes dashed to earth, Just

as they were soaring to the skies. What a cruel awak-
ening from his short day-dream ! But doubtless the
Count would make him some reparation. He certainly
deserved it. .

These were the somewhat disjointed reflections of
the magistrate, governed, however, with the one
mount idea, the one recurring thought, " that m c all
other thoughts its slave," " Who was the guilty man?"

A notion flashed across his brain, which, at first,
seemed improbable.

But, notwithstanding his throwin it contemptuous-
ly aside, it recurred to him again an again. He turned
and returned it, twisted it, flattened it out, and was
just foldi it up neatly, satisfied in his own mind that
he was on be right track, when his clerk announced
the Count do Valcourt.

u.”—

CHAPTER XLIII.

. Danny Twang alias Old Corkscrew, as we all know,
was a great talker; but he was something better than
that. door also: and, when he chose, as thorou h a man
of business as any to be found in the Stock Exc sage.

Deserted by his friend, the magistrate, and thrown
upon his own resources, he went to work with " ro-
doubled energy, without losing a minute, or indulging
himself in a moment’s repose. ‘

 

 

 

A DESPERATE DEED.

     

 

 

The story of his scampering about in an open car-
riagewas no fiction. Scattenn his money: right and.
left, the user old fellow had ound a lot of recruits,
princi y detectives cut of employment, seyeral
banker’s clerks of shady reputation, and a couple of
fraudulent bankrupts. With these honorable auxil-~
iaries, seconded by his fanatical admirer, Lecoq, he
scoured the country round Bougival. His researches
were not entirely futile. After three days of minute
investigation, he was able to prove satisfactorily that
the murdererhad not taken the train at the nearest
railway station (that of Eueil), but had proceeded to
the next Chatou).

Daddy abuet recognized the description given by
one or two of the railway guards. A young man, with
dark hair and eyes, and a thick black moustache, wear-
i a great cost. and carrying a silk umbrella. .
“fie arrived by the train that left Paris for St. Germain
at half~past eight in the evening, and seemed pressed
for time. On, leavinfiothe station, he walked rapidly
away on the road to ugival. On the route towards
the v e ofLa Jonchere two men and a woman had
remark him on account of his half-running pace, and
the ener etic way he pulled athiscigar.

At the ridge which, at Ben val, connects the two
banks of the Seine, he attrac still further observa-
tion. This brid e is a toll-bridge and the murderer,
presumably, forgotten the circumstance.

Das throu h it, always at the same running
pace, wit his elbows pressed to his sides, with lips
compressed, he sped onwards. The keeper had torush
out into the-road. and calmer him for the toll,

He seemed much annoyed at, the delay, and throwing
a sixpence at the man, continued his headlong career
wiit‘lficimt waltiltigmtor the change.

8 WIS no i .

The stationiemtsrtztehtuefl remembered that slant

0 ute- bei‘ors BnV-dfteen ‘ .a man, a,
cw m texhaustion, un-ommm . asked for a

icket t from the
man as he entered the compartment.

The tween“ description of this man answeredexactly
with given by the railway at Chatou, and
with that of the toll-keeper at ’uglval. 1
“Last, but..perhaps, not least. to quote Old Cork-
screw, “ I think I'm on the
led up to Paris in the aamecarrisge with my exhausted,

young friend with the black moustache and the silk lug

umbrella. .

Such was the re rt. carefully written out as a bank-
rupt hiss his sch ule. ofDaddy Tflbtret when he pre
sented himselfon Monday at the Palace of Justice.

In one of the corridors he met Gevrol and his aegis.
tent. .

The chief of the detective police was evidently in
great good humor. Intact. in such good humor, that
he was positively oflensivc. .

Ra ! ha! ha!" he roared out. ;dlrectly he saw the
figure ofthe Daddy. who had been such a thorn in his
silicon his detective expeditions.. "‘ Hal ha! Here you
are, Old Corkscrew l .: in the words of your friend
Lecoq, ‘ A wonderful man—a ree-markableanan! He’ll
draw the cork for us in less than live minutes 1" Ha!
ha! ha!"

He suddenly stopped we uproarous merriment,

rt ed at the change in y’s appearance.
sufielwas pale and dejected, looking wistiully before
him, and'snimng as usual, like a dog that has lost the
scent, and has almost given up all hopes of finding it. ;

“ La’ h away, Gevrol l" he said. “ Ghafl‘me asmuch
. as you kc. I deserve it, and when I deserve a thing "
(this with a piteous sigh), “ I always make up my mind

0 bear it." ‘ '. r r r
t Gevrol was astonished; the Daddy was, ordinarily,
such a pepp’zlay old fellow. L

" I've can an innocent man to be accused, and I
don’t know how to retract my accusation}.

Geml rubbed is hands with such extraordinary dc.
light, that it was wonder he didn‘t rub the skinotl‘.

"Ea! ha! ha!" he screamed. wipingthe tears man
his eyes in affected mirth. " You're a genius—you
know how to do the thing. It's only the guilty that
such a dander-head aslam can at hold 0!, Whilst you ‘
“ten the innocent! I'm dash if Idon’t think you’ll

ut all our noses out of joint before you've done, sir.

m on? my not, and bow before your superior intelli-
gence.” -

he made a bow of such a aw ing char-

“firhmlh awondcr he didn't lose 11 balance,
' all-fours. .

“ago on benthisgrsy hesdand elapsed his thin

TheDsdd
 ,ggk you-m quite just,Gevrol," be me.

u m h I’m an old man in years, I'm
mag’ "33“ . I'Vc bowled you out sum
{lines and I felt proud of bowling out such an oldhand
as you. Hy success turned my 11 I find out now,
when it’s too late, that I’m only an apprentice, whilst
you are a master in the craft. Help me with I our
counsel, and ou‘ll and me a pupil to be proud of. -
Monsieur beret extended his hands as he s oke.
Gevrol was, perhaps, about the valuest man u crea-
tion, and this utter submission upon the part of
Tgbuet flattered him humenIeIY- - g
“I presume," he said, in a soitened and- protecting
mne' u that you are alluding to the murder at La
Jfiifihfih gm 1 Oh, dear Monsieur Gevrol,’ I thought
I could get on without on; but I and I can t l
The sly old fox look , as contrite and as nitent as
though he had been can ht in a hsnroost th a lump
chicken in his mouth; at in reality he was rium-
Esant and it require-6.1:“ 1:" sou-control to prevent
* ' bum out as us- ,
fife-animal who than t. ache looked at Gen-oi s
at. mpjmg M, u I mould those addled brains

ofa man who travel- -

Gevrol scratched his nose, and then conferred the
same benefit upon his chin, with an air of such extreme
wisdom that it was as much as the Daddy could do to
repress his irritation and contempt.

