22)8 I)435D4-E A^ A ^^= A = en = ^^■^ — 1 ^ ^^^^ m = 33 OM 4 — ^^ ^ 4 = 3 m ^S^ CD 33 8 = = 33 yl ^S 4 — ^= J> 1 = ^^= r^ — ( ^S ^ 2 - _ Walraven Two orphans THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES yijeDeptliofa Sisters Love y/ii. 51? ii ^^ ^j ff5>'perforn]ed atti^'^^^'°n Square Th,8atre, IXY Yl r-.WALKAVKN. /,. ^V///^/// I^K. 'J. //). (///r / (^/:.,. //^ry/j/uv,/. P« P Qr^ r. VKMAN ST. ^=^0 & 30 BEl\ ■V 1 .--J THE TWO ORPHANS. H Kivm ETT h:. BLllVID LOTJISE. .-i=^ THE TWO ORPHANS: OE. The Depth of a Sister's Love. A thrilling story of Parisian I4fe, an adaptation from the play of the " Two Orphant" now heinff performed at the Union Square Theater, BT E. G. WAI.RAVEN. Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1875, by NoRMAN L. MUNRO & Co., w» tie I Office of the lAbrari^n of Congress at Washington. >■♦•»■ NEW YORK : NOEMAN L. MUNEO & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, 28 & 30 BEEKMAN STREET. I > \ x^> r=*:. y •pa THE TWO ORPHANS. CHAPTER I. FBOH NOEMANDY TO PARIS. The dnsty dilligence which rolled over the hard road /roin Evreux to Paris on a certsiiu 'warm Bumiiier's day ill the year 18 — , contained but two paaaeugera, and those young girla. As they sat on the hard leathern seat, weary from the effects of the long ride which would cause more ma- lure persons to look jaded, one can see that so en- jirossed are they with the thoughts of their arrival iu Paris that they forget the discomforts of the journey iu the speculatiou of their reception. '• Ana you are quite certain that the kind Monsieur Martin will meet us, sister?" asked the younger for at least the twentieth time since the commencment of i the ride. " He must be awaiting our arrival, Louise ; for did I ^lot write to say that we were coming ? " replied Hen- <'fiette as she smoothed her sister's fair hair with a caressing motion which was unusually tender even for It sister, and as one looks into the young girl's face they can see the reason of the watchful care which Heun- etle exercLses over her sister. Louise is blind. 'But it he should not bo there!" persisted the blind girl '•Then we will go to his house. I have the address. We will not think of his not being there, sister mine; but rather enjoy the ride. I will describe to you every- thing we meet. For answer Louise nestled close beside her sister, aiid laid her head with its wealth of golden hair upon her shoulder. Wliili Henridtte is thus engaged let us explain why the two young girls were thus journeying alone to tlio great citv. Nearly six months previous to the opening of our Storv the girls were bereft of their only protector by tha cold hand of death, and had been oHer«d a home in Paris l)y .Monsieur Martin who was a cousin of the dn- ceased mother. For severtil months the girls had remained with their kind friends in N-irmandy, liiigeiing nearlhL-ir childhood's h^mti, as if intuition had warned them of Utv 'jh^; train of evils which would attend them at the capital. They had started for Paris, thinking th:it no other warning to tlieir relative, -save a letter which was des- patched the day previous to their departure, was U'-- cessary. So much for the rea^^on of their jouru'iy. and before the orphans arrive in Paris. \v» will visit the hotel oc- cupied by the Marcjui.-i de Presles, whose vile schem- ing caused so much miiery to our heroines. The marquis was the representative of one of t;:e oldest families in Paris; but unlike his affceslors, he was notorious as a libertine and a roue. Every pleasure that wealth or sin could pnrchase was his, and in that citv of crime and pleasure, none so reauy as he to adopt anv pclipme, ho^vever vile, to attain some new pleasure which should gratify his depraved taste. Seated before abreakfiHt table loaded with every ^'^''cacv wTiioti could temnt an appetite iilrpady blunt- ed by ai:incp." "I will use the old remedy, and then you can awake her whenever von wish, as yi>u have the antidote," re plied Laflenr as li^ ro< •when he was aroused from his reverie by the clo.-'ing j with a shudder. veloped the stout formiu a manner indicative of great comfort to the wearer. A pair of small, hard, gray eyes iwiuUled from the fat, round face, which was bordered with short, black hair that formed a distinct beard, and one on seeing La Prochard for the first time would have judged her to be an easy, happy old soul, whose ouly care iu life was to provide a good dinner, and whose only want was the material for a good dish of gossip. A change came over Pierre's face as lie saw her. A change which plainly told that this poor bent form was to receive some insult which would cut deeply the great, honest heart which it held. In a painfully limping manner he approached the woman, and in a tender, iuifiloriug voice, said : " Why mother is that you ? '' "Yes* it's me, you lazy, good-for-nothing." replied -the affectionate mother, as she gazed at her deformed / boy, while a look of scorn passed over iier face, com- y pletely changing herinto a hard grasping old woman. '^ A look of sorrow came over the poor cripple's face as he put out his hands as if to ward oH the cruet words. " Lazy ?" he repeated. " Why, mother, I do all fhe work I can." " Work ! " exclaimed the old woman, as she smiled incredulously. " You call that work ? Bah! -why did Heaven bless you with such a beautiful deformity. Why, to earn your living by, you puny, limping crip- Ele — and vou work when all you need to do is to sit ere, hold out your hand, and make your fortune." And as La Prochard finished speaking she turned away with a gesture expressive of disgust at the hon- est living her son was trying to earn. A tear came intoPiene'a eyes as his mother finished speaking, and he answered sadly. " Mother, I cannot beg, it is not possible."' "Eh? Not possible — why noti" queried mother Prochard in a sharp, rasping voice. " Mother," said Pierre going toward her, and lay- ing a thin wasted hand upon her arm ; when I was an infant you carried me through the streets and taught me to repeat begging prayers I did not under- stand. Thev put money into your pocket, and I knew no shame. But now it is different. You drove me out and bade me come here to beg. When I knelt and held out my hand to ask alms in the name of the mis- fortunes with which Heaven has chastised me, shame choked my utterance, and I was overcome by anger at my own humiliation. A passer-by looked on ine with pity, and put a triflin>< coin in my hand. A great lump came in my throat, and mv eyes" tilled with tears. No mother I cannot beg — I cannot, I c.-innot ! " , And as Pierre finished speaking, he returned to his machine, and leaning over it seemed to pour out bis grief to llie rude structure. • " You undutiful son," exclaimed the old woman in a burst of anger. "You had rather leave your poor brother and me to starve." This unkind thrust roused Pierre, and he answered quickly : " My brother need not starve. He has health and strentrtii, and vet you support him in idleness." " Why should my beautiful Jacques work 1 " demand- ed the o"l^ wonian'with u look of disdain at the cripple. "My handsome boy, -the very imaffe of his poor, dead father that those scoundrels of the law robbed me of." " He suffereil death for a murder of which they found him guilty," timidly suggested Pierre. " And can I look to you to avenge himl" asked the old woman m derision. " No, no ; my handsome Jacques will do that one of these days. He's no milk- sop. Nothing iVightens him." No! not even ti'.e sight of blood," answered Pierre THE TWO ORPHANS, "Shut np; von are good fornotliing but to be hon- est," screamed Mother Frochani, iu afuiy. '"I hate houest people ; scum that imposes on the poor '' - At this moment the old woman's tirade was inter- rupted by the appearance of seveial people who were coming toward them, aud changing her voice sudden- ly from one of deepest anger for a wliining tone habit- tual to professional beggars, she went toward them with outstretched hanils, repealing the words she had so vainly endeavored to force Pierre ro lepeat. " Chaiity, good people. Charity for the love of Heaven ! " The poor cripple went back to his machine with a despondent air, and poured out his troubles in an un- dertone to thai companion. " Perhaps she ia right, I am good for nothing except to be honest. Alas! I have ueverhad any one to teach me." Pierre'8 musings were destined to be disturbed on this evening, for he heard a k)ud, rough voice behind him which caused him to start with fear. It was that of his brother Jacques. The liandsome Jacques, as his mother had called hiiii, and if a good specimen of a ruffian may be called liandsome, then Jacques was a perfect beauty. He was a tall, strong, well-formed fellow of some twenty-four years, with a face that betokened brutal- ity in every "feature. He was dressed with a view to effect: wearing the liowered waistcoat so much m vague at that period. A red handkerchief was bound around his head, and on it was a wide brimmed hat, blue stockings reaching to liis knees, and in hia tars hung large gold hoops which were supposed to lend an air of distinction to \Jlie whole costume. In liis mouth was a black clay pipe, and his whole bearing was that of a man who is — well satisfied witli himself, and who expected the rest of the world to admire him. " Hello ! Here is the old woman and her precious abortion of a son,"' was his fiibt greeting, as he Jaugh- I'l) heartily at the sight of poor Pierre bending over liis work. " Has Marianne come yet, mother ? " '■ Not yet, my son," replied the old woman, gazing at her son in admiration. " Never mind, she'll come in time,'' lie said, half to himself and half to his mother. Then as he heard a noise from the crowd he had just left in the cabaret, he cried out : " You can order eveiytliing you want, wine, brandy, anything, I'll stand it. Alarmed at this outbreak of liberality on Iier son's part, Mother Prochard asked quickly " My son, are you going to pay ? Have you found a purse i" " No , but Marianne has. I have ordered her to bring me some money, and she'll do it.'' This answer appeared to please the old woman, for *^6he clasped her hands as if in an ecstaoy of joy and ad- miration, and exclaimed in a low voice: " Isn't he in agood humor V "Como here, Pierre," ordered Jacques, in astern voice. The cripple looked up, and for an instant seemed hesitatint; whether to obev or not; but a warning look from his brother deciilcil him, and ho went slow- ly towards the man who knew neither pity nor love for his afflicted brother. "Look here, cripple ! Good children always give an account of Iheir eaj-nings to their parents," said Jacques, in a sarcastic tone. Then turning to the old woman, he asked : " Isn't that so, moilier ? " "Certainly, my lamb. You have excellent princi- ples," and again the ol- " Well, what if I do ? " was Jacques' brutal answer. " Itia unjust," said Pierre. "It's so like " "That's enough," interrupted Jacques. "I want your money, but none of your fine speeches. How much have you got?" And lie made a gesture as though to strike his broth- er should his demand not be complied with quickly enough. Pierre saw that it was useless to resist, and drawing out a handful of small coins he proceeded to count tliem. "Twenty two livres, seven sous, and six deniers,'' he answei-ed, as soon as he ascertained the amount. Jacques took, the money from Pierre's hand with a motion which caused the cripple to whine with pain, and as he put them in bis capacious pocket, he said with the tone of a man who has been defrauded of his just; dues. "And all this fuss about that. Why, what have vou been doinjs would admit of. little thinking what the dili^renee would brini; that day. and how closely hia life would be connected with one ol tlie occupants at \ ! least. ill am III 01^ THE TWO ORPHANS. CHAPTER III. THE ODTCAST. As Pierre said, the Normaudy coach iiad last arrived ; 'l>iit the poor cripple saw at a glance that his chance of •araing a few aous was hopeless. The only passengers that alighted from the ricketty «ld coach, were the two young girls whom we have seen in onr first chapter. They alighted in a dazed sort of manner, as if the bustle and din of the great city had confused thera, and Henriette leading Louise by the hand, entered the open space in front of the coach office. A bench (which from the numerous marks of knives and pencils upon it, showed that it served as a resting place tor the loungers who always cluster around places of this kind, and talk horsey slang while admir- lug the noble brutes that form the establishment or the proprietor) was just outside the office door, aud to this Henriette led her blind sister. "Sit here, Louise," she said, in a low, sweet voice, which told all the love she felt for the afflicted girl. Henriette looked vainly around for the relative whom they expected to meet ; but not a person was to be seen. She could not repress a feeling of anxiety ; but she bravely strove to hide her feelings from Louise. But the blind girl was anxious as well as Henrietta. "lam surprised that Monsieur Martinis not here to meet us,"' she said half to herself. Henriette's qaick ear caught the murmur, and she endeavored to divert her siater'i mind. "Oh, he'll come soon," she said, reassuringly. Then to occupy the blind girl's mind with other matters than their own condition, she added : " Oh ! Louise, Paris is beautiful. Oh, my poor sister, if you could only see its wonders !" ''^ Tel I me what you see. Where are we?" asked Louise, excitedly. '' In an open square at the end of a beautiful bridge," answered Henriette, looking around her, " which has a magnificent statue in the middle." " That must be the Pout Neuf," said Louise as she remembered the picture which Henriette had called op to her mind. " Papa used to speak of it." " And on this side I can see two great towers," con- tinned the beaatiful girl who was thus supplying the place of her sister's sight. " It must be Notre Dame." " Noire Dame," repeated Louise, sadly, as she arose from her seat. " How I wish I could see it. It was on that spot, that I, a helpless infant, was left to per- ish," and as the blind girl thus recalled the thoughts of the past, the tears, unbidden, came to her eyes, aud the sightless orbs were turned towards the spot she would see, as if they would burst their filmy vail aud, forced by her grief, gaze upon the spot where she had been left to die of cold or starvation. " It was there your dear father found me. But for him I should have died — ^perhaps — perhaps that would have been better," she aaded in a tone of anguish that was almost a wail, 80 much misery was there embodied in it. " My darling sister ! " exclaimed Henriette, " why do you say that?" "Because," replied Louise in the same sad tone, "I should not have lived to become blind and unhappy." " Louise, do not speak thus," said Henriette as she clasped her sister in her arms, " Onr dear parents lov- ed us both alike — you were their consolation and hap- piness, and it was their first grief when Heaven de- prived you of your sight." 'Misfortune pursues me, sister," replied Louise, re- fusing to be comforted, " for scarcely had this afflic- tion befallen me when we were left orphans without help or friends." " No, no, dear Louise ! " interrupted Henriette, "not without friends I hope I have turned all we possessed into money, and we are in this great Paris, where there are skilful doctors who will soon restore i my poor Louise's eyes to their old time brightness," ■ and there was in Henriette's voice something which ever had the power to cheer her afflicted sister. '' Heaven grant that your hopes may be realized.' said Louise more hopefully. Then thinking of tiieir present situation again, she asked. " But where can Monsieur Maitin be 1 Why aoes be not come for nsl" For a moment Henriette had forgotten the forsaken condition in which they were. Alone in Paris, with- out frieuds, or even acquaintances, and unless the relative whom they were expecting should come for them, what could they dol Henriette hardly dared to think of such an alterna- tive, and more to satisfy her sister than from any ex- pectation of finding him, she proposed to go aud look for Monsieur Martni. As Henriette went to look for Monsieur Martin, a young woman of about twenty years of age, entered the open space in front of the cabaret, and stood gazing sadly at the swift-ruuniug river. Her face was that of a woman who had ouce been beautiful; but who was now pursued by remorse and sorrow. Her garments were scrupulously clean and neat; but with no attempt at display, and she wander- ed about like one having no aim or purpose save to es- cape from her own thoughts. She stood silent and motionless as if she were some quaint figure of wood or stone rather than a woman in whose breast love and hate could wage eternal con- flict, so absorbed was she in her bitter thoughts, that her face expressed her feelings as well as words could have done. Henriette retuiued to her sister with the infor- mation that their relative could not be seen, and just at that moment a burst of laughter and music came from the half-open door of the caoaret, which prevented the wanderer from hearing Heurietie's approach or hier voice. Among the voices which could be heard from the drinking saloon, Jacques Frochard's coarse, brutal tones could be distinguisived, and as she heard it, the poor young woman started as tliough Stung by a viper. " Yea, it is his voice," she said as she turned so as to face the door of the cabaiet, "his voice singing and laughing. Aye! drink and carouse! forget her whose heart you have broken. Enjoy yourself while the vic- tim of your biutality seeks the only refuge left her — death ! The river is near, one plunge and it will all be over. May my dying shriek of despair ring ia your ears as a never-ending curse. And in the extremity of her anguish the wanderer rushed toward the wall aud the sudden death she sought. Goaded by despair the u'lhappy woman was about to yield up her life to her Maker in all its sin, for- getting that if it was too vile for this world what would • be its appearance there where all was holy. As she was about to commit this rash act, her wild and almost maniacal gaze rested on several persons who were passing near, and she drew back eliuadering. " No, it is not yet dark enough," she muttered, '• I should be seen and perhaps saved." As she said this she clasped her hands to her head, and seeniiugiy bewildered by the conflict of passions sank down upon the cold, damp pavement. Henriette, who had been regarding the strange ap- pearing woman, exclaimed as she fell : " What can be the matter with that woman ? She has fallen ; she must be ill." " Go to her and see if you can aid 'her, . go. lis- ter !' exclaimed Louise, quickly, and in her excite- ment rising from the seat and endeavoring to grope her way to the prostrate woman. Like some angel of mercy Henriette went to the world weaiy woman, and in a voice which resembled a silvery chime of vesper bells, so gratefully did they fall upon the wanderer's ears, asked : "Pardon me, madam ; can I do anything for youl ' "You can do nothing." " You seem exhausted ; are you suffering ? " "Yes, yes ; I am suffering !'' As she said this, thus invited the pity, as n were, of ; THE TWO OKPi^A^•S. **I-e«voiue! I..eave me! and do not at.emrtt to save me I ' THE TWO ORPHANS. the good angel beside her, she arose from the ground, and Louise, who had been listening to the short con- versHtion, eagerly said to Heurieite — and there was a world of pathos in her voice — " She said that with a voice full of misery and des- pair. "Help her, sister." Henriette needed not to be prompted to do a char- itable action ; but her sister's words caused her to re- double her efforts to assist the poor woman. " Madam, have confidence in us," she said kindly. "We are not rich ; but if we can help you " " I have already told you," interrupted the woman almost fiercely, " that I want nothing. There are griefs that cnnuot be consoled ; sufferings that cannot be alleviated. I only wish to — to " " YoQ wish to die !" exclaimed Louise, as she clasp- ed hsr hands in an agony of griet at the thought of the other's sutterings. 