Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 11 May 1882 — Page 2

CONDEMNED.

Continued From First Pace.

herself, from the top of her masses of powdered bail* to the tips of her little white satin slippers.

The result was very satisfactory. Her eyes were certainly bright, her cheeks were like fresh roues. Her lovely neck and arms were shaded by delicate lace, which but jiartly concealed their beauty. The long-, Watteau train of white brocade, on which lay bunches of pink roses, fell away from the white satin petticoat, which was softened by flounces of rich, yellowish lace.

Valentine took her fan and gloves, and passing through her

Itoudoir

and a small

ante-room, entered the crimson parlor. The count, richly dressed, was seated at a table, engaged in opening a heavy wooden box. He rose, met Valentine, and taking her hands in his, slowly and admiringly scanned her figure from head to foot. "llow beautiful you are!" he said, at last.

Valentine laughed and blushed. "So beautiful that the jewels I have bi •ought you seem quite unnecessary. .Still, they were your mothers, and I would like you to wear some of them to-day." "Jewels! I never had any on me they will feel strange to me." "They will complete our toilet, however, and it is time for you to assume what suits your rank. So, my daughter, make yourself even more beautiful. You will find a variety of gems, but take yonr choice all will equally become you. 1 Will return for you when the carriage is ready. One word, Valentine. That girl will probably be at the reception. You must be careful, and remember what I said. Have nothing to do with her do you understand me—nothing!"'

Valentine felt her face changing. The old weight was suddenly back on her heart. She looked at the count without speaking but her eyes were eloquent enough. "I understand, Valentine you think me harsh and unkind. I am, however, acting for your interests. You must trust to my judgment in this matter. I exact obedience. So, remember!"

The count held up his hand with a warning gesture, and left the room. Valentine threw herself into the nearest chair, and gave way to her feelings of disappointment and despair. Proud tears tilled her eyes and choked her. "See Adrienne, and not notice her! Impossible! I cannot do it! Oh, for some way out of this trouble! Surely, I Bhall not be forced to insult the girl whom I have promised to love and help!"

Her bitter reflections were interrupted by the appearance of her maid, who had heard the count leaving the room. "18 there anything else, miss, to do for you

Valentine was now thoroughly indifferent. "There are some ornaments there,Marie, that I am to wear." "Oh, how lovely, miss! I never saw such brilliant diamonds and these pearl's) Oh, they are exquisite! Which will you wear "Ob, I do not know any of them, you can decide you know more about these things than I do." "They are all so lovely, miss! and either set will match your dresa. Will you look at them and make a selection?" "I do not care to see them, Marie. What do you think moBt appropriate?" "Well, these diamonds would be lovely but with your complexion, pearls are considered more becoming." "Oh, indeed!" Valentine's voice was full of scorn.

The maid glanced at her, and saw the alteration in her color and expression. "Perhaps, miss, you would like this one it is very peculiar, but certainly very beautiful it is made of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires." "Rubies, emeralds, and sapphires, did you say ?'V Valentine sat tip suddenly and looked behind her at Marie, who, still leaning over the box, was admiring the stones. "Yes, miss, and such brilliant ones. Perhaps you would prefer this." "Rubies, emeralds, and sapphires! How the words startled me! I must be very nervous when even the mention of those stones alarms me. I suppose many necklaces were made after that design, and no doubt my mother owned one of them."

But this mental explanation was sot entirely conclusive. Valentine looked at Marie. "That necklace has

DO

medallion,

DO

locket, Marie." "Oh, yes, miss, it has—* lovely medallion set with diamonds." "But the clasp has no diamonds?" ••Yes, miss three very large diamonda." "Three large diamonds!"

Valentine sank back in the chair, seeing not hing, only conscious of a creeping senRation of horror that seemed to paralyze her. The maid noticed her movements, and hurried to her. "You are not well, miss. Shall I call your father!"

Valentine stared at her. Simly catching her meaning. "No, no!" she gasped. "Leave me for a little while, Marie I will ring when I am ready."

