Evening Star Newspaper, May 7, 1898, Page 21

- THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MAY 7, 1898-24 PAGES. Chapter IV.—Continued. Bourk+ and Harewood walked out to the front door and sat down on the ste; After @ short period of meditation Bourk> said in saying that our hostesses are as inno- cent as two white kittens?” “Why white kittens?” asked Harewood argumentatively, and added, “Of course they are.” “Well,” continued Bourke, “because they are so innocent it would be a shame to disturb them—I- m to attempt any tool flirtation. Wouldn't it?” “I don’t see why you say that to me,” said Hzrewood sharply. = “I only meant—for myself as well as you —that we've got te be careful. You know as well as I do that what is called flirta- tien in America is’ not understood in France. They would take anything like that seriou: Hareweed was silent. “Of course, i'm more or less susccptible to a pretty face.” continued Bourke; “so yeu if your reputation doesn't belie et my reputation alone,” interrupted not a subject for analytical As I say, I'm not insensible myscif; but in thi we—in sheri—we jutely must not make asses of our- atter with you?” inquired out this situation from the 2 Heaven knows we shall be epough with our own affairs—anl be theirs—and as for cur 2 hours, ave any, don't you think we can them tere safely : two wangero. to them without m. demanded 2" asked Bourke in his turn. shrugged | * myscli,” nefore, but i be a d—d oi mind of he peac Harewood. “Let's drop looking at each other. and laughed. ."" he said. “I've gone too ered Bourke, incredulously. groaned Bourke, “you ¥ you've begun already? mt sorry. It was thoughtle: “You—you haven't made love to her in these few minutes? Jim, it’s impossible!’ Harewood moved uneesily. you?" es, I have.” ‘ou—you didn't kiss her?’ Harewood was silent. Bourke looked at him in amazement. “Not Hilde?” Harewood didn’t answer. After a moment's silence Bourke sat down on the steps and swore under his breath. Harewood stood by, restless and ashamed. You understand, he said, in a low voice, “that wa: onfession—not a boast. I'm d—d sorry—she looked so dainty and sw you know how thoughtless [ am ab: ch things—" “Oh all!’ burst | out Bourke. “What If a girl lets a man kiss her like Jo she can take the ecnsequene Harewood wanted to speak, but Cecil in- terrupted him. aken in the girl, that's all. innocent as a white kitten be- hind a milk jug—and she is—just as inno- cent. They're all alike, anyway. Go on and spoon if you choose, it's none of my Harewood murmured: “Cecil, you don’t think—" “No,” interrupjed Bourke, “I don't think you're a blackg . but It's a selfish pastime. this useless awakening of a wo- man’s h What I fear is that Fou and Hilde will get into a ¢ and it will perhaps le happy. Jim.” perate love affair, ve one of you un- And that won't be you, you know, “I don't know. aid the other. A queer light flashed in es for a moment, then he laughed. “. . don’t take it seri- ously. & close together When that bit me. Hilde ‘or and looked so grieved put my arm around her Waist— then she looked at me so—well—so ~so—Oh, the devil! how do I know; let's forget it, won't you? There are ‘some things a man ought to shut up about.” “I don’t ask your considence,” said Cecil, morosely. “You're the onjy man who has ever had it. As for this ‘chiid—the whole incide: Was innocent and harmless enough. I'v half forgotten it, and she will completely in no time at all.” “All right,” said Bourke; “here come Winston and Sutherland. They're on time; it's just 10.” I CHAPTER V. The Mirrored Face. The household duties finished, the birds regaled with seed and water, Yolette went out, as she always did, into the tangled gardea for a romp with Scheherazade, call- ing Hilde to follow. But Hilde had slipped away to her own silent chamber, where, in the half Meht, pale sun spots moved on the lowered curtains and one dusty sun- beam sia ed through the dusk. She sank into an easy chair, head thrown . eyes wide open, gazing at nothing— at the motes sifting through the bands of sunlight t{ the tr: Ty of-a vine outside don the lowered ezes swayed n, leaves. neither shadow nor sunlight, nor the white wails of the room, nor the white curtains of the bed. Th was but thing before her eyes one “ 3 » to hei back in the chair, ie lay begirning of things ay—scarcely an hour yet it was no use—no use to try how it had happened. cloud blot e dappled sun- the room grew « from a her eyes drocped 1 the dark lashes rested on her cheeks; her limbs seemed heavy and numb. Presently the shaft of sunlight stole across the dusk again; she raised one hand, touching her face with listless fingers. Her eyes and cheeks were wet with tears. There was a niche in the wall over the bed where a faience figure of Sainte Hilde ef Carhaix stood, robed in blue and gold. She turned her eyes to the saint and leaned forward in the dusk; but perhaps she had nothing to say to this other Hilde of Car- haix; perhaps she did not know what to say, for her head drooped and she sank back in the armchair, tay twisting her white fingers. The tears dried quickly, for there was’ nothing of bitterness in’ her heart, only a constant wonder, an eternal childish question, “Why?” And always be- fore her she saw Harewood’s face, touched with an indefinable smile, bending close, lose: yet to her own. Upstairs Harewood himself was sitting on the edge of Bourke’s bed dispensing to- bacco and liquid rouriskment to half a dozen feliow countrymen who filled the “Jim, do you agree with me 4 he matter is that I thirk we had bet- | Harewood | | correspondent. n BY ROBT W-CHAMBERS. room with pipe smoke ana sprawled on the | end of everything for a man in this world— furniture, listening to Bourke. 