The Bon Homme County independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1904-1913, 1909-01-21
The Crime of 90: =: :
e q ! In Boulevard

INTO tears. Ills embrace was That Oh ~
mai who concentrates in one being all
that remains of hope.
"'Thou-thou are here he said In a
: low one If thou knewesti' :
II was moved to the depths OF my
heart. That manly face, usually so en-
ergetic, wore an expression OF terror
which was in some way almost child
ish, a timorous fright. The tears rose
In his eyes.
"tOh, how / have waited for thee,
how / have longed for theel'
He repeated this phrase with anx-
ious obstinacy. Then he seemed to be
suffocating. Emotion! The sight Of
me recalled to him the long agony of
that night when he thought that he
me for the last time.
For what / have to tell thee
HE shook his head.
1T is the Sc, ret Of my life y
He was lying on a sort OF sick chair
or lounge I'm the library where he
passed his last days with. his books.
He made me sit down beside him. He
took my hand and said:
II am going to die. / believed that
the end had come last night. i called
thee. oh, we'll, IL I had died there Is
one being In the world who would not
have a h fortune which, have
HE lowered his voice as IL he
AAoubH WV MSkCs bplCo hpOh d1 & IL
omeon could hear.
II have a daughter. Yes, even from
thee i have hidden this secret, which
fortunes me-. A daughter who loves me
and who has not the right to confess
this tenderness no more than / have
the right to give her my name. All,
our youth, sad youth! 1 might have
had a home today, a tireside OF my own,
a dear near me, and instead OF that
an affection OF which ! am ashamed
and which / have hidden even from
thee. Jacques-from thee, dost thou
comprehend?
IL remember each of Rovere's words
as If l was hearing them now. This
conversation with my poo friend is
among the most poignant yet most pre-
cious of my remembrances. With much
emotion, which distressed me, the poor
man revealed to me the secret which he
had believed 1t his duty to hide from
me so many years, and / vowed to him
II swore to hin on my honor. and that
Is why l hesitated to speak or rather
refused to speak, not wishing TO COM
promise anyone, neither the dead nor
living-I swore to him, M. lie Juge, to
repeat nothing of what he told me TO
anyone. TO anyone but to her
Herr Intercepted M. Ginory.
His daughter" Dantin replied.
The examining magistrate recalled
Nudh lbllOT III O1dCh WItO 1ldu DctH bCcIl
occasionally at Rovere's apartments
and the little romance OF which Paul
Rodier had written In his paper-the
romance OF the oma I'm black.
And this daughter2'
she BEARS" said Dantin, with q dis
couraged gesture, ''the name OF the
father which the law gives her, and
this name Is a great name, an illus
rrious name, that OF a retired general
officer living in one OF the provinces, a
widower, and who adores the girl who
Is another mans child. The mother is
dead. The father has never been
known. When dying, the mother re-
vealed the secret to the daughter. She
came, by command of the dead, to see
Revere, but as a sister OF charity,
faithful to the name which she bears.
She does not wish TO marry. She will
never leave the crippled old soldier
who calls her his daughter and who
adores her."
oh" said M. Ginory, remaining
mute a moment before this very simple
drama, and In which, in that moment
alyzed, nearly all of the hidden griefs,
the secret tears, the stified sobs, the
stolen kisses. And that Is why you
kept silent?' he asked. ~
Yes, monsieur. Oh, but I could not
endure the torture any longer, and not
seeing the expected release any nearer
] would have sDoken-1 would have
spoken to escap that cell, that sense
OF s~uffocation, / endured there. 1t
seemed to me, however, that I owed 1t
to my dead friend not to reveal his Sc
cret to anyone, not even to you. / shall
never forget Royere's Joy when, re-
lieved of the burden by the confidence
which he had reposed in me, he said
to me that, now hat she who was his
a a. - aau - "A .yaa 49, If.rsn.~ "a Iza
only on the pension of a retired officer
to whom she had appointed herself
nurse, knowing that she was not his
daughter, this innocen child, who has
paying with a life of devotion for tina
sins of two guilty ones, would at least
have happiness at last.
"'She is young, and the one for whom
she cares cannot live always. My for
tune will give her a dowry. And then!'
ut was to me to whom he confded
this fortune. He had very little money
with his notary Erratic and distrust-
full, Revere kept his valuables I'm his
safe, as he kept his books In his library.
1t seemed that he was a collector, pick
ing up all kinds of things. Ayaricious?
No, but he wished to have about him,
under his hand, everything which be-
wished to give what he had directly to
the one whom 1t seemed good to him
to give it and conhde it to me in
trust.
II regret not having asked him d.
rectly that day what he counted on do
ing with his fortune and how he in
tended enriching his child whom he
had not the right to recognize. / dared
not, or, rather, I did not, think OF II.
I experienced g strong emotion when /
saw my friep5 enfeebied and almost
dying. / had known him so different,
so handsome. oh, those poor, sad,
restless eyes, that lowered voice, as II
ne feared an enemy vas listeningl III
ness had quickly, brutally changed that
vigorous man, suddenly old and timor-
Gus. ...
II went away from that first inter-
view much distressed, carrying a Sc
cret which seemed to me a heavy and
cruel one and which made me think OF
the uselessness, the w~ickedness, the
vain loves of a ruined life. But / felt
that Revere owed truly his fortune to
that girl who, the next day after the
death of the one whom she hao
piously attended, found herself poor
and isolated in a little house In g steer
street, near the chateau, above Blois
I-felt that whatever this unknown fa.
Tier left ought not to go to distant