'V; "Who told you that ?" asked tne woman passion- ' ately. " How do you know I want to die V * " I feel it while 1 listen to you." answered the blind girl, who standiny with her hands clasped, re- sembled more one of Raphael's Madonnas thar. a sim- ple country girl. ''Do you not know that we who are blind whom no external object distracts, listei; ^ w'ith our whole being.'" " Tell us your troubles," said Henriette aoothingly. " Perhaps we can relieve them." The woman gazed sadly at the fair girl who would thus take another's sorrows upon herself, in the hope of lightening the unhappy one's burden. " Why should 1 tell you when you do not even know me?" slie said slowly, and at the same time as if she wished to pour out all her troubles. " You have never seen me before, and yet you pity me. No, no ; there is no help for me. Leave me, leave me, and do uot attempt to save' me." . ^-'feshe finished speaking, the unhappy woman turn- ed awav, and would have lef: the place, but that she heard Heuriette's voice. " Stay," she said in a pleading tone. " For the love of heaven do not leave us thus," entreated Louise. The poor woman was not proof against these plead- ings, and yet she hesitated to open Jier heart, wicked as it was, to these pure girls. " I am pursued by the officers of the law," she said hurriedly. " I have not strength to fly farther, and they will arrest me." " What have you donel " asked Henriette pityingly. " I have stolen," answered the woman, and as she saw the young girls shudder, she added quickly as if in extenuation " I have stolen money committed to my ciuo. All the savings of a poor working girl. I stole it for him, lor a wretch wuom i fear ; but whom alas, I love.' At .-this moment Jacoues' voice was heard from the fabaret, and it sounded like some mocking fiend ex- ulting over his triumphs. " Good joke — a capital joke." What demon could have put into his mouth those words, which probably would have expressed exactly his idea of the repentance of the girl whom he had so wronged. '' Listen, said the woman quickly, while a look of pain passed over her face, " that is his voice. He is there wasting in debauchery the money purchased by my crime. When I am away from him my reason re- tnrns, and I only feel the hate his baseness inspires. Alas! when he speaks to me uiy hale disappears ; I cower and ti'emblo before him, and am his slave. I have stolen for him, and I believe I would kill at his .bidding." She remainey^p^jye\y. You must try not to think of her tonight." A prayer went up from the poor girl's heart that lorsisttM- might bo speedily restored to her, and she lilently followed the old woman. After they had walked, as it seemed to Louise, mnnv niles, Mother Frochard stopped before a house whicli Tom outside ai>pearancc, had formerly been a boat- louse. It was in the last stages of decay, and the whole surroundings seemed a tit abode for crime. " Here wo are, my dear; here we are at lant!" said the old woman as she led Louiso through a long, dark passage, and then down several damp, monhly steps, Rud left, her standint; in a small entry, reeking with noisome odors, while she fumbled in her capacious pockets for the key. The door was opened at last, and the two entered a ' large square room, the furniture of which was of the | rudest aescriition. Two large, bam-like doors which opened on the water-front, and which were barred with heavy wooden bars, shesv that at some verv re- mote time the building had been used, as its outside ap- pearance indicated, for a boat-house. A ttittht of steps led from the ci^nter of the room to what was probably the garret; but several straw beds in one corner of the room, shew that the lower floor was the only portion of the house which was used. Lonise shuddered as she entered the damp, disagree- able-smelling room ; but herfeelings wouki have been much worse could she have seen the vile place, and the gleam of triumph which shone on the old woman's eyes as she saw that she had her prize securely caged. " Sit down here," said La Frochard, " and I will get you something to eat." And the old woman led Lonise to a chair, where, by placing her hands ou her shoulders, she forced her to be seated. " I do not care to eat, madam," said Lonise, pite- ously. " If you will allow me to go to my room 1 will retire." "Goto your room? "'cried Mother Frochard, in a hard, shrill voice from which all the assumed tender- ness had fled. " Do you think we keeps an inn 1 ' And the old wretch stood, with her hands on her hips, before the poor girl who shrank from before the mocking words as from a blow. "I — aid — did not know, madam,'' she faltered. "I was very weary, and wanted to retire." "Well if you want to go to sleep, yon can do that over here,'' and the old woman led her towards the beds in the corner. "These are good enough for my hand- some Jacques, and I guess they will do for you, mr fine lady." "Anything will do forme, madam," said Louise in a conciliatorv tone. " I did not know you were to poor ; but lienriette will pay you to-morrow when we find her." And with a sigh of thankfulness for the resting place, poor and wretched as it was, Louise eank apoD one of the dirty straw beds, dressed as she waa, and, after having uttered her child-like prayer, eank into a profound slumber. "Yes, your sister will pay me for my trouble after we have found her, my fine lady," muttered La Fro- chard, as she seated herself by tlie side of a rude table, and from some one of its drawers produced a bottlo of brandy. Several copious draughts had the effect of changing the old woman completely, and she muttered to her- self while she cast threatening glances at the young girl, who calmly sleeping, was all niiconscionsof the danger which surrounded her. In about half an hour after La Frochard and Lonise entered the house, and while the old woman was still conimnning with the brnndy bottle, a loud bustle wa« lieard in the ])as8age just outside the door. Mother Frochard listened intently, and gazed toward the bed, as if to see whether the noise would wake the girl, until several loud curses in a well known voice, caused a complacent smile to appear upon her face, and she leaned back in her chair, saying : " It's Jacques, my hiindsouie Jacques." At the same moment, with a drunken swagger, Jacones entered the room. ' VVell, my boy, what IncUl" asked his mother rs sh(! gazed admirnigly upon him. " The worst of luck, ' answered Jacques, snlleiily, aa he seatevi himself upon a low stool, and began filling his pipe. " Marianne has deceived mo." " Deceived you ! Oh, the wretch !' exclaimed the olil woman in a tone that told pliinly what Marianne might expect if she sliouW get her in her grasp ono«. " But how did she deceive you f " " She gave herself up to'ihe guard. I told her to find a purse, and after-she had done it, she gaTe her- self up to get away from nie, as she said.'' Just then Lonise made a movement in her Bleep, which attracted Jacques' attention. "Hello! What have you got here?" he aeked, &» he went toward the bed. Mother Frochard related the story of how she found Louise, and when she had concluded, Jacqaea gave vent to his satisfaction in a prolonged whistle. 12 THE TWO ORPHAN*. " What do you mean to do with her ? " he asked at length, at ill gazing upon the beautiful face of the aioep- iug girl. " Sho shall go out with me and sing ; the money will come in fast enougli then, I'll warrant," replied the old woman betaking herself once more to her bottle. " Hello, it's full again, is it ? " said Jacques, as he reached over and taking the bottle from his mother's hand, took a draught which was both long and deep. Mother and son, as they sat there, with all the bru- tality in their hard natures arou.sed by the fiery liquid they had dranlf, were a well mated couple, ana Louise seemed as much out of place in their den, as a lily of the valley would in the midst of fungus. The evening meal had been prepared, and nearly dispatched when Pierre, looking faded and sorrowful, entered the hut with his wheel strapped upon his back. Neither his mother or JacqutJrt paid any attention to him as he entered, and he went quietly to the further end of the room to leave his wheel, when he was ar- rested by the sight of the sleeping girl. With alow cry expressive of delight he stopped and gazed at her lovely face. Then leaving his wheel in Its accustomed place he returned to the bedside, and kneeling down looked at her much as a pilgrim might at the Mec3a of his faith. " Look at the cripple," said Jacqnes to his mother, and then both broke into a coarse faugh, which arous- ed him from his worship. He eat the fragments which had been left by his mother and Jacques, silently, and then commenced to do some work wnich he ha3 brought home with him, while the other two began a night of drinking which wa.s the rule rather than the exception. The morning came, and with it the first intimation to poor Louise of what her life would be. She was aroused by the heavy hand of Mother Fro- chard, who pulled nei* roughly to a standing posi- tion. " Get up my fine lady, ^et np and try to earn yonr own living. You don't think that we can keep you in idleness, do ye?" said the old wretch in a voice: which was yet thick from the effects of the previous-, night's dissipation. For a moment Louise could not understand where she was, or what had happened, and then like a floodi the remembrance of her loss rushed over her. She could make no reply ; indeed she only half un- derstood what had been said to her. and sitting down on the edge of the bed she commenced to weep. Pierre and Jacqnes were watching the proceedings. The former with a look of pity and compassion, and the latter with amusement, "Now then!" exclaimed the old woman as she dragged the girl to her feet again. " Can you sing? " Louise did not reply, but wept more violently. " Can you sing ? " screamed the old hag, at the same time crasping the poor girl by the arm in a manner which cans>ed her to wince with pain. "Yes, yes, madam," replied Louise in affright. " Well, I wants yer to come out with me, and earn your living." "How madam?" " How ? Why by singing in the streets to be sure." " I cannot, madam, I cannot," exclaimed the poor girl piteonsly. " You said we should find my sister to- day.' •' It will take many days to find yonr sister, I'm thinking," snarled La Frochard, " and you've got to help voiir friends." " You mean for me to beg?" gasped Louise. '■ No, my lady. You do the singing and I'll do the begging." Louise cowered down upon the bed like one stiicken with a blow. " You'll have to take that ont of her," laughed Jae* ques, who was enjoying the spectacle. " But you promised her that you would find her sis- ter,"' said Pierre, hastily wiping the tears away from his eyes, and starting to his feet. ' Oh, ho, master cripple, who told you to speak 1 Go sit down," said Jacques, dealing the lame boy a vio- lent blow which sent him reeling to the further end of the room. "Now then," said Mother Frochard, who had brought an old dress and a pair of slioe:* to the weeping girl ; " you will take off your fine clothes, and put these on. They will become you much better." "Madam!" exclaimed Louise, falling on her knees before the old woman. " I pray you to help me rind ray sister. Madam, for the love of Heaven help me, or I shall go mad." A coarse laugh from La Frochard and Jacques, drowned Pierre's pitying exclamation. " Don't waste any time with her, mother," said Jac- ques. " That I won't," said the old weman. " Now, look here, I am willing to help you find your sister; but that will take time, and you've got to go with me to do something towards supporting the family first." And the fiend in woman's form began to unloose the blind girl's clothes, preparatory to changing them for the rags which she intended for her to wear. " Do not force her to beg, mother," pleaded the lame boy. " Shut np !" was Jacques brutal order, at the same time threatening him with his hand. " The girl has got to beg. and that's the end of it, we'll find her sister when we get ready." These words, and the tone in which they were ut- tered, showed Louise why these people had taken her to their home, and she resolved not to submit to the indignity. " I win not beg !" she exclaimed, while the color rose to her cheeks. "Yon may kill me, but I will not beg. I will ask the first person I meet to save me from yonr vile hands." " She's got quite a temper," sneered Jacques, " and when it's roused she's quite decent looking." "Very well, my lady ; very well. I'll soon break you of that. You'll want to beg or do anything else before you've been in the garret very long." And seizing the poor girl as thougn she had been aa infant, she carried her to the filthy hole under the roof " Oh, do hot leave me here alone," screamed Louise in affright, as her quick ear caught the sound of the enormous rats as they scampered away at their ap- proach, and the odors as if of decayed flesh greeted her. "I shall lie, I shall die !" .-i- - And she struggled vainly in the old woman's strong grasp. " Oh, mother, have mercy upon her. Do not shut hemp in that filthy place. It will kill her!" implored Pierre, as he endeavored to rush up the steps to the poor tcirl's aid. " Go back, cripple," laughed Jacques, at the same time giving the boy a blow which laid him senseless on the floor. " Go on, mother," he said to the old hag. " A few days there will do her good." La Frochard had no idea of what the word pity meant, and she thrust the blind girl, who was already nearly dead with fright at the horrors she could not see, but only imagine, into the vile ''ole, and locked the door. CHAPTER VIL GARDEV OF BEL-AIR. The Marqnis de Presles had told Laflenr to carry 1 Henriette to Bel-Air, and we will visit those gardens THE 'J WO OKPHANS. AnotTter stfp and tJie poor hUnd Louise would have been dashed upon the rods below. THE TWO ORPFIANS. 13 on the same evening that the beantifiil orplian was abducted. The scene there was a lirillianr one, well illiioitiat- inglhe pleasures of the nobles ot France about tlie beginning of the present century. A email garden had been niade in the midst of a natural grove, which was shut out from the curious gaze of the world l>y several small cottages or chalet.^, necorated in the highest style of art, and which serv- ed the Marquis de Presles as a retreat, where, free from intrusion, tliat protiigate nobleman could enjoy the society of l)o<)n companions, wlio, like liimself, lived only for the piesent and its pleasures. On this particular evening tlie gardens were illumin- ated, and a large partv of so-called ladies and gentle- men Were as.seml)led' to do full honor to the enter- tainments for which the marquis was celebrated. As we attempt to pass within the inclosure, we are Btopped by a numerous crowd of lackeys, who de- mand to see our card of admission, and failing to pro- duce such a passport, we are told that we are not allowed even near the gardens, while all ettorts to in- duce any of them to present our cards to the master of this retreat are equally unavailing, as they declare that their orders are most positive, and we must go quietly away or be forced to go. Thus jealously does tne Marquis guard his retreat from importunate cre- ditor or unwelcome friend. Inasmuch as we only visit Bel-Air in fancy, we can bid deficince to tlie Marquis's orders, and enter witli- ont his permission. Around the tables which are placed in tlie garden, a number of ladiea and gentlemen are seated, drinking ■wine while they discuss the latest court news, or the most interesting scandal. " Well, what do you think of my retreat from the ■Vfhhl and bustle of Paris ? " asked "the AFarquis of his ▼is-a-vis, who was a dashing sort of beaut}'. _ " My dear Marquis," replied that lady. " I am de- lighted. It is a satisfaction to find a gentleman wlio maintains the customs of his rank." "And yet there are fools who want to cliange them." exclaimed a young nobleman from the oppos- ite table. '■ You are right — fools, fools." answered De Pi-esles KB he motioned to tlie servants for mare wine. 'By the way," asked the lady who had first spok- en, " have you heard the news]" As no one had heard anything particularly nevr for the past two hours, she continued by saying: •' riiey say that the new minister of police isashard as a stone, and cold as a fish. He is going to put a Rtop to all our amusements, and. Marquis, this may be ftie last entertainment you will give at Bel-Air." "Nonsense ! " exclaimed the host. •' I'd like to see fi'- ni'.ii.