The Bon Homme County independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1904-1913, 1909-01-21
a XIV.

And now. after having accused Dan
tin OK lying, believing that he was act
Ing a comedy. after smiling dlsdain7
fully az that cotnmon Inventions vow
which one QUIZ not break-the per-
ception OF a possibility entered the
magistrates mind that this mar might
be sincere. Hitherto he had closed MS
heart against sympathy for this man.
They had met In mutual hostility.
The manner in which Jacques Dam
tin approached the question, the reso-
luton with which he spoke, no longer
resembled the obstinate attitude when
he had BEFORE assumed In this same
room.
Reflection, the prison--the cell, with
out doubt--a frightful and sitting cell
had done its work. The man VINO
had been excited to the point of not
speaking now wished TO tell all.
Yes he said, since nothing has
happened TO convince you thar am
Il am listening to you" said the
Tnen In a long, close conference
JACQUES Dantin told M. Ginory his
story. He related how from early
youth he and Revere had been close
friends; OF the warm affection Whlch
had always existed between thems OF
the shams and receptions of which ne
had been guilty. Of the bitterness OF
his ruined life; of an existence which
ought to have been beautiful, and
Which. SO useless. the life OF a viveur,
had almost made him-why?-how p?
thrc ugh need of money and a lack OF
moral sense. descend to crime.
This Revere, whom he was accused
Of killing, he loved. and, to tell the
truth, in that strange and troublous ex-
istence which he had live'i Revere had
been the only truc friend whom he had
known. Revere, 2 sort of pessimtstic
philosopher, a r~eclise, l~ycanthropic,
after q life spent in feasting, having
surfeite6 himself with pleasure, recog-
niyed also I'm his last years that diSin
ttrested affection is rare in this world
and his savage m~isanthropy softened
before jacques Dantin's warm friend
ship. He continued to search for In
is called pleasure and what as ones hair
whitens becomes vice, in play, In the
uproad of Paris. forgetfulness OF life, or
the dull life of a man growing old,
alope, without home or family, an old,
stupid fellow, whom the young people
look at with hate and say to each other,
why Is he still hereP' Revere more
and more felt the need OF withdraw
ing into solitude. thinking over his
adventurous life. as bad and as ruined
as mine. and he wished to see no one
q wolf, a wild boar in his lair. Can you
uA0tT6ldIu aa IuiS b.. ltltIluStllp
two old fellows. oue OF whom tried In
every way to direct his thoughts from
himself and the other waiting death in
q corner of his fireside, solitary, UNI
s~ociable?"
"Perfectly. Go en-
And the magistrate, with eyes, rivet-
ed upon Jacques Dantin, saw this man,
excited, making light OF this recital or
the past, evoking remembrances OF for
gotten events. OF this lost Affection
lost. as all his life was.
This IS not q conference. Is ii not
so? You no longer believe that IL is a
comedy? / loved Revere. Life had
often separated us. He searched for
fortune at the other end of the world.
made a mess of mine and ate 1t In
Paris. But we always kept up u re-
l~ations, and when he returned to
France we were happy in again seeing
each other. The grayer turned the
hair. TIE more tender the heart became.
1 had always found him m~orose-from
This twentieth year he always dragged
after him a sinister companion-ennui.
He had chosen a consular career, to
iiyesfar away and in a fashion not at
all like ours. / nave often la~ughingly
said to him that he probably had met
with unrequited love: that he had ex-
perienced some unhappy passion. He
said mol / feigned to believe II. One
Is not somber n melancholy like that
without some secret grief. After all,
there are others who do not feel n
gayer with a smile on the lips. Sad
ness Is 40 sign. Neither is gayety!"
Ifis face took on a weary, melan-
choly expression, which at first aston
ished the magistrate; then he expert
enced a feeling of pity. He listened,
silent, and grave,
II will pass over all the details OF
our life, shall / not? My monologue
would be too long The years of youth
raised with a rapidity truly astonish-
ing. We come to the time when we
found ourselves-he, weary of life, es-
tRblished in his chosen apartments In
the Boulevard de Clichy, with his
Y6intings and books. sitting in front of
his fire and awaiting death, / continu-
ing to spur myself on like a f~oundered
horse. Revere moralized to me. !
teered at his sermons, and / went to sit
by his fireside and talk over the past,
one of his Joys had been this portrait
OF me, painted by Paul Baudry. He
had hung IL up in his salon, at the
corner of the chimney piece, at the left,
and he often said to me-:
4" 'Dost thoc know that when thou
are not here l talk to it?'
II was not there very often. Pari-
sian life draws us by its thousand at
fractions. The days which seem in
terminable when one is 20 rush by as
II on wings when one is so. One has
not even time to stop to see h friends
one loves. At the last moment, IL one
Is right. one ought to say: How
have cast to the winds everything pre-
cious which life has given me. How
foolish i have been-how stupid Pay
no attention to my philosophims-the
cell. Mazas forces n to think.
"One day--it was m morning-on
returning from the club where / had
passed the night stupidity losing sums
which would nave given JOY to hun
dreds OF families. / found on my desk
q message from Revere. IL one would
look through my papers, o would
find IL there, 1 kept It. Revere begged
me 10 come TO him Immediately.
shivered-a sharp presentiment OF
death struck me. The writing was
trembling. unlike his own. I STRUCK
my forehead I'm anger. This message
had been waiting. for me since the
night before, while / was spending thu
hours I'm gambling, II, when l hurried
toward the Boulevard de Clichy, / haC
found Revere cad on my arrival,
could not, believe me, have experienced
greater despair: His assassination
seemed to me a~trocious, but / was a
1ract ahIa IN acattra him that HE Pr{aod