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The morning times. (Washington, D.C.) 1895-1897, February 28, 1897, Image 8

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Economy for you might, from my point
ot -view, be rank extravagance for me.
Poverty and riches depend upon tlie point
of view and what one's ideals of living are.
TLp most of us, happily, are neither rich
ncr poor in our. own estimation, whatever
we may be to otiicrs. We all own to
be ng a little pinched now and then, be
cvjse the outgoes multiply fatter than the
Incomes. A screw islooe homewhere in
our makeup or it would not be so.
For instance one's income antecedents,
or bringings up, do not always harmonize. '
Tl.c 'wheel of fortune keeps going round,
and if wc have been up, now it is our
U.rn tc be down. See hew we take that.
Do we adapt ourselves? Not a bit of it;
at lc '"t not often This conflict between
then" and "now" is no new disease,
and it seldom kills anybody. Rather, it
eventually is more ofien the making of a
wzxi or a woman, and something to be
thcukful fox rather than to mourn over.
Some persons can ea.sily do a gieat
xij'ny nice things with their resources,
winch for us, would be just to flitter away
our means and opportunities, to waste our
Eubstance and be rank prodigals. Don't let
us forget it is the isoint of view we must
keep in mind.
It may be that our self-denials, our in
ability to do our self-allotted pait in the
world's woik, or even our own church
work nny cause us many a pang of regret,
not to say downrrght soriow: but all the
sur.e, we must submit to what the fates
decree, and do our part as best wc may
In the crippled way which people do who
are neither rich nor ioor, and have to
bol b!e ard pinch along through the conflict.
Now, cu reflection, I am not so sure but
the people who are making saciifices to
live noble lives are living them more truly
than Uicy wlioe good deeds cost them
ncthirg but an outlay of superfluous cash.
That long word superfluous' came very
Eer sticking on Uie tip of my pencil, for
l'e seen but few people -of means who
were willing to own tiiey had any super
fluous cash. Or.e necessities outrun the
largeEt incomes oftener than not.
Luxuries for us plain people
have become necessities, through use,
to some other people. But let us rejoice
rather than weep over theii extravagance.
For the more the rich spend, the more
money theincrchant,the importer, thedresE
xnrkcr, the baker, the coniectioner, the
Jeweler, the florist, and a thousand others
who contribute to their ncces-sitics receive.
Even the ill-wind of luxurious expenditures
n.ight blow much worse, if the licit took
to pinching and saving, and dubbed it
"economizing," just because the times are
scmewbat hard.
Tl at old proverb, "The best is always
cLeapcst," has done more mischief than
a little in this world. Everylwdy can
not, or ought not, have the best. They
may in one sense deserve it as much as
aiicther; but who is there that has not
jet found out some or the bweetcst souls
t!ae world has ever known have never had
their "deserts" and will not this side
of heaven? God does not recompense that
way "We were not put here to wear our
lives out with envy, to cultivate discon
tent, or to go down to our graves mourn
ing because our chariot has not yet been
barncsscd up for us. We were put here to
make the most of our lives to improve
our talents, to increase them, and to live
to make life richer in loving-kindness, in
tender mercies, and sweet charities, than
it was before we came. Failing these, and
leekmg only pleasure and happiness, we
ball never find either the one or the
other, but with true living our ideal hap
piness will surely accompany even those
who are most sorely tried. That is simple,
philosophical, experimental truth, and
sot cant.
That old proverb ought to read, "Get
the best you can afford." Only an Astor
or a Vanderbilt can afford to get -the very
best the market affords. There are many
grades of all kinds of goods worth buying
that fall below the standard of a million
aire's needs. Why strain after the un
attainable, and thus add another unneces
sary care to your load? Is it not enough
to have the satisfaction of knowing you
possess a good thing that is simply good?
If there arc many needs and only a small
margin in your purse, why make yourself
uncomfortable because you cannot stretch
It indefinitely? Taste and refinement,
eclection, choice, are all good werils, and
If cultivated as qualities will enable you
possibly to get more real enjoyment out of
your life and income than another who has
striven merely to gain wealth can possibly
do. It is what one is capable of appreciat
ing, assimilating, or making his own, that
enriches life, and not his rent roll, his
bank account, or stocks in railroads or in
minps. The same principle applies to a
woman's life as well.
What constitutes Uie best physicians, or
the best dentists or the best accommoda
tions? Simply and only this: Those pro
fessional people have arrivedat recognition,
where others are still striving and on the
The best accommodations may be conven
tionally defined as the world's standards
of the fitness of things. Sometimes they
are one thing and at other times they arc
what was once despised and scornedas un
uitabl.c All conventional customs are like
movable Teasts, regulated by somebody or
scmelaw; and one can be reasonably happy
and contentedly housed without so much
conventional fussing if lie only will.