^tci of police who wouhi dare to interfere with the pleasures of a French nobleman. Who and what is he?'' "He is from Touraine ; is called tlie Count de Lini- fres. and is the uncle of the Chevalier Maurice de l''andrey." ''\\'here is the Chevalier?" suddenly asked one of the ladies, as she was thus reminded of one of whom report had described as rather an eccentric, and on Whom she wished to exercise her charms. " You jromised me I should see him. Marquis." " So I did, and I expect him. as well as another ynest. I warn you ladies, that she will be a rival to ron rII." " Who is this other gneet ? " was the question that issailed him from all quarters. " A young lady." answered the marquis, as if enrap- ured at the thought. " Sweet sixteen, beautiful as a ose, and innocent as an angel." "Where did you find such a pearl?"' asked one of he ladies banterinirly. " lu Normandy." This annonncement was followed bv a general angh. "Yes, I know these Normandy beauties, with caps six feet high," laughed one of the ladies, betraying in spite of herself a tmge of jealousy in her voice. " In wooden shoes," added ani'nher of the fair ones, "*nd hair plaited down her back.' •' Laugh away, ladies, "said De Presles gaily. " You shall see a Norman beauty in a high cap, wooden shoes and all, and then see how" jealous you will all become at .'sight of her." At this moment a voice was heard from the outside, and in the midst of some confusion a rather singular voice was heaid saying: '• I tell you 1 nivst go in, and I irilL I must speak to vonr master." On liearing this the marquis wont toward the en- trance and demanded of the servants who it was that was so iiiip(utunate. " Picard," answered the owner of the singular voice. "Picard, valet to the Chevalier De Vaudrey." The marquis immediately gave ordei-s that he be ad- mitted, and a sliaip. wiry -looking fellow, wearing the De Vaudrey livery, stood before the gay party. '•Most excellent marquis, and most beautiful ladies," said tie in an affected tone, and with a low bow, which was received with laughter, " I am very sorry ; but my master asks you to excuse him." ■■Excuse him?" echoed one of the ladies — "why, he promised " '•I di() the promising," answered Picard, with an- other of his sweeping bows. "He said he did not know whether he could come or not; but thinking I could persuade him I promised for him." "Then yon took a great liberty,"' said De Presles. and he ought to punish you for it." "Certainly he oui;ht," answered Picard, blandly: "I wish he would; but alas! my master is not like other masters. In fact, he is no master at all." Seeing looks of incredulity at his statement, Picard continued in a most solemn manner: " It is so, gentlemen. He spends his nights in plea- sure as a young nobleman ought; but his days — what do you suppose he does with hi.s d;iys ? "" '•'Sleeps of course," answered the marquis in a posi- tive tone. y' '• Gentlemen, allow me to tell you confident iaily,"' said the valet mysteriously, as the trentlemen gather- ed around him fully expecting to hear of some treason. "He works! actually works. lie sits down and reads and writes as though he were a lawyer's clerk." '•Bah!" exclaimed one. "You don't expect us to believe that." " Yes, and more too,"' answered Picard, who enjoyed immensely being able to impart some information to his superiors. Why, how do you supiose he acts to the ctunmon people, who want to see nim? His cre- ditors for instance ?"' ■'Why, if they are importunate, he beats them, I suppose," answered De Presles, with wliom this me- thod of sstllint; his bills was a common occurrence. '■ Yes, he beats ihem." sneeied Picard; "he pays them ! Yes, gentlemen he pays his trades-peoj)le," and the valet surveyed the, group, enjoying the sur- prise which he had given them. "Oh ! the poor fellow is lost!" exclaimed one of the partv, who at the age of twentv had spent a larga fortune, and was now living by his wits. "Completelv," affirmed Picard, "and all owing to the companv he keeps. He won't be guided by me." "Perhaps' he IS right in that, "said De Presles. "But where is the attraction elsewliere to niKhl '?" " I will tell you. gentlemen," said a deep voice near the entrance t'o the gardens, and looking up all saw the Chevalier de Vaudrey himself. He was a noble lookinir man, with none of the fop- peries and evident attempt at display which charac- terized some of his companions, ana a careful observer would instantly have said that he was, in mental en- dowments, farabove the average, 'What is all this that Picard has been telling us, 14 THE TWO ORPHANS. that yon were not coming ! " asked De PreelcB in eur- prise. " I did not expect to come, so sent him with my regrets," answered the chevalier, as he accepted a glass of wine wliich was handehans, who. scarcely twenty-four hour previous, were liirht heart- ed maidens, setting out from their childhood's home to visit the beautiful city about which they had heard so much. Now one was in the power of low, vile wretches, and I he other in the hands of those who called them- selves g>-ntle people ; but who had no more mercy, in fact, not as much as the Frochards. " She lias a very ordinary face," said one of the la- dies (!) w lici jii ided herself upon her beauty. •■ An exo^eiliiigly common person, as you can tell by her feet." said iiiiolher, as she tried to display her own dainty foot, which sha look the greatest deliglit in allowing. "liei aims and hands are likf a washerwoman's," was the kindly remark of a bold looking blonde, who had exposed as much of her own ai'ins as possible. " Oievalier, yonropinion," asked the bankrupt no- bleman, who liked a hit of sarcasm, and not being able to say It himself, knew that it would be sure to come from the eccentric De Vaiidrey. '•It's a lovely face; distinguished air; with the handsaiid f«et of a duchess,"' replied the chevalier, without taking the trouble to look at the object of his -■' De Presles eagerl\ began ' But I have CHAPTER Vin. SAVED FROM DISHONOR. Like a lily half broken from its stem lay Henriette ■pon the litter, surrounded by the revellers who had gathei'ed near to see the Norman beauty. Under the influence of the drug which had been ad- ministered, she remained nnconscious of the nnle jest which was uttered, and the coarse laugh of triumph which greeted her arrival. Only one of that gay party was without curiosity respecting her appearance. "That one was the chevalier Maurice de Yainirey. He pass.-d by her as she was brought i i, and see- ing what it was that lay upon the litter, contented him- eelf with remarking: '• A young ^ii'l ! The sport has been good," Then resuiiiiiiif his seat he waited listlessly until some disposition should bo made (^ the irame which had been so bravely captiiied. " Ah, is tliis our threatened rival?" asked one of the females, after looking, not without a feelingof envy, at the pale features of tlie abducted girl. "Why, she has fainted," remarked another, in a sar- castic voice. "Sleeping, my dear," said the first, " it's much more becoming.'' At ihi.'? lively sally of wit, a general laugh went around thi? company ■■ I'll wager that her eyes are but half closed, and that she is laughing to herself at all the trouble you are takiny^." said the cynical De Vau(irey, who had, years before, lost all faith in woman kind. And it is little wonder that in tliat dissolute aL'e, an honest, noble-minded man should have believed wi m- anly puiity to he a fable of the past. ■' Wlial do you think of mv treasure?" askeil De Presles. who had been gloating his sensual eves njioii i ineiit when she showed ihe foroi of the fair girl, who was thus in his pdwerf ■ ue.ss. ' / f criticism. '• But you have not seen to say. 'No," aiisweied De Vandrey, coolly heard lliose yoiintf ladies." The young nobleman who had j)iov; the scene witli evident zest, while Louise listened aiixiously for Pierre's "sj^ia- — patliiziuK' voice. , ;/ .. ' Let us leave this scene for a while, and follow Hen- I'ielle while she accouipanies her deliverer from the beautiful but vile garden of Bel-Air. They had reached the street before Heniiette ven- tured to speak to the chevalier of her giatitude for the assistance he had rendered lier. Then in n voice trem- bling with emotion, she thanked liini for his interfer- aiice, and begged of him to show her the way to tlie place where she had been robbed of her sister. Tliei»disfance was very great, and during the walk, the Chevalier De Vaudiey learned all of the history of the beautiful girl whom he had rescued from such a fearful fate ; but in reply to her in(|uiries as to tlie probable fate of her sister he could not consciously liijhteu her heart. "But I shall find her, shall I not, monsieur ?" asked Heuriette, looking up into his face with an imploring gaze. For a moment De Vaudrey thoutrht he would tell her how little cliaiice Iliere was for fiuiling a lost a'ul immediately, unless some kind, honest people liad taken conipjission on her. and even I lieu it would re- ctuire several days. But as he looked into her beauii- TUB TWO ORPHANS. 17 ful eyes, and saw there the hope and longing tliai ■^as' mirrored in them, he could not speak those words which would phnige her into despair. Therefore he assumed a hopelul air which was very far from being sincere, and replied : " We shall tiud youi- sister, mademoiselle ; but you must not get discouraged if it takes several days, for we can hope to find no i:lue to wliere she has gone." Louise was not satislied with tlie ans'ver; but she said noiliing, and in ii few moments more, they had reached the Normandy coach ollice. The most persistent inquiry revealed nothing rela- tive to Louise's whereabouts. No one liad seen her except when slie was with her sister, and ii was with a heavy and sorrowful lieart tliat Heuriette was forc- ed to relinquish the search until the morrow. The chevalier conducted her to a lioarding house, where, after a brief recital of Heuriette's history, she vras allowed to lemain. Need we recoinit the many long and fruitless searches of that faithful sister for the blind oi-phan 1 Can the reader not guess that, charmed by the beanty of face and mind of the beautiful Ilenriette, ihe Chev- ftlier de Vaudrey was ready to tling away all dreams of wealth and kingly favor, and entreat the young girl to become his wife. And why shall we describe all of Louise's sufferings for three long months'? They were surely as would melt the heart of stone to pity, and yet her cruel cap- toi's shew no mercv. Tlierefore we will pass over three months, during which, each day, lo both the sorrowing orphans, brought ihe same sad story of misery and despair, and in our next chapter present a new scene to the readfr. CHAPIER X. THE MINISTER OF POLICE. The newly appointed minister of police was the Count de Linieres, as we heard at the garden of Bel- Aii'. He was the nncio, and until that young gentleman attained his majoiity, the guaidiau of the Cheviilier jMuuiice de Vaudrey. Count deLinieres was of a very old and proud fam- ily . but the hope of distinction iixiuced him to accept (if the high office tendered )iim by the king, who lion- uied him for his sterling worth. It is shoitly after his accession to office, and before , rillU(]ns well acquainted with the intricate workings of •*^ At! v'ast and complicated body over which he is the acknowledged head, that we present him to our read- ers. A tall, portly old gentleman of some si.Ktv years of age is he, and one win) as a friend would be true, and as an enemy, implacable. On this particular al'tenioon he has just dismissed several of nis sul)()r,'h of relief, and straightening himself np as tar as his diminutive stature would permit, he addeit. " Ah, my lord, you have relieved me, and I resume my personal dignity." "I will do as I have said on wne comniiou, auded the count, and at this Picard's face len>,'thened won- derfully." " I wish you to remain for a tinve with my nephew. It is important that I should know his move- ments. I could employ the police ; bat I have alreadv learned too much from them, and tluouifh you, who are attacheilto him, 1 desire to know the'rest." '•The rest?" echoed Picard. in amazement. "What has he been doing? What do the police know?" and now the valet's face brightened as he ihoui^ht himself upon the verife of discovery of an escapa.ie of his ma.'^ter'a, which w-<3 all tlie faithful valet humjered tor. " 1 " They know that after the duel "The'duei: What duel?" interrupted Picard. fm-- getting in his eagerness to know all, the respect d-ie the minister of police. " Do you pretend not to know that he killed the Marquis de Presles in a duel about a woman? "asked the count, while he retrarded the valet with a piercing gaze. " He fought a duel, and dangerously wounded his antagonist, and on account of a woman !" exclaimed Picard in an ecstacy of delight, that his master should be concerned in such affairs, while Picard considered the only proper thing for a nobleman to do. " Oh, the sly dog, and I wanted to leave him ! " •' No, no, not yet," said the count quickly, catching the last of the valet's remark, without hearing the first. " I desire that you remain with him, and dis- cover where he hides himself." " Of course I will ! " exclaimed Picard, now perfect- ly vrilling to remain with the chevalier any length of time. •' I thought he would not disgrace the blood of a French nobleman. Certainly, I'll find out this saucy little beauty for whom he neglects all his friends,'" and tie added in the tone of a connoiseur : •'Of course she must be little and saucy, with a jaunty, piquant air. That's the style I like.' " Oh, indeed,' said the count in surprise. " Doubtless he has done everything in good style,'' continued Picard, who in his ecstacy was impervious to everything but the one satisfactory idea that now engrossed all his thoughts. "He has probably taken some elegant, quiet, little house, the rooms hung in velvet, and furnished in silk and laces, with everything of the sort.' " Why, at that rate you will ruin your master," said the count, surprised at lliis (ihase of Picard's character, which he had never seen before." " If she's worth the trouble, where's the harm in a little ruin ? " asked the valet innocently. How much longer Picard wou'd have continued to express his delight, and what he might not liave saiil to further surprise the count, is a matter of conjecture, for at this moment the Countess de Linieres was an- nounced, and the count at once dismissed Picard, with an injunction not to forget his orders. " I will obey them, my lord," said the valet as he bowed himself out, and durinx his walk to hisraaster'i house, he muttered, to the infinite delight of the gam- ins who heard hiin, " Oh, Master Chevalier, you are a sly dog, and I thought you a saint." As the countess entered, her husband greeted her af- fectionately, and conducted her to a seat. 'I was about to come to you," said the count, "but you have anticipated me. 1 desire to speak wiue.i^ you on the subject of j'our nephew, the Chevaiier ""de ^ - Vaudrey, and to ask you to prepare him for the mar- riage which the king '' '• Wishes to impose on him,'' interrupted the coun- tess bitterly •' Impose on him ? '' repeated De Linieres. " It is a magnificent alliance which will complete the measure of liie distinguished honors with which his majesty deigns to favor us." " Have you spoken to the Chevalier yet ? '' "No; but I am expectinar him every moment, and 1 wished'to talk with lum in your piesence." As if this conversation had some influence over him, De Vaudrey entered at this moment. "Ah, Chevalier!" exclaimed the count, "I am glad to see you. The countess and myselt have aa impor- tant communication to make to you." De Vaudrey looked at his uncle in surprise. "My dear Maurice,'' said the count, after a moment's hesitation, "the kinur did me the honor to receive me yesterday, and he spoke of yon." "Of me?" asked De Vaudrey, in surprise "Hetakesa gieat iiiterest'iii you,' continued De Linieres. speaki»f quickly, and in a forced tone. Ha THE TWO OliPIIANS. Pak with terror, Henrktte could only chsp hfr Jiatnf.-i nvd hr'"ithlcssly await the result of thr r/vH. THE TWO 0KPIIAX8. 19 wishes you to accept a position at conn, ana aeeires at the same time Ihiit yon should miin-y." As the count said this, lie watched De Vaudrey's lace with an iuteutness that was ahnost painful. He expected to know by this means wlieilier the stories wliich appeared to be so well aulheiiticaled were true and he sincerely hoped that he might be able to be- lieve them the fabi'ications of some enemy. "Mairy?" aslied De Vaudrey, as tlKnigh he could not believe liis uncle reii»v meant what he said. The countess waited a5 anxiously for De Vaudrey's answer as did her husband, although from a ditt'erent reason. She loved tlie young man before her, and his happiness and well being were very dear to her. " My dear nephew," she said kindly. "I see tiiat this news .'y the labor of her hands." The countess, who had noverforan oim^ut imagined such an answer to her (jnsstion, was :5nrpiiseil, and she showed jilaiiily thai trrief was mingled with her surprise. " And you would make such a woman your wife ?" she asked reproachtully. " Do irot judge her until you have seen her," en- trealed tha chevalier. " Consent to see her, and then advise me," and the young man took the countess' hands in his, and looked iinploringly into her face. But his aunt turned away fiom him with a gesiure of sorrow. " In such a marriage," she said, sadly, • there can be no happiness tVw yon, and for hei <.