Evening Star Newspaper, July 9, 1898, Page 18

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JULY 9, 1898—24 PAGES. ANI—Continaed, mob raged through the fired their es that adorned mobiles chopped to build fires t and shot an jeville creatures > nauseatin: Mortier could not endure it, an¢ removed to the chai rds ing ors went with or 1 feast began s ine nut he drunk. xb had broken down l chamber and surround- There they held them th threz Fiourens, Iternate and promised them The h bald head of d up beh the speaker le disea urning med restlessly-over the cham- nqui arrived to gloat over the Milliere shouted that they mus began to organize a revolution- n in the midst of ment of his 0 i rs. Jules vre, eral Tamisier, crowded into a to ovtrage a ered by the s. grotesque to credit. nment of Paris was held prisoner of anarchists; the city itself was War without, rev- within. would happen in y-four hours—time enough for any one of the thousands of German spices te carry the news to Bismarck? As he A there in the shattered hal h h the vile atme ¢ shoved and cursed by é Belleviile r s if Gene ger. nething m crovs at th After a mome loomy gaze of Jv out a moment's he him. for you? I 3 lent. Don't I batt y are | Hotel Ju = urned every red 2 chambe urd cor. All eyes Buckhurs said “You will know orward to ed to force hi the earbineers nge with The blow failed t Buckhurst gave the fel- zealous, f be more amus athing heavily from the blow stood with his back to the khurst ‘ou d—d cut- id, “you ran away from your neck. ¥ If tha man {is an American citi- ¢ ried Flourens, dramati- Ir s,"" said Buck- t d for Captain is a German spy!” said a Frenchman in the t him for treason.” word “ 2,” began to his sword aecusati shall pe Bring the prisoner fer pushed into the f carbineers. d thrust for- gripping the In the midst of paced up ané do leaving Bourke, hand. Bourke, a aking to Flourens, tauffer, who 4d him with ”* said Flour- have you?” again in a with crime. er with ireason. I and this ts t the Ui a moment ago 's Favre, deliver He croaked e table harder. oked at Buckhurst; that look All his ne-ve came back to at had left his ¢ rew himself up and eeks re- urned to “That criminal," he said, “is de- my murder. If you can save st ak now.” But Flourens walked away without an answer and Mor- tier caught Bourke’s arm in an iron grip. “March!” said Buckhurst placidly. Mortier pdssed first with his prisoner, Stauffer foliow2d heading a file of earbi- neers; Buckhurst brought up the rear, re- volver poised. They had decided to shoot hjm in the court, but the railings were already torn down and the crowd covered :very inch of pavement. To get through with their pris- ener was not possible; besides they were By nightfall half of the in- | Garnier- | n seemed a night- | ached | tood | | } tightly to a lan as j it Wk doubtful of the temper of the crowd. Mor- tier said that th> safest plan was to shoot him in the underground portion of the palace; Buckhurst agreedy and the cortege took up its ch. Flight after flight of steps was passed; the roar of the pillaging above grew fainter and fainter. Stauf- for found ianterns and they entered that dim system of vaulted chambers and pas- sages that lead to the secret catacombs of the Hotel de Ville. ‘There was a vast underground hall, light- ed by double rews of lamps and littered with pack>ts of documents, printed forms and musty papers, later to be sorted and arranged for the archives of the city of Paris. The huissiers in charge rose in a \ Copyercur 096 €comsar wcunmecad tcdy, protesting, as Buckhurst and his sol- diers entered. “Nonsense,” said Buckhurst, mises only want to sheot a man. Don’t let isturb you, gentlereen. Pray keep your Then he sat down at one of the laid his revolver in front of oned Mortier and Stauffer to wita their men and beckon2d it in front of lim. ened to the footsteps of the as they retreated into the ad- chamber. He looked at the huis- s, who gazed back at him, fascinated the sight of a condemned man. Even vhen Buckaurst had begun to speak, Bourke ly heard him. The despair his tion, the healthy and natural horror of death occupied his thoughts. He 11d not realize that he was about to die— by uld not believe it, and when he no- ticed that Buckhurst was speaking he lis- tered without understanding. Buckhurst was talkiag of hims2If. For now the dom- | inating trait of most criminals was reveal- ed in Buckhu-rt. That trait is vant Keen? shrewd, merciless, daring, he was not above the weakness of vanity, although he was too reticent, too shrewd to exhibit it to any human being who might liv> to reproach him with his weakness. But now was different; this man was about to die—if necessary, by Buckhurst’s own hand. Se Buckhurst blabbed and blabbed on about his crimes. He eagerly owned up to robbery and forgery; he claim2d as his own a notorious murder long wrapped in mystery. By degrees he crew confidential, speaking in the easy slang of the period. He becam> reminiscent, even sentimental, alout New York. Then, suddenly chang- ing, his pale eyes gleamed with ferocity ribable as he spoke of his prison ys, his jailers, and bis hope that their reckoning woull com>. He boasted of wo- nen, of conqugsts made, of deceptions practiced. At times the spasm which served him for laughter twitched his pallid face. Once Bourke isked him if he would let him go for mony, but the ghastly smile { Buckhurst’s face was answer enough. id Buckhurst, “you know too u krew too ‘much before—and