Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 20 April 1882 — Page 2

t'ontinned Frsnt First Page.

"Believe! I said then and tbere xttsci flt was all a terrible mistake.*1 "You saw me. I—I accused liimT' ••Not a bit of it. Yoa were just a little colleen you didn't know what you -were saying, and the words were put in your mouth for you." "If only the murderer had killcfl me, too! Then my poor father would faave been saved from all this torture!" "Adrienne, you are all wrong-. Tour father lives, and may be justified, and you will comfort him for his fearful loss and norrow. Will you not see the brightest side, Adrienne?" "Oh, Valentine! you can see tire'bright Hide, because you are happy—free from care but I—I am not like you. 1 have condemned my own good, brave father 'to the life of galley-slave: and 'until his innocence is proved I shall loot only on the dark side. A few hours ago 1 was a gay, careless child. Alas'! wclo not age with years sorrow makes «s -old and wretched." "Come, Adrienne, your mother will be looking for you. Let us go into the house."

Adrienne shivered and drew batik. "My poor, murdered mother'!

:G!Roui'ke,

did you ever see my mother "Many a time, miss. A tall, handsome young woman she was you are :like her, but not BO strong-looking. You wore a delicate child she always had you in her arms." "Valentine, how strange "that in my dreams I have never seen my mother'e face.* "I hear the duchess -calling ^ou. Adrienne!" "What shall I do?" "Go to her at once, Adrienne. She has been a mother to you* "Can I ever again call her motherf "She is coming to you, Adrienne. I will leave you and find the chanoinesse. She may want me to help her. My sister, I have known no mother but the chanoinesse but no mother could be dearer to me remember how the duke and duchess have loved you!"

She kissed Adrienne, and, leading her to the duchess, made a low courtesy, and then hurriedly left them. "Why, Adrienne, what is troubling you*? What, in tears?" The duchess looked at O'Rourke, but, for once, the man turned away without a word. "My child, something has happened to fret you surely, Valentine "Oh, no! Valentine, all of you are too good to me!" Adrienno seemed unable to go on.

The duchess put her Arm around the sobbing girl. "Come to my room, Adrienne. You always told me your little troubles, my child surely, you can tell your mother this?" "Yes, for you will pity me!" said Adrienne.

Once in the quiet, luxurious apartment, Bafefrom all interruption, the duchess drew Adrienne to a low couch and sat down but Adrienne fell on her knees, and covered her face with her hands. "Why, my child, you frighten me. Something very terriblo must have happened." "Yes, very terrible to me. Here, at your feet, let me thank you, madame, for the love, the tenderness Oh, I cannot say it! Tell me, what is a. mother to & child that you have not been to me?"

P*"Wby do you ask this question, Adrienne? What has been told you?" "This I know now that you are not my mother." "Nonsense, Adrienne you must, not believe such stories."

The duchess became so agitated that Adriennef watched her for some seconds without speaking. "It is true, though. I have heard all." "Well, well, Adrienne, even if you arc. not iny own child. lo you love me any the less to-day When you were put into iny arms a weak, dying child, I accepted yoiu to replace the little one whom I had lost. You were ill and for weeks no one thought you could recover. I nursed you. Adrienne, and when you came out of the fever, your first words were spoken to me. You called me 'Mother.' Oh, Adrienne, that word seemed to bind us together. You were so helpless, so winning, so lovely! and I was pining for a child's affection. Since then, have you ever had a grief or a pleasure unshared by me Have I not cried when you were in pain, and laughed to see you happy? Surely, Adrienne, I have been a mother to you. Have you not always loved and trusted me? Are you not my companion and friend? If I were in disgrace, would you forsake me?" "No, no I would never leave you."

If I were sick and poor "Then I would work for you, nurse you." "And if I should die?" "1 think I would die too." "Then, Adrienne, you#are my child!" The duchess clasped the sobbing girl in her arras, and kissed her. soothing her with gentle caresses .and kind words. "Then you will still call me mother?" "Oh, yes, yes! You are a mother to me!"