>nly misery. Believe me, I know the result of these uiieciual unions. You must reiioiince her. You owe obedience to your fami- ly, anil to your king." As the countess said these words, which, if tliey were obeyed, would doom the young man to .give up all that the world held for him, she turned wearily away, and sank into a chair, as if the advice came only from the echo of her husband's words, and not from her own loving heart. "Can you tell me tJiat 'f ■ asked the chevalier in a tone of surprise. " Vou wl;o have suffered so louch, and who have been the victim to a blind obedience whicli has sacrificed your life, and made you uiisera- ble !" "How do yon know?" exclaimed the countess, springing from her chair as if De Vaudrey's words luid struck directly to her heart, and in their passaifc had lorn open wounds iIkiI the po^u- woman thought u» so THE TWO ORPILVNS. one save lieiself auJ the good God knew of. " Who told you ttiid i Who lias roiu aside tlie veil from my secret, aiii revealed to you the cause of the anguish I have surtered for eighteen long years '/ " Tlie chevalier looued sadly upon the woman he had wounded so deeply by his words. "There was hut one soul in all the world tenderand noble enough to appreciate and sustain your own in its trials,"' he said in a gentle voice that seemed to cany i balm witli it. Your dearly beloved sister — my mo- ther. In her last moments she exacted from me the jiroinise to devote myself to yon should misfortune e»-ercoaio, and I gladly gave my word.' Forainoinent the countess stood as one suddenly deprived of speech, and then in a low voice, as if speak- i,i:< to herself, she said: '"And she told vou of my sufferings, my despair. Yes, yes, yon speak the truth, my life has been one Jong sacritice to duty," and resting Jier liead on h(;r binds, she alio wed her thoughts to wander thront-'h Jill the dark and dreary avemies of the past, disturb- ing memories that slept only too lightly, and awaken- ing sad recollections that slie had struggled to bury ; but which were ever rt^ady to I'ise up against her, and assert their right to inflict sorrow wiih all the keenness of old. " 1 was young anwed his eves, as- the sorrowing woman, in a voice w made tender by the blessed boon of tears. '•I prayed that God would have i)ity on the life of the little creature whom I had scarce embraced when they cruelly tore it from me,'' she continued, while the sobs escapeii with the words. "I consoled myself with the hope that perhaps I should see it again some day. Alas! the days have passed into months, the months into years, and all my prayers are in vain." " My poor aunt." said the chevalier, as he took her hand tenderly in his ami endeavored in the caressing touch he bestowed upon it, to impart some of the sym- pathy ami love he felt. " So cruel, cruel, that I often ask myself if it u-onld not have been better had they killed me too, " said the poor woman, again piicing restlessly up and down the room " Yes, yes, far more merciful than to have in- flicted the punishment I have sutiered for so many years. I dare not think she lives; for if she does, into what abyss may not my criminal abandonment have plniiired her." '• Try not to let your mind rest upon those things, my poor aunt." sai'd the chevalier, in a voice as low and sweet as a woman's. The countess did not heed him. The past had full power over her now, and her voice was strained as though it were not powerful enough to sustain the weight of emotion she put upon it. " The horiible thought that, if living;, she may ac- cuse mu of her misery, perhaps her shame. May slie not cry out from the depths of her despair : ' Accursed be my unnatural mother!' Ah, I hear that friglilful curse no wringing in my ears; it imisues nie in my prayers, and torments me in my dreams. L hear it alvvays, always," and her voice ended in such a wail of misery as conld come only fipm a lieart wrung to its utmost tension by despair. ;""' r^?. v .c ^ • ■' And her last words were heard by one other whom in her wanderings in the past she had forgotten — her husband. The Count de Linieres had waited in an aiijoining room until he ihoiiglit his wife must have said all she wished lo, to the chevalier, and he returned, hoping tliat by addiiii; sune kind advice to what the couuiess had already said, he might be able so to influence his nephew, that lie would accede to the king's wishes. The heavy carpel had deadened the sound of bis foot- steps, and if lie had made any noise, both the chevalier and his aunt were too much engrossed to have heard It; As he heard liis wife's last words, uttered in such ac- cents of despair, he started in alarm, and astouishmeiit rooted liini to the floor, unable to move or speak. What was this fearful sorrow of which he Icnew nothing? was the thought that Hashed over liim in an instant, and he remained, not in the aitituJe of a lis- tener; but of a man paralyzed Avith fear, while, ail unconscious of his presence, the two continued their conversation. " • CHAPTER XII. " I H.VVE S.WED YOtJR HOXOE." So carried away with his argument, was the Cheva- lier de Vaudrey, Itiat tlie words came from his lips in an irresistible tide, carrying with them sorrow and pity to tlie woman whose past life was thus brought before her, and shame and anger to the man who had tliu-i unconsciously learned of the one dark time in the his- tory of the woman he loved " Then do you, who have sntTered so much, who suf- fer still, counsel me to obey 1 " asked the chevalier ea ■rerly. " Would yon have me chain my life loone wo- man, whilemy heait is filled with tlie imageof another, will you advise me to do this?'' Haid words were these for a husband to hear, e's"- pecially when it w;i8 the first intimation he had of such siifTering, and he showed in the deeply furrowed brow, the clenched hand, and the white tre'mblinglips how deeply the blow had struck. f\ ■* The picture De Vaudrey had presented to his aunt ; the thought that her words might be ihenieans of con- signing the young man to the same sad late which had been hers, swept away all the barriers of opposition, and she resolved tliat if it laid in her power, the sacri- fice should not be made. " X*, no, never!" she exclaimed passionately. " You shall not mariv other than the woman vou love." The count who had recovered from his first stupor of surprise, now came towaids his wife, and had she not been in such extreme agitation, she would have seen that her liusband had afjed many years in the few moments he had been absent from' tlie room. When the countess saw him, she thought not of what he might have heard ; she did not notice hia ap- pearance : but, so deeply was her woman's heart moved that she thought only of her nephew. "Ob, Monsieur, have pity on him," she almost beg- ged as, clasping her hands before her, she went to THE TWO ORPHANS. 21 "wanla herhusbaud, "do not ftk Lim to stifle the cry iif Ilia couscience. Ilia heart revolts ugaiust the aacri- tice you ask. Do not imitate tliose parents wIiuko )iride condenma their ciiildren to lives otfalaehood and despair." She would have said many things which would liave but added fuel to the llaine that was burning in the couut's breast, had not the chevalier, stepping close t^> lier whispered : •• Take care ! " '•Madaui!" exclaimed De Linieres, looking at lier iu surprise. ''To whom do vou refer? Of what are you speaking when you use the woids, pride, falshood, despair.'' lier husband's cool sarcastic words, uttered in a voice which chilled, recalled her to a sense of what she had said, and a deatliiy feeling came over her, causing lier to seek the support ot the chair. The count looked at her lixcdly , and she saw that some answer was repaired of her. In a voice scarce- ly audible, the nnlia)>py ■woman faltered: '• I meant — I s|K)ke of " 'Monsieur," said the chevalier, anxious toshicldtlie poor lady, ''the words of the counttss are bat the echo of those she just heard me utter. They are the irrevocable revolt of mv heart against themairiage aud the suttering you would impose upon me.' The Count de Linieres \va.s far from being satislied with the chevalier's explanation. Looking at his wife in a manner which showed that he did not be- lieve what had just been told him, he asked in n cold, St itf voice: • Had your words no other meaning. Madam ?" "No! no!" answered the countess, conlusedly, as i though she knew not the meaning of the words she uttered. "I am agitated, faint— you see, monsieur, I am ill." "That is evident," answered the count in a voice which had in its tones no sympathy or emotion. Then turning to his nephew he ordered rather than reqin^s- ted : "Chevalier, conduct the countess to lier room, aud return immediately. I desire to speak with you." With a compassionate look at his aunt the Cheva- lier offered her his arm and conducted her to her apart- ments. llardlv had he left the room, when the minister, sealing "himself at his table, wrote a few words on a paper, and after haviyg sealed it, rung the bell sharp- ly. The old clerk answered the summons, and to liim the count hiinded the paper saying : •Take thia to the keeper otthe secret records, and return with what he gives you." Like a well-made automaton the clerk took the pa- per, made a stiff bow, and with a precise, mechanical manner left tiie room. Left to himself, the envied Minister of Police gave way to the passion wave that had threatened to over- whelm him in the presence of liis wife. lie paced the room in the same wild way tnat his wife had done but a few moments before, and watched impatiently for the return of his nephew. At last the chevalier returned, and the look upon Ilia face, showed plainly that he had nerved himself for the struggle which was inevitable. " Chevalier," said the old gentleman, going up to De VaudreT in an angry, nervous manner. " You can readily understand that jiropriety and considera- tions for my own dignity, induced me to accept the explanation made by you on behalt ol the countess." "Monsieur!'' interrupted De Yaudiey, iu an angry tone. "You also understand that that explanation did not satisfy me," continued the count, not heeding the angry exclam.ilion. "Well, sir," said the chevalier, irt a cool, irritating tone. " What are you ]ilea.-crother had relented, and was about to answer his praver, exclaimed anxiously : "Well?" "I'll re-christen you, Cupid." Again a look of intense pain passed over Pierre's face as his brother's laugh rang out loud and shrill. " Di> as you like,'' he said, wearily, as if resigning himself to all the insults his brother might see fit to heap upon him. "Now I come to think of it," said Jacques con- temptuously, "it is only when Louise is about that Ton object to be called cripple ; perhaps — " and as if h« could no longer control himself, he burst out into his fiendish laugh again, at some thought which had entereil his wicked brain. Then chuckling to himself he said, shaking his head in a mocking way : ■• Ah, that would be too good." " What do you mean 1 '' asked Pierre, not under- standing the reason for his brother's mirth. " You are not so stupid after all," laughed Jacques. " She is blind and does not know the ditiert^uce be- tween a handsome man like me. and a miserable abor- tion like you," and again his mirth resulted in laugh- ter, while he exclaimed: " You're in love — iu love with a bhnd girl." "I?" said Pierre in surprise, as if hardly nnder- atanding what his brother had said, and at the same time looking down upon his mis-shapen form. "I? In love 1 ■' " Why, then, are you ashamed of being called crip- ple before her ? Afraid she'll find out your beautiful shape, eh 1 " " Yes — yes, it is so,'' said the poor boy, as if the words came from him involuntarily. •• I want to think there is one in the world who does not regard me with disgust. If she thought — I was like others, she might have some feelingof friendship for me. But in love — in love with, she who is beautiful enough, good enougn to be an angel." And there was upon Pierre's face, as he spoke of the blind girl, a light which is rarely seen, and then only when it is lit by a soul pure and noble. Jacques looked upon his lirother iu surprise. He saw iu that pale face .--omething which he had never seen before, and could hardly repress his astonish- ment. " How tlie devil did you finil that all out 7 I don't know or care anything about her goodness," he said *n.>r,'*.sliort pause. "Bosh, for all that — and as to .^•r (>ea'uty, I kuow that her eves are more use to her iiioiv, than if she could see svitli them.'" I '■ Yes, yes, she is blind," said Pierre sadly, ' but fier face is so sweet that it would move a stoiie to )ity. and her tfreat beautiful eyes seem to look at me 10 truthfully that I almost fear she can see me." "There, there," said Jacques, who had not heanl ;he latter part of the sentence, but who had started ©ward some drinking saloon where he would find nore congenial companions ; " stop your muttering, and »me along with me. I want yoii, Cupid; come." For once Pierre determined to resist his brother's yrauny. " I will not go," he said, iu a voice he vainly en- leavored to make sound firm. Eh ! " cried Jacques, in ama/.ement. " What's (lis 1 rebellion, eh ? now do as I order you, or look ut for a beating," and the brute in human shape went >ward8 the cripple with hand uplifted to strike. Jnst at this moment the sad, sweet voice of a young irl was heard not far ofT, and Pierre started with de- liirht. He recognized the tones of that, to him, angel song, and his purpose was changed immediately. Like a voice from heaven did the i.oies, welling oyer with despair, speak to the deformed lad. filling his heart with peace and love. "Jacques." he said, softly, "you are older than me, you're straiu'ht and strong, and I must submit to you ; but when I see the use you make of your strength, I am satisfied with my ugly shape and'mis- erable weakness." And as he finished speaking, he turned iu the direc- tion from which the sound procee tlie evident BuflFering of the beautiful girl, ha drew a ' lice, Bhe would never go back to the old boathouseou coiu from his pocket and put it into the girl's uiiwil- ' ' ' - ■ - • ling palm, and passed on his way. Like a hawk pouncing upon a dove did Mother Frochard grasp the hand which held the money, and in an instant it was transferred to her capacious poc- ket. "There, what did I tell von?" she said, triumphan- tly. Then giving the poor girl a hard shake she said : " Go on crying."' As she saw others approaching she raised her mono- tonous cry : "Charity, good people, if you please." Among the people who were coming toward the cliurch was the gool-natured doctor of the hospital of Si. Louis and La Salpetriere, and to him did Mother Frochard direct her cries for charity. " Please, my good sir," said the old woman, going towards him, and holding out her dirty hand. Pierre and Jacques had moved away as soon as the thureh-goers came up. and now Mother Frochard, her charge, and the doctor were the only ones in the Square. The physician paid no attention to the old woman's entreaty, and was walking away; but La Prochaid was not to be shaken off so easily. She stepped in front of him, and cried in a whining tone: '' Charity, if yon please." "Oil clear out !" exclaimed the doctor, whose pa- tience was exhausted. " Pity for a poor blind child, if you please, charity," persisted the old woman. the banks of tlie Seine. " Well then," she said, as she rudely pushed Louis© towards him, "see for yourself if she is not blind," and then unable to restrain her anger, she muttered to herself: "Curse him, I know him; he is that whin- ing doctor at the hospital." And as soon as she had thus given vent to some of her antrer, she stood by the side of Louise to prevent her telling the doctor'anything that might reflect on her tormentor's motlierly care. " Ah ! sir, if you are a doctor," began Louise eager- ly : but before she had concluded the sentence, Moth- er Frochard gave her such a cruel pinch on the arm/ that .she did not dare to say anything more. "Well do you see? " asked the old woman shrilly, after the doctor had examined the poor girl's eyes for a moment. "She's blind, ain't she? " " You have not always been blind, my child, have you?" asked the doctor, not heeding the old woman's question. " No, monsieur," said Louise timidly, as she invol- untarily shrank from the blow, or pinch which she expected to receive. " I was fourteen years old when this misfortune befell me." " Fourteen ?" exclaimed the doctor in astonishment, '■ and you have had no treatment 1 " " Monsieur — " began Louise eagerly, forgetting for the moment the old witch that stood beside her. Mother Frochard saw in a moment that Louise was about to speak of her past life, and she adroitly admin- istered a blow in the poor girl's side, unperceived by the doctor, that prevented her from speaking, and be As the old woman spoke of the misfortune of i fore the interruption could be noticed, she said quick- Louise, the doctor's professional feelings, if not his charitable ones, were aroused, and he turned quickly aiouiid, askinj;: "Blind! W^ho ? " ami seeing Louise for the first time, pointed to her as he .isked : "Is this young girl blind?" "Alas! yes, my good sir, have pity on her," whin- ed .Mother Frochard ni her professional voice, as she carefully kept Louise behind her. " Poor unhappy child," said the good doctor sym- pathetically. " Let me look at your eyes," and as he spoke he vvent towards tbe poor orphan. It was charity that La Frochard wanted, and not sympathy or professional services, therefore she did not wish the doctor to see the poor girl, for fear tliat she might be taken to the liospital, and hereby de- prive the worthy Frochards of the amount she 'could earn by begging. The old woman sprang towards Louise, and rough- ly pushed her away, at the same time confronting the ^^I'/Mcinn with the question. I i '. Why do you want to set; her?" she uttered in an ^ angry tone. " Come here, my child,"' continued the doctor, not heeding the old woman's interference or question. " L»t ine see your eyes. 1 am a doctor." "A doctor!" exclaimed Louise joyfully, as she Btai-led to go towards the kind man who had thus in- terested himself in her fate. But Mother Frochard caught the poor girl by the arm. and with a vicious thump with her elb()W at L-iuise's side, and a cruel pinch of her arm, prevented her from speaking. " Come along," she said in a low voice of rage, so low as not to be heard by the doctor, and then in a shrill voice which she tried to tnaUe sound resit,'iied, she said to the physician. "They can't be cured ; it is no use," and clutching Louise more firmly by the arm, and almost shaking her in her wrath she said: " Come along, my dear." " But I insist," said the doctor firmly. "You are im|>ostors, and I will hnnd you over to the police."' Tli'» old hag's eyes glared fiercely lor a moment; ly: " We are so poor, good doctor, we have not the mo- ney to " " Oh, monsieur," interrupted Louise, who would not thus be deprived of one chance to regain her sight, and who resolved to speak, regardless of what tlie old wo- man might say or do. " For mercy's sake, if you have any pity, speak to me, tell me is there any hope for me ; oh, if you knew from what misery your words might save me." Again did the old woman give the poor orphan a cruel blow, and hastened to speak lest Louise should try to say more. " Yes, yes indeed," she said in her whining voice, as she tried to push Louise away, " there cait't be any worse misery tlian to be blind. If she could see, she could work, and would not have to beg. Isn't that so, my dear '" and again the cruel hand reminded Louise how she must speak. "Yes, yes,'' said the poor jfirl eagerly. " I would work — I would — I — I woiiM." She was about to say that she would then find her sister; but Mother Frochard, ever on the alert, under- stood what the poor orphan would 8;iy, and a wicked grasp of the arm caused her to change her words. "Calm yourself, my child, calm yourself," said the good doctor, deeply moved by the suffering which was evident from the young ti\tl'a words. Then beckoning to the old woman he moved a few steps away from Louise, and said : " Come here." The old woman pushed Louise some distance fiom her, so that she could not, by any means, hear what was said, and then in a servile voice asked, as slie went towards the physician : " What is it, ioclor ?" "Listen," said the medical man, in a low tone. " You must not excite her, and you must not tell her suddenly what I hope ; but bring liei to me at the hos- pital St.' Louis." "Yes, yes," saidthe old woman quickly; but at th» same time with an ugly scowl upon her hard face. "I know, I have been there often." 