7 Bourke finished speaking, modestly look- ing at Sutherland for approval. The latter touched his grizzled mustache thoughtfully and gazed at the carpetless floor. Speyer began to speak, but subsided wher Sutheriand looked up at him. “What Bourke says,” began Sutherland, “is something I can neither deny nor ap- prove. He affirms that it is not possible for the German armies to isolate Paris from the outside world; he says that if we remain in Paris we shall be able to com- municaie with our respective journals. Whether or not this turns out to be the case, I myself have decided to leave the city. Personally, I don’t care whether I'm with the French or German army. If the Germans invest Paris and enter Versailles, I fancy it will change nothing as far as the censcrship is concerned.” “German censors are worse than French —if any one should ask you,” observed Winston. “They're all of a stripe,” grumbled Hare- weod, who had more red pencil on his dis- patchgs than the rest of the foreign cor- respondents put together. Sutherland laughed, returning his pipe to the morocco case, and locked at Bourke with Kindly eyes. “As long as you and Harewood are ex- pected to stick to the French army,” he said, “I suppose you ought to stay in Paris. As for Winston and Shannon and George Malet—they are free to go where they please; and if I'm anything of a prephet, they had better steer clear of ju Mean you think that there'll be nothing much to see in Paris?” asked Harewocd, anxiously. Sutherland caressed his double chin. “There will be plenty to see—perhaps more to see than there will be to eat,” he replied, siowiy. Bourke rv sed his glass impatiently, say- ing: “Well, here’s to you, prophet of evit.” Sutherland smiied at him and picked up his hat. I'm an old cod; said the great war “I need the luxury of a t once a week. Perhaps I'm but I'm not fond of horse Bourke, if you think you i he held out a nd—“I'll say good-bye nd to Haresvood, the he eried hear- I will take our chances” don't get my stuff through, enyway, f we're blocked up here it won't mat- said Harewood. As he followed them to ‘the dcor Speyer offered him a flabby hand. : “I wish you luck,” he said, with a fur- tive sneer. “I know this house. You will 1 ed. The ladies are delightful.” withdrew his hand roughly t?” he demanded, but Speyer “What's “hurried away down the stairs, arm in arm with Siauffer, whose weak blonde face was ed with laughter. you hear what he said, Bourke?’ asked Harewood. “I didn't know he'd ever been here. What a sneaking, sneering brute he is.” 4 “Who cares?” sald Bourke. “We're not obliged to see him, what do you think? go with the others?” “Oh, of course, if you insist on stay- ing—" “But I don't,” laughed Bourke. “You don't?’ What about our instructions to,remain with the French army?” “Pooh!” said Bourke., “We can cable that it’s impossible. Shall we, Jim? You were so anxious to go, you know—yester- day.” “I wish,” said Harewood, in sudden irri- are we? Well, Jim, Shall we stay here or tation, “that you'd stop grinning. No, I won't go. I'm not a confounded weather vane—" “Except in love,” observed Bourke. “‘Don’t lose your temper, Jim, and don't dangie around Hilde Chalais. Now, I'm_ going down to the city to see what’s up.. Want to come?” “No,” said Harewood, shortly. Bourke nodded with unimpaired cheer- fulnes nd put on his hat. “Any. ing I can do for you? No? Well, tell our hostess I’m lunching en ville. I'll be back to dinner at 7. By the way, I think I'd better sell our horses now, don't you?” “I don’t care a d—n what you ¢o,” said Harewood, sulkily. Bourke nodded again and went out, whis- tling. He understood the younger man, and he would have laid down his life for him any hour in the day, knowing that Hare- wood would not do the same for him. When he had gone Harewcod threw himself on the bed, both hands behind his head. Perhaps he was interested in a sin- gle fly that ciccled above the bed, sonie- times darting off at a tangent, sometimes cutting the circles into abrupt angles, but always swinging back again as though sus- oe from the ceiling on an invisible thread. He thought of Bourke—already wonder- ing at his own bad temper. He thought of the war—of the foliy of Saarbruck, the never-to-be-forgotten shambles of Mars-la- Tour—at least, he imagined he was think- ink of these things. In reality a vague shape was haunting him, vague fingers touched his own, shadowy eyes questioned his, a name sounded in his ears again and again, until the quiet beating of his heart took up the persistent cadence. He roused himself, went over to the mir- ror and stared at his own reflection. Self- disgust seized him. He was sick of him- self, of his own futility, of his life—so ut- terly useless because so absolutely selfish. That was the strange part of it to him; no- body else seemed to be aware how selfish he was. He himself knew it, but there war one thing he had not known, namely, that selfishness is the first step toward coward. ice. True, he was cool enough under fire he never hesitated to risk his skin when {i came to the routine of his profession. He even risked it needlessly, for sheer per- verseness, and his reputation for reckless- ness was a proverb among his fellows. He had been known to bring a stricken