Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 25 May 1882 — Page 2

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Atone ot mese coors uivourKe yfBA standing, listening to the broken sentences tbat Adrienne uttered in ber sleep. A alight noise near the main entrance attracted the attention of the duchess, and, turning, she saw the cbanoinesse. She rose, an exclamation of delight upon her lips, and pleasure beaming in her features. "You are welcome! I thought you never would come back to us." "Indeed, my being here to-day is due to Henri de Calonne. I was going first to Hyeres, but he met mo on the road, and showed me that I was needed here." "He has told you, then, how unhappy we are here. And you left us BO merry." "Adrienne, he (old me, was quite ill, and Valentine in great mental distress. But now, Adrienne iB better?" "Two nights ago we were afraid she would not survive until morning. The crisis is over, but she is so weak—oh, 1 have almost lost hope! She thinks of nothing but her father's condition she only talks of him. Listen! even in her

Bleep she answers him!" "Father, father, VCB, I am coming!" The sweet voice was quite ^distinct in the quiet room. "You hear?" said the duchess, her eyes filling with tears. "That is her unceasing cry, night and day. And nothing can be done, nothing!" "I)o not cease to hope. I have succeeded in my efforts far beyond my most sanguine expectations. I must see Valentine as soon as possible." "Poor Valentine! You know Adrienne's grief so worked upon her mind that she was attacked with delirium, at least so her father explained her condition. I think that ho excited her by forbidding her to have anything to do with Adrienne."

The chanoinesse looked at the duchess with a curious expression in her usually quiet features. "Valentine will no doubt confide her troubles to me. I am far more anxious about Adrienne." "But you must have been very much surprised when you heard tbat the Count de Mornasse had returned." "Yes. so much so that I do not think I shall realize the fact until I have seen him and spoken to him. Henri was very reticent I saw that he was purposely uncommunicative, so I did not ask any questions. There! Adrienne is calling again." "She is awake, poor child!" "She is coming out here," Baid O'Rourke, drawing aside the heavy silk hangings.

Adrienne came tottering in, her arms extended as if to fcrasp a fleeting vision, her lips parted with the old, heart-break-ing cry: "Father, where are you?"

At the sight of the chanoinesse she put her hands to her head, and stood motionless, looking in turn at those around her. In her long white morning-dress, with her golden hair freed from powder, rippling over her shoulders, she looked like a lovely lily which the winds had rudely shaken anil bent. "It is you, madame!" she said, gently, memory and the realization of the present returning in full force with their torturing certainty. "Yes, Adrienne. I am very Eorry to find you so weak, so unhappy!" "Oh, it is not I whom you should pityit is he! I have such lovely dreams. Wo ani together in a garden he is in a uniform like Raoul wears he looks so bright, so happy, and I am so proud of him, my own father! But when 1 waken, he is gone it all comes buck to me I know that my dreams only mock me! Oh, it I could but see him! 'hear him speak to me!

Hut I am not able to drag myself to his feet, and he—he can never, never come to me!" -'Adrienne. my child, you will never get well if you do not cease this terrible fretting this brooding over a griel tjiat cannot be cured." the duchess said, gently. '/That is it! it cannot be cured, and I cannot endure it. Death would be a mercy for in death thej' could not separate us! 1 thought a little while ago that Valentino was going to help me but I must have been mistaken that hope is

over. The duke and Raoul coming in, interrupted the conversation, and changed the current of Adrienne's thoughts. They were delighted to find her .able to walk about the room, and Raoul had twenty things to tell her, while the duke and the chanoinesse exchanged greetings.

