The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1900-03-16

$1,000 49,
right had he to wear rings when he
owed half a years rent?
'eThen there is something the mat
ter" he said. "You-you have not been
frightened during my absenceY'
81 am used to being alone" she n
swered, with dry mouth. sit is not
that"
'3Then what is itY' he queried. els
it the mice? These old houses are over
run with mice. You should keep q
cat"
Monsieur" she said, you have net
found me unreasonable?'
"Assuredly not" he told her.
81 am not easily put into bad hui
morY'
Indeed, no."
"You do not find me annoying or in
sistent|
"You are the most retiring Of .crea-
lures"
..Then it is this" she said-"that is,
l mean. If monsieur will pardon me for
being SO bold, l should find good use
for a little money just now-not much.
say 60 francs. l could not accept more
than 90 francs. The fact is, l have or
dered a tombstone for my fathers
grave. Dalcour, who makes it, is n
great friend Of Cariere. across the way,
SO he lets me have it at a low price.
Indeed, it is quite an occasion But
he has been SC deceived he knows not
whom to trust, and a tombstone made
for a certain person is not pleasant
goods to have returned on ones hands.
He asks me for 60 francs on account
on the 25th, which is the day after to-
morrow-it Is my fathers birthday
and at noon, when he pays his men.
Then the tombstone goes up. The rest
of the money l pay in a year. which is
certainly most reasonable Of Dalcour.
But l have not the 60 francs. l have
promised 1t, though, and 1t grieves me
to think ! may not keep my word. If
monsieur would kindly let me have
that amount. not a franc more, l should
be infinitely obliged. l should not be
so pressing only that my word is pledg-
ed that Dalcour 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 fine expressions.
"Honor!" He smiled. "Honor!"
Mamzelle was on fire in an instant.
Eyes, honor!" she cried. What have
l but honor? l have no wealth. l have
lost my youth. There is no one who
cares for me. l have only. honor. My
word Is not doubted because 1T has al.
ways been sacred to me-. Honor! I
know how it is with.those who have 1t
not. have sorrowed and shamed for
n who let his honor fall to the dirt.
1t was my father. He was believed of
no man. He had no friends. Alone I
followed him to the grave. Honor! 1t
is all l have in the world. and L will
carry 1t with me unsoiled UP to the
good God" 4
She was painting. her hand Up over
her heart. Besson was looking straight
before him, a strange expression in his
eyes.
But monsieur does not attepd,' said
Mamzelle.
She had to speak to him a second
time. Then he pulled himself together.
"Mamzelle." he said. you shall have
the 60 francs on the day you have
promised to pay it 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 l ever shown doubt Of
un,IS 1N,np fp,riva ,,nI I h0H noo-
else to go to, and then. monsieur, you
you seem a tri1e careless"
Eyes, yes" he said, 81 know. Care
less is a very good word. But / am
not worth your thought, Mamzelle,
though l am al l wish to be. But you
shall have the money by noon on the
25th."
He went to his room. It was not
quite %daybreak. so he lighted the lamp.
His head was heavy and hot. He got
the revolver from the drawer. of. the
table.
But not just yet. I will work at
those things. for Clavie." he said.
'sThere will be time for that other
! afterward.".
He slipped the weapon in his pocket.
He picked up the water jug and dash
ed it's contents over his head.
80! That cools the oven," he said.
How do you like it, Mile. Absinthe? 2"
The water streamed down his shout
ders. His face was vanished with it.
He seated himself at the table, where
there We're a dozen pointed pencils and
a quantity Of dusty paper.
"Honsr!'
He took a pencil and drew it across
! the paper.
Jean Paul Marat was born he
wrote. when he let the pencil drop.
He picked it up and wrote again:
Jean Paul Marat was born
He threw the pencil aside.
"Of course he was born" he said. sori
how else did he get here?"
He selected with care a new pencil.
His fingers grasped it till the knuckles.
Whitened. He drove it over the paper.
Sheet after sheet was filled with writ
ing and fell to the floor. The pencil
Wore out. He took another.
Day came. and the outside light pal