1 thought I recognized vou," said the doctor, re- but »iie shw that 'it was useless for her to resist, fer garding her thoughtfully. '' Let me see, you are called should Louise once get under the protection of the po- i Mother '" 26 THE TWO ORPHANS. '' Widow Procharil, moDsieur," said the old woman, drawing herself up indignantly. '■Yes, I remember," said the doctor, with a smile upon liis face at the old hag's assumption of dignity. ' Well, when she is calmer, vou can tell her gently that I iliink theie is hope for her, and then, when she is more accustomed to the idea, hring her to me." "Yes, yes, I will," replied the old wretch, with a -wicked smile upon her face. "I'll tell her gently. Trust me, doctor, for that. You can depend on me. ' Had the good man known how gently the old wo- man would have told the poor girl of the good news, he would not have left her as he did ; but he believed Louise to be Frochard's daughter, and like many otli- ers, was deceived by the old hag's whining voice. "Here, my poor" child," said the doctor, going to- wards Louise, and giving her some money, while to the poor girl the words which followed was of more value than all the money he could have given her. " Courage," he added in a pleasant voice, " courage, my dear, I will see jou again." These words carried hope with them to the afflicted girl's lieart, and in the excess of her joy she was unable to speak, but stood trembling with excitement. As the doctor walked away mother Frochard called after him in her shrill, cracked voice : " May Heaveu bless you, good doctor. Heaven bless you." And as the physician turned the corner, and was out of hearing, her blessings tarncid to curses, and in a voice full of hate and anger, she exclaimed : " Curses on you for a meddling old fool." "What did he tell you, madam ] " asked Louise, ea- gerly, as she went towards the old woman, expecting to hear the words'of encouragement which the uocior's kind words assured her she would hear. "He said it was not worth the trouble," said the old hag, in a hard voice. "There is no hope for you." These cruel words struck Louise with harder force than a blow would have done, and she staggered against one of the buildings for support. " Alas, alas ! what can I do?" she wailed, and there was a depth of de.spair in her cry, such as seldom comes from hu-iian lips. " What will become of me V The encounter with the doctor was in the highest degree dangerous to the old woman's plans, and she resolved that it should not occur again. "If I bring her here every day, he will see her again," she said to herself. " No, no ; that will not do." For a few moments she remained in deep thoutrht, and then a smile of triumph came over her face which w;is fiendish, aud she said to Louise : " Look here, child, I am a goo'^ woman. You have been complaining that I always take you to the same places. Now, to-morrow we will look for your sis- ter in some other part of the city." " Ah, madam," said Louise, gratefully, " I thank you. I have now but one hope left, to fiiid my dear sister, my dear Henriette." Now that all hope of ever recovering her sight, which had been so suddenly raised, and so rudely dash- ed, was taken from her, her soul cried out more anx- iously than ever, if such a thing could be possible, for the sister who had been so cruelly taken from her. CHAPTER XVI. SYMPATHY AND LOVE. Pierre and Jacques returned as soon as the doctor had gone away, and Jacques, who had waited long for eome money, said : " Well, mother, how is business 1" This question reminded the old woman of the money the doctor had given Louise, and she said quickly, as she opened the poor girl's hand with no gentle force. " Yes, yes, what did the doctor give you ? " "That, madam," replied Louise, as the old hag took the money. 'J'his was Jacques' 8 opportuniiy , and he was not a man to let such a chance miss him. Before his mother could tell of what amount the coin was, he had taken it from her, aud after examining it, exclaimed : " Gold 1 What thieves tliese doctors mnst be, it's a gold piece," and he coolly put it into his pocket, aud was about to go away when liis mother cried out: ■But that is mine." " Eh 1. never mind, mother," he said as he put his arm arouud his mother's neck, and forced her to go with him. " I'll treat you to some brandy." " With my own money, brigand," said the old wo- man, comjletely molline'd by her son's small show oi attection, and perfectly willing to accompany her vil- lain of a son oil his orgy. But a thought of business came over her just as she was leaving, and she turned long enough to .say in her shrill, angry voice to Louise: "Look you, they will be coming out of the chuich soon ; now sing out loud. No laziness, mind what I say, for I'll be watching you." " Yes, madam," replied Louise meekly. " Pierre ! Where is that lazy stamp 1 '" cried the old woman, who had not seen the poor cripple who stood in the angle of one of the buildings, until tier voice caused him to come forward. "Here, put her on the church steps." " Yes, mother," said Pierre, going towards the blind girl, thankful of an opportuuity even of touching the innocent girl's hand. But Jacques Was opposed to his doing even that, for as Pierre was about to take hold of Louise's wasted hand, he pushed him rudely aside, and in a rough voice said : "Never mind, Cupid, you need not trouble yourself. I'll take care of her." Louise shrank from his touch ; but he never let such trifles as that deter him, in fact he preferred thut even the sound of his voice should give piiin, and tak- ing her rudely by the hand, he led her to the steps of the church, and stood for a moment looking at her. ■• Yea, yes," he said half 1o himself, " she is devilish good-looking, considering she's blind." " You stay here, and see that no one speaks to her," said the old woman to Pierre. " I will watch her,'' replied the cripple, with a look of devotion to the poor girl such as one might give to the picture of the Madonna. "There's no danger that he'll let any one run away with her: is tlifere, Cupid," laughed Jacques, a? ho j started off with his mother. '"^'Tl For some time after mother and son had gone awa ^ Pierre stood gazing at the wasted form of the poo'r blind Kii'l, while the great tears of sympathy and love | fill<-d his eyes, and trickled down his distorted face. Seated upon the cold stone steps which were cover- ed with snow and ice, and with scanty clothing to shield her from the piercing wind and falling snow, the poor girl shook with the cold like one in an ague tit. It was a sight which cut the honest, tender Pierre to the heart, but yet he had nothing with which to cover her, save the ragged coat which he wore, and the loss of that would leave his body almost naked. Only for a moment did he hesitate, and then draw- ing off the only garment in which there was any warmth, he went towards Louise. " I am so very cold," shivered the poor girl, as she tried to wrap the mi.serable sack she wore, more close- ly iiround her. Pierre covered her with the coat, and stood exposed to all the merciless fury of the storm, thankful that he was able to do her this service. "Is that you, Pierro," asked the young girl, as she felt Pierre covering her with the garment. "Yes, mamzelle," replied the cripple, breathing upon i i ,.m \ \ THE TWO ORPHANS. 27 Bfs fingers which were rupidly becoming purple from the iu lease cold. '' Yes, it must be you. Pierre ; vou are the only one who is kind to me. But this i.s your co.it," she said as she felt, the garmeut. '• What will you do without it, Pierre? " "Oil, I'll do verv well indeed, niamzelle.'' replie(' Pierre, vainly trying to keep his teeth from chattering, and at thesame tnne telling a falseliood in order to in- duce the young girl to keep the coat. " 1 have a jack- et, and my woolen waistcoat, and my — oh, that is only my overcotit. Besides, 1 am ver^' warm, very warm, indeed I "' Even while the honest fellow was speaking, he was pbliged to move around to keep tlie blood in circulation lie was so rs.pidly becoming chilled. " Pierre," said Louise earnestly, " without vou I slioiild die, without your help I shouldn't have strength to endure my sufferings." Again th'j toars came into the cripple's eyes; but t!iistiiu- they were tears of joy as well as sorrow. He was happy at the words" which Louise uttered, fof they showed him tiiat she thought of liim depended upon him, and his heart, which was so hungry for the love of some om, rejoined. "I know they make you wretched," he said sadly. *• My heart bleeds at the sufferings they inrlict on you ; />ut I am helpless, lieljdess, lean do notlnng, nothing." Th-.^se despairing words which thethougla of his own weakness wrung from Pierre's lieart, touched Louise ieeply. and she tried to comfort him. '•Is your sympathy, your compassion, nothing?" she Asked in a tender voice, and as she took hold of the coat he had placed upon her shoulders, she added: "Even now I have to thank you. Yes, vour pity, your kindness sustains me.'' As she said this, she arose and took Pierre's hand in her own. In doing so, she touched his arm which was partly •overed by the thin lagged shirt, and in au instant she Huderstood what he had douf. "Oh, how seKish I am ! " as she took the coat from off her shoulders. " No, no ! " cried Pierre, trying to prevent her from doiuir so, and refusing to take it back." "Pierre, do take it," she almost begged him, "my de.ir Pierre, for my sake take it." Pierre could not resist this entreaty, and very re- lu.-tiurly did h : again put the coat on". " I am not cold now." she said, struggling not to be- tray the intense suffering winch was hers, as tlie chill- ing snow again fell upon her almost unprotected shoulders, "and if I were, am I not accustomed tosuf fering? did they not leave me in the cold garret to starve.bucause t refused to beg ? But. alas ! I must , bejj, or die and l.ise all my liope of seeing my dear sis ^yter Ilenrietle once more.'' ■^ Tlie wail of sorrow which accompanied the words 80 moved Pierre, that for a moment he was unable to »peak. "flave you never thought of escai)ing ?" he said at last. " I can assist you. Let me inform the police. And they will protect vou." "No. uo," replied Louise, quicklv, "you must not. I have thought U , but that would' deprive me of the only chance of finding my sister. Tliey would shut me up ill an asylum for tlTe blind, and then 1 should be lo.-?t to her forever. Besides, I have an idea which Bustams me and is my last iiope. If they take me from one quarter of the city to the other, peiiians some day my voice in.iy reach my sister's ears." I will sing flio same sontia we learned tOKetiier anrl when I hnish I will cry out ' Ileni-jette! 'tis I vour sit. terLmise! Do you not hear me, Ilenriette.'sister ? " As tlie poor giil thus repeated the crv which she hoped would lead her to her dear sister, her voice un- consciously rose to a louder pitch, until the last words were uUered with all her strength, and she seemed to think that even there might »he be heard bv the loved one. At the same time the organ from the cliurch swelled out a hymn of praise to God, that seemed almost like mockery ; for here, at the very steps of God's temple, was thei^ not one of Ilis children in deepest despair, vyhich had been caused by man, and sufleriiig an afflic- tion which God had visited upon her, perhaps for the sins of her fathers. But the ways i>f God are past finding out, and in hi.s own good time will he pour his balm upon the stricken one's heart, and in the fullness of his love re- move all sorrow and care from her pure and spotless life. I'ierre feared lest his mother should hear Louise's cry, and he knew by the sound of tlie organ that the service was concluded, therefore he said, soothingly: " Hush ! Louise, they will hear you. The service is over, ami mother will be coming I'ack to watcli yon." "And if she does not hear me singing she wilfbeal me." ^ And the poor creature commenced to sing iu a feeble voice, just as the richly dressed people bpgau to pour out of the church, brushing, without thought, the poor blind gill will! their elegant robes. Tlie feeble, but sweet voice attracted none of tlio woishipeis; thev were so much occupied with the thoughts of God which the good priest had instilled . into their minds that they eoiild not see one of His ' (■hildren who was singing'her life away. Auioiig the last jWho came from the house of God was the Countess de Linieres, and upon her face was still the same look of sadness which seemed habitual to it. I have prayed to heaven to restore to me my child.'* she said, half to herself. " Will my prayer never be answered." Tlie sad song which Louise was singing arrested her attention, and stirred strange emotions in her breast. "What a voice! How tender and how sad. It awakens pity akin to pain. Gracious Heaven ! What is the meaning of that fixed look ?" and bending over the poor beggar, she asked. " My cliild can you not see me?" " N5 madam," was Louise's low, sad answer. " Poor child !" exclaimed the countess. " Do you pity me, madam? " and Louise asked the question almost wonderingly, little dreaming how much right she had to claim pity and love from the aristocratic lady who was bending over her. As the blind girl spoke she felt a hard grip upon her arm, and she knew that Mother Frochard was listen- ing to whatever she might say. The Countess de Linieres saw the hard-featured old ha>;, and she could not but wonder at the marked conlrast between the two. CHAPTER XVII. CHARITY AND PITY. The blind girl's question, "do you pity me, mad- am ?" aroused all the the great flood of sympathy that the countess was so well known to have; and it wa« witli evident emotion that she answered : " Pity you ? indeed 1 do, my child." These words fell with a sweet sound upon the poor gill's eager ears, and she 8tepj)ed nearer the kind lady, leirardless of llie proximity of the old hag, who was doing all she could to make the pme, youug lite wretched. " You pity me because I am blind," she said, in a touching voice. "Alas, madam, thai is not my great- est misfortune." '• What, do you mean ?" asked the kind-hearted lady, in surprise. " Speak, child ; I am rich, perhaps I can " Ah ! if I dare ! " exclaimed Louise, bracing herself to tell her story to this lady who spoke to her in such pitying accents, and who could do so much toward aid- ing her to find lier sister. 