No sooner had the girl closed the door after her. than Valentine rose and hurried to the table. The box was a strong one, square, with metal-bound cornei-s, and a curious, complicated lock. Valentine examined it, and then nerved herself to look at its contents. Each article of jewelry lay gleaming on its dark cushion. Valentine glanced over the diamonds and pearls, and stood transfixed before the oft-des-cribed necklace.

Yes, there was the clasp below it hung the medallion the different gems blazed and sparkled with their borrowed lights like living- eyes piercing her soul. "Is this the necklace/' she cried.

snatching it from the cushion, and clutcii ing it tightly, as if fearing that it would suddenly disappear from her sight. "Ob, what is the matter with rae? I ain a tool to let my imagination thus torture me! And yet, that man's words—how they haunt me! Emeralds, rubies, sapphires! The clasp with three diamonds! the medallion! What shall I do? If I do not discover the truth, I shall go mad! The duchess I She can decide the question! I will go to her! But stop! Suppose it should be the necklace that she gave Madeleine!"

Valentine shuddered the necklace shook in her trembling hands. "What am I saying? Should it be Madeleine's necklace—the one that the soldier said was taken with the money and the other jewels—what then? Let me think, What did my father say? Why, that the paj)ers and jewels had never been out »f hia possession—never! Then, if this were Madeleine's necklace, how could it come with these other ones! Impossible! I uin letting my fears destroy my reason. Of course, this was my mother's—is now mine. Lut stay why did he stagger away and tremble so when he heard her name? Why does he keep me from her? Why cannot I be satisfied that this is indeed mine? Must I live with this haunting fear always in my heart? And what iid I promise Adrienne? That I would work with her in finding a clew to her father's innocence. Shall I put this away, hide it, forget it?—this, the 6®ldier's last hope— let Adrienne die of a broken heart? Never! I will keep my promise, come what will! I will know the truth!"

The sound of a heavy door opening and shutting brought Valentine back to the interests of the moment.

Trembling, pale, and wild-eyed with the contemplation of her own thoughts, she turned and saw the duchess.

The duchess had entered by the garden door. She was in full court dress, a violet velvet train over a white satin petticoat, rich lace and magnificent diamonds completing the costume.

At the sight of her form, Valentine, who a moment before had wished for her presauoe, slipped the necklace into the deep siIf ]xir! 't of her dr.n„.«nd tried in

vaiD

to rc:uv(*r her composure. The duchess met her with outstretched hands. Valentine could not meet her eyes. "Good-morning, Valentine. How lovely you look, child your dress is beautiful I think I shall have the pleasure of introducing the prettiest girls the duke will meet in Provence. But what is the matter, Valentine? you are pale, and your hands tremble." "Yes, madame I do not feel very well." "Why, has anything gone wrong? I thought it would be very pleasant for yon to go with Adrienne. so I caine in to say that we would call for you. Adrienne looks so pretty, and she is so good!—keeping up her strength on my account." "Yes, madame but I do not think—I mean it will lie better not to call for me." "Not to cail for you why, Valentine, what is it that agitates you so much Are you nst willing to tell me "Oh, madame, I would be only too happy to go with you, but my father "What, the count objects?" "I suppose he will be wishes me to go in the carriage with him." "Well, it course you should coasult his wishes but surely that is not what you are fretting about

Valentine shivered, and drawing her hand away from that of the duchess, turned away.

The duchess looked at her, trying to seekeome explanation of the complete change in this strong, self-reliant girl. "Will you come 'n and see Adrienne for a few minutes? She has been pining to talk with you, Valentine." "Alas, madjime, I dare not.1' "Dare not, Valentine! What has Adrienne done?" "She, madame, nothing1. My father has forbidden me to speak to her. He saya that the daughter of the Count de Mornasse can hold no intercourse with the daughter of a convict."

