Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1886-08-21
VI
II might have been madame herself or the
dnnr hahps he killed He WIS In nr;Snn

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1t might have been madame herself or the
dear babes he killed. He was in prison,
4! madame, before we ever saw him here and
Pierre, too, madame. Oh, madame par
don me, pray you. never meant TO de-
ceiye you. They met at the prison gate as
! they were discharged, and Pierre brought
him here, and did not know myself for a
long time
Little by little between her sobs the
| whole story came out. Her son and Paul
had been in the came regiment, had been
| both in the same prison upon different
| charges-Pierre for drawing his saber in
| the street to defend himself from arrest
when not quite sober; Paul for attempting
| to burn q house down. Both had been dis
| charged on the same day, and had returned
| to Paris together the very day my brother
and | interrupted the dancing. AS fist
| ened felt only too sure that the murderer
of to-day was the kind, almost friendly, do
mestic of the past months. | almost broke
down as with a rush felt the danger my
| children had gone through, and then. less
, selfishly, | remembered Paul himself, his
| faithfulness at least to rs, and then where
he was now and what awaited him.
81 will go and see him, l said. Poor
boy must try to help him.
- In vain my good brother and the others
dissuaded. ! had made up my mind, and
| no obstacles would have prevented me. ]
got an order 10 visit the prisoner with some
difficulty, and only after q delay of three
weeks.
Then saw him, alone, in little cell
which was not allowed to enter, nor might
| touch him. ] stood looking at him before
he saw me. He wasyery pale.
paul, Paul. said softly.
He started. then few toward me his
long fingers twitching agitatedly. lie made
gesture half as if 10 welcome half as if 10
drive me back.
MADAME must CO. he said sullenly.
No said gently; you are in trouble.
You have been very good to me. / came
to hear yourself. | cannot believe the 9TH
ers.'
~ He covered his face with his hands and
did not speak. | waited patiently with my
little prayers, and presently his hands
dropped, and he said III strange, unlamil-
lar voice;
.Go-go-it is true-I killed her
Il shuddered-ah it was q crime so
dreadful in the newspaper acc0unt-but l
would not, could not, leave him without
any word of pity.
"'Paul, Paul said, speak to me-
al cannot he said.
well, said, : l may stay ten minutes
with you. l will wait
80 | staid, staid on, aud he did not
speak, nor did to him. Only | said my
prayers over and over, and at last ! spoke
Paul, | said, anon i'auyY6 Pau, you
have been kind TO me, done much for me.
VIII you promise me something"
"But, yes, madame he said, aud then
his whole body shook with emotion, and
he Whispered, madame must 90. | can
not hear it. She is an angel this is no
place for her. and he looked at me with
his great eyes, softened, l thought, with
tears, his face deadly white.
Then, dear ladies, |, who am not good
ut all-who loved, who love still little,
alas | fear soft things, and the world a
little too, perhaps-felt all at once what an
awful thing q soul, an everything soul is.
Paul. | said, | am not an angel, not
good at all, but love you, my poor, poor
friend. Feasz, you, Paul, are brave-l know
you are not afraid to die; but |, | cannot
bear it for you, because | do not know, my
friend, what awaits you. | want you then
to love the good God and His dear mother,
and to promise you will do what l ask
g So made him promise, first, that he
would see the prison chaplain and listen TO
him, and try TO do what he told him sec
ondly, that lie would wear and sometimes
kiss, and especially kiss the last thing, e
little blessed cruciix | would send him by
the chaplain. | might not give it to him
myself. And then the time was gone, the
warder touched me gently on the shoulder
and told me | must come away.
q" Adieu,' | said but there was no en-
swer. And SO left him, meaning 10 re-
turn. Before | left the prison, however,
saw the chaplain and told him about my
poor Paul, and when | came away it was
with a thankful feeling that in him the
poor boy would have stronger friend
than l.
Il never saw Paul again. The shock
had upset me a good deal, and | sickened
afterward of scarlet fever, which had spread
through the house when Paul and [ to-
me that when wandered in my head I
thought he was nursing NE too, and that
was always talking to him about le bon Dieu
and his soul. My illness was long and
complicated, but when | was better he was
one of my first thoughts, and | sent to beg
the good old priest to whose care l had
committed him to come and see me.
:" lie came at once. | was still in bed,
but could not wait. He stood by my bed
side, his tall figure and snow-white head
bent over me- his face was very kind but
/ W.
made no attempt to break it to me.
"'All is over, Madame he said simply,
'as regards this world. Pray for him con-
fidently. He died very bravely, very
calmly. An hour before he babe me tell
you that his last words should be those you
wished, and that he hoped you would re-
member him in your prayers. May God
have mercy on his soul. He was brave snd
true in some things, in spite of his crimes
And then there came silence, and l
could find no word to break it but 'Merci,
Monsieur rAbbe, merci"
Then he spoke again, to tell me that
Paul had asked to see him one day as
friend, and had told him the story of his
life, and asked him 10 tell ii to me If he
should ever see me again.
"Pauls father had been rich and noble;
his name Paul would not tell. His mother
he had never known, but she was not his
fathers wife. His father had been an old
man ever since Paul could remember, aud
Paul had been brought up in his bachelor
household with every expectation ofinher-
iting competence at his death, and with
out much instruction or training of any
kind TO fit him to make his way in the
world. The Old man became paralyZed
when Paul was about ten years old, and a
woman servant OF high temper who at
tended MIN, ana HnOln ne pfe;ttiy feared,
gained such influence over her charge that
at his death it was found that he had be-
queathed everything, OF which he could
dispose, to her, and left PaGl penuilcss.
Cast thus adrift upon the world, with anger
and hate in his heart, the boy was drafted
into the army, where for time he did
well, as his talent for music was noticed,
and he was put into the band. But his COM
panions were bad, and lie was led astray,
and tool; to drinking more than was good
for him and enough to intl1me his hot
nature One day while under the intlu
ence of spirits exciting himself with wild
talk about his wrongs. he had made the
attempt to burn down the old womans
house, bought with the money which
should have been his. This failed and he
was arrested and imprisoned. lie came
out of prison fiercer, wilder than he went
in; but for a time the gentier side Of his
nature was developed by contact with my
trusting little ones and the rest of us, all
believing in and accepting him without
suspicion.
But the cid enemy overcame him-and
again he fell. When drunk he must have
been a mailman. He killed her, Mesdames,
the poor, helpless, cruel old woman who
had robbed him, and in his turn robbed
her of his fathers money, his fathers