28 THE TWO ORPHANS. f. But. Mother Frocliard, who liad heard Louise's last words, liad i>o intention of allowing the conversation to pioceed any further, and she graspe(i the hliiid girl's tender arm between her hard and wicked fingers, in- flicting a hurt which caused the poor girl to cry out with pain. •'Eh, eh? what is it ?" asked the old hag, as she pressed her fat, dirty face close to the aristocratic fea- tures of tlie countess, while her small, gray eyes watched the lady's face as if to lind out what Louise had already told. '■You have a relative — a mother ' '' asked the coun- tess of Louise, utterly ignoring La Prochard's iuiper- tinent interruption. '•Mother!" exclaimed the blind girl, in tones of deepest despair. In that one word all wretchedness of her hard lot was embodied, and her very soul seemed to go out with the word. Louise had spoken before her tormentor could pre- vent her ; but the old woman revenged herself by an- other wicked pinch, and at the same time speaking quickly, as if to prevent the laily from noticing the blind girl's tone. •• Yes, my beautiful lady," she said in her shrill, coarse tones, while she screwed her face up into what ?he intended as a most humble smile, " she has a good mother, if I do say so." '""Is this your 'daughter?" asked the countess, in great surprise, as she gazed at the two now side by side, and compared the slight, shrinking, beautiful girl with the fawning, fat and coarse old woman who thus claimed to be the mother of one who resembled her as little as do the angels resemble those imps of I Satan that torment lost souls. r* " Tlie youngest of seven that Heaven has blessed me with, my lady," replied tlie old woman, as she dropped a stiff courtesy, and tried to put on a re.signed and coii- ^ tented look. " Tlia'j is what the darling was going to Vtell you — isn't it deary ? " A tierce, sly blow in the back warned the trembling Louise what her fate would be if she did not answei- as the old hag told her to : but in spite ot the old ^Yo• man's threats the poor gir! could not thus tell a false- hood, and in addition destroy the faint hopes of seeing her fii.'iter that the countess's kind words had caused to spring up in her bosom. ''I — I — '' she stammered in her attempt to reply; but another vicious blow from La Frochard caused her to reel and almost lose her breath. As if she was afflicted with an excess of motherly love, the old woman went towards the trembling girl, and under pretense of siipportiuL', took her by the arm in a maimer that csused Louise the most intense pain, and at the same time, almost prevented her from speaking. Then, with her false smile, and affectation of tender- ness, she asked — or, it would be more proper to say. answered for Louise,: i " Certainly. Isn't it so, my dear?" \ " She seems to be ill and suffering," said the countess,- as she saw how badly the poor girl trembled, and, at- tributing it to physical weakness, rather than emotion, feared tliat she was sick and concluded that that was the reason why Louise had not answered her ques- tions. '■ Ah ! good, charitable souls, like you, my lady, have pity on her," replied the old woman, in her whining voice, that grated on Louise's ears, and evi-ii caused her to shrink away, as if with pain. "She has a nice, good home. Haven't you, my dear?" As the old hag asked this question of Louise, she clutched her more firmly by the arm, and in a low, hoarse voice, whispered : 'Speak out!" •' Yes — yes — " faltered Louise. Feaiftil lest the countess sliiiiild begin to have some suspicion of the real state of affairs, La Frochard step- ped in fiont of Louisp, and thus prevented her from saying anything further. " Give this to your mother, and pray for me," said the countess, as she handed the poor girl a gold-piece, and entered her sedan chair, and iu a few momeutii was out of sight. Until the chair in which the countess was seated, was out of sight. Mother Frochard watched it nar- rowly, and stood in a 'Jiotheily sort ot attitude near Louise ; but as soon as the last one of the servant a wearing the De Linieres livery, had turned the cor- ner, she grasped the money eagerly and with no gentle force. "Ah! a louis. another gold-piece! It has been a good day, after all." And carefully placing the money in her catiacioua pocket, the old woman looked anxiously aronna to see which one of the many streets that met at the square offered the best facilities for her business. At length she decided upon her route, and going ijp to Louise, she seized her roughly by the hand, then gave her arm a pinch, by way of leminder, and saitl in herhaid, stern voice: " Come on now, and sing out. Sing, I tell you." Thus commanded, the poor girl began in a low voice that trembled with its suppressed tmotion, and the two walked slowly away, while the old hag continued her shrill, monotonous cry of : '• Charity, good people ; charity for a poor blind girl." Jacques and Pierre had been silent witnesses of the scene between the countess and Louise, and nothing but the number of people that were passing prevented Jacques from adding the louis given by the countess to some liquor dealer's hoard. When La Frochai d and Louise went on their way, Pierre started to follow them, in order that he might have the satisfaction of gazing upon the slitjht form of the blind gill, if only from the distance, but he was stopped by Jacques's brutal voice. '■ Stop ! " he cried in an angry tone, " I have a word to sf.y to you." For an instant the cripple did not heed the voice ; but the thought of what his brotlier might do, caused him to stop, turn half around and ask : ^ "What is it?" '' I forbid you to follow Louise ! " exclaimed Jacques in an aiigrv voice. "What ? You forbid ? " asked Pierre as if he doubt- ed that he had heard aright. " Yes, and J forbid you to even think of her." This time Jacques voice was hoarse with rage, and he looked as if iie was about to spring upon Ins de- formed brother, and kill him then and there because he even dared to cast his eyes iu the direction the blind girl had taken. It was evident that this brute of a man, who knew no other pleas-iii'e than drinking or making others sr-f fer, had, in his own brutal way, fallen in love with the poor i;iil whom he delighted to torment. " Jacques. I cannot help it," said Pierre in an al- most iiiiploiing tone. "You would not be so cruel. No, no Jacques. Why are you so cruel?" '• Never mind why, I forbid .you, that is enough, and if you dare to disoliey me, I'll break those misshapen legs over again, Cupid." As he said this he dealt the poor cripple a cruel blow which knocked him down, as a mild way of enforcing his commands. " Ah ! kiiyne, kill me if you will," said Pierre as ho slowly arose from the ground, and in a lower voice he added: "But I love her, and you cannot forbio you pity mi ' mia bliiid Loi isc, littlr. drcamin;/ of the rijkt she had to claim pity of the lady whonaddressed her. 1 ^\ THE TWO ORrHANS. 31 " I have refused that title, ami ytt I iliali'ust my coiirag-e to resist his entreaties." " You have done well, madamoiaelle, and it is my duty to speak frankly to you. I am a iieai- relative of the Chevalier's. I have known for some time of the attachment wliich exists between you, and I have de- fended him against the wrath of his uncle, my husband. But rettectioii has shown ine my duty to both of you. The opposition of his family renders this marriage im- Dossible." " Madam," replied Henriette with a tin^e of pride iu her voice. " I had determined on my course be- fore seeiiii^ 3'ou. The path of sacrifice and duty." "I shall not prove unt;rateful," replied the countess, touched by the youny girl's words. "1 am rich and powerful. " Powerful ! " exclaimed Henriette, thinking perhaps shemiglit interest her in Louise's fate. •' If at any lime I can show my appreciation of your noble and disinterested conduct " "Madam, you can! " exclaimed the young girl eag- erly, not noticing that she was intei-rupting the coun- tess, so eager was she. •' Now at this very instant you can.'' " How ?" " Use your power to find the poor child who has l)een torn from my protection. Restore her to me, and you can ask no sacrifice I will not make. I vvill tear iny love from mv heart, and disappear with her where you anil yours shall never see me more. Do I ask too much 1 " '•No, no," answered the countess quickly. "I pro- mise you not alone my aid ; but that of the greatest power in Pans. Give me her name, age, and descrip- tion." • "A description, alas! madam, too easily given. She is but sixteen and Idind." "Blind, blind," repeated the countess, while her thoughts went back to the blind girl she had met a short time previous. " Her name is Louise." '• Louise !" exclaimeut who was prevented Irom going to 1. -r, m.iy be imagined but not wri'"' " y'et lild. 32 THE TWO ©RPHANS. She had t« the same instant found and lost her. CHAPTER XX. WITHOUT PITY. For several moments Henriette could not under- stand why slie was prevented from going out. She knew that Louise was at that moment in the street below. Slie had seen that sister for whom she had searched so long, and just at tlie moment wiien she could clasp her in her aims once more, she found lier- Belf prevented by a guard of armed men. In her frenzy she struggled with the stalwart men, thinking that she might force a passage and regain the fitieet in time to meet her loved sister. The countess sank half-fainting into a chair as she Bavv her husband enter upon an eriand which she could only guess concerned her, and she at once coiijectuied that the Count de Linieres had discovered lier secret which for so many years she had guarded. " Gentlemen, gentlemen, do not stop me!" exclaim ed Henriette, as she saw how useless her struggles ■were. The men looked at the count as if to ask for orders and he, rightly interpreting their looks, said in a cold, stern voice : '■ Do your duty." In a moment more Heniiette was seized firmly by two of the guards, who awaited De Liniere's orders to carry her away. "In the name of heaven let me go," implored the poor girl turning towards the count, " I tell you I must go to her, it is she, do you not hear ? Her voice grows fainter. Oh, for Heaven's sake have pity, let me go, or I shall lose her again." "Take this girl to Salpetriere ! " exclaimed the •count, who was not moved from his puipose by Heuri- ette's passionate pleadings. "Oh, no, no," implored the poor girl us the rough Boldiers forced her away. The countess seemed to recover a port'on of her self- possession a? Henriette was forced away. She under- stood now that she must rescue Louise before it was too late, and she rushed towards the door; but her husband barred the passage. " At least let me go. I must go," she exclaimed, excitedly. " You will remain where you are, madam," said the count, taking her almost roughly by the arm. "You have not yet told me what brought you here." "Monsieur, I will later," frantically' exclaimed the poor woman, almost beside herself with anxiety. "I will tell you all ; but now let me go before she " "Of whom are you speaking, madam? "was the Stem interruption. " Of whom ? " almost shrieked the countess. " Why, of — of — my " The poor woman could say no more. In her excite- ment she had almost said, " my child ;" but she saw the count's stern, angry gaze fixed upon her, and fihe sank back in her chair in a dead swoon. Count de Linieres gave a hard, cold look at his wife, ■without attemptnig to aid her, and then turning, left tlie room. As he reached the street, he lieard a sad, sweet voice singing in the distance ; but to him it meant nothing, save the song of a street-beggar, and he paid no attention to it. To two would it have .spoken in tones of deepest misery had tliev heard it ; but one was on her way to Salpetriere, and the other, in that attic-ropm inicou- ficious of all that was passing around her. ■I CHAPTER XXI. PRISON LIFE. We have for a time, lost sight of Marianne Van- thier, Mie poor outcast, whom we saw in the third chapter, d a woman, she is the meekest 1 :' ever saw," added Julie in a decided tone. , " What do 1 not owe her ? " continned MariAnne. [""Her gentle words first awakened feelings in my heart that I thought long since dead. When I see those pure and hnmlde women, who have nothing but virtues to confess, daily kneeling in prayer, what can 1 e.xpeci — I who am so guilty." "And I too," said'Florette. '■ But they have taught ihe that I can atone for the past," said Marianne, siill iiir a half-musing tone; "that every good deed will efface a fault committed.'' ; "I am afraid I couldn't live long enough to balance :■ the accourit," said Julie in a voice which expressed both jest and sadness. The conver.sation was interrnpted by the entrance of the physician of the prison, who was none othei' than the same charitable doctor whom we saw at the Place St. Sulpiee,''and who^ would have benefitted Lou- ise so greatly liad'ltiB been Allowed to do so. As he entered. Sister Genevieve went eagerly to- wards him, displaying a nervousness that was very strange. "Ah, doctor, I have been waiting impatiently lor yon," she said in a marvellously sweet voice. " I am not late, I believe," replied the physician, as he glanced at his watch to assiu-e himself that he was punctual to the time appointed. " No," answered the sister ; " but von led me to hope that when you came to-day von wou"ld bring me " "Good news," added the doctor while a smile of sat- isf.tction and pleasure passed over his face. " Well, I have done everything in my power. I have t=pokenof the interest you take in this nnforlnnate woman ; of hersiuceie repentance, and I even went so far as to add a few good qualities on my own account." '• You did wrong, doctor," said the good sister, in a tone which showed plainly that she was hurt at any subterfuge having been used, even though it Wiis done to effect a purpose which she ha()the her jrrief. " Courage, my child, look up," she said kindly. Henriette made no sign of recognition, and Mari- anne went more closely to lier. " Look at me, mademoiselle. Do you not re- member the woman who wished to drown herself?" "You — you," faltered the ])Oor girl, striving to re- ca'.l the events which had passed, and vrhich, in her Biiaery, seemed to have occurred years before, instead of only a few weeks, "Ah, yes, I remember you too veil!" she exclaimed, as the events of that fatal night when she was separated from her sister, came upon her like some pestilence-laden blast of air. "Alas! •we were together then — that was before they dragged me away from her. You saw her — my poor sister.'' "I tofd madam that you were as pure as an angeh" "Yes, madam, I am innocent," exclaimed Henriette, earnestly, and iu a manner that could not but carry conviction with it. "I call Heaven to witness, I Bwear " " Do not swear, daughter," said Sist,er Genevieve, iu a mildly reproving voice " I believe you would not be guilty of the shameful sin of falsehood." " No, no," answered Henriette, quickly. While this conversation was going on, a man had approached the pi-rson gates, and after showinj; the sister in charge, a paper signed by the Minister of Po- lice, giving himpermission to visit the prison, was ad- mitted, and proceeded directly to Sister Geneviere. The person who just entered was our old friend, Picard the magnificent. " By whose orders were you sent here? " asked t' sister, as she looked earnestly at tlie rather singuli appearing j-onng man. ■' By order of the Count de Linieres, madam.' " Who are you, sir?" she asked, rather surprised af the messenger the count had sent. \ " First valet de-chambre to his excellency, the mi: ister of police," replieii Picard, laying his hand on lii heait iu an affected manner, and making a very lot bow. '■ Tlien it isby his orders," said the usually ver; fnild sister, in a stern voice, " that this poor chi is " "Alas, madam,'' interrupted Picard, "the liono^ of an illustrious house must be protected." "You are a witness tliat I refused the liand of the chevalier," said Henriette passionately, and appealing to the valet with all the force of her gentle nature. "Is that so, monsieur? " asked Sistei- Genevieve. "That is true, I am compelled to admit it," replied Picard with another, and a lower bow. " Madam, I told you she was innocent," said Mari- anne, overjoyed at this proof of Henriette's guiltles* ness. " If madam the Superior will allow me to inform the young lady of the further wishes of his excellency, the minister of police, I think I can make her understand," said Picard seeing that this interview was not tending; to give those around him that exalted idea of his dig- nity which he was ever careful to preserve, and wiatl- iugto terminate the interview as soon as possible. ; " You may do so," said the sister gravely. Theq' turning to Henriette and kissing her, sliesaid : " Hav ft Ik. ' J;.' '%■■■ THE TWO ORPHANS. 37 mlt, she eai," said Jacques gazing with admiration upon her. ■• Oh, well, well," laughed the old woman, "that is all mighty fine ; but where is the bread aud butter to come fiom ? " ■• I care not," said Louise, firmly, "Do yon hear ?'* asked Pierre of his mother, while he gaied at Louise in alarm. " Do vou know what she means? She will starve ratiier than beg." " Nonsense," was the sneering reply. " She will get tired of that soon enough." " Never! " cried the blind girl. " Well, we'll see if locking you up» in that garret won't bring you to your senses." Aud the old woman laughed as she saw the flush of fear that passed over the poor girl's face, and she no- ticed that her attitude was not so defiant. " If I enter that place, I shall never leave it alive," said Louise piteously. "Poor child! poor child!" exclaimed Pierre, aa he turned away to hide his tears. " Why she is magnificent," said Jacques iu admira- tion. "I'd never have believec^that she Had so much spirit." *° As he'spoke he went towards ft?e trembling girl, and tried to kiss her ; but sBe miiimged to escape from him. As Jacques attempted this outrage, Pierre rushed forward as though he would strike liim to the earth; but he checked himself, and exclaimed iu a voice filled with reproach : " Jacques !" "Well, wli;it is it? You don't like it, I supjiose. Master Cupid. Well, forbid it, why don't you? , •' I do. ' And Pierre was about to rush forward again ; bat Jacques' threatening attitude caused him to stop, and lie went to a further corner of the room, muttering to himself: "Oh, miserable, cowardly wretch that I am," aud he sobbed like a child at the thought of his own coward-' ice. •■ Come, come along," said the old woman, taking Louise again by the arm, aud dragging her towards the steps. " You're strong enough when you want to be. Up into the garret with vou," and the old wretch, half-carried, half-diauged the poor girl along, until at the steps Louise fell from her grasp, aud lay upon the stairs, seemingly too feeble to move. "Yes, that is right, mother, ta^e her up," said Jac- ques, encouragingly, "get her out of the way. Oh, come here, I want to speak to you," he added, as he •uddeuly thought of some message that he tiad forgot- ten. The old woman hurried down to hear what her darling eon had to say, and as she left Loaise where She had fallen upon the stairs, Pierre (09k tb« THE TWO ORPHANS. 39 <«ppoii unity of slipping around on th» opposite side of tlie swir case, and whispering: " You can escape. I have unscrewed the lock. The key to tlie street door is uini»T your matiiess. Trust to Heaven to guard you. Notliiug worse can liappen than threatens you here.'' Jle tinislied whispering just in time to hear Jacques say to his mother : " Lock her up securely. I have my reasons for dis- tinsting Master Cupid."' "Yes, yes, I uftderstand," leplied the old woman, shaking her head knowingly. '• Come, my innocent, hard working brother," order- ed Jacques, in a sneering tone. " Come with me, 1 want you."' •' I iiavework here," answered Pierre, as he went to his wheel, and commenced to work. •' And I have work for you elsewere,"' exclaimed Jacques in an angry tone, and with a menacing ges- ture. " 1 told you to sharpen my cutlass. Come with nie, and keep your whining for this blind beauty until -Hiiother time. Come along, I say." The cripple did not dare to liisobey his brother's orders wlien they were given in that manner, and he started slowly towards him, murmuring: '• Ah ! if I iiad anything but water in my veins, I'd ■*lo something more than whine." CHAPTER XXVI. VISITORP. As tiie door closed upon her two sons, the old wo-! man gave way to her feelings of admiration ior her handsome Jacques. Louise lay on the stairs as rigid as if she had been While La Frochard is thus pleasantly engaged, we will, in a few brief word.