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Helena, Montana, Thursday, April 22, 1886. No. <f h.i* lllccltly |(jeralil. R. E. FISK D. W FISK, A. J. FISK, Publishers and Proprietors. Largest Circulation of any Paper in Montana Rates of Subscription. WEEKLY HERALD: One Year. fin wtvanee)................... Hix Month», (in advance)..................... Three Month», Un advance)................. When not paid for in advance the rate will he Four Hollar» peryeail Postage, in all cases Prepaid. DAILY HERALD: City Subscriber»,delivered by carrier,II 50aino»th One Year, by mail, (in advance)..................#12 00 Six Months, by mail, (in advance)............... 6 00 Three Months, by mail, (in advance)........... d 00 *#-All communications should be addressed to FISK BROS., Publisher:!, Helena, Montana. A rARTS MYSTERY S3 00 2 00 1 00 By the Author of "My Ducats and Daughter." J ly CHAPTER I. I am asked to set down, in order and de- 1 tail, all that 1 know relative to the affair of the Passage de Mazarin, or, as it w as com monly called at the time, the "Crime of ( 'hristmas Day." This I can do very easily, since not only are the facts fresh in my memory, but I have also before me, as I write, the various documents, newspaper ex tracts, etc., bearing on the cas*'. I begin by telling how, on the evening of Monday, the '24th of December, 186—-, about H:!50 o'clock, I left Girard's lodgings in the Rue 1 lau phi ne. w lipre I was then staying, and went to meet him by appointment at the cafe 'ailed La Source. The night was very cold, and I hail been sitting without a lire, for reasons; consequently I was not sorry when the hour came for my leaving the dismal, -ky-lngh garret which was my temporary home, in spite of the cold, I did not take my greatcoat w ith me, also for reasons; and I well remember how keen the wind blew, as I hurried shivering up the Boulevard St. Michel. It w as a w retched Christmas eve. Snow had begun to fall, but melted as soon as it reached the pavements, covering them with a slush that made the asphalt very treacher ous f<x»ting. No scene could have been inure cheerless than the Boulevard that night; the dai k sky above, the dripping pavement be neath, the leafless trees, the falling snow—I shiver yet to think of it. And no greatcoat! All tiic world—at least, all the world of the Latin Qua iter—knows the Cafe do la Source. It is one of the features of the Boulevard St. Michel; and the Boulevard— Boule Miche , we used to call it affectionately in our student days—is one of the features of the Quarter. The cafe takes its name of "the Fountain" from a grotto fronting the entrance, with running water and little cascades that make a pleasant, bubbling, tinkling noise, not altogether drowned by the rattling of domi noes, the babble of tongues, and the shouts of waiters. It is very agreeable, in summer, to sit outside on the pavement under the awn ing, and drink your coffee or your glass of Btrassburg beer, and look at the people going up and down the Boulevard. But it is, per haps, in winter that the cafe of La Source seems most cheerful. You make but a step from cold and darkness outside into warmth and light w ithin. The brilliant windows, the air of comfort, the hum of talk and bursts of laughter that reach the ear of the by-passer— these arc things difficult to resist. You hear the running water, and it lures you over the threshold. The cafe was lookiug its gayest aud bright est when I reached it that Christmas Eve. But I did not go in at once, for the same rea sons that had deprived me of a fire and ay greatcoat. I had not a sou in my pocket. Girard, however, either was there or would be very soon. I therefore reconnoitered, md presently, the door opening, saw him sit ing at a table in the corner. He caught right of me at the same moment, smiled and beckoned me to come in. This I was only too glail to do. . j ■ < i ; ns* îVql' m ...... n ' '» v . Y . A',\W V '(fcv 3 33 T He beckoned me to come in. He hail on the table before him a cup of coffee and a big book; the coffee untouched, ;he book unowned, 1 "Mÿdcar Paul," he said, "you see I have waited for you. It is warmer here than at :he Rue Dauphine, eh/—waiter, another cup Df coffee aud a glass of absinthe." '''"Your room, Raoul," I said, "reminded tnê to-night of Spitzbergen. I have not been hero, but 1 liave b<*ou iu vour room and I ^now the* I %<» ret exaggerate. I think Barentz would have found your room cold." "You languish for the Rue de Medieis?—for your mirrors aud damask curtains aud J porcelain stove f ,eful to "I ecnfcis it. But I am not tuif-oof !" the Rue Dauphine. It is at leq*y ,,f a fagot i "And we may enjoy tho lr j -by and-by." , the book f* "Ali! 1 seè ÿo» havq groan as ho pushed Raoul gave ft kin<£. "Look at that!" h« ho vohirrv towar ' •aid. p V)#* * bulky volume, in t >- oked "The Buddhist Belief;" tbo 'h. KiiJi-e savant, w'u.-e mime 1 work q£ pronounce then, and have forgot xm&w. I opened it carelessly here and : Sre, then W-hcd at tho number ou the last l,!, "This h fright fur" I said, "4o0 pages, and •he tvnev small! How* much time, Raoul/ i I of it we my in ily, of a to of to eats he . ■ tfti part me 'JiC* to an any day. : get "Six weeks, counting from to-day." "And how much money/" "Two hundred francs." "That is shameful, it is criminal I Two bundred francs for translating a book of this size!