com- rade in from the fighting line. Thinking over the episode later he knew that he had been actuated by no high motives of self- sacrifice; he had done it simply as a part of the circus. He was rather surprised when they praised him, for everybody else was under fire at the same time, and he knew that if he had not been there in the line of his own profession, and any one had asked him to go out and risk his life in Pete he would have indignantly re- used. At times his recklessness amounted to imbecility in the eyes of his confreres. Sut rland. commenting on it one evening, ebserved that Harewood was troubled with an annoying malady called “youth.” But this recklessness, when he showed it, was rot ignorence of fear. It was self-disgust. There were many other occasions when, being on good terms with himseif, he had taken the tenderest care of his ‘precious person. This seif-solicitude was not nor- mal pradence—it was ishness that att mittent disease. Some day, he was think- ing now, it might attack him at the wrong mome! end at suck moments the hesita- tion of selfishness is known as cowardice. As he leaned there before the mirror, looking blar.kly into his own handsome eyes, something of this came to him in a sudden flash that shocked him; for the idea of personal cowardice had never en- tered his mind. = . The bare possibility of such a thing made him loathe himself. He gazed, startled, at that other face in the mirror as though he had detected a criminal—a secret as- sassin of himself who had fawned and flattered him through all thoce years—a treacherous thing that now suddenly leer. ed at him, unmasked, malignant, trium- phant. In that bitter moment, as he stared back at the face in the mirror, he realized for the first time in his Ife that he -had de- tected himself. Hitherto his fits of de- pression and repentance had been follow- ed by nothing but self-contempt, which led to recklessness. Now he saw more; he saw his own soul, warped and twisted with egotism; he saw the danger of the future, the possibilities of ruin and disgrace, the detected cowardice! And he realized something else; some- thing still more amazing; he realized that for the last ten minutes there had been two faces in the mirror before him—one, his own, somber and merred with boyish cynicism, the other a vaguer face, a face of shadows faintly tinged with color—a dim, wistful face, pure and sensitive as a child’s—a face whese. wide, brown eyes were fixed on his, asking a question that his soul alone could answer. He straightened up with an effort. Pres- ently he began to pace the room. Who was this girl—this child that haunted the soli- tude of his egotism—whose memory per- sisted among all other memories? Had he harmed her? Had the idle caress of a mo- ment left him responsible? In the impulse to answer this he turned to cynici¢m for aid, but it gave him no aid, and when he tried to understand why this thought should occupy him it suddenly occurred to € *DIDN'T YOU CRACK MY veascending the 7 hurt,” he fatiteas th elet is the only balm I will consider} Hilde smiled a Ht- te and took courage. =; “The balm is ready,” she said. ‘“Yolette ‘and I have finished" tftheon. Will you ome into the dining foont?” The luncheon was 4 modest affair—a bot- tle of white wine, a frothy omelette, a bit of rye bread, nothing, more. But to Hare- ‘wood, sitting there opposite Hilde, it was enough. If Hilde appeared charming in em sment, she “Was delightful in her shy mirth. Moreover, he had never believ- ed that he could be,.so witty—for surely he must have been exceedingly witty to stir Hilde to laughter as capricious and Sweet as the melody 6f a nestling thrush. Yolette came in froja the garden smiling and wondering a litt] “Hilde,” she exclaimed, ‘‘what is.s0 funny?” “T su I am,” said Harewood. ‘‘The laughter of Mile. Chalais is as melodious es it is disrespectful. Ah, but now’I must esk your advice on a very grave question. How are we to address you—which is Mile. “Chalais and which is Mile. Yolette or Mlle. Hilde?” “You may take your choice,” said Hilde, with a bright smile, because, you see, we are twins. Only,” she added, “I feel mil- lions of years older than Yolette.” Yolette protested indignantly, and for-a moment they all three chatted like spar- rows in April, laughing, appealing to each other until Yolette fled to the garden again, her hands pressed over both ears. “Well,” said Harewood, “nobody has an- swered my question after all.” Hilde’s eyes were briiliant and her cheeks aglow as she watched Yolette through the window. “Perhaps it would be simpler.” sald Hilde, “to call us both by our first names.” She rose and egened the window that faced the garden. “Yolette,” she called, softly. “What, dear?” HEAD LAST NIGHT? him that there existed such a thing as moral obligation. When he had clearly es- tablished this in his mind he went further and found that he himself was amenable to the moral law—and this surprised and attracted him. A girl, then, had certain moral rights which a man was bound to respect! The proposition was novel and in- teresting. “If that’s so,” he said aloud, “Life is not an impromptu performance, but a devilish serious rehearsal!"’ He lighted a cigarette and walked to the door. “If that is the proper solution of life he thought, “it’s not as amusing as my soluticn, but perhaps it wasn’t meant to be.” He blew a succession of smoke rings toward the ceiling. ‘Anyway, seeing in that light there does not appear to be much oppcrtunity for introducing side steps of one’s own.” By this time he had reached the head of the stairs cutside the landing. “No side steps,” he repeated, “no gags, no spe- cialties. I'm to keep time to the fiddle. That's my business.”” His mind was clear now—his heart lighter than the zephyrs that blew fitfully through the open shop door. Life in earn- €st shou!d begin for him—a life of renunci- ation, self-suppression, an even, equitable hfe, orderly, decent, and, above all, moral- ly_ unselfish. As he set foot on the last stair, preoc- cupied, entranced, hynotized at the spec- tacle of Lis own rreral regeneration, Hilde, turned the corner of the stairway. She blushed when she saw him and hesitated, a distracting picture of perturbation. He had made up his mind to ask forgive- ness, to assure her of his esteem for her, “You Have Forgotten You Hat.” to acknowledge his inexcusable fault. ‘That’s what he had come down stairs for. But now, when he looked at her, he real- ized that it was too late. There was nothing he could say which would not hurt her. The quality called tact 1s highly de- veloped in the selfish. This is not a para- Cox; generosity has nothing to do with tact. Harewood’s regeneration had not as yet robbed him of his tact, so he said: “I was going into the city. Have you any commission that I could execute?” “Thank you,” said Hilde faintly. “Perhaps, mademoiselle, your sister—" “Thank you, monsieur. He acquiesced with a bow. “Monsieur Bourke and I would esteem it an honor to be intrusted with any commission from you,” he said stifly and marched down the into the street. it, monsieur, you have forgotten your bat!” cried Hilde. In the absurdity of the situation his dig- nity collapsed and he turned around hot with chagrin. Hilde stood in the doorway hot with confusion: for a second they faced each other, then gravity fled and a gale of laughter swept. the last traces of embar- rassment away. “Is luncheon ready?’ asked Harewood, “Shall M. Harewood call us both by our first names?” “Yer laughed Yolette, “but he must be very formal with Scheherazade.” Harewood looked around at the girl be- side him, at her brilliant color, at her eyes vague and sweet under their silken fringe. “Then I am to call you ‘Hilde,’ he said. He had not meant to speak tenderly. ’ stammered Hilde, “it is merely a Matter of convenience, isn't it?” She had not meant to say either. d. “Of course,” They closed the window and stepped back into the room. After a moment's silence, Hilde said: “If you are going into the city will you do something for me?” “Indeed, I will,” he answered quickly, touched by the sudden confidence. Six handed him a coin—a silver franc. Her grew serious. “It is for the ambulance,” she said. “We could not give it last opposite the Luxembourg Palace. Will you drop it into the box? “Yes,” he replied, gravely. “Thank you. Shall you come back to week. The bureau is dinner?” He said “yes,” lingering at the door. Sud- denly that same impulse seized him to take her in his arms again. stung his cheeks as his eyes met hers. Her head drooped a little. He knew she would not resist. He knew already she felt the caress of his eyes. The color deepened and paled in her cheeks, but he did not stir. Presently he heard a voice—his own voice —saying: “Then—adieu, Mile. Hilde.” She answered, with an effort, “Adieu, mon- sieur.”” A moment later he was in his own r A Standing before the mirror, facing Baton reflection with a lighter heart than he had carried for many a day. “D—n it!” he id, shaking his fist at the mirrored face, I'll show you who {s master!” The form in the glass smiled back, shaking a clench- ed hand. The blood CHAPTER VI. In the City. As Harewood crossed the Rue d’Ypres and passed along the facade of the bar- racks opposite the Rue Malaise, he met the Mouse face to face. “Oh!” he cried, ‘so you're the gentleman who broke my head! Now—do you know— I think I'll break yours!” The Mouse's face expressed not only gen- ulne amazement, but righteous indignation, and his protestations of innocence appeared to be so sincere that Harewood hesitated, one hand twisted in the fellow's collar, the other drawn back for a hearty cuff. “Monsieur,” moaned the Mouse in ac- cents of pained aston:shment, “what is it you do? Would you assassinate a stranger? Help! Help! Police!’ 4 “Didn't you crack niy Head last night on the Rue d’Ypres?” defiiagded Harewood. “I, monsieur?” exglaimed the Mouse, overcome at the enoamfty of such an ac- cusation—‘I—a fathenpf& family! Do you take me for some ur of the outer boulevards—because lothes are old and stained by the swzat \bor—” Here he relapsed in! snivel. Harewood’s hand f@il:from the Mouse's throat. He looked ats the fellow puzzled and undecided, but spt! convinced. The Mouse's: right -hand ‘ in to move, very slowly, almost imperttptbly, toward his tattered pocket.” ae “Monsieur,” he w! —I am hurt—I am—'tie Harewood sprang * time as a knife flashé@ “Tiens pour toi! ne, cretin!”’ mut- tered the Mouse, dar! #t him again, and again Harewood leapedt back beforé the broad glitter of the lenifa, Then, in a moment; *the Mouse turned, scuttled across the street and fled down the Rue Malaise; after htm sped two police agents, flourishing their short swords and filling the silent street with cries of “A Vassassin! A Vassassin!"” Harewood, much interested and excited, watched the flight of the Mouse with min- gled feelings of uneasiness and admiration. The scanty crowd that gathered along the line of pursuit took up the ery like a pack of lank hounds, and -Harewood, whose character was composed of contradictions— and whose sporting instincts were always with the under dog, found himself watch. ing x ibe Mouse's flight with a sudden sym- pat ‘or the tattered creature. The Mouse ran, doubled, twisted and:wriggled into the Passage de I’Ombte, the pack at his heels, and Harewood hastened ‘k toward the Rue d’¥pres, knowing that the Mouse must PAs Harewsod ‘stood at the head Sf the rey z e hes street, suddenly the Mouse rounded the peste os a ema Poti ot “came” stral tow: im. face was gard and dusty, his legs dragging, 7 “I am overcome in the nick of se to his eyes. feelings are | gle eye bloodshot and sunken. He had thrown away the knife, his cap was gone and his greasy coat streamed out behind him, laying bare a bony throat. When he saw Harewood there came over his face such a look of blank despair that the young fello heart melted. At the same = ment they both caught the roar of the crowd sweeping through the Rue d’Ypres. That the Mouse exj<cted Harewood to trip him up as he passed was evident, for he swerved out into the street on the right. “Turn to the left!” shouted Harewood; T'll not stop you!” he ragged fellow hesitated, panting, his solitary eye burning in its socket “That way!’ motioned Harewood, and he waved him toward a narrow alley separat- ing the Rue Pandore from the parade of the Prince Murat bazracks. It was a cul- de-sac—a trap—and the Mouse knew it. “Run, you fool!” urged Harewood, seiz- ing the Mouse’s arm; “here, throw me your coat, quick! Don't be afraid; I'll not hurt you. Stand still!” He stripped the tattered coat from the Mouse’s back, flung it into the Rue Malaise, and then shoved the Mcuse into the impasse Murat. Crouching there close to the parade grille, the Mouse heard the chase pass at full speed, heard a yell as the crowd found his coat In the Rue Malaise, and then the clat- ter and trample of feet which died away down the Passage de fOmbre. Harewood laughed. “Au revoir, my innocent friend,” he said. “If you can’t get away now, your hide's not worth saving.” The Mouse gazed at him with a face ab- solutely devoid of expression; then, with- out a word, he crept out of the impasse and glided away toward the city. ‘Whatever was capricicus and contrary in Harewood’s nature was row in the ascend- ant. He chuckied to himself over the eva- sion of the Mouse and the paradoxical if not unjustifiable par: he himself had play- ed in it. Why he had done it he did not stop to inquire—whether from pure per- versity, or from a nobler, if equally mis- guided motive—or was it the impulse of a gentleman sportsman, whose instinct is to save the quarry for another run? He did not trouble to ask himself. He walked on toward the Boulevard Montparnasse, pleas- ed with the memory of the exciting spec- tacle he had witnessed, laughing to himself now and then, until he remembered Hilde and the mission she had intrusted to him. He felt in his pocket for the silver franc, drew it out and examined it. His face was sober now. He held the coin a moment, turning it over between his fingers, then dropped it into the other pocket, along with his key and knife. And, as he had de- cided to keep it for himself, in its place he dropped another coin into the ambulance box, opposite the Luxembourg Palace, a coin of gold instead of silver—for Hilde’s sake. The streets of Paris presented a curious spectacle for a city that was on the eve of investment by a victorious foreign army— curious because they appeared to be so absolutely normal. Omnibuses and cabs running as us ple, all the ops were open, children romped and yed in the Luxembourg Gardens, exac’ though the emperor stili sat in the Tuiler: In the Rue de Tournon an organ grinder filled the street with the strains of “Deux Aveugies nd “Mignon.” Along the Rue lines of cabs stood, the de Medici doub: cabbies _y 5 gilded iron surg under the ings of the nade of the chest- On the Boulevard St. Michel, however, the backwater of the huma » that ebbed and surged ceasel the right bank of the bore rface some ations that the nation nd there flame-colored psters clung to kiosks and dead walls; proclamations, to arms, notices to the National Guard, and now and then an insulting pia- i card directed against the emperor. pre too,,some fakirs were trying to sell dalous pamphiets attacking the family, alleged exposures of the secrets of leries, and even blackguard verses directed against the empress and her chi To the credit of the Latin quarter, th ures found few customers, and were hustled out of tie streets, even be- fere the ordinance of the police’ directing the confiscation of such literature and the proper punishment for the offenders. But th: posters and appeals were not the only signs of long the Boule- vard St. Michel. s ef the Na- tional Guard were ny an’ unusually noisy exhibition of themselves, parading in front of the Sorbonne, drums and bugles drowning the roar of traffic on the boule- vard. In the cafes, too, angely weird uniforms began to appear—uniforms as ri- diculous, for the most part, as the people who wore them—independent companies organizing for the defense of the cii ing themselves “Enfants de “Vengeurs de Montparnasse. St. Sulpice’—all S unanimously thirsty. As for the city itself, it was strangely tranquil after a night of celebration over the safe return of Vinoy’s 13th Corps, and a@ morning of rejoicing at the news that the United States had instructed its