The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1887-04-02 00:00:00

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THE STOURBRIDGE OBSERVER.

these years Why did he not claim his wife before
she gave her hand to my brother, and prove the
falsehood of the story which had imposed on her 7"
An expression of suffering swept over the face of
the priest, and his voice sunk, as he said—

"'Henri. was in prison._ He lay in the dungeons ot

the Pastille for years, and when he came forth, it was
amid the raging mob which destroyed that dreadful
pile. His nearest friends had no suspicion of what had
become of him, with such caution were the measures

for his incarceration taken. I believed that he had
been murdered while on his journey to Paris, and his
body concealed. All my efforts to discover his fate
proved fruitless, and I at length relinquished every
attempt. I had given him up as lost, when a miserable
phantom came to me, and proclaimed himself the twin
brother, win had rotted in the dungeons of a remorse-
less government through all the best years of his man-
hood. It was pitiful to see how th's strong and noble
man was wrecked by one false step in life.
"Before Henri came to me he had seen the woman
who accompanied his wife to France; from her he
had learned that his arrest had been the work of M.
Montreuil, and that he had finally carried his point,
and given Louise to her first lover. A repoxt of
Henri 's death had been forwarded to M. Montreill,
and he explained to me that he had a companion in
misery, who died the second year after he joined him.
There had been some hopes held out that this m9n
would be released, and at :his decease, my brother
assumed his miserable identity, and caused the keeper
to report him as dead. The turnkey endeavoured to
serve him thus far, for he had been touched by his
suffering., but it resulted in nothing. The mandate
for his enlargement never came, and he was only
given up to the light of day by the tumultuous out-
break of the mob of Paris.

"By his own act, his wife had been led to believe
herself released from the tie that bound them together,
and Henri refused to assert his claims; time had
barred them now, and the poor girl, who had been so
deeply sinned against, could only be rendered miserable
by his re-appearance. Since the knowledge of his
existence could only lead to a dreadful scandal, and
great wretchedness to her, he would never inform her
of his sufferings and his wrongs.
"He travelled to the East Indies, and was absent
for years. While there he formed an intimacy with
a Pre9ch physician, who had resided in the eountry
several years. Henri confided to him the sad story of
his life, and finally studied medicine with him. Dr.
Latour was suddenly summoned to France, and, when
he left the settlement, my brother assumed the duties
of his practice, and remained tirre.
"The revolution, with all its horrors, was enacted,
and the carnival of murder was held in every city of
the realm. But Death found work for himself in other
lands besides this; in the quiet lowlands of Louisiana
he launched his arrows, as in the thronged thorough-
fare, and the tyrannical father, with the man he had
chosen for his son, were struck down within a single
week. Louise was free once more.
"I heard of her as a brilliant and fas:inating
widow, and I lost no time in writing to Henri to re-
turn, vindicate himself, and claim her as his own.
My letter was a year on its way, and a second one
bad nearly elapsed before he stood before me once
more. He was brown and wrinkled, and his hair was
blanched to silver, butile believed the true heart of
his first love would receive him as fondly as ever.
"Buoyed up by such hopes, he embarked for New
Orleans. I know that he safely reached that place,
and set out for Bellalr. From that point all clue to his
fate was lost. One reason why I was willing to accept
this mission was, that I might seek some information
relative to the disappearance of Henri Durand. The
mystery of his fate must be solved before I leave
Louisiana,"
"What year did he come hither ?"
"It is now six years since he landed at New
Orleans."

.1 My sister married about that time, and when he
found that she had again placed a bar to their re-union,
by accepting M. Lecour, I think it pozsible that he
destroyed himself. That seems to me the most pro-
bable end to so wretcbed a destiny!'
"No, no." said the priest, with sombre emphasis. " My
brother w mid never have committed suicide, for he be-
lieved in a future—in God and his immutable justice.
I shall discover the truth yet, and woe—woe to him
whose hand was lifted against his life. I believe that
he was foully murdered, and I am here to avenge the
deed. I shall discover its perpetrator, and then —.
Let us not talk of him; it. unmans me."
After a pause, M. Mendon asked—

se How is it that M.
you ?"
"We have not met since I was quite a yotitli, and
few would see in the cold, ascetic priest the gay, im-
pulsive boy, who thought it a dashing exploit VI run
off with the daughter of his old enemy. The feud
between the aristocrats and plebeians had long existed
In France, before the final explosion came; the bitter
blood had been kept up for more than one generation
between the bourgeois family of Lecour and the noble
family of Durand. We were very poor, but vbry proud,
and a sarcasm uttered by my father against M. Lecour,
who was his contemporary, was never forgiven. When
his daughter wedded the son of the man who had thus
insulted him, it aroused all the ire of his nature, and
he hurled at her a curse which was never revoked. It
broke the poor girl's heart, for she inherited none of
his hardness of nature."