—it is unheard of! Anything paid in advance/" "Nothing. That's the worst feature of the case. M. Beauvais did not offer, and I could not bring myself to ask. I dare say, when he looked at my coat, he thought he risked enough in letting me carry the book away." "Who is M. Beauvais?" "A member of the Institute, very rich, ap parently. He lives in the Rue d'Anjou, Fau bourg St. Honore. He knows all the eastern languages, but does not read English. So much the better for us. You must take your share of the translation, Paul ; then we shall do it in half the time." "With all my heart. But how are we to live meanwhile/ Can we exist for three weeks w ithout food—granting we can do it without fire/ I have not a sou in the world; my wardrobe, my bijouterie, my books—even my law-books—are all at the pawnbroker's, and my allow ance is not duo for eight weeks, I believe. You might as well try to bleed a stone as to extract money from my worthy parent before the precise day and hour; and borrowing becomes more arduous every day. That is my position. And yours f' "The same exactly, my dear Paul, except that I have these two francs fifty centimes which you see, and that no allowance comes to me at the end of eight weeks!" "Two francs fifty centimes 1 That will not tide us over the three weeks until this terrible translation is finished. And how are we to 1 buy paper, pens and ink /" Raoul did not speak for some moments; he had suddenly grown thoughtful aud serious. We had been talking in a half-jesting tone, but when next he sjxike his voic e was grave. "It's not the prospect of a little more cold and hunger I am tliiuking of," he said at last ; "no doubt w e shall contrive todiueat least i every second day, aud we can lie in bed a I good deal, as we have done before. But to morrow. my friend, is Christmas, and this dav week is New Year's day." "Well/" "Well/—don't you see what that means': On New Year day we give gifts to those we love-" "Ah!—Gabrielle! I did not think of that!" "My dear Paul, you never think! That is why I love you. But just see how I am placed! You know that, if she chose—if she took back her word to me—Gabrielle might have presents — dresses—jewels — what you will! And I—I shall walk with her round the Boulevards; the windows are full of pretty things; she will scarcely look at them, for fear of vexing me; and I shall not be able; to turn my eyes from them, for thinking of what 1 should like to buy for her. I shall see the people crow ding in and out. laughing, joking, happy in giving and receiving—and for Gabrielle, nothing! Even the booths on the edge of the pavement we must pass— even the most trifling keepsake, I eaunot give it her! That is what happens on New Year's day to the poor man who has a sweetheart." "If I had only something left to send to the pawnbroker !" The exclamation escaped me unawares, I was so moved by Raoul's evident i»aiu of mind. It made him laugh, however ; he de clared that was my instinctive resource. Aud, indeed, there was some truth iu this, 1 confess it. "Let us look things in the face," I said at last; "surely there must be some resource, if we can only think of it. I shall go to Levi Jacob tomorrow; I shall demand a loan; I shall tell him-" "That your friend Raoul Girard wants to buy a present for his affianced on New Year's day? That won't soften the flint that does duty for a heart with Levi Jacob, my dear Pauli And besides you owe him too much already." "Too true. And can you, then, think of nothing/" "Nothing. You know that since Le Petit Monde stopped no other journal has accepted my articles. And my WTetched salary as critic for Le Drame is already overdrawn; they will advance me nothing. I had some hope when the editor of The Monde gave me that letter to M. Beauvais. I thought he might have paid us something in advance. But that hope has failed." For some time we both sipped our coffee in !#ence. I had never lx*fore seen Raoul thus in open rebellion against his poverty; J had never before seen that shadow on his brow which darkened it to-night. "(hir only hope now," I said at last, gloom ily, "seems to be in a miracle." "Say at once—in a letter from tho director of the Odeon!" "And why not? Only I would not call that a miracle! You know what I said of your comedy at the time, Raoul—you know what Tisson, of Le Drame, said of it-" "I know, my dear Paul, that if you were director of the Odeon the rehearsals wmild begin tomorrow'. But evidently M. Des nouette's opinion is not ours. I wish he would send back the manuscript; I could make a short story of it." Raoul spoke lightly, but I knew that this particular failure had bitterly disappointed him. Six months' hard work hail been given to that comedy. There were scenes aud situ ations in it that—but this is a quite needles' digression. "Have I not heard you speak of a > of yours living in the Quarter/" T-entured to say; "au uncle, was it not, ÛO ls nch? Perhaps he-" „ . . , , "Useless to think of if He is rich-how rich nobody knows but imLself ' Bu ^ e . ls , a miser; he grudges