Stories with a Vengeance — page 125: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE SPECTRE OF THE STRAND. He searched the fields, the skies, and the salons, and he saw no object in nature or in art that could compare with his Marie. But he never told her so. That confession was only for the birds and the wild flowers to listen to in private. In her society he was dumb; yet his heart was bursting with the gathering eloquence of his first love-tale. “ Marie, I adore you!” he burst out, one summer’s evening, after he had received a hasty message from his mother to return home immediately. ‘Will you be m wife when, in a few years, 1 ama man? will work for you, and give you all my earnings, and care for you for ever. I am nearly seventeen. In three years will you marry me?” Was ever such an impetuous—yea, fierce ' —sort of love-making done before ? But it was characteristic of the soldier’s blood which he had in his veins. And Marie was just the soft, impressionable material as might be expected to suceumb to such influences. | So the simple “ yes” was said; and the lovers walked for the last evening for some time to come, weaving more romances and building more fairy castles than could be described in books in a century. When Evremond, in compliance with the summons he had so suddenly received, found himself once more in the house in Paris where the days of his infancy and childhood had been passed so unhappily, he learned that terrible events had hap- ned. , André Marquer, gambler, drunkard, and murderer, had found a suicide’s grave by flinging himself into the River Seine. His mother, the once beautiful Adéle, lay dyimg of a broken heart upon some bedding that had been left her in charity in the denuded house, whose furniture had been seized to defray long-unpaid rent. : Jeanette had married three years before ; and the servant who took her place had deserted her mistress at the first intimation of “no wages.” But Evremond, almost a stranger, and penniless, in Paris, did not remain long gazing alone on the unhappy spectacle of a dying mother. Jeanette arrived almost at the same moment from a suburban district, where she resided with her little family; and having ministered to Adéle’s wants to the last—the wretched ‘creature expired the same night, speechless and unconscious— she gave the boy a refuge beneath her own humble roof, The funeral was conducted in the most simple manner. Jeanette and Evremond were the only Google 123 mourners. The coffin was laid in its resting-place ; earth was flung upon it, and the gravedigger was filling in the clay, when a man, whose features were hidden by his hat and a handkerchief carried for that purpose, pushed aside the shovel and stood contemplating the scene for several minutes. Then, without word or gesture, he strode to the church gate and disappeared. Hvremond clutched Jeanette’s hand and pointed, speechless, to the receding form. “ He is not dead, then; he atill lives!” said Jeanette, fiercely. “My step-father! What shall I do? He will kill me!” ejaculated Evremond, with affright. “You forget my husband will protect you—ah, my brave Maurice! Let this woman-beater come into my husband’s clutches and you will hear of some fine sport. He will strip him and lash him with a horsewhip !” ' “What! did he ever beat my mother P” cried Evremond, with a white horror. “ Not while I was there!” cried Jeanette, hotly ; “ but he did after he prevailed upon her to send me, her only protectress, away ; and the poor woman passed a martyrdom on earth with him.” So Evremond was now dependent on this good-natured creature for food and lodging and (most requisite of all) humane atten- tion for many a long day, till he obtained work as a junior assistant in an oil and colour shop. How he blushed when he thought timidly of the effect whieh a description of his present employment would have upon arie! Behind the counter of a prosaic oil and colour shop, when his wild imagina- tion had pictured such fine prospects in the immediate future! What would Marie think ? He would become a soldier, and charm her with his gay uniform. Ah, he had carved out his path in life now! If she did not continue to love him, he would go and join the gay militaires. If she should not continue to love him! Bah! Marie had given him her promise to be always his dear little, loving wife as soon as he was a man. And was he not nowaman? Nearly. He had fought the new appreatice and knocked him into a tub of lye, because he had jokingly insinuated that Marie, whose portrait was rarely out of his hands, was not pretty. . Ha! ha! he would soon be able to save some money. Then he would walk down to Madame Massilon’s and display himself m a new necktie; and, after asking his dear friend’s consent to marry her beautiful @ JOO S CO)