Fashion tets a value upon her wares,
even her successes, which are more or
less fictitious. Great humbugs have al
ways been great focial successes. Spe
cialists' signs are to be met on every
hand in all our cities, whose business in
life it is to Icok wise and to deceive.
Not to tread on anybodj'6 toes, I will not
particularize. There are no greater hum
bugs in all history than some men and
women of obscure antecedents buzzing
around fiom city to citj. pretending to
cure diseases by methods most unscien
tific, and to be wise beyond all the sages
ot the past and all the colleges of the
present, merely through some kind of
occult and undefinable methods that fill
one with wonder. There are people credu
lous enough to swallow all these miraculous
pretenses without so much as trying to
see, why thej accept this new gospel of
medicine, religion, or what not. Some
people measure the value of a thing by
what it coFts them. If the price is 1 igh,
It must be good. The professional hum
bugs all charge enough to tatisfy this
Oemanu, and to line their pockets well.
?jKs?es -
Those genuine practitioners, professional
or otherwise, who have won their po
sition by honest stud and toil, can charge
no more than a bogus doc) or. Stiange as
it may seem, persons of moderate means
have been kr;own to prefer to be killed at
the rate of a good fat fee which they
co:ild have no hope either of paying them
selves or of having paid after their death
to being cured by a well-equipped, though
young and unknown, physician.
An old physician, though ever so stable
in his practice, always calls on a young
doctor Just from the schools to help him
In his surgery, and to apply the up-to-date
methods. The younger man has everything
to gain; and he Is not likely to want to
lose his patient. His interests and final
success depend upon his saving life. The
young physician is- used as a type of men
and women in other lines of business,
whose feet still rest on the lower rounds
of the ladder. They are bound to want
to do their best because they wane to
succeed; and true success lies only that
It is both curious and lidtcrous to notice
how some persons are always waiting
to see what other people are doing he
roic they decide to do anything them
selves.. They originate nothing and they
never get anywhere; nor are they able
to feel that they have a right to their
own opinion on any subject.
Imitators, followers, plodders all. whose
life is but half lived. While it is well
enough to know what others think, it is
much better to know what you yourself
tihnk; what you need for your own de
velopment and happiness; what you desire
to do for others. This is especially a
woman's sin waiting on the opinions of
other people. We do not act as Independ
ently as we ought, or as we might, or
half live up to our convictions of duty
even through this weakness. If wc did,
we should be far ahead of where we are
in many regards which affect both our
health and our happiness. We think far
too much of other women, who are known
as "they," who do tills, that, or the other
1 could give a list ot illustrations where
in women bow down and do homage, with
fear and trembling, to "they say." But
1 will leave a little something of that to
your imaginations. AUNT EMILY.
All writers of sea stories devote chap
ters to what is called "the sentiment of
the sea," and all readers of the same feel
their pulses thrill as they read of heroic
rescues. This "sentiment'' may have been
observable fifty years ago, and now and
then you read of a re-cue worthy of heroes,
but, as a matter of fact, shop-owners and
sea captains are auj thing but sentimental
in these days of money making. Of ten
ship. wiio sight asignal of distress at sea,
eight will sneak past it if possible, and the
other two will be more interested in the
salvage question than in the saving of life.
Shippers want their goods shipped as soon
as possible. Ship owners overload ami
undermun their vessels, and yet want them
to make quick voyages. Sea eaptainMiiust
"crack on" and do their best, and so it
comes about that aid is seldom extended
when there is reasonable excuse for dodg
ing it.
In the year 18S0 the brig Welcome left
the port of Liverpool for the West Indies,
having on board 180 men, women and
children, who weie going to settle on
one of the islands. She had a crew of
fifteen men, a supercargo and two cabin
passengers, thus bringing the total up to
almost 200. Fine weather accompanied the
craft until she had accomplished two-thirds
of the voyage. Then a gale sprang up,
which dismasted her and sent her drifting
back over her wake. The gale had scarcely
abated when a fire broke out. and though
it was extinguished after a hard fight a
great quantity of provisions was consumed
and muchof tlief resh water wassacrificed.
Not a spar was left aboard for jury mast,
and as the rudder had been carried away
and there was four feet of water in the
hold the people realized that the wieck
could not be abandoned too soon. The
mate returned to his ship to report, and
half an hour later the Spaniard swung his
yards and sailed away and was soon out
of sight. The excuse at terwaid made was
that he was short of provisions and water
for his own crew and had a voyage of
twenty days before him. He probably told
the truth about it, as the average ship
owner closely figures the length of a
voyage and provisions accordingly.
