Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1894-02-16

narrow tables I'm low dingy rooms, by the
; light Of tallow.candles, and amid overpow-
ering odors Of cognac and cheese soup; the
wine-shops where they swilled gallons of
'little blue" or stupeiied themselves with
cheap cognac.
She learned great deal; out oil this
time there had been no sign of Serizier, 10
clue to the whereabouts of that one work
man.
Now and then she ventured 10 accost ono
of these blue blouses, who answered civilly
or brutally, as Fate willed. But, for tbs
most part, they were civil, in their rough
way. She told her little pathetic story of q
brother, currier by trade, of whom she had
lost Ill trace since the Commune. His chief
friend was man-also currier-called
Serizltr. and she thought it likely that,
wherever Serizier were working, her BROTH
er would be working too.
Did monsieur happen by chance 10 know
anything about currier called SeriZier?
No, nobody knew of such man. Some TO
whom she spoke remembered the name and
the man in the day of his splendor-wlth
cooked hat, and a red scarf round his waist.
There had been q passion for red scarfs
among the Communards. Perhaps ii was
the color that charmed them, the hue Of
that blood which was to them as an atmos-
phere.
Those who knew all about Serizier's past
career could give her no enlightenment
about his present whereabouts, and she al
ways made her inquiries judicously, indi-
rectly, putting forward that mythical broth
or as the motive of her questiOnings. She
did not want to be known as woman who
had inquired for Serzer, lest the hunted
cbntlH rot Ind - tba 81 .ho
came to September, and in all the blue
blouses, the heavy figures, and STOPPING
shoulders, the toil-staned hands, the close.
cropped bullet-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 sho had discovered, after
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 1t had
been photographed upon her brain. 1t was
not common face; it was original in Its
sinister ugliness, and she could recall every
line in that bulldog visage.
She had seen him soon after the skirmish
at Issy, 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 plumes, clanking
sword, on horse which he could not ride,
boastful, 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 Serizier. 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, SerZier rode slowly by she watching
him, open-eyed with wonder that such
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 blackamoor's, or hide cheeks
and mouth and chin behind forest Of beard
and whisker, he could never hide himself
from her. His face was never absent from
her mind.
So she went on with her work doggedly,
hopefully, albeit there were times of fear
times when she recalled how little founda-
tion there was for any certainty that Ssri-
zier was in Paris, or even that he lived. The
man for whose going in or coming out she
watched morning and evening might be far
away in the New World, rioting and revel-
ling upon the spohs of revolution, conveyed
to him yonder by some faithful friend; or
his corpse might have been huddled into
one of those common graves which had
yawned TO receive hecatombs Of nameless
dead.
To RE CONTINUED