The record-union., 1897-06-28
A WHBELMAN'S STORY.
The House of the Bronze Fox.

The House of the Bronze Fox.
had had all kinds of predictions OF
what might happen in that region; but
yet exactly nothing had, although an
official of one reimbursement had de-
tained US two days. / say us, for, al
though I had started alone from Genoa
for the long 500 miles wheel, had
come, early along the Cornice road, on
Pierson, a little chap from Manchester,
who was deploring a punctured tire,
and whom 1 helped with my kit. He,
too, was in seach of adventure, and fell
easily into my purpose. indeed don't
know what I should have done without
him in the long distances beyond Mar
seilles, when on the fourth day we fell
into region o. peasantry speaking
patoiS that was about as dense as their
superstition and distruSt Of strangers.
Yet all went we'll enough on that after
noon, when in desolate stretch of moor
we rode into bowling thunder and rain.
The way fell bit hilly anG rutty with
mud. Drenched and disheartened, the
moor seemed limitless. We must have
erred at a. cross road, for the inn we
hoped for did not appear-not a house,
We might have turned back, but we
had come so far that it seemed better
to pedal ON. The scurrying wet bit our
faces brutishly, and our legs were like
mechanical metal cylinders had it not
been for their aching, and, to add to
our weary dismay, the night reached
across the waste, crushing us with fear
some shadows.
We, indeed, We're about yielding, when
suddenly a burst of livid lightning
showed a great battlemented house to
which the path led. Directly we were
ON it, and, leaving the wheels, poked
toward it, wondering why none had
given US question, and why there was
no CLEAN of Light through any chink
A great outer gate was open, and we
CROPPED to an inner one at the bottom
of the narrowing passage; and then
more penetrating flash struck a glare
over a broad door, and there looked
down a great bronze fox's head, with
the knocker ring hanging listless from
its jaw. Our impatience left US no dis
cretion; the blacknesS was provoking,
and I raised the ring, which struck a
chill through my gloved finger. The
spot where it fell may have been cush-
ioned, for we were dumfounded by si-
lence when the door was opened as Of
it's own volition-sending a certain
splendid glow over us-the light of
many candles, and the sight, but
strangely enough not the crackle, of
a burning log in a deep fireplace at a
long halls end. The furnishings, elab-
crate in the extreme, were of Henri
Quatre. Portraits and mailed figures
lined the walls. The flickering light
sought the polish of the oaken flooring
and ceiling, and close at the door was
a lackey-a tall, dark fellow, with a
dash of the hired bravo you gather
from old books and old pictures; for
he was dressed in livery fitting the Pc
riod of all the decoration o. this in
terror His voice surprised us quite
as much as this unexpected splendor
of light that no chink had revealed to
us when cropping outside-a faint
sounding yet distinct tone in French
that we understood, although it seemed
not exactly the French we were school
ed to.
''The Sieur de Bellaire, sirs has been
waiting you, and despairing of your ap-
pearance has sat down to dinner-I am
to show you there"
I began, and Pierson bore out my
disclaimer that he was mistaken; that
we could not be expected; that we were