hi>-* lf ever Y youthful he eats and every*»** be burns ' mus *. be ' lieve that thew ai e pockets in the w mdmg sheet I You remember that day m the gar dens of the Luxembourg last summer?" "Quite well. We were sitting under the trees, feeding the birds with the crumble over from our breakfast. An oj was » bled past and frowned fttus. he said to you, Raoul. -never give away "Young mam fi J na y wail t yourself.' what sOine dfnau! I never yet have asked And that jy Rim for myself. Twice I went anvtlpv hen my good uncle at Provins —hhj tfti brother—was lying ill aud in Want. Rather than give me money—rather than part \\ ith his cherished coin, lie actually gave me odq or two things he had about him, a.ti 'JiC* of \ ertu—to sell !" "I remember. What a singular man !" "He is a cur; I can call him nothing else! When my pi tor uncle at Prov ins died I went to him again. It w as altout the costs of the funeral, -Pay for all,' he said; 'then bring an oxa< t account to me.' 1 paid for all; ]tartlv with what I could scra|>e together, partly by a loan from you. When I went back I found that my worthy uncle had given strict ordere to the servant never on any showing to udmit me again. That w as a year ago, and he owes me the money to this day. It w ould make me rich now—if I could get it!" "And you have not seen him since!" . • "I have not tried. My interviews with him were not pleasant. He affected to be lieve that my story w as a fiction ; that I only wanted his money to spend it on my follies! He made me swallow adders ! Pah! Say no more of him. He is the one man on earth that I hate !" Raoul said this in a tone which left no doubt as to the reality of his hatred. I noticed how his face flushed and his eyes blazed, and could imagine how badly the old miser must have treated him, since Raoul's anger was the rarest thing in the world. Nothing more passed between us on this disagreeable subject; but I could see that Raoul had not dismissed it from his mind. He was silent and preoccupied, and the shadow rested on his face. I kuew that he was thinking also of Gabrielle Duinaine, aud how he could offer her no gift on New Year's day. That might seem a small thing, com paratively ; but it was not so to Raoul Girard. For he was very proud. We left the cafe of La Source unwillingly; the plash and ripple of the fountain seemed to murmur: Stay; call for another glass of absinthe, another cup of coffee. But two francs !—forty sous !—and an indefinite num ber of dinners to expend them on! We tore ourselves away from La Source. Ann in arm we went along the Rue Racine and across the Place 'le l'Odeon. on the way to our common lodging. Raoul was strangely silent, and 1 noticed that he w alked at a much sw ifter pace than w as usual with him. Neither of us had overcoat or umbrella; these useful articles had drifted long since to the pawnbroker shop. The sleet lashed in our faces, our thin garments were soon drenched, the mud and water from the puddles splashed up about us. It was an exec rable night. It should have been my part to solace myself with a little mild grumbling, and Raoul's to rebuke me w ith some words of gay philosophy But to-night 1 had an impression that he wtf making a personal grievance of this exposure to the snow and w ind. He seemed strangdy unlike himself. Once, after one of the fiercer masrs. î neain'sommnng mÆ a curse escape Lis lips. We scarcely exchanged a dozen worts be tween tho Boulevard and the top of tie Rui Dauphine. At the corner of that street Raoul stopped abruptly. It w as as if he Lac brought some long meditation to a clcse. "What o'clock is it, Paul /" he aski-4 me. I laughed at the question, and reminded him that for two months I Lad been without , a watch. Just then the bell of St. Sulpire tolled; "One, two, three"—I counted up toten. "Ten o'clock," I heard Raoul nutter tc himself; "there is time yet." I 'hought 1 knew w hat he meant: /K~' r 771 > : 0/1 r //\ 4 - 7 7 V/j .1/ Tf 1 à / m i K Y / \ ll cV w I - h V "Ten o'clock; there is time yet." "My friend," lie said, "I am going to pay a visit. Oblige me by carrying home this book, and leave our door unlocked. I shall not lie late, but do not wait for me if you feel at all sleepy. In the meantime, good night!" It did not surprise me that Raoul should mean to pay a visit at that hour. 1 thought I knew where he was going. We parted at the corner of the str " ' Raoul, still walking very fast, went L _ °° the way we had come. As for nm 1 " ™ shivering homeward, carrying w lU ® ie e English book. On the w ay T t>ou 8 A fagots for use on the morrow , '' iien sbo ^ ,l | begin the work of translaté"* I wished very much that the tc- LUre of Haoul s coa had produced a diffe^" 1 effect on tbe D of that wealthy n-mber of the Institué CHAPTER IL When I »woke next moraine? R was to won der what could lie the hotr of day. I felt as if I haa slept sufficients ami yet the light m the room seemed sagely dim. It unght have been early -aorning. I looked ai- 0 * 3 tbe ruum to be corner m which stoc* Inouï s truckle-bed, opposite my own T" oul stib slept, and soundly, to judge fron* u *" s ^'P' regular breathing. I knew t i,.c he must have been late the night before; . had fallen