Four days after the Spaniard sailed away
we of the ship Evening Star sighted the
wreck. We were sailing under the Holland
flag, commanded by a Holland captain
and mate, and I believe the craft was of
that nationality. She was bound from
Demerara to New York, loaded mostly
with sugar, I believe, and had been de
tained in Demerara a couple of weeks to
ship a crew. It so happened that an
American man-of-war, to which I belonged
as an enlisted man put into that port
for some slight repairs, and twelve of us
deserted in a body to go aboard of the
Etar. Wc were all sailors. It docs not
excuse our action to say that the Hol
lander brought this desertion about by
the promise of high wages. He wanted a
crew and did not care how the mencame to
him. We had a close shave from being
captured by our captain, but got to sea all
right, and as the -weather was good and
the wind favorable, the Hollander" 'cracked
on" to make up for lost time. One morn
ing justafter sunrise wc found the drifting
brig square in our path and only two or
three miles away. After a brief look at
her through the glass captain and mate
fell to cursing at their ill luck. As a matter
of fact, we had neither water nor pro
visions to spare, and -the ship was loaded
down to the mark with cargo, but when
we heard our officers propose to 'pass the
wreckwithout notice every man of the ten
was ready for mutiny.
We demanded that communication be
opened with the unfortunate people, and,
after a good deal of growling, the Star
ran down to them and sent a boat aboard.
The report of the mate when he returned
was to the effect that the people were on
quarter allowance, with sickness among
the women and children, and that they
desired to abandon the wreck and be taken
aboard ot the ship. We had spare spars
aboard, and the -Hollander offered to sell
three or four sticks for about three times
their value, the payment to be made in gold
on delivery. The captain of the brig de
clined buying, as he was satisfied that the
shattered hulk could never be worked into
port, cen It fully provisioned. The Hol
lander then agreed to sell one cask of water
and about thirty pounds of bread, but just
as we were ready to transfer the goods a
squal.icamc up and that gave him an ex
cuse for sailing away. II ! firm intention
was to abandon the wreck to her fate, and
as soon as we realized it the ten of us went
aft inabodyand assured himthatunlcsshe
bore up and furnished relief wo should
refuse duty and take tiie consequences.
He blustered und threatened and brought
out his pistols, but we were firm, and at
length he gave orders to put the ship about.
We had to beat up to the wreck, and by
the time we reached her there was halt a
pale blowing and the sea so heavy that we
could not transfer the provisions. At the
end of an hour the Hollander was for mak
ing sail again, but we refused to touch a
rope. He and his mate, both armed with
belaying plus, sought to drive us aloft, but
we disarmed them and locked them in their
staterooms. Among us was a man who
had made several voyages as mate, and
was competent to handle a ship, and he
was Installed as captain and given an able
seaman as mate. We had hoped to get
the provisions to the wreck before night,'
but the gale continued, and we had to stand
by her for thirty hours before it was saTe
to launch a boat. We had mutinied and
taken possession of the ship, but wc felt
that circumstances justified It. Neither
harm nor insult was offered our officers.
After a few hours they were allowed full
liberty, and not' one of us entered the
cabin. There were many threats as to the
puulshmcut we should receive when the
ship arrived in port, but wo stood firm and
kept clear ot any further quarrels.
.When, wind and sea finally subsided we
boarded the wreck to find that one woman
and four children had died in the last
twenty-four hours, and that the living
were entirely out of food and water There
was no doctor aboard, the leak was hardly
to Ire kept under, and it was plain that
another twenty-four hours would send
all souls to the bottomof the sea. It was,
therefore, resolved to transfer everybody
to the ship. Our captain and mate raved
like madmen when they heard of this de
cision, and tho last named became so-violent
that we had to bind him hand and
foot-. The wreck had lost all her boats,
but the ship had three, and when the work
Of transferring began It was not interrupted
until every person had been brought safely
off. Then we secured most of the personal
baggage of crew and passengers, and by
the time the last boat was alongside the
Star the wreck rolled heavily to starboard
and port and went to the bottom of the
The ship had no accommodation what
ever for passengers, and you can imagine
the muss we were in when thntciowd of
people were taken on board. The Hol
lander flatly refused to act as captain,
or to have anything to do with the castr
aways. He said Ave had deposed him by
mutiny, and must now run tilings to suit
ourselves and take the consequences.
Every t.odj had to be put on t.uaiter allow
ance at once, and a Hiift was made up
whereby the women and childien were at
least sheltered. After consultation it was
decided to make for the Bermudas, and
on the third day after taking the peo
ple off the wreck, we sighted the Ameri
can ship Ocean Queen, and secured fiom
her several bundled gallons of water and
a quantity of Hour and biscuit. It was
a run of seven days to tke islands, and
during the last four days no adult had
food enough to keep down the pangs of
hunger. The mate proved so obstinate
and dangerous that his bonds were not re
leased, but' he shared the food and water
with the rest, and was treated as kindly
as circumstances would permit.
