The semi-weekly miner. [volume] (Butte, Mont.) 1882-1886, 1885-07-15
THE MI.WEEKLY MINER.
T JULY Is, 1885.
AN ACCOUNT SETTLED.
New Orleans Cor. New YORK Tribune.

one. / heard it one drOwsy afternoon las
week. while resting after the laboes OF tn
Exposition. Remote from the hustle OF thu
uptown world and lazily watching a per
spective ~ofroofs and gables that might hay'
belonged to some old and half-forgotter
chapter of French history, | had induced
the venerable Tinette to chat with me OF
the shaded gallery running along the side o
the house. Had I ever met Polyte Rohi
chauxo No Ha, There was a fine mar
-''but spoil-oh, yes. quitespoil; etfectuai
ly ruin" And then at first in broken In
stalIments. but soon warming to her work,
she told me the story-toid it with a chic
and a flavor which / would give much to
reproduce. Polyte Robichaux belonged to
Tinette's class. He had enjoyed great ad.
vantages. to be sure. His father, a substan'
tial old Frenchman, made a fortune and
vent back to France. taking Polyte with
him. There the boy was educated. or
rather, FINISHED" for he had been well
trained at home; and there he dweit on
terms OF unquestiOned equality with his
fathers associates and in the enjoyment OF
unlimited means. Bright, quick. eager,
versatile, he acquired both the solid and
the graceful things in unbounded profusion.
He spoke threelanguages perfectly. lie was
"A musician Of genuine merit and sang, IN ii
light but c~uriously sweet baritone, with dis
eliminating taste. In a word, ne had al
most every social adornment and was
greatly sought in many Of the salons OF
Paris. where men and women oil wit ana
parts were accustomed to meet. But old
Robichaux, like many other people, had his
maUvias quart a'heUre, and when he found
that his fortune, the fabric OF a long and
busy, and possibly not too scrupulous,
life, had tumbled into hopeless ruins about
his ears, like a thoroughly polite and con
sideratc old Frenchman he-died. Polyte
dutifuIly mourned his affectionate il irre.u-
lar parent, and then took a trial balance
on the situation. The figures were discour-
aging. Nothing remained except ii few
pieces OF real estate in New Orleans, OF no
great value. In France the sweep had been
a clean one. The end was inevitable.
POlyte turned his back upon Paris, and set
out for New Orleans, where, he Thought, he
might by economy and care contrive to ex-
tort a decent, if meager. living from the
remnant Of the RObichaux estate.
His awakening wa sudden and complete.
OF course there was>ho mistake about the
property. He found that intact. And, GER
tadnly, by good management, it might be
made to yield q livelihood. For the rest-a
blank. He had left New Orleans too young
to understand the gulf separating him from
his moral and intellectual equals. He came
back q man OF II, with every faculty
%sharpened by the experiences OF his Par
isian life, doubly, exquisitely alive to the
GOODNESS, the avoidance, the forbIdding dis
lance OF those to whom he naturally grav-
itated for companionship and sympathy.
BY slow and sure degrees he succumbed to
the cruel pressure. Gradually he felt the
social horizon close in about him., shutting
out everything he cared Tor or was accus-
toned to, until he felt the most iorlorn OF
creatures-a stranger and an exile In his
own home. The tension told sadly upon
him. He lost his old jaunty brightness,
grew cynical and malignant, learned to
scorn the things he had once valued, came
to scoff and decide the ideas he had all his
life been taught to honor. In a short tim
he had degenerated into a reckless, emblt-
tered, greedy bird Of prey, biding his time
to nay off a long and ranking score with
society.
When Pol, tie first returned, and while get
he WAS ignorant OF the fate awaiting him,
he sought out IA girl with whom, at lifetime
OF his departure he had been passiOnately
in love. She, too, was OF the accursed class,
but he had not thought OF that before. He
scarcely realized it now So he strOlled down
to Toulouse street to the aforementioned
house where Melanic's dark eyss had so
often shed light upon the quiet sitting-room
for him. Eight years had passed. '"e nc
pictured S1e1anle hanging over the Droad
gallery and peering under the branches OF
the orange trees with her beautiful lace
aglow, Just as in the olden time. He found
MelaniG, but instead Of the sylph-like soft
eyed girl OF his boyish dreams, he saw be-
fore him a fat, eaden-footed ho%usekeeper.
His heart sunk within him. Without inter
est he followed the recital Of her life since he
had last seen her. 1t was the old story.
She had gone the way Of her kind. Young,
fair, accomplished, she had become the
wife-on the time-honored place plan-of Il
prosperous English cotton-buyer. She had
an elegant home, a number OF lovely child
rem, "a faithful and devoted protector, and
enjoyed the highest consideration among
the octoroon colony. Polyte was crushed.
He knew nothing OF all this. He turned
away from the wreck Of his boyish fancy,
bitterness and resentment in his heart. He
hated the world. He loathed New Orleans
society.
Two years passed. Outwardly resigned
and accepting the situation, Polyte had
opened an Office in Exchange alley, not lar
from st. Louis street. The location was
convenient to Richelieu's and Antoine :.
where he acted az confidential adviser to
the leading men OF his class, such people as
Aristide Mary, f. X. Dumas, Dubuclets
and the Jourbets were his clients. Through
their patronage he managed to increase
the small store OF worldly goods left him
by his father until it assumed very respec-
table proportions. He was resting one day
in his office when Melanie burst into the
rooIn-a flushed and fabby apparition
which he regarded with amazement and
contempt. Her nose was red through
weeping. Her eyes were fishy. Her form,
which in times gone by he had looked upon.
in rapture, now quivered like a mountain
OF Jelly. She was absurd. He promptly
classed her with the things he hated, and
he watched her movements with cruelty
and suspicion depicted in his eye.
"Polyte, you loved me once-l loved
you"
"Perhaps. 1t is so long ago. But what
is it?"
.'Drummond is dead!'
TIL tears flowed afresh. Polyte wonder
ed in his wicked heart if she were trying to
revive the old feeling. An evil sneer spread
over his features.
.What is that to me?" he said.
'To ~you-nOthing. To me-everything.
is rich. / nave been his loyal
wife for nearly ten years. Those children
are his. He always intended to cave
them his money. He has said so to his
me-to everybody. | found
him dead in his room, without n Will
it." |
Polyte became interested.
'How did he die?"
%''Suddenly. How do ] know
Had he been ill?" Il
"No; perfectly well and strong when !
took the coffee to his room ats o'clock
..No one dreamed that anything allied
him?"
mo one thought OF it," Il
.'And nobody knows he is dead now!
Stay, be careiul!'
She paused "a moment, vainly
ING to follow the drift OF his questions.
Then, "Not a soul. / came straight to yon.
to you, Polyte, who
the rest. / am your friend. But, tell me,
you follow my direction? Will you dry
your eyes, stop this weeping and do as l
Eyes, anything" ~
..Go home. Let no one know what has
happened. / will see to the rest
Overpowered by his energy and DECISION
Melainie dried her tears and went home.
He then put on his hat, locked his Once
and made his way to the Toulouse. Melanle
was waiting for him. She showed him the
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