The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1909-12-29

''"'-e~'-o-a-s-s-s-s -s-s--s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-
the poor young man from the iron
work above the we'll"
j suppose, Pol, that whatever
happens, Cardillac is doomed II he
remains inside the convent. he falls
into the hands of the abbess. and IL
ne wins his way outside, he is sure
20 De taken by the military. II I
( were confronted by such alternatives.
surrender to the soldiers rather
than TO that sinister old woman. I'd
then be sure of a quick and easy
death, but 1 suspect her royal high
| ness of keeping a private torture
! chamber"
Yes. and TIL warrant YOU she
would enjoy putting il to use. BY
| the way, Francois, did you ever hear
the legend, which IS quite in your
romantic line. that in the days Of her
youth this lady was a favoTite with
the late king?
oh. yes, every one knows that
story, and II was the fickleness of
Henry " that turned her toward a
religious life, and against all man
ITO look at her now, any love story
seems incredible Even you would
! find II impossible to weave a ro-
nance around her gaunt FORM"
Oh, am not so sure Of that.
W men she was a young girl, / can
imagine her very tall and dignihed;
yes and / would not swear but she
may have been beautiful. At any
rate, Henri " was a connoisseur.
! and he certainly succum bed to her
| charms. 1t is not for mere amateurs
IKE us to question the decision OF
the great and amOrous king. Car
dilIac is said to resem BILE him some
| what, but is much handsomer than
! ever Henri was. One might imagine
lhal the ola woman, seeing this re-
! semblance, would be inclined toward
mercy"
Yes, or the reverse. If in the past
the king deserted her"
cat; you do not know which way she
Will Jump Whatever her former
love-dreams may have been, I fancy
poor Cardillac has little mercy to ex-
pect from that quarter. No, now that
you have told me that he and
Therese De Mont-euu never met, /
see another vision ending IN tragedy"
out with IL, Francois"
We'll, here we have CardiIIac.
iresh, as l have said. from the foIIies
and friVOlities of Paris: a youth who
| mas already gone the pace: a cynic
I with any good
Cardillac, in his strained position.
| moved uneasily, muttering fierce i'm
PEecatlonS under his breath. Marie.
VINO had been regarding him intently
heid up her hand in warning. Francois
went dreamily on with his recital.
. ana mere, not twenty-fOur hours
divorced from the boudoir of his CAV
Parlsian demOiselle. he finds himself
a prisoner in the strong COURTYARD OF
the convent Instead of warm, soft
loving arms about his neck he Is on
vironed by the death-cold embrace OF
/ stone walls If he cannot unclaSp
7 this fatal grip. the remainder of his
ire IS measured by minutes rather
IMAM oN hours. He searches hurried
~, but in vain, for an exit and at last
IS interrupted by the footsteps of the
nuns emerging from the chapel. He
nldes himself in cell Picture il, my
dear Poi, and compare it with the
J luxurious, Orient-scented bower he
has so lately left.
Here are bare walls and flag pave
ment instead Of a floor There stands
the narrow bed. with its clean but
common cOverlet, and at its head an
I iron crucifN, black against the white
washed stone. Cardillac hears slow
! IootSteps IN the passage outside. and
springs TO the wall, standing with his
4 back closely plastered against It. in
such position that when the door
! opens II Will for the moment conceal
MN me door does open, and there
enters a nun, perhaps twenty years old
whose pale beauty the white band on
her IOrehedd cannot conceal, but rather
seems 10 enhance. She is Of noble
family, otherwise she had not been
there, and I fancy her inmured in this
convent, not from choice, not from
ieH2lOus enthusiasm, but for some rea-
son known only to her own family: a
Iirl. let Us say, who has seen moth
ing Of the world: one devoted from her
birth TO the conventual life.
cardiac closes the door, and places
his back against it. She turns, a vague
terror in her appealing eyes. while her
open hand IS laid upon her FACILITATING
he3fL They look at each other. a few
steps apart, neither speaking. The con
frast between the two is as great a &
me contrast between the cell and tire
poudolr In Paris, for her sou1ber
badly cut garment covers a gentle heart
tnat has never harbored q wrong
thought His Eaudy. gOld-Iaced cos
tune OF silk and velvet, scarlet and
blue conceals soul cankered with cor
ruptOn.
Mile diablest" groaned the real
CardillaC in the wood.
What was that? I thought I heard
some one speak, cried Francois
The Continuation OF This story VIII