None of us believed that we could be
punished for taking the ship out ot the
captalu'shnndstosave humanlife.nnd lam
sure we should not have been meddled with
but for the presence of a British man-of-war
in port. Wc had informed the Hollander
of our readiness to work the ship to her
portot destination, and he seemed to think
fuvorably of the matter, but no sooner
did he learn of the presence of the man-of-war
than lie appealed toher commander.
As a result the ten of us were at once ar
rested and flung into prison to await the
action of the law. 1 never found out Just
where they intended to send us for trial,
but presume it was Holland. For some
reason or other there was a long delay,
and at length matters were complicated by
our being claimed as deserters from an
American man-of-war. The people whom
we had saved were grateful enough, God
knows, but all others looked upon us as a
lot of pirates, who ought to have heen hung
as soon as captured.
When we had been In Jail for five months
we got word from an American who was
pretty thoroughly posted on the case that
we should soon be sent away for trial, and
that we might expect at least five years'
Imprisonment apiece. This news decided us
to make an attempt to break jail, and one
night, a week later, using tools which a
guard had been bribed to pass in to us. we
sawed away the bars of a window and
gained our llbeity. Proceeding to the
harbor, we found an American schooner
ready to salLand awaiting our coming,
and before our escape was discovered we
were miles at sea. Five of us surrendered
to the naval authorities and took our
punishment and served out the remainder
of our enlistment, but what became of the
others I do not know. But for our action
two hundred people would nave been left
to go down with a wreck on which they
had drifted and suffered -for days and
weeks, and yet that action was rank
mutiny, and had the ship been English
instead of Dutch our two leaders would
probably have been hung, and the rest of
us got long terms in prison.
"I tell you," declared the reformed
gambler, to a Detroit Free Press man,
"that there are people In tills country who
insist upon being swindled. Nine out of
ten of the men who are caught know that
they are going up against some kind of a
bunco game. They have read all about it,
but itistheinfernal egotism ot the average
man that leads him into the trap. He
knows that others have been caught, but
lie's too smart for anything of that kind,
don't you see.
"I was at a country fair in Towa expos
ing the tricksof the gamblers. Mygrattwas
in selling a little book that I had on the
subject. There was a pretty lively gang
there from a back township, and when 1
showed them how the shell trick was done
one big fellowlnslsted that lie could lo
cate the elusive pea, and was bound to bet
on his proposition. I told him that I was
out of the business, and that he was mis
taken. Then they set up a cry that I was
a fraud and afraid ot rny own game. I
went over the whofe thing again and
showed them how they were fooled, but I
must give the fellow a chance or they
would wreck my whole outfit.
"At last, just to save myself, I let him
put up his money, and tendered it back to
him after I had won. Then it took three
other men to keep him from whipping me
because I took him for a squealer One
or two others insisted on having a try at
it, and never turned a hair because of their
losses. When it came to tin re-card monte
it was the same. Each of a half dozen
men was sure that he could pick out the
card, and despite my warning would hnve
a try abit and some of them two or three
tries. When they were 'cleaned out there
went up a cry that I was the rankest kind
of a fraud, and they chased me three miles
into the country before it was dark enough
for me to escape.
Brilliant, But Inconsistent'
The most accomplished and brilliant of
European women is the Russian, who, be
sides a vivacious temperament, has a mar
velous facility for acquiring foreign lan
guages and a power or adaptability that is
wholly American. But her attainments are
Invariably of a superficial character.
-' WTO CI "Tl
(Copyright, 1807, by Max Pembcrton.)
The Chevalier Eugene Sabatier was
accounted one ot the handsomest rogues
in all Taris; but he looked neither hand
some nor roguish when he stood in the
music-room of the Hotel Beauticlllis on
tie 3d day of May In the year 1760.
and reflected earnestly upon the strange
tale which Antonio, the physician, had
Just told him.
The glorious afternoon was coming
to a close then and the old garden in the
Rue St. Paul began to be filled with the
first sweetness of night. Trees laden
with blossoms, bushes with roses, rustled
gently as the warm south wind breathed
upon them, lengthening shadows upon tho
grass waged war with thedolayingpatches
of sunlight and drove them incli by inch
from the garden. The spires and turrets
of the great house shone radiant a little
while with fiery beams which struck upon
their windows and copper domes and
mado them like burning beacons above
the surrounding streets. In the music
room itself, a soft twilight prevailed, and
this was in keeping with the gloom which
had come upon those In the chamber.
There were three persons in the great
room at that hour; but the young Chevalier
was the most prominent figure, standing
as he did where the deep red light of the
setting sun could strike upon the gold and
blue or his dragoon's uniform, and even
send riro flashing from the heavy brass
helmet he held in his hand. As for Mile.