But Adrienne listened like one in a dream. "Raoul still persists in loving me, she said, looking sadly at him and the chanoinesse. "I cannot convince him that I am utterly unfitted to be his wife, even if I could accept the sacrifice." "I)o not talk of sacrifice. With you life would bo delightful to me without you, it holds nothing worth living for. The old fame and distinction that I coveted in a soldier's career have lost their charms for me. I have determined to renounce them and devote myself to one object—the vindication of your father. Be my wife,

Adrienne. and we shall work together for his sake!" Adrienne gave him her hand, but her smile was dreary, and she shook her head as she spoke. "I dare not accept this noblo offer, Raoul it would be useless! You heard Valentine's father speak what is a convict's word against his? Even the duke, who loves me and pities me, refuses to believe my father!" "Adrienne, I am almost sure tbat by laying ft petition before the king, I can obtain your fathers pardon," said the duke, attracted by Adrienne's voice. •(His former bravery, and his good conduct in prison, •would go far to secure it," ••Why, yes, Adrienne, tbat would be the tnost sensible thing to do. Once liberated.

your rattier could seeK some seciaaeU part of France there he could live in comfort and forget t'ae Borrows of the past twelve years."

Adrienne listened patiently to the chanoinesse then clasping her bands, she turned to the duke. •That would be mercy to the guilty but my father is innocent. He would not accept his freedom on such terms nor would I agree to it." "You see," whispered the duchess, "it is useless! Nothing can shake her faith in ber father's innocence and now Raoul is entirely convinced of it." "Have you seen Valentine?" asked the duke, turning to the chanoinesse. "Not yet." "You had better see her, then, to-day. To-morrow the count intends to start with her for Paris and Versailles." "What! take her away from us, her old friends? Quite a strange proceeding! I must see this gentleman. I think I have some claims on him that he cannot overlook. "He says it is necessary for her health to remove ber from these scenes and associations. The girl has undoubtedly been excited, and he may be right." "I will go to her at once," Baid the chanionesse. "I have something to say in this matter." "Go with her, Raoul," whispered Adrienne. "See Vnlentine, tell her tbat I will iove her, no matter what distance they put between us, and bring rae some message from her."

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Raoul, pressing the lovely girl to his liosom. assured her he would deliver her message and entreated her to have courage, and as the chanoinesse left the room, leaning on Raoul's arm, Adrienne went to the duke, who put his arras around her and kissed her tenderly. "I did not mean to be ungrateful, but

"I understand, my darling 1 have another plan to projjose but first, I wish to a6k you if you think you arc strong enough to see yimr father?" "See him! but how? where?*' "There, excited again! Now, my child, try, promise me to control yourself." "Oh! I will but tell me, shall I see him and speak tn him?" "Yes, he will be here presently. You so cried and prayed to see him again, when you were delirious, that I sent O'Rourke to the city with an order to have him brought here to-day."

Adrienne was beside O'Rourke in an instant, her eyes sparkling, ber cheeks glowing. "Did you see him, O'Rourke! Did he send me any message?" "No, I did not see him. The ugly sergeant told me *he was bound to obey the duke's orders, but not mine,' and with that he left me on the wrong side of the door. But, keep up your heart, acushla, he will be here soon now. I will be on the look-oirt for him."

O'Rourke left the room and stationed himself on the terrace, where he had a view of the road for some distance.

Adrienne looked eagerly frem the duke to the duchess, and then took a hand of each. "You are both 6o good, so kind, so fond of me! For my sake, stay here and see him—here him speak look at his sad face, and try, try to be just to liiml Even if to prove his innocence is now impossible, the knowledge that you acquit him, in your own judgment, of this hideous crime, will take some of his grief away. After all, he its ray father—you lovo his child!" "Yes, Adrienne, and for your rake we wiil do this and everything else that we can do in honor. I hear footsteps now. lie is here."

The sound of muskets striking the groand was followed in a moment by the opening of the folding-doors. Adrienne had a glimpse of a lino of soldiers then, one figure advanced alone, the doors were closed, and Jean Renaud stood in the presence of his old colonel, lheir eyes ,net—there was a pause. Perhaps both men were recalling a day when, as proud milliliters of the same noblo regiment, they had fyught side by side in tfie midst of a dreadful carnage, and had escaped unscathed of a night when, as officer and private, the one had uttered, and the other hud indignantly denied, a charge of murder of the twelve years, during which one had served nis country us Governor of Provence, and the other had worked in chains, wearing the shameful red of the galley-slave.

A moment of hushed suspense, and Adrienne, breaking from the duchess, flung her arms arouud the convict's neck, and lav sobbing on his breast.