went to the passageway nffer, and the carbineers arbin2ers- had found a ng. The > bin and were ri and cracking ecks of the municipal claret bottles objected to leaving off, and Buc! strode into the passage, -revolver Bourke turned to the huis- ped behind him and One of you run to the in the Napoleon barracks underground pas- 11 murder the min to murder me then as Buck- ard in the passage vor behind the table “Mobiles them and pointed. and ran as he wice, as he ran, holding his arm be- prang up again and e his face, How he did not know, minding a . he saw light The floor of the passage became rough sten , the ceiling. e by little the pa: ended, grow- ing lighter and lighter as he advanced, un- til he staggered out into paved ng carry- Is, and an offi- , stood looking on. tale to the officer efore the bugles sembly and the off- ce the brave Bre Mobiles ne tumbling into the para: In ten minutes they were entering the tun- pel: their officers could pot hold them back. Bourke, carried away with the en held rn that somebody thrust his hand, and hurried along with the each other whe oldiers were sils and kitchen uten: 4 on a hor: ecurt, ing soldiers, who even wounded | with their bayonets in their eagerness to be in at the death. And they were in at the death, for. even when Bourke entered the underground hall arbinec they had a dozen half-drunken s Ly the throat. Buckhurst had vanished, so Jeo had Mortier and Stauff Bourke lead the way to the council chamber above: | the stairs were stormed, the halls carried by the +t. He saw the Mobf'es burst into neil chamber, hurl the, insur- gents out and beat. them with clubbed rifles until they howled for mercy. He saw the pale-faced ministers withdraw, protected by the bayonets of the brave Bretons; he witne: d the stampede of } them. | | Fiourens and his cohorts—a flight as ridiec- ulous as it was p:ecipitate. Outside in the rain an enormous crowd stood and watched the fight in the palace. Night had fallen swiftly, and in the fright- ful uproar and confusion the Insurgents escaped with broken heads, Flourens, juffer, Buckhurst and Mortier among But the Bretons had some hundred cr so of the carbineers prisoners, and now, as other loyal battalions began to arrive, the ministers left the Hotel de Ville, where what once threatened to be a brutal mas- 1 turned into a farce as grotesque as it was unexpected. Bourke had pushed his way out into the There were no street lamps lighted; of the cavalry, escorting Gen. Du- , who arrived on the scene, carried torches with the long butts resting in their stirrups, but the darkness seemed denser for the’ few scattered lights, and Bourke was glad of the lantern he still held, to guide himself across the bridge and through dusky akeys toward the Boulevard St. Michel. As he stopped at the Cafe Cardinal to swallow a little brandy he heard a sol- Gier say that a company of carbineers un- der Capt. Speyer had sacked a house on the ramparts during the riot at the Hotel de Ville. “What house?” said Bourke, pushing through the group that surrounded the sol- I don’t know,” replied the cavalryman, was somewhere on the Rue d’¥pres.” He added mischievously, “You needn't look so frightened, my friend—unless it was your house. Hey! Wait! Sagre nom d’une pipe! —take a drink with us, comrade.” But Bourke had alréady vanished. CHAPTER XXII. Bourke Does What He C: It was pitch dark when Bourke reached the Rue d’Ypres, but the red glare of torches lighted up the ramparts and cast lurid reflections across the fronts of the jowy houses opposite. A constantly in- creasing crowd of people surrounded his house. He hastened on, pushing, strug- | sling, forcing a path through the throng to his own door. The flare of petroleum torches fell red on scores of sombre faces. | He saw Yolette near the doorstep, sur- | rounded } by half a dozen men, some of whom he recognized as neighbors. When Mortier, | Yolette heard Bourke’s voice she took one encertain step forward. The next moment ber white, frightened face was hidden on his shoulder. “What is it?” he said. “Speak to me, Yolette. Don't tremblé so. See, you are safe. Nothing can harm you, my darling.” Somebody in the crowd sald, “It’s her sister. She can’t be found.” “Hilde?” gasped Bourke. The same voice spoke again: “The car- bineers sacked the house. There was no- body there except Mile. Hilde and the little servant.” Pelee trembled violently and raised her ead. “I had gone to the butcher's to have our rations renewed,” she said. “When I re- turned they—they had done this. I cannot find Hilde.” = a blue wat “I saw them,” said a man blouse. “I heard people say that ‘WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY ROBF W-CHAMBERS: | to charge and driv j hend the catastrophe. a revolution at the Hotel des Ville, and that we were to have the commune. Mamy of us Started for the place—we numbered perhaps fifty—when, sapristi! the bayonets of the carbineers filled the streets—two companies, monsieur, with drums and bugles sounding, and their captain, Speyer, shouting to us to get back. Then the artillerymen yon- der, who were exercising with the Prophet, came over the street to see what the car- bineers were doing, but Captain Speyer waved an order from the Hotel de Ville—so, monsicur, there was nothing to do.” The man spoke cautiously, appealing to the crowd to corroborate him. Bourke, his arm around Yolette, who seemed too dazed to understand, listened with a sick fear at his heart, eyes helplessly roaming