Corinnc, the mistress of the Hotel Beau
treillis, she sat In a low chair drawn
so far behind the curtain ot the window
that her pretty face was all In a shadow;
nor could you distinguish the color ot
her robe nor the tint ot the lace which
hid her exquisitely white neck. But it
was plain that she was very serious; and
the same might have been said for her
old physician, Antonio, who sat at a
great writing-table in the center ot the
apartment, and dipped his long quill pen
into the ink-horn before him with irri
tating regularity. Never once did lie look
at the young officer nor seem to remem
ber the astonishment which a word of
his had just created. And this was the
more surprising since tiiat word had told
of the officer's death.
"Monsieur," he had said, 'if you go
to the Chateau Saint Marule4nlglit, you
go to the house ot a man
nrwho is waiting
to kill you." V j
The Chevalier sprang vfjom his chair,
and standing a moment with the crimson
light flushing upon his voung face, liu
appeared like cne about to recent n savage
insult. '
"Dleu," cried he, "do b'ou forget that
I am going to the house qf my brother?"
"I forget nothing;" answered the old
man without looking upfrom,his paper;
"should you doubt my words', monsieur,
It Is easy to prove them by. continuing
your journey immediatclyto the chateau.
But the propf will be with us for your
body will He In the- Mdiyie. before mid-.
night." J, j
The prophesy was that of one who
weighed his words-well; but so terrible wnV
it to hear that long minutes passed and
no voice broke the silciiCc in the music
room. As for Eugene Sabatier. he might
have been stricken dumb. , Doubt, dread,
anger, fear each of theso played upon
his boyish face In their turn. Saying to
himself at one moment that the story was
a hideous calumny, in the next he remem
bered the untold wrongs lie had suffered
at his brother's hand, and a voice whispered
In Ills ear, "the physician is right." Made
moiselle Corinne watched her guest with sad
eyes and a troubled mind. There was
something beyond mere friendship in a
glance like that, nad her thoughts been
uttered aloud, she would have said
"I love him." Happily for her, the curtain
hid her face and the pretty flush which
added ornament to it. When she spoke
there was scarce a ring ot tenderness in
her voice.
"Eugene," she said, for they had been
children together, and no formalities
stood between them, "Eugene, do not
thtnk that Antonio would jest with you
at such a moment. This is no new thing
to him. He has known your brother, tho
Count of Drives, for twenty years. I
sent for you tonight to save your life
repay me by forgetting everything but
the fortune and the future which tonight
may bring you."
"Dleu," Cried He, "DoYou Forget That I Am Going to the House of
-My Brother?"
The young soldier, distracted by a hun
dred thoughts, turned upon her a glance
full or arfection. yet hardly followed
Jier words. ir
"Corinne," cried he, "rknow that my
brother hates me yet, that he would
kill me mon Dieu, I cannot believe that."
"Nevertheless." chimed in the old
physician, "lie killed your brother Gil
bert." An exclamation almost of resentment
broke from Sabatier.
"Monsieur," he gasped, "you Bay"
"That your brother Gilbert was poi
soned by the Count of Brives in tfic
Chateau Saint Mande two years ago
"Oh," exclaimed Sabat'.er, "God grant
that you are wrong."
"Antonio is never wimg," said Co
rinne sadly; "if you a-ik him he will
tell you that your brother was poisoned
three weeks nrter he became marshal
of the palace an appointment the Count
of Bilves had applied for but had failed
to obtain."
"In the same way that you, mon-
Eleur," added Antonio, "having been or
dered to Westphalia to supplant the
count In command thore, will be poisoned
by him on the eve of your departure."
Tho old man poke with such delib
erate emphasis and conviction, his story
was so plausible, that Sabatier could
suffer it no longer.
"Corinne," cried he, rising from his
seat and suppressing the many emo
tions which rushed upon his brain, "it
Is all like a terrible dream to me. I
must go home to reason with it. And
if it be as you say, then I thank God
that my bi other is saved from this new
Be held out his hand to her; but she
did not take it.
"Eugene," she exclaimed, "befoic you
go home tonight you have work to do."
"Which is, Corinne?"
"To avenge your brother Gilbert and to
become Count of Brivcs."
Perplexed as he was, Sabatier smiled.
"Oh," said he; "now you speak to me In
riddles. What miracle shall make meCount
of Brivcs tonight?"
"Supper at the Chateau Rt. Mande Is the
only mlraclo necessary, Eugene."
The young man drew back with an Impa
tient gesture.
"Corinne," he cried, "Is it an hour for
"I do not Jest with you, Eugene," she
answered very tenderly; "did I not tell
you that fortune and a future awaited you
tonight? It is for you to say whether you
will take the gift or refuse it."
