The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 3, 1900, Page 6

THE SUNDAY OCALL. Eynopsis of Preceding Chapters. authority over them was so great that 4 t restrained themselves as best they Their sobs choked their utterance, ate daughter and they could only cling around their A hasty marriag neck and kiss-them passion= ther and an e loye results five years later in the balf-sisters, left tn Jude Duram- e Surier is the fllegits with you! Let us g0 aild. Georgette Vincent, yas the most sensitive of the four, i Lea's arm so despairingly that ey ey Dicanse Juls would have said that she were ship- n aces to Frederique, both wreecked and hanging on to a . floating 2 suffered horribly from this em- that very minute she felt, with keen and feverish joy, the last ng tt bound . her té her nd this silent frenzied desire for ch it was so vio- in her heart Georgette's arms sively-around her Lea “Oh! that all this were t_this agony be elt.a little relief when e sorrowful and proud had rejoined their com- thustastic apostle of mends them to. the she has Paris, to e and Pirnitz then be- for departure. It that for that evening absolutely necessary v. ' Daigy would re- nged to them at the they had selected a engages himse! n shall be & ts dream by one to0 pas- aks with rmured Lea, s when, & few m ) . “yox in Paris srabagyedig gy n meet Heurteau g y e her?" replied the pe a el A ill be the one tu o t Abbe Minot, Quig- > infamous cutrage. I am roomis they counted t disposifion been reunited th d three hundred fran: possessed about nes in_the bank, srmer . da. had ed her n charity when a heavy ecper went for to a bore the four jise where thew iteiligence ¥ months -omfortable cab was Charles to the Rue fonore they hardly Huddling together, of the soctal them. Fred- alsy meditated ce the battle, the four who who gave up She hat house in see Pirnitz's it! T would > do?" o her ala, rederique - Rue de as Pirnitz that suits ever As _soon as Concord had crossed ve Le stopped before the old Y century old immo- ire house, where the cen the light, Lea 1 hatred. It house was the had been born e nder two of Frederique glad of the gave her moments,” she as they went tle packet e a %-fran acconist,” sald Lea, the corner of faculty of de: Il he and I of the 2000 will k and told the l Church, ning for pels eave Newhave, H the cab at dorx > got out at , lead up e gave the carte I ch s cabman. this letter to 21 Rue de la Sour- Give it to the concierge, and say t is very urgent.” . gave the me an ample tip, and tre You may rely upon ssion will be well done.” | of an organ issued from the ich it for evening ser- mounted the steps. When she d at the top she turned, followed T gaze the ¢ vhich turned and way, heavy frame shaken and 4 over the wood ~ment. s about 8 o'clock in the evening. The brightness of the gas lamps was stili overpowered by the twilight. The cab 1 into the Boulevard Malesherbes i peared. i con- f our bottle the pupil: ve more Heurteau. us ed the church. Before her voyage she felt the need of and of solitude. r S0 many s she had never prayed! But her sked the apostle, soul, oppressed for so long, was d we do with them? B. d this flock without e ve no right to 3 thes £ creatures all helter and in- CHAPTER I ion was accepted ms the _ The express had passed Chatellerault. f the four prescribed mis. It was now flying along toward Tours, nd Lea went to faintly undulating plains, where them. For her- verdant fields and stubble from the recent tte Vincent, a parvest alternated with brown stretches the Assistance Publique, of nlowed land b sist aue, of plowed land prepared for the approach- 11{ ‘~:"4” ‘rm lliger ng seeding. White houses, ruuma with avor! or a long uraine slate; country stations, that le ‘moni- denly vanisked in a throbbing of elec- : Pretty, beils: now and again the peaked tur- ette Van- s of a chatezu, that plerced through 1}12 g ellow woodland; from time to time oldest girls ge gathered in the depths of a val- ne of whom Germaine jey around the parish steeple, Central France unrolled its landscape for kilome- affected by ‘ter after kllometer before the eyes of onvocation, were assem- Frederique, in mourning, sitting in the their mistresses in Pirnitz's corner of a second-class carriage. An- aid ’ 'mxmfi . other person occupied the compartment . What I tried to pre- with her, a nun in a violet dress, who T evening has now sjceping in an uncomfortable position, ged to leave you. ty vout sleep at the church[,’ erect and uthorized by the y diug, against the back of the car- .“3.‘ hool and to riage, th ceads of her rosary softly is Mi »‘.