through the throng of eager, sympathetic faces that pressed on every side. The spokesman of the group wiped his face on his sleeve, shrugged, and continued: “Dame, it was soon finished. Speyer went into the house. Somebody said he had a “HE STAMMERED OUT HIS ists, that the commune is routed, that the revolution is ended. I only wish I had known it sooner. And is it true that they carried off Mile. Hikie Chalais?” “¥es,” said Bourke. quietly, “It was their captain, Speyer, whe did that. Monsieur, will you place a sentry.at my door? I am going to see the goverhor of Paris.” “I will do so at ouce, monsieur,” said the gun captain. They saluted each other, and, as Bourke hurried on, he heard the order given, the trample of a file, and the double jar of grounded rifles,on the ramparts. It wos midnight when Bourke was usber- ed into the presence of Gen. Trochu, gov- ernor of Paris: it was 1 o'clock in the morning when he went out into the street, stunned by the shameful avowal that the government was without authority in the distracted city, and that the general-in- chief of the armies Paris was unable to aid him to rescue Hifde from the insurgent ecarbineers. News had arrived that Flour- ens and his legion, retreating from the fias- co at the Hotel de Ville, had» seized and barricaded the Church of Menilmontant: that Belleville was a seething cauldron of revolution; that the whole quarter was pre- paring to rise en masse and hurl them- selves again on the Hotel de Ville. During his interview with Gen. Trochu, Bourke saw the stream of stagf officers con- stantly arriving with bad news from Belle- ville, and leaving with urgent instructions to Gén. Ducrot, commanding the only re.i- able and efficient corps in Paris. Gen, Trochu, head bent on his medaled breast, hands nervously clasped behind him, accompanied Bourke to the door of his cab- inet. “I am sorry, monsieur, believe me, T am covered with shame to confess my help- lessness at this moment,” he said. “But I can do nothing yet, absolutely nothing. un- til the revult is stamped out. And,” he added, ly, “this revolt may cost France dear. Our negotiations with M. Bismarck | were going well, but no sooner did he hear of this riot in Paris than he abruptly broke TALE TO THE OFFICER.” mandate of arrest for you and also for M. Harewood.. A carbineer told me that the commune was proclaimed, and that your house was to be reserved for the carbi- neers’ headquarters. He added that you and M. Harewood were known as suspects of the commune, and that they would catch you sooner or later. Then, monsieur, they began to bring out your papers and’ port- folios. These they placed in an ambulance, along with books and clothing and some cans of preserved meat. It was then for the first time that I, standing in the crowd be- hind the row of bayenets, saw Mlle. Hilde in the hallway among all those bandils. What happened after that I cannot say, for there came a soldier galloping who cried “Treason! We are betrayed at the Hotel de Ville!’ and the carbineers ran out of the house like rats—this way and that way, un- ul their captain, Speyer, shouted for them back the crowd.” The then added, “After that, mon- ran for our lives, and that is all man paused; sieur, I know Bourke cast one glance around the crowd at the door, beckoned to the spokesman, whose name was Maillard, and who In days of plenty had supplied the street with bread—then he led Yolette into the house, motioning Maillard to follow. Yolette sank on the sofa, stunned, unable yet to compre- Maillard stood, hat in one hand, holding a petroleum torch in the other. The thick stench of the oll filled the dismantled room. The floor was Itter- ed with table linen, kitchen utensils and overturned furniture. In every corner lay heaps of curtains, bedclothes and towels, tied up for removal when the carbineers had been interrupted in their work by the news from the Hotel de Ville. “Yolette,”” said Bourke, gent! ‘where is Red Riding Hood? Was she with Hilde when you left for the butcher's?” Yolette’s pallid lips motioned “Yes.” With an effort Bourke spoke again. “Will you stay here quietly with M. Mail- lard until I come back? I am going to find Hilde, dear. We will find her very soon. I shall go to the governor of Paris at once, and he will get her back.” To Maillard he said: “Get your wife to come and stay here. I may be gone until morning. God knows whether there is au- Bibi Was Kneeling by the Figure. thority enough in Paris tonight to punish this outrage, but if there isn’t, I'll try it alone.” As he passed into the street, not daring to linger, not daring to look at Yolette, he saw Malllard’s young wife in the crowd that still waited around the door. “Go in,” he said, “‘tell Mile. Yolette that her sister will be safe and that she will soon have her again.” To the people who looked at him with wistful, kindly eyes, he said: “This helpless girl ts your ee leave the house in your Keeping. Do what you can.” Before he turned into the city he crossed the street to the bomb proofs, where the officer of the gun squad met him with an anxious shake of the head. “Not a word, not a word, M. Bourke. Iam overwhelmed with this terrible thing. They showed me a forged order from Gen. Troghu. I could only fold my arms and let those brigands search your house. Now they tell me that the government still ex- off ail negotiations in which we could hon- orably participate. You see, he believes his allies are here in Paris, and that we, once embroiled in