-i, explain what happened after Marianne was carried away into exile. Henriette remained at La Salpetriere until night- fall, and in the meantime the Count de Linieres nad received notice that she had embarked in the prison- ship. He at once gave Picard the necessary orders for the release of the chevalier, and at dusk lie and Henriette and De Vaudrey were together, discussing plans for the release of Louise. Picaril proved a valu.nble aid in the matter, and be- fore Henriette had been out of pri.son an hour, sho was on her way to find the blind girl from whom she had been separated so long. They had no difficulty in procuring a warrant for the arrest of Jacques and his mother, and a guard to execute it, and thus armed with the powe*- of the law, thev anticipated no trouble. The boat-house occupied by the Frocliards had, as the reader will remember, an entrance opening on the Seine wiiicli was seldom used, and tlie only other means of entering the house was through a long, dark passage leading from the Rue Noir. At the entrance of this passage the rescuing party halted, and it was then decided that Picard shoiijxl lead the guards around to the door on the river sffle, while the chevalier sliouhl pioceed through the passage, contrivingto reach the house at the same time the soldiers did. It was thougtit necessary that the chevalier should go to the next street where he coiihi watch the move- ments of the guards and thus time his own movements. Leaving Henriette at the eiiiiaiice of the passage, with many cautions that she should not stir from tlia spot, he hurried away. To (he young t'irl. who had thus waited the prepar- ations which were to restore her to her sister, the time passed with leaden wings, and she could not remain inactive. She resolved to enter the bouse in advance of the others and thus have t-lie pleasure of clasping her sister in iiej arms a few moments sooner. Alone she threaded the dark, noisome passage. Alone she pursued her rash journey, prompted by her great love for her sister, braving all tiie horrors of that viper's den in order that she might meet her sister a few moments sooner. Mother Frochard descended fiom the garret; she had left Louise insensible, and, havintr thus performed herk herself to the consolation whicti she could derive from her brandy bottle. Suddenly she heard a knock at the door, and start- ini; in alfriglit she hid her bottle among some of the cooking utensils ihai littered the table, and advancing to the door asked : •• Who's there 1 What do you want t " It was Ileiiriette's voice that answered from the out- .side. •' I am looking for some one— for Madam Frochard." " What do jou want of her?" asked the old woman, suspiciously, and making no motion toward opening the door. " I must speak with her." " Are you alone? " '• Yes," I am alone." The answer seemed to satisfy La Frochard, for she imniediatelv unfastened the do " Still Henriette hesitateti, and placed her hand upon her heart to still its tumultuous beatings. " Come, what is it? " again asked the old woman impatiently, *• What are you looking for 1 Do you expect to find any one h£ve 1 " This question arouseu Henriette to the sense of the the mission which had brought her to this fearful place, and she answered quickly. " Yes, yea. I am 'ookiug for the person who lives here with you." " What person 1 " and Mother Frochard's metallic voice was harder and shriller than ever. " A young girl." answered Henriette. "Ah lia," thought the old woman, " this must be the sister." Then she said in an indifferent voice. " I doll'', know anything about any young girl." " You don't know her? " asked Henriette in aston- ish laeut. " No." " Am I mistaken? This house answers the descrip- tion, and your name is Frochard, is it not?" "Eiphremie Frochard. What then?" " You beg in the streets with a young girl who sings, do you not ?" " Me beg in the streets ! " replied the old woman in a highly indignant tone, as if the idea of such a thing was an insult to her. " Why should I beg ? Haven't I two sons who work for me? One of them is a knife- grinder — look there is his wheel, and the othfer one — is — oh if he were only here now." " You must be the one," said Heuiiette, half to her- self : "the doctor told me that he knew you, and " Henrietta stopped talking, and gave utterance to a scream, expressive of surprise and fear. She had noticed the shawl and scarf which the old woman had taken fi-om Louise, and fastened upon her- Belf. , " What is the matter ? " asked the oldTiag, in no lit- tle surprise. '• rhal shawl — I know it. It is hers — it is hers, I tell you," screamed Henriette, as a thousand fears Jfor her^ster's safety presented themselves to her mind. " N^t a bit of it, it is mine," boldly asserted La Frochard, thinking she could make the young girl be- lieve her. " And this scarf around your neck." "Well, what of it ?" •' It was made for her by my own hands . " exclaim- ed Henriette, tearing it from the old woman's neck. ' Oh, wretch I you have lied to me." For an instant La Frochard was astounded. She had thought to persuade Henriette that she knew noiii- mg of her sister: but it was impossible. Her round, wicked face giew perfectly fiendish with rage, as she hissed through her clenched teeth, tlie sin- gle word: " Caught ! " _ Then, after a moment's thought, she turned to Hen- riette with a smile that was intended to be sympathiz- ing;. " Well, well," she said in a sorrowful voice, " if you must know the truth, I'll tell you. When you came in, you were so excited and frightened, I didn't dare to tell you all " " All ! all what ? " interrupted Henriette, in an a^o- ny of apprehension. " Speak quickly." "One evening about three months ago," continued motRer FrochanI, " I met the girl you are looking for, wandering about the streets. I liad pity on her, and brought her home with me, where I took good care of her." The old woman stopped to wipe away imaginary tears ; but the agonized girl exclaimed : " Go on, for Heaven's sake go on." " Well," whined the old hng, " she knew I wan poor and couldn't afford to keep lier foi- nothing, so she sang sometimes in the streets — ^justtohelp me — and she sang like a little bird." Again the old woman's feelings overcome her, anJ she vyas obliged to stop. " And then, what then?" "And then, why you see the poor child wasn't very strong, and what with the life we lead, and the sorrow she felt she couldn't stand it, and the poor little bird broke down entirely, She said she couldn't sing any more, and that was the end of it. For two days sha has been dumb. She'll sing no more — no more." As Mother Frochard finished, her voice, which, a> first had had the professional wliine in it, sank almost to a whisper, and seating heiself in a chai(f she cover- ed her face with her apron, and simulated an agony of grief. " Dead ! " exclaimed Henriette, whila every vestige of color left her face, and she stood like one petrified, " dead, my sister, my Louise is dead!" nod overcome by her intense sorrow she sank insensible upon the floor. " Fainted, eh ?" cried the old woman, jnmping up quickly, and gazing at the prostrate girl. '" What am 1 to do with her? Oh, if Jacques were onVf here. I must go for him." She started towards the door; but the thougiit Hashed over her that she had fo-gotten to Icck the garret door, and she ran back and performed that duty. " There," she said, with a sigh of satisfaction, "there is nothing to fear now, and I'll go a >d call Jacques." The ohf woman departed in searcl of her son, leav* ing Henriette lying upon the floor. CHAPTER XXVH THE RECOGNITION. Not many minutes after Mother Frochard went in search of Jacques, Louise, recovering her conscious- ness, vyhich she had lost thr woman had given her, to garret, pushed with all the door of her prison, an screws, it yielded to her the beat;ng the old to remain in the e streiigtS agiiinwfc re had loosened the and she was freed head of the stairs. •Jl M from her place of torture. For a moment she stood" with her ears strained to their utmost tension to catch any sound that should betoken th» presence of any one in the hut. But all was still, and she commenced to descend the stairs, feeling her way carefully, lest she should stum- ble on some of the decayed boards. "They are all gone," she murmured. "Pierre tol^». me the truth, the lock would not hold. Yes, 1 will" follow his advice. If I can find my way to the street through that long passage, I will ask the first passer-by to take me to that good d(ictor at the Hospital St. Louis." Trembling with excitement she felt her way to the foot of the stairs, where one step further, in thjfe' same direction would have biought her in contact 'with the insensible body of her sister ; and then gropinaiior the- wall, Bile reached the door. / With a oy of joy as she reached it, she felt, with easrer, feverish hands, for the rude latch. Eagerly she tried to open it, but it resisted all her efforts, and as the truth flashed o^^Mier mind, her hands dropped by her side, and <|^H^|»k to the floor like one smitten with the palj^v^^^^"'* " Locked! locked ! What shall' I dSrt " The sudden change from hopfe that was almost a certainty, to deep despair, ove»oj,vered her for thu moment. But at last she remembered what she should have thought of before. ■( THE TWO ORPHA^^S. 41 "Pierre told me he had made another key for it," iiul starting np slie groped her way across the room owards iier bed, almost brushing the garments of that ister slie was so anxious to meet, as stio passed. With hands trembling so that, slie couUl hardly con- :rol ttiem, Lonise felt ibr the precious key which hould assure her of freedom. A ei'y of joy hnr.st from her pallid, quivering h'pa as iier lingers came in contact with the precious object. ■' Good, brave Pierre," she exclaimed thankfully. " Now I will go at once." She ai'ose to her feet, and made two or three at- tempts in the riglit direction, when her foot came in contact with the clothing of Henriette. Hastily slie stooped down, and felt of the inanimate body. % "A woman!" she exclaimed in accents of deepest terror. " She is cold, she 13 dead." Terribly alarmed by what she could not see, the poor girl, believing herself to be in the presence of death, covered her face with lier hands, and crouched lilose to the floor. '• Oh, Heaven ! " she cried, " they have committed some terrible crime and fled." She timidly stretched out her hand, and passed it once more over the still form. In so doing she felt the heart beat, and with a glad cry she raised the head of the person before her. "She is not dead ! madam, madam, speak, speak to uie. She does not hear me. What shall I do ? I can- not leave her tims." Dear as was her liberty to her, the poor, blind child could not leave a fellow creature in distress, and she tried by all the means in her power to awaken the in- eensible gn!. While she was thus engaged, the door opened, and mother Frochard and Jacques entered. For a single instant they stood transfixed with sur- piise, and then with a single thought they rushed to- wards the two girls. " Separate them at once — quick ! " shouted Jacques 10 his mother who was a few steps in advance. La Frochard did not need this warning ciy to induce ner to rush towards Louise, and grasp her roughly by the arm. " What are you doing here 1" she cried. " How did you get out?" Louise clung to the body of Henriette, to prevent the old woman from carrying her away; but her slight strength was of no avail aganist the old hag's deter- mination, and she was rudely flung against the stair- cse. As if roused by th« noise, Henriette opened her eyes, and showed signs of returning consciousness. ■' Quick ! " shouted Jacques, as he saw this move- ment of Henriette's, "get her out of the way — quick, I tell you, the other one is coming too." "Get back with you— at once," cried the old wo- mHn, at the same time dragging Louise up the stairs, and accompanying each word with a cruel blow. Just at ttiis moment Pierre entered, and seeing Hen- riette lying upon the floor, and Lonise .struggling upon the stairs, he understood at once, that it was the sister whom Louise liad so earnestly prayed to meet. "But the woman who ia lying there ?" cried Louise to the old woman. " That is our business and none of yours. Get along with you." As La Frochard got Louise to the head of the stairs, Henriette, who had risen to her feet, saw the blind girl, and running towards her, she exclaimed : , " Ah, Louise, /.^ouise ! " \ Jacques seized her instantly, and putting his hand V^'er her mouth, prevented her from speaking again or ^kancing any further. lint the blind girl had caught the sound of her sis- ter's voice, and that lent her addiiional streutrth. Uttering a cry of sinprise and joy, she endeavoreii to escape from the old wretch wlio was neuily chok- ing her. " Go in~I tell yon get In with you," cried La Fro- chard, as she pushed Louise in tlie room, and released her hold of her throat m order to sliut the door. Just then Henriette had succeeded in pushing Jac- ques' hand from her mouth, and running to the loot of tlie staii-8, cried in a loud voice : " Louise ! Sister !" The cry gave Lonise the strength of a lioness for a moneut, and pushing the old woman back she ran down the stairs, anut you are not. You fight with women — vou are a cow aid I In their defence my courage will be more than a match for your strength." "Brave Plerie I " exclaimed Louise, encouragingly. " Depend on me, madeiiKiiselle," replied the cripple, who seemed to liave grown lees deformed, and more ol a man through his new born courage. " What do you waiil'f" liemaiided Jacques, whom this new i)hase of Pieire's chaiacter had astonished, and he could hardly believe what he saw. " Let these two "women go, ' was the cripple's firm replv, "Indeed!" sneered Jacques. "Suppose I refuse, what then f" and as he asked the questidu he looked at his brother as if he would intimidate him with a glance as had been his wont in days past. But Piene's new born courage was deep. He drew ilfroin a source that could still cause it to lemain, and that source was the trembling, pallid girl by his side. "What then)'' repeated Pierre. "What then? Weil you have said it : ' We come of a family who kill."' ji.' liiV,-'^ «K CHAPTER XXV III. KKI'AKATION. Lex u8 for a of the Miuisier The Count de few moments, visit the private office of Police. . . , , Liiiieres is seated at his wntiug table «uKaKed iu deep thoui^ht. Arouud him are all li.e e vi- deacesof luxa.7 which ^veakh cau purd.ase^ aud ve he does not appear to be comfortable. He has just, le- :JeivedwordoTcommeudatiou from the kiug, aad yet ■iie is not satisfied with himselt. , . . Picard had called at the olhce of the mmister a few hours previous, and bv as.iertiug that Heuuet^e Guard had been takeu from L.i Salpetriere, aud was theu ou her way to the prison ship in company wi'.h the other condemned prisoners, and also by producing the certih- <:ate of the guard, the valet had received an order lor the release of the Chevalier de Vaudreji from the Baslile. The court had asserted the authority of the family, aud the power of his office, and yet there were many things on his mind svhich he could not banish. He reviewed his couduct towards Henriette, aud in his heart, he could uot congratulate himself for the part he had takeu iu the persecution of the poor girl. He had arrested Henriette, and sent her to L;i Sal- petriere as a fallen woman, aud now she was on her way to a life-long exile, branded with a crime of which he knew she was innocent, and for which she euffered because of his pride and ambition. While he was thus indulging in these gloomy thoughts, his wife entered. She had not heard that Henriette was condemned to exile, aud had come to intercede for the unhappy In a few words she explained the object of her visit. " It is too late," replied the couut, abruptly. "Too late! Why?" " Because she is now on her way to the place of her exile,'' replied De Linieres in a low voice, as if half ashamed to allow his wife to know how far his pride could control his official duties. * "Exile!" exclaimed the ceuntess, sinking into a chair, while a deathly palor came over her face, alarm- ing the count more than he cared to show. " Wiiy have you doue this wicked thing 1" Her husbaud made her no answer, and for many mo- ments the countess remained with her face covered by her hands, shuddering with horror at the most unjust ■deed that had been committed against a defenseless, innoceA girl. A great struggle was going on in her mind. Should she ai this time confess all of her past life to her hus- band — show what Henriette had done for her own •child, and for that reason urge her pardon 1 She trembled as she thought of what her Imsband's wrath might be when he learned all, and for some time -she could not bring herself to say those things which alienate herself forever from him. " When was she sent away 1 " asked the countess, iju a voice tremblinj; with emotion. ■' Two hours ago." *' Then there is yet time to save her from being car- .