Fabiola : or, The church of the catacombs - Digital Repository Services

the failnro o' my own plans than nt the news about Marian.
THE POI;TJ:MT ix MY r.\cj.E's
!!< room \\; or.o where the picture was, anil (lie
! stale of things made it im ossible to remove it w thout
uttriii'ting notice frotn thos-> who were assembled round her
-My uncle, who was truly grieved about his old servant,
took my arm to go down-stairs. We found Babelou crying in
t;ie entrance-hall.
" 1
Poor Mariau," she said, wiping her eyes with her apro- ,
" was very ill yesterday, but sh ; would rather have died in the
kitchen tLau go to bed before th : din er was cooked. And yet
she knew very well she was dangerously ill. \\ hilst I was
waiting at table, sh; told Gothon to send immediately for th
Cur6. It was for her that he came last night in al that pouring
rain. To cheer her up this morning, I showed her the two
go d pieces which M. le Marquis had left for us. She then
said she felt much better, but it did not last long, and new she
is dying !"
We went into the drawing-room, and half an hour afterwards
the A be Lambert came in and told us all was over.
Marian's all but sudden death was one of those events which
throw a bachelor's household into confusion. My poor uncle
was quite distressed, and "
kept repeating, She was a very
faithful creature. During the twelve years she lived with me I
never h d occasion to find the slightest fault with her. It will
be no easy matter to replace so good a servant. "
1 was o cupied meanwhile in considering whether it would
be pos ible to carry off Mile, de Malpeire before next morning.
Suddenly my uncle said, "I w< nder who are the heirs of that
poor woman ? A year's wages were owing to her, and she had
put l>y a little money, I think. If she has any relatives it must
go to them, I must make inquiries."
IN the very interesting " Souvenirs of an Army Chaplain,"
published in 1852, by a priest, who under his cassock bore
the noble heart of a soldier, the Abbs' Seve has written some
remarkable papers. His mind inspired by holy and bold convie;
ions, has furnished him on this subject with eloquent
pages, which have enabled us to give an account of
the fact that forms the subject of this story. It
is well known that in 1830, three thousand officers,
true to the cause they had sworn to uphold, broke
their sword and , mourning in silence the fall of an illustrious
monarchy, threw themselves into exile. Among these brave
men was Frederic Kicard. His heart free, and his purse
light, but satisfied with having done his duty, he took the
road to Vigan. Before seeking in a strange land for some
provision against the future, he was desirous of seeing onca
more his native country.
Our hero was of middling stature, but well made his ; broad
shoulders indicated strength, and the deep lines in his bold
forehead revealed a miud far above the common. Of au im-
petuous character, but still, when necessity required, sufficient
master of himself to control those warm passions inherent
in the inhabitants of the south, Captain Kicard had the in-
stinct of appreciating just and holy things ; he was as strong
as a 1 on, but gentle as a lamb. Surprised by
the revolution of July, when at Provins, where
his regiment was in garrison, he traversed a part of France,
avoiding the high roads, so as not to hear or see anything that
would recall the evil days of revolution. He was obliged, how-
cv. r, to pass through Avignon. This town, though protected
by tho good sense of the populace, was in a state of great ex-
The Abb6 shook his head he was ; writing a mpmor"ndnm
for the li gistrar. When he had finished it he handed ever the
paper to my uncle. I saw Dom Gerusac start, and throw \\p
his hands and eyes with a gesture of profound astonishment.
Almost unconsciously I approached, and < looking ver his
"
To-day, October
shoulder, gl need at the paper and read :
12, 18 , died at Pierre de Corbie, Madeleine Marie de Malpeire,
widow of Frangois Pinatel. "
"Marian Marian was Mile, de Melpeire !" I almost shrieked
out the words. The Abbd Lambert and my un le were
both leaning aga nst the table with their hands clasped togeth-
er ; I think they were praying. Babelou was sobbing bitterly.
I went out and sat down at the corner of the chimney with
my head resting on my hands. I did not move or speak the
whole evening, and about twelve o'c'ock went to my room.
Soon afterwards I heard some one under my windows, calling
to me in a suppressed voice. It was my accomplice, who tired
of waiting for me in the alley, was come to remind me of my
appointment.
"I say, Monsieur Frederick," he said, standing on tip-toe,
I am come to fetch the picture. Could you not hand it down
to me through the window."
"I have not got it, and I don't want it," I angrily cried,
"go along with you."
Fifteen years afterwards, alter the death of Dom Gerusac,
who made me his executor and residuary legatee, I found Mile.
de Melpeire in the same place where Babelou had put her.
The mice had done some mischief to the painting, and the little
finger which my uncle had found so much fault with had
Captain Rieard.
disappeared. I had it cleaned and repaired, and it now figures
in a very respectable manner hi my portrait gallery.
citement. It was not without difficulty that Captain Eicard,
making his way through the groups assembled before the gate
of Louie, could reach the hotel Saint-Yves.
Seven or eight young men, whom the experienced eyes
of the captain recognized as commercial travellers, were
seated at a table covered with glasses and bottles of dif-
ferent colors. At the sight of the new comer, closely enveloped
in hid long blue riding coat, buttoned up to the
neck, the jovial party exchanged looks with each much as to say, there is an ultra.
other, as
At this period ultra and
Jesuit where the two great stalking horses used by the liberals
to attack the clergy and those of the laity who did not know
by heart the verses of BCranger and other worse than flippant
productions of that day.
The captain placed himself at a vacant table, and called for
a glass of absinthe, to prepare, according to custom, his digestive
organs for dinner. "Absinthe!" said one of the clerks
in a low
"
tone. A green liquor I we are not mistaken he is
;
a Carlist, who knows ? an ex-minister disguised, Polignac
perhaps ? Suppose we arrest him ?"
During this conversation, the captain, the object of these
various suppositions, continued quietly sipping his draught.
On their part, the bon-vivants concerted together to submit
him to a system of ordeal, which they began, by singing
in chorus a verse of a military ballad. At each couplet,
the singers, looking askance at the captain, add d
for ever ! Down with the Jesuits !
these words, " Liberly
down with the Carlists !" The captain was immovable. Encouraged
by his silence, perhaps attributing his reserve to a
feeling of fear, tho travellers redoubled their audacity ; their
allusions became so pointed at last, that the captain re:
to put a stop to th m. The wool of the lamb changed