The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1884-02-16 00:00:00

Translated front the French.

CHAPTER Vl.—(Continued).
THE acquaintances he met at the club were all
in a lively mood, and their company roused Fre-
neuse, whose sadness had no very deep foundation.
He was soon busy talking on congenial subjects, and
when the time arrived for going to the Porte-Saint-
Martin had quite forgotten his troubles, thought
only of Mdlle. Paulet, and of how he might make
himself most agreeable to her. But it was destined
that a chance rencontre should recall his gloomy ad-
venture. On arriving at the portico of the theatre,
he stopped a few moments to finish a good cigar,
and was surprised to hear himself thus ac-
costed, "I am sure I can't be mibtaken; it is you,
right enough!" The speaker was a remarkably fat
woman wearing a silk handkerchief on her head,
and girded with a strap sustaining a flat basket full
Ipf oranges. Freneuso at first failed to recognise
her, but she allowed him little time for reflection.
" fon do not remember me," she continued in a
hoarse voice; "but I remember _ou very well. You
sat opposite me yesterday evening in the omnibus
from the Wine Market."
"Oh, ah ! I recollect," stammered the artist, taken
aback. People that chance throws us as com-
panions in a public conveyance do not usually stop
to address us if we accidentally meet them in the
street the following day, so Freneuse at once con-
cluded that the old gossip of the Boulevard Saint
Martin wished to say something about what had
occurred during the journey in the omnibus. But
yet she was not in the vehicle when he discovered
the girl was dead, so what could she know of the
matter ?" She soon explained:
"Tell me, now," she began; "here's a fine set
Out! They say that girl died on the road! Who
would have thought it? I could have staked my
right hand she was only asleep. You must have felt
queer when you found you had been holding up a
corpse, without knowing it."
"How did your hear--" began Paul.
"They told me this morning at the Place Pigale.
I take the omnibus there every day, to goand buy my
oranges at the Rue des ITalles, so the station men all
know me, and when they told me a tall, dark man,
had helped to bring out the body, I guessed at once
it was you. Not surprising, as you were the only
man in the omnibus.'
"But it seems odd that you should have known
me again," said Freneuse, meditatively.
"Oh, if once I see a person's face, I never forget
it. As for the man who was sitting next the girl,
and gave up his seat, you think, perhaps, I did not
notice him, and he was only with us five minutes.
I tell you, if I met him again I should recognise him
.at once."

"If Eines were here," thought Freneuse, "he
would ally himself with this old woman, and go out
with her every day to make use of her memory. it
would not suit me to do that; but I should like to
know what she thinks of yesterday's adventure."
8o he said aloud: "Then you would also recog-
nise the lady who accepted the gentleman's seat F"
" Ah, no; not her. She did not show more than
her chin; the thick veils they wear nowadays are
worse than a mask. Hiding one's face like that
•ought not to be allowed. Suppose she did some-
thing wrong; once she got away, no one could lay
hand 3 upon her. Ah, that reminds me the omnibus
_ _ _

man saia you had taken it into your head the girl
was killed on the road. How could that be? They
say she had not a single scratch anywhere about
her."
" Yes ; but this sudden death seemed so inexpli-
cable ! "
"She certainly made no noise whatever ; but what
Can you expect? Life is weak- at her age."
" Then you do not believe that her neigh-
bour--"

