The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1887-05-28 00:00:00

ADRIENNE

Ort,
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST.

[ALL BIGHTS RESERVHD4

CHAPTER XXVII.

M. MENPON impatiently awaited the re appearance of
his host, and when Dr. Brunel again came in, he
immediately said--
"May I enquire if Mademoiselle Durand has
been brought hither, and is now under your protec-
tion ?"
"She is, and I am authorised by her mother to reveal
to you the facts of her most singular and melancholy
history."
As it is unnecessary to repeat that portion of her sad
Story with which the reader is already acquainted, we
give but the conclusion of it, as being necessary to
explain some of the mysteries previously related.
Two years from the ill-omened marriage of Louise
With M. Lecour found her with shattered health, and
a mind vibrating on the verge of lunacy. She was
alone in her sitting-room toward the twilight of a
brilliant day. The door stood open, and through it
fell the parting evening light ; suddenly, the entrance
Was darkenad by the figure of a stranger.
Ile was a sun-burned, way-worn man, bearing many
marks of his hard contest with the world; his hair
had whitened to silver before middle age; but at a
glance, Louisa knew that the lover of her youth, thE
husband she had believed dead long since, was stand-
ing before her.
Before this time, she had learned the cruel deception
her father had practised upon her, and she knew that
the ceremony which had united her with Henri
Durand had been legal in all its forms; but she had
believed him dead when she gave her hand to M.
Lecour.

Louise attempted to rise, but fell faiuting at his
feet. Durand fitted her in his arms, chafed her cold

hands in his, and poured forth such a passionate tide
O f love and sorrow as brought back receding conscious-
ness. She started from his encircling arms, and with
accents of horror exclaimed—

"Touch me not. lam unworthy to be claimed as
yours, for I have weakly severed myself from you for
ever."

"Whit can you mean, Louise?" he apprehensively
asked, as he beheld her wild expressit c ar.d tertified
manner. "I know the deception under which you
acted wen you married Mendon, and on my release
from prison I left you to the enjoyment of such
happiness as you might find with him; but now he is
dead, and I have crossed half the world to find and
Claim you."
! She despairingly said—
" And I have given myself to another, who
will—"
" Defend his rights even to the death," was furi-
ously added by M. Lecour, as he rushed into the room
and confroated the two. "Who are you that dares,
before my eyes, to hold my wife clasped within your
arms ?"
"I am her lawful husband,' was the firm response
of the stranger, as he drew the trembling Louise more
firmly to his side. "I am Henri Durand, and when
you came hither to play your base part toward this
lady, you knew that I was still living. You were
aware of my release from prison, and it was through
information derived from your half-brother, Dr.
Latour, who was my pretended friend while in the
East, that you have been able to deceive my wife, and
inveigle her into a union with yourself which you
know to be illegal."
"I can soon render it legal enough for my purpose,"
sneered M. Lecour, and he sprang at once upon his
adversary, and plunged his dagger to his heart.
Encumbered by the half-senseless Louise, Durand
could make no defence, and he fell dead at her feet.
She awoke to consciousness to find herself covered
With the blood of her slain husband, and, regardless of
the attempts to detain her made by poor horror-
stricken Eady, who had reached the door in time to
witness the last act in the fatal tragedy, Louise fled
from the house.