>H~ clinking between her relaxed ~ fingers, inderstand, our g w of her white cornette gently See that yours ping her reposeful, colorless, express- de ionless face. re not lost for you. Frederique was returning with Sister come to an en Odile from one of those hurried compul- you will find sory journe; during which the eyes your duty i watch with vacant gaze the objects ient to0 your mas- tha ss before them, because the jour- 50 to speak, torn the soul from ter cares which will have to be faced in after the return. Two days before, in company with the going to adopt official ideas truction There will be some s prob thod. Submit to fat servant Maria, they had left Paris but remember that no one has any for a village named Poudenats, in the [ our_conscier You are Gers, escorting a fourth traveller, who re- free being Ne d_upon the ques- quired an entire compartment for the tion of the subjection of women; never journey, for her poor body, for- accept nes gvv favor it. er motionless. was contained in a = e you this mission among your os small as that of a child. Mile. You have over them the in- Sainte-Parade had dled suddenly and of quicker minds. of a more thor- painlcssly on September 17. less th: nsion of our principles, for {hree months after the stroke of paraly. penetrated more pro- sis which had prostrated her the day our ideas. You must replace of her ruin, and two months after the 5 appropriation of the school by the state. , if you wish, a= we hope you She had died in the modest lodging, femain in communication with us. which she inhabited with Sister Odile Ve only to Write to us openly at 2i and faithful Maria, near St. Clothilde’s Rue de la Sourdiere, and even to come to Church. After her ‘death, by the advice gee us upon the days you are allowed out. of Maria, they had telegraphed to a But above all, do it openly; there must be nephew of the deceased, the last survivor S of the Sainte-Parade family, who lived % And now, kiss us, and return quietly to in the Gers. He had replied _that he your studies.” was i1l and could not come to Paris. but The emotion caused by the few words, he begged the nun to bring the body to g0 eimply spoken, was intense. The four Poudenats for burial. Firls felt inclined to ween. but Pirnitz's Maria returned to her natal place with L4 g L] y her dead mistress. At the burial Freder- ique represented the work to which Mile. arade had devoted a part of her fortune. Pirniti Daisy, living with Frederique in t! de la Sourdiere since their expulsion, had stayed in Paris for economical reasons. would not leave Paris, for Germaine had just been seriously fli at the St, Lazare Hos- pital, and Pirnitz felt that she was, neces- When the funeral Poudenats in the le.” Sainte-Parade’s nephew, a littlé old man, half helpless with rheu- Sister' Odile was returning Paris, which she would leave almost im- mediately for Alsace, where she intended life and all In addition, Daisy with peritonitis sary to Dais: over Maria service of M the companjons of an enthusiastic movement, which had been rudely inter- rupted by masculine hostility, were being ttéred one b in the melancholy persion, while the train through autumnal > sky was clouded, with fre- quent gleams silvered the woods her stucious 5 ardor to purif. What an influence s child, over her concentrated infanc; the sullied home! over her voung by that gaze of the apostle, her ini- alization of feminist College and in the c! tery of Apple Tree all those years of chilahood nothing had really been lacking to form cribed phalans- Nothing during and youth— . ;" brought by the cabman vmy. itz and ged.flqu gelt were béginning to be anxious at the ng absence of Lea: “My dear Fedi: I am no longer of any use amo; ou now that the Work is de- stroyed. duty—I feel it—is to rejoin him who sufters far from me. I wish to avold farewells, and perhaps discussion; and it is for that reason that I have not spoken of my project to any one, but it has been decided upon for a long time. Forgive me. Listen to your own heart and you will understand.. I leave you mg share of the two thousand francs Wwhich belongs to us. May it hels &ou to live through the moments of difficulty hat you are going to experience. Fare- well, Frederique! I thank you for all you have done for me! I thank Romaine. I kiss Daisy, Pirnitz and you. Your sister who will love you u.h:zfl- She had been forced to read this letter, to have it read by Dalisy and Pirnitz, who were waiting anxiously. Frederique then felt a_shame so terrible that it even sur- {;assed the pain of separation. Such had een her shame as a child the day she understood the infamous bargain conclud- ed by her mother with the d'Ubzacs. ‘When Pirnitz tried to console her she re- plied: “Don’t speak to me of her, Ro- maine. Never speak of her again—never, never.” ‘With feverish activity she had imme- diately gone abcut the work of their in- stallation in the narrow cell where, with Lea, she had felt formerly the spirit de- scend upon their sisterly union. Thus the original troop of Noble Mafd- ens was now reduced to Pirnitz and Fred- erique. The most painful