Beadle's Dime Library No. 157 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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24 of self-sacrifice that only a soldier’s creed can teach. For there in a little cleared space, at which ple gazed with shuddering exclamations of pity, lay five men, gashed and half drowned in a red l of blood, and in the midst of them riddled with pikes and knives, beside his de horse, lay the corpse of Mourad the Mameluke, with St. George kneeling by it. ee CHAPTER XXIV. TWO HEROES. Ir was indeed Mourad, the Mameluke, dead in the midst of his foes; and Lafangere was weeping openly above him, while St. George knelt by the body, looking down on it as if petri with grief and murmuring: ‘*My brother! my brother!” haem | in his Mameluke dress, had drawn his saber and kept the crowd back as the procession of generals rode by. He looked up at the Cor- sican man of fate as he passed and muttered: ** This is the first victim; but it will not be the last for many a year, or I mistake that face.” ‘*Obh, my comrade!” sobbed Lafangere, laying his hand on St, George’s shoulder, “our league is broken. We three together could have scat- tered them like chaff, and now he is gone, the best of us all.” St. George bowed his head on his hands. “ Yes,” he ed, “the best of us all, the best of us all! He gave his life, he, the true St. George, that J might remain, I, the accident, the tainted blood, the man who let bim perish, that I might obey my orders.” The clatter of hoofs and the jingle of horse equipments was louder than ever, as a squadron ot cuirassiers trotted b — the procession, and the crowd swept off after them to gape at the soldiers and shout: “Vive Bonaparte!” heard the shout, and said, in a bit- ter tone of voice: “ Ay, shout for the rising sun! He goes on to his fate, and we are left alone. He never looked this way, St. Geerge. Not once.” ov creole span to his feet and glanced round m. The crowds had dispersed. Red Caps and all had vanished. The last spark of the spirit of 93 had perished in the abortive effort of a single , led by a thief, to stop three resolute men, bearing an order that had changed the fate of France for fifteeen years. “Ay, we are left alone,” he said, ‘but France is safe, and my brother died to save her from the kings of Europe. Let us carry him away, Lafangere.” ‘*Where?’ asked the maitre d’armes in a desolate tone of voice. ‘*To the house whence we came. Hedied for the general, and the general must see to it that he rests in honor,” ** But it will shock Madame Bonaparte.” ** Madame Bonaparte is a soldier’s wife. She will respect the body of one slain in her hus- band’s cause.” They took up the body reverentially, and made a litter of the pikes that had slain him, on which they laid Mourad in his gorgeous Oriental raiment; stained with blood, but still beautiful see, They bore him to that famous house in the Rue de la Victoire, now grown too small for the man who held in his hands the destinies of France. They took him into the court-yard where so many horses had pawed the ground that fateful morning, and found no one but old Jacques, sauntering about, looking melancholy. ‘* Eh, mon Dieu, messieurs |” he cried aghast: “what is this? Is there another revolution: Who has been killed?” ‘“* The Revolution is accomplished,” said Vidocq brusquely. ‘‘ This is the solitary victim on our side, but he was a good man, for he killed five before they finished him. It is Mourad, the real Mameluke, yousee. Lam only a sham one, who has taken his place for a day.” ‘Where is Madame Bonaparte?’ asked St. George of the old servant. " ame is within, and only Mademoiselle Rewbell is with her. She is greatly distressed monsieur, with fears for the general. If you ose Bive her any news it will be a godsend for er ‘“‘I will go,” said St. George, gravely; and he went up-stairs to the salon, where be found — _ and Claire sitting on a sofa, weeping ether, osephine started up. ‘‘Ob, Monsieur St. George! How good of ou! You have come back to tell us news, Is esafe? How did the people receive him? Mon Dieu! I am half wild with fears. It isso differ- ent to the risk of a battle. These terrible civil quarrels! Tell me al)!” . ‘*Madame,” replied the creole, gravely, ie saw the general near the Luxembourg, sur- rounded with troops, while the people followed in crowds, shouting: ‘Vive Bona ’ The Revolution is accomplished. It is only a question of firmness now. e danger was t when the order arrived. From henceforth General } Bonaparte can dispose of France as he pleases, ORI eee | for the Government has abdicated in his favor, and the army adores bim.” Josephine clasped her hands. ‘‘Obh, how thankful lam! And was there no fighting, monsieur?”’ ‘None, after the general had mounted his horse, madame.” Claire Rewbell had been Me ean Sheng anx- to and now she pulled Madame Bonaparte’s sleeve. ‘* What is it, my dear?’ asked the lady. ‘‘Something has happened. How pale he looks!” whispered the girl. Madame Bonaparte turned anxiously to the creole. ** You say no oo occurred after the gen- eral mounted bis horsé, But you brought the order. Had you any trouble? ere you hurt?” ** No, madame, I am unhurt.” ‘* But some one else is hurt?” ‘*Not burt, madame; but one of our league of three has given his life for France.” His tone was ve and solemn. ** Who?” asked the lady anxiously. ‘*My brother, madam.” Both ladies uttered exclamations, ‘Your brother! I did not know—” “To you he was only Mourad the Mameluke, but in truth he was the last Marquis of George. My mother, as you know, madame, and as it is my duty to tell mademoiselle now, that I may not sail under false colors, was a slave of the mixed blood, My brother, as a child, coming to France, was seized by Barbary ee and sold in Eg pt, where he became a ameluke. He escaped o our lines before the battle of the Pyramids; but refused to take his true name, for the sake of me, bis illegitimate brother. To enable me to sme 5 my orders, he faced the mob alone, and the last Marquis of St. George now lies dead in your court-yard, while, through his death, your . husband, ma- me, become the master of France.” Josephine bad listened to him silently, with her eyes full of tears. When he had finished, she answered vely: ** Monieur George, you are worthy to be his brother, and he to be yours. Remain here. Itis fitting that I, who owe him so much, should pay the last tribute of respect to the memory of a hero.” She moved away from the room, and St, George remained buried in gloomy thought, till he was roused by the sound of a stifled sob from Claire Rewbell. He looked uneasily at her, but as she con- tinued to sob he approached her. “Why do you weep, mademoiselle?” he ask l gently. ‘ur you. You must have loved him so much, and it is terrible to lose one that is loved. Ah, Emil, you must have loved him better than all the world.” ‘* He was my brother.” “ Yes, P Kee Isay so. And you loved him so that you have forgotten that there are others in the world, who would die to console you.” The creole looked at her sadly. ‘‘No one loves me enough to console me, Claire. I have a curse in my blood, the black drop that can never be effaced.” “God gave it to you, and God gives no curse, Emil, save for crime. You say no one will love you. Ah, you are wrong, so wrong!” St. George made a step toward her, his face convulsed with emotion. ‘What! spite of all I have said, is it possible that one can love me?” “ Ah, Emil, you do not know women.” ‘*T know one woman, for whom I could even forget my dead brother in time.” * There is no need of that, Emil. mourn him together.” We can A few short years have passed away, and General Bonaparte has become the Emperor, Napoleon the First. onspicuous among the brilliant figures that surrounded the emperor at his coronation was a tall, handsome officer, in the uniform of a gen- eral of cavalry. ‘*Who is that officer?’ whispered one lady to another. ‘‘ To my thinking he is better look- ing than Marshal Murat.” ‘* Yes,” rejoined the second, ‘‘ Murat, they say, puts his bair in papers every night, but any one can see those are natural curls that cluster round the brow of that man.” ‘* But who is he?” ‘My faith, I don’t know. Let us ask this gentleman.” ‘‘But heis a stranger. It would not be the correct thing.” ‘Don’t you see he has the badge of the secret lice on him? It is bis business to tell, for he They aaeoaed tall, dark ith a ark man, with very sharp eyes, pr wandered over the brilliant sare tly. “Monsieur, can you tell us the name of that handsome officer, with the lady dressed in blue and white satin?’ “Certainly, madame, that is St. George, with wife. “St. George. Is he not a great fencer? Lhave heard my husband speak of ‘him. 4 LE > SSS sss “Yes, madame. He has invented a peculiar parry of his own, which they call the St. George, after him.” As the tall woman moved away, the lady said to her companion: ‘* Do you know who that was?” “No. Who?’ ‘*That is Vidocq, the great detective. They say he used to be a robber.” ‘And why is he here?’ ‘* My faith, 1 suppose on the look-out for his old friends.” As Vidocq moved through the crowd he nod- ded here and there. He seemed to know every one, and every one to know him. ‘It’s a strange thing,” remarked a man, dressed in ultra fashionable garments, to bis friend, as Vidocq passed them with a smile and bow, ‘‘ that a man like that, with such a face and figure, should be able to assume a disguise, but I’ve seen him become a dozen different men in as many days, and on my honor I did not. know him in any character.” ‘*Monsieur Vidocq must be quite a great man Lafangere. He seems to have thriven well under the emperor. By the by I’ve heard that you had a good chance in the army. Why did you not take it? You also might be a general.” ‘‘My faith, no. I am, and always shall be, only a maitre d’armes, They cannot rise. In the army I should be a lieutenant still, drillin stupid conscripts. As a private individual, am the best master in Paris, and people crowd to me at ten francs a lesson. I am well content, my friend, for e not have to face those fool- ish bullets, that have no more respect for a master than a recruit.” The cathedral is empty, the emperor hag driven to the Tuileries. St. George and his wife enter their own car riage, and the general says to the driver: PT the cemetery of Pere la Chaise.” They alight at the gates and the pair pass taco A the shady w till they come to an altar of white marble. The lady lays on the altar a wreath of immor- telles and says to her husband: “Do you know what I was thinking of during the coronation?” ‘* Perhaps the same as I.” ‘* And what thought you?’ “That my brother’s y should be interred at the foot of the throne.” ‘* Ah, yes, Emil, it is true, for it was the first step on which General Bona set his foot when he ascended the throne of France. But you also did your duty.” | ‘We three, Claire, we three. But Mourad was the best of us all. THE END. Beadle’s Dime Library. 111 Tae Swvceiter CapTar. 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