Bradford reporter. [volume] (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, 1867-03-28
Seleeted TalR.
EVELINE'S VISITANT.
A GHOST STORY.

lais Royal that my fatal quarrel with
my first cousin Andre de Brisac be-
gan. The quarrel was about wo-
man. The women who followed the
footsteps of Philip of Orleans were
the cause= of many such disputes /;
and there was scarcely one fair head
in all that glittering throng which,
to a man versed in social histories
and mysteries, might not have SEEM
ed bedabbled with blood.
| shall not record the name of her
for love of whom Andre de Brissac
and | crossed one of the bridges, in
the dim August dawn, on our way to
the waste ground beyond the church
of Saint-Germain des Pres.
There were many beautiful vipers
in those days, and she was one of
them. | can feel the chill breath of
that August morning blowing in my
face, as | sit in my dismal chamber
at my chateau of Puy Verdun to-
night, alone in the stiffness, writing
the strange story of my life. l can
see the white mist rising from the
river, the grim outline of the Chate-
let, and the square towers of Notre
Dame black against the pale gray
sky. Even more vividly can l recall
Andres fair young face, as he stood
opposite to me with his two friends
-scoundrels both, and alike eager
for that unnatural fray. We were a
strange group to be seen in sum-
mer sunrise, all of US fresh from the
heat and clamor of the Regents sa-
loons-Andre, in a quaint hunting
dress copied from a family portrait
at Puy Verdun, costumed as one of
Laws Mississippi Indians the 9th.
er men in like garnish frippery,
adorned with broideries and Jewels
that looked wan in the pale light of
dawn
Our quarrel had beerf fierce one
"a quarrel which could have but
one result, and that the direst. Ihad
struck him and the welt raised by
my open hand was crimson upon his
fair womanish face as he stood oppo-
site to me. The eastern sun shone
on the face presently, and dyed the
cruel mark with a deeper red but
the sting of my own wrongs was
fresh, and l had not yet learned to
despise myself for that brutal out
rage
To Andre de Brissac such an in
suit was most terrible. He was the
favorite Of Fortune, the favorite of
women; and l was nothing rough
soldier who had done country good
service, but in the boudoir of Par
abere a mannerless boor.
We fought, and | wounded him
Life had been very sweet
for him and l think that a frenzy of
despair took possession of him when
he felt the life-blood ebbing away
He beckoned me to him as he lay on
the ground. l went, and knelt at his
side.
"Forgive me, Andre !" l murmur-
ed.
He took no more heed of my words
than if that piteous entreaty had
been the idle ripple of the river near
at hand.
Listen to me, Hector de Brissac,"
he said. II am not one who believes
that a man has done with earth be-
cause his eyes glaze and his jaw stiff:
ems. They will bury me in the old
vault at Puy Verdun and you will
be master of the chateau. All, |
know how lightly they take things
in these days, and how Dubois will
laugh when he hears that Ca has
been killed in a duel. They will
bury me, and sing masses for my
soul /; but you and | have not finish
ed our affair yet, my cousin. | will
be with you when you least look to
see mel, with this ugly scar upon
the face that women have praised and
loved. | will come to you when your
life seems brightest. | will come be-
tween you and all that you hold fair
est and dearest. My ghostly hand
shall drop d poison in your cup OF
joy. Ny shadowy form shall shut
the sunlight from your life. Men
with such iron will as mine can do
what they please, Hector de Brissac.
1t is my will to haunt you when | am
dead"
All this in short broken sentences
he whispered into my ear. | had
need to bend my ear close to his dy-
ing lips but the iron will of Andre
de Brissac was strong enough to do