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"Ud, no, never! She is our CDIKI UY love as well as by adoption. We shall never part with her!" said the duchess, bending over Adrienne, who seemed perfectly to understand what was said, although too much exhausted to take any part in the conversation. "Oh, madame, you are indeed a mother to her. I thank you for all your kindness to my poor child, and I freely give her to you. My hopes of ever proving my innocence are fast leaving me." "Alas, can nothing be done? Think of her shadowed life!" "You are right, madame as long as the doubt remains she will be miserable and no matter what I say, it is still there to blast her happiness. I see, I thought I had suffered everything that an inuoccnt man could suffer, and yet live but never, never have I BO rebelled against the injustice of my sentence never has my heart cried out to Heaven for pity and mercy as it does now—now when I see her thus blighted by my shame! Oh, I know now that I am not reconciled to this strange fatality! I am a man, and I demand just icy at the hands of my fellowmen. I unot. I will not submit to this crushing wickedness! Twelve years, twelve years of iny manhood spent among vile criminals have taught me the value of the existence I lost! Oh, colonel, I ask you once more, have pity on me help me to prove that I am not a wretched murderer suffering the just penalty of his crime, but a brave soldier a man accustomed to face death, who asks only justice—simple justice!"

The duke brushed away his tears, and spoke in husky tones. "Renaud, 1 sent for you to day liecause Adrienne had been fretting about you, and longing to see you but I had also another motive for bringing you here."

Adrienne saw tho startled look in his face, and rising with an effort, she went and stood near him, eagerly watching bis gestures. The duchess put her arms around her, and thus supporting her, glanced in turn at the two men. "O'Rourke, who had entered, also approached Renaud, attracted by the peculiar tone of the duke's voice.

The duke's experiment was at once comprehended by his wife, and she motioned to him to proceed. "Renaud, during your trial you frequently alluded to a certain man. Baying that if he were living and could be found your innocence would be proven. Do you remember?" "I do, well." I spoke of the Count do Mornasse." Renaud's eyes met the duke's fearlessly. His voice suddenly regained some of its old ring, as the footsteps acquired firmness on well-known ground.

Adrienne's flashing oyes were fixed admiringly, on her father's face, then they sought the duke's with a meaning glance. The duke signed to her to be silent. "For years, llonaud, nothing transpired to throw any light on your statement as to that interview. You know your words were declared to be false." "I know that only too well." "Lately, a very strange circumstance has occurred—one that we thought would greatly affect you. What would you think if I should tell you that the man of whom you spoke is alive, and hero in France

Renaud started forward, staring wildly at the duke then hisjvoice loudly cchoed iln words. "Alive! llere in France! The Count rte Mornasse alive!" "It is, indeed, true." "Ah, colonel, you—you would not mock ne! You would uot tell me this unless it rere so—unless it were possible to see lim. to hear him speak! "You shall do both, Renaud." "What—soon? Adrienne, my child, look at me! See, the Count do Mornasse! You hear what the colonel says! Hois alive, and we are saved! We shall yet be happy together, my child! my child!" "Is that the cry of a guilty Vnan?" asked O'Rourke, as Renaud drew Adrienne to his heart, and bent over her, his chest heaving with passionate emotion, his voice audible iu suppressed words of joy.

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Renaud looked at her his strong features were convulsed with grief he smoothed the fair hair from her forehead, as he had done on a fearful night years before, but now the caressing touch brought no relief to her pain. "Adrienne, my child, this is hardest of all—I thought yon were BO happy!1* "I was, 1 was happy—until "Until you found out what your father was. Well, Adrienne, do not weep for me. I do not Buffer now as I once did. Now, I know tbat my child believes me innocent, I know that she is safe. I can Buffer on alone. You need never blush for me, child, for in the face of Heaven I swear that I am innocentr* "Ob, Renaud, you forget the evidence, the proofs against you!" cried the doke, unwilling to alter his old opinion.

"What proofs? The prattling of a babyf Oh, colonel, it was you who condemned me, yet you knew that I was a brave soldier, an honest man. Madame, you gave me my wife you knew that she was^ a pure, loving woman and then, to unite us still closer, came our child, a little angel, so gentle and so sweet. Why, why should I kill her mother? my wife, my darling Madeleine?"

