The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1896-11-24

hid a portion of each under the cellar
floor; thanked God that they were not
the GARRISON and that times We're
changed since the Thirty Years war;
and. in short. fell very easily into an
idle life flecked with bubbles of excite
ment When the Austrian guns rum
bled without. and the smoke eddied
slowly over the walls, they stood in the
streets, their hands in their NUTS ana
gossipcd not unpleasantly: when the
cannons were silent, they smoked their
long pipes on the ramparts, and meas
ured the advance of the trenches, ana
listened while the oldest inhahitant
prosed of the sack by Spnola in n and
the winter siege of Al.
Whether the good townsfolk were as
brave in private-When at home with
their wives. for instance-may be
dCubted: but this for certain the burgo-
masters trouble lay all with the Wo-
men. Whether theH had less faith in
the great Louis-who, indeed, seemed
in these days less superior to world
in arms than in the dawn of his glory
Or whether they found the oldest in
habitants tales too precisely to the
point, they had a way of growing rest
i've once week. beseging the good
Burgomaster's house and demanding
with a thousand shrill and voluble ton
Sues-immediate surrender on terms.
Between whiles. being busy with scrub
bing and baking and washing their
children, they were quiet enough. But
as surely as Sunday came round, and
with it clean house and leisure to
chat with the neighbors. the burgomas-
ter's hour came too, and with it a mob
of women shaking crooked fingers at
him, and deafening him with their
abuse. lie began-thouGh bold man
to dream at night of DE Witt and
his fate: and from a stoLl and POM
pous burgher, dwindled in six weeks
TO lean and moroSe old tyrant Withal
he had no choice, for at his shoulder
lurlied the French commandant. n res
Olute man with a grim wit of his own
and q pet curtain-betwecn the Stadt-
haus bastion and the bastion of the
Bronze House, and very handy to the
former-whereat he shot deserters and
the like on the smallest preteXt.
Still the Burgomaster, as he wiped
his sallow face. and watched the last
Of the women withdraw on the seventh
Sunday of the siege, began to think
that, rather than pass through this
again, he would face even the curtain
and a volley. The ordeal had been more
severe than usual; his cheek still
twitched. and he leaned against his Of
fetal table to belle his trembling knees.
He had been settling change of bill
lets. when the viragos broke in on him,
and only his clerk had been present;
for his council-and this rub he felt
sorely-much bullied in old days, were
treating him to solitude now and the
monopoly of the burden. His clerk was
still with him, but affected to be busy
with the papers on the table-perhaps
he was scared, too, and equally bent on
hiding it; so it was the burgOmaster
himself who first discovered that they
We're not in fact alone but that one
woman still fingered. She sat in a
corner of the oak seat that ran round
the paneled room; and the stained
glass of the windows, bla2oned with
the arms of Huymonde and the Counts
Of Flanders, cast a veil of tawny lights
between her and the gaZer, a veil be-
hind which she seemed to lurk. The
Burgomaster started, then remembered
that the danger was over for the time,
and in harsh voice bade her fellow
her mates.
"Degone, wench," he said. "And go
to your prayers! That is women"
work. Leave these things to men,,
The woman rose. when men," she
answered, ir strident voice at which
the Burgomaster started afresh, hide
themselves, it is time women stood for
ward. Where is your son?''
The Burgomaster swore.
where is your SOM" the woman re-
peated firmly.
The Burgomaster swore again, his
sallow face grown purple: then looked
at his clerk and signed to him to go.
The clerk went wondering and gaping
for this was unusual-and left the
two together
Then the Burgomaster found his
voice. You JeZebel," he cried. pas
sionately, approaching the woman.
How dare you come here to make mis-
chief? How dare you lay your tongue
to my sons name? Do you know,
shameless one, that If I were to-
But at that the woman caught fire,
blazed up and fairly outdid him in
rage. She was middle-aged and spare,
with face naturally pale and refined,
and an air of pride that peered even
through the neat poverty of her dress.
But at that word she shook her hands
In his face. and her eyes blazed
"Shameless?" she retorted. mo. but
shameful, and through whom? Through
your son, you villain. your craven of q
son. who hides now! Through your
base-born tradesman of a son.who dare
face neither woman nor man"
'Silence!" the Burgomaster cried.
She broke off, but only to throw her
whole. soul into one breathless cry.
"Will he marry herr" she painted; and
she held out her hands to him. palm
uppermost. "Will he marry her?"
moi" the Burgomaster answered,
grimly.
She flung up her hands. "Then be-
ware!" she cried, wildly. and for the
first time raised her voice. Beware.
You and yours have brought us to
shame, but the end is not yet. The end
Is not yet. You do not know u.s."
At that, however, he rallied himself.