The copper country evening news. [volume] (Calumet, Mich.) 18??-1907, 1898-03-03
THE CRIME OF
THE BOULEVARD.
By JULES CLARETIE.
rcopyright, 1897, by R. y. Fenno q Col

suggested that the murderer imagine. the laa
object seen. is imprinted on the retina OF tn
murdered mans eye, VI and VII-Bernarde
experiments on the retina and is seized with
conviction.
e. CONTINUED ~
This Revere, whom he was accused
of killing, he loved, and, to tell the
truth, in that strange and troublous ex
istence which he had lived Revere had
been the only true friend whom he had
known. Revere, a sort of pessimistiC
philosopher, recluse, lycanthropic,
after a life spent in feasting, having
surfeited himself with pleasure, recog.
nized also in his last years that disin.
terested affection is rare in this world
and his savage misanthropy softened be-
fore Jacques Dantin's warm friendship
II continued to search for, in what is
called pleasure and what as ones hair
whitens becomes vice, in play, in the
uproar Of Paris, forgetfulness of life, of
the dull life of a man growing old,
alone, without home or family, an old,
stupid fellow, whom the young people
look at with hate and say to each other,
why is he still here?' Revere more and
more felt the need Of withdrawing into
solitude, thinking over his adventurous
life, as bad and as ruined as mine and
he wished to see no one-a wolf, a wild
boar in his lair. Can you understand
this friendship between two old fellows,
one of whom tried in every way to di-
rect his thoughts from himself and the
other waiting death in a corner of his
Preside, solitary, unsociable?'
Perfectly. Go ON. 4"
And the magistrate, with eyes riveted
upon Jacques Dantin, saw this man, ex.
cited, making light of this recital of the
past, evoking membranes of forgot
ten events, of this lost affection-lost,
as all his lif, was.
This is not conference. Is it not
so? You no longer believe that it is
comedy? loved Revere. Life had often
separated US. He searched for fortune
at the other end of the world. l made a
mess Of mine and ate it in Paris. But
we always kept up our relations, and
when he returned to France we were
happy in again seeing each other. The
grayer turned the hair, the more tender
the heart became. / had always found
him morose-from his twentieth year
he always dragged after him a sinister
companion-ennui. He had chosen a
consular career, to live far away and in
fashion not at all like ours. have often
laughingly said to him that he proba-
bly, had met with unrequited love; that
he had experienced some unhappy pas.
sion. He said no! feigned to believe
1t. One is not somber and melancholy
like that without some secret grief
After all, there are others who do not
feel any gayer with smile on the lips
Sadness is no sign. Neither is gayetyl"
His face took on weary, melancholy
expression, which at first astonished the
magistrate; then he experienced feel
ing Of pity. He listened, silent and
grave.
II will pass over all the details of
our life, shall l not? My monologue
would be too long. The years of youth
passed with a rapidity truly astonish-
ing. We come to the time when we
found ourselves-he, weary of life, es-
tablished in his chosen apartments in
the Boulevard de Clichy, with his
paintings and books, sitting in front of
his fire and awaiting death, / continu-
ing to spur myself on like foundered
horse. Revere moralized to me. jeered
at his sermons, and went to sit by his
Preside and talk over the past. One of
his joys had been this portrait of me,
painted by Paul Baudry. He had hung
it mp in his salon, at the corner Of the
chimney piece, at the left, and he often
said % me:
4" 'Dost thou know that when thou
art not here I talk to it,
II was not there very often. Partisan
life draws Us by its thousand attrac-
tions. The days which seem intermina-
BILE when one is 20 rush by as if on
wings when one is so. One has not
even time TO stop 70 see the friends one
loves. At the last moment, If one is
right one ought to say: How have
cast to the winds everything precious
which life has given me. How foolish
have been-how stupid. Pay no atten-
ton to my philosophisms-the cell. Ma
zas forces one to think.
Zone day-it was one morning-on
returning from the club where l had
passed the night stupidity losing sums
which would have given JOY to hundreds
of families, found ON my desk mes
sage from Revere If one would look
through my papers, one would find it
there. kept it. Revere begged me to
come to him Immediately. shivered--
a sharp presentiment Of death struck
me. The writing was trembling, unlike
his own. struck my forehead in anger.
This message had been waiting for me
since the night before, while was
spending the hours in gambling. II,
when I hurried toward the Boulevard
de Clichy. had found Revere dead on
my arrival, could not, believe me,
have experienced grsatg despair. His