"What, the one whose face we could not see?
Come, flow, that is fine. Why, if she had done any-
thing to her we must have noticed it. Besides, the
-doctors have examined the girl's body and found no
marks. For my part, lam not astonished; she died
froat cold and exhaustion. Her brown paper.
Coloured skin showed me she was ill."
" Did you see it? She had a veil down too ! "
" Quite true ; but I must tell you I've been to the
llorgue—l knew she would be there—and it is not
far from St. Eustache to Notre Dame. There was
a regular strinw of people going to look, so I went
araono• the rest; and you can't wonder, bemuse it's
the drowned as we generally see there, and they
aren't pretty • but this girl is as beautiful as the day;
death has not' changed her—she looks as if she was
asleep. I knew her again, that I did, in a minute!"
'Then
you were acquainted with her before ? "
exlja:ra d Freneuse.
" sai'd the fat old woman ; "I met her ever
S o many times in the Market of La Place Saint
l'ierre at Montmartre. I live at Chauste Clignan-
court."
"Can you tell me who she is ? "
" No ; I can hardly do that, because I never spoke
to her. At my age we don't chatter with young
People - especially when we don't know what sort they
they are. But if hived a hundred years I should re-
-member this girl's looks. She had big, black eyes;
by might have fancied you could light your cigar
uy them; and a velvety skin—se pale you would
think she had not a drop of blood in her veins."
Freneuse was moved. He did not possess Binos's
love of unravelling mysteries; but still the mystery
in the omnibus occupied his mind more than he was
aware, and he desired eagerly to glean any facts he
might from the orange-woman ; but they did not
transpire. Still, he reflected that a certain amount
of useful information might be obtained through the
lively old dame so he said, "If she came very often
M
to the ontmaAre Market she must have lived in
that quarter.,,
• "Of course she did," replied the woman. -
"Perhaps some of the people of whom she bought
Might be able to say in what street and what house
She lived," hazarded the artist.
"Possibly, but I don't expect so. They would
zot have taken much notice of her; she bought very
iittle—a few eggs, a bit of salad and vegetables.
8110 did not spend thirty sous a day. Custom
like that is not noticed; and she was as proud as a
little queen. She never spoke but to ask 'How
!zilch? ' and if she found it was too dear, she never
bargained ; she would move away without saying a
Word."
"And yet she must have been poor.'
"No doubt. She always wore the same old cloak,
and a black, woollen dress quite threadbare."
"And was she always alone ? " inquired Freneuse,
urawn on in spite of himself to follow the example of
his friend.
"Always. The servant-maids who come to
market with their fellows used to chaff her because
She hadn't a sweetheart."
"Pretty and discreet—a rare union—particularly
when a girl is poor, friendless, and compelled to
work for her living."
" Friendless ? Well, I don't think she was that,
but I have an idea she was not a common work-

" What occupation do you think she followed ? "
" Perhaps she gave lessons at twenty sous each;
and that sort of thing does not bring in much."
" Then she must have visited a good many
,S peep?. onaeone ought to be able to identify the body.'
• " Truly,' replied the fat woman, shrugging her
,attoulders ; "but all the world does not go to the
llorgue' and she'll only be left for three days."
'But you went in, and doubtless you told the
an in charge what you have just told me ? "
, "Me? No fear of that! I haven't any time to
.fose. I have to look after my business. My old
Iman is in bed these three months with the rheumatics
caught at his work. He is a lighterman, and if
don't get bread for him, who will? If I had told
t,he superintendent what I knew, I should have been
Rept for two hours, and had to go again to-morrow
to talk with the commissary. No, thank you; and
what good should I have done? I don't know the
girl's name, nor her address."
Preneuse confessed the woman was right; he had
one precisely the same thing, holding aloof from
the affair, although he knew more about it than
anybody.
"But still if you want me," she continued, " I
Ball be at your service. Virginia Ilion, Chaussm.
li:lig'ilancourt, at the corner of the Rue Muller. You
'Lay() only to inquire for me at the fruiterer's. I sea
You are interested irf this poor girl's story, and I
try to find out more about her. I will mak(
racliltries in the quarter, but now I must go, m;
.?irtne, for talking with you I don't sell my oranges.
o won't buy any, I guess. My goods do not suit
gentlemen."
leaving Freneuse, she began her usual cry,
"" 0 niy three sous, fine Valenti.zs! Only three sous."

CHAPTER VII.
PAiTi, saw that nothing further was to be learned
from her, besides which it was timo to enter the
theatre. The first act of the play had ended, and
he was anxious to be in M. Paulet's box for the
second, as any apparent lack of interest on his part
Would be impolite. The interval between the acts
was nearly over, and he ought to present himself
before the curtain again rose. So he followed the
81,e4ators who were going in after smoking their
cigars outsiC.e, gave the boxkeeper the number, and
slowly mounted the stairs to the first tier. He had
quitt9.:l his club in excellent spirits—ready to enjoy
eavetthing; but meeting with the orange woman
disturbed his equanimity. She had again
trou4lat him face to face with the problems which
annoyed him while they possessed such a charm for
Zenos. It seemed as though the sad story of the
Pnlnibus followed him everywhere. Lie wished
heartily never to hear it referred to again, and yet
TtverY"e' even strangers, persisted in talking
.of
ne was particularly annoyed that, in spite
of his endeavours, he could not banish the
subject L.fiem ' his. mind --'it haunted him,
29tVitrIlitkildiTir,,'Iris releening that the girl's death
ot_ Id not concern hine, and i€ his eccentric friend's
1111108Pieions were not founded upon common sense;
pfound he had HA, ned involuntarily to the
rattling of an old orange woman' taken pleasure
nt questioning her, and allowed his curiosity to