The times., 1897-05-02
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MAX PEr1bERTOr
MAX PErbERTON
AUTHOR a Tnr lnpasenABlt CITY.

the cell, which had harbored him all
those long years, and followed Baptiste to
the corridor without.
There was a file of men In the pas
sage, armed with haiberds and spon-
toons; little army to guard a prisoner
who had never, in his widest moments,
dreamed OF escape from a citadel SO for
mdabie as the Conciergerie. Serrefort
exchanged no greeting with them, but he
surveyed them with some scorn when they
closed about him aud began TO march down
the corridor and so TO the head OF a flight
of steps which appeared to lead into the
very bowels of the earth. For one short
Instant window showed him the city, and
beyond that the river bright with tapping
green waves and busy boats, and the houses
ali huddled together in the sunlight, and
the streets full of hurrying throngs glad
because the new day had come. He said
that the world lay there, the world where
men hoped and loved and worked; the
world he would never know again. And
then the window was passed, and be found
himself descending the winding stairs OF
the great Bombec tower, which seemed TO
rise up from the very river Itself Though
his guards had torches high above their
heads the place was SO dark that even the
garsh yellow light could not penetrate
the terrible blackness.
Serrefort feared almost to set foot upon
the ground, that he should tumble into
some horrid pit, or go hcadlong into the
waters of the Seine So heavy and damp
was the air his lungs seemed TO be filled
with noXious vapors ateyery breath. Even
the floor of the staircase was covered with
wet and slime, while water dripped from
the walls iii a ceaseless ''patpat-pat,"
which spoke eloquently of the SURPRISING
misery of those who must live in depths
SO terrible. Serrefort had heard often OF
the Bombec tower. He remembered that
when as little child his father had
brought him to Paris they had shown him
this great stone bastile, one of the towers
of the Concergerie, springing up fIom
the very rivers bed, and they had spoken
in hushed voices OF the sufrerings OF those
doomed To such a prison, and now he
must learn OF these things for himself. In
deed, the lesson had begun already, when
the suns hine was left Tar above him; and
an ntolerable longing for air and light
forced him TO say mat he must lose his
reason if they did not carry him up again
To the day he had left. And so he came
to the foot of the staircase, aud his guards,
having gone some little way down a mar
row and sinuous passage, one OF them
held a torch aloft, While old Baptiste uii-
locked the door of Cell and bade the
prisoner enter
courage" said he, 'for the love OF
heaven IL is only for a little while and
your daughter Willie back again. You VIII
find seat there do not quit IT until
come to you. 1t is the Prison of Swords
you enter God help you'll
There was quaver in the old man'svoioe
when he spoke; but serrefort did not hear.
His eyes We're staring horribly into the
hole which henceforth must he his home.
Bright as the flare of the torch was, its
light was impotent to illumine that den
wherein the suns rays had not entered
for centuries nor any sound been heard but
the groans and sobs of the wretched victims
OF the dungeon.
''ohi" cried Serrefort, pitifully drawing
back, ''if might die; / cannot enter i
cannot"
But old Baptiste cried again:
Courage, my sol, courage; she will come
back / shall seek her today-oh, she has
not forgotten you, be sure Of it.
lie spoke like father might have spo-
ken to a son; and, pushing the trembling
prisoner gently forward, he closed the door
upon him and hurried back to the light
and the life above. Penalty enough that
he should spend moments in an abode of
such horror. Serrefort, on the other hand,
took two steps forward and then sank
down upon the moldy straw, with which
the floor of bis new prison was covered
There was no braver man in Paris, none
with stouter heart nor more noble cour-
age; but the Bombec tower was quick to
conquer him. Fear now dominated his
mind until his whole body trenbled AMI
his very heart seemed to stand still. The
darkness weighed upon him like crushing
burden. The foul cell appeared to be :ull
of the shapes of those who had gone he
fore him TO this agony. His lungs were
scorched by the sitting air: the dreadful
silence, he said, was the silence OF the
tomb. Every moment he waited to feel the
touch of some creeping thing upon his
face. He crouched like a driven animal,
putting out his hand to find the walls
with his fingers. But his flesh was cut by
the blade Of knife protrudng from the
stone work, and as he drew his hand back
had said. that he was then in the Prisonof
Swords Full well he knew what the
words meant. Many time had he heard
of this Infamous cell, wherein the walls
bristled with knives, and the floor of
which, as trad ton told, was covered with
creeping things and even with loathsome
reptiles.
"Oh, m yGod!'' he prayed again. Have
pity upon me, have pity upon me. cannot
suffer It'll cannot!'
Maddened, as many a prisoner before
him. he hurled himself ferociousy upon the
floor, and writhed there with burning
brain, and hands and arms cut by the
sharp blades which protruded from the
walls. When the fever passed and he
lay weak and motionless upon the straw.
he hegan to ask himself by what right
the haiiff inflicted these wrongs upon
him. Years had gone by since he had
sinned In striking the Comte de Chateau
neuf, the lord of his province, who sought
to injure the one being for whom he
would have given his life willingly. Had
they such memories that they remembered
the crime still. He could not believe It,
but as misery grew upon him there came
back. strong and clear and life-giving.
his hate of the man who had doomed him
TO these torments. Oftenin the prison above
he had prayed that the day might be his
when he would meet the Conite de Chateau
neuf face to face and reckon with him for
these years. His brightest dreams were
those wherein ne fancied that his enemy
lay dead 1t his feet and that he, Jacques
dc Serrefort. had the blood-dripping sword
OF victor, in his hands. But these dreams