He looked patronizineg down on'the eager little face
that looked u into his, and retended to hesitate.

He was so g ad to be able crow over the man who
had so often outwitted and him in a ridiculous
position with his chiefs at the Palace of Justice.

“Come, come I" he said, firmdly; " don’t be disheart~
ened, my ood friend. I’ give you a shove in the
shoulder w enever you require it. I think ou've got
ability, and I like to help a clever fellow. l on me
to-morrow, and we’ll have a talk about the business.
By the way, have you heard about the new witness I’ve
pounced upon ?”

" No,” said the Daddy, thrown off his guard for a
moment.

“ That fellow on the bench over there."

“And who may he be 7” inquired Old Corkscrew,
parting with his small, restless eyes at the figure indi-
ca .

“ Go and ask him his name.» He’ll tell you it’s l’ierre

" She wasn’t a widow, then l”

“ So it up ears,” answered Gevrol, rolling his eyes,
sndina ee tone- "sinceheowns that chad the
honor 0 once ng her happy and proud husband."

" Oh I" murmured the old man. " And has his evi-
deuce been worth anythiaf ?"

In a few words the he of the detective force ve
his volunteer friend the synopsis of the history tolgaby
Lerouge to the magistrate.

"And what do you think of it, Halter Wiseheadl" he
said. as he ended his recital.

" What do I think of it 1‘" stammered the Daddy, whose
face was more stupid than ever in its look of blank ss-
tonishment—-" what do I think of it ?
-—no, I'm dashed if I can think as all i"

“That's a knock on the head, eh ?".said Gevrol, radi-
ant with happiness at having settled his old irisnd.

"A knock on the head i" moaned the old man. "It's
worse than that: it's asmasher l” ‘

Suddenly he looked zinesgain, and gave Gevrol ablow
in his stomach thatm him band, as thvongh hswere
lingwing to a creditor, or to one of the ore heads in

e

"rifle forgotten," he cried, " that there is a man wait--

for me at my h important witness! I
must be ofl'l Good-bye—go‘odrbye "
" Hots cracked i" said the chief of the detective force,
looking after the old‘man, as he hurried away, with an
air of mingled pit and contempt. '

But Monsieur beret was perfectly sane, and had
never felt his brain to be in a better condition than
when he was rushing along the quay, and thinking of
the turn affairs had taken respecting the mysterious
murder of the Widow Lerouge.

 

“Tm oodness l" muttered the old man, pausing
in his hugried walk homewards, " that for today
shall have the privile e of being alone, and confer upon
myself the inestimab c benefit of a ood thmk. Poor
Noel,’he, at least, wont eat his ch w th the same appe-
tite when he hears "the news. at does it matter,
after all? I’ll adopt him if he likes, and give him my
name. It hasn't got a handle to it like the De Val-
court’; ‘but it's an honest name, and none of our set
have disgraced it as, yet.
doesn't change the situation of the gating Viscount, nor
alter my opinionas to his uilt.
the estates, and much goo may they :do him. It is

evident that neither he nor his father are acquain, ted
with the extraordinary circumstances of the case. He
believes as implicitly as his lather, that a substitution
really did take place. Of these facts Madame Gordy
must have also been ignorant, andthey must have told
her some cock-and-bull story about the wound made
upon the infant’s arm by the sailor. Yes; but Iadame
Gordy must have been convinced that Noel was really.
and truly her own child; and when he was restored to
her, she must have verified the marks, and have been
satisfied in her own mind as to their scour-ac or inac-
curacy. When Noel found. the Oount's le rain her
desk, she must have hastened to explain to him"-—-—

Dada beret started back with a cry of fear, as
though some fearful reptile had suddenly barred his
wag, and reared itself before him.

e was frightened at his own thought, athought
that pointed to Noel as the murderer of theWidow
Lerouge. '

"He assassinated her.” ed Old Corkscrew. “to
prevent her contends that e changing of the children
never took place; an then he burnt all the letters and
pa rs that could have proved it.”

Re idea was too horrible. He was with
himself for having harbored it, even for an tent.

" What an old idiot I am," he exclaimed, again
rushing forward at his usual headlong . " I think
I'm becoming an infidel. an unbeliever Ki all'that's pure
and good in this world. It servas me right, though.
It's only the consequence of the frightful profession in
which I take so much pride. To think of my doubting
Noel, m adopted son, my heir—a young fellow to be
proud 0 , who is virtue and honor {gunned—Noel,
who, for the ten years I have had e ha piness of
knowing him, has taught me. to esteem and ove him,
as the incarnation of a true friend and a devoted son.”

‘ He at ed .with himselfthus, forci himselftorspel
the don ts that beset him. Yet an her voice kept
w with anirsitatiug persistency, “But suppose

ttis oel  . , ,
The Daddy had reached the Boost. Laure.

 

oil cm into my m I pisses, and make you do just
allies? .

   

ham was drawn up, harnessed to one of the most splen-

s

Ithink—Ithink‘

After all, Gevrol's story he
8 is the real heir to ‘

did bay mares it had ever been the fortuneof the old
man to look upon.  .

“What abeautiful creature i" said the Daddy, unable
to resist stroking the arched and glussy neck. " It ap-
pears I have got some respectable people amongst my
tenants.”

He had some of exactly the opposite description also;
for he had hardly made the vflatterin reflection record-
ed above, than he saw issuing forth onsieur Dilemm—
honest Monsieur Ducroe, who has already been intro—
duced to our readers as the friend of Miss Nellie Nichol.
son, and whose presence iii-any house announced ruin,
as plainly as mutes at the door announce death.

 

CHAPTER XLV.

OLD (buxsoanw, who knew everyt and every-
body, was perfectly well acquainted with e character
of the honest money-lender. In fact, he had been rather
intimate with him when he was collecting some rare
old books which Ducroe had seized on a bill of sale.

“ Hilloh, old Crocodile I" he cried out ;' " so you’ve
got dealings in my house, have on i”

“ So it appears," answered ucroe, drily, who did
not like the familiar tone adopted by the Daddy.

“ Well, well, you're a clever fellow, and no mistake.’

Then, stimulated by a very natural curiosity, praise.
worthy in a proprietor who likes to have his rents paid
regularly, he asked, anxiously: “ And which of my tea-
ants may it be whose ruin you are contain ng l”

“ I've never ruined anybody l" retorted onaieur Du-
croe, with an air ofofiended nity. " Did you ever
lose snythinginyour transac one with me? :1! you
want a proof of that, go and ask your young

friend. the
barrister, and he’ll pretty soon tell you whether he has

an reason to regret having made my
usieur Taber-ct was

1y surprised.
What! Noel,~the s y Keel. the client of such a

manasDueroei Whatcoulditallmeanl Thenlaew
memberedthelosnhehsdmadeon'th toths
young barrister. and, without being able toexp the

f . he felt a lens and uncomfortable.