Sho spoke very simply, though deep feel
ing gavo a quaver to her voice. As for
Sabatier, he began to tell himself that he
had lost his wits, and he walked up and
down tho room like a man distracted.
"Ciel." cried he, stopping suddenly at
last, "what mystery Ik this? You say that
my brother will poison me. and yet you tell
me to sup with him. I beseech you. be plain
with me. Oli. do I not surfer enough that
you should add to my burden?"
He turned from one to the other appeal
ingly. his distreas being so great that tears
stood in his eyes, and his voice was husky
and broken. Bat It was the old physician
who answered him.
"Monsieur." said he, laying down his
pen for tho first time, "you beseech me to
be plain with you. and I will hasten to
obey your wish. Mademoiselle tells you
truly that fortune and a future await you
at the Chateau St Mande tonight; but If
they are to bo won. they will be won by
your own courage. The Count of Brives
asks you to his house that he may kill you
as he killed your brother Gilbert. If you
turn back now. thinking to spare him the
crime, you will dishouor your father's mem
ory and add new sham'; to a house which
knew shame for the first time when your
eldest brother was born to It. Let me con
jure you. then, to do no such thing, but to
ride hence at once for the chateau."
"Where they will poison me," inter
rupted Sabatier, a little angrily.
"Exactly," continued Antonio, "where
they will poison you. But you. If you
are careful to do exactly as I bid you,
will awake presently from the death
you shall seem to die; and being awakened,
will find yourselt in twenty hours Count of
Brives, and master of his fortune."
Sabatier stood wonder-struck. The old
man, excited now by the story lie was tell
ing, raised hishead as in warning, and con
tinued rapidly:
"Monsieur, there is no other In the
world who Is called, as you are now called,
to be God's messenger in this work of ven
geance and ot right. Go, then, before the
clock strikes again to St. Mande, and say
to yourself as you enter, I am come to
aeuge my brother Gilbert. Whatever
you see there; whatever may happen to
you fear nothing. The eyes of those who
send you to this work will watch you, even
as you sit. I say no more the min
utes pass swiftly, and what fnrther coun
sel I can give is written here upon this
parchment. Let me exhort you to read
every letter ot that injunction not once,
but twelve times, as you ride toward the
chateau. For that writing is life or
death as you remember or forget it."
There was a gieat stillness in the room
when the old man ceased to speak. Sa
batier scarce knowing whether the words
were real or the echo of a dream, took with
trembling hands the paper which the phy
sician thrust upon him. Then he turned
questioningly to Corinne; but she had now
risen fiom her seat, and coming forward
she laid her pietty fingers caressingly
upon his arm.
"Eugene," she asked, earnestly, "yoa
will avenge your brother?"
"As God is my witness," he answered,
"I will know the truth this night."
The woods ot Vincenncs were very dark
when Eugene Sabatier passed thr ough them
on bis way to his brother's house. But
his head was too full of terrible thoughts
to permit him to notice the state of the
night or even the dangers of the road.
For the mattei of that he 1 ad ridden at a
hard gallop fiom Mademoiselle Corinne's
court-yard; and skirting the right bank
of the Seine, he drew rein but twice before
the grim and forbidding home of the Count
or Brives stood up in the valley before
him. Then, indeed, with a little sl.iver
of fear, he permitted his horse to walk,
whie he topk off his heavy brass helmet
and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Ciel," he said to himself, "what an
errand to go upon. That my brother
should be a prisoner. Bah, 1 will not believe
itl Corinne has been too clever for once.
That old fool of a physician has deceived
her with his nonsense. As well might I ex
pect to bo pope as to step Into Charles'
shoes and become Count ot Brivcs tomor
row. Yet I cannot forget that poor Gil
bert's body was found in the river the
morning after he supped at St.Mande. God
help me what am I to think?"
Ho was riding at that moment through
a wood or shivering aspens; and what with
the strange, haunting music of their leaves,
and the darkness of the thicket and the
weird light playing upon the river, whose
course he could mark.llkc agreatsllverveln
of the valley, he began to be more fearful
than ever he had been in all his life. And
this was surprising, since there was no
braver man in Conde's legion than Eugene
Sabatier; none readier with the rapier or
more skilled in all these arts which are a
soldier's boast. It was tho hidden danger
the death in the cup that now made Lis
heart beat so loudly. Be could not hide it
from himself that this old man, who had
warned him, might be a foolanda boaster.
How, he asked himself, if thescheme should
fail and his own body be found tomorrowin
the Marne?
He had little to hope for in life, for
he was a penniless soldier who must make
his own future, but so long as he could
treasure up in his heart love for little
Corinne, he was content to live, and to
dream of a day when there should be no
gulf of wealth and station between them.