minister, Mr. Washburne, to recognize the fait ac- compli and consider himself in future as imperial erous and accredited minister to the republic of France. In the Cafe Cxrdinal few co- cottes still wore miniature American flags in their buttonholes, and here and there, over the entrance to cafes and concert halls, the stars and stripes waved brightly in the September sun. As for vi serious comprehension of the situation, so far as the public went, there none. On the 3d of September, after the news of the emperor's capture at Sedan had been contirmed by the Comte de Pilakoa, the Parisians occupied them- Ss. selves with an amusement alwa ongen- ial to the true Paristan—a riot. is riot, which has passed into history as the revo. lution of the 4th. of September, was _re- freshingly bloodless and amazingly deci- sive. It swept the dynasty of Napoleon Ill from France, it made the emperor. a legend and it proclaimed the republic through the medium of M. Gambetta’s lusty lungs. In other words, the French people committed the enormous folly of swapping horses while crossing a stream, and when, in the face of an enemy flushed with victory, the Parisians laid violent hands on the throat of their own govern- ment and strangled it, even Moltke must have relaxed his stern visage at the hope- less absurdity of such a people. For, if the government had erred, was that the time to reckon with it? An established govern- ment represents, at least theoretically, a basis and security that a revolutionary government cannot have in‘ time of inva- sion and instant need. And, after all, by what right was the republic proclaimed? There had been no appeal, no plebiscite, no majority had exercised the right of suf- frage, not a vote had been cast. Violence alone had decided the fate of a government which also had been founded upon violence. On the fatal 3d of September Paris was still quiet, perhaps stunned by the news of the frightful disaster at Sedan, but, in the minds of the peopte, the revolution was al- ready a thing accomplished. Nevertheless, there was still time left to save the sole prerogative of importance at that hour— the right of national representation. It was merely necessary that the deputies should frankly accept the proposition ad- vanced: First—Announcement of the abdication of the executive. Second—Ncmination by the chamber of a government for the national defense. Third—Convocation of a constituante as soon as circumstances permitted. (To be continuéd.) “Wot oh, Bill! Where ’ave yer been this larst three months?” a “Where ’ave I been? Wot a question to arst! I Lage ara tea % sie "S that from me git-up. I've jurst come back from Kiondike!”—Punch. f SIGNALING - AT SEA Modern Methods of Communication Between Men-o’-War. NUMBERS REPRESENTED BY FLAGS At Night Groups of Electric Lights Are Used. SENDING WAR MESSAGES Written for The Evening Star. In a naval battle the success or failure of a fleet may depend on keeping open com- munication between the different vezsels of the squadron engoged. Owing to tie fact that the surface of the sea would often be obscured by the smoke of battle, the diffi- culty of this is apparent, and naval experis have be2n kept busy devising some method by which the flagship can communicate with the other vessels of a squadron at all times. and under all conditions. So far nothing has been put in eneral service which meets this demand, but it is und:rstood that there has lately been in- vented < telephone which, it is claimed, can be used without wires, and that signa! can be projected by a vibrator on one ves- sel against a receiver on another. Th» Navy Department is keeping the details of this new system carefully to itself, as it desires to have the invention for the exclusive us® of our own ships in battle. The present method of communication is by the use of flags representing numerals, which are displayed in the rigging; by the use of the Ardois syst>m of lights for night work; by the Meyer code of wig-wag sig- nals and by the use of the heliograph. As it is of the utmost importance that the enemy should nct read the message, ih signal books on board a vessel are protec ed with the greatest care, and are de- stroyed, along with the ciph2r code, when- ever it is seen that capture is inevitabl The semaphore signal system in use in ti British navy was tried for a time aboard some of our vess2ls, but it never became popular, and has been abandoned. Represented by Flags. In signaling by che navy code the sen- tence to be sent is looked up in the code book and its corresponding number is ob- tained. This number is never more than four figures, on account of the necessity of setting the signal with the least delay. The number having been obiained, the quari« n rin charge of th signal chest pro- ceeds to bend the flags rep nting the nu- merals to the signal halliards, so as to read from the top down. These flags represent th> numerals from 1 to 9 and @, and there is a triangular pennant, termed a repeater, which is used in a combination where one or more numerals recur. The numbers re- fer to those found in the g2neral sign book, in which are printed all the word: phrases and sentences necessary to fram: an order, make an inquiry, indicate a geo- graphical position or signal a compass course. Answering, int>rrogatory, prepara- tory and geographical pennants form part of this code, also cornet, telegraph, danger, dispatch and quarantine flags. The signal having been prepared is hoisted und ieft fiying until