Evening Star Newspaper, August 27, 1898, Page 18

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, AUGUST 27, 1898-24 PAGES. LLL SAL LSA LSS ~ THE LOST PROVINCES, How Vansittart Came Back to France. seksekse) sek WOON CHAPTER X. Withelm’s Pigeons. ‘The two sisters, Agnes and Jeanne, we: more flurried about the love affair of little Marie than they would have been at the wreckage of all the nations of th? earth in mutual war. On the night of its discovery there was a long confabulation, wonderment, suggestion, till near morning. et invective, Here was an unexpected complication of th> marriage problem left them by their uncle. What if she, the petite, the despised, carried off the fortune without knowing it. And what could they do to avert the trag- They could beat her till she sickened; actually proposed it. They could in her room, and never let her out were settled. These were ticn. But that they would not do. bat the child + Agnes felt ed from her s. There re- ; to wacea her, w and in what nok th2 c! nigh of rom his brougham, the 2 Bw Chaum while Jeanne lurked ad. most immed at the first rhap- to question hin: about nad filled her ind all nad a p und faith in 1 pow What coud not > was the hero of the world, pagician. model,” she said. “Have you been seeing to it—and it is fin- ou yourself think it good? It will c you m “It will kill sc at one attempt How wonderful you ar a thousand And is it big, nough to nearly ll my room.” model! Don't think of that. It - , and be praciical him. do you know w ne King, oF to tell him—really.” you must write to some one, and ne invention. Promise me. jous anJ see to things. have fiftzen centimes to buy a Promis: was made. ou. mis: i so the p ab t the same time, Feliiet v ing a key in the door of Jeanr N ll rue N igalle. He had vening near t ing out of M nm, crouching b: then, half an hour after, Agnes. knew, was now empty of its ants, his opportunity was He entered the courtyard and the . He had sworn not to siezp until he ad in his hands the threads of the con- spiraey which menac2d the safety of the country. On the previous day he had taken careful Rote of the rather intricate way to Jeanne’s triangular room. He was able to reach it in the dark. In his pocket were a number of keys and implements. He entered the room, and listened. No sound, but the occasional scratching of a Pigeon against its cage in the next apart- ment. All was dark. Folliet turned the key in the lock which shut him from the pigeon room: he had provided himself with @ duplicate in case it should bs removed, but thi ly bed curtains, and stepped thr open door. H tory he room in which he found himseit was small. There, at the one window, was a his elbows leaning on the sound now would have original key was there. Then he ook off his shoes, laid them behind ugh the was in the enemy's terri- test st make it. No sooner had dim i nt figure than his hand. Then, with eyes that had faculty of see- ing in the dark, about the room. In a corner a f perfect blacknes: it was the cupbourd in fous day the two men e. But it was per- window and the mot! s, however, the only ap- vague, 7 shoot i e or four times rcv muttering a few udiblo wore 2 only could F had said: “dD Then he resume the dead si- ° an hour more, and footsteps were ne door. Then four men en- er, In one breath, th ! Is there any news” poke in German. Folliet held his noting every word with a straining The man at the window turned and erled out? word. Been looking out all the sure to come, I suppose.” Some one struck a light and lit a candle on_a table In one corner. For a time there was silence; the men, it was clear, had been walking much, er ing. They were tired. But Folliet said to him: “This is the height of luck. they will start to jabber.” t to wait very long. Ono said: my boy, so far everything has run 5 Gran want tc ty weil for us, I thir came the answer. “We didn’t kill the man, after all, but only to keep aim a prisoner in Paris for a day or two. i that's what we've done.” “But is that sure?” said the man at the windcw. “Sure cnough, Franz. His right arm is seated at the shoulder—or so every one - If he gets out of bed before ‘lays he'll have the will of a mule, But it isn’t likely that the doc- let him.” poor beggar mysel So do we all. Put what is one man where the interests uf so many are concerned? Hurrah for the father- Hurrah!" said ancther, ——— _—— enthusiasm. third, a big, red-bearded man, to hum: eee with Muttersprache, Muterlant, Wie so wonnesam, so traut! Sd old Bach , “wid the man at the window; “you mind how vay Rumming the old tune? °°, W8* Siways “Yes, poor oid Bach! Pity he was such & fool. “Wonderful little fuss the Paris have made over his death, Govt sen think?” “Good reason why, my boy. They are So utterly at sea. They are trying to cloak over their own incapacity. Here is a man who, though found in the river, doesn’t look as if he was drowned; and he wasn't poisoned; and he wasn’t struck, or stabbed. what can the poor police think? They sim- ply stare, and rub their innocent eyes, and Say as liftle of the matter as possible.” “Still they got pretty near the scent when they came to questicn this girl Agnes, and Jeanne got hold of the detective. As sure as I am a tiving man that girl would have biabbed if we hadn't stopped her.” “Oh, right enough, she would have blabbed. But she conid not have. enlight- ened the dull brains of monsteur le polis- son very much about Bach, all the same. Why, she does not even suspect that he is WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY LOUIS TRACY. (Copyright, 1808, by Louis Tracy.) ONES NEMO | folk. CIWOWE CSOVETOS USETON EVES dead, much less the means by which he died, or our motives for killing him.” “Bach had no enemies, you know. He as a quiet, easy-going kind of body.” He had strong motives for living. He was about to marry this girl Agnes, with her