Adrienne's drooping figure alarmed him. He put her in a chair and turned to the duchess. who biul watched him in silence. "You will not forsake her, madamel You will not, because of my disgrace, turn f(«A»n Knvf

The duchess sobbed aloud in sympathy. The duke looked at that momeut what he really was—a man completely mystified.

Renaud spoke, bitterly, after some time: "Why was I not told of this sooner?" "For reasons which I will explain later I made up my mind yesterday that you should, at Jeast, have an opportunity to repeat your story to the Count de Mornasse, in the presence of witnesses. He received a note from me, and appointed a meeting for to-day. O'Rourke await his arrival, and conduct him here. Renaud, you have accused me of injustice you shall now be enabled to prove the accusation, or renounce it henceforward. I can do no more in your behalf, as Adrienne will not hear of a pardon." "And she is right. I have worn this Bhameful livery for twelve years but I ask now only what I prayed for then. I do not want mercy. I want justice." "The Count de Mornasse!" announced O'Rourke, throwing open the foldingdoors. "Step aside, Renaud," said the duke. "The count does not know my motive in bringing him here."

Renaud drew back in the shadow of one of the marble pillars, bis heavy chain clanking as he walked. Adrienne realized that the crisis of her fate had arrived. She sank on the sofa, trembling from head to foot, physically helpless, but ber mental faculties had never seemed so clear and strong, so gifted with intuition and prevision.

The duchess stood leaning over her. holding her small, burning hand, and stroking back her heavy hair.

The count bowed low as he entered, and advanced to the centre of the little group, without perceiving O'Rourke or Renaud. He was dressed with more than usual care and elegance jewels sparkled at every place in his costume his rapid, restless glances were keener than ever, and an air of conscious triumph was perceptible in the increased ease of his banner.

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THE TERifE HAUTE WEEKLY' GAZETTE. *v

'Yon sent for me, duke Out 1 toad already intended calling upon you to-day. I wish to thank you and the duchess for your kindness to my daughter, and to express a hope that at some future day we may meet again. My daughter is not very strong, and feels quite unequal to the effort of saying farewell to her dear friends here. She begged me to present ber very warmest thanks and gratitude for the hospitality shown her by you, and the delicacy of your attentions to her, also her most affectionate adieux."

The duchess accepted the message with her customary grace. "I trust that when Mademoiselle Valentine reaches Paris she will feel quite restored to her usual health. I regret very sincerely tbat our misfortunes and griefs should have so deeply affected her. She has a most generous, warm heart, and I shall never forget her interest in my Adrienne, and her sympathy for my daughter's great trial." "Before you take leave, count," 6aid the duke, coldly, "I would like to bring before you a poor man—a very miserable man—who asserts and still clings to the hope that you can aid him in his misery."

The count started, and for a second his black eyes gleamed angrily then he controlled himself. "A miserable man whom I can help? do not understand." "In other words, the 6oldier who——' "Oh. you refer to the convict, the gal-ley-elave whom Mademoiselle Adrienne

"His daughter, sir," said Adrienne, slowly rising, &a%d standing erect before the count.

O'Rourke -started, with clenched hands, nod moved nearer to the count, an angry light in his honest, eyes, and tho count in tfflne trepidation instinctively shrunk away from him. Adrienne, gaining courage from his evident surprise, followed him, and the count gazed at her for a few seconds as if fascinated, then said, smiling, and with a slightly perceptible Bneer in his voice: "Yes, I know—Mademoiselle Renaud. Well, what I can possibly do for him I am at a loss to imagine." "He is here he will tell you for himself," said the dnke.

Another start, quickly changed to a gesture and an exclamation of surprise, passed unnoticed. The attention was divided, as the duke said firmly: "Renaud, step forward. This gentleman is the Count de Mornasse, the nobleman you have so longed to meet again."

