Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1895-04-17

IT, @
'AND IT WAS WE WHO MADE THEM So"
moment the thought flashed on him
that it was some masquerading play of
| Victorine's, and then it had vanished
so instantly, that it knew it for an il
| fusion of his eyes, of his brain, tired
with thinking and caring and sorrow
| ing for sorrows he could not heal. And
so he left the night and moonlight, and
the cold unquiet sea, and went to his
slumbers.
There had been brief season Of
| gayety in the nrst year after Beaux-
lieux' majority, when Pierre, who re-
ported himself as doing finely, came
| home to marry Victorine, whose hand
be had asked of the duchess, we'd
| ding which took great load off the
mind of Olympic, since she knew the
wiles of Victorine, and the charm O:
being Duchess des Sarazines Beaux-
fieux, even in republic, where il
| might be little more than being q
| duchess of rag fair. She had not
CHANGED to hear Pierre say to Victorine
that night in the wood: II will make
you Duchess DIES Beaulieux yet!'
More than once in the two years
time, Beauxlieux had run down to the
chateau for sight of his mother, for q
fresh trip with Jean, no one knew
where, but from which he came back
with an air, one could not declare were
| it more of sadness or of proud determi-
nation. Il have been eating black
bread" he would say in answer to his
mothers inquiry. II have been among
my brothers. There is SO much to do.
They have not only to be helped. they
have first to be taught that they need
the help. They are in the dark; they
do not even grope; they do not know
that there is any light. They suffer
SO. They are SO patient Some Of them,
my mother, seem like beasts of the
field. And it is we who have made
them so'' he cried, springing to his
feet. 1T is the weight of our splendor
that has crushed them into earth"
Our splendor!" said his mother,
bitterly.
The splendor," with wild ges-
ture, that, thank God, is ours no
more!"
my child! Beauxlieux!'
Sometimes" he said, when ] am
with them, my heart swells as if it
would burst. feel the very singing
of the poor blood in their veins. It
would not be so poor had mine not
been too rich! We have trodden them
down so long, they have been so herded,
so outraged, so cowed, so starved, their
souls impoverished as their bodies-my
God! We have lived on their labor,
our wealth is their sweat, our thrones
are planted ON their slaughter! Often
when have seen the great carriages
driven along the Bots, the high step
ping horses in their golden harnesses,
the women, rosy, round, their silks
overlooking like petals of great flowers,
the sight of them has made me
trembie, have felt the wheels Of
those carriages rolling through bloodP'
She listened; but she hardly under
stood him. She feared; but he half i'm
bued her with his feeling. She doubted
| if he were not possessed of sacred
fury. And while she was sure that her
.on--BeauxlieuX-could not be other
rise than right, yet a great melancholy
oppressed her, as if for the first time
she saw thrones shake and the old
order of things go by. "Oh, what shall
we do with him, NJ. Eticnne?' she
cried whom he had rome
Nothing" said NJ. Eticnne, "the
good God has him in hand"
Sometimes when Bcauxlieux came
{ home. he had strange tales of his ex-
periencc in the prisons, where he had
gained permission to practice and &c
| study. Sometimes he had nothing at
all to say, as if words fell short OF
power. Once, in contrast to all this. he
| brought his mother the most charming
Partisan costume. the daintiest hat and
| mantle. 1t made her feel herself a
woman of the world again when she
| mt them on. "You look like all the
rest of thcm.'' said Beauxlieux, only
thousand times lovelier than any Oh
them! You shall go up with me and sec
/ the new Paris. You get into rut liv'
ing in solitude, like the rest of the I'M
derground people. You shall go to the
opera again; you shall go to the Bor
| Marche."
1.-THE extravaganza, Beauxlieux! No,
no, l do not wish to 60"
Reason the more that you should
90. And as for the expense, if money
does not grow on bushes now, yet
have all we need. And. my first duty
being to you, my mother, there will
still be that which will suffice for the
new Crusade, in saving those who are
in this day the sepulchre Of Christ, in
CARRYING succor to how many of the
sad and sorry!.'
1t had plainly become q passion with
him, this care for the spirits'in prison
not only behind iron CRATES, but in the
bonds of rude flesh. His mother could
not explain why the whole thing gave
her such vague uneasiness. She turned
for comfort, as usual, to NJ. Etienne.
''It is time that he ranged himself, that
found for him some young girl with
sufficient dot" her thoughts summon.
| = ~