dowry.” “What the deuce can they think of the matter? Lord! they must be puzzled.” “But you know, mates, when one comes to think of it, Bach was an honest man. He was a fool, of course. But I say he was an honest man.” “Bah; so is a tree honest, or a sheep. Every fool is honest enough.”” yh, yes—we know all that. But just consider; he had always been a struggling man, had Bach, and suddenly this girl with the money takes him up. It was a° great thing for him, of course. Just then he comes into cortact with the society; he Joins; he is enthusiastic in the cause of ‘any; but when he hears that it is nec- essary for us to lay hands on Vansittart, he draws back; says he is not prepared, as a citizen of France, to go so far; and, mind you, he was warned—he was warned that death was the peralty which he incurred by drawing suspicion upon himself. But he persisted; he had everything to lose, and he persisted. “Who was it suggested chloroform as the ns of putting him to sleey—the presi- wasn't it?" it was old Dr. Caspar. And then vice chairman of commitiees said he must go into the river to wash the stuff out. It was neatly done, too.” pg giulle! Good! here she comes. by! This from the man at the window, in a regular shout of gratification, and immedi- ately a sound of win, s heard, and there, through the window, with angelic haste from afar, came alighting a white- plumed bearer of tidings, her long embassy accomplished. She sailed to rest on a cage, her own; and at once was fiuttering in the bosom of one of the Germans. the Stand “It's Beatrix!” he cri “She comes from Lorraine—from Schwartz.” “The very thing we want!” They crowded around. The disengaging of the narrow bandage of paper from the little messenger’s leg was the work of a minute. The man who had sat at the win- dow held the ribbon stretched between his fi ‘s. There was a moment's breathle silence. Folliet, in his eagerness to hear, had almost stretched his head outside the cupboard door. Some one read aloud the words: “Attack on our side put off for a week from now. Meanwhile nothing likely to happen. Till then Vansittart to be kept in Paris at all costs.” “A week!” exclaimed one. Within half an hour No. 11 Rue Pigalle in the hands of the police, with all its winged inhabitants. But every one of the human birds had flown. CHAPTER XI. Marie. Marie was a sweet child. She had the face of a Madonna, a face pure oval, and stained with the pink of dry roses. But in spite of her pretty face, it was no easy matter for her to see Mr. Vansittart. When she went to the palace, and said: “{ wish to see Mr. Vansittart,” the usher looked at her and smiled. Then he coun- seled her to go home and be good. “Be virtuous and good,” he said, you will be happy.” But Marie was virtuous and good, and yet she was not quite happy. She said: “May I see the king?” The usher said no, but that good children when they died would stand with a crown upon their forehead, and a harp within their hands. He was an edifying person, but Marie went away discontented. She returned the next day. Armand had written to “the proper person” about his invention, but had received no reply by re- turn post. “The proper person’ got a score of such letters every day, and never took any notice of them. But Marie dreaded that Vansittart should go away before learning the vast powers of her magician. So, trembling in every limb, she returned the next day and said “May I see the queen?” It ss a different usher whom she saw this time; but he, too, seeing her wan, love- ly face, smiled, and counseled her about her morals. The queen, also, it was clear, was far too high up to be “seen” by Marie. Yet, this time, she would not go away. she got timidly out of sight of the and dawdled about higher up the This part of the palace was mi-public; there were now a good many ople hurrying to and fro upon it. Marie elt comforted, being lost among the grand Sne stood gazing at one of the bat- tles with uplifted eyes, and in this attitude made such a picture that a gorgeously- dressed lady, hurrying past, stopped and looked at her. The general public, except those who had business, never intruded so f. the vestibule or gallery, and what jarie’s business could be the lady was at a loss to guess. Partly from curiosity, and partly from interest in the upturned face with its air of pretty innocence, she stop- ped. Then after a moment's hesitation she said in a low voice: “Do you want anything?” Marie blushed crimson. “and Her eyes drop- “I want to see Mr. Vansittart.” The lady, as the usher had done, smiled. “Mr. Vansittart! But——” e stopped. The proposal was so pre- posterous that there was nothing to be said. Words were quite inadequate, f not Mr. Vansittart,” hazarded Marte, with a still deeper depth of crimson, “then the king.” “The king!” “If not the King, then the queen.” “The queen!” The lady was drowned and lost in notes of exclamation. She was a maid-in-wait- ing, a person starched in etiquette, the prisoner of ceremonial. But when her Stays were off her breast was soft enough. She said, quite kindly: “You cannot see Mr. Vansittart, for he is not here. You cannot see the king, for he is overwhelmed with business. You cannot see the queen, for the hour of her levee is long past. Will you tell me what you wanted to see them about “It was about an invention,” she an- swered across the lump in her throat. “An invention to do what?” “To kill people.” “Oh, not invented by yourself?” “Oh, no; by some one else.” “By some one—a great man,” Her head lifted with pride. “Well, and what do you wish to see them for in regard to this invention?” “I wish to tell them about {t and get some one to go and see the model.” “Well, your scheme is rather wild, you know. But stay—perhaps—it is possible—I may do something for you." Hope ler ped in Marie. ‘Oh, ‘iank you, mademoiselle! shall I sec them—really?”’ “Not those you wished to see; but some one—perheps—whom it will be much bet- ter for you to see. Follow me this way.” cae, — i, into the interior of e. en in an oval was bidden to wait. . ee She waited half an hour. ‘Then a tall lackey, all lace and gold, was bowing be- fore her, and in another moment she was following behind him through more corri- ders and complexities. At last she was ushered inte a room and the door closed behind her. It was a smail room, full of a pecullat atmosphere of home, strange to a French mind. It seemed the sanctuary of a sanc- tuary. The lace curtains were cheap, and tied with cheap blue ribbon, but more care and taste had been in the tying of those knots than in the of one of the great salons of Versailles. There was a faint odor of cigar smoke about— of cigars smoked in this little den by Van- sittart himself. Opposite her, sitting in an arm chair, Marie saw a lady, whose eyes And were rather red, as if with weeping. It was Evelyn. As soon as she saw the child she loved her, as soon as the child saw her she trusted her. Their hands and eyes met. “Sit here—near to me, will you—and tell me all you have to say. A lady has been telling me about you, and I am glad that you have been enabled to see me, and I am gi to see you, too. First, will you teH me what I am to call you?” “Marie. “Very well, Marie. I am Mrs. Vansittart, as I see you guess, and those who like me call me Evelyn. Is it true that you wanted to see my husband?” Wolk madame.” “Well, but that is impossibl. ou know. He left the Tuileries an eric tal for the Gare de Lyon, and by this time is, I sup- pose, steaming rapidly southward.” ‘I did not know that,” said Marie. ‘They told me his arm was sprained, and that he Pee not go out.” “Ah, Marie!” answered Evelyn, her whole full bosom heaving in a sigh; ‘sprained it is beyond all doubt, but had it been many times broken, he would still have gone. Nothing could keep him back. The doctors threatened and commanded, and I, Marie, tried what many, many, many tears and prayers would do, but gone, you see, he is!” “tam sorry for—for— » Marie. ¥ you, madame,” said Evelyn’s hand fell upon hers. “Thank you, Marie. You are very good.” You would, perhaps, prefer to be alone—* Whose is the invention— “No—tell_ me. your father's “No, madame.” “A friend's?” Marte crimsoned. “Ah, L see, Marie—I see ‘He is very, oh, so very, clever and great,” whispered Marie in a kind of confi- dential entre nous. Evelyn bridied and laughed. “We all think that of the one, you know, don't we?” “But he is, dream—’ “He {s at least very lucky, Marie. A madonna fs his devotee. “I should like him to know you. would love you, too.” “There, we shall see. But the invention— are you sure—” “Oh, yes—quite!” “What Is he?” “An artista musician.” “Really? And how comes it, then—* “He is so clever! He can do anything. He just dreams of doing a thing, and he really. Oh, one could not He the compartment in Which was Vansittart toppled on its side stopped he pitched forward, bruising ‘his"head. Besides there were a few injurfés among the others. It was found that @ vast section of the embankment had beest-blown up. It was impossible % proceed. On the further side of the disaster there was no train. Two days, Vansittart was told, would be required for the biggest army of workmen he could gattier to repair the dam- age. He returned toParis in a carriage hired in one of the villages. Within four days, according to the pigeon message which Folliet had heard, Wilhelm meditated a great attack. And Vaensittart could not leave Paris! He uttered not & word till he reached the palace. Rage and fury were boiling in his brain and bosom. His enemies had tri- umphed over him, and he must sit still and wait, like an imbecile child. But there was still a hope, a chance. Why, he could ride, on horseback, to the seat of war within four days. He decided, however, that to wait for the repairing of the chemin de fer would be the suickest way. The same night a large proportion of the population of Paris—artisans, mer- chants, priests, confectioners—were tolling far from their beds at the remaking of the shattered Ene, All day long arrests of people bearing so much as a German name went on in Paris. Detachments of soldiery from every town on the route of the line were ordered by telegraph to be told off to guard it. In Paris the station became a garrison. About 10 the same night, in spite of all the vigilance of the police, there was a large meeting of men who wore peaked caps, with a pigeon's feather for badge. It was a quiet, yet excited assembly; it was held in the cellar of a large and lonely house, in the seclusion of suburban Passy. Marie, at the very time of this meeting, was with her lover, at the Buttes-Chau- mant, telling him all about her interview with Evelyn that day. And lurking behind her, listening, was Jeanne. CHAPTER XII. The Chain of Events. That night, Armand, at Marie's imperious command, had written an account of his invention, and sent it by post to Evelyn. Evelyn received it in the morning, and read it. The description of the contrivance did not convey much meaning to her mind; it might be of ‘importance, it might not. She hesitated as to whether she should i THE FAINTEST SOUND NOW WOULD HAVE BETRAYED FOLLIET. goes and does it. A great genius can do what he wills. I wanted Mr. Vansittart to see him! I only wish he had.” Faith begets faith, and is as leven. Evelyn was interested, and Marie, had she known it, had already won her victory. “But why,” said Evelyn, “did he let you come—did he not come himself?” “He is strange, you see,” the girl an- swered. He does not care about things— only about love and ideas and melodies and all high things. He is like a bird or an angel—I cannot describe him.” Evelyn laughed. A musician who in- vented destructive engines of war, and was like a bird or an angel, was certainly not a