feature of the defection was that the deserters, at first anxious to combat the m: ine domin- ator. had all, with the exception of Daisy, finally yielded to masculine domination by an act of spontaneous abdication. A sad- dening truth imposed itself upon Fred- erique’s lucld mind; the actual powerless- ness of women surged forth from these voluntary defections. Duramberty’s vie- tory, the spoilation of the foundresses by the governing powers, were incidents of a political order, and consequently only provisional incidents, which left the fleld open for the revendications of the future. But how much more disquieting, in an anclent social order, was this incapacity of weman to_shake off the yoke of her tyrant! Hardly was she free when it seemed as though she had nostalgia for her chains. The entire history of the school demon- strated this: Mile. Heurteau bowed be- fore man, distributor of honors and offi- al posts: Duyvecke accepted servitude, vanquished by an obscure yearning for her for her mission; nothing, not even suf- fering, for she hadl loved a man. and she bad confirmed herself in her hidden sor- row. With what joy mated the sacrifice of her lovs had cherished her renunciation, her self- devotion to a life void of all than attachment to her idcal! Vo of becoming more than a young woman—she had just en- tered her twen nessing the d e was wit- ruction of all that had been realized for a moment among all The Work was abolished. The School of Arts would reopen in the Rue des Vergers at year, under the direc- tlon of Mlle. Herteau. but it would be an enslaved school, accepting the “Compact of St. Charles.” with the Abbe Minot as moral gulde, and the political success of Jude Duramberty, her dreams. the next scholastic the protector of instead of feminine So_much unselfish effort, s0 much trouble, had brought about this ironical result; the election of a seclfish Deputy, who should half soclalist. emancipation. manufacturer as a be half clerical, bitterest featuré of all was that the sa- cred battalion had been shattered with Frederique had believed it strong, so infrangible, that grou) women united for the emancipations of now she could count the vacant places in the ranks. mained around Pirnitz not even the little of Gideon, the troop that lifted up ead after drinking of the water of Duyvecke had been the first to leave, drawn from altruistic duty, b desire for a more banal tenderness; Germaine, excited by horrible heredi influences, had committed a deed of mad- ness, which had been_the death of the school. Mlle, de Sainte-Parade being dead, Sistet Odile was going back to her con- vent probably completely indifferent the grand deeds that had been accom- Mile. Heurteau had etrayed them through vile personal am- s would probably de. the torrent. lished around her. strength to Germalne, erique remained standing by shere was one name, among those of the apostles who formerly used around the council table in the Sainte-Pa- rade residence, that Frederique would not utter when she counted the absentees and It was the name of Lea. them .and leave n too heavy a ad erased her the deserters. To have seen her betra; them in her turn had blow for the elder. name, had extirpated all memo like a father who forgets and disowns a dishonored daugnter. that laconic letter; so cold. so the nun had passed four years of her m:;-r the poor deceased invalld. Sis- ter Onm':hwho had assisted at the first -u&:! e work, who had received Mile. de te-Parade's confidences, had never asked Frederique for any news of the school, had never inquired about the mis- tress whom she no longer saw—about Lea. And this discretion, aithough Frederique preterred it. had pained her, it bore such a resemblance to indifference. ““What sort of a soul is hidden under that violet gown and under that white veil? What does she love? What does she hope for? Is she really so frees from all human passion that nothi: touches her, that nothing interests her She decided to question her befors they separated for all time, to discover the se- cret of that strange souk Sister Odile awoke when they were near St. Plerre-des-Corps. The train slackened its speed and whistled as it passed the signal. She awoke without changing her position, calm nnd peaceful, as though sue had never slept, as though she had simply closed her eyes for some time to pray with greater devotion. Her ze met that ot Frederique and she smiled, “We are approaching Paris?” she asked. “Oh, no; we are not yet at Tours,” re- plied Frederique. ¥ “Where do we take tea? 2 & “At Aubrais, I believe, about 4 o’clock. During the journey Frederique had no- ticed the importance attached by the nun to her meals. Sister Odile had a keen ap- etite and drank her wine almost un filted. At Sainte-Parade’s nephew’s hous she had even asked for black coffee and had complained that it was badly