asleep before he returned. Presently I beard the heavy foot of Pierre, our landlord and servant in one, mounting the stair, aud then his knock at the door. "Is that you, Pierre/" "It is I, with a letter for Monsieur, and one also for M. Girard." I was about to rise to admit him, when I noticed that the key was not in tbe lock of the door. Evidently Raoul had not J the door behind him last 08 R wa s bis habit to do. „ , ..... "Enter -" en 'i Hie key is on your side, is it n< ^Ah, it is true!" Next minute he had en tered the room, and coming to my bedside, handed me the two letters. "What o'clock is it, Pierre ?" • w "It is half-past eleven, Monsieur." "Howl Half-past eleven? Why, it is a veritable tw flight in this room !" "If Monsieur looks at the window he w ill see the reasen of that." I looked at the Window in the ceiling of our attic room, and saw that it was covered with snow. "What frightful weather! You will find two faggots in the closet, Pierre; have the goodness to light a fire, and hang these clothes before it. And make as little noise as j>os sible, if you please. M. Girard still sleeps." "M. Girard w as very late last night," re marked Pierre; "it was after two when I let him in." • "So late as that r" I said, surprised. Raoul could uot then have goue to visit Mme. Du maine and Gabrielle ; he never stayed there after 11 at latest. Where bad he Lx en / While Pierre was making up the fire, I read the letter he had brought me. It was from my father, iu answer to an appeal for money—a desperate appeal, and useless, as I had expected. Unlike myself, my father was a man of principle; and one of his principles —the one 1 found personally most incon venient—was this: Not a sou till quarter-day. He made me a good allow ance, w hich, in those days of w Ld and thoughtless youth, I was accustomed to spend with rapidity. Raoul was always poor; I was, at intervals, rich for a few days; then plunged into frightful pov erty, owing to my jiarent's stern resolve never to antedate supplies. I had also nu merous creditors, and hail become proficient in the art of "doubling a cape"—that is, slip ping round a street corner when one of these appeared. It was my custom, when the funds began to sink, to leave my comparatively luxurious room In the Rue de Medieis, with their pleasant view over the Luxembourg gardens and install myself in Raoul's garret, amid tbe dm and squalor of the Rue Dauphine. His companionship more than made up for the discomfort, the cold and the occasional pinch of hunger. We were fast frieuds, financed in common and had no secrets from each other. Raoul was very different from me—frugal, industrious, indulging in few pleasures, but always frank and gay, however empty his pockets. We were both students of law and our final ex amination w as now not far off. I had never regretted my improvidence until now. But, when 1 saw how a little ready money would have enabled Raoul and myself to leave aride ell other w ork and give ourselves to our law hooks, I did regret it. And therefore, some days ago, I had w ritten that letter to my 'ather, scarcely expecting any more fav orable answer than the exceedingly curt and derided one I received. .Pierre bad by this time kindled the fire, and vas arranging before it, on the backs of the :wo chairs our attic boasted, Raoul's damp clothes and mine. All at once he uttered an exclamation of surprise, which startled me from my study of the parental letter. "How ! look then at the coat of M. Girard! The sleeve is ripped up right to the shoulder!" "What! the sleeve ripped up, do you say?" "Toru completely, Monsieur! But what is to be done/ Monsieur Las but one coat at present, and until it is repaired-" "He cannot leave this room, of course. It is x ery awkward. How can he have done it/" "If Monsieur desires, I will take the coat downstairs to Naunette, w ho w ill sew it suffi ciently well. Monsieur doubtless remembers w hat the little tailor at the comer says—that he w ill do alisolutely nothing more for Mon sieur until his hill is paid?" "It is true, Pierre ; I recollect the word* of the little wretch. By all means, take the coat to Madame, and give her my thanks in advance. " Pierre departed, taking the coat with him. I began turning over the pages of the English book, reading a passage here and there, and trying to reckon the time it would take us to translate it. Raoul was au excellent English scholar; I could read that language fairly. W e had done this kind of work once or twice before. Every now and then I looked across the room to see w hether Raoul was not awake. But he did not stir. The heavy, regular breathing continued ; he seemed to be sleeping very soundly. By chance my eye fell on Raoul's letter, which 1 had laid ou the table beside me. I stretched forth my hand, took it and looked at the address; letters in those days were enough of a rarity to make one curious. The handwriting was strange to me. I was about to lay the letter down, w hen I noticed these words on the front of the envelope, "Odeon Theatre." Imagine niy wonder, my delight! There was but one conclusion to be drawn from a letter which came unaccompanied by the manuscript. Raoul's comedy w as ac cepted ! For weeks past I liad lieeii telling my self, I had been assuring Raoul, that nothing was more certain to hapjien than this. But now, when it had actually happened—for the letter seemed sufficient evidence of that—I could scarcely realize at first that it was true. The comedy accepted!