commonplace person, and could only come from the Latin quarter. She said: “And did he take the trouble to make a model of his invention?” “Yes—he did. I made him promise to do it, and he did. It is at his rooms.” ‘And can he bring it here?” “Not in his hands. It 1s too big.” “Js it dangerous? Does it go off?” “IT hope not. I don’t think so. Oh, sup- pose it were to go off and blow him up!” Evelyn smiled. This, certainly, seemed one of the possibilities of the case. But she said: “Oh, there is no fear of that. I will tell you now what you must do. him and tell him to put down in writing an exact description of his model, and send it to me, personally, and then you may de- pend upon me, Marie, to see that it shall come under the eyes of the king himself, since Mr. Vansittart is away.” Marie, lost in gratitude, turned away her head and let fall a heavy tear. . “And meantime,” went on Evelyn, “just write down in this little book your name and address, and in a few days I shall send you a letter, telling you how the affair is progressing. Write down also in it the address of your friend, in case we want him urgently.” Marle took the pocket book and wrote in pencil her own address and Armand’s. Then she handed it to Evelyn, who looked at the scribbled words. Even as she looked she stari She saw, “No. 11 Rue Pigalle.” This house, three nights before, had, she knew, been séized by the police at the bid- ding of Folliet. The next day Folliet had had a long conference with “Vansittart. Evelyn, therefore, now knew of the great German organization whose present aim was to keep Vansittart in Paris for at least aweek. As she saw this address before her a dark and sin ster suspicion shot like light- ning through her mind. But one glance at the meek, unconscious child-face restored her to calm. For a minute Evelyn ponder- ed in silence. Then she sald: “Well, Marie, be of good hope. Good- bye. Will you’ come and see me again? Can you spare the time from—him?” “To see you, yes,” said Marie. “I should love to be always near you.” “Ah, Marie, you are happy; you have him always, but I! You must come, will you, and comfort me with the story of your happiness.” “I know—I know all that you feel,” said Marie,” an@ 1 pity you from my heart. If he went away [ shouid die, I know. But, perhaps, he will be back sooner than you think. God is kind to—" ‘Those words of Marie's, ‘perhaps he will be back sooner than you think,” were un- fortunate. Evelyn remembered them after- ward, and they troubled her. They had hardly been uttered when the door was flung hurriedly open and a man stood there in the opening. “Darling!” Evelyn's cry rang through the palace wing. She flew to his bosom. it was Vansittart. A handkerchief band- aged his forehead, where there was a big- gish wound. He only said: “Well, you see, they won't let me go.” His right arm was tightly bound and his left hand fell in desperate languor to his side. Evelyn was sobbing, sobbing on his shoulder. As for Marie, she, with wide eyes, slipped away unseen. Outside she met some one who conducted her to an exit from the pal- nce. What had happ‘ned to Vansittart was this: Attended by a goodly guard, who had been warned that there was danger, he reached the station in safety, entered the special train with his retinue and Arizona Jim and started. Once clear of Paris, the circuit to reach the eastern line commenced. Whilst wait- ing momentarily at a junction the occu- pants of the train were startled by a vague bang, a sullen ‘roar, like distamt thunder. ‘What it was no one could guess. It came muffled, from afar, yet huge. Had the Eif- fel tower or the Louvre or Notre Dame been blown to fragments? All was wonder- ment, vague surmise. The train proceeded at its former pace. Two miles beyond Clarenton, sweeping round a curve, they came upon a sfgnal of danger—a signal to stop. There ahead be- the rails was a man shouting and | yy rey bidding them come no farther. driver at once put on his brake and cut off steam, but in another quarter of a You must see j show it to Vansittart; She had promised something to the child—but not that. She felt nervous about ite and wondered why. The sweet face of Marie rose before her. Then she thought-ef the strangeness that the child should live at No. 11 Rue Pigalle; then of the strangeness of the fact that at the moment. when Vansittart had appeared ‘at the door the girl should have said: “He may return sooner than you expect.” Of course, she argued, it must have been a mere chance. The gentle girl, thougn she lived in that house, could have had no fore- knowledge of the blowing up of the rail- way. Yet, if the expression was a mere chance, a coincidence, it was a singular one; so singular that it seemed to her like an omen, a warning. She hesitated. At 10 she decided that she would not show it to him that day. She would wait and think—tomorrow would do. About 11 she heard that all Paris had turned out to mend the rails, that they would soon be finished, that Vansittart would be able to set out in the afternoon. This increased her sense of responsibility; she must show him now, if at all. What did she know? the thing might, in reality, be of the great- est importance to the issues of the war. How she would regret it if, afterward, it was proved thac her hesitancy had cost to France a single life! At 12 she showed the letter to Vansittart. They were sitting together in their little sanctum where Marie had, the day before, been received by Evelyn. As soon as Van- sittart began to run his éye over the serib- bled leaf, his brows knit. He read it through; bent closer over it, read it again. Then he threw his head backwards, and cried aloud: Good heavens, what a brilliant idea!” is it—is it?” panted Evelyn. “The man who wrote thi: very great genius, that’s al confidently. “And you will see him? You will see the model?” “Oh, rather!" “When, today?” “This