Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1900-05-22

30 pressing only that my worn is picuB
ed that DaIcour shall have the money.
and In honor | must pay him"
Besson was rolling the ring round
and round on his finger. He looked
down at the little faded creature who
used such line expressions.
Honor He smiled. "Honorr'
Mamzclle was on hre In an instant
"Yes. honorr she cried. what have
l but honor. have no wealth. ] have
lost my youth. There Ia no one who
cares for me. ! have only honor. Ny
word ls not doubted because II has al.
ways been sacred to me. Honor! l
know how II is with those who have II
not have sorrowed and shamed for
one who let his honor fall to the dirt
II was my father He was believed OF
no man He had no friends. Alone
followed him to the grave. Honor! II
is all | have In the world. and will
carry II with me unsoilsd up TO the
good God"
She was painting. her hand up over
her heart Besson was looking straight
before him. strange expression in bis
eyes.
But moneieur does not attend" said
Mamzelle.
She had to speak to him q second
time. Then he pulled himself together.
"Mamzelle." he said. you shall have
the 90 francs on the day you have
promised to pay IL away" and pressed
onward up the stairs.
But she ran after him and caught
him by the sleeve. Monsieur" she
said. will you forgive my heated
words? Have ever shown doubt OF
your Then forgive me! had no one
else to go to. and then. monsieur, you
you seem trife careless"
"Yes. yes" he said. IL know. Care
less Is very good word. But ] am
not worth your thought. Mamzelle.
though I am as ! wish to be. But you
shall have the money by noon on the
25th."
He went to his room. II was not
quite daybreak. 10 he lighted the lamp
His head was heavy and hot He got
the revolver from the drawer Of the
table.
"But not Just yet ] will work at
those things for Clnvie." he said.
There Will be time for that other
afterward."
He slipped the weapon In his pocket
He picked up the water jug and dash.
ed Its contents over his head.
$50! That cools the oyen." he said.
How do you like Il, Mile. Absinther
The water streamed down his shoul
ders. His face was varnisbed with L.
He seated himself at the table. where
there were a dozen pointed pencils and
q quantity Of dusty paper.
"Honer"
He took q pencil and drew II across
the paper.
"Jean Paul Marat was born he
wrote. when he let the pencil drop.
He picked II up and wrote again:
"Jean Paul Marat was born
He threw the pencil aside.
"Of course he was born." he said. -or
how else did he get hereT
He selected with care q new pencil
His nngers grasped II till the knuckles
whitened He drove II over the paper.
Sheet after sheet was tilled with writ.
Ing and fell to the door The pencil
wore out He took another.
Day came. and the outside light pal.
ed the yellow struggling Of the lamp.
though he did not heed. He wrote and
wrote. He wore out pencil after pen
Gil. The lamp died out. with an evil
smell, but be knew II not From the
storehouse Of his memory he drew
forth the knowledge he had acquired
years ago. when be had been hailed as
rising man whom the world would
yet be proud to acknowledge. At 3
O'Clock in the afternoon the last word
was set down. The ten biographies or.
dered by VI. Clavie were finished.
His hand was cramped. His neck
had pains darling through It. Every
bone In his body seemed wrenched. II
was too late to deliver the manuscripts
that day.
BE threw himself across the bed and
tossed about At last be slept as