—that would change everything! No more living in a garret for Raooi—no more dining at eight sous—no more translating dry English books—aud as many presents on Ne" Y ear s day as he cared to buy! In a e-nient I was out of bed, the letter in my "Raou 1 " There was no answer, "rtaoul!" _in p ouder voice. Still no an» w er. "Heav en" buw be sleeps ! Raoul!"—laying my jEiid on his shoulder and gently shaking him. Still neither speech nor motion. "He must have beeu very late last night. "YV here the devil can he have gone? Raoul, waken, won't you? Here is a letter from-" Just! hen I caught sight of his face in the feeble light of the snow-obscured wiudow. Its appearance alarmed me—almost gave me a shock. It was fever-flushed, and tinged with purple uuder the eyes; the lips were tense; at the corners of the mouth something like foam had gathered. The breathing was slow, deep-draw n; this did not seem to me a natural shimlier. I shook him more violently; still he did not awake. I went across the room, and looked into a drawer of the writing-table, where I knew Raoul kept a vial containing a solution of morphia He had been troubled at ore time by insomnia, resulting from overwork, and the doctor had given him this as a sleeping draught. I found the vial; it was empty. This at first frightened me terribly, until I remembered that there could not have been much more than one dose left in the bottle— certainly uot enough to be dangerous. Still, Raoul's feverish look made mo uueasy. I re solved on giving him a little time longer to awake, aud meanwhile went to bed again. My clothes were still far from dry, and the cold W'as Siberian. I had no* lain in lied ten nunutes before I ^ oiartled by Raoul moaning and restlessly moving his arms, as if in the act of climbing —a singular motion. Then he began to talk in his sleep, at first loudly; "It is the same— \ \ V" Y)-'» fW w h. Ü J ti y y V Then lie began to talk in his sleep. the very sanie; I recognize it well! . . . Yes, ae gave it to me himself, Lut that was a year ago ; I have it no longer. ... 1 sold it—you inow I sold it—I sold it to—to—ah. my God, I ■annot remember-" Then his voice became too faint for me to hear the words. "Wbat the devil does he mean by this nonsense?" I said to myself; "perhaps a scene for some future zomedv /" I sent out for breakfast—two rolls of bread and a half-bottle of Macon—and remained all the afternoon beside Raoul, watching. About i o'clock he begau to stir uneasily, theu opened his eyes and, seeing me seated by his liedside, stretched out his hand aud smiled. I felt iu axpressibly relieved. "What is wrong with you, my dear Raoul?" I said; "are you unwell?" "No, No! Only I have had a l>ad dream— the worst dream I ever had !" He passed his hand over his eyes. "But I am awake now, tbauk God! Have I slept loug, Raul/" "An eternity! I thought you would never waken ! Do you know, Raoul, you have fin ished the morphia that was iu tiio vial/" "Finished it? I don't seem to remember. Tell me, was I late last night ?" "Pierre says you did not return until after two. I was asleep when you came in." Raoul started and looked at me strangely. "How cold it is in this room!" he said; "see how I shiver!" Aud indeed the hand which he stretched out to me was trembliug; w hen I touched it, however, I found it quite hot. "You are feverish, my dear fellow," I said to him. "This comes of infrequent dining. Now, this is what I shall do. I shall spend our two remaining francs on something re sembling a dicier—oh vest I have had breakfast ; I shan't want to dine till to-mor row, or the day after 1 By that time, no doubt, I shall have captured somehow that shyest of all creatures, the five-franc piece. There must be someone still from whom 1 can borrow." In spite of Raoul's protests, I had some food and a half-bottle of wine brought from the restaurant over the way. He felt better after this; the headache of which he had com plained left him; aud he soon begau to laugh and talk iu his usual maimer. But he still complained of feeling weak, and I persuaded him to remain all day in bed. "Let us begin at the English book, how ever," he said; "fcr us time is money, as the English say." "No, no! We need not begin at that, Raoul ! Y T ou may say good-by to your trans lating. The days of your bondage are over— you will never translate again I" "What in Heaven's name do you mean?" "Open and read!" I eried, giving him the letter. "Here is money, fame—everything! And it has not come a day too soon." Raoul took the letter; when he saw the words "Odeon Theatre," his face became a shade paler, but his hand was wonderfully steady. "Y'ou are rushing to conclusions, Paul," he said ; "this letter is evidently from the admin istration of the Odeon, but it may not-" "It can mean only one thing—that the comedy is accepted! Open it at once, for H"»«ike' Lpt us know the nr tho worst—though, of course, it is the best, i am sure of it." RrouI smiled and opened the letter. Though he took it more quietly, I knew he was quite as anxious as myself. I watched him as he read; his glance seemed to fly along the lines; , a look of satisfaction, almost exultation, came over his face, and I saw that the good news had come. Raoul elasjxsl my Land. "You were right," he said; "the comedy is accepted! Read!"