Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-01-10
CHAPTER TX.

After the scenes related in the preceding chapter Suzanne was taken ill of brain fever, and for Q long time they despaired of her life, but at last she regained consciousness and little by little her strength. As soon as it was possible she was removed to her great unce's home in the Val Dieu, near the Arden nes mountains Here the old man bad foundry and large, roomy house surrounded by trees and garden, while not far away flowed the river Mouse. The sweet, quiet and pure air soon restored the child to health, but she seemed to have forgotten all about the tragic scenes through which she had passed. The old couple told her that her parents had gone away on a voyage, and she looked at them quietly without speaking they told her, so that when they were alone they said thankfully:
 "She has forgotten all that went before this sickness. Let us thank God that it is so"
 Winter, always severe in the Ardennes, came, and ice and snow took the place of the grass and fruits of autumn, and winter and summer went, and winter and summer came again. Roger had been one year and half in the galleys.
 The snow had fallen several days and the frost had made it hard and brittle, and travel was almost suspended in the Val Dieu, and the foundries seemed silent as the heavy snow AAOASSo3 the workmen ere as silent as if made of wadded wool as they walked over the thick | snow.
 Night came, calm, cold and still, and the moonlight gave an unearthly brilliance to the scene. As the cold was intense all the houses along the street of Val Dieu were closed, and cheerful lights showed from the open win dows. The rigorous cold seemed to throw the whole village into state of torpor. The street was deserted, though it was but 10 o'clock. except at the great foundry, where they worked night and day.
 At 10:30 a man appeared near the tunnel of the railroad, on the jetty by the river side. He had come in on the late train. He was tall, though he walked bent as if he bore a heavy weight on his shoulders, and he walked direct toward the foundry belonging to M. Bernardit and when there his feet refused to carry him and he leaned against an up. turned cart as if not knowing what else to do. ~ | A few moments he stood thus and then felt heavy hand clasp his shoulder and voice say somewhat rudely:
 ''Who are you and what are you doing hereg'
 "You are M Adrien Bernardit, are you notg"
 II am, and who are youg' l The unknown lOOked about him tm1dly and then said in low voice that seemed broken by emotion: ..
 "Alas, I am Roger Laroquei" "You, in France and freer'
 ''Yes, am here," said Roger, lifting hi: hat so that M. Bernardit could see hin clearer, and then he continued: ssAnG Suzanne, my child? You do not tell me ii she lives"
 ''She lives and is we'll, and is with us."
 Roger sighed as if great weight wa. lifted from his heart. There was short si lence between them, then Bernardit said:
 "Come, come home with me. We can tall there at our ease, for you want no one to St. you, suppose?'
 They walked in silence to the house, wher, the old lady was still sitting before the fire l When she saw her husband come in with tha pale, ragged man, with his long hair ane | beard ill disorder, she rose with look o fright. Bernardit closed and locked the dool and then coming close to his wife said: l "It is Laroque, the child's father"
 "You here and free?" said the old lady trembling, and using almost the same word as her husband had.
 Roger bowed without speaking, and sanl into chair. Finally he mastered his emo tion enough to ask to see Suzanne. The olt couple looked pitifully at each other. Hat he come to take their child?
 "She is asleep" said the old lady.
 "I will not disturb her. Only let me lool at her. never hoped to see her again Oh 00 ' TO BE CONTINUED.