She lay passive for some minutes in the arms of the duchess, who in vain asked herself the secret of all this emotion. Suddenly Adrienne l-ose, and fixing her sad eyes on the duchess, spoke slowly and with firmness: "All this but proves to me my duty." ,» "What do you mean, Adrienne?" "I must leave you." "Leave me! Never, my child, never! The knowledge of this secret in no way weakens the bond between us. Every year the nobility of your character has made you dearer to us we have watched you developing like some lovely, strange jwnt to us as gift from Hetveo.

You camxSt break WK *aos IBSI noia us together."" "And if "you cam thus love me, a stranger, a dependant on your charity if you can wish to tetve me -near you, bow must he feel, done, abandoned, separated from all—even from the child who destroyed him Oh, my place is with him! I must goto him!" "Adrieime, you frighten me. Of whom are you talking?" "Of my own dear father!" "Your father! Why, Adrienne, you must be losing your senses." "Oh, no? I am only coming to them. To-day tt saw him, my poor, poor father. Oh, I want to go to him! I want to hear him speak to me again!"

The rtuke, coming in, Btood motionless. Adrienne was standing in the middle erf the room, her arms outstretched as if to clasp 6ome one, her eyes fixed on vacancy. The duchess, frightened and agitated, seemed paralyzed at the sight. "What is all this? What has happened^

The duke put his arms around the trembling girl, whose sobs now shook her more violently than ever. She looked in his face, but could not speak. The duke glanced from her to his wife. "Ob, it is all a mystery to me! Adrienne is possessed with the idea that she has seen her own father, and must go to him." v"' ~T"-mm

The duke shivered. "Impossible. There'mast be some mistake! Where is O'Rourke "He—had nothing—nothing to do with it!" murmured Adrienne, as tbe duke rang the bell. "Send O'Rourke here at once," was Taie order when the servant appeared. "He must explain this, my child." "Oh, he would have prevented it, 3 think, but—it all happened before he came. We recognized each other. It wae right—it was best! Heaven must ha^e willed it, for my poor father's sake. Now, there is hope his innocence may be proved, and if not—he will ha^e hio child!" "O'Rourke, what does this mean asked the duke, when the man made his appearance, looking unusually quiet and depressed. "When you brought our child here you said that she was an orphan that no one would ever claim her." "No one does claim her, sir." "Then what is all this? See, the child is miserable talks of leaving us, and «of having seen her father." "And so she did see him and a better man and a braver soldier never bent shoe-leather. You know that as well ae I do." "I know it? Of whom are you talking?" "Of her father. John Renaud." "Jean Renaud!" exclaimed the duke. "The man who murdered poor Madeleine, my foster-sister

A passionate cry interrupted her. Adrienne started from her arms. "It is false, all false! My father never killed my mother! You, you do not lebelieve it she was murdered, but not. by liini, not by him!"

Adrienne appealed to the duke, who would have taken her in his arms, even while resisting her agonized prayer lor justice to her father. Reading his face, Adrienne turned to the duchess, her eyes asking the question. "How can I refuse to believe it, my darling child? Oh, Adrienne. stay with me do not turn from me. You believe your father's word." "Believe it I Yes. as I believe in you, as I believe in God!" "Well, well, my child, that is right. It is only right arid natural that you should accept his story." "And, sure. Bhe knows the truth." said O'Rourke, solemnly. "John Renaud is an innocent man." "How do you know that," said the duke, quickly. "Will you tell me, sir, why he was not executed if he was guilty?" '•Because of his courage on the battlefield, the king was pleased to commute his sentence of death to that of the galleys for life." "And do you think that a man couid murder a helpless woman at night and be a great, big hero in the next day's battle for I do not!" said O'Rourke, with a sideglance at Adrienne.