—then sank back nerve lessly on bis pillow. This was the letter: Odeon Theatre, Dec. 24,1S6-. "Monsieur: In tbe naineof the administra tion of the Odeon theatre, I have the honor to inform you that your comedy, "The Gold of Toulouse," has been accepted for early representation at the Odeon. "Iu my own name, Monsieur, allow me to congratulate you ou your work. It is more than amusiug; it is brilliant. This is the opinion also of my colleagues who have read it. I desire, Monsieur, to make your ac quaintance, and request you to favor me by a visit ou an early day. "Your comedy will be sent almost imme diately to a-rfiearsal, aud will be put on the after the withdrawal of M. Victor's piece, "The Hunting Party." I shall have the honor of intimating to you ere long the day on which you will be requested to send your comedy before the artists to w hom the parts w ill be allotted. "I subscribe myself, Monsieur, w ith every assurance of esteem, your very humble, very obeilieut servant, "Desxouettes, Manager." I shall not try to describe our proceedings during the next quarter of an hour—or rather I should say my proceedings, for Raoul lay in bed laughing, while I waltzed round the room, hurled the English book into a corner, read the letter aloud with comments, waved it triumphantly aloft, and performed other absurdities; I was, indeed, overjoyed. Raoul was going to be a great man!—he would rival Scribe, Angier, Sardou, those giauts of the stage—he would make his way iuto the charmed circle of the Comedie Française I I said all this, which made him laugh more than ever. He begged me w> Slt ""'•"> Pi«rr« came up stairs to see which of us had gone mail. "But you are satisfied ?" i said to him. sink ing at last, out of breath, into a chair. "Does that letter not flatter you sufficiently?" "Satisfied—I tell you, Paul, this is wonder ful 1 It is one of those things which happen once in half a century. Now that it has hap pened, I begin to wonder how 1 could ever have inmgined it possible !" "You must go to M. Desnouettes to-mor row ! Y ou must-" "Ask him for a loan, eh /" "Aud why not ? He might have advanced you a few napoleons; it is the only omission I notice in his otherwise admirable letter. Money we must have. Who, after this, could go on translating English Z" "I am not going to borrow from M. Des nouettes." "Verj^good; there is another w ay. Give me the letter, and I will turn it iuto money. Times will change in the Quarter before a man with a comedy accepted by the Odeon needs to starve I" "By all means take the letter and get the money if you can. And now, like a gixxl fellow, give me pen and paper. I have three lines to w rite—you can guess to whom. ' "Of course. It's a pity we can't spare her the letter, is it not ?" "1 will tell her the good news. How it will rejoice her! Last night, after I left you, Paul, I saw her. We talked of this very thing, of the comedy. Like you, Gabrielle never lost faith hi it. She has prayed to the Virgin every night that it might be ac cepted. " "Well, it has been, anyhow. Here are the pen ami pajier. Wait one moment w hile I put some water in this ink; it is almost dry." Just then there came a knock at the door. It was Pierre w ho entered. "It is the coat of M. Girard," he said; "Nanuette bids me say that she lias done her best, though a tailor would douotless have been more skillful." "How, my coat?" said Raoul; "what, then, was the matter with my coat Z" "Monsieur has, theu, forgotten?" said the servant; "the sleeve was torn from the wrist right up to the shoulder!" At this moment I had my back turned to Raoul's bed, being engaged at the wash stand in dropping water into till» tfck txittle. A sud den cry of alarm from flervofitartled me: "Quick, Monsieur, q j fa k > h e has famted! My God, he is dead f ' I flew to the bedside. Raoul's face had be come ot a deathly pallor; his eyes were closed; his lower jaw dropped down; his right arm hung flaccid over the bed. "Gracious heaven!" I cried iu alarm: "what iswToug with him? Quick Pierre, dip this cloth in cold water—then run for brandy— run your fastest ! Here is—oh, my God, I have not a sou !" "Say not a word more, Monsieur! I will hasteu—I w ill fly—I will bring the brandy I Let Monsieur be at ease—there is no need of the money"—auil here this paragon of ser vants had rushed off and down the stairs be fore I could say a word. I had passed my arm uuder Raoul's head, and was bathing his brow with the wet/-loth. Before Pierre came back he had revived, to my intense relief, He opened his eyes, aud looked me w ildlv iu the face. "1 had forgotten that!" he said, in a voice quite unlike his own, and with a shudder I could feel. "Forgotten what, my dear Raoul P but again his eyes had closed, and his head dropped liack on my shoulder. Pierre returned after a short absence with the brandy. We made Raoul