Stories with a Vengeance — page 126: what you’re looking at

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

12-4, THE SPICTRE OF TRE STLAND. daughter, they would, if she refused, elope to Paris. So he grew into a perfect miser, and though the greatest pleasure he experienced was writing to Marie, he grudged the postage, and only wrote on special occasions. He wished to dazzle his sweetheart’s eyes with his collection of silver when he next saw her. Ha! there was nothing lke appearing wealthy, whether you were so or not! So philosophised Evremond De Mouvrier as he thought of how Marie would scream with pleasiure—marvel at the number of silver pieces—wonder how one young man could earn so much, and conjecture how many more he had. Yes, it was but three days to wait. Then he would see his darling Marie! * - * * “Gone! Where have they gone?” "Tis Christmas Eve. Evremond De Mouvrier (for he it was who stood before the deserted. villa once occupied by Madame Massilon and his darling) had walked ten miles through the snow and the darkness to spend his Christmas Day with his friends; and now he had just been informed by a mounted gendarme that the lady and her daughter had left the place two months before. Left! And.his Marie had deserted him without a word or a hint! Could this be true P Desperation took possession of his soul. He sprang over the fence and strode through the virgin snow to the little parlour window. Cold—voiceless—empty ! | * * # * ‘Essex Street, Strand ?” echoed a police- man, in reply to a young man, evidently a foreigner, who had inquired the where- abouts of the above thoroughfare. “ First to the right, second to the left, first to the left again !” New Year’s Day! What hopeful associa- tions do these words convey, even to the meanest beggar. Not so with Evremond De Mouvrier. Time had ceased to move; his year had ended; life would not re-com- mence until he had spoken to Marie Massilon and learned from her own lips that she had not voluntarily fled from him! . New Year’s Night! Ah, the merry parties and balls that were taking place in the great metropolis! How the grand equipages rattled along the Strand, speed- ing on their way with their beautiful bur- then within ! Yes, this was the house. Gleaming hghts and merry voices and music! How - Go gle strangely it contrasted with that snow- covered cottage not far from Paris! “Miss Massilon is engaged; so is Madame.” She certainly was not “at home” to fierce, impetuous-looking young men whose attire was not the conventional evening dress. _ Was that Marie, his betrothed, laughing joyously in concert with a tall, conceited, handsome fellow, with a heavy moustache P “ Marie !” He did not wait to be announced. He did not walk in with mincing gait, prepar- ing neat phrases which meant nothing. No. As his mother, the unfortunate Adéle, had evaded the sentry and flung herself in a torrent of passion at the feet of Colonel De Mouvrier, the terrible disciplinarian, so he, her offspring, rushed towards the woman he loved, who he believed lived for him alone—ran with open arms and waited for her to. place her head upon that breast where her memory had so long, so rever- ently been enshrined. “ What is the meaning of this P” It is the voice of Madame Massilon. She pales visibly as she sees her visitor, and stands as a shield before the beautiful Marie. The latter is white and silent—motionless as a statue. Ah, it gave Madame much pain to beckon the young man coldly into an adjoining chamber, and inform him that Mane had, in compliance with her request, consented to marry Mr. Roupell, a rich City share- broker, and that Marie and Evremond must never meet again, “ Only from her own lips shall I receive my doom!” the young man murmured, as he pressed his heart with his clenched fist. And on that awful night Evremond De Mouvrier stood transfixed while Marie said the few words he compelled her to say, and which severed him from her and from happiness for ever. % SS * * “ Forgery by a City merchant!” shouted the newsboys one evening near Ludgate Circus. The evening sheets were in great demand, and the news was being discussed freely. “Regular pull down for Roupell,” re- marked a “swell” with a cigar, as he offered a cigarette to his friend. “Why, what’s the matter P” “Married a beautiful Frenchwoman only a year ago. Cut an awful dash ever sinee. He’s been up at Bow Street this morning, and committed for trial forforgery. Sorry the. girl—very pretty—knew her very well.” “Pardon me for obtruding myself upo= JOO @ © = a S CO)