The scom in Valentine's tone drew the attention of the duchess to her flashing eyes and crimson cheeks. She seemed to gasp for breath every word came with difficulty. "Poor Adrienne"! I knew she would have to suffer, but I did not expect this! Well. Valentine, however hard it may be, my chikL do yonr duty, obey your father. Adrienne would tell you that a father's wish should be a daughter's most sacred care." "I know it, madame but "Poor frlrl! she would devote her life to her father's service if she could." "And must she suffer on forever? Can nothing he done?" "Alas, Valentine, nothing." "Then you think the soldier's story entirely false?" Valentine had faced the duchess now, and her eager eyes were fiHed with meaning. "Those papers and jewels that he persists in speaking of?" "Child, your own fathers words completely contradicted his statement." "But bis theory of the murder—the disappearance of the money "Lies, all lies!" "That necklace that you gave his wife?" "The miserable man must have destroyed it or hidden it to avert suspicion." "It is a curious necklace, I believe it was composed of topazes, turquoise "Oh, not at all. It was made of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires." "Yes, madame—no doubt thtxro were others made like it." "What duplicates?"/5*

Valentire seemed toomuch interested to speak. The duchess shook her head. 'Oh, no." "No—madame?" "It is very improbable. You see, that necklace was made to order the design was my own. Of course, a person who could afford to wear such a necklace would not cai-e tor a duplicate of mine. Ornaments should be unique, or they lose one of their principal charms."

THE TERSE HAUTE WEEKLY GAZETTE.

Valentine stood speechless, her eyes fastened on the duchess her voice, when she gained control of it, was husky and uneven. "Madame, you would recognize that necklace ••Anywhere! It had my likeness set in diamonds in the medallion the clasp had three diamonds you pressed the centre one and it opened. My Christian name— Claire—was on the inside piece."

Valentine tottered, and caught at the nearest chair for support. "Why. Valentini*. what is it that agitates you so? Are you ill?" "A sudden thought! Adrienne—her rgrief, my own duty." "Ahi yon love her—you would help her if you could?" "Yes—if I—madame—see. those jewels there. My father—brought them to me. 1 am to wear some of them if you—would select ••Why, certainly but, Valentine, indeed. you must control this grief, this emotion."

The duchess turned away to look at the treasui es of the former Countess de Mornasse. Valentine softly drew the necklace fr.»m her pocket, and put her finger on the center diamond of the clasp. •I will know," she murmured. The stone moved under ber slight pressure, the clasp opened with a spring, and the one fatal word "Claire"" met her eyes.

A sharp, despairing cry rang through the room the duchess turned, but Valentine stood as if petrified her eyes were fixed on something that she held in both hands. "What "is it, Valentine?" asked the duchess.

Valentine shuddered, and let her hand drop to her side, thus concealing the necklace in the folds of her dress. The duchess saw the rapid movement, and approaching put her hand on Valentine's arm. Valentine's face, white and rigid with horror, startled her. "Valentine, something terrible is weighing upon you. Will you not confide in me?" "You! Oh, no! I-cannot. I must think!" "But what have you in your hand?" "One of the jewels, inadarne. I do not like it!" "Well, let me see it."

The duchess held out her hand. Valentine shrank away from her and quickly put the necklace into her pocket. Her eyes were wild with fright, her whole body shook she murmured, as if gasping for breath: "No, no'! I—not now. I will not wear it." ""Well, there are others. Valentine. Come, try and be calm, my child. See, the pearls are beautiful, and Adrienne will wt'iir pearls. Will you wear these?"