is the only day I’ve got. “Jerome—dear—I have certain fears, half- suspicions—I don’t know how to tell you—” “Come, sit here—no, the other knee is the whole one—now, out with it.” Then Evelyn told him about Marie and her Madonna face, and how she lived at the wrong house, and how to the minute she had prophesied his return. “But you liked her?” he said, “you Mked her face?” “Yes” “You trusted her?” “Yes, wholly.” “Then that is enough. You never yet trusted anything that was base, Evelyn. letter is a he answered Sobbing on His Shoalder. I can’t help thinking that of all the women im the world my darling is the most sensi- tive and instinctive to the approach of the evil-doer. Oh, I have noticed, you know. That is so. If you like her, Marie is true “stn Evelyn restless and forebod velyn was. ess for {Yes 1 do rot doubt it,” she ane “Bute” 2 “But what?” x “She may be the dupe of others.” “She may.” “And this plot. to keep you in Paris—* “Ido not forget it.” 2 Mai jee cas be a ramification, a thread of ee cepacia a , came his he blowing it away from her face. = “Then you wiil not go?” “Yes.. I. will.” - “Ah, obstinate!” “No; net that, I reason tM this way, Marie is true to the core, for you trusted her, till chance circumstance turned you against her. And, let me add, Armand is true to the core, for no man would reveal to me an idea like this—it is one of the grand inventions of time, I tell you—if he were at all hostile to me and France. Very well, then, Armand and Marie are true; that's settled. Now, suppose 1 go and visit Armand without any human being but you, and them two, knowing of it; then I think I shall be in a position to defy your piot. Eh? What do you say, now?’ She had nothing to gay. She buried her head-on his shoulder, murmuring, “God preserve my dea Vansittart’s reascning about Marie and Armand was good, and, indeed, infallible. He was not aware, however, of the strange will of M. Carhaix, and the legacy of strife and bitterness which this gentleman had left to his nieces. By 1 o'clock Evelyn had written to Marie. ‘The more direct way would have been to write to Armand, but time pressed, and there was the probability that Armand, a man and a bachelor, would be away from home, without having left behind any indi- cations of his whereabouts. She chose her messenger with great care, a man of pru- dence, whom she knew and trusted. She described Marie minutely to him, and told him on no account to deliver the letter into any hands but her own. At that time Vansittart did not imagine that the enthusiasm of the Parisians would finish the work on the railway so early as 3; he thought, however, that late at night it wouid be done. At about 10 he might set cut for the station with all secrecy, for he had no intention, if he could help it, of be- ing assassinated on the way. Armand’s lodging lay in an obscure street not far from his route. So he told Evelyn to make the appoinfment for 10:30. This, then, wrote Evelyn. Marie, on the receipt of the letter, was at once to run and find her lover, tell him and bind him to ab- solute secrecy. She, Marie, as soon as she had read the letter, was to tear ft up and scatter the pieces. She was warned that if she mentioned the .matter even to her closest relations she might do infinite harm to her friends. The messenger had a hint .o await and sce that the letter was de- stroyed before his eyes. A little after 1 he reached No 11 Rue Pigalle. He rang the bell and the wicket was opened by Jeanne. Evelyn did not know, had not suspected, that Marie went out to any business. “I want to see Mile. Marie Carhaix,” said the footman. He had on no livery, he was in plain clothes. Some one wishing to see Marie was a rarity. Jeanne was infinitely surprised at once, spurred to the very acme of curiosity. But she did not show it. She only said: “She is not at home, monsieur. “Can you tell me where she is. “But, yes, monsieur. She is at her work. i am her sister; if the matter is not a pri- vate one, you may tell me what it is, and I will tell her when she returns.”” “Perhaps it might be better if I saw her herself,” the man said. “Can you tell me where one may find her?’ “But, yes, monsieur. It is in the Rue de Bac, betweeen the Quay d'Orsay and the Boulevard St. Germain, at No. 26—a vacherie. “Thanks, ma’m'selle.”” No more—the man turned away. Jeanne looked through the wicket and saw him step into a fiacre. Then, she, too, stepped out, got into another fiacre, and gave the driver the same address. At the entrance of the Rue du Bac she alighted. The foot- man by that time had entered the vacherie and asked for Marie. Marie was not there. Madame, the proprietress, told him that Marie had asked leave to be out for an hour that day. She might, however, be ex- pected back within five or ten minutes, if he would wait. Jeanne, hanging behind the large column of a house frontage, saw the n come out of the shop and stand wait- ing at the door. Marie away from work in the middie of the day? What, in heaven's name, could it all mean? The light of a tiger cat’s eyes gleamed greenish in the woman's intens glances. Her heart beat high with excite- ment. In five or six minutes Marie came run- ning with hot face toward the door of the vacherie. The messenger knew her at once. He stepped toward her. “Are you Mane Carhaix?”” She started. “Yes, sir.” He took the letter from his breast pocket and handed it to her. A blush of vivid crimson deepened in her flushed face as she ran her eyes over the letter. Here was joy beyond dreams, and communion with the great ones of the earth! Twice, in a tremor of happiness she read it. Then Jeanne saw her deliberately take the sheet and tear it into the minutest bits, some of which she cast into a passing hay cart, and some on the breeze and some down a grating in the street nearby. The man smiled, and bowed, and turned away. She called