The Iowa plain dealer. [volume] (New Oregon, Howard County, Iowa) 1867-1895, 1883-11-01

time you have told us nothing OF your
self save that your name is Hugo Las
celles. You say we have been kind to
you, but you have net rewarded our
kindness by giving rs your confidence.
DO you think / owe You lasting remcm-
brance? DO yon think TINT you deserve
that should carry your image here?"
laying her hand on her heart.
The young man appeared to hesitate;
then he said slowly:
ut is rs we'll, perhaps, that You
should forget me. Forgive me If my
reticencc has wounded you. dare not
attempt any justification. But it grows
late. Farewell, Nictorine. When the
sun rises tomorrow l shall be far on
my road to Paris"
Farewell she said, coldly.
She heard him turn and walk away,
but made no effort to recall him. She
stood where hc had left her, silent,
motionlcss, her head bent forward on
her breast, the long, silken fringcs Of
her eyelids resting on her pale cheeks.
1t was only when the sound of his
footsteps had died away that she raised
her head and looked about her.
Hugo! Hugo!" She breathed the
words rather than spoke them. "Gonc!
gone! Never in this life shall me meet
again!"
She went into the cabin and lighted a
candle. As she did so she perceived
sheet of paper lying open OIL the table.
She picked it up and found upon it a
few lines from her father:
II have gone away. ana cannot tell you
when | may return. You are safe in the
cabin. Remain there until your provisions
give out Then raise the fifth board in the
floor. counting from the fireplace, aud take
the bag yon will lind there. Ii contains sufii-
ccnt money to last yon several years"
while l talked with Hugo, he came
and left this" she murmured. "His
daughter is as nothing to him compared
with his desire for power. He has left
me alone to live or die, rs the good
God may see fit. And, had l only
dared to speak, might have won both
love and station. One word would
have bridged the gulf between Hugo
and me. Oh, father. father! your
secret has proved my DOOM
As the last word left her lips she
threw up her arms with bitter cry,
and cast herself prone on the floor, her
face downwards, no tears III her eyes,
but hoarse, gasping sobs tearing their
way from her breast, and her white,
slender hands buried in her long, dark
hair. For long time she lay thus,
making no effort at self-control, giving
free license to the wild emotions of her
burdcned heart.
But at length she grew quiet and lay
motionless. rs If utterly exhausted with
the force Of her strange passion. The
moon rose slowly, and shed its calm,
cold light upon her, the wind sighed
through the forest like n lost spirit,
the hours wore on, but still she stirred
not. She lay there like dead thing,
and tie cold, gray light Of morning
found her position unchanged.
On the morning of Friday, June 20,
ls4S, the city of Paris presented scene
Of horror seldom elua.cd. In the east
ern half OF the city, every street had
its battle, and every stone of the barri-
cades was spotted with human gore.
Each window was loophole from
which flashed the leaden death. The
fight ragged from house to house, from
chamber to chamber. Men fired at
each other from parapets on the roofs,
and the dead bodies fell heavily on the
streets below. Every atrocity Of civil
war or known among savages was per-
petrated on the prisoners 10y the in
surgents. Beaten from barrieade to
1,,r Il fhn1- ,,na1,1a $~ o~l
their captives, and condemned them to
die as fratricidcs. The young men Of
the Mobile Guard, nearly all natives Of
Paris, the heroes of the barricades of
the preceding February, were treated
10y the insurgents as traitors. Some
Of them were decapitated, and their
heads stuck on pixies. and. surmounted
by the military hat, served rs banners
Oh the heights Of several barricades.
In the Pantheon, near the tomb Of Vol
taire, Mobile Guard was crucified. At
other points they were disembowlcd
and placed in front Of the barricades to
strike their comrades with horror.
Nothing was heard but the discharge
of the masketry, the thunder of the can
non, the roll of the drum and the
shrieks of the women. The combatants
uttered no cry, but pursued in silence
the work of death The beautiful city
presented n most changed appearance
from what it bore before the beginning
of the uprisal And the palace of the
Tui!eries, with its magnificent furni,
ture, its velvet and satin covered chairs,
its soft Turkey carpets, its tapestried
..l -
every description, was turned into n
hospital.
HI the Quarter st. Jacques, on the
Rue Sorbonne, the battle had ragged
for seven long hours, and the dead and
dying lay iii every direction. The
troops had moved on, ard few of tho
Red Republicans We're engaged in re-
moving their wounded to the hospitals,
when, making her way slowly through
the scene Of carnage, came a young girl,
alone. Her long, dark hair hung in
wild confusion over her shoulders, her
dress, that of peasant, was torn and
soiled; her shoes were broken and worn,
and she seemed ready to fall with
fatigue. Bat still she went ON, her
large, lustrous eyes scanning with a
look of horror the blood-stained, smoke
begrimed faces upturIcd to the leaden
sky. Size appeared to be searching
for some one, and paid no attention to
the rude glances cast upon her.
Suddenly she gave n wild, uncarthly
cry, and fell on her knees beside the
body of n young man dressed in the
uniform of the royalist.
MY dream she moaned. The
vision of my dream"
She tore asloe the coat, and pressed
her hand to the young officers heart.
at beats!" she cried. "Oh, my God
he is alive! Mem men! give me help
to beat him to place of safety"
Help to bear a monarchist?' cried
the men i'll answer. "lou ask too
much"
Let me put him where he'll need no
help" said n rough-looking fellow,
springing forward with 4 bayonet in