The times., 1897-05-02
PART /.


he awoke while the keys still ratified in
the lock, and sat up in his bed half blinded
by the sunlight which streamed through
the high window OF his prison. 1t was
morning of early June, tlesh with sweet
breeZes of the summer and the odor OF roses
In the air; but the captive, who had lived
a day Of the long ago in his dreams, re-
garded neither the hour nor the fresh
ness of it. Every morning for fifteen
years he had arisen from sGch dreams
of the old time to forget them quickly
in the terrible realities OF his doom. The
gentle smile upon his face, born of the
visions of the night, passed at once in
the first moments of the day. Sleep
had carried him to the fair fields of
Brittany, 10 the pastures of his home
stead, to the ingle wherein his wife, and
the daughter he had loved more than
life, had been won't to greet him when
the days work was done. But the dawn
destroyed illusions SO welcome. He be-
came the slave again. Nothing to him
that il was the height of summer when
all Pans was alive with merry music
and feasting and the notes of bells call
ing lovers TO the altars. Day or night.
the fall of the leaf or the Towering of
the Dlossom-the hour was long since
passed when he remembered these.
The jailer entered the cell as he had
entered it every morning during these
terrible years. He and Serrefort had
grown old together; old in association,
almost In captivity. True, Baptiste. as
they called the fellow, had little house
out In the cathedral close yonder, and
went there at oud hours TO gossip with
his neighbors; but nineteen tbs OF his years
were spent In the Conciergene, and he
knew every stone in it, nay. almost every
crack In its tremendous walls. In his way
he had been a good friend TO Jacques de
Serrefort-a friend in the little things OF
Kindness whose worth TO the prisoner is
inestimable. Every morning, as soon as
the bells of Notre Dame struck O'Clock, he
would enter the wretched man S cell to
cry: Courage, comrade, here Is the day
Who knows what II wi.I hing Jac4uGN
would declare sometimes that he had said
the same things every dayfor fifteen years.
But tit came out of the goodness of his heart
and was not 10 be resented Indeed, the
prisoner welcomed the sound OF the boniely
voice; and when on this particular morning
of June, in the year of 1761, the customary
greeting was not given, SerrefoTt turned
quickly to his Jailer with a question upon
his lips.
How now, Baptiste,'' cried he, ''you are
silent this morning.
Baptiste shook his head and went tow ard
the window that Serrefort might not see
his face.
Courage, comrade,'' said be, cit will
not be for long. Your daughter will re-
turn To Paris presently and then all will
be well -
serrefort, who had begun TO dress, sat
down upon his bed again. lie OWNED
that some great misfortune was about
TO overtake him. though of It's nature he
could fOresee nothing.
Come, Baptiste, said he, "you speak
In riddles. What has my daughter TO
do with the ConCiergerie? Have l not
enough to bear that you should talk OF
herr"
Dame replied the old jailer, II must
speak of her since she alone has kept you
from the Bombec Tower these two years
and more. Think you, comrade, that the
bailiff gives windows and red wine TO all
those who ask them? ST. DeDnisi you haze
the best quarters In the prison and the best
food. And why-why? because your daugh-
ter has paid for such things. You don't
know that?''
Il swear to heaven that know nothing
exclaimed Serrefort. "You say that 1
have these things through my daughter
and that she pays for them?'
How eise should you have them? Sa-
pristi, a child would not be so simple She
has paid for them since your old protector,
the Sleur Buchot, died. And she win pay
For G. tn
Paris Oh, be sure of it. She is n good
child, and rare is the week when She does
not tell me what she means to do for you.
Do not lose heart, old friend. Who knows,
she may be i'll, or gone away upon an affair
OF Importance. If the bailiff were reason
able he would think of these things But
he will not hear me, and the order now is
that 1 am to carry you to the Bonnbec
Tower this morning, and to show you no
more favors until you can pay for them
again.
serrefort shuddered. He had not lived
in the great prison for fifteen years with
out hearing many a grim story OF the ter
rible oubliet;es below the higher level of
the River Seine, wherein, shut out from
Gods day and surrounded by horrors un-
nameable, the more wretched and poorer
victims of Bailiff Huhert's greed went all
too slowly to their doom. Captivity is
apt TO obliterate from a mans heart those
fineTaffections Which are fed upon freedom.
SeTrefort was tempted for moment to
bitter thoughts of the daughter who had
left him to fate so horrible. But anon
he remembered Baptiste's words, that she
must he i'll or away upon an affair of i'm
portance. And then he complained no
more but fell to wondering what her life
had been since he had left her, a child of
fifteen, in the old home In Brittany.
He could not forget altogether that he
owed this enduring punishment to her aud
to her alone. The hardness born of prison
life closed about his heart when he told
himself that il he had not struck the man
who had been the shadow upon her life he
would not no W be prisoner in the Concier-
gerie. Such thoughts, however, passed upon
the instant and his great love of her came
flowing into his heart like sreshet; and
he longed, with the accumulated longing of
years, to take her TO his heart again.
Lord, let me see her once more" he
prayed. and so praying, lie dressed himself
and told Baptiste that he was ready,
''Old friend,'' said he, Il have been
blind indeed to take these gifts from the
hand Of one whose own need mast be SO
great Think you that l would have per-
mitted Irene TO work for me at a time
when she has neither friends nor helpers
I'm all the city? Heaven forbid that /
should have so little love for her. Oh.
am ready to follow you, Baptiste. 1 care
not where you carry me if only you bring
me news that she is we'll Have l aught