Evening Star Newspaper, May 21, 1898, Page 20

CHAPTER VilI—Continued. He went away laughing. Burke reappeared at Harewood’s door. ‘Jim, that kid is here. May she come in “Yes,” said Harewood, listlessly. ~ A mo.nent later Red Riding Hood entered, removed her small wooden shoes and pat- tered up to him in noiseless chaussons, say- “Bon jour, Monsieur Hare- entrer, si'l vous piait?” he a, smiling. me another little ome to pay Hood shock her head and up at him, waiting for the was to her the most important her ¢ life. He laughed and She put both frail 4 & event held out his han around his nec solemn rite in and nes “iI have plained. “I th It was arith- Then I learned my on. metic. I was perfec : “Are you sure, Red Riding Hood d it to Hilde. perfe the Mile. EX Yes. ald it with Mehemet I repe was quite Ali, friend. 1 am fond of the “Suppo: said Harewood, “that some time you ‘vere very, very hungry; would you eat Mehemet Ali Harewood !aughed aloud, and Red Riding Hood, looking 4 nim, laughed too— nid, joy h, sadder right. That We must ne even d ex; parrot’s. for Harewood that loy i ifishn were h Re 1g Hood would never earn from him. As for Hes, the had never conceived the That lesson, too, had kiss. But Red fk tock h a laugh and ding all of to her hine. She appropriat Hood's Harewood’ tting , and with this neratic which, after all, was rtaking. ; i Red Riding Hood, “to tell you several things. Shall I? By all means,” replied Harewood, anx- of Red I will. The fir that I was per- thme already told you Mile. Yolette has ut. Ss to the market, 1 The Mlle. Hilde is quite alone in t Harewood lool ddenly, a faint tell me that, Red Riding the child, “I think she ou come down.” ‘Then why do you think “I don't know.” said Red Riding Hood. looking up into his f Harewood put one arm around the child: his eyes were fix-d on hers. After a few m aid: “Do you leve Hilde, R If you do not rewood smil Red Riding sourk whether est. I must d sedately, jood-bye. Iam aid Har ’ come again put on h washed the rushed his n took a dozen m. Preser for a Ehis; the ac- y down Bourke's however, when Harewood had n tt, snubbed him. . but he heard ably in her own bed room. § as she often did, to herself, over her needlework: Of all the saints in Brittany Sainte Hilde, Sainte Hilde, Is blessed evermore: hair, smiling at Se 0 Hilde’s voice He dropped ix.t herazade and liste Paebik. pachik, ma fa Kes Whe saludin dhe Ha tach ¢ bihan, mpr ud ober komplimant! alied suddenly; Hilde! “Salud ishment: rewood! Who taught you to speak t she onderi was at the door, ng, her needlework in ma dous a diabell,” he said, Breton in Morbihan, she an- Who E 4 American k the Breton ard you singing a Sainte-Hilde te page, and all that, so I like to hear more of it.| Could as well he: mademoiselie— e said, seating herself an die through a bit of fla i up at him once, then dropped her lids, and began to sew. After a sil looked up again, saying: ae il Did you d, smiling. hey are the rare Breton your songs are always Fin- d you know how few speak the Breton lan- and Yolette often speak it when you are alone together.” She wat d him, sh: little indignant more he knew © much than she ur English ie@r. Breten with Yoiette. “Will yeu sing something in B: you a beautiful little ; I am dis- J shall talk no more ou sing fir gces, then! It’s a song I'm very and he began to drone out “Jim “Horrid! ever her sounds candle.” “Isn't it pretty?” demanded Harewood, a little disconcerted. He hadn't much voice, but he was fond of music and propertion- ally soulful whan he sang. “Jim Crow” be- " cried Hilde, putting beth hands ars. “How can you moke such ike June beetles ‘around a S| heiously. ve him her | + | butcher said it THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MAY 21, 1898—24 PAGES. ing his favorite—and his limit— he had sung it with an enthusiasm that set Hilde’s nerves on edge. “Anyway,” he said, “it isn’t as dingdong as the French songs. Henriette etait fille D'un baron de renom, Dune illustre famille Etait Ie beau Damon, M etait fait au tour, Elle etait jeune et belle, Et d'un parfait amour Ils etsient le modele. “J don’t know anything to compare with that for imbecility,” he said. Hilde was laughing so gayly that Sche- herazade woke up, cast a r2proachful glance at them both and loped off into the garden. This made Hilde laugh the more, and Harewood, catching the infection, laughed too, not knowing exactly why. “We are very ridiculous,” Hild>, said gathering up her needlework. Her chee! were aglow with delicate color, her eyes brill and fairly dancing with mirth. an interval th> sudden soberness which always follows laughter soon came tpen them. Hilde resumed her sewing, Harewood leaned back in his chair, watch- ing her wistfully. Dreaming there in the silent room, wher bars of sunlignt lay across the carpet, and sy flies buzzed along the window panes, came to them a sense of peace, of illness, of desire fulfilled, something they er before known nor even wished for. She began speaking to him quite natural- indolently occupicd vith her needle, now n raising her aead to look at him, er clear eyes on his with confidence. in life, but they to all at times, when everything but the continuation of famillar con- long established, an unchanging re- pleasant, even in tenor, without trou- without desir>. She iold him of the conyeut, of the death of her uncle, of her Hopes, her fears. She spoke of Brittany, of Carhaix, of the Parcon of the Birds, and of Sainte Anne d’Auray. She painted for | Fim in quaint phrases th: Chapel of Mor- | laix, the coast of St. Gildas, the Icelanders and the blessing of the fleet. He asked her to sing, and she sang the “Ar Vinorez” de- ing Such moments are rar2 come