made. She disconcerted her companion by this mixture of selfishness and altruism, reli- gious stoicism and vulgar attention to her comfort. Informed about the hour for the meal, the nun took up her rosary and began to recite prayer after prayer. The big black beads, strung on a brass chain, sped along under her short, dimpled fingers; her lips moved as she repeated the prayers, of which_only the hissing of the letter *s could be heard. From time to time, at in- tervals regulated by a mysterious devo- tional ritual, she touched the little brass image of Christ, polished by twenty years of plous caresses, which was hanging at the end of the chain, and kissed it. Frederique thought: ‘“That nun's lips make the same movement as those of Lea, who is in love; the movement that signi- fles admiration. That is to say, she gives to her supernatural lover all that ordinary women offer to_their lovers of flesh and hlood; and by that means, being satisfied and content, she escapes from the law of servitude that binds our sex. Yes, every- thing demonstrates that the secret of the “Take This Letter 1o 2] Rue de la Sourdiere.” household cares and maternity; Germaine became a criminal through the inner agi- tation of perverted sex, and Lea, brought up to uespise and scorn man—Lea, SO perfectly re that Frederique and Pir- nitz had envied ner purity, had been cap- tivated, transformed, by a singie Kiss placed upon her lips by a man. Oh! the transformation had been slow, it is true, but Lea had let herself be conquered, and the conquest had endured in spite of ab- sence. Like those mysterious leprosies that destroy the fields, masculine influ- ence had insensibly destroyed the healthy vivifying germs formerly planted in her young soul. Then one day the change was complete; another Lea was born. For a long time this new Lea was hid- den under the exterior of the old one, but the silent premeditation disclosed In her flight, her letter of farewell, so cold and recise, revealed a new soul, totally dif- erent ' from the one Frederique had known. What did this coldness resemble? What family likeness was suggested by the selfishness of her preparations? There was a name in Frederique’s thought—the name of the man who had opp}'eSBEd her childhood—the name of Lea's father, Constant Surier, He was taking his ven- geance now, and mournful Christine also reappeared 'to her youngest daughter, hastening to the masculine yoke as to freedom. A suie. Heurteau, Germaine, Dl\;yvecke. Lea—they had all gone, then? No. Be- sides Frederique herself, there was Pir- nitz and Daisy, over whom man had not Rrevulled Byt Pirnitz was a Slav; Dalsy ad Anglo-Saxon blood in her Celtic veins, e one and the other belonged to races in which the idea of feminine emancipation had penetrated for several generations- and in which social customs are already habituated to this freedom. How many years will be necessary in our old Latin soclety and how much effort to emancipate the poor serf stooping under the yoke of the master of countless cen- turiés and returning to him always, spite of emancipatresses? How many troops would be decimated—like the little troop raised by Romaine Pirnitz—before the victorious assault that should place woman in the heart of the social citadel? “No matter,” thought Frederique, “Each declinated troop brings the day of victory nearer. And if Daisy leave us I shall remain by Pirnitz’s side. The apos- t)el‘s efforts wiil not have been entirely in vain."" While she meditated in this way the roung girl's glance was fixed unconscious- v upon Sfster Odile, who was still sleep- ine, erect, against the back of the car- riage, her rosary swinging between her knees. Sister Odile—she, also, had for- merly sat around the council table with kind”~ hearted Sainte-Parade's general staff, and without having given '\3 her heart to Pirnitz’s instruction she still re- mained a veritable noble maiden when so many others had abdicated. Strange girl! No sadness had marked her ression- less, reposeful features when e hand- fuls of red Gascon earth had been thrown unon the coffin in the grave. Neverthe- strength of these specially Noble Virgins is in the deflection of their loving instinct. The anecdotes of Saint Teresa and Saint Marie Alacoque testify to this. They love an invisible Man, who was the handsomest of all the children of men. Qh! is all this blind faith necessary, then, for us to be free? Is it indispensable that we should wear away the outlines of an image of brasc or stone with our lips? Frederique's pride protested against such an idea, but, although incapable of imitating her, she nevertheless envied the jouns woman in her violet sackcloth go- ng over the praises of an invisible Lover. They took tea at the buffet at Aubrals, Frederique without appetite, Sister Odile coplously. As they returned to the train the nun regretted that