the horrors of civil strife, will fall easy victims to the German armies.” “Then,” said Bourke, despairingly, ‘the governor of Paris can offer me no aid in arresting the so-called Capt. Speyer?” “It is impossible,” said Gen. Trochu, with reddening face lowered to mortification. “I am responsible before God for the defense of this city. I dare not provoke an open conflict with these insurgents under the muzzies of the Prussians’ gun: Bourke bowed. The anxious governor of Paris returned his salute in silence. Then an orderly conducted. Bourke to the street, the great doors closed, and he walked ov into the darkness utterly discouraged. It was not yet dawn when ke entered the house on the ramparts. Tha sentinel saluted him gravely and asked what news thee was. At Bourke’s answer he shook his fist and swore that the day should come when Belleville would be sum- moned to a bloody accounting. Yolette's terror and grief when she saw enter alone completely unnerved the Bourke him. The terrible fatigue of the day strain, the shock he himself had unde: when Buckhurst arrested him at the tel de Ville, and the constant haunting anxiety about Harewood, tertured him till his ach- ing head seemed ready to burst. He had eaten nothing since breakfast. Maillard brought him a basin of hot soup and a bit of bread. When he had finished he rose unsteadily and went to the door. Dawn had scarcely begun—a horrible, yellow light crept out of the horizon, dulling the lamps on the bas- tions, tipping the bronze muzzle of the Prophet, touching the surface of the road puddles with sickly reflections, Scarcely knowing where he was going, he started out again, stumbling through ‘the rank, dead grass of the glacis toward the Porte Rouge. The gate was closed, but from the ramparts he looked off over the Gesolate landscape to the south. And as he lcoked a shaft of flames shot out of the hazy half light; another and another, and the hollow booming of cannon filled his ears. The forts of the south were awak- in, he game of death had begun again. He sat down on the crisp dead grass of the talus, aching head clasped in his han To think of Hilde in the clutches of Speyer and Buckhurst almost drove him mad. He shrank from going back to Yolette. He could not bear to see her grief. He thought of Harewood. How could he face him when he returned? One thing he realized—that he must make an effort to find Hilde at once, whatever happened to the government in the meantime. ‘the American minister could not aid him, for there was no ro- sponsible authority to apply to in Paris ex- cept Gen. Trochu, and Bourke had already seen enough of that official. Suppose he should go to Belleville? It was Lot yet daylight. Perhaps dawn would be the safest time to venture through that quarter; ararchists' and: kindred ruffians browl late and sleep late. He rose to his feet and looked out across the dim city. Far away in the north he saw the somber profile of Montmartre and the heights of the Buttes Chaumont. ; Before he started he went back to the house and took a revolver from Harewocd’s dis;nantled desk. Then he went noiselessly down the stairs again and hastened out into the city. There was no- body afoot in the streets but himself. He went by way of the Luxembourg and the Boulevard St. Michal. In the gardens of the Luxembourg he saw lights ‘moving, where sisters of meréy were passing among the wounded, who lay fn the temporary hespital behind the palace. As he passed the river, the gunbobts, one by one, battle lanterns set, swung noljselessly helow at their moorings, sinister, Shadowy. bulks on = @ark side. ie noticed the absence of life on th boulevard. There were no early vehicles, no market wagons, ro omnibuses, no pedes- trians. Even the sparrows had vanished: rothing of life awoke with dawn; the si- lence was absolute, save for the deadened, measured booming of the guns in the southern forts. That, too, was inaudible when he turned into the ancient Faubourg du Temple and began the ent of the silent, foul, greasy streets tha@markea the beginning of the revolutionary zone. On high mountains the vegetation limit ts cara marked by stunted growth, then rocks. On Mount Ayentin the vegetati: rowtl of anarchy was marked by ‘fithe The streets reek2d with it, the unutterably foul canal St. Martin ran filth, the very bal- cenles sweated it as the evil gray mist lifted above the canal, higher, higher, ex- posing the mean, naked, trzeless streets that twisted and coiled round and round the heights where, crowned and enthroned, Sat anarchy, hatching murder, ‘The first faint flicker of daylight that had been struggling through the mist died out under a sudd=n burst of rain. The streets grew darker agaim the rain raged furious- ly for a minute or two, then changed to a thick drizzle. 