drink some presently he came out of the second fainting fit, and looked at us curiously. "What is wroug?" he said. "Mousieur Las fainted,''said Pierre; "Mon sieur feels l »etter now, is it not so/'' "The goixl news has been too much for you, dear Raoul," I said; "you are certainly un well. Shall I bring a doctor to see you?" "On no account. I am better now—quite better." The tone in which he said this was very decided. "As you say, it is no doubt the sudden joy that has overwhelmed nie. I shall sleep now, and to-morrow I shall be quite re covered." He seemed disinclined to talk further. I sat beside him, watching, till he fell asleep. There was something in his manner and ap pearance that puzzled me and made me anxious, for 1 had never seen Raoul like this before. I begau to fear lest this might be the beginning of a serious illness, and yet, on the evening before, at the cafe of La Source, he hail seemed to be iu his usual health. There was nothing that I knew of weighing on his mind; he had had no quarrel with Gabrielle: the comedy hail beeu accepted. It must, I thought, be the sudden coming of good news, acting on a temperament naturally high-strung. Raoul had a splendid physique. HLs figure was lithe and slim, like an qffilofi» 1 *-• ' 7 * * ** — the gymnasium in the Rue de la Sorbonne. But irregular dining will try the liest con stitution; and Raoul, like many writing men, was a creatureof nerves. In this way, sitting by his bedside, I explained to myself his fainting tit and random words. Soon I saw him slumbering peacefully. This reassured me, aud I retired to rest. CHAPTER III. The next forenoon saw me on my way to the house of Levi Jacob, the usurer, with the Odeon letter safe in my pocket. Raoul had passed a somew hat restless night, but in the morning professed himself quite well. There could be no breakfast for either him or me until money w as got, aud hence 1 lost no time in paying my visit to the little Jew. I pulled the cora; after some minu ter.' de lay the w indow was cautiously opened, aud the little usurer's wrinkled, bearded face, with its curved nose and glittering eyes, apjx:ared over the sill. He recognized me at uuce. "Ah, it is Monsieur! I have the honor to salute Monsieur! Will Monsieur give himself the trouble of coming upstairs?" This was said iu a shrill, cracked voice, aud the words had no «nouer been uttered than the head was withdrawn aud the window shut. I lost; no time in running upstairs, aud was at ouce admitted. I need not euter into the details of my somewhat lengthy negotiation with Levi Jacob. It ended by my putting my name to a piece of stamped paper, aud re ceiving, iu exchange, ten notes of twenty francs each. 'I hope that Monsieur is satisfied," said Levi Jacob. "I am always charmed to obligt Monsieur; there is none of my clients whom I esteem so highly. It is cold to-day, aud the snow under foot is very disagreeable. Ah. yes, it is a severe winter; one has to spend a fortune on firewood! Monsieur has perhapi not seen the journals this morning?" "No, I have uot seen them. Is there anj news ?" "Ah, that is a dreadful murder which ha been committed—Joseph Meissner, of the Pas sage de Mazarin, one of my co-religionists. 1 have met him at the Bourse, this Joseph Meissner; he was a very rich man; indeed gJLthe world spoke of his riches. Doubtless A terriblè'criffie !' deml lor ^ müUe Y "It's a warning to you,. . . ™ -, play you the same trick some tine ... ^ e w> go on lending money on such terms as ^ have giveu mel" "Ha, ha !" laughed the Jew; "Mousieur jests That is excellent ! No, no; they w ill not min der the old Jacob, the benevolent Jacob! Hi is not rich enough for that;all the woi jj not speak of him as it did of Meissner, a u J besides, if Mousieur will but look as the lock of that door, and consider that I admit n< one w ho has uot first pulled the cord and beer examined from the window, Mousieur wil perceive that I am tolerably safe." - C-( * -w-7 L. rC Of,I 'Monsieur will tnlerabh perceive safe. " I looked at the lock, which was certainly o: portentous size and strength. "It is true," ! said to him; "you are safe here." "Be your own servant," went on the ol< money-lender; "that is my notion of security Had Meissner done as I do, doubtless hi would be alive at this hour. AimI as to tin terms of which Mousieur complains, let him ii common fairness consider all things. Then is the letter, no doubt ; but let Mousieur re fleet on the risk I run— ou the inauv acci dents that may come between the friend o: Mousieur and the money he expects from hi comedy! To no other than Mousieur wouli ^ lend on such security. It is my esteem fc 1 I ! 