The girl seized his hand and pressed it in her own. "I never loved you as 1 do now!" she exclaimed. "O'Rourke, you must have lteard him sentenced!" "That I did, miss. They took him off to the prison, and left you without father or mother, or any one in the wide world to care for you." "Why, how was that?" asked the duchess. "Tell us where you found her—my poor child." "Well, after John was sentenced, I saw her in the great court-room. Marie was out at the ambulance, talking with little Jimmy, who had a ball in his shoulder and the poor little colleen was left to wander about, crying for her father. The next day there was high mass and a Te Deum, in honor of the great victory. Half the brigade was at church. Well, just as his Reverence was about elevating the Host, and all was still, footsteps were heard, and a little child, no higher than that, came walking up the broad aisle. Some one tried to stop her but his Reverence knew the child, and spoke out, •Let her alone let her come,' said he 'let her come home, for she has no home, and this is the house of Him who said, "Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not "O'Rourke, you need not be ashamed of your tears,"- said the duke, in

a

husky

voice, as the man stopped. "Faith, and I'd be ashamed of myself i? I was." "Well, tell us tbe rest," said the duchess. "There's not much more to tell. The sacristan took care of the child that night, and then I thought it was best to bring her to ber father and so I started with ber for Toulon, thinking John

was

there.

THE TERRE HAUTE WEEKLY GAZETTE.

Uut John hart been sent to Urest. ana iney told n»e that ev«n if I got there I would not be allowed to pee him. The child was weak-and feverish, and I liegan to think thaJt'she was slippingu»t of the world to jofe her mother. Well, one evening, as I was passing the gates, with her in my arois, the dochess came out and when dbe saw me, she knew th* uniform, and stopped to speak to me. I told her what was true, that the child WHS alone in the wofld. Sfce took it in her arms, and you linow the rest." "But why did you not tell mo that she was Madeleine's child? No wonder I loved yeu from the first," said the duchess, as Adrienne'a arms were clasped about her neck. "And let her grow up to Ixs spoken of as a murderer's child when I knew the man to lie innocent! Oh, no, letter have left her die." •V«JU were right. She is now letter ableto bear it," said the duke. "How can I What will I do now if the years go on anu he remains there?" "My child we pmst try to help him." "But you do :ot believe in his innocence." "Adrienne, it is difficult to change io a moment a settled conviction that for twelve years has remained unshaken. No light has ever been thrown on the evidence that told against your father. Here is the chanoinesse. Does she know? Has she heard "I—I do not know. Valentine heard •A\]

The chanoinesse at once set all doubts at rest by taking Adrienne in her arms and kissing her. "My dear child, this is very hard for you." "And can you, too, love me so dearlyt Oh! it breaks my heart to see how good you are to me, and I so unworthy—I, a convict's child—worse still, a child who convicted her own father." "Hush, Adrienne you must not thus reproach yourself. Next to Valentine, I love you. Did I not teach you, help to form your character, and are you not the same Adrienne whom I have always sympathized with Surely, if in a trifling grief I could feel for you, why not in this heavy, crushing sorrow?" "And my poor father do you

Adrienne's tears choked her utterance. "Adrienne, Valentine is so thoroughly convinced of your father's innocence that I must accept her faith. Her intuition is wonderful. Besides, a circumstance that came to my own knowledge, twelve years ago, inclines m'o to accept your father's statement about Hie Count de Mornasse.'' "How is that?" asked the duke "you say you were aware of some point that throwsa light on this subject?" "Alas! I doubt that I ever heard of this case until to-day. Certainly, if I had known that the name of the Count de Mornasse was involved. I would have offered the little that I couKl vouch for in favor of thia poor soldier's defense." "And that was "I cannot enter into details. •Count de Mornasse might have the field that day and, if he was, he had the papers and jewels to which the soldier refers on his person." "You amaze me, my dear chanoinesse. Do you remember that tho family was proscribed and exiled?" •"Certainly. Early in 1745 the decree wan passed and signed but in the May of that year the younger count was still in Prance." "There were but two of the family," said the duke, "father and son. The father, I know, reached England. In all these years I have never heard them mentioned "True, and that would go far to prove that the young count died at Fontenoy.—

but the been on

The other noblemen, exiled at the same time, have "taken advantage of the late revocation of that decree, and many of them have returned to France. I would that I had known this sooner."