That day would come quickly enough if
his brother, the Count of Brives, were to
die, since the count had neither wife nor
child; and title and lands would then
descend to him. Be remembered that
Corinne had promised that all this should
happen twenty hours after he had sat
down to supper at the chateau, and he
laughed again at the absurdity of her
promise. Only when he remembered poor
Gilbert did his own courage come back
to him; and riding quickly out or the woods
he swore that the truth should be hidden
no longer.
He was not more than a hundred yards
Cicl," He Said
from the gloomy house now, and he could
hear the voices of the boatmen rising up
from tho river's bank. Behind him lay
Paris; herliglits beginning to shine brightly
as in joy of the newly come night; before
him the road sloped gently toward the
Seine, meeting It at last at a point where
the Marne flows Into the greater stream.
He could see his brother's chateau, which
had the shape of an old time fortress,
standing up black and threatening almost
at the water's edge. In the distance it ap
peared to be the stronghold of the ham
let, which lay in its shadow; a hamlet
of tumbling cottages with an old Nor
man church, red roofed, squat, yet withal
picturesque. But when you rode Into the
one street of this village, you observed
that a meadow lay between the great House
and Us humbler children, and that the
former was girded about with a wood of
poplars. Indeed, it was a very lonely
house, and all the villagers shunned it,
as they shunned its melancholy, silent,
solitude-loving master. Count Charles of
These villagers were all going to their
beds when the young captain of Conde's
legion rode at canter through their hamlet.
He, on his part, took little notice of them
or of their dwellings, so entirely did appre
hension or the peril to come play upon
hlsmind. Twicealreadyhad heperusedthe
slip of parchment which old Antonio had
intrusted to him with so solemn a warn
ing: but now at the mouth of the village
he drew rein for the third time, and hold
ing the paper so that the light from the
lantern of the inn fell upon it he read
every word ot it again and again; and,
having read It, he repeated it twenty times
aloud to be sure that his memory had it.
There were but three lines ot writing in
all, done clearly in great, bold characters,
and Eugene soon knew them so well that
he could say them backward or forward
as he pleased.
"Bah!" said he, tearing the paper into
shreds and letting the night wind scatter
it. "They tell a tale to frighten children,
not men. What an injustice to believethis
or my brother until I have something be
yond an old man's cackle to go upon!
How should he know of a purple glass,
and bow can there be both life and death
within it? I will listen to no such slander,
but sup with the count, as brother should."
This was all very well in promise, but
the performance was a different matter.
Thougli Sabatier kept telling himself that
he had nothing to rear, his heart beat wildly
when ultimately he stood at the gate of the
chateau and heard the great bell booming
iu the tower above him. What, he asked, It
that gato. which now shut behind him with
such an ominous clang, should never open
to his kiweX agnlu. How if the morn should
rind lils body lapped upon by the waters
yonder; sedge grass hiding his race and
the reed.-, trying vainly to clothe him with
warmth. He could uot suppress a shudder
when tx voice whispered in his ear. "All
this Is possible." Nor did the croaking wel
come of the evil-eyed, stooping, lank old
servant. Armani!, reassure him.
"The count, my master, awaits youin the
salon, monsieur," said he. "I pray you be
careful ot the steps; they are. like all else
here, a little grown in age. Shall Gernnin
bed your horse or do you ride away to
night?" "Ay, surely, Armand I leave Paris to
morrow, and must be in my own bed before
midnight Is struck," answered Eugene,
merrily, though his heart sank lower and
lower at the gloomy aspect ot all he saw
about him. "Let the horse have a mouth
fll of sweet hay and a loosened girth," he
added, presently. "Who knows that my
hand will be steady enough to saddle him
when I have done supping with the count?"
The old servant, who had thrown the
reins to the lad, Germain, looked up quickly
at this remark, his toothless mouth open
ing in a horrid smilo.
"Who knows, monsieur," he said; "there
was never one of your race that refused a
flask or Armaguac yet. And there Is none
better In France than the wine in my mis
ter's cellars. 1 pray you follow me, lest
the supper be al' eady cold."
With thisAitf took up his lantern aud
monuted a steep, tortuous narrow stair
case above which the great black walla
of the chateau loomed forbiddingly. There
was a wicket In an old iron-sheathed door
at the stair's head; and when they had
passed through it, they stood in a vast
hall, the waHs of which were covered wlta
rusting armor. But the place was for
saken and unlighted fave for the poor
rays which fell from the candle In the
lantern; and, indeed, the whole house was
full ot a silence as of the silence of death.
