"Very well," said madame. "You are a strange girl, and, if I were the count But here Lagrange came up, and took his wife aside to give her opinion on some question between him and Trelles. The young girl remained silent. Was the sigh which I heard hers or mine? I cannot tell; but this conversation broke up abruptly the pleasant day-dream to which I had given way, and I was glad when Albert, in deference to the early hours of the family, bade adieu, and took me away with him. Adèle pressed my hands at taking leave, and spoke to me with an inflexion in her voice from which in other days, and had I not been given to understand she was engaged, I might have drawn a happy augury. V. RELICS OF LAPORTE. SOME time after this I removed to Monsieur Jourdain's, Rue d'Argenteuil. It was by no means a fashionable locality nor a fragrant, but an incident had renewed my interest in the Man of the Morgue. Jourdain called on me one morning with a letter, which he said a stranger had left at his house for Laporte. It was neither addressed nor signed, and had no post-mark. I opened it. The following were its terms: You are "MY FRIEND, I have got your letter of the 17th, the first I have got for many a year, though I have written several to you. right; your letters to me, and mine to you, have been intercepted. I never doubted your friendship. I thought you were dead. How could you doubt me, my brother! "You have been sorely tried, but it has all been, I trust, for the best. The loss of those we love, the treachery of friends, and all that is worse to bear than these, are meant to draw us from the world and bring us to God. Take, then, the lesson, my friend, as it is meant. I do not ask you not to reclaim her-nay, I urge you to do so-but do not revenge your wrongs. Consider them as the incidents in a former life which you have renounced, and the darker these incidents have been, the more energetically cut them off from influencing your new life. "I can only dimly imagine, or rather dread, what these incidents were. There were possibilities of evil which I foresaw in your position, and which may have happened, which I dare not mention. God forbid that my fears were just! But, from your letter, I see you are overwhelmed with the same dreadful thoughts. Consider, then, that even though the unmentionable may have happened, it is beyond remedy, beyond hope. It is concerned with the world of despair and darkness. Come out into the light, my friend. "And what is that light? I can show it, for I, too, have been in the valley of death, and have reached the higher land. Join me, O friend of my youth! and I will lead you where your sorrows will be forgottenwhere the obligations of a noble service will efface all worldly interests from your heart and your memory-where, in the utter abnegation of self, you will be rid of that terrible past which threatens to crush you. For such as you the Church holds out her loving arms, and welcomes you home. Join, my friend, our fraternity, and just the bitterer the world has been to you, so much the more will you be fitted for that life of devotion, of submission, and of faith, which looks for its reward in the world to come. Come, then, to me to Lyons, and we will go together to one of those calm retreats where the weary and despairing spirit finds consolation. "The monastery of the Grande Chartreuse is not far from this. I was bred up within its walls, and it is there I mean to end my days. In its severe solitudes, amidst its holy inmates, you will find peace." It was this letter which induced me, on the 20th of February, 1860, to become the successor of Laporte in his modest apartments in Jourdain's house. I was warmly welcomed by landlord and landlady, who, notwithstanding the excellence of their lodgings, had remained without a tenant since I saw them. True, many had called, and all had been delighted with the rooms; and, indeed, Jourdain said they were in great request, but something had always turned up to prevent the conclusion of a bargain. "Monsieur Laporte's friend, the lady," he said, "had called among the rest, and had wished to go into his rooms alone; but," said Jourdain, "I would not allow it. She said she wished to sit a short time alone in the room of her old friend. I was of course exceedingly polite, but I told her that the property of Laporte had been consigned to my charge by his relation, and though I did not doubt madame in the least, still I wished to be able to say that no one had been in the room in my absence. She said I must be mistaken; Laporte, she knew, had no relations, and any one who pretended to be so must simply be an impostor. I replied that could not be, as you had the authority of the police. But here," continued Jourdain, "our interview came abruptly to an end; the lady took ill and almost fainted. She said it was the heat and the smell; but to my mind it was cold enough, and there is no smell in my house." Jourdain had a Parisian nose, which smells not. "Did you mention my name to the lady ?" said I. "No," said he. Strangely enough, now, when I think of it, she did not ask me. She seemed anxious and restless all the time she was in the house. I think she must have been in love with Laporte." I took a vow then and there to clear up the mystery, and as the first step towards it, I opened with a set of tools the different drawers and presses in the room. This is a copy of the inventory, signed by me and M. Jourdain : "I.