The Washington times., 1902-09-21


mine.
We paid for our lodgings, three COM
modious rooms, though in the mansard; !;
my secretary dragging himself to sit
erect with groans and record the in
creasing debt of myself and my servant.
Come, Skenedonk," then said. Let
US go down to the earth and buy some
thing that Doctor Chantry can eat"
That benevolent Indian was quite as
ready to go to market as to abate human
nuisances. And Doctor Chantry said he
could almost see English beef and ale
across the channel: but translated into
French they would, of course, be nothing
but poulet and sour wine. pillowed his
feeet with bag of down which he had
kicked off his bed, and Skenedonk and
fingered along the paving as we had
many a time fingered through the woods.
There were book stalls few feet square
where a man seemed smothered in his
own volumes; and victual shops where
you could almost feed -ourself for two
or three sous; and people sitting out
doors drinking wine. as IL at general
festival. l thought Paris had comfort
and prosperity-with hereditary kings
overthrown and an upstart in their
place Yet the streets were dirty, with
smell of ancientness that sickened me.
We got loaf of bread as long as a
staff, pot of butter in leaf, and a
bottle of wine. My servant, though un-
used to squaw labor, took on himself
the porterage Of our goods. and / pushed
from street to street, keenly interested
with the novelty, which held somewhere
in its volatile ether the person of Nine.
de Ferrier.
Skenedonk blazed our track with his
observant eye, and we told ourselves we
were searching for DIR. Chantry's beef
Being the unburdeend hunter. l under
took to scan cross places, and so came
unexpectedly upon the Rue st. Antoine,
as man told me it was called, and a
great hurrahing that filled the mouths
of a croud blocking the thoroughfare.
Long live the emperor" they
shouted.
The man who told me the name of the
street, a baker all in white. with his
tray upon his head. objected contemptu-
ously.
"The emperofis not in Paris; he is in
Boulogne.''
"You never know where he is-he is
ere-there-everywher declared an
other workman, in a long dark garment
like a hunting shirt on the outside of his
small clothes.
Long live the emperor!-long live
the emperor"
/ pushed forward as two or three
heavy coaches checked their headIong
speed. and officers parted the crowd.
There he ISL admitted the baker be-
hind me. Something struck me in the
side, and there was Bellenger, the pot
ter, a man thought beyond the seas in
America. His head as l saw it that mo-
ment put the emperor's head out of my
mind. He had a knife, and though he
had used the handle. foolishly caught it
and took it from him. With all his
strength he then pushed me so that l
staggered against the wheel of a coach
"Assassiny' he screamed; and then
Paris fell around my ears.
If anybody had seen his act nobody re-
Trained from joining in the cry.
Assassin! Assassin! To the lamp
post with him.
stood stupified and astonished as an
owl blinking in the sunshine, and two
guards held my collar. The coaches
lashed away, carrying the man of des-
tiny-as have since been told he called
himself-as rapidly as possible, leaving
the victim of destiny to be bayed at by
the many y-headed dog. the mongrel popu-
lace Of Paris.