The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1887-05-21 00:00:00

Of-the-shock that awaited him on hie arrival there.

Victor du Vernay was not over twenty-three years
Of age, and his handsome person had full justice done
to it by a toilette of Parisian elegance; yet it was the
elegance of good taste, and not that of the coxcomb,
Proud of his personal advantages. He was on his way
to see his beloved Adrienne once more, to claim her
for ever as his own, and demand of M. Lecour.the

restoration of her rights. He had seen Madame Noiron
In New Orleans,and received from her such surpesing
revela t ions, that he came prepared to show the old
man the impossibility of evading Adrienne's claims.
Be knew her to be the granddaughter of M. Mon-
treuil, and his undoubted heiress. A further mystery
was hinted at by Madame Noiron, and he was
referred to Dr. Brunel for its solution when he reached
_ _ . . .

_
the neighbourhood of Bellair. To him he would go
when he lad seen his betrothed bride, and light was
his heart as he drew near the end of his journey.
When Du Vernay came in sight of the dreary wood-
land that surrounded the old château, his spirits
sirffered a reaction, he could not have told why. Aft

he drew up his horse in front of the steps, he Won-
dered how Adrienne had been able to endure existence

in so desolate a spot, even for a single week.
He dismounted, stepped upon the threshold, and
vlts about to lift the ponderous knocker, when the
sudden appearance of a gentleman, descending the
sta;rcase caused him to pause and await his advance.
M. Mendon, with downcast eyes and preoccupied
air, cam,. almost up to the stranger before he was
aware of his presence. He started, bowed courteously,
and Faid—

"Excuse me, monsieur, but my mind was filled
With painful thoughts, and strangers so seldom come
to this portal, that I was quite taken by surprise at

_
your presence."
"Yeti are very excusable, monsieur. I have
business of importance with M. Lecour, and I shall be
gad to see him immediately."
M. Mendon ttirveyed him from head to foot, and he
said—

"I thir,k I cannot be mistaken, monsieur: you are
lately from France ?"
"I am I only reached the landing above here about
two hours ago. My business admits of no delay; can
I not see M. Lecour at once ?"
"He is too ill to receive visitors."
"I am sorry; in that case, perhaps Mademoiselle
Durand will receive me."
A sudden light flashed on M. Mendon. Before him
stood the cause of Adrienne's indifference to himself.
Her low r had lost little time in following her, and he
rather exulted in the blow it was in his power to give
him.
"M. Lecour is ill unto death from the bite of a
rabid dog, and during the past night his grand-
daughter has eloped from the protection of his roof."
The listener staggered back as if he had received a
sudden blow. He became very pale, and then flushed
fiery red. He compressed his lips firmly an instant,
and then said—
"Your last words are a slander against a young
lady I am bound to protect, and at the proper time
and place I shall hold you accountable for them. Since
Mademoiselle Durand is no longer here, I must see M.
Lecour, even if he lies in extremis. In what part of
the house shall I seek him ?"