The duchess was absorbed with Adrienne, who had fallen back among the cushions, her great shining eyee alone seeming to be endowed with life and knowledge. The count turned at the sounds of the dragging step ijnd clanking chain. An expression of scorn and disgust lit up his features as his glance fell on Renaud powerful form and eager, questioning face. "1 see," he said, sneeringly "the dress tolls the story. You are the galley-slave, the soldier who "Count, I beg cried the duke.

The count bowed to the duke, and turned graciously to Renaud, whose eagei expression had died away, leaving in its stead one of cool, cautious scrutiny. "Well. well, what do you want with me?" The count's tone was one of impatience. "I want the truth. I want you to think back twelve years, of a night when a man lay wounded—dying on afield near Fontenoy!" Renaud drew close to the count, his great, gray eyes in vain trying to hold the other's restless gaze, his nervous hands twisting and clutching at his little red cap, his chest heaving with an emotion that at times choked his utterance. "A soldier came to his aid the soldier was I—tho man was Renaud stopped. The count made no attempt to supply the missing word. Renaud looked perplexed. "The man was he repeated, with an accent of despair in his powerful voice an anguish that increased as lie continued his appeal. "The night was 'dark—the wounded man's facc was covered with blood—I would not be able to recognize him after so many years—but he told me that his name was Alfred de Mornasse

"So far you have stated the truth," Baid the count, coldly. Renaud turned to Adrienne, a ray of hope illumining his features: "You hear, Adrienne, you hear!"

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Adrienne tried to return an answering smile, but in vain her imploring gaze rested doubtfully on the count's pale, averted facc.

The attentive listeners became more absorbed than ever the count seemed rainer embarrassed by this quiet, concentrated scrutiny. lie turned, with an impatient gesture, to Renaud, who still seemed to expect some expression of encouragement, some kind recognition, from Alfred de Mornasse. But they were not uttered.

Renaud's voice trembled as ho again proceeded with his appeal. "Well, then you gave me a reward, your purse it contained three hundred louia, in gold." "Yes, yes I remember. I also told you my father's name, and requested you to convey to him the tidings of my death.** "Yes." Renaud's voice rose in triumphal joy. "And then you confided te me your "Stop tbore, my man. Now, you are going to repeat that old story about valuable papers and jewels." "But you did give them to me, titledeeds, diamonds, pearls, your eignet-ring

"Not at all you have told that story so often tbat now you imagine it to be really true."

Jean Renaud, instead of shrinking away from the count, took several stepe forward and stood quite close to him, his features expressing extreme astonishment, even incredulity. The const met the glance quite umoved. '1,,. "You say that you did not eonBde to me jewels and papers "Certainly not. I have all my valuable

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*CiA •uu Situ u»». jb -_* "You have them with you?*' Renaud's voice trembled with amazement, his eagle gaze was fixed on the count's impassive features the intensity of his emotions thrilled hi#listeners. Adrienne rose, anil leaning on the duchess, with hands clasped in mute agony, watched the two figures, one on fire with long-suppressed, outraged feelings, the other cold and indifferent as a marble statue. "Yes al 1 of them—all oft hem "Then you recovered them in some way

"I tell you—nor "They were brought to you, then." "Never! I tell you. never! They have never been out of my possession."

Renaud rose to bis full height, and leaning forward, looked full at the count restless eyes. Ilis voice rolled out in thunder tones, his gestures were as menacing *8 his emphatic denunciation was threatening. "And I tell you, that if those papers ami jewels were never brought to you—never bought by you from a stranger— that you —you took them from the keeping of my murdered Madeleine! Yes—yes. I see it all! Look! colonel, Adrienne, O'Rourke— do you not see what I do? There stands the nrui-derer of my wife! The man who is killing my child! The man who, for twelve long years, has condemned me to the torments of the damned! Yes, shrink away, but you shall not escape me again!

I tell you, that you are not the Count de Mornasse! You are a murderer—a mean, cowardly wretch, who could murder an innocent, helpless woman, and force from lier lips a false charge! Yes, who but you made my dying wife speak the words that condemned me: "J. am tcilh your father T'

A shriek from Adrienne for a second stopped the torrent of words but the count's features had contracted as if with a spasm of agony, and he shrank behind the duke, and put his hands before his face.