Twilight was falling, and the fugitive eluded those
Who attempted to pursue her. She passed with fleet
steps over the road that lay between Be!lair and the
river, and with frantic haste plunged into the stream.
At that moment Dr. Brunel happened to be riding
down the road toward his own home. He saw the
White figure that flitted across his path, and the next
instant heard the splash of her fall into the water.
He was a strong swimmer, and he did not hesitate
an instant to throw himself from his horse, and rush
to her rescue. The clothes of the intended suicide
had become entangled in a pile of driftwood carried
by an eddy into the edge of the bank, and Dr. Brunel
soon succeeded in drawing her from the water in a
state of insensibility.
Great was his dismay and amazement to recognise
by the fading light the features of the daughter of his
old friend, the once brilliant and beautiful mistress of
Bellair. His own house was fortunately near, and he
removed her thither without delay. She was plved
in bed, and everything done for her restoration that
Dr. Brunel's skill cou'd suggest; but the unhappy
Louisa only recovered to fall into violent hysterical
spasms, and through many hours of that night the
faithful friend who watched beside her thought she
must die before the dawn of another day.
The doctor performed his duty to the daughter of
his old friend, and Louise survived the wretched
events of that fatal evening, but with a cord in her
brain for ever shattered.
She was not insane, but her eccentricity took the
form of a rooted abhorrence toward M. Lecour and the
determination to make his life as miserable as far as
lay in her power: she frantically insisted that Dr.
Brunel should lead him to believe that she had
perished from her plunge in the Mississippi. She
could never consent to live beneath the same roof

With him again, and neither would she listen to the
demand that she should denounce him as a murderer.
. She could not have her sad history thus dragged before
‘. the public, Let him retain the wealth which was
, hers, until the proper time for the acknowledgment of
" her daughter arrived. She had already so arranged it
that M. Lecour believed Adrienne to be the child of
Estelle, and as such he had for years paid the annuity
necessary for her maintenance and education.
Louise declared that she would go to New Orleans,
, join the Sisters of Charity, and by a life of penitence
and usefulness atone for the involuntary sin she had
thmmitted. .
By some means M.Lecour learned that his wife had
been rescued from drowning by Dr. Brunel, and he
furiously demanded her restoration at his hands.
Louise vehemently insisted that her old friend should
assist her to feign death, and she solemnly asserted
that if she were either compelled to return to her
tyrant, or to divulge all that had marred her existence,
she would not live through the misery and degrada-
tion that must become her portion.
Dr. Brunel was finally moved by her passionate
appeals, and a preparation was given her which pro-
duced a state of immobility strongly resembling death.
Zr!. Leeour was admitted to her apartment to behold
her shrouded for burial, and placed within her coffin;
he stood beside her, and looked upon her colourless
face in the full conviction that the spirit which once
animated that beautiful form had finally departed
from the world he had rendered miserable to her. On
the following day the family vault was opened, and
the coffin supposed to contain the body of the hap-
less Louise was placed within it, while she lay upon
her bed at Dr. Brunel's, mourning as one that could
never be comforted over the tragic sequel to her most
unhappy marriage.
Old Eady had become deeply attached to her
Oppressed mistress, and Louise felt assured in her own
mind that she could trust to her fidelity. With her
assistance, she could carry out the strange fantasy
that filled her mind, and which no arguments or
entreaties could induce her to lay aside. Her fixed
determination was to become a terror to the wretched
man who had inflicted such misery upon herself. She
was aware that remorse for the part he had played in
the bloody days of terror preyed as an incubus upon
him, and to allay its pangs he used a drug which only
added intensity to the imaginary horrors that at
certain epochs assailed him. One of these was the
anniversary of the execution of Louis XVI. and she
, had remarked that Lecour's terrible night orgies
/
always became more frantic toward that time. Louise
Irtbnceived the idea of adding to his fears, by coming
to him at that season as a shadow from the grave in
which.he believed her to be lying.
• With the assistance of Eady, Louise could always
gain admittance into M. Ledour's apartment, and
escape again without detection, as she could safely
trust to the misty state of intelligence to which he
would be reduced by the witching time of night, when
phantoms are supposed to walk the earth.
When Dr. Brunel found how firmly this monomania
had taken possession of her mind, he ceased to oppose
her; in fact, since justice could not be dealt out to
the old reprobate who tyrannised at Bellair, he was
rather pleased than otherwise that some punishment
should h a meted out to him. even in this unusual
manner. He made such arrangements as secured the
'perfect incognita of Louise, and went with her himself
to New Orleans when she assumed the office of Sister
of ch9rity, and saw that she was as comfortably
fautt*t•U as circumstances permitted. She returned
Punctually to the neighbcurhood of Bellair every
Janteiry, that she might play the part of the White
Terror to its master; and as Eady always stoutly
denied seeing her at all, M. Lecour gradu illy learned
to believe that the phantom shape came only to haunt
and render him miserable.
An apartment on the side of the corridor next to
Eady's cabin was annually prepared for her use, for
the reason that it communicated with the garden by
a small portico now almost in ruins. To this room
was attached the laboratory into which du Verney had
penetrated. It had originally been used as a dressing-
room, but Eugene Mendon had a fondness for chemical
experiments, and he had caused it to be fitted up
with apparatus brought from France.
The key to this outer door was always in the
Possession of Louise, and by a short path through
the woodland she could soon reach her old home. On
the night previous to Adrienne's arrival, she had let
herself in without the knowledge of Eady, and in the
gathering twilight placed herself upon the balcony in
front of M. Lecour's window, just beyond the range
of vision from within, but in such a position that the
concave m:rror would reflect her form to him, out-
lined against the fading light of day.
On this evening, for the first time, Pierre obtained
a glimpse of her as she retreated, for it had been
easy enough to nrevent the dull old man, with his