Lecour does not recognise

"By what chance did this man wander here, and
make my poor sister his victim? Can you reveal the
secret of his power over Louise? for some power he
must have possessed, to compel her to marry him as
she did."
"I have also possessed myself of that. Dr. Latour,
the bosom friend of Henri, was the half-brother of
Lecour, though my brother was never aware ef the
relationship. He knew the deadly hosti ity cherished
toward all of our name by the sanguinary sans-culotte,
who was one of the most active instigators of the
atrocities perpetrated in Paris. No sooner had he
gained the confidence of my poor brother, than he
wrote the whole story to Lecour. When it reached
nim no was preparing Teo emigrate to bouunana, witn
the imbecile prince in his keeping. It suggested to
him a double villainy: he would come to this colony
armed with the knowledge of Louise Montreuil's early
history, and use it for his own base purposes.
Although M. Lecour was aware of the validity of the
first marriage, he did not impart any such knowledge
to her. No; he induced her to believe that he could
hurl her from her proud position, and render her a
gibe for the scorner, by proclaiming the fact that she
had lived with Henri Durand as his wife, without being 1
egally united to him. Behold the secret of that mos 1
wretched union, which deprived the unhappy Louise '
of nearly every friend she claimed, and threw her
absolutely into the power of this atrocious old man.
He gained by this marriage a home for himself,
wealth, and a place of concealment for the prisoner
under his charge."
"Poor Louise !—unhappy slater!—l see it all now.
And we cast her off when she most needed our support
and protection." •
"All that is now past recall," replied Father Eustace
"What remains for us to do, is to thvrartthe last piece
of villainy conceived by this old reprobate, and bring
retribution upon him for his multiplied crimes. I have
certain information that Lecour is secretly making ar-
rangements to return to France, accompanied by the
heleless imbecile who was born her ruler. The design
is to place him upon the throne, with Napoleon as
military dictator. It is only one step forward in the
ambitious game the first consul is playing; but Lecour
is not sufficiently far-sighted to see that he and his
protege will be crushed as soon as they are no longer
needed to sustain Napoleon's greatness.
"M. Lecour is bound by every tie of honour to the
interests of the Comte d'Artois, from whose party he
has received large sums of money; yet now, at. the
first temptation, he is ready to betray him, and des-
troy all present chance for him to regain the throne of
his ancestors. 1 have been sent hither to circumvent
be; plans, for they were betrayed from the beginning.
He had the hardihret to deny to me the existence
of the prince, and gives all the details of his
death soon after he was removed to Bellair; but I
am too well-informed to be deceived. Louis lives con- I
ceeled in some apartment in that rambling old ruin,
and when I have discovered his exact whereabouts I
can carry out the plan I have arranged for getting
him in my own hands."
' "I am familiar with every nook and cranny in the
house, and if the prince is still there. lam certain that 1
I can soon ascertain in what !portion of the building 1
he is confined. But what is then your purpose.*
"To enter the house in disguise, remove Louis, and
put him in charge of a Canadian voyageur, who is
concealed in the neighbourhood, awaiting my orders.
Frencois has a keel boat under his command, which is
stationed a few miles above the landing, and every
minutia is arranged for successful abduction. Once em-
baked on the Mississippi, all clue to his whereabouts
reel be lost to those who would use him only as a step-
ping-stone to power. Safe in Canada, and his identity
will be for ever lost. Aid me to accomplish this end, and
I promise you the hand of my daughter, with the cer-
tainty of succeeeing to the Mantreuil estate."
"How is that certainty to be gained?"
"That is my own affair. You may trust me! for
my interests are as deeply involved in the issue as
your own."
"I will trust you, for that is my only hope of win-
ning the hand of the charming Adrienne."
Father Eustace cast a searching glance at him, as
he enquired, with a curling lip—
"Do you really love her, monsieur? or is the for-
tune with which I pledge myself she shall be endowed
the chief attraction ?"
"1 can truly say that I love this young girl, though
the prospect of fortune with her hand undoubtedly
carries with it rauch weight to a man in my position.
I was strongly attached to my unfortunate sister, and
there is a marvellous resemblance between her and
Mademoiselle Adrienne."
"At this assertion the countenance of the priest
:banged slightly, and he impatiently said—
" Lay that thought at rest; the likeness is acci-
dental. In some respects, Adrienne is much like my
own family. And now, M. Mendon, when is it your
purpose to commence your reconnoisance at Bellair?
The more prompt the action, the more certain will be
the reward."
"I will go there to morrow night, and be assured I
shall bring yeu back a satisfactory report. • 1 know a
private entrance, which is now overgrown with vines
and weeds. The secret of opening it irons without
has been familiar to me from my boyhood, and I am
certain of gaining access to the chateau by its means.
If Louis is there, you shall know his precise position
In twenty-four boas."
"Good I And in a -wee? Idrienne Obeli be Toe:
wife.'

"It is, of course, your purpose to remove her with
the prince? It will be scarcely safe to leave her ex-
poSed to the suspicious rage of M. Leoour, after the
abduction has been made."
It will be impossible to do so. It is important
that we act secretly and promptly; but few can be
engaged in the enterprise, and the presence of a young
girl would embarrass our movements too much.
Adrienne must be left a few hours to bear the brunt
of her grandfather's anger. She is of his blood,
and he will scarcely do her any serious injury before
1.4 go openly to him, and claim her as my daughter,
and your promised bride.
M. Blendon still murmured at this arrangement,
but Father Eustace so earnestly argued in favour of
the necessity of permitting Mademoiselle Durand to
remain at Bellair a few hours, while the safe removal
of the prince was secured, but he could not insist on
his own views being adopted.
Their future proceedings were carefully considered,
and every detail canvassed before the two separated
for the night. One went his way elated with the
thought that, by one bold stroke, he had secured love
and fortune; the ether sat till nearly dawn, gloomy
and saturnine, meditating on the retributive justice of
which this blow was only the first move in the pm.
be was resolute to play to the end.
(To be continued.)