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4 themselves. And one said: "His face was covered with blood, monsieur." Orlopp pushed in yet a little farther, and cried to them to make way for him. "It is I, the English doctor! Do you not know me?" he said. "I have come to help them." A voice rejoined that it was precious little good any doctor could do "over yonder" — and this fellow was still speaking when a loud shout from the farther end of the street arrested his attention; and all heard for the first time those rabid words, cried so often in Paris just then: "Death to the Prussian! Death to the spy! " Edmund Orlopp was a man of tine physique, and when he heard this momentous charge he vised his shoulders as he had not used them since he quitted the fields of Rugby fifteen good years ago. The fateful words rang in his ears like a knell. Xo need to ask what the fate of the unknown man would be if this ferocious, hungry mob had trapped him as it appeared it had. "A wort, a la lanternef" But yesterday he had seen a Frenchman's head shattered by a rifle-butt before his eyes because a jealous woman had whis pered the magic words "Prussian spy!" in a cafd where hungry men sat. And this man whom the mob had caged, what lietter fate awaited him' Was he not down yonder, just where the windows of Dolores' house could l>e seen by the tallest in the throng? As one remembers, without reason, some grievous sorrow which is thought to be forgot, so the English doctor recollected in that instant the light which had summoned him from his home and the hand which had set it at the window. "(iood God! " he cried. "It is Dolores who is hiding him." He was awakened now, a strong man fighting for a woman he loved; and forcing his way through the press as a player goes down a contested field, he passed through the serried ranks and bade them open to him. "Way, way, for the English doctor!"' They did not contest his path nor quarrel with his impetuosity. Many a one in that crowd owed something to his skill; many a one had been the richer for his generosity. If they let him pass, it was as one who would not be less quick than they to vindicate the honor of Trance ami see justice done upon her enemies. "Where is the man? " he asked them as he went. They answered that he was over yonder, in the house Oi Armand Morizon, whose sister, Dolores, had just spoken to them from the window. "Arc you sure that he is a spy?" "The papers were found upon him, monsiexir." "Then how tomes he to l>e in any house at all?" "The girl saved him, monsieur. She ran between him and us. While we were talking he slipped into the house. He is there now, but he cannot escape. We have sent men to the leads, there are others in the gar dens. If it was not Armand Morizon's house we should burn it down. Morizon is a good soldier. He knows nothing of this." " Hut mademoiselle, what has she to say to it?" "That she can answer for the fellow's innocence — an 1 the papers were found upon him, monsieur." "I will wager that mademoiselle is right. There is sonic mistake. I shall find it out. Try to keep them quiet until lam ready to speak to them. If the fellow is a spy, he must hang. Hut I must hear mademoiselle first.' He spoke to those in th throng who knew him best, am they promised to do what the could. "Hut," said they, "yot have little time, monsieur. Their moaning plainly was tha this howling, frenzied nn >b woul< brook no delay, and that th English doctor must act a once. Indeed, Orlopp had th greatest difficulty in keepin the more violent among them hack when he entered Mademoiselle Morizon's house, and it needed ill 1 the strength of his splendid shoulders to close the door behind him. No sooner was he in that old-fashioned hall, however, than he seemed to have passed from an angry sea to the peace and silence of a sure haven. Hardly a sound from the turbulent street without pierced those massive Walls. It might have been a house of the dead long shuttered and unlighted and full of the suggestion of things unseen "Dolores!" A petticoat rustled upon the stairs above him, and a wan aureole of light (lashed upon a time stained wall. So still was it that he could hear his own In-art beating. The i^irl he had revered in silence these many months: he knew that he was listening to her stop and would touch her hand again. "Doli-res, I am here as yon wished," he raid. She beckoned him up and he mounted the wide staircase and stood by her side upon a spacious landing. The pallor of her face, the terror in her eyes, forbade many words between them. He knew that She sheltered a friend from the fury of the SUNDAY MAGAZINE for FEBRUARY 19. 1905 streets, and would not ask her if that friend was innocent or guilty. _ . H "It is Albert Muntz, my music-master at Leipsic, she said, indicating the room beyond "My brother owes him much. You must save him, Edmund!" "Dili you summon me for that, Dolores?" "My friend had need of me, Edmund Is there a better cause than friendship?" "None, I admit. Is Armand still at Valcrien?" "I have not seen him in a week." "Then none except your servants are with you?" She hesitated, as if afraid to declare her courage. "\o" she said at last, "I am entirely alone: the servants were afraid. Maurice has gone for the guard." "Do you mean that they ran away 5 " She would not answer him directly, but turned to the room which sheltered the trembling man, for whose life the human mob without clamored so persistently. "We must get him away," she said quietly. "The minutes are precious, Edmund. He is absolutely help less — I believe he has fainted." "He should have chosen another house than yours, Dolores." "What house would have sheltered him, Edmund'" "I am asking myself the question. We must get him away from here. Gods, what throats they have! As if this poof creature could harm them — he is half dead already." The German truly was in a pitiable state; but fear and not