The chanoinesse seemed very much agitated and troubled. "To tell the truth, so much doubt way thrown on this part of Jean Renaud's defense, from the very fact that the count was presumed to be in exile, that his other explanations of the murder were not listened to at all. False in one, false in all!" "Ob, my poor father! Everything went against him, evon his truth. „But the necklace "That was as he told you, Adrienne," said the duchess, watching the girl's eager eyes and parted lips. "I did give Madeleine such a necklace on her wed-ding-day. If, as he says, that could be traced, or if any tidings of the Count de Mornasse could be learned, something might be done quickly." "Once in Paris. I shall take every measure in my power, but in the meantime, Adrienne, you must cease this fretting and work with us." "And must he be left alone in his sorrow, withjno one to comfort or sustain him Oli, I cannot bear to picture to myself his weary life and, then, to think of me—of me being here—here, in the midst of luxuries?" "Where else would you be. my poor child?" asked the duchess. "You cannot assist him alone, you need our help, and you shall have it. Why, you dare not even speak to him he would be punished for the breach of discipline." "I hear Raoul's voice," said the "duke. ••He told me he would come back."

CHATTER XII. -BRAVB AND TRCB.

"Raoul," moaned Adrienne, "I had forgotten him." She hid her face on her mother's breast.

Raoul entered, gay and handsome, carrying a casket, which he was about to offer to Adrienne, but struck by ber attitude of dejection, and the sorrow reflected in each face, he paused, placed the casket on a table, and going to Adrienne, took ber band in his. She raised ber tearless to is a "Adrienne. wb&t is tbisH.,*'•'_

"Speak to b»*r, Karml," saidtfre tluctiess, diseugAging heif^Jf from the girl's arms, and leaving to R&oul's love the task of restoring Adriewiie to happraess. "She may li*i t*n to hkn,"" was tbe remark to tbe clrs.niViiies8«, as the two lathes withdrew t©» distant p«* of the roots.

Adrienne seemed inclined to follow tbeia. EAOI'.I was mystified. -Will yon tiot look at tire jewels I have IjroughtyouT'

He drew the girl 1o the table, and opening tlx: casket, disclosed a set of roagncfi--cent diamnvls. Adrienne glanced from the gems, blazing a^ with inner lire, to the young-man's earnest face. "These «re a fit offering to the daughter •of the Duke anil Duchess d'Aubretot, «but I canndt accept theml"

He)- -voice was clear and firm. •"Adrienne, what do you mean?" '•Tlrifv. that I have-not the right, for I •ain—oh, Raoul!—'I am not their child!" "I know that, Adrienne." "You—Haoul

Adrienne fixed her eyes, full of wonder, on tbe young man's calm, steady features. He smiled in his bright, reassuring style. "How long do you remember me, Adri•enner?" •"Always,"Raoul, always!—that is, I seem to bave lived at one time in another •world, peopled with the visions that to•day took form and life. That passed •way, -and in the second world you are always present in my pictures of incidents •nd did pleasures."

"You are right. I remember you evet since O'Rourke carried you, a delicate little child, in his strong arms, 1 played with you, great boy as I was. I liked te listen to your baby talk, and invent amusements for you. I knew that you were not my aunt's child, and understood that tbe fact was to remain a secret to you!" "But yon did not know that my father is alive—that he is a "Adrienne, I must again plead guilty to what I consider a justifiable piece of deception. I know all about your father. In fact, years ago. I overheard some remarks made by O'Rourke to an old comrade of his. and I. Iwy-like, questioned him. He first, bound me *o secrecy, and then admitted that what I had gathered from his remarks was true." "And did you—oh! Raoul—did you believe with Lira in my poor father's innocence?" "Of course I accepted his story, ami his view of the cireum^lances. He was positive as to your father's innocence, and insisted that some terrible mystery vailed the whole sad tragedy. Your impressions as to your father's presence on that fearful night, he declared inexplicable nothing but a miracle, he said, could ever exonerate your father, and account for your words." "And he was right. Oh! Raoul, I saw my father to-day!" "To-day, Adrienne "Yes that chain of galley-slaves! You must have passed it, and seen them." "We did—Henri and I. But you do not mean that your father "Was one of them. We recognized each other. Oh! Raoul, that vision that you tried to have me forget it did not come in vain! It has haunted me for years it will never come again as a dream. So long as he lives as an outcast, a slave— those words will ring in my ears—'You have desti-oyed me!' I shall never get away from the sound!" "Adrienne, you must not give way to this grief. Something may yet be discovered to clear up this mystery." "How? When? You say a miracle must take place. Will the dead rise to help him?" "My darling, what do you mean?" "Oh! you think I am loeing my reason but I am not. Oh! I wish I could!" "But tell me, Adrienne, what is troubling you "Can you not understand? This man, whom my father succored on the field— this Count do Mornasse—if he is really dead, then one hope is gone." "I see—one that your father trusts to for proving his innocence. Well, inquiries can at once be commenced." "The chanoinesse has promised to undertake them as soon as sho reaches Paris but I know they will be useless— the count fe dead." "Of that you cannot be sure and, Adrienne, this grief will not lessen your father's sufferings it will but add to them, if he hears of it."