propcpsjty for liquor., from fathoming her secret.
Since she had shown herself to him on that evening,
Eady concluded that she would not make a second ap-
pearance, as such had not been her custom; but her
mania had now assumed a new form. She would ap-
pear to him in her bridal dress; she possessed
duplicate keys of the cabinet containing her jewels,
and ignorant that a new inmate had been received at
Bellair, she came up through the private staircase, and
entered the room she had once occupied herself. She
then clothed herself in her bridal garments, and, un-
locking the door, passed into the opposite apartment.
Occapied with the part she herself was playing, the
half-sleeping form that glided after her was un-
noticed by her; and when she came back to the
tower, it suddenly struck her half-demented mind
that it was singular she should have found a fire
burning upon the hearth. She approached the bed,
snd looked down upon its tenant, and was nearly as
much alarmed as Adrienne herself had been at the
wild face of the supposed apparition.
This young stranger was probably too clear-headed
to be imposed on, and in great alarm lest her well-
preserved secret should at last be betrayed, Louise con-
sulted with Eady as to the course she had best pursue
to impress this new and dangerous interloper with the
reality of the supernatural vision that had appeared
in her loom. Louise refused to believe that the young
strati ger was other than an interested adventurer, who
had imposed herself upon M. Lecour as the veritable
Adrienne Durand. She believed her daughter to be
too well guarded in her convent home to be permitted
to make her escape; and she and her ally concluded
that a second appearance would be necessary to sus-
tain the impression produced by the night scene.
This was accordingly arranged, and the time of its
execution determined on. _