wounds appeared to l>e his real malady. The room in which he sat, trembling and voiceless, upon a deep, velvet sofa, looked over the patch of garden l>e himl Morizon's ancient house, and its windows were not stout enough to shut out these new cries of ".I nn>rt, a la lantcnut" which impatience called from the exas perated multitude. He shivered at every menace; the hopelessness of his jx>sition was not hidden from him — he knew that the mob would tear him limb from limb if fate surrendered him to their anger. "Give him some brandy," Orlopp said quietly, as he seated himself by the sofa and l>egan to try and find out exactly what had happened Dolores, a tall and stately figure, with raven hair and skin of velvet, moved gracefully about the room, but hid from them the terror at her heart. The rise and fall of the swelling voices were as the note of storm heard by those who presently must go out to face a human tempest. "Where did they discover you, monsieur? " Orlopp asked the (ierman. The man shivered as though with cold, and averted his face. "In the Cafe" dcs Bcoles, monsieur." " From the roof of which you can see the German oat posts at Yillejuif, I understand?" "I do not know, monsieur." "Why do they accuse you, monsieur?" "I cannot say. A papef fluttered from my hand when I took out my pocket-book to pay them, and — " "Ah, the paper betrayed you? Have you been in Paris all through the siege?" " Yes, monsieur." "Where is your lodging?" He could not give a direct answer: his evasions would not have deceived a child. "There are many of us in Paris. 1 live with some of my countrymen. Caffs' MAKE ME By Tlhieodl<D>§ii& Garrison Make me thy fool again— it is my prayer. Mine eyes grown wise have only seen despair. Finding what tinsel made my crown of bliss And tilled my hands with naught, for all I miss. But utter emptiness to be my share. Naught wa • there that my folly would not dare— Light-stepped, I walked the path where danger is, Glad-hearted, joyed in barren promises— .Wake me thy fool. Nothing hath wisdom brought me but all care ; Give me the motley I was wont to wear, The cap and bells— l ask no more than this ; Mock me with love, betray me with a kiss ; Too heavy this new knowledge that I bear— Make me thy tool. StrasUnirg. You know thr place, n very hard uj>on those of us who remain 'A wish this war. I am an artist, and all arti brethren. They will tell you all Rue Pontifex, monsieur. I think that I there." "It is probable '"an they convm. • that you have been in Paris daring I you any proof to offer th "What proof could I bring"' Th*-y arc on . ! to their cries. They would tear me : My Cod, what savages! What ai I Orlopp did not know how to answ-r 1 irr. |] tience of those in the street without mot) mon threatening. They had begun t - door by this time, despite the fact I Morizon's, the soldier's, boose. And Orl fectlv well that the man they hunted named him — a German spy who, it i crossed from the Prussian line only yesterd other house, under any other circum>* ..-. ■ have delivered the man to the people's j eloquent eyes of the woman he loved were I him — they reproached him mutely, and silent. For her, for the sake of one wl doned all that she might serve bet he would contend with the people for this :: Would they hear him? In a vain hope he threw open a win-! looked the street, and tried to parley « This man, he said, was well-known to M Morizon. He had l«een her musk-mu\r Their suspicions were not justified. The answer came in a volley of execrati like thunder from below; and when that I the saner voices spoke. "Mademoiselle would never ft cried. "Armand Morizon. the good R.; i never harl»«r the fellow in his boa taken to the Captain of the Ouarter. Let his innocence." And to these words threats were addc I shook their rists at the house, and caugi I f.-om the gutter to break the darkened win I "Let the man be given up. If he i . will prove it before his judges." "They would kill him as he went," Dok>l Orlopp 's elbow. He did not know that she had been in I him; but her presence nerved him, and it that his resolution became the sir. i "We must get him from the house." he - can see what would happen here. The U mockery; but it is better than this." . | quietly: "We owe something to Armand. burn down the place if we persist." "Do you believe this man to be a spy. E<l "God knows. It is not for us to jod say that he was kind to your brother. Let give him a hearing. There is only one way : that can be done, Dolores. You must com<_ the guard-house." "I must come?" "They will beat out his life in an instant if you «io not." She did not hesitate an instant. '" I will go with you, Edmund. They will not harm me." "There is no man in Paris who would harm Dolores," he said. He shut the window at the words, and returned to the other room. The German still crouched upon the sofa, as though to listen for those dread footsteps which wou! I tell him that his enemies had entered the house. Every gesture betrayed his occupation. He had entered Paris only yesterday through the eastern lines; and nothing except a paper blown from hts hand by a destined wind had betrayed him. as he said. "You are to come with us," Orlopp said sternly. "We are taking you to the guard-house." "Then I have not an hour to live, monsieur They will kill me as I go.'" "Not so. Mademoiselle here will be your escort. I shall be your judge." The man looked at him from beneath his shaggy brows. "What have I to expect from you, monsieur?" "Justice — it may l>e mercy. The night will pi Come! They are growing impatient. Do not cot: .'. them to try the case themselves." The man staggered up and endeavored to steady hi - self; but great drops of sweat stood upon his br . and his eyes were half-closed in tern r. Step by step, he descended the stai - of the old house, and groped for ' hands which guided him. When the door opened, and the i {Coatiautd en fitgt /j) THY FOOL