-IN THE PARLOUR. “1. In a black cabinet: 3 pair of trousers and black dress-coat-old— 5 shirts, 3 handkerchiefs, 4 pair of stockings. "2. In drawer of washstand: 2 brushes, 2 razors, and a comb. "3. In small drawer of dressing-table: a small box, locked, which on being opened was found to contain a plain gold ring, a tress of black hair, a crucifix of silver, and a wooden rosary. "II.-BEDROOM. "1. In escritoire: a bundle of receipts, and 3 old letters, so faded as to be illegible. “2. In a press in the panels: a female child's clothes. "3. In a secret drawer of this press: a signet-ring, a blood stone set in gold, and engraved on it a hand holding a flag. "This is the inventory of the effects of M. L. Laporte, supposed to "LOUIS JOURDAIN." I appropriated the signet-ring, and determined to use it in future to seal any letters I might have to write in Paris. I also took the trouble to get some note-paper engraved with Laporte's crest on the corner. I intended to begin a new life, and I had fallen heir to the pedigree and status of Laporte, whatever these might be. The letters mentioned in the inventory as illegible were so at first, but subsequently the application of an acid brought the writing out clearly. I give them in the order of their dates, and translated : "Lyons, April 20, 1841. "DEAREST LOUIS,How long are you to be away? This is the first absence, my love, since our marriage, and I weary much for your return. I can think of nothing else but my own Louis. In vain I try to read, vainer still to work. I only wander alone in the wood and through the park we liked so much. It is not now the beauty of the landscape which is the charm; it is that you have been there. To me these fields are like Palestine to the pilgrim. But, dearest, I am foolish, I love you so much. Do forgive my folly, and think of me, not as I am, a young creature with little education and little beauty, but your wife, Louis, your wife! I said this is the first time you have been away. Is it that which makes me afraid, which gives me hideous dreams, which makes me cry? And yet, Louis, do not think I am unhappy. I am not so, dearest. Marie is kind and takes care of me, but even she is changed. Louis, can you guess what is the matter with her? Her spirits are forced, and she does not like me as she used to do. Something has happened. She has a secret, and suffers. Can our English friend have anything to do with it? I think he loves her, and she is so beautiful. I wonder, Louis, you did not take her instead of me; she is so much prettier and so clever, and I am so stupid. I said I am sure he loves her, but does she love him? That I doubt. Sure there is something the matter with her. Come back then, Louis, soon, and put us all right. And yet how selfish I am! I ought to burn this letter. Stay, dearest, till your business is over, and excuse me fretting. "One kiss-there it is-and now I seal it up. "ANETTE. "P.S.-Our Petita, poor little thing, is quite well. Beautiful like papa." "April 25, 1845. "MY DEAR BROTHER,-I ought to have written you sooner, but I did not like to disturb you, as I know your business is important; but I must write, for our Anette is seriously unwell. She pined, poor affectionate thing, since you left her. I thought she would get better, but she is losing strength, and I must have you home. Don't, however, alarm yourself unnecessarily. You have a strong mind, my brother, but you know so have I, and I am not lightly disturbed nor prone to exaggerate. I think there is no danger, but Anette is my sister, very dear to me, and in her case I may be too anxious. The doctor says she will be quite well after you return. It is your absence, poor little thing. So judge for yourself, brother-in-law mine. "The youngster is in perfect health. Our Englishman is kind, and calls every day. I begin to like him. "MARIE." "Lyons, Rue d'Or, No. 10, April, 27, 1845. "LOUIS, MY DARLING LOUIS,-Do you love me as I love you? I hope not, my dearest, for how can you support in that case what I must say. Louis, pray to Him who giveth strength. Pray for me and for yourself and for our own child. Louis, I am very ill. I can barely write to you, I am so weak. I don't know what has been the matter. O, what has come over me? My God, I am very young, and Louis is so good to me. Spare me, O God! Louis, I am very ill. Come, dearest, come; I must see you again. Louis, dearest, I am dying. That is what I have to tell you, O my darling, my own! I am to be taken from you; I feel it, I know it. The doctor flatters me; alas! I am rapidly sinking. I do not know how it has all come about. After you left me I got worse, I suppose because you had left me. The doctor you sent from Paris says I am