Waterbury evening Democrat., 1893-12-13

 With great effort he controlled him self. He stood quite still, and his face grew white as marble. in a low voice he said slowly:
 "I have borne all your slights and in suits without a word, on your wife's ac- count. but you had better beware or you may get your deserts"
 From youT'. asked Macaire sheer ingly.
 From me, if necessary" answered the young man. But up to a certain point you may escape on your wife's ac- count"
 What the devil has my wife to do with you? She didn't seem to care very much about your feelings. although you were rather spoony on her before she be- came my property"
 This he said with an air of insolent triumph which would have reused any man. Still Pierre kept silent, and the rest were silent also, for they recognized that his blood was up and that his wrath might possibly fall on some of them. Robert did not enjoy the silence. There was little fun in his torturing un- less there were others to enjoy 1t, so he tried another tack.
 Dear me. how hot of blood we are! With such superabundance of pug nacitv 1 wonder that you do not seek place in the army. There is plenty of work to be done-by men who are not afraid to do it. Why do you not join the army of England: There is need of young men there"
 Pierre answered slowly:
 "I suppose you were on your way there when you found your way here. And yet it is strange that you came from the north. I suppose that you had to rest yourself and recover from that wound in your leg where you carried the shot. As can claim no such distinction and have no such honorable wound to show, think shall leave such excellent company. For you I should advise you to go home to your wife and for the fu- ture keep either your mouth shut or your leg covered. You can perhaps afford one luxury, but you cannot afford the two"
 With this he turned on his heel and left the room.
 The rusticS were now ill d greater quandary than ever as to what they should do, for, to their great surprise, their bully when confronted had not ven tured q word in answer, but had sat quite still gnawing his lip. They, how ever, had not confronted him, and they feared he would havc his revenge out of them, so they all sat still until Robert Macaire started to his feet and said: Heres to the health of Pierre Lamar. He is a fine young fellow and will be off | to the army before long. you will find. Perhaps he will be gone before the week is over-perhaps even earlier still" He can't go tomorrow anyhow, said | Gustave, one of the usual butts, "be- cause tomorrow he has to bring cask of wine to the frontier and will not be back ! for three days at the earliest"
 An, gentlemen, it will be as l say. You will find that the young man will volunteer; he is keen for fighting. You saw yourselves how he attacked me on account of little innocent chaT which 1 not one of you ever minded"
 Well, he will have time to cool down on the way, for he won't have much com pany to cheer him in the morning." | How do you mcan?' asked Macaire. l turning to him.
 He goes by the mountain road, where not one person travels in the week. And he starts early, too, for his father said l that he would call him at ? o'clock, as he had to start at 8"
 Robert Macaire said good night to his | comrades, and the last remark he made l was:
 You win find that I am right. That young man means soldering, and when he leaves this VIC shall probably have seen the last of him" 1 When Robert Macaire arrived home, his wife was sleeping. He did not awaken her. but lay down on the bed in his | clothes.
 The night wore on. The man still lay without moving. When the clock struck 2, he arose softly. The house was wrapped in slumber. He stole out, and creeping from shadow to shadow passed silently up the mountain road About half a mile on there was dangerous place where the road ran over shelf of rock with precipice beneath. Here he stopped and busied himself for a few minutes with stake picked up on the way. Then with an evil smile on his face he drew back into the shadow.