»“ It is not he," objec the money-lender. “that's
been extravagant; only, ash-l he's W M little
thin «who’s got an kw“ that would eat up the
dsvi , horns, boots, and l” v

TheDaddy wasshocked. Noclinlovewithawomsn
of whom even Ducroe duapprovedl Ducroe, whose
business it was to make the acqupintsnce of extra t
and disreputable women! The revelation went 1 a a
daggfi: t? tkhe old film’s heart.

'3 , - now 1 about that!" he said, grinni, a
ghastly smile. “ We must sow our wild oats.” n8

“ Yes, but if we sow them at the rate of a thousand a
year, and, owe, at the end of four years, about the same
lslum of money. I can’t see that we haveresped a good

arves ." ‘

In four ears, four thousand poqu " ' ’

Daddy abaret’s heart swelled painfully. To hide his -
emotion, he simulated a distressing. cough.

"Don’t let me detain you an longer,” be said, bur»
nggyé "ll’m’ sun‘ering from rouchitis. Goodbye—-
3 _ ye n ' i ,

And so he left the money-lender, feeling somewhere,
in a corner of his poor,worn-out olththssamo
immense grief that breaks the heart of an sfl‘ectionate
father, who hasjust discovered that the son upon whom
had built all his hopes hsdturned outtobsa.vil- r
lain and a sconndrel l

With eyes half, blinded by tears, he, was tn
the stairsthat l
lace and'siik barred his passage. , , .,

Above the whirlwind “mead silk he mapletty,
smiling face, with lovely dark eyes, surmounted by
hair as black as the raven's wing.

She d him, with a rustle and a dash, andrdisap-
Wweneat littlebroughsm. thatdroveoil‘at a

that was worthy of the beautiful bay mare that
attracted the Daddy’s attention.

On the landi , Monsieur 'l‘sbaret met his grim;

' t ' wall. and investigating, wit tear»
flu: eyes, a gold piece, which glistened in the palate!

"0h, mmsieur," he sud, " why didn’t you cease five
minutes sooner? That lady—that beautitul lady,

u saw all: down the stairs, has been

onsieur Gordy.
answer her questions. It seems th m
Monsieur Gordy is going to get married,“ it in.
beenrumorcdtoherhewasc intoabufog.
tune, and she could account for it no other way.
I think she must be his young woman. or Whig;

" Monsieur Gerdy ?”  
“ Yes, nonsieur. I never aspire to him when he did,
because he looked as if he dn't want
ands! wentont‘byway ofthe stable ,_ _' _,
of the pu he one. ‘   l v
The rterhsdbeeslspeaki hithertowith e as at.
fictional:er attached to the glbld piece he held in his
. Whenheraised hisheadtointerrogate thence
ofhislord and master. Daddy Tabarethsddiasppeam¢
" Ha, ha i” chuckled the porter to himself. “ I
mung mindoléelttlng fivetshilltmings that the master is

ve an or prett . What

old feel it is! Asifsgr’g ’8”! m

for all his money, The 01 mummy l" g
The rter was ri ht; Dadd Tabsret had am pm “’
after t e lad in theglace and silk, and wssjust in 

 

Before the door of his residence. a neat little broug- .

toseethebr u hamsndthesu rbba mare W
the corner ol‘thgestreet. m 'y ,. ' “ I
"Thundsrand-lightningl” he muttered. nI

shins. u
ed to his rooms. when a whirlwind  ‘

ofthst sort. Iundcrstand now why hsgoes out '
evenin ” W

henoti ‘

give him so much as a smile ‘

 

4 ;
. .0... Meanww‘au‘vmma.“ " ’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

overtake her! The truth lies there; and it's only
through her that! shall discover the mystery !"

CHAPTER XLVI.

Ono Conxsonsw was in one of those conditions of
nervous excitement that makes a man do wonders.

Es wasround the corners of the Rue St. Lasers like a
flash; and—oh happiness l—at flit yards in front of
him, saw the brougham and, the mare arrested in
their swift course amongst a crew of carts and car-
riages.

“ I'll catch her yet I" he said, looking around eagerly
for a cab. V

Not one to be seen.

Willinglyflike Richard the Third, he would have cried
at that moment. “ my fortune-my fortune for a cab."

The brougham h now disengaged itself from the
lock,,end the bay mare was spec it: away at abetter
pace than ever, followed by the D dy'in right gallant
st 1e.

its had taken oil“ his black silk necktie, and tied it
tightly round his waist; and all the time heron he cast
haggard glances to the right and left, in search of a cab.

At last—at laetl Just as he felt that his legs were
Igliiving way under him—a cab, an empty cab,- passed

in. ‘

He waved his arms at the driver in. a desperate man-
ner, like a drowning man, and, rushing forward, plung-
ed in head foremost; directing him. as he did so, to fo -
low the brougham with the bay mare. '-

"32:81.11 with it.” he gasped, as he use ed his
it?"

with an old cotton handkerchie , about
,size 0 a tray-cloth, “ and I'll give you 'a Napoleon
tor-your trouble." ' ' '
The cabman winked; and, givinghis skinny (horses
a vigorous flick with the whi , dashed oifvin pursuit. ~
The brongham stopped t ce—once at a shop ' or-
gegeus with Indian shawls, and rich'with‘festoonso old

;- next, st a confection‘er's, where the beautiful .

oung lady made extensive purchases in the shape of
(moons and chocolate drops, upon which she made
an onslaught before'she returned to her carriage. ' '

Daddy Tabsret was disgusted. - .

“ Thaw how the money oes,” he muttered; " frit-
tered awalyzuponvtrines. list he man who supplies
her with t iswssting his life brain-work and tell."

At last the'brougvhemand the bay-mars came totheir
journey’s end. and were dismissed: ands minute {after
the Daddy followed the you’ng lady as she glided into
the house at the Rue de Provence.

Old Corkscrew 0 ed the door of the rter‘s lod e.

"Obli a me wit the name of thatl y who has ust
entered, ' he said. 7 M v -

The man looked astonished, and hardly disposed to
answer. v .

“ Her name 'I" said the old man.

v Hie tone warso short, and yet so imperious. that the
porter, taken by surprise, atammered cut, " Miss Nellie
Nicholson." .

" U on what iloordoes she live i"

" a second."

A few moments afterwards, the old man was seated in
the drawing~room of Miss Nicholson, who, as her maid
informed him, bad Just returned from a drive. and
would see him directly she had changed her dress.

 was astonished at the luxury and taste
oft» snitursand decorations of the-apartment. and
had taken out his spectacles,qu prying and sniff-

,about, oalculatin the value of every article and
“9 term," when 1: door opened, and the entrance
of. elite revented any further investigation.