Valentine stood for a moment looking from the duchess to the casket. Then she turned away and threw hel-self into a large chair as if perfectly exhausted. The duchess sat down near her, and tried to soothe her. "It as useless, madame my mind is made up. I will not go to this presentation." "Not go! Why, Valentine, that is nonsense, unless you are physically unable?" "It is not that, madame. There age other considerations." "You are fretting about Adrienne. Do not let that weigh with you for a moment. After you have been presented, I will talk to your father, and obtain his consent to your speaking "to Adrienne. Reflect, my child. For years you have not only lived in great seclusion, but even your name was withheld from your associates. It is very important that you should now be introduced and accepted as the daughter of the Count de Mornasse. Nearly all these estates are yours, in right of your mother. The count cannot claim them, except through you. You see your presence at this presentation ip, therefore, necessary for many strong reasons. So, be calm and self reliant, my dear child. All will yet go well. 1 must leave you.— What shall I tell Adrienne?" "Tell her I have not forgotten my promise." "And the jewels—will yon wear the pearls "Perhaps so, madame."

Tlx? duchess rose, and kissed Valentine* in her kind, motherly way. "There, dear child, now you will compose yourself, and do what is light. This is a very convenient entrance. I am so glad we can see each other so quickly, and without any ceremonious announcing."

The duchcss smiled as she returned Valentine's deep courtesy, and slowly disappeared in the ante-room beyond.

No sooner had the heavy door shut, than Valentine drew the necklace from her pocket, and again examined it. "There cannot lie the slightest doubt,' then. This is the necklace! Let me think. Given by the duchess to Madeleine placed by the soldier in a box with the money, the jewels and the papers taken with them—stolen by the murderer of Madeleine! Oh, what—what is this mystery? On one side or the other is concealed a fearful crime. Which story am I to believe? On the one hand, a convict, a galley-slave—a man whom every circurftstance pointed to as the murderer, even the testimony of his own child. On the other, a gentleman, respected and accepted as the Count de Mornasse, returning. after an absence of twelve years, to claim his family estates, and bringing with him this—this irrefutable proof that the soldier did not perjure himself that his theory was right! Another did the deed! But who? Why do I tremble sot My brain seems on fire! 'You will do right!' The duchess said so as she left me. Yes—I will do right! Adrienne shall not suffer any longer! Is it not she —not she who is to bear this misery and disgrace? No, her father is innocent another man murdered her poor, helpless mother, and that man is—my father!"

Overcome at the horror of her own conviction, Valentine tell back, nearly fainting, on a chair. She still grasped the necklace, but all her physical and mental power seemed paralyzed by the weight of the secret that tortured her. She tried to

think of some explanation for ber father's possession of the necklace, but her reason would not accept what her fancy suggested. The dull, heavy torpor of despair was settling down upon her. The count's manner and words were his worst accusers. "I must see Adrienne," she murmured, over and over again and while she was sjieaking the door near her again opened and Adrienne stood l)efore her.

Adrienne was a vision of loveliness in her white satin and brocade draperies. Iler eves sparkled with pleasure, her lips parted in ber own bright smile as she saw Valentine, and stretching out her arms she would have embraced her friend.

With a cry Valentine sprang to her feet and shrank away from Adrienne's touch.

Adrienne's arms fell at once, her eyes filled with tears. "I sec you do not wish for me. Valentine. I should not have come, but the hours are so long, so weary without you. I have been so weak, 6o ill! Will you not even take my hand "Oh, do not touch me! I dare not—I cannot

Valentine clasped her trembling hands and drew back but then, as if fascinated by Adrienne's gaze, Btood immovable, and the two girls eagerly looked at each other.

Valentine's face was baffling. Adrienne could not read the drawn, set features, the clear, searching eyes, in which were reflected in turn agony, despair and grief. Love and hope were no longer shining in their dark depths. Adrienne had seen her own features when sorrow had taken its strongest hold upon her, but they never expressed the fear mingled with terror that she now perceived in Valentine's beautiful face. Yet this was her Valentine, the friend who had listened to her griefs, shared them, and tried to sustain her with pleasing hopes. This was the girl who had put her arms about her