1 j j i , I : cook, and finally to each other s. Monsieur, my confidence in his honor—ah old stupid of a Levi Jacob, why wilt thoi ever let the heart mingle with affairs!" "One makes nothing by discussing. It's i Jew's bargain, that's all. Good day, Jacob I wish sincerely I could sav farewell!" "Ha. ha! Mousieur is always so amusing Good day, Monsieur! Take care of the thin step from the top, Mousieur; the wood i rather rotten. My respectful congratulation to the friend of Mousieur. Good day ! Mon sieur, gixxl day!" It was with a light heart that I hasten« back to the Hue Dauphine. The present pos session of 200 francs cast into the shade thi terribly hard bargain which Levi Jacob ha< driven w ith me. Passing Maguy's on tin way. i ordered an excellent breakfast for twi to lie sent to Rue Dauphine, No. 2», in i quarter of an hour. "What success?" cried Raoul, as I enteret the room. He was still in lied, but iooket much more cheerful aud like himself. "Behold, sluggard, the fruits of my. earl* labors!" and 1 spread the twenty-franc note* uuder his astonished eyes. "Two hundred francs! It is a masterpiece of borrowing!" "Fresh from the coffer of the must grasp ing Israelite in Paris—my old friend Jacob ol the Cour de Rohan. But I had to leave tht talisman in his hands." "The Odeon letter?" "Yes. Jacob was too polite to say so, bul it might, you know, havebeena forgery. Ht therefore made it a condition that the lett*-i should remain in his keeping." "It does not matter, so long as we get tht money. " "And will you not go to-day, Raou!, to set the dim-tor? We are now in funds, and if u new coat-" Raoul interrupted me. **I shall not go out to-day," he said emphatically, and with a t< luch I >f irritât i< m in his tone ; " why should I : I can go to see the director to-morrow, next day, any day—it is of no importance when. Why should you waut to make me go out to dav?" "My dear Raoul," I said, surprised, " l dou't want to make you go out. There is, as you say, no necessity, h ud, now that I t hink of it, you are still an invalid ; you are entitled I to lie in lied.' 1 "I still feel rather light-headed," he said in his natural tone; "and I have the touch ol *■ . * —.-"lid T not C —snulmv **You gave me a teVrible fright yesterday, Raoul," I said; "I never saw you like that before." "Oh. I am better now—at least almost bet j ter; only 1 feel rather lazy. I have quite an ' appetite, Paul. Did you order breakfast?" "From Magny's; it will ikj here directly. Listen 1 that is tho ehink of plates and glasses on the stair." We made an excellent breakfast. Any body who knows Maguy's will understand that the wine w as of unimpeachable quality. Raoul's gayety seemed quite to coroe back to him. I remember well how merry w e were over that meal, the last that we were to I sit down to together in our old garret of the I Rue Dauphine. We proposed toasts alter nately. We drank to the Administration of I the Odeon. to the health of Levi Jacob, to the health of all our creditors, to that of Maguy's "I have laughed enough," said Raoul, at length; "1 must lie quiet now for a while. What do you propose doing this afternoon, Paul?" "I feel virtuous, industrious. It is the re action from my visit to Levi Jacob; I have noticed the same thing before. There is a lecture on Roman law at three o'clock; I shall go there. I shall also visit the pawn broker and redeem our law-lmoks, and . few other things. I have beeu missing my dress ing rare most horribly." "Gixxl; as for me, I shall rest till dinner time. i»haU we say seven o'cloek /'' "Very well; seven o'clock. I shall order it at Magnv's in passing. Till tuen, good-bye, my dear fellow--and keep always better." Gooil-bye, my friend!" said Raoul, stretch ing out his baud to ine. I think I still see the expression on his face—half-wistful, half cheerful. I took up my hat and portfolio, and departed. ___ [to HE CONTINUED. 1 Waiting Tor an lui portant Mutter. When .Miller whs hanged at Grand Forks t he other day a little occurrence took place not reported in the dispatches. A large crowd had assembled to witnesa the execution, the hour arrived, but the officers with the prisoner did uot appear. The crowd became noisy. Presently the sheriff came out on the steps of the jail and said: "Gentlemen, the time is past, but the prisoner is haviug a last talk with his spiritual advisers and you will have to wait awhile." ^ The crowd set up a yell, and the Sheriff dodged a spring's egg aud got back in. The disturbance increased and treats of breaking iu the doors were heard. M v friends," said the sheriff, again ap pealing, -U., - flyomed man is engaged in that?' ,r ' CJU c,ivi * him time for "We came ta a hangin', and not a prayer-meetin'l" shouted a man. while the sheriff retreated just in time to miss a decayed turnip. The crowed increased and made a break for the jail. A mo ment more and the doors would have been forced open. Again the sheriff came out and motioned for quiet. "Just one moment, gentlemen, and I will tell you the cause of the delay. A friend from the east has just arrived and the prisoner is telling hint of the mag nificent wheat to be raised in the Red River valley! It will help immigration, gentlemen; can't you—" "We car wait; tell him to go ahead!" veiled a cozen men as the crowd fell back.— Estel line Bell. He Knew Tt H as a Dream. Bolgertop— Had a remarkable dream lust night. I dreamed that 1 had come home about 3 p. m. 1 didn't take off' my boots, but walked boldly up stair«, making an awful racket, went into the bed room and began to throw everything out of the windows—chairs, tables, mirrors, every thing! "What did your wife sa% " "Say? She didn't say anything. She woke up and simply smiled at me. That's why I know it was a dream.—Philadelphia Call.