1

"And I was so happy, Raoul. I did tove you, and now, in resigning your love, I realize what it has been to me I appreciate its value." Her voice sank in low Sob8. e- & '*"f "Did love me, Adrienne! Resign my love! What are you saying?" He caught her hands. "I must say it Raoul—I must! It is all over!" "All over? Why, Adrienne, nothing in us has changed since morning. Yeu have come to the knowledge of a sail secret what has it to do with my love for you— with your3 for me? If it were possible, I love you more than ever, for this discovery has proved your sincerity of heart, your depths of feeling, the nobility of your soul! If you will hear it, listen, aGf I now renew my proposal of this morning, not to Mademoiselle d'Aubretot, the only child of the Duke and Duchess d'Aubretot, but to Mademoiselle Adrienne Renaud, the daughter of a brave soldier, now bearing nobly and like a hero the penalties of an unjust sentence. Will you accept my hand, Adrienne? my heart you cannot refuse. Together we will seek the proofs of your father's innocence! together—restore him to freedom and happiness "Ob, Raoul, I thank you, 1 honor yoa for those kind words "Surely, Adrienne, such devotion is worthy of reward!" said the duchess,reading the girl's expressive features.

Adrienne shook her head.

MI

cannot accept tbe sacrifice. I most be equally generous. No, Raoul yoa fc»vA nnkUi career before voa: vrmr

proad name shall not be sullied—it shall n«Jt be linked with that of a convict's •child." —Adrienne, ^n you say that you no longer love mef

He spoke passionately. Adrienne flushed under his eager, searching glanoe. "How can I say it, Raoul I shall always love yew!" "Then I shall hold you to your promise. I will not resign you till you come to me and say, 'Raoul, I have ceased to love you.' I will wait for you, it need be, until death separates us." "There, Adrienne, you see you have eveiy reason to be happy and hopeful." said tbe chanoinesse. "We *hall all work with tbe one object in view—that of proving y«mr father's innocence. In the meantime, you must try to be cheerful and Valentine, whd is so sensible, will sustain you with her own faith ia the ultimate success of our efforts." "You are all so kind, so true," murmured Adrienne, as the chanoinesse embraced ber, and Raoul pressed kisses on her little hands. "But, indeed, Raoul, I am perfectly aerious you must try to forget me." "And

I

am equally determined to win

you, Adrienne so let us trust each other as we have always kne. Here come Valentine and Henri. I hope she will not destoy Henri's happiness one of these days, because she has no father to love." "That is Valentine's one sorrow. She hasae father, no mother,and tbe chanoinesse 'has forbidden any questions on the subject of her family. We can sympathize with each other more than ever now. She frets, because uncertain of her fathers fate, and I, because I have condemned mine to a living death." "Adrienne, was I right in telling the chanoinesse?" said Valentine, coming in, followed by her lover, who still wondered at Valentine's depression, being ignorant of the event that had shocked her. "Yes, it was best and the marquis?" "He has not heard."