She taken off her walking costume, and thrown on
_ a black satin oir, trimmed with cherry—colored

satin. Her splen (1 hair, somewhat disordered by her.
bonnet,‘fsll in waves behind her delicate little ears. The
Daddy was Quite alps». For the time bein . he felt
inclined to forgive .oel for having madea f of him-

f. ' - '

" You wished to see me, I believe 7" she said, bowing,
gracefully. I ‘ 7 k , *

“ Main,” id Dadd . Tabaret, “ I am a friend of.
Neal's-«his best friend, may say."

" Pray sit down, monsieur," said the young lady,
smilin sweetly, at the same time advancing an arm-
chair, to which she sunk, taking articular pains as
she did so to show a tiny foot in as 0 colored ., ip-
per, surmounted by. a steel buckle the sparkled ikc
dewdrops upon a roseleaf. , p v

" I have called,» madam," he went on. "upon business.
It's always implement to intrude business adairs upon,
a lady; but youngpreseme at Monsieur Gordy’s ,, private
1'861d0308"—-r— ~  .

“ What?” oriedfiellie, um ng up, and wheelinglthe
chair lumkwlfut1 akick of or ot. “,He knows, I , o
my visit already. What‘s mean wretch he must be to.
keep spies about him! You're one of his spies, ain't

on i" ‘ - , ’

“ M .‘dearohlldg'sxfiostulo ted Old rkscrew.

"0g, don‘tddearc _ d‘. we I” sai the young lady.
" Don’t be fiumbug. Iknow what you've come about.

You’ve been sent here by Neel to scold and ¥repch to
me: but I won't stand it, and so I tell on. she him
back my COII‘iFllIllfintfi, and tell him 1: at I don’t care
. to'have a rid e‘for'a lover—a man I know nothing about
-an en! ' agdressed in a black coat, and got up like a
mute—4&1: as mysterious as he is lugubrious.“
" But why id you call upon him?" '
‘_“ Why 3“ said the girl, indignautl . “ Because he
r'omiset'l tommyme, andl’ve heard em a friend that
Ee’a going to Jilt me.” ' _ .
" Who told you that.” I
f‘ That old thief. Ducroe."
"But it’s not true." » . . .
-,“:'1?me or not, all I know is, that. for the last month
Noel has been a changed man." M, .. f .
The'volnnteertdetective was on (center-hooks. What
he wanted to know above everything was if Noel could

cloak or mask, and

.up

 

prove an alibi upon the day of the crime, was

A DESPERATE DEED.

the question. His heart beat fast as he hasarded the
next inquiry.

" You doubt his love, then?”

“Doubt his love! Ha—hal What a funny old boy
you are! Wouldn't you, if you were a woman, doubt
the love ofa man if he was ashamed to own you ‘P Why
he hides me as if I were some'secret that couldn’t bear
the light of day."

She had risen in her excitement, and throwing back
her magnificent black hair, turned upon the old man
like a young tigross.

“ You are his friend, and I appeal to you. Now listen
to me. You look a sensible sort of old chap, and by
that cunning old eye of yours I should think you were
not to be canght with chsfl‘."

" Not in the least," said Daddy Tabaret, bowingto the
compliment and smiling his sweetest smile.

" Well, then, listen to'me.‘ I'm telling you the truth,
mind you. I'd been having a row with him about his
never taking me out. It was last Tuesday-Shrove
Tuesday, you know." ‘

“ Yes, I know," said the old man, quietly.

“ Well, he took a box at the theater, and, told me to
go on first, and he would join the. Nets bit of it i I
never saw him the whole evening.”

" What i he put you to the unpleasant inconvenience
of going home alone i" _ ‘ . . ”

“ Oh, no ! At the end of the performance, towards
midnight, Monsieur oondescended to make his re-ap-
pearance. We were engaged to appear at the masque-
rade ball at the opera an afterwards to supper. ' Oh,
how amusing it was to,aee Noel doing the-ftragic and.
mysterious i Dn‘rln the ball he wouldn‘t, take off-his

awa .”
The alibi prepared in case Q)" accident appeared yer
thejlrrt lime ; and had Nellie Nicholson been less ex-

cited. she wouldcertainly have noticed the expression

pf Daddy Tabaret’s face, and have wisely held her
on us.  ' ‘ '- w '
T e old man had turned white to’ the very lips, and

trembled like an aspen leaf.

'{ Herbal"; he ‘saidjmaking‘a superhuman effort to
pronounce the‘word‘s : “" Your supper partyJ suppose,
wasagayaflair,afterall‘l" ’ ' ' V -

‘f Ga ff’f repeated the young woman. shrugging her
shoul ers. " I 's very plain you don’t know your
friend, Monsieur Noel Gordy a'e'wellvas I do. 'Iflever
you invite him to dinner,‘ta‘ke care'a'bont allowiu
to drink. He gets uproarious in hisc .‘ A 'Ithe
second bottle he was drunk asa lord—so d , nk that e
lost all his things—great-coat, umbrella. purse, cigar-
case,and—_and”——- ‘ ’ ' _

Daddy Tabaret could contain himself no longer, rile
sprun' to his feet.»and shook his flats in the air.

" at a villain!" he cried. " What ‘a miserable
acoundrell I have him l—I have him now” '

And he fled from the room likeamadman, leaving
Nellie standing like a statue of wonder at his unac-
countable behavior. , r t ,

Asshe heard the front door bang behind himhshe
rushed to the beau-com, where her maid was sitting at
someneedle-work, and tumbling upon her knees, buried
her face in the girl‘s la .

"Oh, I've been do
dreadful—I know I have. ‘ahe moaned. “ That
has beenan a fool of me, I know he has i

acme mischief—something
old man

Oh.

what shall I do—what shall I do 1" . fi

" Give him in charge." said the girl. promptly whose
ideas of Justice and propriety were all centered in the
policemurt. ~

Her mistress didn't even hear her. She fel‘ intuitively
that a great misfortune was impending over her lover,
and she was somehow mixed up in it.

" Bria me my writing desk. ‘ she said, rising to her
fist. t  "in going to write to Noel. and tell him all
a on . '

 

CHAPTER XLVIL

Arrnleaving Nellie Nicholson. Old Corkscrew sprang
into his cab and sped away to the Palace of Justice,
wild with rage and excitement. His former love for
Noel had turned to hatred. He was indignant at hav-
ing been made the dupe of such a man, and muttered
curses to himself that if they had been uttered aloud,
might have turned even the cabman ay.

- v" He has not, only murdered he poor Widow
Lerouge,” he thought, " but he has so arranged the
whole thing. that he has caused an innocent man to be
condemned. How do Ikuow now that he has not even
killed his own mother?" ,_ w r .