3 There were no street lamps lighted with petroleum, there was not a filcker of light from the long, grizzly rows of houses, but he knew his way, and he fourd it, even in the darkest alleys, even through dark pas- sages that reeked lik> the holds of a pest ship. And at last he came to the Church of Menilmontant. Almost at once he saw what had been done by the insurgents. The statem>=nt of Gen. Trochu had led him to believe that the church had been turned into a fortress and strongly barricaded. The truth was that almost nothing had been accomplished toward fortifying Menil- montant. Across the street stood a ram- bing, partly finished barricad> of paving stones, Two houses had been converted in- to barracks for the carbineers; this was patent t- anybody, partly because of the two empty sentry boxes before each hous>, Partly on account of a strip of canvas nailed dcross the front of the two houses, on which was painted: o———______________._____o | CASERNE DE LA COMMUNE | o— o On the church a similar strip of rain- soaked canvas hung, bearing the legenc o- ° j AMBULANCE | | HEADQUARTERS. | oo ° and a red flag, that th> rain had soaked almost black, hung from the church door io the steps. There was not a soul to be seen at the barricade; the sentry boxes protected no sentinels; the church was dark and silent. Bourk> crept forward and mounted the barricade. He walked along the top to Where it crossed the sidewalk. Here the wall of paving stones was higher; he could lift himself into the balcony of the house against which the barricad> ended. This he did cautious then crouched there, watching a lantern that somebody in the house had lighted. The lantern swung to and fro; somebody was moving downstairs; a shadow fell across the threshold and a figure stepped into the street. By the light of the ian- tern he could s reverses, the gilded shoulder Knots laced with scarlet that indicated an officer of rank in the carbincers. The officsr stood a moment inspecting the barricade by the flickering lantern light, then turned, aad crossing the street en- tered the church. It was Speyer. Bourke waited a moment befor> he rose from the baleony. He had no plan, no idea. What to do, now that he had crept into the hor- nets’ nest, was a problem too intricate for him. And as he crouched there, hesitating, something in the open window b>hind him caught his eye—a dark mass huddled above the window ledge. Then, to his horror, he saw eyes watching him in the shadow—and the shadow itself seemed to 2xpand and glide toward him. Quick as thought he had his revolver leveled; there came a gasp, a sudden movement, and a man leap- €d softly into th> balcony, whispering, “Don't shoot, comrade, it’s ail right.” Before Bourke could understand another figure climbed out of the window and made toward him. “Voyons, comrade,” they protested, “we are deserting, too. Don't be seffish, but lend a hand.” They let themselves down to the barrl- cade, one after the other, then turned and motioned Bourke to follow. “What did you do with your uniform?” asked on2 of the men. “You're lucky to find those clothes.”” “Zut!" said the other, “we can sell our uniforms at the temple and buy blouses.” There was something not altogether un- familiar to Bourke about the two carbin- eers. H2 looked into their hard faces. The one expressed socden, sensual brutality, the other vacant viciousness. Suddenly it came to him, they were the Mouse's pais, Mon Oncle and Bibi la Goutte. “Ar2 you coming with us, or are you go- ing to stand there all day?” asked Mon Once. Bibi added: for us in ten barricad “Listen,” said Bourke, with sudden in- spimition. “I am not going to desert empty handed. Are you?” “Hey?” demanded Bibi, vacantly. “There's nothing to pocket in that barracks there, and I know our captain looted the church.” “Capt. Speyer?” asked Bourke. ‘No—Stauffer. “Is Speyer your captain?” asked Mon Oncle. “Will you wait till I finish?” ‘Bourke, “or do you want empty-handed?” Hi take anything on God’s earth,” said Bibi, solemnly, “but there's nothing left to steal in this part of His earth. Is there, Mon Oncle?” Yes, there is,” said Bourke, savagely. “There's that girl the Speyer stole in the Rue ’Ypres.”” “What do we want of her?” asked Bibl, in genuine astonishment. “The captain will be looking minutes to help on that d—d blustered to run away Want! You want the reward, don’t you? Reward!” muttered Mon Oncle. “Is that why Speyer stole her? sweet on her.” . “Zut!” said Bibl. “Of course it was for a reward. But I don’t see how we are to get her, as she’s in the church yonder.” “Of course, she’s in the church,” inter- rupted Bourke, impudently, but his voice shook in spite of him at such unhoped-for fortune—“‘of course she’s in the church, and all we'll have to do is to wait until Speyer comes out with his lantern “And crack his skull,” blurted out Bibi, eagerly, “and— “And walk into the church and get her— hey?" suggested Mon Oncle. Then Mon Oncle and Bibi began to dis- pute about the reward, utterly ignoring Bourke. The latter saw that his troubles would only begin, even if he could get Hilde out of Speyer’s hands. He said noth- ing, however, until Bibi suddenly squatted down behind the barricade and Mon Oncle followed him, dragging Bourke to the ground. “He's coming now,” whispered Bibi, pick- ing up a jagged bit of stone. “Wait—I'll fix him.” Speyer, swinging a lantern, entered the barricade and started toward the barracks of the carbineers. He hummed a tune as he walked, and dangled his lantern this way and that, stepping mincingly over the puddles of rain water and drawing his capucin closer. Then, as he passed Bourke, Bibi stole out like a shadow, swifter and yet swifter, and struck Speyer_a terrible blow with’ the heavy stone. The lantern fell—that fs all Bourke saw—-except something lying in the street and Bibi kneeling above it. Present- ly Bibi came back, holding the lantern, still lighted. A single spot of blood blotched the gl Without a glance at Bourke, he beckoned Mon Oncle, and they both entered the church. Before Bourke could rise they re- appeared at the door, vehemently disputing with the sentry, who seemed loth to allow them there, but they had