the vesscl to which the message has been sent siznifies that it is understood by hoisting what is called the answering pennant. If the num- ber hoisted by the flagship is a preparatory order for a fleet movement it is left flying until all the vessels of the fleet have ap- Swered and then is pulled down, the act of pulling the signal down being under- stood as the command for the execution of the movement just communicated. It is often necessary for a man-of-war to communicate with a merchant vessel or with some other warship belonging to a foreign country. For this purpose the in- ternational code is also carried in the sig- nal chest. These signals are those in general use by all the merchant navies of the World, fer communication by day at sea. There are eighteen flags and a code pen- nant, corresponding to consonants of the alphabet, omitting X and Z. ‘The code pennant is always used with these signals. Night Signals. If a message is to be sent at night the Ardois system of night signals, with which all our vessels carrying an electric plant are fitted, is employed. These signals ccn- sist, essentially, of five groups of double lamps, the two lamps in each group con- taining incandescent electric limps and showing white and red respectively. combination of these lights letters formed, and so, letter by letter, and thence an order the guidan These lamp the rigging, and are w from the upper b: eC. On the smailer ships of the service, those vhich are not fitted with electric lighting, a word 2a be spelicd out for Stay in Very’s nig Ss are used. set includes the implements for firing and #e- charging the signals. ‘he latter show as green and Ss on being ™ from the for them. The cc bination of red and green in various is used to express the numbers from 1 to 9 and 0, so that the numbers, to four digits, contained in the signal book, may be dis- pleyed. _The Meyer wig-wag system ts employed either by day or by night. Fiags and torches are employed. The official flag is a red field with a small white square in the center. The unofficial flag is the same with the colors reversed. ‘The operator, having attracted the attention of the ship which is to be signaled by waving the flag or torch from right to left, transmits his message by motions right, left and front, each motion representing an element of a letter of the alphabet, the letter being made up from one to four motions. When circumstances permit the helio- graph is sometimes used. The rays of the sun are thrown by a system of mirrors to the point with which it is desired to com- municate, and then interrupted by means of a shutter, making dots and dashes as used in the Morse telegraph code. This system is used only when operations ashore are going on, as the rolling of the ship would prevent the concentration of the rays of sunlight. Result of Experience. The present Systems of flag signaling are products of experience in the past, and are the natural growth of the cruder flag sys- tem in use in the war of 1812 and in the civil war. There have been some changes in the con- struction of flags, and the scope of commu- nication has been greatly enlarged, but otherwise our forefathers talked at sea in much the same way that we do now. Of course the Ardois light signal is something very modern. In old times they communi- cated at night either with clares and col- ored lights or by torches, but as there was no alphabetical code in those days the pro- cess was by means of flashes (representing numbers in the signal book), and it was long and tedious. How well the present flag and wig-wag signals will work during an engegement remains to be discovered; but if they fail, attempts can still be made to communi- ¢ate by the ship's whistle or by written messages displayed on blackboards if occa- sion offers. In case of an enemy appearing on our coasts arrangements have been made to no- tify the nearest body of troops or the com- mander of whatever ships may be at hand. For this purpose towers have been erected at intervals, and telegraph wires leading from one to the other have been strung. This, together with the telephone system — by = life-saving a: will << mit of ample warning on approach a hostile squadron. « = Or — IN THE CHURCHES <% The observance of the”goldén jubilee of St. Philip's P. E. Church, Laurel, Ma., took place Sunday and Monday last. The even- ly suspended the steady employmert of a supervising nurse. It is stated that the ex- periment has proved a success and with some modifications of the plan the board expects to resume operations in the near future. A pound party for the benefit of the Lit- tle Sisters of the Poor will begin Monday, the 2ist instant, and continue during the entire week. The sisters will be particular- ly thankful for tea, coffee and sugar. The Little Sisters have now about 20 uged per- sons to provide for, who have been recely: into the home jardiess of creed. color or nationality. During the twenty-seven years of their labor in Washington they have re- ceived nothing from Congress and have no income except the voluntary contributions of the charitable public. Apropos of the beginning this week, in Baltimore, of the quadrennial session of the conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church South, the following statement was made to a Star reporter: “The gain of the southern ch January 1, 1866, to January 1, 180 last report), was 981,250 members. Janu- ary 1, 1863, the Methodist Episcopal Church North had 929,259 members, and