The apartment of Louis had a dormer window
opening upon a narrow parapet, which extended to a
similar window in an adjoining room. It was a
dangerous attempt to pass from one window to the
other, for the narrow ledge was only protected by the
heavy cornice of the roof, and if she became dizzy she
might fall over; but Louise decided to take the risk
in preference to the chance of betrayal to M. Lecour.
After displaying herself an instant to Adrienne, she
passed thronh the window, fastened it on the out-
side, and by the time the frightened girl reached the
recess, she was safe in the next room.
But she carried with her a new cause for anxiety and
dread. The momentary glimpse of Adrienne in one of
her own dresses, had shown her that the pretentions
of the young stranger were not false, and her daughter
had ventured into the tiger's den, from which she
must now use all her ingenuity to extricate her. But
how was she to do so without suffering the secret of
her supposed death to become known?
She knew that Victor du Vernay had already reached
New Orleans, and received such instructions from a
fast friend of hers there, as would bring him very
soon to Bellair; and until he came she would content
herself with watching over the safety of her child,
and preventing the execution of any evil that M.
Lecour might devise against her. She had written to
the elder Du Vernay, informing him of the true
parentage of Adrienne, and offering to Victor a large
sum if he would come to Louisiana and claim the
estate of her grandfather for her, under a deed of suc-
cession made by M. Montrueil just before his death,
as a late atonement for the previous wrong he had
inflicted upon her.
B 7 a singular coincidence, those two young people
had already met and loved each other; Louise con-
cluded that it would be best to await the arrival of
M. Du Vernay before attempting anything herself, as
she was nervously anxious that her secret should be
kept profoundly secret from M. Lecour. As his sup-
posed granddaughter, Adrienne for a season would
probably be safe under the same roof with him,
but she did not relax the vigilance of her watch upon
him for a single hour.
On the morning Eady placed the ring upon the
collar of the slaughtered bloodhound, she removed it
stealthily, and afterwaras, finding that M. Lecour had
forgotten the keys of his treasure closet during the
dinner-hour of the prince, she placed within it the
sketch of herself, and the warnings which had
rendered him so furious. She had no paper of her
own, and she imprudently 'used a leaf from the
portfolio of Adrienne; and at the same time wrote
the hurried lines which her daughter afterwards
found within it. She had learned to draw in youth,
and the accidental discovery in the laboratory of a
bottle half-filled with phosphorous, suggested the idea
of the sketch she had made of herself.
Some premonition had told Louise that she would
at some day need free ingress into the private room
of her unscrupulous tyrant, and when a skilful work-
man from New Orleans was brought to Bellair to con-
struct the iron safe in the wall for the concealment of
his hoarded treasures, a large bribe from her induced
him to fit the secret entrance behind the portrait of
Egalite, and arrange it to open in the same way as
that which concealed the door of the iron safe. •
Through this rentrapce she often passed into the
picture-room, and to food to the hound kept con-
stantly chained there. Gradually he became so
habituated to her presence that she ceased to fear
him, and it was doubtless the resemblance Adrienne
bore to her mother which caused him to crouch at her
feet, and whine when she came into such dangerous
proximity to him.
On the night of Louis's removal, she remained on
the watch in a most painful state of indecision as to
the course she had best pursue; and when the fury of
M. Lecour was about to wreak itself fatally upon the
innocent girl, she again played upon his superstitious
fears with success.
When Adrienne was the second time so ruthlessly
lured into the picture-room, Louise had seen M. Lecour
descend, and visit the cabin of Eady; and when she
saw the use made of the purloined key, she divined
his terrible intention, and she cast about in her own
mind how to defeat this last crowning treachery.
The new bloodhound was not yet her friend, and
she felt the necessity of destroying him without a
moment's delay. She went into the laboratory to
seek the means of so doing, for she knew that many
deadly acids were still there.
The search occupied some time, and was at last
rewirrded by the discovery of a vial nearly filled with
a liquid labelled prussic acid. She unclosed thepanel,
and sprung back the picture, ready to risk everything
herself to save her child from the fearful fate that
she knew menaced her. She was barely in time, for
the dog sprang upon the defenceless girl just as the
fatal fluid was hurled upon him. He clutched her
robe in his fangs, but fell in the agonies of death upon
the floor.
With superhuman strength, Louise grasped the
sinking form of Adrienne with one hand, and with
the .other overturned the table upon the struggling
dog. She bore her daughter into the room occupied
by herself, and endeavoured to quiet the violent
agitation which seized upon her on being thus sud-
denly aroused.from her strange sleep. The poor girl was
also evidently terrified at her appearance, for she re-
cognised the face of the phantom, and in her fright
and bewilderment she had not judgment to compre-
i hend the truth. She fell from one fainting fit into
another, until the poor mother was fairly at her
wits' end to know what to do for her. She feared to
summon Eady to her assistance, lest in so doing she
should arouse Pierre, and the thought also came to her
that Eady's knowledge of what had become of
Adrienne might seriously compromise her with her
master.
It sometimes happened that Dr. Brunel came in his
light wagon to the edge of the woodland to convey her
to his house, and on this night, as he was returning
from a visit to a patient, he thought he would stop
and see if he couli induce her to return with him to
La Sauté. Why she had remained so much longer
than usual at Bellair he did not know, and he was be-
coming uneasy. He made the usual signal by a rap
upon the floor of the ruined portico, and she opened
the door to him as one Heaven' directed to bring her
the assistance she so sorely needed.
Louise rapidly explained who Adrienne was, and
what had thrown her into the condition in which she
then was, and the horrified physician hasten( d to give
the assistance to the suffering girl of which she stood
so greatly in need. lie fortunately had his wallet of
medicines in his pocket, and a sedative was im-
mediately administered. So soon as it began to pro-
duce toe dosired effect of throwing her into a
quiescenL state, he removed her in his strong arms to
the shelter of his wagon, and drove rapidly towards
his own house.
Louise held the head of her daughter upon her
breast until they reached La Sauté, where Adrientie
was placed in bed, and such arrangements made as in-
sured perfect quiet around her.
She now lay in a sleep so deep that it seemed im-
po-sible to arouse her, and Dr. Brunel considered her
situation a very critical one in spite of his words of
reassurance to her mother. Everything depended on
her awaking in a calm state of mind, for he could not
conceal from himself that the shock of being aroused
from her trance-like sleep to find herself in the very
fangs of the fearful bloodhound, had endangered
reason, if not life.
lie lc,pt a most solicitous watch over her, and he
looked for the arrival of Victor du Vernay with in-
tense in the hope that his presence at the
moment
rning consciousness might produce a
eag
oe rf nr e e st s
u,
favourable reaction, and prevent. her memory from
_ .
immediately recurring to the frightful incidents of

