Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1886-08-08


without any word Of pity.
| "sPaul, Paul. said, speak ID
me-
"'I canpot,' he said.
| Wwell,' l said, Il may stay ten
minutes with you. / will watt
$50 staid, staid on, and he did moi
speak, nor to him. Only l said my
prayers over and over, and q. last
spoke.
"'Psul,' ! said, mon paurre PIut
you have been kind to me, dono mun
for me. Will you promise me srno-
thiDg?' =,
"sBut, yes, Madame he a.ld' and
then bis whole body shook nth emo
ton, and he whispered, Madame must
go; | cannot bear it. she is an angel !;
this is no place for her and he looked
at me with bis greS eyes, soitened l
thought with tear, his face deadly
white.
"Then, dear ladies, l, who sm not
good at all-vho loved, who love still a
little, alas fear, soft things, and the
world a little, too, psrhaps-felt all at
once what an awful thing soul, an
everything soul. is.
WPsul,' | said, Il AN not an angel,
not good at all, but love you, my
poor, poor friend. Tenez, you, Paul,
ere brsve-I know you are not afraid
TO die but IL cannot bear it for
you, because | do not know, my friend,
v hat awaits you. want you, then,
to love the good God and His dear
Mother, and to promise you will do
what ask
80 made him promise-first, that
he would see the prison chaplain and
listen to him, and try to do what he
told him; secondly, that he would
wear and sometimes kiss, and especially
kiss the last thing IA little blessed cru
cifiS,, would send him by the chap.
lsin. might not give it to him myself.
And then the time was gone, the
wsrder touched mo gently on the
shoulder and told me | must come
away.
90 Adieu,' ! said, but there was no
answer. And so l left him, meaning
to return. Before l left the prison,
however, saw the chaplain and told
him about my poor Paul, and when |
came away it was with thankful feel
Ing that in him the poor boy would
have o stronger friend than /.
81 never saw Paul again. The shock
bad upset me good deal, and sick
ened afterwsrd of scarlet fever, which
had spread through the house whom
Paul and | together had nursed the
children. They told me that when /
wandered in my head thought he was
nursing me too, and that | was always
talking TO him about Ie bon Dieu and
his soul. My illness was long and
complicated, but when | was better DO
was one of my first thoughts, and [
sent to beg the good old p7iest to whose
care bad committed him to come and
see me.
"He came at once. / was still in
| bed, but | could not wait. BE stood
by my bedside, bis tall figure and snow
white head bent over me /; his face was
very kind, but very grave. lie thought
knew, so be made no attempt to break
| it to me.
".All is over, Madame, he said SIM
ply, as regards this world. Pray for
him confidently. lie died very brsvely,
very calmly. An hour before be babe
me tell you that his last words should
be those you wished, and that he hoped
you would remember him in your pray.
ers. May God have mercy on his soul.
He was brave and true in some things,
in spite Of his crimes
" And then there came a silence, aud
could find no word to break it but
'Merci, Monsieur pAbbe, merci.'
"Then he spoke again, to tell me
that Paul had asked to see him one day
Us q friend, and had told him the story
of his life and asked him to toll it to
me if he should ever see me again.
"Paul's father had been rich and
noble-bis 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, and Paul had
been brought up IN his bachelor house
hold, with every expectation of inherit
ing O competence at his death, and
without much instruction or training
| of any kind to fit him to make his
way in the world. The old msa be
came paralyzed when Paul was about
ten years old, and 8 woman-servant Of
high temper who attended him, and
whom he greatly feared, gained such in
fuence over her charge that at his
death it was found that he had be-
queathed everything of which no
could dispose to her, and left Paul pen
niless. Cast thus sdrift upon the
world, with anger and hate in his heart,
the boy WAS drafted into the army,
where for time be did well, as his
talent for music was noticed, and he was
put into the band. But his companions
were bad, and he was led astry, and took
to drinking more than was good for
him and enough to infame his hot
nature. One day while under the in
| iluence Of spirits, exciting himself with
wild talk about his wrongs, no had
made the attempt to burn down the old
woman's house, bought with the money
which should have been his. This failed,
and ne was arrested and imprisoned.
He came out Of prison fercer, wilder
than he went in; but for q time tho
gentler 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 old enemy oyercame him
and again he fell. When drunk he
must have been a mailman. lie killed
her, Mesdames, the poor, helpless,
| cruel old woman who had robbed him,
and in his turn he robbed her Of his
fathers money, his fathers wstch, his
fathers plate "
The dear little old lady's face was
pale, and she sank back and feeling
that we had allowed her to exhaust and
Overture herself, we left her with many
excuses, as the dinner-bell sounded the
hour of the distssteful meal.