their way, and again disappeared. Bourke crouched behind the barricade, revolver cocked, eyes on the church door. His heart was suffocating him with its double beatirg. Second after second dragged by. And now came the lantern Hight again nearer and nearer the door. Bibi stepped out alone,.then a child—a little gir! came. clinging to a woman—Hilde! Mon Oncle, still disputing with the sentry, brought up the rear. As they pursed the barricado, Bourke saw Mon Oncle glance fearfully around, but Bibi shoved him forwar., and. seizing Hilde’s arm he hurried down the street ané entered the maze of somber lanes and alleys that honeycomb the quarter like holes in a rabbit warren. Bourke followed them. Once or twice Bibi looked over his sheulder suspiciously; Mon Oncle was al- ways on the alert. So they crossed the anarchist quarter, Bourke following, and began to skirt the interior of the city, where already a few people were stirring, and where the morning light, in spite of the rain, glimmered on wet streets and closed shutters. Their intention was, obviously, to gain the rookeries of the southern quarters by the faubourgs and outer boulevards. Bourke’s time had come, and he glided more closely on their heels unti} Bibi, turn- ing prudently to inspect his trail, saw Bourke standing at his elbow with leveled revolver. Mon Oncle whipped out a knife and Bourke shot him dead at his feet. Bibi in an ecstacy of fury striuck Hilde a mur- derous blow, turned and ran for it, ran hard for his life; and Bourke shot at him as he ran, standing as still and composed as though he were shooting at a target. Every bullet struck its mark, but the mis- erable creature ran on, headiong until the last shot sent him spinning and reeling into a tree, at the foot of which he crashed down, doubling up like a dead rabbit. Then Bourke knelt and lifted Hilde in his arms. Over‘her eyes the blood was from an open cut. Her white face fell back on his shoulder as he rose on one knee in a circle of citizens and soldiers who had gathered from heaven knows where and now stood staring at Bourke and Hilde. .“‘Where is your post?” asked @ National Guardsman I thought he w e the uniform—the crimson | ber 252 on his cap. “I want a stretcher to the Rue d'Ypres.” “Send for a stretcher.” chorused the crowd, and the soldier hurried off to his post down the street, where already two men of the hospital corps were hastening toward the group. “Has the fighting begun in Belleville?” asked another soldier, turning over the dead body of Mon Oncie with his foot and scowling at his carbineer uniform. “It has ended as far as I am concerned,” said Bourke. As he spoke he felt a little hand seek his; Red Riding Hood, pale and | composed, stood beside him. “Have ‘they killed Mile. Hilde?” she .”" said Bourke. “See, she is opening her eyes—see'—little one.” J Then Red Riding Hood began to cry ‘at the strange words that Hilde uttered— strange, senseless words that meant noth- ing at first to Bourke. When the stretcher came he walked beside it as they bore her to the Rue d'Ypres. The delirium in- | creased; she spoke of Harewood, of love, of lost souls—lost through love. She spoke of Harewood as though he lay in death on the edge of hell. And Bourke walked beside. derstood. And he un- (To be continued.) ART AND ARTISTS. For ihe benefit of the many visitors who are in town for the educational convention ali the public rooms of the library will be thrown open on the evenings of the 11th and 12th, though there will be no service in the reading room. In October, when the building is to be opened regularly at night, the reading room will be the only part accessible. * * * The department of graphic arts at the Congressional Library becomes more inter- esting every day, as new additions are made to the exhibition of etchings and engravings The display is being arranged with a view to showing good specimens | from all the famous schools, and the work is being placed in chronological order to facilitate study. Since the fine set of orig- inal wood ergravings by Albert Durer were placed in the cases in the southwest pavilion many new works have been on view, and when entirely completed the collection will bé extremely valuable to the student and interesting even to the most casual observer. Among the new ex- | hibits is a case containing Italian engrav- ings of the sixteenth century, which in- cludes two examples of Mare Antonio Ral- mondi and Agostino Caracci’s engraving of the Crucifixion after Tintoretto, who is reported to have said that the reproduction was greater than the original painting. Passing to the work of the seventeenth century, we find two remarkable etchings oy Salvator Rosa, his “Fall of the Giants” being especially ftne in action, and in the manner in which the artist has rendered the emoticn, which marks the faces. strong contrast to this freely Pt ject are the more formal etchings, printed in red ink, by Carlo Cesio and Pietro Ber- ettino. A masterly little subject by Guido Reni is also shown with the specimens be- longing to this epoch, and the work of the following century next claims our atten- tion, Among th> examples of this period are the delicately executed ytie,” by Bartolozzi, four engravings by Raphael Morghen, and Volpato’s engraving of Tin- toretto's celebrated painting, ‘The Mar- riage at Can -”" The only specimen of nine- teenth centur: engraving is by Felice Ju- ltani, and with that the Italian work ends, the rest of the display being given over