em: tar Vinorez vo tet pardon ar Carmel— She told him naively of Ker-Is, that city punis and submerged because cf the fault of Ahes, davghter of Gradlon, the | king: | < la ville d’Ts—si la jeun- nt joyeuse—et si j’eniends and her eyes filled at the moment of peril. “Seigneur Dieu ma fille, comment fera-t- on!" and the rep! Allez dans la chambre blanch? prendre de beaux atours * All the pathos and mystery of the Bret- onne was in her eyes and voice as she paus- ed in her sewing and intoned for him the “Vespers of St. Gildas.” ), Vierge, glorieuse Marie! until he seemed to hear the sea bells tolling off the cliffs and the long coast swell washing, rocking, washing, where the surf curls in a flurry of settling silver sands There is something more in Brittany, be sail, vaguely uneasy—“something be- sides the waves and the bell buoy and the vespers of the sea. At Tregutsr they have ® song, called ‘Little Madeleine,’ or “Mad leinie.’ “Madelinik,” she said, her face lighting up with an imperceptib’e smile. “It is real- # chansonnette for the inn, with its gay refrain: je n'y vale pas. y easy, monsieur, to see where you spent your evenings in Treguier.” He laughed and hummed the dashing cho- rus— “Ho! fe! graon; ho! fe! na naon!"* untii she caught the spirit and Joined her clear voice to his, and they sang the chan son of little Madeleine until between laugh- ter and tears Hilde sank back, both white hands closing her cars in protest. At the same moment Yolette appeared, market basket over her arm, a picture of amazement. “What n earth i this about littie ”" she cried. ver—never have en such children—never! never! And, k who taught you my s knowledge, whi y serious, opened the made a mental invoice of its nd were stealing everything in told him it was nonsense.” “I think,” sald Harewood, “that things are going to be a little dear in Parls. Of | course, everybody says that we have food | | enough to last a long time. even if the G mans should blockade the whole depart- ment, but it will make things more expen- | sive, and I only wish to say that you must not be too indulgent to Monsleur Bourke and myself.” Hilde looked up at him without answer- ing. All her shyness had returned with the return of Yolette. Her sister smiled and glanced at the basket, saying, “I think the dinner will be nice—even without the pig- ecns.”” She started toward the kitchen, but paus- ed to say: “Oh, I forgot to tell you. The soldiers are marching into the Prince Murat the north. 1 THE EVENING STAR BY RoBT W-CHAMBERS: Placing the “Prophet.” barracks and a company of sailors have brought a cannon and are mounting it on top of the ramparts across the street.” “If they fire it will break every window in the house, won't it?’ exclaimed Hilde in consternation. Harewood frowned and started for the door. “Hark!” said Yglette, “the people are cheering outside. I can hear the drums in the barracks. Can you? Hilde, where are you going?’ Hiide had started with Harewood, but now she hesitated, looking at Yolette with troubled eyes. “If—if they fire the cannon—and it bursts she began. f course,” said Yolette gravely. “Then why do you go near itt : “Hilde looked blankly at her sister, then sat down and bent swiftly over her sewing. Ske had not been thinking of her own safe- ty, but Harewood's, and when she realized that her cheeks turned scarlet. CHAPTER IX. The Prophet. When Harewood reached the front door he stood amazed. The Rue d’Ypres, that broad, sunny street, usually as quiet and deserted as a country road, was thronged with people, from the Porte Rouge to the Prince Murat barracks. In front of the house the people were silent and attentive, watching a swarm of laborers gathered around the bastion. A company of sail- ors from the fleet stood leaning on their rifles in front of a strange, shapeless struc- ture that towered into the air above the heads of the crowd, one long steel arm Stretched out stark against the sky. Be- yond it, on the rusty rails of the narrow- gauge track, stood a car truck, inted blue, and on this truck lay a gigantic can- non. The guncarriage had already been placed on the circular track, sunk into the cement below the ramparts, the terrassiers were shaving the terrace, sodding it along the glacis and piling sacks filled with earth across the angles of the epaulment. The rotten gabions and packed barrels that supported the gun terrace were being re- moved and new ones substituted. Lock- smiths and carpenters worked in the bomb to which men's consciences so {slung his binoculars over his shoulder and canscience, easily adapt themselves. It is merely a. matter of chance, this amusement, which or fnay not be paren A selfish takes the risk, risking nothing hfinsel: All this was clear to Harewood as he lay there in the dark,-but it did not satisfy him as it had once. Moreover, whereas a few days ago he was, certain that he himself risked nothing, now he was far from sure. He asked himself whether he was in danger of caring seriously for, Hilde, but he could not reply. Had he been simply curious to know how far hé could go? Had it been vanity, after all, Or a lower incentive? His face grew hot with shame and self- resentment. He was mentally vindicating Hilde—defending her against himself, but he did not know it, He thought it was him- self that he was vindicating. This mental protest of innocénce Teft him calmer and Jess restless,and after a little he fell asleep. Whatever he dreamed must have been pleasant, for the morning sun, stealing into the room, illuminated his face, young, peaceful, touched with # smile as innocent as the woman he was, walking with in dreamland. Bourke woke him, regretfully, saying, “What the deuce are you grinning about in