Jean Renaud sprang forward, panting, gasping, dragging his chain like Borne great wild beast that has broken from his keeper. "You have destroyed my wife, ruined my career, blasted my home! You have so far escaped! You have put me out of the pale of society! reduced me to the lowest depths of infamy! Bee this shameful livery—it is you who should wear it! this chain—'it is you who Bhould drag it! I tell you, if I could not have law then, I will have juBtice now and, if that is denied me, then let me have—revenge!"

He would have sprung like a tiger on the trembling count, but O'Rourke, who had watched every motion, caught him around the waist and held him back. Adrienne, with a faint cry, threw herself on his breast.

The duchess could not speak, but the duke looked from his guest to the soldier, as if demanding some explanation of this remarkable scene.

The count struggled successfully against one of his nervous attacks, and pressing bis laced handkerchief to his heated face, he smiled faintly and bowed to the duchee?. "Excuse me for t-hus giving way to my fears, but really the man frightens me. Do you think it quite safe to allow a madman such liberty? Your lives are really in danger." "Madman!" cried Adrienne. starting from her father's arms and confronting the count. "Why do you say that?" "Because, Mademoiselle Renaud, only a madman or a fool makes charges that he cannot prove."

Adrienne's arms fell to licr Bides. She turned to her father with a piteous, tearless cry.

Renaud stood motionless, like a man stunned by an unexpected blow. His eyes were fixed on the ground, but he raised them as Adrienne's voice fell on his ears. Then ho took her in his arms, and looked in her face, very much as he had done years before, in hopeless, voiccless agony. "He is right, my child. I nave no proofs." His voice faltered. "It is all over." "Not yet!" replied a clear, firm voice, and Valentine entered from Adrienne's rooms, followed by the chanoinesse, Raoul and Henri.

All eyes tvere turned upon her as she advanced, calm, self-possessed, her dark eyes shining with intense brilliancy, conscious power showing in every gesture. She stopped, and her face softened into a smile as Adrienne "turned to her with imploring eyes, unable to express her delight at seeing her. Valentine hent over her. "Courage," Bhe whispered, "leave the rest to us." "What are you doing here?" demanded the enraged count, recovering hie voice. "I told you expressly to keep away from this house!" "And I asked you to leave France!" said Valentine, with a perceptible shudder as he put his band on her arm. "I told you that I would not. Now, obey me. Go to your own house. Go, 1 say'

Valentine disengaged her arm w.».h a rapid motion, speaking softly, ber eyes fixed on his: "I gave you the opportunity you refused to profit by it. Now, it is too hte!" "Will you go away V' he asked, threateningly. *~s "By what authority do you command this child?" asked the chanionesse, coming between him and Valentine, and speaking very quietly. "By what authority? I am her father!" "You! Her father?"

The chanoinesse looked at the count from head to foot with an expression of mingled surprise and contempt. He bowed slightly. "Yes, her father! The Count de Mornasse."

The duke would have spoken, but the chanoinesse prevented bim with a quick gesture. The circle narrowed ai-ound her and the count, Adrienne leaning on her father's arm, the duchess holding Valentine's band. O'Rourke intent on eaeh

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speaaer turn, ana me young meu ou the alert awaiting events. "You say you are the Count de Mornasse. "Well, as I have taken care of Valentine de Mornasse for many years, I claim the right of asking you a few questions so as to satisfy myself of your identity before surrendering my charge. Duke, I submit it to you, whether this is not a fair demand." ~T "Certainly, madame, the count cannot object to an action which does credit to your prudence and zeal in behalf of Mademoiselle Valentine." "Of course, any information you desire that 1 can supply is at your service," said tiie count, looking uneasily from the chanoinesse to Valentine's earnest face. "Then, sir, look at me and tell me if you ever saw me until now!" "Never, madame," replied the count, glancing curiously at the chanoinesse. "That is, not to my recollection. You must do me the justice to remember that

I have been for years an exile, and people change as time passes." "At what school did you say you* daughter was placed?" "Why,at llyeres—tho College d'Hyeres." "Yes, you sent her thcie in charge of a servant." "Yes, Madame, one of my servants was willing to risk bis own safety, and leave the child thero with the directress of tho college." "Do you remember tvhat messago tho servant took to the directress?"