to examples that show the skill of the Flemish and the Dutch in handling the burin and the etcher's needle. There are a good many prints still to be added to this section of the collection, but it already includes some of Vosterman’s clev work and some very representati mens from Bolswert’s hand engr: paintings by Rubens, othe Jakob Jordaens «ni bearing the signaum und Hendrick Snyers are ex- ed, and some notably good examples by Goltzius are also shown. * « * Prince Troubetzkoy closed his studio in the Corcoran building on the Ist, and left for his home at Castle Hill, Va. He ex- pects to be the rough the warm weather, and thou plans are a indefinite, he wil! pro! to W: ington in the autumn. The most ant work finished previous to his departure was a striking presenting, pieasing group arrangement, likenes the Misses Seckendorff. * * Mr. S. Jerome Uhl has moved his studio to the building on the northwest corner of Pennsylvania avenue and 17th street, and is now busy getting settled in his new quar- ters. He has in his studio the large por- trait of Hon. John Sherman which he painted for the State Department, which he compieted just be retary started on his trip to Alaska. Mr. Uhl hi ven to this portrait some of the best work in his power, and it ts full of character. He has represented Mr. Sher- man seated beside his desk, with his hands drooping idly over the ends of the arms of his chair. The attitude of the fig- ure fs rather expr e of physical feeble- hess, but the fac> is instinct with vitality, and is painted with a force that makes the portrait seem almost alive. Without los- ing the naturally pale complexion of h sitter, the artist has painted the head with a liberal use of color, and it is soundly drawn and well modeled. Mr. Uhl is now at work upon a head of Dr. Richardson, and when the first opportunity presents tt. self he will commence a portrait of Gen. Leenard H. Colby, who left the city for Chickamauga Park about a week ago. * = Medias Max Weyl is hoping to get out of the city some time next week to revisit the Warm Springs in Virginia, where he intends work nearly all summer. A charming even- ing subject which he has been engaged upon in his studio is painted from a study made in, that locality last year. It presents to view a stretch of rolling country divided into an irregular checkerwork of fields and dotted with white farm houses partly hid den among the litle clumps of trees whic! always surround these comfortable dwell- ings. The landscape is low-toned, but rich in color and seems wrapped in the stillness and peace of evening, with the pale lumin- ous sky overhead, in harmony with the quiet calm of this rustic scene. Another evening motive which Mr. Wey! has been painting revea’s the glowing tints which ar- more characteristic of his work than the subdued scheme of color in the first can- vas. The flaming yellow glow of sunset [s partly smothered by the loose gray cloud masses which lie along the western horizon, but breaks through -here and there, only to repeat its splendor on the placid surface of the water which lies in the middle dis- tance. * Mr. Ambrose Macnell, a Scottish artist of some reputc, has been in Wash- ington for some time and expects to locate here permanently. In his studio in the Normandie he is now busy marine view which he is painting for Gen, gressman Hopkins of Ilinois. * * * J The pcrtrait vf Miss Townsend which Miss Juliet Thompson finished a short time ago is ccnsidered one of the best things that have come from her hand, partly on account of the simplicity and freedom of the handling and partly on account of the admirable likeness which she obtained by a few telling strokes. But it is far from being the most carefully stud- led thing that she has done; in fact, its charm lies largely in the sketchy style in which it is exccuted. Miss Thompson's recently completed portrait of Mrs. Mc- Mcrtrie is handled in a more conventional way, but commends itself to the observer in a great many points. The flesh tints are true and life-like, and the face, which alive with expression, is excellently model- ed. The gown might have taken its proper subordinate place a little better if it had been treated with more simplicity, but in gereral the portrait produces a most sat- isfactory impression, , * .* A short time ago mention was made of the effort to form a ‘National Art Club, which should have its headquarters in New who bore the num- | York, but which should inciude in its mem- bership artists and art lovers from all parts of the country, and now word comes of the success of the project. The recent in- corporation of the organization under. che name of the Arts Club indicates that @ sufficient ‘number of favorable responses have been received to the circular of invi- tation sent out a month or so ago to jus- tity the formation of the club. It is reporte ed that two hundred names have alreadp been enrolled, and there is every reason to expect that the club will take a prominent position in the art life of the metropolis. The members expect to have a suitable wal- lery in their club house, in which to hold ibitions during the season, and the club” ll work for the advancement of all act in- terests. A good many of the prominent New York clubs a good deal of atten- tion to art, and there are a number which are entirely devoted to it, but this new or- gunization will nevertheless fill an import- ant sphere in that cit will serve also to unite artists and patrons from all