0f one thing the old man felt certain—and that was,
that it must have, been in the train that the young
barrister had lost the property mentioned by Nellie
Nicholson. Could, that propsrty be recovered ? or had
he‘r‘ecovere‘d it bygivin a lse name at the Missing
Property Office at the way station.

Just about this time the Dadd 's head was going
round and round. His heart was sting so fast that
he felt nearly suffocated, and his clammy hands fell
powerless to his side. '

"Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! I'm going to have aflt‘l" he
use ed. " And if! die in it, Noel Gordy—whom I have
mags the sole heir to all my property—will escape!
When a man makes a will of any importance, he ought
always to carrytit about with him; so that he can destroy
it when he changes his mind, and make another at the
earliest opportunity!" ’ . v I

Twanty ate 3 further, the crimson and green lightsof
a chemist's s 0 dashed into the cab. , ~

’ " Let, me out let me out i" cried the old man. ' " I’m
choking!" V .

Two minutes after, he found himself in the shop, held
by the cabman‘ and making a wry face over the
restorative tin:I chemist'had misled for’him. I I.

' An ’hour later, Daddy' Tabaret, accompanied by a
policeman, proceeded to the railway station, in search

     

ept up the nonsense till we went ’

mm '-

of the missing articles mentioned by Miss Nellie Nichol.
son.

His researches resulted in what he had e ected.

On Bhrove Tuesday there had been found n a second-
class earrl e an overcoat and an umbrella. In the
pockets of t e overcoat were apair of pearl-gray gloves,
stained and torn, and a return ticket, which had not
been used.

The conviction that had grown upon Old Corkscrew,
inspite of himself, from the moment that the money-
lender had opened his eyes to the vices of Noel, had
become gradually strengthened b a thousand circum-
stances. Whilst speaking to Nel e Nicholson he had
almost felt convinced—but now he was appalled at the
overwhelming evidence that crowded upon him.

The one prev feeling in the old man's mind was
that justice should done. To protect the innocent
and arrest the guilty had become with this strange
bein the instinct of his life. With the scent of the
bi hound, with him was also added its honest .

The struggle was terrible. In his lonely fe the
roots of a strong affection had struck deep; and now.
moved by a sense-of duty, the one pervadin feeling of
his life. he was about to tear away this sole agiding love,
that had borne to him such bitter. bitter fruit.

Allied to this came the agony of agreatremorse. How
“much of suffering had he not occasioned by‘his mis-
directed energy ? What cruel torture had hp not been
instrumental in inflicting upon those who, had he
known them to be innocent, it would have been his
” duty ” to protect? =And‘now. what was to be done ?

A‘ terrible question, yet one “ that must be swiftly
decided. .

It was not a matter that admitted of long reflection.

It was not a question of days, but one of hours; and
the poor creature seemed to grow older. and more feeble,
aserthe dreadful necessity for immediate action forced

itsel'fupon him. '

" I dare not spare him I" he murmured, as he clasped
his weary head in his hands. "No, no; then h it be
my death as well as his, I dare not spare ml A
higher power than an will of mine tells melts
the truth, and, like A raham of old. even though hat
{the sacrifice must be my adopted son. that! sacrifice
‘shall be ‘made. Oh, Noel l Noel 1 other crimes only
speak, but murder shrieks aloud, and must, sooner or
later, call down the certain Justice. And y yet,
I loved the boy so well 1"

Time rolled on, and still the old detective was unde-
cided how to act. He was much changed, and seemed
literally to wither up before the piercing wind, as it
met him round the sharp corners of the railway cor-
. riders, and seemed disposed to shake his very garments

into shreds. ‘ -

Poor old Daddy Tabaretl He never felt the bitter-
lness of the wind, nor heard the mocking sneers of those
he ran against, or whose regress he obstructed. A.
terrible—on awful stran was taking place in the
breast of that shabby-loo g old man;-s atrug is as
heroic as any chronicled by the st lus of the ek
dramatist, for it evolved the destruo on of the hope of
an entire life—the tearin up ofa eat love— it
up by the roots, and lea no u but a crumb
emptiness behind—an emp iness the. the old man knew
was of the grave.

The struggle was fierce, but the decision was decisive
as it was heroic; and. for the sake of others, the old
man buckled himself to do his duty, and, once resolved
upon his course of action, took the field at once.

Monsieur Daburon was in earnest conversation with
the Count dc Valcourt when this apparition appeared
before him.

The door of his room wasburst suddenly open, and a
shrivsled-up figure, with a livid face, stood upon the
threshold. What a change! Fora moment, even the
keen eyes of the magistrate failed to recognise the fea-
tures of Daddy Tabaret.

With ard eyes, and hands upraised, he adv-need
upon Mon our Daburon. without perceiving that the
room had another occupant. . _

" Monsieur," he said,in tones so unusuall impressive
that the m irate, though accustomed to {hose sudden
inroads on t e part of his eccentric friend, pushed back
his chair, and re d him with an rise—" Monsieur,
at last I am not eivedl Don't s k l—don't speak !
Alas i there is no longer room for oubt. and the mur-
derer is found 1”

" Found 1‘"

" Don’t speak l—don't speak. or I shall break down ?
In mercy to me. let me get through the task I have set
myself to do I The man—the assassin, is—ia" he aussd
{or asecond, than blurted 01:11:), with a: comet ibe-

ween a asp an a groan-J4: 0 son ,0 my adop on,
the chil of my heart——Noaa Glenn! 1” . ,

The words were scarcely renounced when both start-
ed. The door by which Decfiiy Tabaret had entered, and
had left open. was closed suddenly. The Count deflal-
court had glided from the room. '

“‘—

cnmss XLvm.

To use a common phrase, Noel had promised to move
heaven and earth to obtain therelease of Albert ; and
hersally and truly had visited several members of the
bar ; but had placed the casein such a, peculiar int
of view. that they one and all refused him their d.

At four o’clock he called at the Count (is Valcourt's
house, tc-npprise his father of his non-success.

. " The Count is out," said the valet ; “ but if you
vfiulfin't mind waiting, monaieur. he will return very
s or y."

" I’ll wait," said the barrister. ,

" The Count expected monsleur." stid the valet. bow-
ing respectfully, “and. gave orders that if you called,
you were to be shown into the study." '

.‘Noel’s heart swelled with . ' or the future. he
was masterin this magnificent lion e—the heir to an
the lands of the ancient family, whose name he bare "'

 

5,6:

. p1,.

 

 

 

 

.4 DESPERATE porn.