after him: “Say it will be well—and a thousand, thousand thanks from the grateful heart of Marie.” He bowed again, and walked off. Marie was duo in her shop, but the shop tcday was out of the qiestion. Instead of entering it, she got into a cab. She had just left Armand. She knew where to find him. In another cab Jeaane followed her. This, for some reason or other, was a day of festival and large-hearted liberality with Armand. Yonder at the restaurant au Ri gent, in the Rue Gironfict, red that day flowed the wine. At the back of the house there was a large open yard; at the back oi the yard an arbor. Today it was the very home of riot. As Marie sped down the little Jane that led from the wicket beside the restauran: proper, burs: upen burst of merriment from within this temple of pleasure greeted her. That morning Armand had scribbled down the score of a song, which was afterward to be famous all over France, and he had ™Tmanaged to dispose of it to a music dealer on the quai St. Michel for 4 napoleons. Never millionaire rolled and luxuriated in the consciousness of inexhaustible opu- lence as Arnand with 4 napoleons in h pocket. How to dispose of ali this exc and superfluity of wealth? With one-hait of it he bought a cheap wedding ring. Then he sat dowa and commenced writing out ntastic invitations. What was the cause of the fete? Per- haps only one of the wild whims of the in- calculable Armand. No one knew. Armand guarded it In his bosom, a sacred secret. Sober-minded Marie had insisted upon re- turning te her work. When, after so short an interval, she put her head inside the little gothic door, there was a shout, and unquenchable laughter—that kind of laugh- ter which fas in it the gurgle and eciat of bright wines. Every one now was fuddled, and the girls had begun io lean their heads or their neighbors’ shoulders. Marie en- tered with a smile of comprehension and indulgence all round, and a bow and a look of love at Armand. He leaped toward her, with flushed face. One of the girls had picked two or three tendrils from the creepers, and crowned his head. She led nim at once by the sleeve down to the back of the arbor, where there were no tables. The roise and the laughter of the others went on meanwhile. She was bursting with the news. Joy darced in her eyes. “Mr. Vansittart is coming!” ‘Where to?” “To your rooms.” “when?” “Tonight.” “Now, that is cursed luck, Marte! He can’t, that’s all.” It did not occur to the young man that it was a compliment for the virtual ruler of France to visit bis squalid apartments. Ar- mand habitually thought himself—and, no doubt, was—the greatest man in the world. Marie's eyes opened wide in surprise. “But—you are drole!” she cried. “is it not, then, a great thing for us?” “It is absurd! I cannot listen to it. To- night of all nights. It is bete!” They spoke in a somewhat high voice. The noise of the merriment made this nec- essary. Just near them, outside, hidden by the leafage of the arbor, crouched Jeanne, hearing every word. “No,” said Marie, “you must listen to one, and be practical. Why, he will not stay long!" she cast her lashes down, with a deep flush. ‘Will we not have the time after he is gone, whole hours?” ‘ “Sweet: “Darling!” “But it is a bore.” “No—you will be good.” “When is he coming?” “at half-past 10.” “It is a bore, 2 wretched bore. But he ts a decent person, Vansittart. Let him come.” ? utes to see the thing. That will make it 10:40. You will be with me not later than 10:40, mind.” “Do I look as if I would be later?” she said, with e sly under glance. “But I must go back now—or it will be suspicious. Re- member, you are not to say anything to any one. At this point Jeanne, understanding that they were about to part, began to move rapidly, yet cautiously. When she got be- yond the arbor she started on a run, and was clear of the gate before Marie was out of the arbor door. Jeanne’s mind was all in a whirl of con- fusion. She wanted quiet. In the first room at No. 13 into which she stepped she met Agnes, whom she supposed to be out. Jeanne dropped wearily into a chair and blurted out: “Tell me where to find Reutlingen and the rest?” “In the Rue des Abbesses, in hiding from the police.” Jeanne rose, and as she passed through the door, Agnes muttered: “Go. Well—it is for me that you go.” It was nearly 2:30. (To Be Continued.) IN THE CHURCHES ‘While in Cincinnati, Ohlo, recently, a Star reporter had an interview with Mr. G. Whiting Swayne of New York, who not long since had the honor of an audience with the pope. Asked to give his impres- sions on the event, Mr. Swayne said: “I have traveled over Europe and I have had the honcr of an audience with Pope Leo XIIL There can be no mistaking the remarkable vitality, the spirituality and the vastness cf learning and ‘grasp of detail of that most remarkable man. It so hap- péned that I bad been especially honored by him in the receipt of a cablegram of congratulation from him to me on the oc- casion of my marriage. The message was handed me immediately after the wedding. On cur wedding tour my wife and I visited the Reme, where we kad the audience witi pepe. I cannot describe the impre: made on me by the holy father as he en- tered the audience chamber. And that feel- ing of reverence, of respect, of a some- thing indescribably affecting. is not con- fi.ed to Catholics, who have had the honor of an audience with him. He is gentleness itself; his appearance is etherial, his feat- ures ‘most benignant in expression. His mouth Genotes firmness, mingle: char- ity and kindness, and’ his eyes are most luminous “He has the happy faculty of. saying something pleasant to every one admitted to audience with him. He puts every one at ease at once. The most embarrassed immediately forgets his or her timidity, in the pleasant questions he puts in his quiet and musical voice. And with it all, this old