OQ

that terrible day aod promised to

help her. What had come over Valentine! What had caused this change in one who had vowed constancy and never-failing sympathy? Adrienne's heart failed her before Valentine's earnest, silent scrutiny. She shivered, and putting out lier hand, clung to the chair for support. "You are right, quite right, Valentine," she said, sadly. "The daughter of a gal-ley-slave should not hope to associate with the daughter of an honest, noble gentleman. I am sorry to have disturbed you. I will not trouble you again "And can you believe that, Adrienne Can you thus reproach me? If I were in your place and you in mine, is that what you would think? Is that the way you would treat me?" "No, no, Valentine! I would not turn from you—I would love you more than ever, Valentine. I would say that human judgment is liable to error that men before this have been accounted guilty, although the evidence was purely circumstantial, and later discoveries proved them to be guiltless. I would still sustain you with hope, and whisper of courage for I tell you, Valentine, that in spite of the overwhelming testimony of your father's evidence against the truth of my father" word, my

soul

still cries out, my

mind refuses to accept the conviction of his guilt my heart assures me, teaches me, that he is innocent!"

Adrienne raised her hands to Heaven, as if to clothe her assertion with the solemnity of an oath.

Valentine drew near her, speaking in low, steady tones, the stern expression of her features for a moment softening into one of wondering admiration for the gentle girl before her. "Adrienne, your heart teaches you the truth. Cost what it may, I will tell you to follow its dictates they will show you what is right." "What—what have you discovered! Why do you speak so decidedly, Valentine?" "Because, Adrienne, I am now as strongly convinced as you are of your father's innocence!" ••Oh, Valentine, can you speak to me thus?"

Adrienne caught Valentine's hand and tried to kiss it, but Valentine drew it away, and shrinking, again showed Adrienne a face distorted with terror and despair. "No, no! yon must not! I do not deserve it yet—wait—wait." "Again, Valentine! Alas, what have I done "Nothing. You have only suffered, the victim of a cruel man's heartlessness." "Why does your voice change so, Valentine? Surely you do not blame my father! I am the cause of all this wretchedness." "You, Adrienne! Oh, no if your father were here I would fall on my knees before him, as I do now before you. I would tell bim how I honored him for his noble conduct how I grieved for his long, bitter punishment. I would assure him that his innocence should yet be made manifest to the world that he should be restored to his liberty, to his country, to bis child

Valentine's voice broke in sobs. Adrienne gazed at her, as if doubting the evidence of her senses. Valentine on her knees, her hands clasped, her eyes raised as if invoking help and guidance, was a sight so strange, so inexplicable under the circumstances, that Adrienne sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. -.,

f7IA TTEH XVIII.

"TOR WILL KILL ME."

"To his child who destroyed him!" Bhe murmured. "Oh, no! it is too much now to hope for. It is impossible!"

Valentine rose suddenly, and bent over ner friend. Her voice was hoarse and uneven.

1

"You were but an infant—a child, not conscious of the meaning of your words, of the terrible consequences you were bringing upon him—your father. Tell me. Adrienne, if that fearful thing had takes piaco when von were old enough to realize the terrible effect of your own words

-7".^F

Valentine struggled for utterance. Adrienne lifted her head, frightened at Valentine's painful efforts to speak. "Well, what, Valentine?" ••If, I say, you were old enough to know what you were doing, and if "If what, Valentine?" ••If you were, as then, thoroughly convinced of your father's guilt, would you— would you do as you did then "What, cause his arrest—inform against him?. Never!"

Adrienne rose to her feet, and approached Valentine. "But think, Adrienne, if he were really a murderer—if your mother were dead— dead by his wicked, brutal act!" "I would not give him up. A child has no right to cause a parent's death. Surely, Valentine, in such a case, Heaven would not condemn me for keeping silent." "But, Adrienne, could you keep 6ilent? Would not your mother's blood cry to Heaven for vengeance on her murderer! Would you not die under the torturing weight of suoh a secret! It would kill you." "That is true but, ValentiVie, I could only die. I would not betray my father."