■ried to that dreadful place." "There is time if I wish to so use it," replied De iLiuieres, in a significant tone. '^ She must be sent for!" exclaimed the lady, iu a firm toue. "Must be 1 " and the count elevated his eyebrows in a manner peculiiir to him when displeased. " Yes, must be," repeated his wife. " 1 will tell you why if you will not interrupt me ; for in that case my courage might fail me," and in a rapid uiaiiiier she continued : " Before I met you, Count De Linieres, I married without ray parents consent, and secretly, a poor man. My parents discovered our secret, and al- most before my very eyes they murdered my husband THt: TWO OKi'UAKS. from me aud left upon the steps of Notre Dame. A poor man, Heurieiie Girwd's lather, found the child, carried it to his humble home aud brought, it up as one of his own. Tliat child ia the blind sister that Henri- ette was separated trom, aud whom we should have found liad you uot prevented us from leaving the house iu the' Faubourg St. Houore. Heuiielie hau ta- keu care of, aud loved my dailuig as her own sister." For a moment the countess paused, as if overcome bv emotion, aud theu throwing herself at the couul'a teet she cried : "1 pray you, on my bended knees, to save this girl from the fearfu land unjust doom you have pronounced against her. For my sake, who has suffered untold misery at beiug obliged to be separaied from my child, aud iu keeping the secret from you. I beg of vou to save her who has been a mother to my child, aud who, for the sake of that child, refused the otfera made to her by the chevalier. I beg " But the poor womau could say no more. Overcome by her feelings, she burst into a Hood of tears, still kneeling at her hnsbaud's feet. Very tenderly did the Count raise and support her to a chair. His countenance showed traces of the deep- est agitation, aud the gaze which he fastened upon his wife, was mild and sympathetic. Turning to his table, he wiote a few lines on the paper which bore the official seal of the office, and then rang the bell. The automaton which acted as clerk appeared, aud to him, the Count handed the paper, saying: "See that this order is executed without a moment's delay, and bring the person, named therein, to me j immediately upon her arrival." The clerk bowed and withdrew. As soon as they were alone again, the minister ap- proached his wife, and laying his hand upon her head, said iu a voice which was singularly gentle and sweet. .^"My poor Diane, how you must have suffered." In an instant the countess had flung her arms around her husband's neck, and was weeping happy tears upon liis bosom. Now was the secret which had existed so long be- tween them, and poisoned the lives of both, cleared away, aud for the first lime, since their married life began they were united. CHAPTER XXIX. THE RESCtJE. For a moment Jacques was almost petrided with astonishment. That Pierre, the poor, spiritless cripple should dare thus defy him, was past his comprehen- sion. But only for a moment did he remain inactive, and then he went towards the young girls as if to separate them. " Dare to lay a hand on either of them," shouted Pierre, as he ran to his wheel, and took therefrom, a long knife which he had been sharpening, "and I wil' plunge this knife into your heart." Jacques recoiled from before the weapon, and Pieri* placed himself before Henriette and Louise, who, clasped in each other's arms, were awaiting the resiiU of the stniK^le wliich was now inevitable. "Your life shall pay for this!" cried Jacques, drawing his cutlass aud going towards the brave, cripple. " Remember that you are brothers." cried the old woman, wlio was now thoroughly frightened. " Yes, brothers as of old," said Pierre bitterly, as he thouKht of the brotherly love that Jacques liad ever shown towards him, " the sons of Adam, only this time the parts are changed, and Abel will kill Cain." " Very well, if you will have it," exclaimed Jacques Soon after I became a mother. My child was taken [savagely, as he made a pass at Pierre THE TWO UKl'llAA.s. " A vooman ! " she exclaimed in accents of dcejncst terror, " She it cold— the ia dtad.'^ ^ Tlii: iWU ORPHAJ^S. 43 The BtruggTe had now commenced, aud for a lew mo- uplifted weapon, to prevent Louise from leaving the / mentB noltiiug cuuld be heara bui uie ciaabiug of iiie Btecl, aud Jacc^uea' leurtui oallia. But it was uol possible iur the cripple to hold out long. iiis brother's weapon was nearly three times as long as his, aud Jacques had every aUvaniage in the point of size, aud suuiigtti. In a short time Pieue liad received a fearful blow on the shoulder, from which the blood flowed freely. '• He is wounded/' exclaimed llenriette in a terri- fied voice. " No! ' shouted Pierre, hoping to deceive them as to his f;ist failing sireugth "Isu'i that euough, cripple]" asked Jacques in a mocking tone as he stopped for a moment to gaiu breath. •'No," shouted the brave boy ; "cut again, for while she 18 in danger you may slash my flush into ribbons ; I shall feel nothing." Enraged by his words Jacques sprang npon him with the ferocity of a tiger, and it at once became ap- parent, that however brave the boy might be, he could not withstand such a furious assault, and that in a very few moments the young girls would again be in the power of the villainous Jacques with no one to defend or protect them. Hoping that De Vaudrey might hear her, Henriette cried in a loud, despairing voice : "Help! help!" That cry seemed to arouse La Frochard from the apathy into which she had fallen, and rushing towards Henriette she placed her hand over the girl's month to prevent a repetition of the cry. But that one cry had reached the ears of the man who would have rushed into certain death at the bid- ding of that voice, and just as Jacques had borne Pierre to the ground, and was about to run him through the heart, the door was flung open, and De Vaudrey entered in time to stiike Jacques weapon up from its aim. "What is this?" he exclaimed angrily. " A ruffian attacking a cripple 1 Down with your weapon, you villain, or by heaven I'll beat it out of your hand, and spit you as i would a dog." Jacques could read but very little mercy in the che- valier'fl countenance, and he retreated out of the reach of his weapon. "What right have you to interfere ? " he cried sav- agely. " Yon shall pay for this." As the chevalier entereil, the old woman, seeing that all was discovered, had gone toward Louise, and was trving to drag her away, though for what purpose, or what she could hope to afliect by it, would be impossi- ble to say. But Pierre, who had not allowed Louise to escape fiom his sight a moment, le.st in his rage at being baf- fled, Jacques should attempt to wreak his venjfeance upon the young girl, now sprang to her assistance, and forced his mother to the further end of the room. The chevalieFturned his head for a moment to dis- cover the cause of the distuibanee, and Jacqiie.s think- ing that he had an opportunity for revenge, raised h:s I word to Strike. Another moment and De Vandrey would have re- ceived his death blow ; but a low, warning cry from Henrietta caused him to turn his head just in time to ward ott' the blow. Jacqrtes sprang back to avoid a pass which the chevalier made at him, and thus escaped for the mo- ment. " Now, villain, down with your weapon, I say, and permit these ladies to leave this place, before yoii com- pel me to punish you as you deserve." As he spoke De Vaudrey moved towards Henri- etta. "Ha! ha!" laughed Jacques, now grown furious. "You punish me' So you are the lover of the other one. Well, take her and go ; leave the little one to me." And Jacques placed himself before the door, with house. Scoundrel ! '' cried De Vaudrey, advancing towards Again the clash of steel wrung out in thai ganalli i hut; but this lime it was uol Jacques who Jt.a ,hi victor. "^ ^"® He was no match for the chevalier i„ gword plav, and a well direclea blow made an ugly gash o,'. hlii wrist, aud sent his weapou flyu.g ^^ „» ],-^^ ,,^„^ Almost at the same moment a noise was beanl just outside ot the door leading to the river, aud PitHiu's well known voice was heard saying: " Open, open in the king's name.'' That cry, so appaling to criminals, seemed to strike terror to ttie heart of Jacques and his mother. Pierre ran to the door, and was unbarring it when La Frochard sprang at him with a howl of rage. She grasped him by the throat, and weak and ex- hausted as he was by the loss of blood, she had no diffi- culty in throwing him against the stairs, where she held him firmly. "Theniuttie king's name I will open it for you," again cried Picard, and imuiediately sounds were beard as if some heavy object was being used to batter it down. Two blows were suflicient to shatter the worm-eaten timbers, and a tile of holdiers entered with Picard at tht-ir head. The old wom^n cowered in the further corner of the room, and Jacques shrank back as far as possible from the intruders. " Ah, master," exclaimed Picard, somewhat sur- prised to find De Vaudrey there before hiu). " You found your way along that passage before me, and mademoiselle too." " Yes, and in good time, Picard. Here, seme of yon guards bind this ruffian." Jacques was soon l)ound, and not until then did De Vaudrey approach Henriette, and folding her in a lov- ing embiace, exclaimed in a voice that conveyed the world of love he felt for her. "Henriette, my love, my own." "A second time I owe niy life to yon," said Henri- ette, in a voice choking with emotion. " No, not to me," replied De Vaudrey, unwilling to receive any praise for wh.it be had done. "Thank Picard there, whose selfish bravery left me to defend the end of a passage where there were no foes, while he stormed the front of the castle. Yonr cries for hefp guided mo to the rescue." " Louise, my darling sister," said Henriette, taking her by the hand and leading her forwani, " thank your preserver."' The blind girl's eyes filled with tears as clasping her hiinils and turning lier sightless orbs towards where De Vauilrey stood, she said in a trembling voice which carried greater meaning with it than wonis could: "Ah, monsieur, you do not know from what a frightful fate you have saved us." While this conversation was >:oing on. all eyes were turned towards the two orphans, and Mother Fio- cliard was unnoticed. This washer opportunity, and she resolved to em- brace it. She had no wish to taste the reward which justice had in store for her, and she resolved to escape. Stealing cautionsly past the soldiers, she had reached the do(U' in safety. In another monient she would have been free ; but there \ras one in the room who hail connled on taking this same Alother Frochard under his own care,aud that one was Pieard. Allliongh his attention had been diverted from her for a moment, ilia eyes soMj;httlie place a^rain where she was last slaudiug, and to his surjuise she was not there. A rapid glance around the room showed the old wo- man in tlie act of opening the door, and in an instant Picard's hand was on her shouldePk 44 THE T'.YO ORPHANS. " Oh, no yoa don't., old hidy ."' he exclaimed an he obliged her to come back ; 'you niiist not run avviiy from your dutiful sou becanse'lie ia in a little trouble. He'll need your motherly care now more than ever." Seeing that escape was irapossil.le, and punishment, for her many sinanearat h.i.id. the old hag broke •ilown most pitiably, and in a most sorrowful voice n'tiined: "I'm only a poor old woman. I don't know any- thing about their evil ways." But the appeal was lost on all save poor Pierre, who siood bending over his wheel iu an attitude of deep- est, grief. As his mother spoke he held out his hands to her as thou'^ii he would bear her troubles as he had borne hia ow.i uncouiplainiugly. "Picard.' said iho chevalier, " take charge of this •worthy cmi ile, mother and son. My uncle, the count, will see to tJieir punishment. Oft" witli yiem." Aath'uity was sweet to Picard, and he made the most of it." Turning to the guards, he said in a most pompous manner. "Take that male, and likewise that female villain to the prison of La Roquette, there to await the jus- tice of our lord the king." The guards closed around the prisoners, and were :;boutto march theui ofi", when tl\e old woman, with a whine that was more natural than her habitual one, r.iid with the tears rolling down her villainous face caid : "Please, good gentleman, I am only a poor old ■woman." She had forgotten the many pravers for mercy that had been made to her by the poor blind girl, and which she had answered only with curses or blows. As she had sown so must she reap ; but in the time of her sowing she had forgotten the harvest that she surely must gather, and she who had shown no mercy when tihe would ruin body and soul, now prayed for mercy. To Jacques biutal nature such signs of weakness Was disgusting, and ill-befitting a Frochard. He turn- ed apon her with a savage look. " Stop your whining," he said coarsely. '• Remember that you are a Frochard. This appeal seemed to fir.d a response in the old woman's heart Perhaps she remembered that when lier husband was led to the scaffold, not u word of fear escaped him; but he met his doom with curses upon ilia lips until they were hushed by death. Without another word La Frochard turned to go, nnTi as she passed Pierre he held out his hands implor- ing, and in a most piteous voice said: " Jacques, mother, one word before vou go." His mother did not notice this appeal. Her mother- ly instincts were long since dried up in her bosom, and ehe did not deign to bestow one glance upon him. But Jacques favored him with a wicked look and exclaimed savagely : " Not one word. Go to your fine friends and re- member that you sent your brother to the scaffold." As though these words did not express enough of the rage that was raging in his bosom Jacques sprang toward his brothei and bent him like a reed over the wheel. In another instant the poor cripple would have re- ceived his death, as he haa his distorted limbs, at the hands of his only brother; but Picard, ever watchful, •interrupted him, and like a wild beast baffled of his prey Jacques was led, cursing, away. With a hymn of praise in her heart did Louise leave the house that had been the scene of so much siifTer- ing to her, and fervent was the silent prayec that Hen- riette uttered, as with her arm around her sister and her hand clasped in that of the chevalier, she went from tiiat noisome place to reap the reward of all her sufferings. CHAPTElTXXX. rONCLUSION. Picard dressed the iiipple's wounds, and conducted hi;n, with the rest of the party, to D ■ 1||indrey"« house. where it was their intention to form some plan of ac- tion ; for they believed that should the Count learn that Henriette was still in Paris, he would attempt to seiniiate her from the chevalier. But a great change had taken place in the uiiiii^ter's feelings, and they were soon to luarn it. Hardly had they entered, when a servant brought a letter for the chevalier, and from the seal he knew that i-t was from the uncle. • - He opened it and read aloud the following words : '• I miderstaiid now, why you and Picard asked for a guard. You will come directly to me as soon us ) oil have finished your work, and bring with yon, those whom you have rescued. '/ '■ /<-"^-\, ■' LisiERES, Minister of P'olice.'* De Vaudrey hardly knew how to interpret the teno" of the letter. Was it written in a fi-iendly spirit; o: was his uncle still incensed against him? It could hardly be the latter case, and he resolved iiO obey the letter fully. In a few moments the party were at the hotel of tho Miifister of Police, and leaving the two orphans ana Pierre with the valet in one of the drawing rooms, th3 chevalier entered his uncle's presence. The count and countess were together, and the at- fectionate welcome which he received from both showed him how idle were his fears that his uncle had not relented. " Have you succeeded?" asked the countess ill C voice which betrayed all the agitation she felt. " I have.'' "Tliank God,'" replied his aunt fervently. De Vaudrey gave her a warning glance 'whicn was observed by the count. "Within" the past hour," he said giavely, as he pressed the chevalier's hand. "I have learned the tiiitb. The countess lias confessed the secret which has cloud- ed our married life." De Vaudrey clasped the hands of both, and was about to speak, ■when the count interrupted him. ''I ask your pardon, chevalier, for all that I have made you suffer. I have done all in my power to re- pair tlie wrong I have done you, and within an hour Henriette Girard will be lieri„- '' De Vaudrey looked at his uncle in surprise. He could not understand the meaning of his words ; but at last a light broke over him. Under the belief that Marianne was Henriette, the count had sent for her, and the chevalier now saw an oppoitunity of rewarding her for the noble sacrifice she had made in behalf of the woman he loved. "Mv child ! " exclaimed the countess, " have you brought ray child V " Ihave, and she will be here immediately." And as he spoke De Vaudrey left the room, and re- turned leading Louise by the Land. Of the meeting between that mother and the child from whom she had been separated sc^loug, we will draw the veil. Such scenes are too sacred for the writer to profane by trying to describe them through the cold medium of letters. While it was taking place the chevalier explained to his uncle the sacrifice that Marianne had made, and in a few moments all were assembled totiether. As soon as the first burst of joy was over Louise turned to the chevalier and said in a voice, that to Pierre's hungry soul, sounded like music from the sphere. " Monsieur, we are all so happy, yet we must not forget poor Pierre. Noble, brave Pierre ! Pierre, Pierre — where is he ? " " I remained, mademoiselle," said Pierre, coming forward, while tears bedewed his cheeks and his voice was painfully husky and tremulous, "to ask the privilege of saying farewell. Your good heart will not forget the poor cripple V THE TWO OliPHANS. 45 " Never, never, Pierre," replied Louise, fervently, aa ihe pressed hia haid, lab^r-staiued hauda between ber thiu, wasted ones. " A mother thanks you with more than words,'' said the countess, in an earnest tone. "Let his reward be uiy care," quickly added the chevalier, and then turning to Picard he ,3aid : - I look lo you to see that Pierre wants lor nothing until I shall have time to provide for him to-morrow." We will leave the party in their happiness, and close our story by brietly relating a few incidents which took place immediately afterward. Xiouiae was at once placed under the care of the good doctor who would have cured her even when she was only a charity patient, had he not been prevented by Mother Frochard, and he gave her mother every reason to hope for her recovery. At last the day came when the operation was to be performed which would show whether she was to have the use of her eyes oi not, an^- This great pap _ii:ss~ 111. Wherever i .''■« ^J^ £ ? ^^ here will scarce] AlN^i-OAN UH?*^ 'uesU rhe 1 Ite Illni T heKdi The Skc The Coi M» It is. 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