Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1911-01-19
mouth was contorted and. his lips COW

mouth was contorted and. his lips GOV.
cred with foam.
"Stop!" I cried. "It Is more than
pity that melts in my heart at this
moment. There are no words to ex-
press the grief, the hopelessness IN
which you have plunged me. On &C
count OF that girl you became a matri-
eide. All! you call that love! That Is
the human BEAST"
And in spite Of my horror-in spite
of my maledictions, kept my arm
around my son. as though to shield
him. did not cease to Overwhelm
him with both curses and caresses; be-
cause, II cursed the brute who struck
his own mother, felt within me the
eternal tenderness or the eternal
weakness, which chained me to my
own son, this pledge of my love for
Gabrielle, my wife, I held him with
all my strength; threw him back on
the couch with all my might, and flung
at his face, in maddening contradic-
ton, all my loathing. and all my
paternal love!
His voice ratified in his throat; his
eyes stared stupidity.
Dead! She is dead! Lucie! Lucie!'
Then suddenly he became dull, I'M
der the weight Of paralyzing stupor;
the tears rolled down his livid cheeks
and through his set teeth
"she Is dead! Mother is dead! Lucie
is dead!"
At that moment 1t was not clear to
me If his remorse surpassed his love,
or, in what measure of affection the
poor, dazed boy mingled in his delirium
his mothers name and the name OF
Lucie Well.
It would have been easy for me to
put the climax to his greatness and tell
him things that would make his brain
whirl-to cry out, for example, the SIM
pie truth-to have said:
"Polydore, am no longer Barrabas;
I am Charles Douglas, an American
citizen, the business partner OF the
millionaire paper king; and a month
ago was to have married Lucie Well
at the registry office at Neuilly. You
may be at rest, Polydore, your rival,
William Kingsley, will not marry Lucie
for the alienist who sheltered you and
saved you from the guillotine, Is going
to marry your sister, Evelyne, and |
have just handed over to your uncle,
Marcadian, wedding present for them
of half a million dollars"
If II had uttered these words to Poly
dore-words which in appearance were
so extravagant, but which were, how
ever, only the exact expression OF a
simple truth-they would have crazed
him beyond all measure. But there was
no reason why should explain all this
to Polydore; ! did not wish to terrify
him. had other things to tals about.
He was now quite calm. 'et his
arm fall and sat down near the couch.
His face had resumed it's natural ex-
preston; his eyes were clear and
questioning.
"Tell me what l ought to do and
will obey YOU"
"My son" I replied, ''you have pre-
scribed your punishment yourself.
Your words were prophetic; the day
that you struck your poor mother,
when you said: will suicide be sufh-
cent punishment"
Assuredly, no! That would have
been. too lenient for your dastardly
crime; it was not chance that sent
you into this ,lunatic, asylum, and it will
not be chance that will get you out OF
it. ID. 1870 .
what do YOU mean. father
THAT you will never go out Of this
cell, where you are buried alive, Poly
dore, swear it on the faith OF Barra
bas."
He looked at me with smile which
seemed like hideous grimace.
"And If the doctor insists upon my
going?"
"Tll settle that" I replied.
"And II / tell the whole truth to the
doctor, II confess all and tell him
that am Evelyne's brother, what
them
"Ill settle that too," I said.
drew small revolver out of my
pocket and held the cold steel barrel un
der his nose, as he jeered at me. He
shrugged his shoulders in contempt.
"You are giving yourself a lot Of
trouble for nothing he said. "Lucie Is
dead, is she not? Eth bin, 1T is as
though I were dead. What does any
thing in the world matter now? II you
call this punishment-to be forever
closed up in this madhouse-B Bah =
And he turned over on his couch
with his face to the wall. his forehead
in his hands, and began to cry quietly
I got up and left the cell, my
shoulders bent under the crushing
weight Of his useless remorse AID the
fear Of the inexplicable future, which
in spite of my boasting assurances, II
my heart was not more sure Of
than he.
CHAPTER XIV.
At The Salon.
We were at the Autumn Salon. We