Valentine staggered back, her eyes fixed on Adrienne's glowing face. For a moment there was a silence. Valentine put her hands to her head, as if to recall her scattered thoughts. Adrienne watched her. jwrplexed at her earnestness. After reflecting for a short time, she put her hand on Adrienne's arm, and stared fixedly in her sad, timid face. "You say that you would shield from punishment your mother's murderer?" "Valentine, think to what a horrible, lingering death I should consign him! Then loving him as I did, as I do, could I doit? Oh, the mere thought of such an action on a child's part makes me shudder!" "And he would thus cscape all punishment," Valentine seemed to think aloud. "lie could not escape his own conscience, Valentine. To live unsuspected of the crime, yet tortured by that ever-present accuser, would be an expiation for the deed." "You are reasoning on the theory that no arrest would be made, that your father l»eing unsuspected, the real murderer would be supposed to have escaped pursuit." "Why, yes, Valentine and would you not do the same?" "Under the circumstances I might. A life-long repentance might atone for the crime. But, Adrienne, suppose an innocent man were arrested for the crime, tried, found guilty, and condemned, like your poor father, on circumstantial evidence, to wear a convict's dress and drag a chain, as he does, in the Btreets of yonder city?" ••Oh, Valentine, you frighten me!" "Supjo?e, I say, suclfa case! A guilty man shielded, and an innocent one suffering the infamy, the pain, enduring the toil, the heat, the cold, the insults of any brutal person who cared to taunt him while passing! More than that, the sepaiation from his own family—perhaps from a daughter like you, and who, like you, believed in his innocence! Suppose, I say, such a case, and yourself the child conniving at the, unmerited punishment of an innocent man! What—what would you do then, Adrienne What would you do then?"

Adrienne shrank away, frightened at the passionate vehemence of Valentine's voice, at her flashing eyes and burning checks. But Valentine followed her. "Tell me, Adrienne, what would you dor

The appeal was full of anguish, and would be answered. Adrienne's eyes tilled at the sight of Valentine's sorrow. "Alas! Valentine, I cannot reason as you do I cannot comprehend your meaning. I do not know what I should do. I dare not contemplate such a terrible position. Mine is sad enough, humiliating, crushing but that—that would be "Far worse! You shrink from even the contemplation of a child satisfied of her father's guilt, and witnessing an innocent man suffering in his stead but, if you were placed in such an awful position, with no one to go to, no one to help you, Heaven would inspire you, Adrienne, as it will inspire me!"

Valentine's uplifted eyes, her clasped hands, raised in fervent supplication, was a sight that for a moment held Adrienne still in mute surprise. Then a light broke upon her. She caught Valentine's hands, held them firmly, and whispered passionately: "Why do you fisk me these questions! What have you discovered? Quick, Valentine, tell me. You have learned

A heavy step in the ante-room made her pause both girls turned and met the count's eyes fixed on them as he entered.

Adrienne would have shrunk away under their angry expression but Valentine, with a rapid movement, threw her arm around Adrienne's waist, and, thus supporting her, awaited the count's scornful words. "So, together again

Valentine did not stir. "I thought I told you, a short time since, my wishes on this subject?." "You did but Adrienne cannot, in any way. injure me."

Valentine's voice was calm and clear. Her eyes met the count's quick glances with a fearlessness that enraged while it puzzled him. "What do you mean by that?" "I mean that Adrienne and I are now equally convinced of her father's innocence of the crime laid to his charge." "And you persist in disobeying me. I was explicit in my command that you should have nothing to do with that girl."

Valentine shivered, and looked lovingly at Adrienne, who was gently disengaging herself from her strong clasp. "Forgive me, Valentine, if I have caused you to disobey your father. I did not know that he

She ceased, unable to speak. "Do not fret, Adrienne. Separation cannot change our love for each other—" "Separation. Valentine!"

V,

The count turned away from A enne's startled eyes but Valentine, be ing, kissed her passionately, tears chok her voice. "Courage, Adrienne trust me. I not forget your grief and my promise." ••But separation! to loaa you, Val tine!" "There might be worse evils, Adrieo and, if you lost me, and had yoar fatt restored to you, you, at least, would happy." "And you, Valentine! You speak look so strangely. I will not leave "It is better, Adrienne I must snea my father."