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"Why, how should I, after twelve years, recall a verbal message?" said the count, apiealing to the duke. "Fortunately, I do. Before repeating it, I wish, in the presence of this company, to ask—Jean Renaud a question. \ou have all heard the Count de Mornasse relate how his daughter reached llyeres. Of course, we are not all gifted with memory in the same degree, and twelve years is a long time to remember but can Jean Itenaud repeat what Alfred do Mornasse said to him in reference to his child?" "1 can," came the prompt answer, and Renaud turned eagerly to the chanoinesse. "He told me that his daughter had been at Lille, but that I was to take the jewels and papers to Arras, where she lived with her aunt, tho chanoinesse." "You hear?" said the chanoinesse, looking around her. "Now I will tell you my story, and you can compare tho three. Twelve years ago the directress of the College d'Hyeres was the Chanoinease do

Mornasse, Valentine's grand-aunt. When tho fumily becamc proscribed, and the Count de Mornasse and hiB son,Valentine's faHicr, were about to leave France, the chanoinesse was visiting the convent at Lille. Alfred de Mornasse determined that his little child should remain in France. At that period I was at the convent at Lille. One day a man carrying a sleeping child was admitted into the parlor. He asked for the Chanoinesse de Mornasse, and was informed that she was at Arras, lie then inquired for tho directress of the school, and I went to Bee him. After some conversation he became greatly agitated, as I could not tell him how soon tho chanoinesse would return. I promised him to take the child to Arras, and this seemed to please him. When ho was going away .the child wakened and clung to him, sobbing and kissing him.

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by tho Count de Mornasse to leave the little one with his aunt. The child's grief completely overpowered him, and, as he pressed her to his heart, ho said: 'Oh, my child! my child! It breaks my heart to leave you, but I must not stay! Oh, my darling, pray that you and your poor father may meet again!' I taid to him. 'You are the Count de Mornasse?' and he relied, 'Alas! madaiue, I am that unhappy nobleman, doomed to forsake the country that I lovo and would willingly die for!' I told him I would care for his child, and his answer was, »I confide her to you, and Heaven deal with you as you do with my poor Valentine!' I succeeded in taking Valentine to Arras, and from thero lier aunt and I returned to Hyeres. The Chanoinesse de Mornasse only lived a year after her family went into exile. When dying she left mo her one treasure—Valentine. I have kept my trust. Valentine is now restored to her rights as Mademoiselle de Mornasse. It was for that purpose that I went to Paris. You, sir, are an impostor, and I denounce you as such!" "You shall prove your words, madameV* cried the false count, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "Duke, I appeal to your "Ho is cornered I will be ready for him!" O'Rourke exclaimed, leaving tho room. "The proof is herel" said Valentine. "Proof!" cried tho miserable man, turning upon her with utter consternation in his face. "Where did you get it? What do you mean

The duke stepped between them, but Valentine was perfectly fearless. "You brought it with you in jour ignorance. Adrienne, do you remen.ber tho other clue to his innocence tbat your father Bpoke of?" "The necklace!" cried Adrienne. "This was among my mother's jewels. Ask your father if he recognizes it."

Valentine put the necklace in Adrienne's hand, and then turned to embrace the chanoinesse. The duchess echoed Jean Renaud's cry of delight as he gazed at tho c!:i-*p and opened it. "See! duke! examine it yourself. I

He leaned heavily against the marble pillar, unconscious even of Adrienne's soft, clinging arms. Such joy was overwhelming. The duke looked from the necklace to the ghastly face of the wretch before bim. "Raoul. Henri, arrest tbat man I" he said, quickly.

As they approached the man, he made a dash past the duke toward the shut folding-doors. O'Rourke flung them open, with a mocking laugh. "There is your body-guard, you murderifl' villain!" he cried.

The man stood motionless before th line of soldiers who bad escorted the soldier to the chateau.

Otxlnaei Tklrd P»fce.