The Londonderry sifter. (South Londonderry, Vt.) 1883-19??, 1889-06-13
1t that the zouave hesitatesi Close to the

lie was on the point Of calling In h
comrades to plumber, when he heard
heartrending cry above him. A she
had fallen into the upper story of I'll
house, The zouave fastened up an
saw in room, in the midst of the ruiz
caused by the explosion, a young mother
apparently dead, and child in her arms
"The poor boy" cried Victor, horrifie
at the sight, and he forgot everything
his dead brother, his revenge, the victory
Sebastopol and the rich booty. II
hastens to the help of the mother-he
who never remembers to have had
mother himsclf-he seeks to restore he
to life. But all his efforts to restore he
to life are vain.
Come" he says to himself, ''it Is n
good; nothing will help her. Now, lie
me see to saving the child" and he look
at the little boy, who has fallen to tn
ground and stares with terror at his deaf
mother and his unknown enemy.
The zouave sought for the victor's re
ward. There it is before him To pro
tect an innocent life to give a father Il
an orphan. He who had himself been ai
orphan from his birth. But what doe
he discover as he takes up the child, ant
whence comes his confusion2 He hat
seen on the table gilded helmet, and OF
the helmet the black eagle and the cres
which he had seen on the officer wht
slew his brother.
This, then, is his wife whom he has be
fore his eyes-this is his son whom he i,
about to save! Victor, who has over.
come the cholera and faced death in {
thousand forms, sinks down upon chair
He struggles in terrible conflict with
himself, his sword seems to move at his
side and his musket seems to cry "Firep
But another figure stood between him and
his slain brother-that of the dead mother
Of the child, who seemed to be kneeling
before him with clasped hands.
"Ohl l am sufficiently avenged! No
cruelty' the zouave exclaims, springing
up, and then these words come into his
mind: "Whatsoever We do unto one of
these little ones We do it unto me"
And with gentle hands he took up the
little child, whose father had killed
Diaries Carabine, and bearing him close
to his heart he passed with indifference
by the silver plate without needing the
jewels and rich dresses.
On the evening of that day the zouave
returned with the little Russian in his
arms to his tent, and prepared for him as
good a supper as he could, and his rough
comrades We'd with each other in provid-
ing for 'the little eagle" and preparing
him nest as soft as that of his mother.
Several months had passed since these
events. Peace was signed at Paris, and
Victor Carabine, With his comrades, had
returned to the capital, taking the
young black eagle" with them.
About the middle of January, 1856, an
Did man and young lady in deepmourn-
very pale from the effects of i'll
ness from which she had scarcely recov-
at hotel in Paris from St.
Petersburg. The first thing they did was
20 drive to the barracks in the rue de la
Pepiniere and inquire for Sergeant Victor
Jarabine. "You mean the Lieutenant"
answered groom; che lives few steps
rom here" and he told them the street
md number. The young lady did not
wen get into the carriage again, but led
;he old man to the house which had been
pointed out to them.
Lieutenant Victor was at home. The
wo strangers went up one story, rang at
he bell of small door, and stood before
he Lieutenant. He started when he saw
hem, and led them to his modest room.
writing table, four chairs, a camp bed,
stand of arms, formed the whole of his
urniture. Move have forgotten some
hing-a cradle stood in the room, which,
" its comfort and elegance, contrasted
cry much with the rest of the furniture.
IN the officers table, among his books,
'apers and segars, stood tin soldiers, ar
anged in order of battle, which were
commanded by child with fair hair,
whose clothes were worth six months of
zouave's pay, The young lady had
carcely glanced at the child before she
ttered loud cry, rushed up him to en-
race him and then fell fainting into the
Id gentleman's arms. Victor at once
the mother of the "little
lack eagel," the wife of his brothers
murderer, whom he had left for dead in
er room at Sebastopol. She it was, In
eed, accompanied by her father. After
er recovery she had passed three months
a searching for the Sergeant, and had
cen led to him at last, as we have just
cen.
81 understand it ALL" said Victor, as
&c wiped a tear from his eye, as he be-
eld the mother embracing her child;
but if / know your story, madam, you
10 not yet know mine" And he told
Ter in whisper, so that the child should
ot hear it, about the attack on the Mala-
off and the death of Charles. The
Dung lady turned away her eyes and the
Id man was silent. "You see how
ave avenged myself" concluded the
ouave.
~ shall never forget tt" exclaimed
he mother, as with eyes full of tears she
ooked now at the rosy cheeks, now at
he silken cradle. Ask of me, all my
ortune and will give it to you for my
on"
zone moment" said Victor placing
lis hand on the fair head; ''tbe child is
nine and can only give himMp to his
ather, while leave to him the choice of
he weapons" he added gloomily, with
ierce look.
"Be silent, unhappy MANI groaned
he old gentleman; ''his father is no
onger living. Do you not see the mourn
ng dress of the widow2 His 'bodyiwas
ound on September 9 at the Malakdff."
"GoodW said Charles's brother ina low
,oice, so that the young lady should not
lear. "May God forgive him, as my
brother doubtless has forgiven him!
Madam, he continued, as he turned away
lis head in order to conceal his emotion,
'lct there be peace between us, as,there
S between France and Russia. Take
your child back, and never tell him the
tory of his father!'
81 promise it, sir; but 1 shall tell him
ours" replied the mother, as she gave