they had so little time to eat., She appeared to be in a good bumor and more loquacious than usual. Frederique had noticed that she took a sort of recreation after her meals, perhaps conformedly with the customs of her con- vent. The Sister began to talk freely about the long journey she had still to make before attaining her harbor, the Al- satian convent, of which the mere name, St. Mary, brought a gleam of joy into her expressionless face each time she ut- tered it. ok “You have never been to Thann?” asked Frederique. N n o, Sister Odil “Ah! it is a beautiful country— more beautiful than all this,” s erg:fdh %ointmg disdainfully to the plains of eauce stretching along each side of the railway. “And St. Mary's Convent is as V'ijng flsha pllln‘ce. It is a Gothic building, e chapel alone can contain 1300 people, like a city church—" Roopite ‘“Are you glad to return there?’ asked Frederique. . “Yes, very glad. Just think, it will soon be four years—yes, four years—since I left it. While I have been In Paris nursing Mile. de Sainte-Parade, God has called to him our Mother Superior, I have never seen the present Superior.” Shall you remain at the convent now?" don’t know. The rule is that when our invalids no longer need us we return to the convent to which we belong and make a retreat there. After that the Su- perior sends us where she chooses. But the retreat is perfect happiness.” she pressed her crucifix to her hosom with her hands. Frederique realized that during the three years of minute care necessitated by Mlle. de Salnte-Parade the Tun had been sustained by the hope of tm:! spiritual joy—a retreat to her con- vent. “‘How sad it must be,”” murmured young Eirl, "to sec some belng ubon whome vou have lavished so much care taken a from you. And yet that is all your life, Sister Odtle. It is a very meggitorious one. 'Oh,” sald Sister Odile, simply, “T have always had a liking for nursing invalids. Even before I began my novitiate at Thann 1 used to nurse sick people and ‘watch by their bedside every time T found an opportunity. It is a taste, like any B -1 other. It is not difficult, but one must taste for 1t.” By drique inaisted, feeling that she had been understood: mfiYu. h:‘x‘tl tehe death of an invalld you nursed and who has become dear to %Pon that account must be a cruel trial it = to|u!, Gl%d"ts “v‘b?lll." sald Sister Odile, with ous air, that signified this time that :h:e;lad sundar;toood and that she opposed the shield of her Christian resignation to Frederique’s sentimental appeal. aiaas After a moment’s silence she contin H “I shall not recognize any one Abmon the Sisters at Thann. ‘What a num! erm(; new faces I shall see! I have become one “Yet you must be 1nclu'g.ed n the convent? ,o“‘l:i‘n::;st;xe young ones? You are jok- ing, Mlle. Frederique! m’rh%vzo‘l‘x:& ‘;?,f; are only 19 or 20 years old. ave on two very aged Sisters. S~ g:r’s g‘; pot live to a great age In general. God calls them to him early. She became silent after e took up her rosary, and, nfler': . o cough, as if to mark the end of Thae h‘;-\nt versation, bega).n to prsayo:}egra.m. hour’s recreation Wwa: er. Frederique meditated. No, she hadt;‘l:": yet penetrated the soul of this own Koble Maiden, so distant from her own, and yet of which she divined the nal lrn; Sister Odile was an inclination, as 34 stinct, put at.the service of a blin; — stinate faith in a supernatural hereal t the death of any creature, even her osv:‘n death, was quite indifferent to her. l: knew that she wore away here S'ire"flm in vigils and repulsive dutles, but :h?v ;. not_care; it was the rule of the convers. And, probably, her anxiety to eat ;\e o the care that she took to have a comfort- able bed, not to yleid to superfluous sensi- tiveness, and ail the other (lg!ax‘xs \h}\‘t had shocked and surprised Frederique, were only obedience to the orders of the Mether Superior, anxious that the health of her daughters should not be exhausted too quickly, that the terrible mortality of reugious communities might spare them at least until the mormal period, when, as Sister Odile said, “‘God called them to him early.” 3 A little beyond Etampes the sister, hav- ing kissed her crucifix a last time, again settled down in the corner of the carriage, closed her eyes and fell asleep almost im- mediately. ‘The lamp overhead was light- ed. Outside was the thick humid dark- ness of autumn. Frederique lowered lge window a little and shaded the Jamp. She had no wish to sleep. . She had lost her regular slumber of former times long ago. She wished to recapitulate, in the sooth- ing calm of this rapid flight through the darkness, what she had to do once she were back in Paris. Eek e 3 as going to Dalsy an i OEPehov:v shg lmqged. in union with those two unselfish, devoted and courageous Womeny to recommence the Work, and, like birds whose nest has been