Another close embrace, and Valent went to the door of the garden entran holding Adrienne's hand. There young girl turned, and saluted the cou who stood with his back to her, taking notice of her courtesy.

Adrienne flushed. Valentino looked the count. "Father, Mademoiselle Renaud salu you."

The count turned and made a de mocking bow. Valentine closed the door, and appi-oa ed hi in fearlessly. "Well, so this is your promised obe ence?" "I did not seek Adrienne she ca here." "What new evidence did she bring her father's innocence?" "She? None whatever!" "This new assurance, then, comes to from Heaven I"

Valentine looked steadily at the cou but did not reply. He spoke roughly, walking tip down, without meeting her eyes. "Pshaw! I am tired of all thisnonsen have you selected your jewels?" "No I cannot wear them—I will nc "You will not! Why, what is the fa with them? Are they not rich enough you?" "Rich ehough! They are too expend for me." "Oh! now you are joking with me. are angry with me. Well, perhaps I severe, even unjust but I havo reaso Come, Valentiue, your poor mother u: to love so to deck herself in these. Cot take these diamonds." "I cannot! They all terrify me! thin one. This seems to burn into my Il as I hold it!"

She drew the necklace from her pock and put it before the count's eyes. Ho looked from her to it, as if thought she was losing her senses. Tl he held it for a moment, and pressed 1 medallion to his lips.

Valentine eagerly watched the act without letting go her hold. "That necklace! Why, that is the vt one your mother wore on our weddii day. Why, something must have 1 wildered you, my daughter." "Yes I see."

Valentine again concealed the neckla and going to a table, sat down and lear her head upon her hand in deep thoug "Well, I am waiting your pleasure, entine. Everything is in readiness our drive. We have delayed longenon already." "I am not going to the presentation." "Not going? But I insist upon"yc going you know, I am your father." "It is liecauso you are my father tha now speak as I do." "I do not understand you. What yon mean "I mean that we must leave France.' "Leave France! You must be ravii Why, I have only just returned, after enforced absence of twelve long, pain years. I have brought with me eve possible'proof of my identity, so as to able to. enjoy life and sepure all these 4 tates to you. Leave France!' 1 shot like to. know on what grounds—for wl reason "Because justice must be done. man now

Buffering

unmerited disgra

and bitter shame must lie released. I a! you to le&ve France. I will go with yc»* Once out of danger, beyond reach of cature, you can explain everything, pro his innocence, and restore him to libert "Why, what* are you talking" aboL, Who is this man whom I am to liberate all this sacrifice?" "Jean Renaud." I

Valentine rose as she spoke. The count stood for a moment gazing^ her, an expression of cunning and curk ity meeting her steady scrutiny of if face. "Jean Renaud the galley-slave! Wb are you insinuating? Do you mean to cuse me—your father?" I

Valentine clasped her hands. "Do not—io not drive me to such extremity! Be merciful to him, to I child! Has he not suffered enough 1 you—for another's crime Must his nocent child die, broken-heartod, becau no help can reach him? Do you suppo that I will stay here quietly and look at another murder?" "I think you have lost your eenses,Vt entine."

He turned away. Valentine folfowi him, her hands clasped, her voice soft pleading. "Will you not agree to my earne prayer? Heaven, perhaps, has 8par( you to make reparation for this terrib sin. Do it, and I shall love youT Iw follow you in your exile, work for yo care for you, be indeed your daught-

"I tell you no! Here I remain." "Ycu will not undo this injustice? Fr will not leave France "Never! I tell you. Never! What more, I command you to cease talking this subject, which seems to be deprivir. yon of your senses, driving you into ii sanity. We must leave this place ai that without delay. The presence of th girl is simply maddening. It affects almost as much as it does you." "Her presence may excite your ffea but it has nothing to do with my agit: tion." "Then mar I aak the cause of it?1*

Contl lined on Third Page.