It was a tremendous relief to Eugene when
at last lie entered the great salon and
beheld his brother standing near the door
to receive him. Every suspicion, every
donbt, all the horrid stories he had heard
at tho Hotel Beautrelllis were forgotten in
a moment. Kinship, even affection, suc
ceeded to them during the instant of warm
"Brother," he said, coming forward
with a light step, and stooping to kiss
the count upon the cheeks, "brother, it la
good to see you again."
Count Charles suffered rather than re
turned the greeting. He was a man per
haps ot forty j ears of age: his face pitted
with the smallpox; his nose squat and up
turned; his beard short and stubby; bis ejes,
very bright and very small. He wore a
suit of black velvet, with rulflcs or white
lace, but his vest was embroidered witn
silver and the buttons of it were picked
out with diamonds.
"My brother," said he, ids restless eyes
blinking the while, "I heard tbatyou were
named for a command in Westphalia. 16
was natural that I should wisn to see you
before you go."
It sounded almost likt an apology, but
Eugene, refu.-lug to notice the hesitation,
and halting manner, became frankness it
self. "It is true," he answered, "that I have
a command, Charles though there la
little hope left to us of the war. I am
sure yoa wish me Gcd-specd, for I cm to
have your old company in Condo'e le
gions.' '
to Himself.
The count shrugged his shoulders.
"Fall!" said he curtly, "it you can make
those rats fight, you are a clever man
They ran at Minden like deer from the
dogs. Let us si6 to supper and forget
He led the way to an adjoining diaiag
room, even a larger chamber than the oae
they quitted; ami they sat together at the
end of a long table, feebly lit by eight wax
lights. The toothless old man, Armand,
waited upon them, like a ghostly image
from the gloom in which the greater pare
of the room was plunged. For a while
neither of the brothers spoke a word, eat
ing silently, and scarce looking at one
another. The supper itself was ot the
plainest a capon, a dish of spinach, some
tender slices of venison and for drink,
champagne in Iong goblets ot parklin-,r
cut glass. Eugene said to himself for the
second time when he lifted such a gobltc
and drank deeply of the foaming draught
that old Antonio, the physician to lime.
Corinne, was a fool. There was no such
thing as a purple glavs upon the table.
How, then, could he avoid that within it2
They had told him a hog's tale. Surely,
it was one of pretty Corinne's Jests. Fr
a truth, he was half of a fiund to bins
to his brother the cruel -slander put around
about him; but, restraining himself, he
began to talk of the Hotel Beaatrellia,
and of its fascinating mistress.
"You have seen Corinne lately?" he
asked, indifferently.
The count looked up quickly.
"You speakofMUe.de Montesson?" said
"Certainly I do. But I thoughtyou were
such good friends."
Count Charles shrusgetl his shoulders.
"I know her a little," said he, with as
sumed nonchalance, "and yoa "
"Oh," said Eugene, with whole-hearted
energy, "I know her very well indeed,
The count put out his glass that Armnnd
might fill it with champagne. The ac
tion helped him to conceal from Eugene the
deep flush upon his face, and the angry
brigutness of his eyes. But he said no
word to betray himself; and began cleverly
to talk of other subjects with a loquacity
quite foreign to him. As for the younger
man, though he was quite content now to
believe that Corinne had told him a
silly story,uonetheless did the influence of
bis surroundings weigh heavily upen him.
His heart was dark as the great rooar
in which he sac; and just as In that
chamber eight candles east an aureola"
of light at its center, so in his own
heart was there a glow of light when ho
remembered his love for pretty Corinne
"Shall I ever see her again?" he asked
A relentless foreboding warned him thas
he might not. Danger seemed all about
him. He knew that his brother hated him
hated him because his mother had loved
him; hated him for his looks, his friends,
his successes- But he did not know then
that he hated him most of all because
of the words which he had spoken about
little Corinnc.
Supper was done now; and the count,
pushing back his chair from the table,
seemed to be in a more generous mood.
"Armand," he cried, to the toothless
old serving man, "bring a flask of Ar
magnac and set glasses. You can go
to the lodge, then."
Eugene was surprised at the request.
"Do you live alone here, brother?" he
"Certainly" replied the count; "am
I not a soldier who has been alone aU my
It was a bitter question, and Eugene
shuddered he knew not why. Far from
fearing his brother now, he pitied him and
would have been very glad to have said
so; but Just when the word was upon his
lips, Armand returned with the flask of
thewine ot Anna gnaoand two longglasses,
which he wiped and set carefully upon the
table. Eugene observed their color im
mediately. They were of a deep purple
tint. "Ciel," he murmured to himself,
while his beart beat fast and the blood
rushed to his brain, "the pnrple glass!"
In the same moment, Armand left the room
and a little while aftera gate in the court
yard was shut with a loud clang. The
brothers were alone in the house of
(To be Concluded.

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