man, burdened with the Innumerable cares of the government of the largest body of Christians in the world, finds time to write poetry, of which Horace, in his pure moments and when his genius was brightest, might heve emulated, but could not surpass. “But it is at the termination of the audience and when the holy father gives his blessing to the assemblod visitors that the feeling of reverence is most impressive. He seems to stand transfigured in his dig- y aud in his reverential fzeling for the solemnity of the act. Protestants kneel with Catholics, and, with the Catholics, go from his presence feeling they have been with one whos; life is one of sanct whose greatness is most eminent and whose purity of life would extort tribute even from an enemy. “Yes, he is feeble in app2arance, so far as the body is concerned. But 4 take no stcck im the stories sent out from Rome periodically about his failing hea!th. His age must admonish all that the end ot bs far off; but it is not unlikely tae pontificate of Pope Leo will number the years of Peter, as did that of his predeces- Sor, Pius IX. He is feeble, but he is not {ll in the sense ths reports would indicate. He has made his mafk in the history of his time, and the historian of the future will assign to him the highest rank among the greatest men of this and of all ages.” Mr. Swayne is the agent of ths New York Foundlings and Orphans’ Home, and con- cerning this he said: “The home is con- ducted by the sisters of charity in the arch- diocese of New York, and was founded by the venerated Sister Trene thirty years ago. There are now in the institution 2,156 boys and girls, neither nationality nor color im terfering with the tender care of the sis- ters. he object of the home js not to teach the little ones trades nor to educate them. That would be impossible, for there are very few, if any, in the institution over six years of age. “Our object is to procure them homes at a tender age, so that they may the more quickly become attached to th> persons to whose care they are confided. Since the beginning of the work homes have been found for 28,000 of the unfortunate and abandoned little ones left at the gate of the institution or directly given in charge of the sisters. There are many of the 25,000 now happily married and with homes of their own. The greatest care is exercis>d in the selection of the homes, and the num- ber of disappointments is remarkably small; in fact, so few as to be almost un- nouceabl> in point of numbers. The home is not endowed in any way, but depends solely on the charitable people of New York. Rev. Dr. T. C. Warner, for some time past pastor of the M. E. Church at Ken- sington, has resigned on account of failing health. Dr. Warner went to Bethany Church, Baltimore, from Knoxville, Tenn. About one year ago his health became so impaired that he resigned his charge at Bethany and returned to Knoxville. His condition improved 80 much while at his old home that Dr. Warner came north again in the spring to attend the annual meeting of the Baltimore conference held in Wash- ington. Just before the announcement of the ap- pointments at the close of the conference by Bishop Merrill, Dr. Warner caused quite a dramatic scene by stating that he did not feel that he could accept appointment. Had Dr. Warner's announcement been carried out it would have caused a considerable change in the plan of appointments, and Bishop Merrill did not feel disposed to go over the list again. After a consulta- tion with some friends, Rev. Dr. Wilson, presiding elder of the Washington district, announced that Dr. Warner had reconsider- ed his determination. Dr. Warner and his family will probably return to Knoxville, Tenn. Appearances indicate that many persons will go from Washington to attend the third convention of the Luther League of Ameri- ca, which is to be held in New York city, Cctober 18, 19 and 20, 1888. It is expected that every organization of the society in Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massa- chusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland and the District of Columbia will send delegates, and that every state south of the District, as weil as Ohio and others west of it, will not be found wanting. Any society, of whatever name, connected with a Lutheran congregation or Lutheran In- stitution of learning is entitled to one dele- gate, each district association to three del- gates, and each state or territorial ongani- zation to ten delegates. One of the interesting features of the pro- gram for the rally meeting of the national convention of delegates at Carnegie Hall, October 20, 1808, will be the music. This has been left to the Luther League Choral Union of New York city. It is their inten- tion to have a mixed chorus of about 250 selected voices, in which all who are capa- ble are invited to take part. Several choirs outside of New York city have already volunteered their services. ‘The business sessions of the convention will be held in Holy Trinity Church, Rev. Cc. Armaid Miller, pastor, In West 23d street between 5th and 6th avenues, where Rev. W. H. Chapman and Mr. W. E. An- drews of this city have accepted an invita- tion to particilpat: in the exercises in con- nection with the observance, September 11 |. Evangelistic services at night will cor will be held at the old church. Fev. W. S. Edwards, presiding 2ider, will side. The principal address of the m will be by W. E. Andrews of Nebvaska, a former member of Congress and now ‘an auditor of the Treasury Department, this city, whose subject will be “The Church and the Nation.” The afternoon am will include services under the au t the Epworth Leagus, and a song conducted by Rey. J. W. R, Sumwait will also be a symposium on “M Church History. Grace W. § will submit a paper on “The Impo' the Study of Methodist Church Rev. F. G. Porter one on “Asbury