2'

 

 

As he looked around with a glance of pride, his eye fell
u n the genealogical tree that, surrounded by s in ~
nifcent frame, hung over the chimney-piece. He -
vanced, and studied it, and saw the names of the great-
est families in France allied with that of the De Val-
courts. Two of them had espoused the younger daugh«
ters of kings ; and as he read, the heart of the barrister
best high with pride, whilst he murmured to himself,
"And 1—! am now Viscount de Vslcourt 1”

As he spoke the words, the door behind him was
thrust open, and the old Count entered, closing it quick-
ly behind him. ‘ «

Noel was advancing towards him with outstretched
hands; but recalled at the look of rage and scorn that
flashed from his father's eyes.

That look made him shudder from head to foot. It
was so much as he could do to stand upright. He knew
that he was lost; _ .

“ Oh, you villain I” cried the old man, shaking his
clenched list at him: and then, as if afraid of his own
anger, throwing his stick to the other end of the room.
" I can’t strike him," he murmured—“I can’t strike,
him ! He isn’t worthy of the rage of a man like me I

Then there was a silence—s silence so intense that the
ticking of the tiny ormolu clock on the chimney-piece
sounded like a death-watch in the room.

In those few moments “oceans of _memory” seemed
to roll over their souls, and for the time being to anni-
hilate all thought.

The young men was the first to speak.

“ Father ’——-- be commenced. .

“ Silence 1” said the Count, in a hollow voice, " Don’t
speak! I can’t bear to hear our voice. I know that
you are my son, and I know t at you have broken poor
Vslerie’s heart." Here the old man advanced towards
him, and looking him full in the eyes, cried out, "Par.
ricide l'you have killed your mother! Isaw her this
morning. She wasn't delirious then, and when you en-
tered the room as she was breathing her last. with. her
dying words she denounced you as a murderer l”

Step by step. Noel had recoiled to the other end of the
room, and now lesnt adopt the wall. with a pale face
and haggard eyes, trem ling from head to foot. ,

“ I know examining I” pursued the Count- “ And,
what is worse still, I am not alone in my knowledge.
At this ve moment a summons has been issued for

your arres ." I . A, ,
rage, half of dpspair, broke from the

A cry, half of
barrister’s lips. . .=
Thunderstruck at the very moment of, expected
, trium h, he gathered himself together, and stood at
bag, dimmed to light out the tight to its bitter

en . » ~

The Count do Valcourt, without appearing to be con-
scious of the games of Noel, went to his study-table,
and opened a wet. ' ,

" Sit down," he said sternly, “. and write the confes«
aion of our crime! You will and a late! in thisdraw-
er that have just opened. and may esven have mercy
upon your soul 3" . -

The old gentleman made a movement, as to leave; but
Noel stopped him by, a gesture. taking a revolver from
his pocket as he did so.

" You see, I require no aid of this sort,” he said. u My

precautions, as you will perceive, are already taken. I
promise you Ishall never be taken alive—only I make
this proviso.”

" Oh, there's a proviso, is there i” interrogated the
Count, sternly.

“ Yes,” answered the barrister, in accents as cold and
stern as the usation. " I am young, and you are old.
The fact is, ll sis'pleasantto me. and. to sum it all up in
slow words, I don't want to die I”

“ What i“ cried the old Count, recalling, and in a tone
of disgust. " You don't mean to as you are a coward l”

“ No, monsteur, I’m not acowar ; but I’ll not put an
end to my existence until I am perfectly assured that
everyblloophole is closed to me, and that escape is im-
pose e.”

His father rushed towards his stud «table to the
drawer that contained the loaded lstol, {unfereseelng
the movement, Noel closed it wi h a backward move-
ment of his hand, and laced himself before-it.

"Listen to me!” so! the barrister, inthose hoarse,
short tones that are only used when .we feel our-
selves in imminent danger-v" listen to me“! Don’t let us
waste, in vain and idle reproaches, the few minutes of
explanation that are left me. As I have said before, the
idea 01 death is a horror to me. Give me the means I

speak ofin apecunisry point of view, and Iswear to you M

I will escape; and, if I fail,rI swear toyou as solemnly
that Iwill not be’take'n alive 1"

For a moment—but a moment only—~the old noble-
man stood undecided. The thought ofthe scandal and
the shame, in which he had been sparticipator, weighed
too heavily ln'the balance. He was frightened at the
very idea of publicity, and if his whole fortune had
been at his feet at the moment, he would have given it
to the unfortunate man before him. g Luckily, on the
Saturday he had drawn tram his banker’s a large sum
of money, destined for the furnishing of the house of
his n-xwly-found son. « I

Without speaking a word the Count opened a little
iron safe fixed'on the wall, and taking from it a bundle
ot‘bank-notos, threw them at Noel’s feet; then, fellin
upon his knees beside the sofa, he buried his (gray he
in the cushions, and burst into a violent at o- sobbing.
When he looked up again, the room was empty. , Keel
Was gone. , ‘ , ; ,

An hour later, the servants found their master face
downwards upon the carpet, to all appearances liieless,

 

CHAPTER XLXI.

NOEL, on leaving‘his father’s house, walked up the
street reeling'like s-‘drunken men. It seemed to him
that the very pavement oscillated beneath his feet, and
that the houses and people round him were whirling

 

.snd Nellie 110110 3

 

round and round in: sort of mad waltz. His mouth
was perched and dry, his eyes smartedas then b he had
been weeping, and eve now and then he fe t so sick
that he was forced to em for_support against some
doorway or lamp-poet; but at the same time, strangely
enough, he felt a sort of relief.

Everything was known—finished—over 1 He had

layed his sine, and had lost ! No more anguish now.
I.dll was en —-the fen—4hr; hope—the horrible sus-
pense. He had played his terrible part out, and could
now take oil his mask, and once more breathe at ease.

An overwhelming and irresistible sinking of the
spirits succeeded the nervous excitement which had
supported him since the day of the murder, The burn-
ing fever which for the last ei ht days had galvanised
him into an unnatural sort of its had left him, and he
felt an imperious desire for rest and quiet, accompanied
at the same time by an aching void and an indin’erence
for everythin that took place around him .

This insensibility upon his part resembled that of
persons overwhelmed by sea-sickness, whom nothing
silects-—to whom all things are perfectly indiilerent—
who have neither the strength or the courage to think,
and whom the imminence of a at danger—nay,
even death itself—cannot rouse from their sad dejec-
tion. »

If he had been arrested whilst in this frame of mind
he would not even have attempted a denial, but would
have ielded without a murmur.

At sst, after wandering through the Paris streets
without any aim or end in view, a reaction came against
this weakness and exhaustion of mind and body. A
vivid consciousness of his fearful situation and the
imminence ofhis danger rushed back on his .memory,
and the, thought of he scaffold came across him as
when in a flash of lightning one sees a fesrfin abyss
yawning at one’sfeet. ’

' Little b little night had crept on, and, with the
manna oei felt it return .of his old courage and au—
. Y- . 4 .—

“ I have money,” he thought. “ I’ll go to America
—I'll change my name—4’11, commence a new life; and,
with my energy and abilities.“ will be my own fault if
I don't make a fortune 1 I’ve ready money, and that,
after all, is the principal thing; Besides, I can alw s
draw upon my father. He ates publicity, and t e
hanor qfthefamdv must be maintained at any rice !"

