Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1899-02-16
CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XIV.
And now, after having accused Dan
tin Of lying, believing that he was act
ing comedy, after smiling disdainful-
ly at that common invention--a vow
which one could not break--the percep.
ton Of possibility entered the magis
trate's mind that this man might be
sincere. Hitherto he had closed his
heart against sympathy for this man.
They had met in mutual hostility.
The manner i'll which Jacques Dan
tin approached the question, tho resolu
| ton with which he spoke, no longer
resembled the obstinate attitude VIII Ii
| he had before assumed in this same
room.
Reflection, the prison-the CELL with
out doubt---a frightful and sitting cell
had done its work. The man who had
been excited to the point of not speak
ing now wished to tell all.
Eyes" he said, "sinco nothing has
happened to convince you that l am not
lying"
Il am listening to YOU" said the
magistrate.
Then in long, close conference
Jacques Dantin told NJ. GinOry his
story. He related how from early youth
| he and Revere had been close friends !;
of the warm affection which had always
existed between them; of the shams and
receptions of which he had been guilty /;
of the bitterness of his ruined life; Of
an existence which ought to have been
beautiful, and which, so useless the lifG
of viveur, had almost made him
?-how:-through need of money
and a lack of moral sense, descend to
crime.
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, sort of pessimistic
philosopher, "a recluse, lycanthropic
after a life spent III feasting. having
surteited himself with pleasure, recog-
nized also in his last years that disin-
terested affection is rare in this world
and his savage misanthropy softened he
fore Jacques Dantin's warm friendship
Il continued to search for, i'll 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 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 sill horc?' Revere more and
more felt the need of withdrawing into
solitude, thinking over his adventurous
life, as bad and as ruined as niue, and
he wished TO see no one--a wolf 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 corner of his
1residc, solitary, unsociable:"
Perfectly. Go on. ;"
And the magistrate, with eyes riveted
upon Jacques Dantin, saw this man, OK.
cited, making light of this recital of tho
past, evoking membranes of forgot
ten events, of this lost atfection-lost,
as all his life was.
"This IS not conference. Is it not
so? You no longer believe that it is a
comedy? loved Revere Life had often
separated us. He searched for fortune
at the other end of the world. ] 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
grayor turned the hair, the moro tender
the heart became. | had always found
him morose-from his twentieth yeav
he always dragged after him sinister
panion-ennui. He had chosen Il
consular career, to live far away and in Il
fashion not at all like ours. have often
laughingly said to him that he proba-
bly, had met with unrequitcd love; that
he had experienced some unhappy pas
sion He said no! l feigned to believe
il. 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 10 sign. Neither is gaycty ~
His face took on weary, melancholy
expression, which ut 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 | not? My monologuC
would lie 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 i'll his chosen apartments il
the Boulevard de Clichy, with hi,
paintings and books, sitting in front OF
his fire and awaiting death, | continue
ing to spur myself ON like "a foundered
horse. Revere moralized to me jeercc
at his sermons, and | went to sit by hi,
fireside and talk over the past. One OF
his joys had been this portrait of me-
painted by Paul Baudry. He had huns
it up in his salon, at the corner of the
chimney piece, at the left, and no Otter
said to me:
" 'Dost tbou know that when thor
art not here l talk to it,
81 was not there very often. Partisan
life draws us by its thousand attrac
tions, The days which seem intermina
Bile when ono is 20 rush by as if Oi
wings when one is 80. One has no
even time to stop to sec the friends one
loves. At the last moment, if one il
right ono ought to say How ! have
cast to tho 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 ore to think.