The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1895-01-15

not eat in these days. She did not
sleep. White and thin and with lit
tie breathless air the blackness Of her
gown was not SO black as the shadow
that surrounded her. "They were
hisw she said over and over to herself,
like the tolling of bell. They were
his-de quelque maniere. He had only
to speak. l would have put them into
his hand. But to--oh, no, no, no, let
me not say the word, 1t is impossible.
Mother of God, and it is true! Oh! Oh.
Oh! Beauxlieux! BeauXlleuX, my son"
And her grief was more hopeless than
that of another who buries her child.
Sometimes she would wonder If she
We're dreaming. Or even, with a throb
of relief, If it could be that she were
crazed. Suddenly she would deny it
all, and accuse herself of an infamy.
She to suspect the noblest, the truest,
the loftiest of his line! She to believe
evil of that upright, proud soul! And
then the facts flashed before her again
like a chain of lightning on the dark
ness-the ease that had insensibly
come into the house, the accursed
gowns from Worth, the frequency of
the costly journeys, the repairs of the
roofs of the chateau. Where had
Beauxlieux obtained the money? "Oh.
l can bear DIT no more" she cried once,
starting back from the embrasure of
the window as M. Etienne came in, and
not knowing that she spoke aloud, Il
can bear it no longer
Pardon me-" said the monsieur.
Pardon if l overhear. l have seen be-
for that your grace is troubled. Have
you lost all confidence in me, madame?
AT least, will you not remember that l
am your physician" He stood there
as pale as she, his head bowed, his sad
eyes at her feet.
She ran toward him, but stopped,
totteringS so that she would have
fallen but for his quick arm. !"Oh,
monsieur she cried. You are all l
have-for he has broken my heart"
You are wrong" he said to her,
when some time afterward, with sobs
and tears and wild cries and eXclama-
tions, she had unburdened her heart.
1T is just as much out of the question
as that the sky should fall. Doubt
BeauXlieuX? | would as soon-let me
say it as | would say a prayer-doubt
tue LOIu' II is SIMPLY lnlpbSSlpit.
'Oh, so | said. IT,
I'VE will let it rest there then"
"Oh, Etienne; 1t is so long that you
have been a comfort, help, a shield to
me-"
And will be forever!'
"Oh, but the money, Etienne!' she
cried, with recurring memories coming
like the waves of subsiding waters.
I'VE who have been so long without
money-all that money he must have!
wringing her hands again.
THAT is his affair 1t is not mine. If
the Duke des Sarazines Beauxlieux has
a purse befitting him, he came by it as
grace of God. 1t is not possible that
white should be black, and BeauXlieux
is white. White as innocence and
goodness. No, no, no, do not give it a
thought. You wrong yourself. My
God. You've wronged him. We must
look elsewhere
But why does the suspicion-oh, the
terrible, hateful suspicion, the dreadful
facts! Why do they all arrange them
selves about him?" she persisted
Alas! Alas! Why indeed do l live?
Why does not my tongue cleave to the
roof of my mouth? 1t is my son of
whom | speak! Oh, we have had mis-
fortune, Etienne, such misfortune!
But never such misfortune, such
despair as this!'
ITO BE Continued)