The Sunday herald and weekly national intelligencer., 1890-04-06

the fourth story[and began to lay the bricks.
Suddenly hand touched my shoulder; turned;
it was Philippe, working to-day through a ca
price, and the patron, under contract for a GER
tain time, had accepted him-the first conner.
'I had not seen Philippe until this morning
for long, long while, and l had difficulty to
recognize him. Burned and withered away by
eau de vie with gray hair and shaking hands,
he was an old man, a hideous and bloated ruin.
"'And so,' said to him, for my heart was
full, the lad has drawn bad numbern
&C "A bad number, you say p he repeated in
rough voice and with a wicked look, 'and why
a bad number, pray? Are you, too, as stupid
as the rest-as mother and son? Camille should
serve his country as the others serve her, though
know very well what 1t is that both of them
wish; IL l was dead, you see,' and he leered at
me with hideous grin on his bloated lips, IF
was dead he wouldn't go. But-and SO much
the worse for them-Im solid as post STILL
and Camille is not the son of widow y
"The son of widow !
"Ah-h, NJ. lie Cure, why did he say those
words before me-in that spot of all others l,
whom he had outraged in every way, whom he
had made to suffer so much and who still suf-
fered SO much under the suffering he inflicted
upon others Like flash bad thought came
into my mind-a thought that stayed with me
all day long as side by side worked with this
man! That poor Catherine-what torture he
would infict upon her when she had no longer
son to protect her against miserable drunk
ard always ugly, always evil under the lash Of
liquor, and capable of being more
"Four o'clock struck and was still thinking
of this; then 3 o'clock, then $50. The men had
all descended; Philippe and l were the last to
start, and in the very act Of disappearing in his
turn he stopped an instant to look above him
| and to say-God knows what possessed him-to
say with q sneer that was simply devilish
"'I have always sailors foot, you see; Ca
mile isn't near to being the son of o widow y
"M. lie Cure, for a moment was mad with
anger and revolt at the fate which this man had
drawn upon us all. had only to stretch out
hand to end everything-only to seize the ladder
| to which Philippe clung and to send 1t whrling
into space; had only to do this, say, and NJ.
| lie Cure-I did it
"He was stone dead when they picked him
up. There was no one to say it was not an acci-
dent, and Camille, well, Camille is the son of
widow now, and he will not go! 1t is who
will go, who will emgrate to America, for l
dare not stay
81 have told the truth to you and to the good
| uous duu IcpcuJ, puo suoulu sot5 duu occ
Catherine in her black robe, and so happy and
proud on the arm of her son, her own, at last, 1
know that 1 should repent no longer-that
should cease to regret my bad action.
GAS for q penance, NJ. lie Cure, take you this,
a golden trinket L bought for Catherine when
she should be my wife, and which l have always
treasured. Sell 1t now, and divide the money
among the poor!'
Did Jacques rise up absolved of his sin by the
Able Faber? Who knows? But that which is
certain is this-the priest did not sell the golden
trinket given him by the hand of murderer
under the seal and shadow of the confessional
He turned the price of it, or as near it as he
could guess into the Golfer of the church, but
he suspended 1t like an er voto upon the altar
Of the Chapel Of the Virgin, before which he
daily prays for the soul Of the poor mason.