your sleep? Get up, Jim. I’m going to St. Cloud to see what's in the wind. You'll come, too, won't you?” “Yes,” said Harewood. uuppose the trains are running yet. What's the news?” While he was bathing and dressing Bourke ran over the morning papers, reading aloud the telegraphic dispatches. “Hello—what do you think of this? When the Germans entered Laon some crazy French soldier ran to the citadel and flung a torch into the magazine.” “Read it,” said Harewood, lathering his face for a shave. “Here it is: “Through the cowardice or treachery of the governor of Laon, the Duke of Mecklenbourg entered the city on the 9th of September, at the. head of the enemy’s 6th Cavalry division. It was rain- ing heavily. Suddenly a frightful explosion shook the city to its foundations. The cf- tadel had blown up, killing more than a hundred of our soldiers and 350 Prussians. This awful catastrophe was the work of an old French soldier, a veteran of the Crimea and of Italy, who, not having the courage to surrender the ‘place to the Prussians, crept into the magazine and set fire to it, blowing himseif and everybody there to pieces. The Duke of Mecklenbourg was wounded. Our General Theremin was kill- ed. The German troops, recovering them- THEY HAVE FIRED THE “PROPHET? proofs, and the tinkle of chisel and thud of mallet came up half smothered, from be- low. Down the street drums were rolling s0- norously from the court of the caserne, and now, bugles sounding, rifles glittering in the sun, a company of infantry issued from the sallyport and marched solidly on to the Porte Rouge, their red trousers a long, undulating line against the green of the glacis. Suddenly above the crowd the great der- rick began to move, three chains dangling from its single rigid arm, the little rusty engine staggering under’ the spasms of steam jets. Slowly th: cannon swung ip into the air, turning as the steel arm turn- ed, further, further, lower and lower. Then in the stillness a boatswain’s pane d in sounded, cnce, twice; the crowd sway forward, and thousands of voices rose thundering cheers: “Vive la France!” All that night Harewood lay restle: on his bed thinking of the future, which until he first met Hilde had held no terrors for him. Now it was different. The men- ace of a siege meant something more than excitement and newspaper dispatches, it meant danger, perhaps famine, perhaps annihilation, to a city that had suddenly Lecome important to him—because Hilde lived there. He had never seen a siege. His ideas on the subject were founded on histories. He could not belleve that any army would be able to absolutely tsolate such a city as Paris—itself nothing but a gigantic citadel, with its double armor of fortresses and ramparts, its suburbs, rall- ways, forests and rivers. He believed that even if a German army sat down before the walls it could never sustain such a Position against hunger, against the sor- ties of the hundred thousand of troops, against those new armies that everybody said were forming in the south, at Bor- deaux, at Tours, at Rouen, from the war ports to the Loire. In common with the great mass of the Parisians he never doubted that, as soon as the Germans ap- peared, the bombardment would begin; but he doubted the ability of a Prussian artil- leryman to send shells inte Paris from a gun outside the rang: of Mont Valerien. Nevertheless he was not satisfied with the Rue d’Ypres as a haven of safety for Hilde at such a time. It was practically on the city ramparts, it was close to cne of the gates, the Porte Rouge, and closer still to the barracks, and he knew that if the Ger- man cennon troubled the city at all the fire would be concentrated on the fortifica- tions, the gates, the magazines and the barracks. Lyirg there in the darkness he could hear from the ramparts the marine sen- tinels’ challenge as they walked the rounds; the stir and the movement of horses, the dull creaking of wheels. He thought of the four great forts that cov- ered the country beyond the Vaugirard secteur, Montrouge, Vanves, Ivry and Vicetre. If the Germans attempted to seize Meudon, there was the Fort of Issy; if they advanced toward Creteil, the Fort of Charenton blocked the way. Coulé they hold St. Cloud with Mont- Valerien looming like a thunder cloud in the north? Could they seize Sevres, under the cannon of Point-du-Jour? No. He could not see how a German battery would be able to send its shells into the bastions ot Montrouge, and this conclusion com- forted him until he fell asleep to dream of a cloudless sky raining shells over a city where Hilde lay white and dead, and he awoke, trembling in every limb. He turn- ed over and tried to go to sleep again, but he could not, dreading a slegp that might bring back such dreams. He thought of Bourke, slumbering peace- fully in the next room; he thought of Red Riding Hood and of Yolette, also asleep, but for a long time he avoided the path of thought which he had so often shirked be- fore—the path that led to the solution of @ question. Awake, sometimes asleep, the question repeated itself—it was repeating itself now, more persistently, more monot- onously, than ever. The question was and Hilde remained an enigma, not because he could-not solve the enigma, but because he would not. As he lay there he felt that the time was coming when it would be impossible to evade an explana- tion with himself. He shifted his head restlessly and opened his eyes in the dark- ness, and before he knew it he had faced the question at last. What had happened to him? What was going to happen? Why should thoughts of Hilde occupy him constantly? Was it be- cause, in a moment of unselfishness, he had renounced the idle amusement of inspiring affection in @ young girl? Why had he re- nounced it? Every man, consciously or un- consciously, seeks the same amusement, and if conscience intervenes, is it not easy to pretend that the woman was perfectly aware of the game? Or. if the result does turn out grave for the woman, @ man can always have recourse to those little exer- Gises of diplomatic hair splitting with his selves, cried that they were betrayed, and, flinging themselves upon our unarmed Mo- biles, massacred them in the streets and at the house doors. The slaughter was swift and merciless. But who, remembering the horrible courage of that heroic madman, can pronounce one word of blame or of re- gret for his deed? Honor to the dead!’ ” Harewood, razor poised, face lathered, stared at Bourke. “It's simply ghastly,” he said. “It brings the whole business out more plainly,doesn't it? Laon is only a few days’ march from Paris. I can’t realize that people are doing things like that while you and I sit still and scribble rot to the journals.” “I don’t know that we've had such an easy time of it,” said Bourke. ‘“Mars-la- Tour was no foot ball game, Jim. And as for you—you've given the Prussians chances enough to shoot your idiotic head off, haven't you?” onsense!” said Harewood, returning to his shaving. “I mean that there's a vast difference between us and those poor devils of soldiers out there. That citadel business chills me to the marrow. Go ahead with your newspapers, Cecil.” jourke continued reading aloud, skim- ming through the mass of proclamations, edicts, appeals from hospitals, charities, un- til he was tired. ‘There's nothing new,” he said, throwing down the journal; it’s merely the same crisis growing more acute hour by hour. As fur as I can make out, the Germans are somewhere between here and Laon, the Frer.ch fleet has done nothing, the Mobiles are a nuisance, the National Guards are raising h—1l in Belleville, an army is form- ing along the Loire to assist Paris and Gar- tbaldi is coming to France. That's a fair synopsis of the whole business. As for the United States interfering, it’s net likely; Italy's attitude is not to be counted on; France must face the music alone.” “T wish,” observed Harewcod, “that the Paris journals would exhibit less hysteria and more common sense. They've had Bis- marck killed every week since last August; they've captured Moltke; they've inocu- lated the Red Prince with typhus; they've announced the mutiny of every regiment in the Bavarian and Saxon armies. Look at the way the government is blowing up tunnels and bridges. What lunacy! They’re only hampering their own movements, and it takes about a day to lay pontoons.” He put on his coat, standing up for Bourke to brush him. “That's a big cannon they've mounted down there,” he observed, looking out of the window. “Come on, Cecil, breakfast must be waiting.” As they descended the stairs Hilde and Yolette stood at the front door looking at the cannon across the street. “Good morning,” said Yolette, brightly, “Messieurs, have you seen The Phophet?” “Which particular prophet do you mean? I'm @ litUe in that way myself,” said Bourke, gayly, ‘and I prophesy that we are going to have a most delicious bowl of cafe au latt in a mifute or two, “Anybody can prophesy that,” said Hilde; “Yolette means the cannon. The soldiers have named {t ‘The Prophet;’ everybody is talking about it; the morning papers say it can throw shells as large as a man and that it will be terrible for the Prussians,” “Oh,” said Harewood, “so they call it ‘The Prophet!’ ” “All the same,” said Yolette, “I hope it will not need to prophery.” They stood a moment looking at the great silent gun, at the squad of sailors who were exercising around it; then Yo- lette laughed lightly and summoned them to breakfast, leading the way with her arm around her sister’s slender waist. “There is an awful creature,” said Hilde, “who calls himsélf the Mouse and who came into the hallway early this morning and asked for Monsieur Harewood.’ : Shouts of laughter interrupted her. Bourke begged Harewood to, introduce his friend the Mouse, and Yolette insisted on inviting him for dinner. Even Hilde laugh- ed until Harewood, a little red, explained who the Mouse was. “And you helped him to hide from the Police?’ exclaimed Yolette, horrified. “That's just like Jim,” said Bourke, who netnge oad. noth ee one le said nothing. Her c! Ing face was turned to Harewood. “What did he want with me?” asked Harewood, carelessly. ‘Money? “No,” said Hilde, with a strange little shudder. ‘He said, ‘Tell him to go to the “Undertakers” if he ever needs help.' “The Undertakers!”" gasped Yolette. “It's not what you think; it's a sort of a club in Belleville, a nest where the elite of the cutthroats congregate,” said Hare- wood, much amused. “I suppose the crea- ture is grateful to me for hiding him. I don’t think I shall accept his invitation.” “Gratitude is rare in that species,” ob- served Bourke cautiously. fancy he'd cut your throat for a franc, Jim.” “Probably he would,” laughed the other. Hilde listened in silence. When Bourke said he was going to St. Cloud with Hare- wood, Yolette insisted on putting up for them a little luncheon. Hilde aided her, si- lent, preoccupied, deftly tying the small parcels and wrapping up two half bottles of red wine. At the front door Bourke stood, telling Yolette not to keep dinner waiting, as they might stay away all night, and, as Harewood started along the hall- Way to join his comrade, Hilde began care- lessly: . “Of course, Monsieur Harewood, you are not going to the—the ‘Undertakers?’ ” “Why, no,” he said, surprised. “We are going to St. Cloud.” “Bu I mean—you are never going—are you? There was a silence. He looked at her without stirring, one hand on the door. Again that swift emotion sent the blood thrilling, tingling, leaping through every vein, yet, even then, he reasoned—even then, when in her face he saw reflected his ‘own motion—even then when a fierce desire seized him to stoop and take her in his arms—this girl so close to him—Hilde, who would not resist. He stood there dumbly, one hand twisted in the door handle, daring neither tc speak nor move—for her sake. The enchantment of her bent head, the curve of her scarlet mouth, the white hands idle by her side, heid him fas- ciated. Bourke called impatiently, and came through the-hallway toward them. At the sound of the voice Hilde raised her head as though aroused from a dream. With dazed eyes she moved toward the door, holding the little packet—Harewood’s luncheon. “Time to start,” said Bourke, with a cheerful smile. “Are you ready 2 “Yes,” said Harewood, shortiy. He took the lurcheon from Hilde’s list- less hands, thanking her and saying good- bye, then followed Bourke out into the Rue d'Ypres. When they had gone Yolette went back into the garden, where, slate in hand, Ked Riding Hood sat, accomplishing multiplica- tion. Hilde lingered at the door, watching the sailors, rities en bandouliere, drilling with “The Prophet.” From the bastion the short commands of the officer came clearly to the ear. “La hausse a quinz cents me- tres. Premiere piece, feu! La ha pa deux milles metres! Premiere piece, feu! Then, pretending that the gun had been fired, the two cannoniers in the center Svabbed the piece as the brigadier and artificer, unlocked the breech, the two load- ers hoisted in a dummy shell, and the aide pointeur affixed the lanyard. Mounted on the gun carriage, high against the sky, the pointeur rested both hands on the breech, while behind him two cannonier$ impercep- tibly swung the enormous gun from right to left. ‘Then he straightened up, both hands raised, the movement ceased, the czptain verified the elevation, the’ aide Pointeur seized the lanyard. irst piece, fir And the pantomime recommenced, a suc- cession of figures trotting backward and forward, suddenly rigid, then an abrupt gesture, a command, and the dark blue figures trotting to and fro again. Hilde leoked at the barracks beyond the Rue Fandore, where, through a brief interval of iron railing, she could See the line in- fantry marching and wheeling to the sound of bugles. Down at the Porte Rouge a solid column of wagons poured over the Pont-ley vehicles of every size and shape, piled with furniture, bedding, grain, cabbage, or bales of hay and potato sacks. The country people and the inhabitants of the suburbs were coming into the city in constantly increasiag numbers, ‘ing with them furniture and live stock. Farm wagons, piled high with bedding, on which sat children or old women, holding the family clock, crowded against furniture vers from Paris, loaded with the bric-a- brac of prosperous suburban merchant: oxen huddled behind smart carriages driv- en by servants in livery, cows, sheep, even turkeys and geese pursued a dusty course through the gates, and over all rose the cries of the teamsters, the lowing of cat- tle, the ominous murmur of disheartened things, fleeing from that impending tem- pest that was rolling on from somewhere beyond the horizon. in the eyes of the men there was more of despair than of terror; the old people were dumb, peering through the dust with hope- less eyes, tearless and resigned. Even the children, laughing up into their wistful mothers’ eyes, grew sober, and sat on the heaps of bedding, staring down at the hud- dled cattle, trampling by on either side. To Hilde, however, the distant wagon train, half hidden in dust, was scarcely visible, except where it wound through the gate. Even there she could not distinguish features or age or sex, for the Porte Rouge was too far away, and the foliage of the chestnut trees hid a great deal. How much she divined is not certain, but she turned away into the house, a new weight on her heart, a sudden heavy foreboding. In the bird store the canaries were sing- ing lustily in the sunshine; Rocco, the monkey, cracked nuts and ate them with fearful grimaces at Mehemet Ali, the par- rot, who looked at him enviously, upside down. Hilde dropped some fresh melon seeds into the parrot’s china cup, renewed the water in all the cages, stirred up the squirrel’s bedding and sat down, her dimpled chin on her wrist. She thought of Harewood. -of the fir: time they had entered the bird store tc gether. She thought of that moment when, before she knew it, he had bent and kisse her, and, wonder of wonders, she had kis ed him. Why? The eternal question—al- ys returning—why? Why? It wearied her to think, and what was the use? Until he had kissed her she had that such a kiss was sin. The sisters at the convent said so. Now she did not Know—she knew nothing except that they had kissed each other. She had not r sisted. She had never thought of resisting. In his presence was satisfied and yet frightened, contented, yet restless. She never tired of watching him. She was cu- rious, too, about him, wondering what his thoughts were. Twice since that first day he had ivoked at her in the same way, with the same unexplained question in his eyes— @ question that left her breathless, con- fused, dazed. Sadness, too, came later, and wistfulness, a fatigue, a weakness, that made her eyes grow tired and her limbs heavy. She went slowly into her bed room only to stand before the faience Sainte-Hilde, thinking, thinking. She had never asked Sainte-Hilde of Carhaix for aid because she did not know what to say, and when she tried to think the gold and azure mantle of the sainte distracted her attention. How often had she counted the links in the chain around Sainte-Hilde’s china neck; how often had she striven to understand the placid sect smiie on her polished face— yet always thinking of something quite different—of Harewood—and the kiss—and the question, unanswered, in his eyes, And, as she stood musing in the twi- light of her chamber, suddenly the room swam, the floor seemei to fall beneath her, a frightful explosion shivered every win- dow,gpane in the house. Ht reeled, clutching at a chair; Yo- lette crept in, pale, shaking in every limb. “It is nothing,” she gasped; “they have fired ‘The Prorhet.’ The Prussians are in Meudon woods!” (To be continued.) ——+——_ + Easily Accomplished. From Puek. Young Popperton—“Wife has gone shop- ping and left me in charge of the baby, and I am regularly put to it to know how to keep the little fellow quiet. Grimshaw (after regarding the howlin; and contorting juvenile critically)- sould think you could easily keep him qviet, both in a vocal and physical way, by gagging him carefully, tying his hands be- hind his back, binding his feet together, nailing his clothes to the floor and then ad- ministering chloroform to him.” OSS: Bad News From Natal. From Punch. lways supposed ARE AFRAID OF WAR People of Europe Would Much Rather Be at Peace NOW THAT ARMIES ARE SO LARGE And the Instruments of Destruc- tion Are So Terrible. ee NOT A PLEASANT PICTURE Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. PARIS, May 10, 1898. HE CRY THAT continues to go up ) from continental Ly Europe against the precipitation of our war with Spain is not motived solely by dis- ike for our Anglo- Saxon selves and sympathy for our Latin adversary. It is a cry against war in the fact, a cry that starts involun- tarily from the ter- rified Europeans at the materialization of the nightmare under which, all war pre- pared, they have been laboring so long. They have prepared for war with such in- tricacy, with such minuteness and such awful ingenuity, @hat they now stand aghast at their own work. In the words of a thoughtful Frenchman, “We have so complicated the machine that no one, dares to put it into motion.” The United Statcs of America has dared to put it into motion. Hence the great dis- turbance of the Eur ‘an heart. It is im- possible to live in Paris and be ignorant of the ct that the directing modern thought of war-bristiing France is the love of peace; or, to speak more exact! the horror of war and the wish not to see it provoked. The French—and their ferocious-looking neighbors—are, at bottom, sincerely pacific —furlously pacific, and the two principal reasons for this state of soubare the iol- ioe “To begin with, every European is today soldier; and, to follow, every one imagir that wars in the future will be simply unen- durable. a One Soldier in Thirty. * Heretofore, and even during the period that closed with 1870, the greatest European armies represented, at the maximum, 3300,- 000 or 400,000 men. This is not speaking of poleonic epoch, it is understood, be- from 1804 to 1sl4 the French senate the disposition of Napoleon 000,000 conscri 1 am now ing of the armies of Louis Philippe and those of the second empire. When they call- ed out the reserves, when it was n ary to start them off to war, the one Valid man in thirty. twenty-nine citi to take selves the “Joliying” of one; o guage of peace-loving revolutionary social- ists, “twenty-nine butchers ready to con- duct each sheep out to the abattoir.” They got around these “sheep,” repre- sented to each the grandeur of his mission, exalted his vanity. They overwhelmed him with hand-shakings, brotherly hurrahing and friendiy drir And so the devoted conscript went out, with his head high, per- suaded that he was about to suve the pa- tie, and already dreaming of the ovations that should welcome his triumphant return. And had he hesitated? Each one of those twenty-nine friendly, flattering faces would have instantly transformed itself into a scornful, threatening ac “Coward!” the great mass of his fellow- citizens would ery. And it was thus, rey signed or enthusiastic, that the “drafted soldier was projected to the field of battle by an Irresistible force. Armies of Fancy. Today, in case of mobilization, Europe imagines that it will have a different pro- gram to go through. The proportion be- tween those who are forced out and thos who force them out will not be the same The “propelled” will be much more numer- ous, and the “propulsers” will be much less numerous. Of course there are popular ex- aggerations over this dreaded matter of mobilization. If we are to believe tl ries of lively imagination, when the pean war br out there will remain at sent off scarcely There were, then, upon "them- in the lan- home scarcely males to prepare provisions for the armies in the field i is faney. Ec , for illu jon, contains 12,000,000 Yet in , When they were say Was throw- ing itself into : more than 800,000 Germans crossed the Rhine. It must be remembered also that in IN on the plains of Saxony, Napoleon, at the age of forty-three, sorrowfully declared himself his forces in hanc and added that he did not know three erals capable of commanding 100,04) men apiece. The natural refiection is that mod- ern generalissimos are re; Napoleon at forty-three, and with, no gE! ius for the game of strat It is, therefore, to be conclu are giver a million men to command the! will be embarrassed sutticiently and i the government to wait a little while be- fore the second million be sent out. In this way it is easy to foresee that all the men at the disposition of the military authorities of each European nation will not be called out, nor can be. But the