destroyed by the storm, like the tree whose branches have been pruned, to put out fresh boughs, to build the nest again bravely and fafthfully. After a very short period of distress, when Lea deserted them, Frederique had realized that Pirnitz gpoke truly, that her duty and salvation, and also l;m remedy for despair, necessi- tated an obstinate recommencement of the Work. To rebuild that which the coalition of masculine interests had de- stroyed was stiil possible. Forty thou- sand francs would be at their disposition by the liquidation of the security deposit- ed for the school. Quignonnet had noti- fled Pirnitz of this in M. Duramberty's name. The sum appeared sufficlent for a modest school. “If we be ignored,” saild the apostle, “we shal} not be o much exposed to at- tack. Let us profit from the cruel lesson. We wili rent an apartment, you, these words, and Frederique, and I, will teach the children a of the nelghborhood, or, at any rate gmall number of them. With the mon that we have we can continue in this for five years, and perhaps cirqums will have become more favorable before then. Frederique had finished by siding with Pirnitz. She would have liked to begin at once, to forget the reverse of yvesterd in the effort of to-day. Alas! there was still an obstacle in her path. a duty to be accomplished, a step that she must take, one more urgent than all others. It was a difficuit one to take, but. in addition to the fact that she had promised Daisy without giving her any details, and that Daisy reminded her constantly of her promise, Frederique felt herself con- strained to it by a more imperative voice, to which she never refused obedience— the voice of her consclence, which said to her, as formerly, when a’child in her littie Black alpaca aprom, “You ought to do 11" This measure concerned Germaine Sou- bize. Germalne, after a severe attack of per- itonitis, was at present a prisoner in the St. Lazaire Infirmary. The legal investi- gation—interrupted by her iliness and re- commenced after her cure—had resulted in a decision, according to journals usu- ally well informed, that she was guilty of premeditated murder. This meant that &he would be referred to the chamber des mises en accusation and, doubtle: sent up for trial before the Assizes. Ger- maine’s lawyer, M. Renouard, was of the opinfon that her cause before a jury was compromised. The Parisian jury, made up of tradesmen and minor cltizens, has not much_ tenderness for anarchical doc- trines. Now, by a kind of fatality, all the papers of revolutionary tendencies had taken up Germaine's cause and sented her mad act as a sort of heroic protestation worthy of Charlotte Corday. On the other hand. all the conservative pupers had united in an attack against the prisoner. If not the head, at least the Jiberty of the young girl for many years was in danger. This. then, was the step which Freder- jque was meditating, and this was why ghe felt a repugnance for it, although she believed it both efficacious and necessary. Just as she had now erased Lea from her heart, she had, while still a child, blotted otit all memory. and even the name, of Chr s seducer. At the same time it had not been pos- sible for ner to heip hearing from time to fime about the d’'Ubzac family; at any rate, in a general way. Mme. d'Ubzac had died’ in 18¢7. The banker stll living, but had retired from business. Very old. but sturdy, he now lived in the Avenue du Bois de Boujogne in a_princely resi dence that he had built. Henri d'Ubzac had foliowed the legal profession since the time when his autocratic father had arranged for him to be sent as assistart judge in South Algeria. Being remark- ably intelligent and energetic, and as- sisted as well by his great fortune and name, he was appointed, upon leaving Algeria, after_three years of exile there, Procureur at Mirande, then Chateauroux, then at Lille, and at thirty years of age had returned to Paris as Assistant Public Prosecutor. About this period he had married a Mlle. de Livron-Bastard, be- longing to the old aristocracy of the Rhone_ district, but fortuneless. He had no children. The outbreak of Boulangism in 1888 found him Public Prosecutor at Lyons. He had ranged himself decidedly upon the side of the republican party, a move that had caused a quarrel with his Wwife's family and had created a littl: coolness with his_father. When order was restored the Public Prosecutor sent in his resignation in order to be nomina- ted candidate at the Senatorial elections six months later. He was elected and took his place upon the Left. In 1804 he formed. one of the ministerial combination and was given the portfolio of Justice. The Ministry existed fifteen months; at its fall the post of Chief President of the Cour de Cpssation was vacant, and the former Midister of Justice was appointed to it. He was then 53 years of