parts of the land in one brotherhood. It ts thought that the club can fit up a suitable home during the summer and open its doors early in the autumn. * ~~ * e Mr. Keeling, the painter of ‘miniatures, left the city a week ago today to spend the summer at Newport and Bar Harbor where he has commissions to paint like- nesses of a number of well-known peopie. Mr. W. H. Chan has done a number of very clever things in a flat decorative i style, but he has tu his har to posters that his s Evening Star p so seldom ening his is ne er we ¥. This design, for use during the N A. con- vention, is executed gray paper in a simple, effective way. The fi fa girl clad all in white is aced against a back- ground of sunlit foliag treated in a dec- orative manner, d the design possesses an artistic harmony of ¢ r, and at th san Ume the strikin contrasts that are necessary to attract atte saakierpr cers The next meeting of the executive com- mittee of the Christian Endeavor Union will be held Monday evening, July 11, at 8 o'clock, in 2 vestry ft Church. The meeting will dev one, with prayer for the nation, its army and navy. Chapiain J. Wilson Brainard of the 3d New York Volunt acdress upon work in the army, s dvect the consecration serv nard is t Christian Endeavor Unioi x kx The selection of De place for the in deavor conven’ favor by Dist A large delegation will dout d from the District eee ee %e Pennsylvania, Conne tions now in attendance u; Uonai convention in sess Ville, plan to stop over in Washingt their return trip. They will be given 9 Shristian Ei wil ssisted in their sights a num- * * it as the m rnatio: C less a> and Maine tern er of the young peor ing s guides. The Pennsylvania p reach the city from Norfolk by boat urday | morning, July 16, and after spending the |day in sightsecing will leave the city in j time to arrive at rhiladelphia the n- ing. The Connecticut party arrive at the Baltimore and Ohio station about 1220 Satu-cay, the ith, and will r until Monday morning. Saturday afte will be devoted to sightseeing, and even- ing the party will take a trolley ride to Cabin John brid The Christian ing for a Na: will be held The Christi mont Ave! the foliowing menths: Presiden’ on is arrang- ting, which president, Asa W Miss Kisa J Mrs. RB. Miss Cora Ransdeli; chor Drown; pianist, Miss Vivia I jun superintendent, Miss Ella M xe x The Intermediate S of « | Endeavor of the same church has electe j the following offi | Parker; vice 3 cording secr pending si urer, Orvill Svsanne Moore. ke ke At the last business meeting of the First Bsptist Christian Endeavor Society the foliowing off ‘Ss were ted to serve for one year, beginning October 1, Itvs: Presi- { dent, Mr. KE. P. Dickinson; vice preside: | Miss M. E. C ; recording secretary, Mis Bessie Glass; corresponaing secretary, Miss vy M. Dickinson; treasurer, Miss Amelia Altemus; delegate, Mr. Wm. Hoge, jr. The | membership of this society now numbers 2s. ee Word comes of the organization of sev- eral deay Chri , vel A society has b | ed in « Kentucky regime | one in on chigan regim |number of others pave doubtiess been formed. _ UNFORTUNATE PASSENGERS. Endured by Travelers in. Discomforts on Railroads in § From the Kansas City World. There are in Spain 7,550 miles of railroad, less than one-third of the number in Great ance or Russia, of and less than the number in Italy. The ance of the Spanish rail- Britain, Fr one-fourth relative ins! road em” appears best in comparison with American railroads, a single line, the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy, having an aggregate mileage of 7,400, owned, operated or controlled, or nearly as much as all the railroads of Spain combined. Spanish rail- are proverbially slow, the rate of trains being about twenty-five miles, and of way passenger trains from twelve to fifteen. They seldom run on schedule time, and it Is the testimony of all travelers that they never make connections, The amount of baggage allowed each first- class passenger on a Spanish railroad is sixty-six pounds, but the railroads are not responsible for its identification. The charges on Spanish railroads are re- markably high, being at the rate of five cents a mile on first-class trains and three cents a mile on second-class trains, about double the American average. The difficulties of passenger traffic on Spenish railroads are enhanced in some particulars which are rather amusing than serious. Passengers are expected to arrive at the station at least half an hour before the train leaves, in order that sufficient allowance may be made for the dilatory proceedings of the railway officials. During part of the day (and in some cities the larger part of the day), the railway sta- tions are closed and the ticket offices do not open until an hour before the time scheduled for the departure of the train, gicsing @ quarter of an hour before it is jue. One peculiarity of railroad travel in Spain is to be found in the fact that em- ployes of the railroad company are entitied, as a matter of right, to the best seats, even regardless of the tickets sold passengers, ————_- Penalty of Greatness. From the Yonkers Statesmen. When a man becomes great his friends rememb2r many things about him that never happened. sien Tigi RS Tncle, what breed of chickens is the best?” “Well, sah, de white ones ts de easiest found, and de dahk ones is de easiest bid arter yo’ gets 'em.”—Indianapolis Journal, Before’and After Taking. (Copyright, 1898, Life Publishing Company.)