He lau bed a bitter , laugh at this last re ection,
when an denly the thought of Nellie Nicholson darted
across his mihd.’ Was he to leave without her ‘?—-never
to see her main lunever to speak to her more ? What!
was he to fly, like a hunted beast, before the police, and
she remain inPsrls, in comfort and luxury l—ahe, for
whom he had sinned l—she, tor whom he had commit-
ted the crime ?  reaped the benefit ? Nellie.
, r and wasn't it Just that she should
take her psi-tin his punishment ? C * 7 ‘

" I know she doesn’t love me i" thought the barris-
ter, bitter! . I," Idon't think she ever loved me i I
have somet es thought she would be lad to get rid of
me i Idon’t think. she would even s ed a tear when
she hears of my ruin 1 She told me one day, when I
was hard up. that on empty urse was a useless thin ,
and col lit to be thrown be rid the fire ! Rich vi
my spo l, she'll make a capital marriage ; and, before a
week is over, I shall be forgotten 1 She will live a pros-
perous and a happy life : whilst I ”-—-—-

The voice of Prudence warned him to forget Nellie, as
he had prophesied she would forget him ; but the voice
of Passion answered, " What matters? Let us live or
perish together. If she does not love me, I love her.
and come with me she shall and must i"

But how was he to see Nellie—to s , to hon—to
argue her overinto seeing thi. soc ' to his pain
of view ? If he went to her at or own house. he might
find the police there» already. " Yet, no," thou ht
Noel ; " nobody knows tnst I’ve made such a f of
myself with her. None of my friends are aware thst I
even visit her ; and, if I wrote, it would be more dan-
gerous still." ' y - 1

He walked on till he came to acabvstand : and, get-
ting into a four-wheeler. are the number of the house
in the Rue de Provence, t at street which already
been so fatal to him. ~ ‘ I

Crouching back in the corner of the cab, halt giddy
with its rumblings’nd jolting. Noel for at all about the
future: the resent became ablank. ven Nellie was
forgotten. upset rosehefore him; and like a I986“,-
'tor at a theater, he reviewed the tragedy of his own

I?

e_ . .
He saw how his love for Nellie Nicholson had lured
him into debt. He saw himself on the brink of ruin,
when achsnce made him the ossessor of the private
correspondence of the Count e Valcourt—not only of
the letters read by Daddy stsre
to Albert, but Mothers still,_when the Count thought
the substitution had been accomplished, and all fear of
detection at an end. ’ r ' ‘
The reading of these letters had turned his head. He

felt delirious with excitement and joy. , But he was
soon awakened them his brief do dream by his mother. -
She told him the truth—prov it to him by letters
written to her by the'Widow Ierouge~msde him call

on Claudine, who corroborated his mother's assertions, _

and showed him the scar which her-"husband had made
on the memorable night at the village inn.

But a drowning man does not choose the ink that.
is to save him. Noel determined to use tie letters.
and to exert his influence Over his mother to write to
the Count, snd‘swear to him that the substitution
had really taken place. " - '

This proposition his mother repudiated with horror
—-and it was then that the thought of the murderers;-

‘ tered his mind.

The unhappy man was stopped in his retrospective
review by t e sudden pulling up ofthe cab, which had
arrived at its destination. g

Letting down the front window. he thrust some all.

t, and communicated hi

ver into the driver's hand. opened the door himself-
1ain't!gracing:thestairsbefore themanhadtimo to turn

Jeannette, the maid, gave a little scream oi joy when
she saw him. . ' ' -

“ Oh, it is you, Monsieur l Won‘t Madame be pleased!
She’s been so uneasy about you i"

Nellie uneasy-Pond what for ‘l

The barrister, however, never thought of ci‘nruestion.
ing the girl. It seemed that in psssisfimtrhat t hold
he had suddenl recovered all his Q can and pres-
ence of mind. e was measuring the imprudence of
his visit, and felt that minutes, even moments, wasted
were a matter of life and death to him.

"If any one calls,” he said to- Jeannette, "say that
your mistress is out—say anything,- but, as you value
your place, don’t admit a mortal soul. V 80, to your
work, and hold your tongue." ~

At the voice of Noel, Nellie ran into the hall. H
pushed her back into the -room, and, following.
closed the door behind him. t was then. and then
chilly, that the  saw lthfi face poi hler gives.1

ow c ange was ow e ow gard!

“ What’s happened?” she gagged. .8

Noel made no answer. He h sunk into a chair, and
Wall wiping his forehead and hands with his pocket
handkerchief.

"For heaven’s sake, speak "’ said Nellie.
as white as aghast! You are ill! Let me call Jean-

nette." r
Sprin in to his fist, he caught her b the hands.
“ Ne exghe asked, in a' hoarse voice, grin

haggard; bloodshot eyesr—j‘flellie, be sincere
the truth. Doyoulove me?" v

She divined~she felt that sbmething ext
had happened, and that some
pending: yet, with the extrso

fingYflg‘l unlit ill ’ b said Mirth g
“ cu naug e ow, ' s e , " ou 
compliments, add if you think you
me, you'll find yourself in the wrong boat."

" Stop l” interrupted Noel, stem ing his foot vio-
lently upon the ground. ’ “ I’ve as ed you a simple
qifsgion;_,canft you give me an answer?"

n as
of Nellie. snd,them between his own tilllshe
winced with p .

“ Yes or DMD you love me?” . , ‘

A hundred times she had played with the passionate
temper or her lover. amusing herself with exciting him

into a e, and hell am at pat and mouth.
inig gigdqwn as y  W
m n .

for

into a: d and happy frame of

_But she was frightened now. Shehad never seen
hzmedlike this. Something must have has»
n

" Of course 1 You know I love you," she stemmered.
" Haven't I proved it to you? Why do you ask me i"

“ Why l" answered the barrister, throwi the 1's
handsirom him. “What I meanth hat
love me, it is now necessary‘you should proveit.
low me on the instant—t s moment—now I Th

up everyt
hear ‘1"

The girl Was white to
been so afraid in her life

mean ?' , .
He burst into a strident laugh. '
" That I have «been a fool, and have loved you too
much 1 Yes, my love for you, Nellie. has been my
The day that saw me without money suinth to on
1y your luxuries, and indulge your caps-loo. I caused
an honest man! For yoursake I have committed a
crime—s terrible one! The encore ofjustlce are new
on mytrscki If there be snytruth in thsoethyou
have sooften sworn, come with me. Five minutes do

ls means 41 '
ellie looked at him in wide eyed astonishment.
“ Crime! You have committed a crime for me?”