pos- sibility is always present in the popular mind, and every one reflects that one in six hot one in thirty—may be called to fight. ‘This is already too mygh for those who are to stay at home. The five older men will find it difficult to charge their one young fellow up with the old-time hurrahing mag- netism and project him, singing, to the front. The number of Europeans who may be called to fight each other has now be- come too great to encourage the gathering of crowds around each one of them, de- manding that he go out to kill and be killed. To form such crowds would require that they be made up, in great part, of men liable to service in their own persons. And this is a consideration that may be counted on nowadays to temper the ferocity of war- like manifestations in conscript-ridden Eu- rope. ularly older than The Era of Peace. This is only the beginning. In the march of progress toward universal peace and the reign of brotherly consideration there are being adopted, year by year and month by month, the most awful discoveries destined to make war devastating to a degree hith- erto undreamed of. Specialists and space- writers have done their work in acquaint- ing the public with the names and attri- butes of the terrible machines and process- es with whose aid humanity is to be man- gled wholesale in the next meetings. Story writers and litterateurs have followed, un- ul today the material of war may be liken- ed to a sort of blood-curdling popular bric- a-brac. The savant Denaynouze has gone to the length of proposing seriously the “mobilization of microbes” against the Prussians. It is true that the project is not complete. It lacks the chapter on uni- acta, —- if they employ naked mi- bes, how are you to tell th: jans sea the elt aspad — @ popular mind is never left at 5 In Paris it is known, for example, fears the second time within four years’ the mili- att authorities are about to remodel the eld artillery, At Chalons there reposes under a guarded tent the first of the new engines of war. Sub-officers d’elite have its workings explained to them, in the strictest secrecy. All that is known is that the new machine is a “light cannon, of great range, of little recoil, capable of fir- ing ten projectiles per minute.” But is not this enough—enough to make the patriotic heart of France rejcice—‘at this moment when the Germans make such a@ noise con- cerning their new armament?’ But yes! Mais si! But wait! The Germans, too, have guns perhaps as deadly! And the pa- trictic heart of France must submit, for a moment, to reflections of a depressing character. Bicycle to the Fore. ‘The next day all France is alive with joy again. The “mounted infantry” which so preoccupied Napoleon and whose solution had been relegated to the realm of para- dox has been found for the French army— im the bicycle! Hurrah! Bicycle infantry companies are to be attached to each cav- alry division. “They will have for their mie- sion to press on the independent cavalry in all its operations, constituting for it troops of flying rifles, strengthening it in its of- fensive operations, and increasing its con- fidence. Being constantly in the foreguatd, the bicycle rifles will nearly always have to struggle against the adverse cavalry. Then the patriotism of France is sh the picture of one of these innovating com- Panies in the act of intimidating an ap- Proaching division of cavalry. “Forming themselves in a hollow square, they con- stitute a terrible obstruction: should they be passed on either side, they ‘are still capable of attacking the horsemen in the ar, while from their mobility and quick- ness (equal to that of the cavalry itself), from the advant ef their repeating arms, and their final trick of scattering. falling to the ground or making off to- gether, either in pursuit or flight, they must be recognized as possessing all the precious irresponsibility of a troop of mis- chievous schoolboys in the face of a squad of policemen.” Is it not @elightful? Dogs of War, It is certainly delightful; but, helas! the next rumor ts to the advantage of the other side. The bicycle infantry of France is to be ravaged by the war dogs of Germany. Yes, actually dogs, real dogs, the ferocious mastiffs of Ulm, which are being trained by thousands just across the Rhine. Daily they are set upon lay figures dressed (to diplomatically) “in foreign uni- ” ‘The French pretend to make great fun of it, declaring that no one of these “four-legged Prussians” will b apable of resisting a sausage at the psychological moment. Must poisoned sausages, then, be added to the list of fin de siecie imple- ments of wor? The Germans enlist dogs, and the French rise to the ocr ion in enlisting pigeons. ery one recognizes that in the military engagements of the future the field of op- erations is bound to be extremely devel- oped; whence artses the problem of inter- communicatfon of orders and information. The celegraph and the telephone will their parts; for for them wires must be —which may b2 cut. The carrier pigeon has no such disadvantage. Carried in a little cage, strapped to a trooper’s back, he may be launched on the air with his precious message from any point, at any moment.” Voila! Doubtless the Germans will have carrier pigeons, to and then the question of the uniform will come up again. No one will want to shoot down his own side's mes- senger, and yet the uniforming of the bird will be the advertising of it to the enemy! War is, indeed, becoming complicated. id Without Prejudice. And all this is without prejudice to bal- loons, terrestrial and maritime torpedoes, submarine boats, rapid-firing and long- range guns, smokeless pow: rifle pro- Jectiles capable of penetrating