Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-01-19
ROGER LAROQUE.
Adapted and Translated from the French
 of Jules Mary.

"IMy son, have come to say good night. I hope, Pierre, that have always been good mother to you"
 "You have always been kind and indulgent and full of affection"
 "You arc good son, Pierre: but feel to- night as if had not loved you as tenderly as you have always deserved. And if I have ever matte you feel that I have loved your brother better than you, pray you pardon me for 1t, above all, tonight"
 "And why tonight moro than any other time?"
 "Because feel very tired and very i'll, and I feel that I have not long to live, and I do not wish, after am gone, that you think did not love you"
 ''If you are not well, mother, we will go away somewhere. A change perhaps would do y.,u good. I will see the doctor to-ncr row."
 "No, dear, do not wish to leave here. Now shall go to bed; but, Pierre. before I go l want to hear you say, I pardon you.'"
 1T have nothing to pardon"
 ''Say the words. my son; say them."
 ''But, mother'-
 "Ah, you refuse; you are jealous still If ;he affection I have for Raymond. Oh, my son, feel tonight that you are even dearer to me than he, and it is for that that beg your pardon"
 But Pierre had lowered his eyes and stood cold and rigid, making no sign, and she left him, scarcely able to drag herself along, and his heart melted at the sight of her feebleness and he went and sustained her to her room. When they were there she said, again trying so hard to smile:
 "So, then, my son will not pardon his mothers"
 "I cannot!" cried he; II cannot. I heard all know all."
 "Ah!" said she, simply; then she burst into g laugh so harsh and strange that he started and cried
 ''Mother! Mother!'
 ''Mother, mother; oh, yes, mother,' said she, shaking her head, but still laughing with that awful strident sound. Suddenly she stopped, and her head fell forward and her arms hung Imply down each side the chair "Great God"
 Even to his inexperienced eyes this was death, and he rang and ill haste sent for Ray lnond and a doctor, and then returned and with the aid Of the servants got her into bed, where she lay dying. When Raymond heard lhe gun shots he knew at once it was a note of alarm, as that was their method of con- munication when either was in the forest and
 
 found his mother apparently dead, though she revived and said feebly:
 "Raymond, Raymond: my best loved son, will you do me one last favor Go to Roger and tell him l am dying, and bring him here. 1 cannot face God without his pardon. Bring him. oh, Raymond, and Pierre will stay with me. Dear. noble Pierre, whom I never half appreciated. Go, my son, in Gods name." Raymond rode as for life to thu White House and told Roger, who looked at him coolly and said:
 And Suzanne? Am I to leave this inno- cent child to die alone while go to the bed side of that guilty womang'
 "Let me watch beside her. My mother must not die without your pardon; she has mine, God knows. Go to her and let me watch by this dear one whose life is so precious to us all"
 out another word led him to Suzannes bed side, saying to the muse:
 This is her promised husband I, her father, authorize him to stay here until my return." And he TO @ away like the wind, leaving Raymond on his knees by Suzanne, holding her burning hands in one of his, while with the other he softly rubbed her forehead. which felt like fire under his touch. Sine grew calnler and quieter, and after a | while the restless tossings ceased and she fell into gentle slumber, and the tense, dra VII look about her brow and mouth relaxed. He did not move or scarcely breathe as he knelt | there, his whole soul melting into the love and sorrow he felt for her blighted youth. And whether he infused something of his | own young life and strength into her or ab- sorbed by force of will or that occult science which we call magnetism, the fever which haH ctr ,Ofb know not, but as the hours went by she grew easier and better, and when morning came at last she opened her eyes in reason again. In the meantime Roger rode toward the dying woman as fast as his horse could go. | Julia listened, listened, but no sound of horses feet broke the stiffness of the night, and she writhed in her agony as she cried:
 "He will not come. He will not pardon me. Pierre, I pray you, go to the window Do you hear them? Go down in the court yard and see if they are coming Quick Pierre! I cannot see. They will be too late Oh, why do they not come, and Raymond He did not stay for that one little word that might have soothed my dying bed. He diG not pardon his unhappy mother"
 Pierre went and looked. He looked severa times, but they did not come.
 "He will not comet" cried Julia in agony
  pallor of the dead, when horses hoofs were heard. "One, only one," she whispered "He will not forgive. Oh, Pierre, Ray mond!"
 Steps came rapidly up the stairs, but jus as the door opened and Roger Laroque stepped in, Julia drew her last breath, and it was be fore her inanimate corpse that he knelt, ant then, when they told him she was dead, h bent over that marble forehead and kissed i with lips almost as white, saying: God for give me as do you, Julia!"
 CHAPTER XIX.
 Roger returned saddened and mortified iron the bedside of Julia, who, he now knew, ha, willed, probably designed, his ruin, and nov all that had been hidden ill that poor boy heart was plain to him. Added to thi thought was the fear of losing his only child and he began to wish he had never left Amer