The Goodland republic. [volume] (Goodland, Kan.) 1891-1907, 1892-08-26

narrow tables I'm low dingy rooms, by the
light OF tallow-candleS, and amid oVerpow.
erlng odors of cognac and cheese soup; the
wlne-shOps where they swlled gallons OF
little blue" or stupeied themselves with
cheap cognac.
She learned a great deal; but all this
time there had been no sign Of Ser,zer, no
clue to the Whereabouts of that one work
man.
Now and then she ventured to accost one
of these blue bluuSeS, who answered civilly
or brutally, as Fate willed. But, for tho
most part, they were civil, in their rough
way. She told her little pathetic story of a
brother n currier by trade, of whom she had
lost all trace since the Commune. His chief
friend was q man-alSo currler-called
Serizier, and she thought it likely that,
wherever Serizier were working, her broth.
er would be working too.
Did monsieur happen by chance TO know
anything about currier called Scrizier?
No, nobody knew of such man. Some to
whom she spoke remembered the name and
the man in the day of his splendor-wlth Q
cooked hat, and red scarf round his waist.
among the COmmunards. Perhaps 1t was
the color that charmed them, the hue Of
that blood which was to them as an atmos
phere.
Those who knew all about Serzer's past
career could give her no enlightenment
about his present whereabouts, and she al
ways made her inquiries judcously, indi-
rectly, putting forward that mythical broth.
or as the motive Of her QuestiOnings. She
did not want to be known as u woman who
had inquired for Ser,ziCr, lest tho huntel
should get wind Of the hunter And so sho
came to September, and in all the blue
bouses, the heavy figures and STOPPING
shoulders, the toil-stamed hands, the close.
cropped bulet-heads, she had seen no sign
Of Serizier. How should she know him
when she saw him?
Easily enough. First, she had his photo.
praph, which she had discovered, after q
diligent search, in shop on the Boulevard
st. Michel, among other heroes of the Com.
mune. Secondly, she had seen him once in
the flesh, and his face had impressed itself
upon her memory in flash, as if it had
been photographed upon her brain. 1t was
not common face; it was original in Its
sinister uglnesS, and she could recall every
line in that bulldog vlsage.
She had seen him soon after the skirmish
at lssy, when his laurels were yet green, and
the street.arabs cheered him as he passed
at the head of his regiment, in gaudy uni.
form, red scarf, waving plumcs, clanking
sword, on horse which he could not ride,
boastfuI, triumphant. 1t was in the spring
evening" the clear cool light of declining
day, when she stood on the quay, hanging
on her husbands arm, and watching the sol
diers go by.
CASTOR told her all about Seri2lcr. A
brute, but brave brute, he said, and good
at training his sOldiers-a man who was
likely to come well to the fore, If the Com
mune could hold its own.
And so, with the evening sunlight on his
face, Scrzer rode slowly by, she watching
him, Open-eyed with wonder that such q
brute face as this should belong to one OF
the people,
The face was as wildly before her eyes
to-day as it had been that April evening
She looked at the photograph every night
before she went to her rest. Let him dis.
guise himself as he might, let him dye his
skin like blackamoors, or hide cheeks
and mouth and chin behind forest of beard
and whisker, he could never hide himself
from her. Ills face was never absent from
her mind.
So she went on with her work dOggedy
hopefully, albeit there were times of fear
times when she recalled how little founda
tiOn there was for any certainty that Serl
2ier was in Paris, or even that he lived. The
man for whose going in or coming out she
watched morning and evening might be fal
away in the New World, rotlng and revel
ling upon the spells Of revolution, conveyed
to him yOnder by some faithful friend; OIL
his corpse might have been huddled into
one of those common graves which haC
yawned to receive hecatombs Of nameless
dead