as # dent and His Interest in the Young. Miss Mary Koontz one on “The Per of the Christmas Conference of 17s4." the program. The annual retreat of the secular clergy of the archdiocese of Raltimore will begin at St. Mary’s Seminary, Baltimore, Mon- day rext, and will continve until the fol- lowing Saturdey, as determined by Car nal Gibbons. Attending will be 160 clergy of Baltimore and Washington, and with these from Wilmington the number will exceed 200, All are required to participate except those excused in writing by the cardinal or chancellor, usually one clergyman for each parish. The services of the retreat w conducted by Rev. Father ey, Among prominent participants Cardinal Gibbons, Bishop Monohan of W mington, Bishop Curtis, vicar general « the archdiocese of Baltimore, and probably Bishop Foley of Detroit. Rev. W. J. Wright of this ¢ evangel- ist of the Disciples for the District of Co- > lumbia, has return where he went to a of a church at Joppa, from Maryland, t in the decication Harford county. The first Christian church in Harford county, called Jerusalem, was built in 1847, near the mountain. It is now a] “Mountain Christian Churc Another was erected at Avondale about 1868. In 195 a number from the Mountain Church withdrew and erected b iful church building near Fork, Baltimore coun: The church now being erected at pa is the third one to be added to the list in the county. The corner sto is of white marble: twelve by twenty-two inches, and has the following insc on on it: “Jor Christian Church, 1598." The services were attended by a large concourse of cit- ii from al! paris of the county, inelud- ing several fraternity orders. Rev. Petar Ainslie of Baltimore and Rev. W. J. Wright of Washington, the evange he Dis- st of trict, made addresses. large c was received. A on eS CUBAN LAND CRABS AS FOOD. Disgusting * They Look, Soldiers Miss it if They Reject Them. From the New York Journal. “Loathsome, leprous and horrible”—so the correspondents have described the ! crabs geen by the American troops ir This makes West Indians probably the solciers are now laughi the fear these monsters at first inspire If any jand crab escapes the pot it w so much epicurean enjoyment our sol have missed. The land crab of the Antilles ytelde smil half a pound of dainty meat. If one - likes the appearance of the animal, i! is well to bear in mind that the sea cral a the lobster are mere | ot lows—salt ter crab, however, is fattened zz The the native avengers. la by a diet of grass, cane-tops and al, mixed with molasses. Kept ap- tivity for a week, he is plump, lively and ready for the cook. The land crab is hunted at nig Night of torches. It is then that + 8- laceans come from their holes to graze on the young cane to; for they are vegetable feeders of the rrost cleanty sort claw hole In the seen to thrust iti then invisible. s perfec still until he can pin the crab’s four hi jegs to the ground with a short stick. T he seiz the crab by the bod: ehind runners, where the strong claws cannot reach to bite. The next operation is to tie the claws with a strip of fiber torn from the nearest banana bush. Sometimes a crab, too lightly held, escapes to his hole. The hunter carries @ calabash, and pours water into the hole, The crab hates water, and will run out, apparently strangling, and is an easy cap- ture in his confusion. Every plantation in the West Indies— every hut, for that mstter—has a pen to torch’s gleara a white elf warily from is keep the captured crabs in. This ts @ rather deep well, lined h mortar, to keep the crabs from burrowing out. In okra soup, called “gumbo” by the na- tives, the land crab is particularly delicate and appetizing. First, tanya leaves are chopped fine and boiled until tender. Thon the okra is added in thin slices, with onion, tometo and a bit of salt pork. Then the crabs ere added—one for each person is not too much, From an Exchange. A gentleman who was travell near Chester, Pa., came across a farmet whom he took to be a Quaker, and deier- mined to please him by talking to him in the Quaker dialect. he told the story afterward, this is how he succeeded: “ ‘How do thee do, sir? Is—that is—are thee meditating? If he was delighted he Z recently controlied his emotion admirably. All he did was to gape and inquire: ‘Hey? “The fields, the birds, the flowers,’ 1 pleasantiy pursued, “are enough to bring thou dreams—I mean dreams to thou.’ “He was looking at me now, cally. I felt that my syntax idiotic instead of idiomatic; so, wip sWeat from my brow and hat, I eyed calmly and observe hose cows, are they thy’s—or thee’s—that is, thou’s—durn it, I mean thine’s?’ “It was unfortunate. He crawled down from the fence, nibbled at a plug of to- bacco, and as he ambled away muttered indignantly: ‘Go to Bedlam! i'm a farmer, atic.” but, thank heaven, I'm not a loc ——___+ 22 —____ Despe From the New York Journal, “I want a horse and buggy for a funeral, Can you let me have them?” inquired the young man in the loud check suit of the cautious liveryman, whose stock occupies the same place In his affections that a wife and family should. “Well, I guess so, if you're careful,” re- plied the cautious Mveryman, slowly. The rig was at last ready, and while the young man in the loud check suit was arranging himself in his seat the liveryman patted the horse, an especial favorite, tried the buckles of the ‘harness, shook the shafts and performed all the usual cere- monies due upon such an occasion. Then, as he handed up the reins he said, absent- mindediy: “He's very willing and speedy. Be careful not to drive too fast.” The young man regarded him in surprise for a moment, and then asseverated: “Well, by thunder, I'm going to keep up with the funeral if it kills him! te. (Copyright, 1898, Life Publishing Company.) at one suit, and it's toe big for either one of us.” ““But wot have we got a head for?”