M.Mendon's lip curled, as he pointed to the stair-
case and said—

"Yonder lies the way, and, self-delegated as you
are to become the defender of Mademoiselle Durand,
I shall decline the honour of answering to a stranger
for the language I have used. Go up, and learn for
yourself that I have only spoken the truth."
As he finished speaking he passed out with haughty
steps, and, mounting his horse, rode rapidly away.
Du Vernay, thus left to pilot himself in a strange
house, was rather at a loss what to do next; but as
he heard the murmur of voices from the apartment
above, he finally determined to follow the directions
he had received. As he advanced to the door of M.
Lecour's chamber, the priest turned courteously to the
stranger, and said—
"You have come hither at a sad time, monsieur.
The master of the house is in no condition to receive
Visitors, if your business is with him.'
•" I had affairs of great importance to settle with
him but it seems that I am too late. Death will
anticipate any claim I may have against him. You
do not remember me, Father Eustace, for in the six
years since we have met, I have outgrown your know-
ledge. lam the son of your old friend, Alphonse du
Vernay."
The priest grasped his hand warmly, as he said, with
some show of feeling—
" Your father was the friend of my youth, and from
him I received many favours. His son is welcome to
Louisiana, and if I can aid him in the business that
brought him here, I will do so as far as lies in my power.
May I inquire what has induced you to come hither ?"
"It is too long a story to enter on now, and here;
but I may tell you that I am empowered to act as the
agent of the Montreuil family to settle the succesfeon
to this estate. The claim of M. Lecour is not valid—
but of that hereafter. Is it true, father. that Made-
moiselle Durand is no longer under the protection of
her reputed grandfather? I was told so, very rudely,
by a person whom I met below, but I cannot bring
myself to believe such a thing."
" Adrienno has disappeared in a very extraordinary
Manner, but I am very sure that no blame can attach
itself to her," gravely responded the priest.
"Tell me, I entreat, what has actually occurred,"
said Du Vernay, with feverish impatience, for his
heart began to thrill with painful doubts as to the
safety of his beloved Adrienne.
In a guarded voice, Father Eustace related the
events of the past night so far as he understood them
himself, and the lover listened with horror and fury
depicted upon his face. He bowed his.head a few
moments to recover calmness, and then turned to M.
Lecour and spoke to him.
lie now lay quiescent and exhausted, but, like a
crushed serpent, he would have- concentrated all his
venom in one final blow, if he had possessed the power
to render it mortal to him who came empowered
to strip him of the wealth he could no longer grasp.
The eyes of M. Lecour flashed with malignant fire
Upon Du. Vernay as he spoke.
"I come hither, monsieur, empowered to claim the
heiress of Bellair and her fortune. The last you can
no longer use, and I entreat you to inform me what
you have caused to be done with Adrienne Durand."
"Address no entreaties to me, I have no informa-
tion to give."
"Then I demand her at yourhands, and she must be
forthcoming."
"Seek her, as I told the others to do. I neither
know nor care where she is. Take your presence
from my sight, for it is odious to me. Why should
you dare to claim the hand and gold that are mine,
'mine? Oh horror! I burn! I burn ! yet water cannot
quench my raging thirst. Kill me—let me die at
once ! "
He again fell into spasms of such violence as-to task
the utmost strength of the three watchers to prevent
him from rolling upon the floor.
Du Vernay looked on in silent horror, until he
sufferer again lay passive and nearly breathless. He
then said to Father Eustace _

"Can I examine the room into which my poor
Adrienne was so cruelly lured last night? Perhaps
I ma i - discover some clue that has escaped your
search."
"The apartment immediately beneath this is the
one, and you will find the door open. It will be a
satisfaction to you to make a thorough investigation,
though M. Mendon and I have already done that with-
out any result."
Permission thus granted, Du Vernay descended and
entered the picture-room. When he looked upon
the powerful frame of the dead hound, tears came
into his eyes, and his blood thrilled with rage at the
thought that a delicate, fragile girl had been left to
the mercy of such a creature.
His first effort was to throw more light into the
room by opening one of the window-blinds. So long
a time had elapsed since they were unclosed that it
required much effort to loosen the rusty fastenings.
They, however, at last yielded, the shutter was thrown
back, and the bright sunshine streamed into the room,
lighting up its ghastly pictures, and showing the
graphic power possessed by the artist to depict scenes
of suffering and despair.
Du Vernasr slowly traversed the apartmert, examin-
ing every crevice, and sounding ale walls as he went.
Three times had he made the circuit without any
result, and his heart began to grow sick within him.
Suddenly his eye fell upon a small white edge project-
ing from the under side of a picture frame which
contained a full length portrait of the Duo D'Orleans,
the former patron of M. Lecour.
He carefully drew forth a small strip of paper. on
'which was hastily written:—

" If Victor Du Verney should come hither to find some trace
of Adrienne Durand, he must at once seek the friend of her
mother, of whom he received information in New Orleans; he
will from hith hear a satisfactory explanation of what occurred
last night. In the meantime, he May feel assured that
Adrienne is safe, though far from well. Be silent, and act for
yourself. Trust no one."

In this ecstasy at the sudden lifting of the heavy
weight that had oppressed his heart, ho made a false
Step, stumbled over the body of the bloodhound, and
fell heavily forward against the picture of Egalite ; the
canvas tore apart, and the hollow sound that reverber-
ated from the wall against which he struck con-
vinced him that a passage leading from the room
would be found behind that picture.
He prang up. tore the frame from the wall, and to
his surpr'sa found that it was hung on hinges; the
Spring which had held it together was imperfectly
fastened, and in a few seconds the dead white wall
beneath it was exposed to view. The panel was of
painted wood, while the others were plastered.
Du Vernay struck eagerly and loudly upon it, with
the certainty that there must be some means oi open-
ing it from the opposite side. With a heart that beat
tutnultuou ly over his task, he made a diligent search
for the secret by which it could be unclosed. At length
he was rewarded by discovering a very small knob
hear the floor beneath the lowest hinge on which the
Picture frame hung.