Adrienne looked from Raoul to bis friend. "Let there no more secrets, Raoul, about me. Tell the marquis my wretched story, lie is kind perhaps he may not blame me more than I deserve he may even pity me." "Adrienne," cried Valentine, as the young men left them, "now that we are alone I must tell you about the chanoincsse. She and the duchess have gone out on the terrace so we are quite alone." "Valentine, how excited you are! Surely, there are no more mysteries—no more horrors "I will tell you. When I left you with your mother, I went in search of the chanoinesse. She was in her room making preparations for her journey to-mor-row but when she saw how troubled I was. she sat besitle me on the sofa and listened very attentively to my story. I must have told it very incoherently, for I bad nearly finished when she asked me if your father knew the name of the man whom he found on the field. 'Why, yes,' I said *the Count de Mornasse.' That moment I saw her turn white, and she seemedjabout to'laint but I fancied that she dreaded giving way before me, for she controlled herself and motioned to me to go on. Every few minutes she would repeat to herself, 'Dead! dead! De Mornasse dead? Yes, it roust be so! That would explain!' I said,'Oh, but we hope be is alive, because he alone can help the poor soldier. "Well, Valentine, why do you stop? Does she believe that the Count de Mornasse is dead?" "I fear that, she does, Adrienne. When more calm she told me that the soldier's story might be correct, as from a circumstance known to her, she was sure that the count was in France at that time." "Yes, so she said to the duke, and I think that, for the first time, his conviction of my father's guilt was shaken. But, Valentine, something troubles you. What is it! I kept no secret from you." '•Na Adrienne. and I shall keep nothing from you. It is only a suspicion suggested by the curious expression that I saw in her face when her eyes met mine, but I am almost positive that this Count de Mornasse is in some way connected with me." "With you. Valentine! Oh, that would be so strange! To think that even on that fearful night our lives became in some mysterious way drawn together!" "One thing is very clear to me, Adrienne, and it is this: In going to the assistance of the Count de Mornasse, your father became ihvolved in all this misery." "Why do you say that, Valentine? Surely, it was a good action another would have done the same thing." "Probably. But another would not have been the victim of like circumstances. These papers and jewels were a great responsibility he felt them to be such he was near his home, and the idea of leaving them with his wife was bis strong motive for going there that night." "But the murderer, the robler, would have gone there anyhow, I supixse." "Perhaps so. But no suspicion wou^ ha%'e rested upon your father in that case. His fatal visit home was the thing that ruined him/' "Oh, Valentine! you arfi trying to remove the blame from me but it is useless. I am still the witness whose evidence destoyed him." "And I hold to my opinion. In his :eal to serve another, he sacrificed himself."

[The continuation of this remarkable story can be found in tbe Weeklv and Saturday issues of the G*ZETTE. Back numbers can be obtained at this office.]

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AND

Have Signed or Endorsed the Following Remarkable Document:

X6Mrs.8«&bnry ft Johnson, Manufactnrins Ohsmiats, SSI Piatt St, New York: GentlemenFor tbe past few years we have sold various brands of Porous Planters. Physicians and the Public prefer Bensra|sCajcin^Poron^Plsster to al?

others. We consider them one of the very few reliable household remedies worthy of confidence. They are superior to all other Porous Plasters or Xiiniments tot external use. "1 ,4

^^ensog^flCogcine^Plafltcr is a genuine Paxmaceutical product, of the bighost order of merit, and so recognized by physicians and druggists.

When other remedies fail grct a Bern--son's Capcina Plaster.

Yotl will be disappointed if yon tu» cheap Plasters, TiinimentSj Pads or Electrical Magnetic toys.

MJRI'. KBMEUY AT LAST. Price 26rra. MEAD'SMedicated CORN Md BUNION PLASTER,

A

3

TARTLING DISCOVERY!

LOST MANHOOD RESTORED. A

victim

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yonlhful tarorudencA

cansinc

Premature Decay, Ncrrons DcbQlty, Lo«t Man-

kood,

etc., baring tried in Tain ererjr known remefyhaa discovered a simple self cuw.which be will aefid FREE to bia feuow-atriferer*. s4-

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XAntdatfium. TreaUae and trial Iwtttoftoeto

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