_
the past night.
When this ( xplanation had been given to M. Mendon
he returned to Beßair and found M. Lecour still suf-
fering at intervals, as in the early part of the day.
The priest sat beside him absorbed in prayer, trying
thus to keep down the surging spirit of vengeance
that at moments would arise in his soul.
When he heard the soun.l of M. Mendon's returning
footsteps, he left the side of the sick man's couch, and
went to meet him on the gallery. He eagerly asked—
" Have you gained a clue to Ldrienne? Since you
left I have examined the men I left on the watch last
night, but they were so busy looking after two
prisoners they made, that they were oblivious of all
that took place within the house."
"I have found her, and what is more, I have had an
terview with her mother," he significantly replied. "It
was she who saved her last night."
The countenance of Father Eustace scarcely
changed at this announcement. With perfect coolness
he said--
" A h —h, then you know that my assumed paternity
was only an allowable ruse in the game we were play-
ing. I have been aware all the time that Louise is yet
living, but tell me how she happened to be on the
spot when her daughter most needed her?"
M. Mendon concisely related the circumstances of
Adrienne's escape, and at the conclusion of the
narrative the Driest nervously asked ;

"Did not Dr. Brunel betray to you the cause of the
seclusion of Louise? Was not the life of one she
loved sacrificed, before she attempted to commit
suicide ?"

"I will tell you if you will promise to leave
vengeance to a higher power."
Father Eustaee became terribly pale, and after a
struggle, he said—

"I have given him over to the visible power of
God, who has wrought out his own retribution."
"I know now that your brother fell by his hand."
" Where ? In this house ?"
"In the room below; and the stain of his blood 10
yet upon the floor."
The strong man shook as if a blow had been dealt
him. He turned abruptly away, strode Without
pausing to the lower room, and looked around it.
His eyes f all upon the traces of that twin brother's
blood who had once been as a second self to him, and
he dropped upon his knees besides it, uttering in agony
of spirit—
" Give me strength to pardon him, oh, Saviour of
the world! enable me to put far from my soul the
thought of vengeance against the father of my sainted
Estel le." _ _ _

Long did he wrestle in prayer before he could again
enter the room of the dying sinner, whose register of
crime was full. _ _ _ _ _

I could fill pages with the record of that terrible
death-bed; could tell how he who thrust so many out
of life, clung at the last to the miserable remnant left
to himself; but the picture would be too awful. M.
Lecour died with all the forms of the church to which
he nominally belonged, carefully administered to him
by the man he had so scorned and abused.