The Chanute times., 1900-11-16
CHAPTER VII.

Dinner was very late that day, for
Henri did not return home from
visit to the police station until long
after the usual hour. and then Moilie
heard him tell his mother that the
( rrmor must have originated through
some tramp being taken up with sus-
picious articles In his possession; but
otherwise the inspector had no further
clue to the perpetrator of the crime,
It was q warm night. almost sultry'
and Mollie opened the long French
windows and went out onto the pan
tiles. leaving them alone, though
Henri's high tones sneerlng at the
English police, and at madame for be-
lieving all she heard. reached her for
some time.
How soft and fresh the air felt; how
high above her head the myrlads OF
stars were twnkling in the vast
vaults Of heaven! There was whis-
por of coming summer In the little
breeze that Just lifted the curls on her
brow, speaking of the primroses that
were blooming down by the stream,
the violets in the shady woods. The
roof covering the pantiles was sup
ported by iron pillars, and the scene
was the same as from her bedroom
window, which was just above. But
Molie never tired of it. and was stand
ing in dreamy thought, when volc,
close to her startled her.
"Ah! mademoiselle. | have found
you at last. | have been looking for
you everywhere!" said Henri briskly,
closing the glass doors. "You enjoy
the lovely night-yes?"
Anyone would, monsieur" Mollie
replied. adding mlschievously: Sure
ly it makes you think of Paris-the
lights, music, dancing, and all that
kind OF thing-does 1t not?"
"You are laughing at me, medemoi-
selle," he said, with a very genuine
sigh as the vision rose before him.
"But tell me, would you not like to
go there, see all these things-are you
not tired Of being here?"
"Oh, no. Why, when I was in Ger
many was just longing to be homo
to watch the flowers come out, to
ramble in the woods"
Henri shrugged his shoulders and
glanced down at his dainty boots.
'Yet it is very unpleasant for you"
he argued. "My mother is peculiar
She has never recovered from the sh )cll
of her brothers. sudden death. Two
years with her would appal me, were
girl. And had / the chance OF
going to beautiful Paris, having a
home of my own, husband devoted
to me, l should take it, would not
your"
"No!" said Mollie quickly, suppress
ing a gasp of dismay. Besides, what
good would they be to me If l were
not devoted, too. am going in"-and
she moved TO the window.
"Stay, do not be so cruel!" and he
stepped in front of her. "You know
love, adore you. Only say. Henri, I
return your ardent affection, and will
be yours!' and my life will be spent |
in making you happy"
But l don't--I never could" she
cried, not waiting to choose her words |
in her hurry. Nor do you love me. |
Henri, so let us say no more about it."
Il tell you l dol" protested he sui
lenly. why do you doubt me? Con-
sent, and will carry you to my gay
Paris and teach you to love!" And he
came nearer and laid hand on her
arm.
Instinctively she shrank back. His
face, sanow and cunning, was too near
to be pleasant; his black eyes were
fixed, with an expression of assured
triumph, on hers. Clearly to be read |
in them was the conviction that he,
Henri Dubois, was hardly likely to
be refused, that no girl could resist
when he pleaded. And yet there was
a certain admiration there too, which
she had felt and ha.ed for the last
few weeks.
J.