fifteen men at 1,500 yards, with all the train of high explosives, mines, applied electricity and the more’ obscure resources of science, darkiy supposed to be kept secret by each government! In a word, all that is capa- ble of terrorizing the honest French citizen, of starting up and setting wild the popuiar imagiration, has been invented and prom- sed for the dreaded “war of the future.” Of course there are thoughtful people who shrug their shoulders nevertheless. Those who know something of past wars know that, since men first fought down to the present time, “the more fnoffensive the arms the more murderous have been the battles.”” The theory runs something like this ancient times, when whole armies were duced to hand-to-hand conflict, with swords, daggers and spears, the vanquished disappeared entirely. Later on, when they could get at each other without t body to body, distance replac and they augmented only the force of pro- In jectiles. When the muskets of our grand- fathers carried 300 yards, our grandfathers generally lined up against each other at » yards. Today the magazine ri 1,500 yards; they will line up at 1, On # Percentage Basis. It is well known that the best of troops have never been able to support, at any given time, more than a certain proportion of losses. They disband; they get away. It is well known they do. At Waterloo, if you believe the famous legend that “The Old Guard dies, but does not surrenaer,” you must believe that the Old Gaurd lay there stretched out on the field of battle, co. in death. But the truth ts that they went away when they had lost 10 per cent of their effectiveness. When one man out of 'y ten is dead and several others wound- the nine, or eight, or seven leave the ot. They will not do better, regular! future. The optimistic theory rel the domain of phantoms those future heca~ tombs which have been promised, and de- clares that the land battles of the future will not pass in the following fashion: A million of men will be lined up to face an- other million of men. The machinery will be started, and ve promptly everybody will be killed. There are those who dare to lieve that the battles of the future will not have that ¢ of admirable simplici- But the mass of Frenchmen and Ger- They believe « are told, a cred they have kind of warfare warfare, do not know ories Uh e for the war to gement of only ns them-—land great armies The navy e still thir mes © willing cl e ‘Cnguneer out to the ship. And if F seem to uring for some al “inte in our own » theory will not suffer, but be fort! u of the p i to “whe se It will be hoped to gain some re advantage in the ,continental chess gan that has taken the place of war; becau: instead of threatening war their action will tend to confirm the peace of Europe. No one who lives among them can imagine the French “intervening” in our naval war with Spain without an understanding with the other powers. They Don't Want to Fight. ‘The French will do anything for the sake ef the peace of Europe. No one wants to fight, in Europe, because, in a word, peo- pie have always gone to war in the hope of coming back again. As has been eloquent- ly said, you go to war for the victory, not for the struggle. If you weaken the hope of return you weaken the movement toward war. And if you destroy that hope, if you demonstrate that nobody is to come back, nobody will desire to go out. In the old times every company in every army had its veterans—men who had seen war, who had seen comrades fall beside them. Yet in the conversations of the can- teen they were never wont to let the young- er soldiers suspect that it was even possi- ble to be killed. And that was one of the reasons why regiments went out singing und hurrahing Today a whole r her for its work to mak3 the funeral bes ring perpetually in the cars of the conti- nental conscripts forced .o military service by the law. From his entrance to the erne the “De Profundis” strikes ne it up;” 1 ished that he does not wish for war? The savages take the trunk of a tree, set it up in an open space and carve its top into the crude resemblance of a human head. They paint it, put in teeth and eyes, put hair around it, make it terrible, and it becomes a god. The people fall before tt, groveling in fear. This is exactly what they have done in Europe. They are pros- trate before their Moloch. But there is one thought to reassure the thoughtful—that which F have been attempting to outline. All are afraid together. The European na- tions—those of the first class, prepared for war—have finished by giving themselves the terror which they had hoped to inspire each in the other. “They have so compll- cated the machine that no one dares to put it into movement.’ STERLING HEILIG. See The Sailors’ Hen Coop. From the Kensas City Star. A sailorman ts fond of pets, but a ship is no place for animal life. However, there are few ships, sail or steam, that do not carry out of port a coop of hens and a rooster. ‘These seem to be for company, or association, or something of that sort, for the oldest mariner never heard of one of the hens being killed for the mess, and a hen at sea absolutely refuses to lay eggs, and smaili blame to them. The hen coop is generally placed on the forward deck, near the fo’c’sle, in which the sailors live. They have a box of sand in which to roll and are made as comfort- able as possible. After on: or two voyages the hens become excellent sailors, and it is a queer sight to see them balance them- selves on their sealegs when and rolts, When the ship is in dock always driven into their coop until the ship is at sea, when they are re- leased and given the freedom At night they seek the shelter of their own accord.