consumptive; Regnier says no. But I am getting worse every day. Marie nurses me, and is kind as kind could be. I vomit constantly. I grow weaker every day. I can't leave my bed now. Come, dearest, come; let me die in your arms if die I must. If you had been here it might not have happened. The doctors are all wrong. Louis, I am always worse after their medicines. Marie looks very grave and heartbroken. I now see it is my health which was distressing her; she knew I was much worse than I supposed Here the letter is continued by Marie: "DEAREST BROTHER,-Poor Anette is very ill, but I think she exaggerates. I do not know. I can't imagine what is the matter with her, but you must come immediately, whatever your business may be. I was wrong in my last to bid you stay. Dear brother, bear up against this sore trial. It is killing me. My dear Anette, my pretty sister! Come home, Louis, or it may be too late. I am much changed. I have lost all my spirits; my bad temper is subdued; my strength of mind-on which I used to pride myself, and which you admired—is all gone now. Come, To this letter, in a man's hand, was appended the simple word "Traitress." The date and address of this letter were in Marie's handwriting. Here was some more light thrown on this lugubrious history. The man in the Morgue had been a married and a well-loved man. He had had a sister-in-law and a child, and they had lived at No. 10, Rue d'Or, Lyons. The wife supposed herself to be dying at the date of this last letter, and so did her sister. The Rue d'Or, I happened to know, was a fashionable locality, consisting of palatial houses, inhabited only by the richest citizens of Lyons. It was remarkable that a man who had occupied one of these houses should have finished his life in the Morgue. The evidence was accumulating, and I felt certain the mystery would be cleared up. THE STORY OF THE GUNS.* GUNS-whether rifled muskets or rifled ordnance-and ships clad with iron to resist projectiles and projecting engines are essentially objects of offence and defence. It is but in keeping, then, with so dismal yet so important a subject, that the question, both as to priority of discovery and efficiency in the engines produced, should be as much a matter of dispute as any social or political questions which the said engines may themselves be called upon to settle in their own peculiar noisy, smoky, and disastrous way. The "Battle of the Guns," as it has been called, has for some time been waging in this land with a perseverance that is anything but conducive to public confidence in the results when the guns themselves shall be brought into actual use. Indeed, if we are to believe the reports of the behaviour of certain rifled guns at far-off Kagosima (and for the vagaries and eccentricities of which guns our rulers have found it necessary to offer a grave apology), the feeling that is almost general, that there has been an amount of expenditure altogether incommensurate with the results produced, would seem to be well founded. In regard to claims of priority, Sir J. E. Tennent tells us that there is not a single feature in any one of the recently-patented improvements in gunnery-from the metal of which a cannon is made, to the form of the bore and the configuration of the projectile-that has not been the object of contested claims and the source of vituperative animosity. Were we to credit the open assaults and the secret imputations, not on one only, but on almost all the eminent engineers at present engaged in the study of rifled arms, the otherwise inadmissible conclusion would be inevitable, that the most exalted men in this important department must be included in Pope's estimate of Bacon, as The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind. In regard to those claims of efficiency, which have far greater practical weight as regards the momentous decision which the country is now called upon to make, it is equally difficult to arrive at a conclusion. We feel indebted to Sir J. E. Tennent for sifting the evidence taken upon the subject by successive committees of the House of Commons, and whatever other evidence is available in this great controversy; but we fear that we feel with the greater number, that practical efficiency at all events in great guns has not yet arrived at that degree of perfection which presents a satisfactory solution. Nay, as gunners are now endangered by riflemen at great distances, so guns keep increasing their projectile force, till they can even now be fired not only out of reach, but out of sight; and as power and weight of metal are augmented, so ships keep strengthening their coats of steel, and forts are fenced in iron plates prepared for each new thundering missile, it is impossible to see any cessation in two such opposing conditions-those of offence and defence-save the breaking out of a war, which will find both parties alike in a state of imperfect and utterly inadequate preparation, and grievous catastrophes and * The Story of the Guns. By Sir J. Emerson Tennent, K.C.S., LL.D., F.R.S., &c. Longman and Co. |