“ For me i” she sted " for ms?" t r

“ For whom else 1‘ t was my mad love that did it all.
But for my madam, frenzy—call it what you Nina—my
hands would still be aswhite as yours. You donot
answer. Well it is but the completion of my lane's
medufoély’to believe in the possl ility of s wom’s
grs u e. ’

He turned towards the door, when, with a cry and a
bound hheagoung panther-1,1119 was upon him. , ‘

Her arms wn around his‘neck, her hands tightly
clasped, her lips touching his, her wild eyes fixed on

s.
" I love’you." she murmured. Then throwin back
her head, but without releasing her hold, she .conginusd
‘ to speskra idly. her voice rising to s scream—"yes, I
love you, , eel. You Ire in danger of your life—you m
huntedtrscked, and all for nae—tor me i I no

var be-

’lieved in man before-never thought that you, of all

men, were capable of this. Quick—quichi  , me

’ with you 2 It shall be sacrifice for sacrifice, and We will
1:15va he opted more I" ,

Then, for the rst time releasing him.she, with all,
the wild energy of her ill-regulated. half-feline nature,
dashed at a sp endid buhl cabinet, tore open the door,
and began to drag out lace and jewels, and cram them
into a small valise which was ready to hand.

Suddenly the yahoo dropped from her . , and
groane burst tram. the breast of her misersg' and dot
pera over. . _
Aloud tringing of the door-bell peeled through the

preaching doom l

“Harder. that's all,” he said. with ssort of stolid,
‘ indifference. ' ' ‘

en . , . , ,
, ilt sounded to both what it was—the  op. ;

Hex

“Yousre \
gcnherhis.
' 

t misfortune mi: ,
ry, triviality that 7;
sometimes possesses her sex, she commencedicoquetr »

nah any outjof» -

he spoke, he seized the tiny, dimpled hands .

you
rest

hing—quit everything—this moment—do you  '
her very lips. She had never  f
"Youn'ightenme. sou. thtisit? , meow“ ‘

   

   
 

g?

 

". .l

: " My God i” and the barrister turned his haggard eyes" ,3

 

eVerywhei-e about him, as seekin some meansetsscsps
--“ they are here.” a

 

 

 

 

 

.28

A mere-“12.4 TE DEED.

 

They stoogogfighgr,  two nnicgtunatlgs—txhbe
woman-ugh e ’- 5 ' A eman- t men st; ‘
games, in mantle... of the’lmmensny-ot his

anger. v .

Again... awful hem-terrible as the: one that
Sim-tied the ears of Scotland's murderous them—-
14113500111, its Firstly summons. -

“ ‘ me!” tleemedtosny; “come, murderer-and
forget, come! The hounds of tice”have run you

Lowell , in the nameo! .
“I l” gasped the terrified yOung berrie-
Lehman!”

Itwas Jeannette who now appeared on the threeh--
old of the door of communication between the
rooms. She. too was deomlypele, but her move-
ments were nick and decided. her finger pressed
waran erlip.

.“The 1: stair-arse is occupied by the police.
Lstenl Theyorebreekinglnthedoor ’ -

And, sure enough, the wash of has shoulders
against the is of both doors reso ed through
ere was usher-iguana: of the wood-

t the timbers (1 strongly together.
Wi simultaan “$28 bur-fin!” b th

to us no 11. y 6 same
rushed one to t

teem, women trontythe other
to $13.8?" emthe bmgootzi 1 Quick ickl T11

‘ are 5 rs u ere
is,th tobelosti” ' ‘ —q

* 2cried Nellie.

‘Theyere bro
“‘Wemustnotloeeemomentl Qui»
Bhednrtedforwnrd advance oe tore/mm

work; but“

mistress, or
inthewl’stwc they reedthet hope was not for
M  windgwe—thewindowl" «on N

Qmfimhyoul”
The, , wwmthmstoriesh-omtheground.
The Mum! M w ‘3 W‘W, stood
erectmdmofiootoasiuthecemom.
 had beenthescene 0150
many mend whichwunowtosee
E obey pthsnotbnyandth
. em «my,va , e
vet'th of his position, the impossibiiiz
:tchemmbroughtbmkagleamoteoumgeto
.Wfi I smileupon theirhite sag;
www.mmodteoc h-he we
t I “heredreyoivernomhisbrempocket.
“I’ve gnawed, fhessid; “let me at least
gin-once eep m'lsme‘lwouldnotbetuken
ve.’ .
ernisedtbepietoltotheregionol the heertas
 Wherseltupon himstrovo

ta'll‘he   not benched, but the shotwas mor;

measure moment one of the outer doors, or
the. in a

At
both, gave V‘ with e creek, and
body, entered he rcom.’ ‘ r ‘ I

“A doctorwzdcotor!” implored the belt-frantic
women.

And; strovth 0t Deddy~Taboret,iwho was in'
among the firstLeevergi of, the men disappeared
V “Audootorrtor moi": r the dying menfwith
something of the old irony in his tone. ,
Sexton to dig e grave u'deé ’us a man’s despair,
, and lets muoneorvethis op topaz

f” “KILLED MK Iota: ma. A‘ Wow)” ’

Homomemnzxelm. She had W in

the arms at Jeanette. . ..
The w him mtgeonough under the direction
““Girgym’leamghor with c I ha. ‘ "

._ - , e v . ’
biggie old detective placed theywriting min
“Write-tor it .5 on must mi and 1 will -—
that I mowed.me w’ e 

'wlll give some

tension costs the but little now, yet
111in tokee , at

toilet to my brother. I It is a
leg, onenome clear. I

~. the'ps
‘ m1 Wane
“Y.ng 
gum... . . .
The dying Noel grospedthehand
Nellie now. wavered from her faint
red - ' uheoonvm

 too well what the horrible

ough r h wrest-
v t hypocrisy,  dying men’s
Dyi Yfiewssdcad/ Withelostf eager
age taco-4W, lost, beentifou‘lldisoe at
p , haired noto be wé‘ed-i-ettlle irlt of Noel

' _ , , “S . W

  W1 PB

   

hisc
LAnd what a, lesson!"

. .... W:

tinned,“ ' gravely, to himself
“whato , .
was never yet bye yet more

“A”

animushe‘
overmbody.NoeL

“Send Ma 1

V ear;

I 9 to ' u I
make “null right" infirm $51? and:
‘ or the ‘ .

is
to that a. despemte'tortune

 

 

 

 

.A...‘

 

I I l O
. Waverley lerary. The Fire51de lerary.
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84 The - By has. ulock. ' 118.me in Poor. ByBEdmund Yates.
85 Lon Anna. ByOotsveFe w :' v : 99 Tu Comm Bum. Gerald GrIflin.
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