The News-Herald. [volume] (Hillsboro, Highland Co., Ohio) 1886-1973, 1908-09-03

quent oil lamps alone lit up the
Streetof the Fountain and st. Mi
chael's square. They reveled still down
at the Hotel de Paris, whittier Max Won
Hollbrandt and a dozen others had
hurried with the news of the evenings
great event. But here, on the borders
of the old north quarter, all grew still
the Golden Lion empty, the townsmen
to their beds, the soldiers to barracks,
full of talk and fears and threats. Yet
light still burned in the round room
in the keep of Suleiman's tower, and
the commandant's servant still expect
ed his royal master. Peter Vassip, a
sturdy son of Volseni, had no apprehen-
sions, but he was very sleepy, and he
and the sentries were the only men
awake. zone might as well be a sol
dier at oncew he grumbled, for the men
Of the hills did not esteem the regular
army so high as 1t rated itself.
The commandant fingered In the
Street OF the Fountain. Serglus Stefan
ovltch was half Bourbon. but It was
the intellectual half. He had the
strong, concentrated, rather narrow
mind Of a Bourbon of before the fam
fly decadence. On II his training at
Vienna had grated military pre-
cislon, perhaps pedantry, and no lit
tie added scorn of what men called lib
erty and citizens called civil rights.
What rights had man against his
country? His country was in his king,
and to the king the army was his su-
preme instrument. So ran his public
creed his statesman's instinct. But
beside the Bourbon mother was the
Kravonian father, and behind him the
long line of mingled and vacIllating for
tunes which drew descent from Stefan,
lord of Praslok, and famous relver OF
lowland herds. In that stock the tenn
perament was dlfferent-indolent to
excess sometimes, ardent to madness
at others. moderate seldom.
And for any young man the fight In
the Enthusiastically illuminated night the
virgin with the broken lamp, near
touch Of the scythe of death and girls
white face at the window? Behind the
commandants stern wrath-nay be-
side, and soon before II, for the mo-
ment dazzling his angry eyes-came
the bright CLEANS of romance.
He knew who lodged at the sign OF
the Silver Cock. Marie Zerkovitch was
his friend. Zerkovitch his jealous fol
lower. The Journalist was back now
from the battlefields of France and was
writing articles for the Patriot, the
leading paper Of Slavna He was deep
in the princes confidence, and his lit
tie house on the south boulevard often
received this distinguished guest. The
prince had been keen to hear from Ter
kovitch of the battles, from Marie Of
the life In Paris. With Marie's tale
came the name and what she knew Of
the story of Sophie de Gruche. Yet al
ways, in spite Of her praises of her
friend, Marie had avoided any oppor-
tunity of presenting her to the prince.
Excuse on excuse she made, for his
curiosity ranged around Casimir de
Savres' bereaved lover. "Oh, / shall
meet her some day, all the same" he
had said. laughing, and Marie doubted
whether her reluctance-a reluctance
to herself strange-had not missed its
mark, infinmng an interest which II
had meant to balk. Why this strange
reluctance7 So far It was proved base
less. His first encounter with the lady
OF the red star-Casimir's poetical sobrl-
quet had passed Marie's lips-had been
supremely fortunate.
From the splash Of blood to the bro
ken virgin, from the broken virgin TO
the open window and the dark room
behind, his restless glances sped. Then
came swift, impulsive decision. He
caught up the bronze figure and enter
ed the porch. He knew Meyerstein's
shop and that from II no staircase led
to the upper floor. The other door was
his mark, and he knocked on 1t, rails
ing first with a cautious touch, then
more resolutely, the. old brass hand
with Hospitality beckoning finger which
served for knocker. Then he listened
for a footstep on the stairs. II she
came not, the venture
AIjlA some night went un-
-