age. Since then he had maintained his important sit- uation both as judge and as politician. His reputation was that of an honest, elo- quent, learned, upright man, of rather mocdy character and difficult to ap- proach. He was sald to be very influen- ual. Frederique knew all this. She had never seen her father, but the portrait of the “Premier President d'Ubzac,” published in_the illustrated papers, had several times attracted her gaze. He was youth- ful and robust in appearance, notwith- standing the precocious whiteness of his hair; his Vandyke beard was going gray. In his features, his eyes and the outline of his forehead the young girl could trace her own resemblance. A sentiment of proud rebellion seized her before this por- trait, but she felt no tenderness toward him. If she ever gave a thought to her unworthy father it was only to confirm her in her resolution to maintain a haughty aloofness with regard to him. The Tupture between them was definite. Nevertheless, she was not ignorant of the fact that the President had sought information about the existence and sit- uation in life of his daughter upon sev- eral occasions, but the very form of these attempts irritated Frederique instead of disarming her. They betrayed an insult- ing circumspection. They wer: d: e conducted officially, s0 to speak, by the means at the disposition of such an important per- sonage in the judicial sphere. The frst one was in 186, when M. Q°Ubzac was nominated Chief President, and shortly L‘}:s‘;‘?e departure of the two sisters for Frederique only I de la Sourdiere, who told her that & well. dressed gentleman, “who looked like a superior clerk,” had asked for informa- tion about her. The questiomer elaimed to have known Christine Surier and her grandfather, Legay, and gave himself out as an old friend of the family. Now, the Legay-Surifer family had no friend an- swel ni to his description, and Freder- ique, who had learned through the papers of her father's promotion, feit intuitively that it was he who was making inquiries about her. The second overture was made several days before the inauguration of the School of Arts for Women. The press had cited the name of Frederique Le#: Surier among those of the The private secretary of the Se President came to see Mlle. Heurteau, the official directress, and, without stating that he came directly from M. d Ubzac, he very adroitly mentioned his name, said that the enterprise seemed to him worthy of attention and sympathy, and that, if necessary, he shouid be ¢ osed to interest the ruling powers in it. Fred- erique arranged that nothing should of these propositions. She, with Lea and Pirnitz, divined the secret meaning of them, a meaning that Mile. Heurteau, and possibly even the secretary. ignored. And “the prudence of M. d'l uiries again wounded the you eelings. The last mark of Interest manifes ward Frederique was a le written to Mile, Heurteau secretary. M. d'Ubzac’'s name was merntioned this time, but the writer, ing his offer upon ! ince mada the day.of the inaug: reassure the mistresses about the quences of the Bartlett far as Germaine Soub cerned. All thes e tion produced exactly the opposite « object which they were intended tain. They irritated Frederigue bim who inspired them “I ask nothing from him; why does ha interfere in my affairs? And if to have anyt » do with . the: all this hypocrisy and cautien come out boldly and show himse atraid of me? Is he afraid of blac ‘The only measure that she wou excused would have been a lo; visit from President d'Ubzac was too just not to admit and approv the persistence or even the taray awake ing of remorse in the man’s heart, and this remorse had been expressed to b face to face, she wouid have offered hand to her father, would have said to him, *I forgive you, but do not offer me either money or protection. I will have neither!” Instead of that, she divined the waver- ing desire of a man, possessing ail the gifts of fortune but without legitimats cht ry of his fortune and seeking in a long forgotten paternity new pleas ures and emotions. But, even while seek- ing them, he tried to conciliate them v the necessitles of his ran would nothing, compromise nothing. “Ah! he has not changed? He the same egoist who ruined the poor old professor and a cent working girl. He of the, banker who believed he the honor of my mother with fo: sand francs and a husband wi ished reputation.” Feeling this sentiment of scornful con- tempt. nothing less than the rude sh suffered for some months had been neces- ator- >bable 5 nal nd ° sary to bring Frederique to consider the idea of a direct appeal to her father—the expulsion of the foundresses from the school, Germaine about to be tried In the Assize Court. “Perhaps,” Frederique could not hel thinking, “I might have done somethir to prevent these catastrophes.’ ‘When the pape a ounced the gloomy aspect of Germaine's affair, Freder 4 impelled by her consclence, consulited Pir- nitz again. “Oh, Romaine! I pray you, help me to decid at is my duty Ought I to go tather?” apostle replied without hesitation: Nothing con. ¥ to 0, But I, who k tain of two things do net risk the least particle of your nity in going to s d&’'Uzbac; for time it is not the material i ests of t of humanity and iso, that if you it. The young realized that the most painful ¢ awaited her, and that she haste. In a newspaper bou, during the stoppage of the t that the iminary ' inquir: wer, and that Germaine would be sent befora the Chambres des Mises en Aeccusation very shortly The train carrying the two travelers back to Paris entered the station quarter to eight. Frederique and Odile, each carrying her portman hastened to send a porter for The evening was damp and a Iit Amid the hurry and b e of of passengers streaming out of the tion the two women bade each other far You are going.straight to the Eastern ion, Sister Odile?” asked Frederic Yes. My train leaves at 9:30, I believe.” ‘Well, I wish you from the bottom of my heart an agreeable journey and a pleasant retreat among your sisters.” m very giad to be going to them,” said the nun, calmly. She drew a little prayer-book, very much worn, from her pocket, and after having turned over the Jeaves by the light of a street lamp took out a little colored en- graving painted upon a translucent sheet of gelatine. It represented Mcunt Cal- vary surmounted by a heart Jesus, from which emanated golden rays. “Will you accept this little picture? Our er blessed it three months ago. sent me two. 1 gave 3 sald Frederique, deeply touched. have no symbol of my faith to give she thought, “and, besides, what Is e? We are separated by a guif. Ana vet I feel that there is something in common between her ideal and mine.” The first of the two cabs that they had hailed drew up to the sidewalk. The por- ter, who came with it, said he had only been able to find that one, and went at once in search of another. Sister Odils slightly pressed the hand that Frederique held out te her and said to the driver, “The Eastern station.” She again nodded to Frederique and the mm; disappeared in the multitude of ve- cles. Frederique remained standing at the edge of the sidewalk. Her heart was op- pressed. Sister Odile had not occupled either a large or very important place in her life or her affections, yet she was a part of the past, and this past was for Frederique that which the romance of the twentieth year is for other young girls. The melancholy of time that flies’ Impa sive and dissipates days and dreams wrung her heart._ ‘“Already almost 30 years of age—and I am further from the t that I aimed to attain than when E vas only 20.” She rer("h’ed all the ungrateful harsh- ness of real life compared to the glory of her ideal, as a woman submissive to the reality of a_ household remembers the sweetness of her_betrothal. In her turn she placed her luggage in the cab which drew up for her. Just as ehe was pumnia tip in the hand of the porter, a voice behind her sald: “Mile. Frederique!” She turned, and saw by the light of a gas lamp, In the halo of mist, a woman with a pretty face, a Mttle too stout, and her waist visibly too large. “Duyvecke! You here?” The young woman bowed her head, and stammered: “Yes—I" came. Mlle. Pirnitz, whom I went to see during your absence, told me that you would arrive by this train to- night. So I came in case you should need me. “Dear Duyvecke!" Frederique kissed the pretty Flemin upon both cheeks. In the sultry mist ol that autumn evening, in the moral dis- tress caused by another separation after so many, she felt gladdened and com- forted by this friegdly encounter—one that she had not expected and that all at once changed for her the city's welcome. “I saw you a few moments ago with Sister Odile,” said Duyvecke, humbly. “I ould x?:‘\ve liked to bid her farewell, also. ut I did not dare. Yo very daring.” T S She asked Frederique for permission to ,accompany her as far as the Rue de la Sourdiere. Frederique consented, joyous- 1, and the cab bore them away from the e: 0 S¢S hn‘ o the Rue du Faubourg uyvecke. holding one of Frederique's hands in hers, quickly recovered her :}uun age and confldence; and to hear her chat- ter as in olden times, to hear her affec- tionate and rather prolix idle zossip, real- ly soothed the young apostle’s heart. There are hours in lifs when the simple p;e‘nence of an nl!eclénnale animal near ! encourages a suffer con- tinus the labor of Nfer TC S0u f0 con [Duyvecke told her that, like everybody élse, she had learned from the journals all the misfortunes that had _befallen the work—the financial erisis, Germaine Sou- Hhe expblsion: of the foutdrsoacs by Tl sion’ of the foundre: b; terial decision. o (Continued Next Sunday)