the Ist of January, 1897, the membership was 2.Si1,- 787, a net gain of 1,2,528 in the same per- iod of thirty-one years, or an mT nval gain of 61,051 members. ern church gained during the same period 31,792 average per year. or 203 1-10 per cent gain, and the Methodist Episcopal Church gained 204 7-10 per cent. The average «n- nval gain in the M. E, Church for the thir- teen years before 188 was 46,679, and for thirteen years after 18% it was S1,808."" It is stated that many of the E churches in the diocese of Mary’ creasing in membership, and have ceased to be self suppor:ing. Bishop Paret describes this state of affairs to be on account of the disposition of so muny persons to move from the country to the city, ind it ts said he contemy making an appeal to the wealthy churches of the denomination in Baltimore and the lorger tewns throughout his diocese to raise an endowment fund, which can be drawn upon by each of the country parishes needing as- sistance. ‘The Young People’s Soclety of Christian Endeavor of Maryland Avenue Beptist Church, Northeast Washington, celebrated its seventh anniversary a few evenin, sirce with a literary and social entert, ment. Rev. N. C. Naylor and President Irey delivered addresses of welcom>. Int the course of his address, Mr. Irey reviews ed briefly the work of the orgunization since its formation. After recitations ard music, part patriotic and part hurnorous, and singing by the congregation of a rum: ber of patriotic hymns, those present ed jJourned to the officers’ room, where ree freshments were served. Of those who pare ticipated in the organization of this ¢c- ciety, t but four now connected with it. e Mrs. A. S. Forney, Miss Georgie Turn- . Crane. The ladies of the Church of the Advent, Le Droit Park, Rev. Edward M. Mot . gave a luncheon at the We Light Infantry armory, Thursd t of th shington Friday hy new Ninth Street unday school room opened for service months ago, as published in The time, will take place three from tomorrow. e 1 B. Bagby, will be Avenue from Pit dress 1 ual meeting of the Lad School and Christian Union So- , of the Church of Our Father, 13th and L streets, took place within the last few day At the meeting of the Opt mist Club, Tuesday lust, the program Party.” Different mem- resting sketches. Among t V Eugene Fields, : A Minister's Ex- Tra and perience. The pulpit of the church has been draped with the national colours, and it is intended that they shall remain there during the war. The ladies of charity of St. Patrick's Church have just closed their work of the present year. The annual report which was read at the final meeting showed that 133 families were relieved by donations of fcod, clothing and money, many of them receiving assistance weekly during the entire winter. For many persons employ- ment was secured, several children were sent to the asylum and five infants were baptized. The treasurer reported dis- bursement of $0. During the season fifty-four new members were admitted, and this enabled the society to extend its work over new fields, committees having been established to pay weekly visits to the Jail, workhouse, alms house and four hos- pitals, namely, Garfield, Providence, lumbia and the Home for the Incurables. At the jail a inday school was organiz- ed. Rev. Dr. Stafford is the spiritual di- rector of the society. Commencing Sunday las the afternoon meetings at the Central Ur sion will be in charge of the ladie the mission. ho lead in future will be Mrs. Mrs. Carroll, Mrs. Robinson and Mis: s. BE. Hez Swe of the Second Chureh, W . has returned * from Richmord, w conducted a serie Baptist. Church that Mr. A circular has be inviting the erthocox n received in this city Jews to send dele- pe held in New he object of which ake steps to remedy certain matters which demand attention at once. Tho cirevlar states that “All sincere friends of the historical faith of Israel have long lamented the sad state of Judaism. Its holiest interests are neglected, its adher- are utterly disunited and have no op- portunity to meet and adopt proper means for attending to its ny needs.” The work of the convention will be devoted to the consideration of reports to be car fully prepared by committ appointed for the purre: treating the following subjects: “The Principles of Confer- ence,” “Sabbath Observance Zionism” and “Orthodox Congregational Union.” Rey. and Mrs. Heisse entertained Monday evening the members of the Wesley Chapel official board and their wives at the parson- e. “ithe Itinerants’ Club will be in session at Trinity Methodist Episcopal Church May 23-26. The club was organized at the re- cent session of the annual conference. About seventy-five ministers will be in at- tendance. —= Every woman wears @ crown who is the mother of a healthy . riveted a puny, sickly, pee- vish Baby bears a cross. It rests — every woman to de- cide for herself which kind of a mother she will be. The woman who takes the right care of herself during the months preceding ma- ternity may rest content in the as- surance that her te tinctly feminine ism during this critical period, and fails to resort to the right rem is pretty sure to have a puny, peevish, sickly baby, bora into the world with the seeds of weak- ness and disease already implanted in its litle body. Dr. Pierce's Favorite Pre- scripticn is the best a all mango respective mothers. It imparts heal eet, vigor, and elasticity to swe — cate and important organs that bear the brunt of motherhood. It me: