lJ V J 1 • ! LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. i\ « "PS"*** ! *mL//.Z.s>±.2.$2. i f UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.! ^/%^«§> < %>'^r'^'%>f&> < %. < ^ < ^<%> < *-<^'%- D) SCARRED. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, BY JAMES W. FOX, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. Robert J. Long, Printer,' 36 Bromfield St. SCABBED. A DRAMA, IN FOUR ACTS JAMES W. FOX f Boston : 1877. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, BY JAMES W. FOX, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. Robert J. Long, Printer, 36 Bromfield St. TMPS2-C09360 CAST OF CHARACTERS SCARRED. VICTOR VEDOC. LAS ACHE. BARON GUSTAVE DE LA BRAC. GIRARD. MARQUIS D'OVILLE. M. DKBLOSSAC M. JOUVENOT. DOCTOR BONIFACE. MONTRICHARD. POTARD, ~\ PIERRE, I Cnmri»™s MICHEL, ^tHVANrb. JOCRrSSE, J MARIE. FANCHETTE. BARONNESS DE LA BRAC. GENDARMES, SERVANTS, &C. SCARRED. ACT I. Scene. — A Parlor richly furnished in Chateau D'Amont. — M. DeBlossac and 31 Jouvenot. — Seated. Jouvenot. So the Marquis D'Orville is to visit Paris? De Blossac. Yes, after an absence of twenty-three years; you never knew him? Jouvenot. No, but he was an old friend of ray father's. De Blossac. Yes, and an old friend of mine, and his friendship was something to be prized, for a better man never served king or country. He remained but a short time in Paris after that dreadful night. They were wrong, Jouvenot, — they were wrong. If your father could speak from the grave he too would say so ; he was a fiiend of the people; when the noblesse clamored against Turgot, he tried to couvince them that Turgot was right, that the abolition of the corvee was just. Jouvenot. I have heard my father say that the pop- ulace was deceived. De Blossac. Yes, the Marquis D'Orville had secret enemies, 'tis so with all good men. The rabble was told that he was the friend of Choiseul and D'Aiguillon, 8 SCARRED. and combined with them against Turgot; that the scarcity of corn was caused by the new edict. Jouvenot And for that they threatened to destroy him ! Be Blossac. Threatened? men eager for blood never threaten ; the mob entered Chateau D'Orville to kill him, the Marquis could not be found, but the torch did its work, and when he returned from Versailles he found his home in ruins, the Marquise frantic with terror, and piteously bewailing the loss of her child. Jouvenot. Do you think the child was in the chateau when it was burned? Be Blossac. Yes, I've been of that mind, yet its sin- gular that no trace of its remains was found in the ruins. -Jouvenot. Many thought the child was stolen. Be Blossac. At first I thought the same, but as years rolled on, and nothing was ever heard of the in- fant, I became convinced that it was lost in the ruins of Chateau D'Orville. Jouvenot. M'lle Fanchette was not born in Paris? Be Blossac. No, in Brittany. She says its pleasant to be called a stranger here Jouvenot. Then she does not like Paris? Be Blossac. She shares her father's prejudices, un- doubtedly. This, Monsieur, has been told me ; I have never seen her. Jouvenot. How long has Baron de La Brae resided at Chateau de Amont? Be Blossac. About nine years. Jouvenot. I knew him years ago, when he lived on the other side of Paris, in Chateau cle Montford. Be Blossac. Then you recollect Marie? Jouvenot. You mean the child he adopted? De Blossac. Yes. SCARRED. 9 Jouvenot. I knew her well, and also the unfortunate youth who was condemned to the galleys. De Blossac. 'Twas a sad case. Jouvenot. Yes, for he was a noble fellow. De Blossac. His parentage was never known. Jouvenot. For all that, Monsieur de Blossac, he had many friends. But where is Marie now? She loved that ill-fated youth. De Blossac. I have often asked that question my. self, but the Baron and his friends are very reticent. I have been told that Marie was in a nunnery. Jouvenot. Rumor has it that the Marquis D'Orville has willed all his property in Paris to the Baron. De Blossac. Yes, he's to possess all this wealth if he survives the Marquis, provided the child is not found ; you know the Baroness was Mademoiselle De Clairmont, half sister to the Marquis. Jouvenot. Yes. De Blossac. Ah ! Mousieur here she comes. [Enter Baroness and Fanchette. Baroness. Ah ! Monsieur De Blossac, this is Made- moiselle D'Orville, and you, Monsieur Jouvenot, permit me to introduce you to Mademoiselle. De Blossac. I assure you Mademoiselle, I am very happy to meet the daughter of the Marquis D'Orville. Fanchette. Thank yon, Monsieur. De Blossac. Your father and I were boys together and companions for many years. Fanchette. I presume Monsieur, my father will be pleased to meet you, for he loves his friends. De Blossac. And his visit to Paris will delight them all. Fanchette. He has told me that he had but few friends in Paris now, that most of them were dead. IO SCARRED. De Blossac. Yes — most of them lire dead. Jouvenot. The Marquis D'Orville would soon have new friends if lie lived ill Paris. De Blossac. New friends? yes, the Directory for ex- ample, Barras, who was his enemy twenty years ago, aud who now proclaims himself an honest Jacobin, would be the friend of Marquis D'Orville, the Royalist. Fanchette. Yes, Monsieur, and conclude his friend- ship by destroying him. Jouvenot. You do not like Paris, Mademoiselle? Baroness. No, Monsieur Jouvenot, I can answer that : the Baron and myself left her alone this afternoon, and when we returned, but a few minutes ago we found her railing against our fair city. Ha! ha! Fanchette. Not against Paris, but its people. Baroness. Ali our citizeus are not like him. De Blossac. Of whom do you speak, Madame? Baroness. Of one of our citizens who was rather in- soleut, Mademoiselle? Jouvenot. Insolent! and were you alone? [Enters Pierre. Fanchette. Yes, but Pierre saw him ; did you not, Pierre? Pierre. Yes, Mademoiselle, I saw him after he fired. De Blossac. After he fired? Baroness. Why Fanchette, this is more serious than I supposed. Jouvenot. Did he shoot any one? Fanchette. No, no. Pierre, Yes, Monsieur, he killed him on the spot. Baroness. Killed him ! Fanchette. Killed him before my eyes. Oh ! he was in a terrible passion. Baroness. Killed him! why Fanchette, whom? Pierre. His master. SCARRED. II Fanchette. No, his master killed him. Baroness. Pierre! [Exit Pierre. JoKvenot. The stupid fellow has gone. Baroness. Fanchette, I don't understand this. Fanchette. Well, when you left me this afternoon I went into the garden to read. While seated in the orangery eating cake, a man passing the chateau saw me. He stopped, and in a rude manner asked me for food. [Enters Pierre. Pierre. Oh! Mademoiselle, he looked tired and sick, he was not rude, he only said : " Will Mademoiselle give a hungry man a broken piece, I have travelled many miles since sunrise and without food." Baroness. Poor man ! Fanchette. Poor man? and do you pity such low- born persons? Baroness. 'Tis our duty to aid the poor. Be Blossac. And for our interest, particularly in these days. Baroness. And what did you say to him? Fanchette. I didn't look at him, and the rude fellow appeared offended ; ha, ha ! he stared at me for a mo- ment, shook his head, and passed on muttering to him- self. Baroness. But when did he fire? Fanchette. You have not heard all. Baroness. What else, Fanchette? Fanchette. Supposing I was rid of this creature, I again sat down to read, soon I heard a noise behind, I turned, and there I saw Baroness. What? Fanchette. A little dog. Baroness. How you frightened me ! Fanchette. I called him to me and fed him, the little fellow was very hungry ; while I held him in my arms 12 SCARRED. the man returned trembling with anger, he called him from me with a voice almost choked with passion, when at his feet he shot him. Pierre. Then brandishing his pistol above his head, he exclaimed : " Woman, beware ! if there is a God he will punish you. My eye shall be upon you, beware of the man you denied the food you gave his dog." Baroness. Pierre ! Fanchette. That man was mad. Pierre. Not mad Mademoiselle, but angry. Fanchette. Angry ! Pierre. Yes, to find himself less worthy of Made- moiselle's charity than a dog. Fanchette. I have told you all, and I don't care to mention the subject again, it annoys me. De Blossac. Pierre, what became of him? Pierre. I don't know, Monsieur, the gendarmes are looking for him now. Baroness. Really his conduct was singular, but what made him destroy the portrait? Pierre. I don't know, Madame : after he fired he passed the chateau by the road, there Michel, Jocrisse and myself were uncasing the portraits. As he was pass- ing he stopped before the portrait of M. Foulon, in an instant he started back as if horrified by some awful spectre, and for a moment he stood like one mad, then uttering a terrible oath, he clutched an old pike that lay upon the ground, and drove it through the canvas. De Blossac. (to Baroness). Oh Madame! these deluded fanatics forget all but their wrongs. Baroness. Some kinsman of Madame De Farge I suppose; but come Fanchette, you promised to walk with me in the garden, Monsieur will you join us ! De Blossac. Certainly. Baroness. And Monsieur Jouvenot? SCARRED. 13 Jouvenot. Madame, with pleasure. [Exeunt all. (Enter Pierre, Michel and Jocrisse carrying portraits.) Michel. Who was that wild man? Pierre. A citizen of the Republic to be sure. Michel. It didn't take him long to drive the pike through M. Foulon, ha, ha! [All laugh. Pierre. Have you examined the portrait to see what damage our fellow-country-man has done. Michel. Yes, after a careful postmortem examina- tion, I found that the pike entered the body about here, severing the horizontal lobe of the left lung and pene- trating seven inches into the gall. [Pierre and Michel laugh. Jocrisse. Look here Pierre, why do you and Michel laugh? M. Foulon was not the worst Frenchman that ever lived. Pierre Perhaps not, but he certainly was the worst Frenchman that ever was hung. Jocrisse. What crime did he commit? Pierre. What crime ! didn't he tell the starving people to eat grass? Jocrisse. Yes, but that is no hanging offence, if I offered you grass to eat would you hang me? Pierre. No, not if you lived on hay, but if you were a tradesman and told me to eat grass, when I begged for a loaf to feed a starving family, I'd take your bread and settle your account with hemp. M. Foulon hoarded up riches against the poor, he was a vile, heartless aristocrat. Jocrisse. He had a heart. Pierre. Well, if he had one, the devil placed it some- where in his body beyond the reach of pity. Michel (hands portrait to Jocrisse.) Handle Marat with care, or he'll have your head in a basket. Jocrisse. Oh no, out of hell there is no redemption. 14 SCARRED. I'm not afraid of you if you are dead (he sp>its at por- trait) ! Take that, you bloody tiger ! Pierre. You wouldn't do that in the dark. Jocrisse. Yes I would. Pierre. Well I wouldn't unless I was up to my neck in holy water. [Exeunt Michel and Jocrisse carrying portraits. Pierre. Now, Baron Gustave de La Brae, the tyrant Louis XVI. and his royal friends hang upon your walls. You can deceive the Marquis D'Orvilie. he may think you were loyal to your king, 'tis all right, I understand you it saved your head during the terror. Oh, Baron de La Brae, like all meu in France, the revolution has taught you but two things, philosophy and hypocrisy. [Exit. [Enter Baron de La Brae. Baron. The Marquis D'Orvilie is here at last; oh was ever a man in such a predicament, curse my stu- pidity ; she should have been in the mad-house long ere this, but to-night she must go, 'twas my misfortune when she survived her mother. La Brae, La Brae, you have been a fool to have been afflicted so many years with the mad offspring of a mistress ! The promise I made her dead mother has caused all. I should have left her in the garret where I found her starving. Had Lasache assisted me in my schemes without the hope of seeing his child again I would have restored her to the old fool, but wheu he answered my purpose no longer, she became mad, then it was too late, he would have denounced me (looks at his watch). 'Tis nearly six, Boniface should be here soon. When from beneath this roof I shall rest easy, the Marquis (bell rings) — this must be Monsieur le Doctor. [Enters Servant. Servant. Doctor Boniface. SCARRED. 15 Baron. Admit him. [Enter* Doctor. Doctor. Good evening, Monsieur, 'tis just six. Baron. Yes, Doctor, I thank you for your prompt- ness. Doctor. How is Mademoiselle Marie to-day? Baron. Not as quiet as usual: she was very calm yesterday, and this morning, but as evening approached she grew restless, and at times violent. She talks of an imprisoned lover, and of ten years ago. Poor child, it almost breaks my heart. Doctor. Have courage, Monsieur. Baron. And have you any hopes of her recovery? Doctor. Yes, Monsieur, of a speedy recovery. Baron. To-night she thinks she's to be married, and has prepared for the ceremony. Doctor. Will Monsieur accompany me to her room? Baron. Doctor, spare a heart-broken father such a sight. Doctor. I left the carriage below the garden, ac- cording to your directions. Baron. Her maids understand all, they will a-sist you. You are to pass through the corridor into the garden, and then through the orangery to the carriage. This affliction I can hardly bear, keep her quiet as p j>- sible and cvoid force; that would be terrible. Oh my poor child, my poor child ! Doctor. I anticipate no trouble, aud once under my charge her condition will improve. Baron. I hope so, at least, but Doctor. I shall drive her immediately to the hospi- tal, and shall expect to see you to-morrow Adieu. Monsieur. Baron. Adieu. Exit Doctor. Baron. Not a minute too soon, for here comes my — (Enter Marquis, De Blossac, Jouvenot, Baroness and l6 SCARRED. Fanchette) Marquis D' Orville, you are heartily wel- come. Marquis. Thanks, dear brother, I shall be an un- grateful Frenchman, if ever I forget your welcome to Chateau D'Amont. De Blossac. Though all Brittany should swear by your honor, one thing more your friends will exact in proof of your appreciation. Marquis. And pray what else? De Blossac A lengthy sojourn among your friends in Paris. Marquis. You shall have both. Baron. And before you return to Britany you may learn to love us and forget we are Parisians. Ha, ha! Marquis. I shall never forget that my dear sister has lived in Paris all these terrible years. Baroness. But the storm has passed, dear Marquis, there is a brighter future for France. Marquis (looking at portraits) . I see you revere the memory of your King. Louis, Louis, our murdered sire, may your soul rest in peace ! and Marie Antoinette, ill- fated queen, you did not long survive him. M. Foulon, my God ! (starts back) must your friends witness such sights ; look ! look ! Baron. What? (He takes down picture, grass is dis- covered sticking through the canvas. | Marquis. He was my friend, and who under this roof would insult his memory? Baron. The villain shall be punished. Baroness. 'Twas that mad creature who passed the chateau. Marquis. De Blossac, you know he was my friend? Baron. The gendarmes are after the fellow now. Marquis. I wish I had not seen that. [Enters Pierre, hands card to La Brae] SCARRED. / Pierre. I found this ticket on the road, near the spot he fired. Baron (looks at ticket). (Aside.) Free again ! yes, 'tis just ten years. Can he be seeking me, no, no. These things will drive me mad, yet I'm a fool, why should this annoy me. Marquis. De Blossac, that sight awakens the re- membrance of the terrible tragedy at Hotel de Ville. The foul miscreants, were they not satisfied with his blood, but must they execrate his memory ! Baron Rest assured if this man falls into the hands of the gendarmes he will be punished. Marquis. Who is he? Baron. An escaped convict. Baroness. A convict ! Fanchette. Look ! look ! the gendarmes are coming. Baroness. They have some one in custody. Fanchette. Oh ! 'tis he ! that terrrible man. Marquis. What man? Baroness. The man who destroyed the portrait. Marquis to La Brae. Tell them to drag him here, let me see the villain. Fanchette. No, no, father. Marquis. My child, he will not harm you, fear. not. (Enter gendarmes with Scarred.) Marquis. Is this the man? That face, that fece, where have I seen it, look ! Fanchette. Why father, how strange you look, 'twas he who passed the chateau. Marquis to Scarred. Fear not, young man, we will not harm you. Baron. Marquis D'Orville, this man is an escaped convict. Scarred. You lie ! [La Brae rushes at Scarred.'] iS SCARRED. Marquis. Hold ! But why, young man, did you im- jure this? (Shows portrait) . Scarred. Take that from my sight. Baron. You shall be punished, you villain. [Screams are heard from the garden.'] Marquis. Great Heavens ! what's that? Baron. (Aside.) Mon Dieu ! she has escaped. (Aloud) Gentlemen, 'tis nothing, nothing, only — Marquis. 'Twas a woman's* voice, (screams are again heard.) She's in distress, yes, the screams come from the garden, let us — Baron. Stay, my friends, 'tis nothing only one of our servants who is .sick and has been delirious for a number of days. Fanchette. Those screams startled me. Baron. I know this man. Marquis. Let him go; he does not look like a con- vict. Young man, what is your name and who are you? Baron (excited). No, no, we don't want to know his name. I know he is an escaped convict. Scarred. You lie, I am not an escaped convict. [Baron draws his svjord, is held by De Blossac]. Baron. You insolent ruffian ! De Blossac. Waste not your wrath upon such a fellow. Baron. Then if you have not escaped where is your ticket? Scarred. 'Tis here (looks for ticket), I had it. Marquis. Then you have been a convict ? Scarred (tries to go, is held by gendarmes). Let me go ; what right have you to detain me? Baron. Off with him. Violent screams are again heard] Jouvenot. See, see, 'tis a lady ! SCARRED. 19 Marquis. Yes, and pursued by some wretch. Baron. Gentlemen — {exeunt all fait La Brae, Scarred and gendarmes). (Aside) Heavens! 'tis no use, I'm disgraced. Gendarme. Our prisoner must be secured, we must go- Baron. Place him below, I'll take charge of him. [Exeunt all. Enters Marie.] Marie. I have escaped from those cruel men. They laughed like demons when I fell upon the ground gasping for breath, then all grew dark, but the sound of hastening footsteps pierced my burning brain; uearer and nearer they came until I felt their bony fin- gers crawling around my neck preparing to strangle me, then I cried you shall not kill me, I am not mad, I am not mad. They did not pity me, the}- only mocked my piercing shrieks; then I struggled for life and broke from their grasp, I bounded over rocks and deep pits as if borne on the wings of air, ha, ha ha ! They could not cross that yawning gulf. I am free, a cap- tive no more. To-night I shall see my fair-haired boy, we'll fly to the mountains away from the haunts of cruel men and dwell forever among the birds and flowers. Those dark figures again! Go back! You shall not take me, I am not mad, go back ! They are preparing to spring upon me. (She screams, falls upon her knees, covers her face with mantle.) [Enters Scarred pursued by La Brae, Scarred with knife.] Scarred. Let me pass, I say. • Baron. Give up that poniard. [Scarred rushes to the door. Scarred. Stand aside and let me pass. [La Brae with sword knocks knife from Scarred' 's hand.] Marie (rising takes knife from floor). They would kill him too. 20 SCARRED. [Enter D'Orville with gendarmes and the rest]. Baron. Shoot him on the spot or I'll cut him clown, he tried to murder me. Marie (rushes between with knife). You shall not kill him. Baron (to gendarmes). Take him away. Gentlemen, secure this crazy creature. Marie. No, no, you shall not take him. Help, help! Baron. Marie, give me that knife. Marie. If you come near me I'll kill you. (To Scarred) Fly, fly for your life. (Scarred escapes, gen- garmes try to follow him). No, no, you shall not take him. Marquis. Let him go. See to this lady, she will injure herself with that knife. She must be unarmed. Doctor. Leave this to me, gentlemen. ( To La Brae) Have you a poniard? (La Brae gives him a knife). Good ! Mademoiselle, he has escaped. What a pretty poniard you have, but look, I have one brighter, more beautiful than that. Take this one, Mademoiselle, ex- change with me. [Marie gives Boniface her poniard ; he keeps both. Marie. You have deceived me. (Screams and falls). ACT II. Scene. — Astronomers Observatory. — La Brae and Lasache. Lasache. Thank Heaven, thank Heaven, he is alive and free ! Baron. It pleases you. Lasache. Yes, yes ; it takes a load from off my soul. Baron. By the laws of France he was condemned to the galleys for robbery, and what had that to do with you? Lasache. Mich Gustave La Brae, too much; your sin and mine caused all. Baron. Can you say that? Lasache. Can you deny it? Baron. Yes. I would have you deny it too. Lasache. I have a memory and a conscience. Baron. So have I. Lasache. Then let your thoughts dive deep into your soul and bring to the surface the black records of the past. Baron. None would be written in blood. Lasache By fair comparison your sins are the greater. In a drunken brawl I killed Adolphius Fan- ueux. He called me a fool when I boasted of my wife's fidelity. You had debauched her; he knew it; I did not, else I woiild have killed Gustave La Brae. Baron. Go on. Lasache. None but you saw the fatal thrust, and you remained silent. Crazed with remorse at my ter- rible crime and soon forced to believe that the last 22 SCARRED. words uttered by the man I had killed were true, I plunged into the vortex of sin. You know all. Baron. Yes ; and were I to speak you would go to the scaffold. Lasache. It may be so, but none could say I robbed from another a wife, a child — Baron. I understand you, but 'tis false. Your crazy wife took her child and followed me. Lasache. Don't talk lightly of her now. Baron. Then cease, and let us come to business. Lasache. Business? Baron. Yes, I have not troubled you for ten years. Lasache. No, no; I can do no business with you. Gustave La Brae, none with you. Baron. And for what reason? Lasache. I'm a God-fearing man now ; I would not answer your purpose. No, that flash! Leave me, La Brae, leave me. Baron. Not until you agree to — Lasache. What? Baron. Dispose of this man ; he is without a friend in the world. Lasache. (Opens window). Hear me. I call upon Heaven as a witness — may the next thunderbolt strike me dead, the moment I yield to this tempter. Baron. Then you refuse? Lasache. Leave me, leave me ! Baron. You know the consequences. Lasache. I care not for consequences Once I was your slave, obedient only when you threatened ; then we committed crimes enough ; we robbed the child of father, mother; then you promised to return my child to me, but she was dead. Baron. What is your answer? SCARRED. 23 Lasache. I will not hear you. Let me turn my thoughts upon nature. Baron. Better upon the scaffold, and when I return you may have changed your mind. Laasche (looking out of window). The fleeting clouds have closed together and overcast the earth, from this black vault the cooling rain descends. (La- Brac catches Lasache by the arm). O, God! protect me from this man. Baron. Listen, you old fool, there is no God. You alone can save me now. Lasache. You start ! The night's aglow with lurid flames, dare you face another flash and say there is no God? Baron. At another time I'll prove there is no God for you or I to fear. Lasache. No, now, now, while the heavens frown and instruments of death are flying through the air. Baron. Cease man, cease, there's no hereafter, the philosophy of your country proves it, you must — Lasache. Philosophy of my country! Since the revolution every fool in France talks philosophy. Gustave La Brae, there is a God, and have a care for your soul. Baron. You shall trifle with me no longer, Lasache, you will see me again, and if you care for your head, beware of your next answer \_Exit.~\ Lasache. He's gone, thank Heaven. I could mount the scaffold without this terror. What, other footsteps ! [Enter gendarmes']. Baron (to Lasache). You have one more chance, this man is at large; place him where he'll never trouble me again and you are safe forever. Do you promise? 24 SCARRED. Laasche. They shall know of your crimes. Baron. Ha, ha ! tell them now, they would laugh at you ; but there's no time to be lost. Lasaclie. No, never; I will go to the scaffold first. Baron {to gendarmes). You will have this man under — Lasaclie. Hold, La Brae, hold. Baron. Then do you promise? Lasaclie. Anything but that; no, no, I — yes. Baron. 'Tis well. Leave us. You will see me again. {Exit Lasaclie). {To gendarmes). As I was about to say you will have this man soon, as my good friend, Monsieur Lasache, tells me that a person an- swering his description passed this way. [Exeunt] [Enters Lasaclie, shuts the door]. Lasache. They have gone. What have I promised? How the wind howls {knocking at door). Has he returned? {Opens door). [Enter Scarred] . Scarred. Are you alone? Lasache. Yes, Monsieur. Scarred. To-night you must promise me the shelter of your roof. Ay, look at me. I'm not a man but some monster. Why do you too refuse me? You say you are alone, suppose I should — Lasache. I am the sole tenant of these gray walls. I iujure none; I fear none. I share with all my hum- ble lot in peace. It matters not to me who you are or what you are, if you are weary you can rest here ; if you are hungry there's a plate on my board for you now and whenever you cross my threshold. You look tired, Monsieur, be seated and have some wine. [They drink] SCARRED. 25 Scarred. Sleep beneath your roof and eat your bread, very good. (Drinks) Let's see rest was made for the weary, and bread for the hungry. Old man, I would uot steal a wink beneath your roof nor a crumb from your table. (Drinks.) Lasache. My young friend. [He opens (mother bottle.'] Scarred. You're wrong, (drinks) this wine is old and so am I. It has been well corked aud so have I ; when it gets its freedom it doesn't know how to act. You observe, old man, that I am somewhat unruly. Lasache. You say you are old. Scarred. Yes, I have lived forever. Lasache. Where? Scarred. In misery. Lasache. Who was your father? Scarred. That last question I'll not answer. Lasache. Pcirdon me, my friend, but perhaps I know your father. Scarred. Perhaps you do, but upon that subject I'm profoundly ignorant. What's that? I hear a knocking. [Knocking] Lasache. 'Twas the wind. I hear the sound of wheels. (Knocking again.) [Exit Scarred] [Lasache unlocks door, enter Marie, Doctor Boniface, and Potard.] Doctor. Will Monsieur give us shelter until the storm passes. I am Doctor Boniface of Hospital Bicetre, I have a patient with me. We have driven so fast that our harness has given out and it must be mended. (Doctor whispers to Lasache.) Lasache. Monsieur, this beautiful woman mad? Doctor. Yes, Monsieur, mad. Marie. In the darkness aud the storm we have 26 SCARRED. escaped. They cannot find us now. I am free, I am free, and so is Maurice. Tell me, Monsieur, did my Maurice pass this way? {To Lasache.) Doctor. Yes, Mademoiselle, he was here but a few moments ago. . Marie (to Lasache.) Did you tell him that I was coming, that I would meet him in my bridal robes, and when that solemn vow was made we'd fly to distant lands beyond the sea. Oh, where is he, where is he, Monsieur? Doctor. He will soon be here. Marie. You deceived me once, not you, not you. {To Lasache) Can you tell me when he will return? Potard. He's but a little way from here, Mademoi- selle. Marie. Then And him, find him, say that I am wait- ing for him here, that we must fly to-night. ( To La- sache) And you will go too, Monsieur, and help to find my Maurice; yes, yes, do not wait. Oh Maurice, Maurice. {She sinks into chair.) Lasache. Poor child! Here beauty reigns, and reason is dethroned. Doctor. Her condition is alarming ; this delay annoys me. Potard, remain here with Mademoiselle, the clouds are breaking; we must start as soon as the harness is repaired. Lasache. I will give you a light, Monsieur. Doctor. Thank you, thank you. Lasache. Come this way, Monsieur, I will show you down. {Exeunt Lasache with light and Boniface) {Stage darkens.) Potard. The storm is over, the moon is driving through the clouds. She is quiet, and they are below. I'll take a peep through this {looks through telescope at SCARRED. 27 stars) I see him, I see him Marie. Maurice, Maurice, where arc you? come to me, I am here. (To Potard) Where is he? you said you saw him. . Potard. I saw him. Marie. Yes, my Maurice. Potard. Oh, yes; I spied him through this (point- ing to telescope) . Marie. Let me see him, let me see him ! Potard. He has gone now. Marie. Was he coming this way? Tell me true; you will not deceive me, will you? Potard. 1 will not deceive you; be seated, Made- moiselle, you are exhausted. When I see him again I will tell you. (He draws curtain down). [Marie sinks into chair.'] Marie. Oh, I am so tired, so weary waiting. Potard (aside). She thinks I wouldn't deceive her, ha, ha! Yes, I saw her Maurice in that big telescope, ha, ha ! If I were as crazy as she and wanted to see a fellow I would look and see him, for these mad crea- tures are always seeing what other people can't see. No, no, I would not deceive her, yet I am truly a liar by profession, and long experience has raised me high in that honorable calling ; early in life I exhibited all those traits that by cultivation make me a most suc- cessful and I might say, great liar. She sleeps. Now, I'll see if they are ready. Will Mademoiselle excuse the light? (very low voice). Yes, I knew you would, good manners become a Freuchman. [Exit with light. Stage darkens.} Marie (starts and examines objects about her). Where am I? all is dark. [She strikes chains with her foot, screams']. 28 SCARRED. Take those chains away, their clanking shrieks will drive me mad. No, no, don't put me in chains, I am not mad; pity me, jailor, I am but a poor, defenseless woman, seeking for one I love; on my knees I beg for mere}', don't bind me to those cold stones. You do not speak; oh, tell me why lam here in this dungeon ! Silent yet ! Motionless as the dead ! (She approaches, puts her hand on telesocpe.) What! this is not a man, where am — a telescope! Yes, yes, I understand, they have left me here and are looking for Maurice. Oh ! will he never return? Maurice, Maurice, through the long, cheerless years I have waited, watched and prayed for your return, to see you as you last stood in the orangery when you said adieu. He saw him through this, I too may see him Yes, yes. {Looks through telescope) . [Back of scene rises disclosing garden of Chateau Be Montford ; the scene is seen through a gauze. Vision of a youth with hand extended as if bidding adieu to some one at a distance.] Yes, 'tis he, 'tis he, my Maurice ! Maurice, Maurice, look, look, I am here, come to me, come to me. Oh, Maurice, will you not come? Speak, speak Maurice, one word to heal this poor, bleeding heart. Oh, Mau- rice, do you not hear me. ( Youth moves from her) No, no, do not leave me here alone, I will die, Maurice, I will die; oh, must I plead in vain? He's gone! he's gone. (Scene vanishes, she rises and screams.) [Enter Lasache, Boniface and Potard with lights.] Marie. He has gone, he has gone, did you not see him? Look, look, I saw him there ! Boctor. Have patience, Mademoiselle, the horses are ready and we'll overtake him. Marie. Yes, Monsieur, hurry, hurry ! SCARRED. 29 Doctor. We are ready. Monsieur Lasache, we thank you for your kindness ; adieu, adieu. Marie. Yes, we thank you, we thank you, Monsieur. Lasache. The roads below may be dangerous after the storm, to avoid danger keep your lights burning; Good night. [Exeunt all but Lasache] [Enter Scarred] Lasache. My young friend, why did you start? You are pursued — Scarred. By the gendarmes. Lasache. The gendarmes? Scarred. Yes. Lasache. What have you done? Scarred. I drove a pike through the body of a cursed Frenchman. Lasache. Unfortunate youth! did you quarrel? Scarred (drinks). Old man, I'll answer all your questions ; you are rather inquisitive but your wine is good. Lasache. I ask pardon. Scarred. To-day I asked for food near a chateau ou the hill, from a fair woman — remember it was a woman — she didn't strike me, that would have caused her some slight trouble, and I would have forgiven that. She didn't look at me, I could have forgiven that ; but when I saw her feeding my dog I could have killed her ; think of it, she denied me the food she gave a dog. Monsieur, I was condemned to the galleys when a mere boy, I have been in chains, shut up in a dungeon, starved, held to these cold stones by fetters, in filth, in tears, praying for death, raving like a maniac, and cursing the mother that bore me ; but all those wrongs were nothing compared with this terrible insult. In 30 SCARRED. my wrath I slew that unoffending brute, through him she insulted all mankind. Lasache. You have been a convict? Scarred, Yes; but what is that to you? Lasache. Oh nothing, nothing; but you quarrelled with some one? Scarred. I quarrelled with no one. I said I drove a pike through the body of a cursed Frenchman. Lasache. Yes, yes, you must have quarreled with him. He insulted you — he spoke ill of a friend, per- haps your child or wife. You did not murder him, no, no; but who was he? Scarred. M. Foulon ! Lasache. He has been dead for fitteeu years, this is a jest. Scarred. Near this same chateau I saw the portrait of this man, I destroyed it, soon after the gendarmes had me but I escaped, thanks to some mad woman. Lasache. Have you no friends, Monsieur? Scarred. None since I killed my clog (drinks.) Lasache. Under what unlucky star were you born, my friend, that the death of a dog should leave you friendless? Scarred. I was not born under an unlucky star, but a cursed unlucky planet. Lasache. You say you are friendless? Scarred. Yes; but what do I care? Lasache. I see a portrait ou the chain that's about your neck. Scarred. You lie, old man, you didn't see it ; (covers portrait vrith his hand) I am wrong, Monsieur, I am wrong; for ten years I have guarded this, they took the rest, all I had in the world but this, ha, ha! (look- ing at portrait) they never saw your face, my little SCARRED. 31 dove. Ah, Monsieur. I was wrong - , I forgot that I was free. Lasache. You have a good heart, ray friend. Scarred. Oh, ray little angel, M. Foulon paid for his sin. Lasache. M. Foulon! Did he ever injure you? Scarred. No, but he injured her. My head whirls — 'tis the wine, I suppose — I had forgotten that. Lasache. Forgotten what? Scarred. Forgotten ! no, no, I see her now, she stands upon the bridge, the night is dark, the fallen snow has gathered upon all senseless things, the lights of Pont Neuf cast their flickering gleams through the darkness to the river. See how the snow flies across the lighted paths and in silence mingles with the dark waters beiow. The river and the rich alone defy the storm ; but see how it falls upon the poor and chills their shivering flesh, how they run to keep their bodies warm. Look! look! beneath the iron column, where the light falls, see that child out in the storm asking for charity; she begs from the poor who have none to give, from the rich who seldom gives. See, see, yes, 'tis he, M. Foulon ! he walks in the snow like the poor, she sees him, such misefy must soften his heart; he is rich, has more gold than any man in France — he will give. Look, look, M. Foulon, to your right, now among the throng; yes, you see her; till her little cold hand with gold; no, no, you have not seen her; look, she follows you again. Yes, yes, M. Foulon, 'twas her little hand that pulled your coat, take her to your bosom, wrap your warm furs about her and bear her to your palace home, nobody will care. What! you cursed monster, you have thrust her from you, she has fallen in the snow. You vile aristocrat, Til kill you — Where am — 32 SCARRED. Lasaofye. 'Tis of a child you speak. Scarred. My head whirls, where am I? I see the wine. Lasache. 'Tis a sad picture; what became of the child? Scarred. My head ! the child, the child. [Lasache looks at portrait, starts'], Lasache. Let me see that face, I have seen those eyes before. Scarred. Stand back ! Lasache. Then tell me what became of the child? What became of her? Lcarred. I took her to her home. Lasache. Where? Scarred. In a garret. Lasache. You did not see her father or mother? Scarred. No ; she lived with an old woman. Lasache. Tell me all; I would see that face again. Scarred. When I reached her home, the squeaking of the frosty boards was the only sound that welcomed me. No fire, no light; hungry and alone I left her in search of food and fuel. [Lasache looks at portrait, starts'] . Lasache (aside). 'Tis she, "'tis she, my child, my child ! And you lifted her from the snow? Scarred. Yes. Lasache. And you cared for her? Scarred, Yes. Lasache. Oh, Monsieur, may God bless you. I am your friend, and I can favor you. You say you have been in the galleys? Scarred. Yes ; that night I stole fifteen francs, I saw them in the hands of a rich man, I sprang like a young tiger and snatched the money, I did not get SCARRED. 33 beyond his reach when he struck me with his sword. With the money I bought bread and fuel. That night I lay upon the hearth with my head bleeding, it was a terrible cut, and at midnight when I piled the faggots on the fire the blood would trickle down my face and fall into the ashes like drops of rain LasarJie. Oh what became of her, the child? can you not tell me? Scarred. I never saw her more. Old man, you weep like a child ; I too have wept for her, and for myself when in chains, 'Twas to feed that little child I stole the money, and for that they condemned me to the galleys for ten years. Lasache. It was cruel, it was cruel! (he weeps). Scarred (drinks). This wine makes me — . Look you, old man, the thoughts of the past rush upon me — the wine, I am a child again, I can hear her say, "don't weep, gentle boy, my kiss will heal that wound." Lasache. That name ! Where did you hear it? Scarred. They call me Scarred. See. If there is a God, on that great clay when all are judged that child will look on the pale faces of all, and when she sees that scar, she'll plead for me — for me, the galley slave. Lasache. Aye, and he will be more merciful than we have been. Scarred. You ? [Enters Marie and hides behind screen] . Lasache. No, I mean them, your enemies. Scarred. Enemies ! I have no enemies. Lasache. Monsieur, I fear you have too many. Scarred. No enemies, no enemies. Lasache. Rouse yourself, my friend, you are in danger ! Scarred. No enemies. 34 SCARRED. Lasache. Asleep, and alone. I say, Monsieur, rouse yourself. The thought makes me shudder. He has suffered all for her — my child. What care; yes, I will. (Storm and thunder heard again) I'll keep my promise. (Locks the door Takes knife from table. The storm comes on again. Goes to fireplace and removes a stone, takes out bag of gold, places it on table, takes bottle from table and puts it to Scarred 's nose). I say, rouse your- self, I fear you are in danger. (Shakes). Scarred. What is it? Lasache. Here, take this, boy, twenty thousand francs. I have given you all. Leave Paris to-night. Scarred. Twenty thousand enemies. Lasache. Rouse yourself. I fear it's no use. He'll be safe here until morning. He was hungry, I gave him naught but wine. Beneath this rough exterior there is a manly heart. Oh, God ! he has suffered all for my child and for my crime (he weeps). Ill-fated youth, rest here, rest in peace, I'll leave you, and with a sad heart seek for rest that a heavy conscience may not give. The savings of my life are yours, you must leave Paris, and when the time comes you shall know all, here you are secure until to-morrow. He has suf- fered all for her, ray child. (Exit). Marie. They are gone and I am alone once more. I know they were taking me from my Maurice, and when the carriage rolled into the gutter I escaped. Maurice will return; yes, and I will tell him of his danger, that the gendarmes will again put him in prison if he is found. Last night in my dreams I saw Maurice chained to the walls of a dungeon, he said I riveted those shackles upon him, but it is not true, and when I see him again he will hear this from my lips. (She looks through telescope). SCARRED. 35 [Scene rises, disclosing dungeon. Vision of a man in chains. Marie screams.~\ It was not I who did it, it was not I! (falls near Scanned) . ACT III. An elapse of jive years between second and third acts. Sckne — The home of Victor Vedoc, on sea-coast, northern shore of France. Parlor richly decorated. Vedoc discovered searching table. Victor. Three hours of grand confusion and all is over : now to learn the truth. A secret lover, ha, ha ! Guilty? Yes, she hides his letters as a thief would hide his plunder, I saw it here to-day, Woman ! if it be true that you love another then I'm outwitted. Your heart must be mine, yes, mine to break, this was the revenge I. married you for; you shall complain of my indifference no longer, I must win your heart again. Fanchette. Why! are you here, Victor? Victor. I scarcely realize I'm anywhere else, except in a nunnery. Fanchette. How strange you talk; in a nunnery? Victor. Yes, where solemn faces check all thoughts of mirth. Egad, if our fair hostess and her pretty cousin didn't look like waltzing nuns at the dance to- night. Fanchette. Would you have a sick woman dance until she sank exhausted to please her husband and enliven his guests. As for myself — Victor. Yes, Mademoiselle, tell me the cause of your grief? Fanchette. Can you not guess? Victor. Oh, yes ; my wife has engaged her pretty cousin's ear with secret recital of all her misery. Fanchette. If aught but bad health makes her un- happy I have it not in confidence. SCARRED. 37 Victor (aside). I don't thiuk she deceives me — Among your many masculine friends and admirers can you refer me to another devil like myself? Fanchette (catching him by the arm, Victor gives his attention to his sword). Victor, you are a very strange man; never yet have I seen that person who could say, "I understand him," yet I respect you (Fanchette looks at him surprised). Victor. You were not respecting- yourself but me when you stopped, please proceed (he turns around, Fanchette weeps).. Pray, what's the trouble? Hold, let me see ; yes, I have it (takes eye-stone from his pocket) I got it from the best oculist in Paris (looking at eye- stone). The passage you are now to take is around a heavenly orb, more brilliant than Venus and as fiery as Mars ; little traveller of space, I envy you your flight. This will soon remove it. Fanchette. Remove it? Victor. Yes, an eye-stone, it was purchased from the best oculist in Paris. Shut your sore eye, open the other Fanchette. You jest with me as if I were a child, I will not submit to your rudeness. Victor. These are unkind words, unbecoming one of your lovely nature. I never jest, I volunteered my eye-stone. Fanchette. Your conduct towards me at times is very singular. Victor. I ask pardon if I have offended you, yes, I do, I'm not jesting. Where are you going? Fanchette. To Marie; perhaps she can appreciate my company better than her husband; I sincerely im- plore your pardon if my conduct towards your wife to-night has soured your temper. 3S SCARRED. Victor. Your conduct towards my wife! I noticed nothing - extraordinary in your deportment. Fanchette. Enough, it seems to be rebuked. Victor. Mademoiselle, she prefers to be alone. Fanchette. If my presence annoys her I can retire to the apartments assigned me by her generous and hospitable husband. Victor {advancing to Fanchette). Your last remark reminds me that you are my guest, don't mind what I say. I'm perhaps what you might call a ruffian, unfit for no ladies' society but yours, that is to say, I respect none but you, or in other words I never speak to ladies, but I have had many conversations with you. Fanchette. Please, Victor, don't annoy me any longer. Victor You're a blessed soul. Will Mademoiselle tell before she goes? You are unhappy, and because Marie suffers with a headache? Fanchette. Not that alone but then I must see her. You would not deprive her of the little sympathy I may offer. Victor. Oh no, the wretch that would do that would deprive the suckling of its milk, would steal from the hungry man his meal. No, no, you have my permission to engage every sympathetic nerve in that direction. You say not that alone, pray what else? Fanchette. I have been disappointed because my father has not arrived. Victor (aside). True, she docs not know he is here. You love your father? Fanchette. Yes; and you would if you knew him. Victor. I do know him and if you love him you are an obedient daughter. But what are you going to do with Gerard? Does your little, wizened heart contain SCARRED. 39 love enough for both? I beg your pardon, that I mcau does your darling, little heart contain love enough for Gerard and your little wizened father? the deuce, I don't mean anything I say. Fanchette. If I thought you did — Victor. Well, if your thoughts deceive you so much the better. Lay that picture down and come here. Fanchette. Never mind, you need not trouble your- self. Victor. Something serious I know by your manner. You love Gerard? Fanchette. You know I do. Victor. That's extraordinary, ere you know the man you love the stranger. Fanchette. How can you say that? Your kindest words to me are but taunts severe, bitter and indulged in without charity ; unlike you I have a heart capable of affection. Dare you who boasted of his gallantry, hishonor,now insinuate that my heart has been given to one unworthy of its affection, but one breath from you against his honor and I'll tear his image from my heart and loathe you when I have forgotten him. Victor This terrible transport of feminine frenzy quite shocks my nerves, another such fit would send me to the mad-house, inquiring the price of board and lodging for a hopeless case of feminine lunacy. Fanchette. You are a cruel man, I cherish nothing but you despise, I love none but you malign. Victor. Fanchette, you have at last convinced me that you love Gerard, I have been wanting in faith of the sincerity of your affection, I now believe that you love him, that his future is placed beyond the peril of woman's capricious fancy ; the means I have employed to leavn the truth may have been cruel, but, Fanchette, 4-0 SCARRED. you know I never deal in gentle cunning. I may be severe, ay, cruel, but I despise nothing, I malign no one. Fanchette. Forgive me, Victor, I was in a passion, I might have known that you did not intend to be un- kind, but took this funny way to learn if my love for Gerard was sincere. But you believe me now, do you not, Victor? Victor. Yes, for in that passion I saw the truth. Fanchette. I was wrong, Victor. Victor. No, no, I like to see the soul convulsed by terrible passion, 'tis then I judge the mind, every other impulse may for foul deception be designed, but pas- sion never lies. Fanchette. Believing wow that I love Gerard, tell me is the stranger, as you call him, a man of honor? Victor. Beyond the honor of that man's heart there's aught of honor but that has creation alone in poetry and in silly books ; he is a man, the noblest of his kind Here he comes, (aside) Speak of the devil and he's sure to appear. {Enter Gerard~\ Gerard. Why, Fanchette aud Victor, how serious you look, another quarrel? Fanchette. No, we have had our last quarrel. Gerard. Egad! this will please your friends. (To Fanchette) You look happier now than when I saw you at the ball. Fanchette, has any act of mine offended you? Fanchette. Why, no ! Gerard. You avoided me this afternoon. Fanchette. Avoided you ! You avoided me. Gerard. I looked for you. Fanchette. I looked for you. SCARRED. 41 Gerard. Where were you? Fanchette. On the beach, seeing the bathers and watching: the surf. Gerard, Alone? Fanchette. Yes, alone. I walked up to the falaises and there I sat until the sun went down. Gerard. Had you been happy would you have passed so many hours alone? Fanchette. I was happy, very happy, but impatient for the hour to come when I should see my dear father. Gerard. Oh yes, I understand you. Fanchette. But he disappointed me. Gerard {aside). She has not seen him yet. — Do you think you will know him? Fanchette. In his last letter he wrote that he had greatly changed, but I shall know hiin though I have not seen him for a year or more. Now, where were you? Gerard. Failing to find you I went to the lower falaises to bathe. Fanchette. Oh, you must be careful, the undertow is dangerous there. Gerard. Not as dangerous as below the falaises, for there's where young Lafitte and Count de Grille were drowned. Fanchette. And yet when returning I saw a man enter the water at that very place. Gerard. He must have been a stranger, else he never would have ventured in there. Fanchette. I wanted to warn him of his danger, but thought of speaking to a gentleman in a bathing suit struck me as something unladylike. {Exeunt Gerard and Fanchette.'] 42 SCARRED. Victor (excited, starts up and throws book violently on floor). Cursed, and doubly cursed be woman's pride that bids to serve the mockery of polished manners. Oh, what a fool ! yet 'tis the manner of her day. But this very morning she told me that once in Brest, her father seeing- a beggarly wretch drowning, sprang into the water and brought him safe to the shore; and she, the daughter of this man; sees a stranger walking perhaps into a watery grave, and says not a word to warn him of his clanger. [Enters Gerard] Gerard. Where can the Marquis D'Orviile be? 'tis nearly midnight. Victor. I have not seen him since he left this room in your company. Gerard. I remained with him until he called on the quartermaster of the gendarmes. Victor. Quartermaster of gendarmes ! Gerard. At that time [ begged to be excused. Ha, ha! Victor. Where's Fanchette? Gerard. Gone for her mantle. The moon is up, we are going to the beach. She must not retire until he returns. (They advance) Do you know the early history of this family? Victor. Yes. " Gerard. Plow many children had the Marquis D'Or- viile? Victor. Two. Gerard. The first was a boy? Victor. Yes. Gerard. And what became of him? Victor. That's a mystery. Gerard* Perhaps not. SCARRED. 43 Victor. It was supposed that the child was lost in the ruins when chateau D'Orville was burned by the mob. Gerard. And many thought the child was stolen. Victor. Yes. Gerard. It appears that the child vms stolen, and is note alive. Victor. Well, what's that to me? Gerard. Only this : that the Marquis D'Orville's visit to the quartermaster was to hold communication with the prefet de police concerning- the discovery of his son. Victor. If he has not been found what leads them to suppose he is alive? Gerard. It is said he was alive five years ago, and was seen near Paris. Victor. By whom? Gerard. By an old astronomer named Lasache. Victor. Lasache ! Gerard. It seems you know him? Victor. No, I don't know him, but yet I've heard that name. But what do I care about this lost child : enough of this. Gerard. Your interest is entirely in the Marquis D'Orville's intended son-in-law. Ha, ha, ha ! Victor. Has the Marquis promised you the hand of his daughter in marriage? Gerard. Yes. Victor. So he consents to wed her to the devil? Gerard. He consigns her to my care, body and soul, and accepts me as his son-in-law solely on your repre- sentations that I am a gentleman, and grandson of Louis Gerard, colonel of — Victor. Quite a difference between the grandson of 44 SCARRED. Louis Gerard and a lineal descendant of Michel Ger- ard who gave his head to the Empire for cutting a man's throat, to relieve his pecuniary wants. Gerard. You need not remind me of the misfortunes of my father. Victor. The proud daughter of the Marquis D'Or- ville to marry you, ha, ha! You little thought of such good fortune when you escaped from Toulon. Quite a contrast is there not between the galley and this luxury? Gerard. I will allow you as well as me to be the judge. Yet, I thank you for it all. I may make an acceptable husband for Mademoiselle Fanchette, not- withstanding we have been in the galleys. I think the future generation of the Gerards will be an improve- ment on the past. Victor. If they go to their graves without the mark of the hangman's knot under their ears, or with heads ou their bodies, the improvement will surprise me. Gerard. I dislike to have you jest in this manner. Victor. I never was more serious in my life. Gerard. We'll not quarrel. Victor. No ; the improvement of the Gerard stock you anticipate is of little consequence, not worth the slightest misunderstanding between friends. Gerard. Say what you may, but if I ever have the liberty to perpetuate my specia with Mademoiselle Fanchette as a partner in the commendable enterprise, I shall exort them — Victor. To avoid the ways of their father and escape the galleys. Gerard (jumps up). As I am a Frenchman I would hold others accountable for these repeated insults. Victor. So my fond hopes are to be realized, and SCARRED. 45 you are to be the husband of Mademoiselle Fanchette ; a happy union of pride and vice. Gerard. It's no use to quarrel with you, all I can say is, I love Fanchette. Victor. You love the daughter of the Marquis D'Or- ville, yon assuming- villain! if I thought you dared to love her, or had any hopes beyond my terrible purpose 1 would deprive you of your stolen liberty. Gerard. And you'd have me marry her? Victor. Yes, marry her. Gerard. I'm not to love her? Victor. No. Gerard. But to hate her? Victor. No. Gerard. Then prescribe to me a line of conduct, you are a hard fellow to suit Victor. Neither love nor hate her, but you must respect her. You need not respect yourself. If among her friends you can establish your old reputation for profligacy, I shall be highly gratified. The inclination you have to squander everybody's money but your own, will be of service to you, provided you aspire to my conception. of a model husband. Enough; here comes Mademoiselle. (Enters Fanchette) Well, my friend, the nocturnal perambulations of lovers gazing at the moon, and whispering silly things of love and poetry, is a pleasant picture to contemplate. Fanchette. Come, Gerard, that remark was not for us. [Exeunt Fanchette and Gerard. - ] Victor. That man has the instinct of a knave, and the polish of a gentleman. Oh, heavens ! how inhu- man to conspire against the happiness of even this proud woman, but yet it's been my hope to bow her head with shame, and now as that hope is to be real- 46 SCARRED. zed, I tremble for her. What a fool I am, I swore that if Gocl did not punish her, I would. Did she not deny me the food she gave a dog? yes, and as I live but for revenge, I'll not relent, but with a purpose, I'll destroy her with the rest. (Violent knocking at door.) What does this mean? [Enter gendarmes, servants and villagers.'} 1st gendarme. The body of a man washed ashore was found on the beach below the falaises ; by the papers found in his clothes he has been identified as the Marquis D'Orville. We also learn that he was the guest of Monsieur Vedoc. Victor. Drowned ! This is terrible. [Enter men carrying body of the Marquis] . 1st gendarme. He entered the water below the fa- laises. 'Twas sad that some one was not present to warn him of his danger. Victor. Yes, 'twas sad, 'twas sad. [Body of Marquis D'Orville placed at right of stage covered with mantle.} [Exeunt all but Victor} Victor. You have passed the living and are now among the dead, hurled into eternity in the presence of your own child, but one word from her and you would have been saved. Saved for what? to witness her disgrace, the victim of a foul conspiracy! No, no; the treacherous waves were more merciful than I, 'twas well that they closed over you until life had fled. What, what is this ! Too proud to feed the hungry ; too proud to warn the stranger of his peril ; can it be the hand of Providence? No, no; 'tis too terrible, her sins deserved not this punishment. When I prayed that Heaven might revenge her insult to man- kind, I did not ask for this. [Enter Gerard and Fanchette.'] SCARRED. 47 Fanchette. Father, father, where are you? (to Vic- tor) They said he was here. Why so many at the porch with solemn faces, talking- of him and of the dreadful undertow? Speak, Victor, where is he? Answer me, father; father, where are you? no, no, don't hide from me as you used to, I'm not a child now. [Exit.] [Gerard discovers the body of the Marquis.] Gerard (aside). Great heavens, dead! [Fanchette returns.] Fanchette. Victor, where is he? will you not speak? Victor. Fanchette (takes her by the hand), why are you so alarmed? Fanchette. Tell me, is he here? Victor. Your father is here. Fanchette. Has any misfortune befallen him? Victor. Not a hair of his head has been harmed. Fanchette. Oh, how frightened I was ; I must go to meet him. Victor. Not now, when he has shaken off the dust of a long journey, and you are ready you may see him. Fanchette. Don't condemn me for my weakness, I was frightened; I must go and prepare to meet him. Victor. Remain, Fanchette. Fanchette. How foolish I was to be frightened at the appearance of those rude people ; beggars, I sup- pose? Victor. Beggars ! perhaps so. Fanchette. They always follow him for he gives them money, but I despise them ; oh, my heart ! Why don't you have them driven away (she falls into a chair.) Victor (aside). Were I in rags and dying of hunger she would have me hunted from her door despised as 48 SCARRED. they are. Oh, hard-hearted woman, humanity has suf- fered by your pride, and this affliction is the fruit of thine own folly. 'Tis well, 'tis but just that you should know it. Fanchette. That fright almost overcomes me. (She starts to go.) Victor. Fanchette, I have a story to tell you, and when I have finished you will see your father. Fanchette. Then let it be brief. Victor. Once upon a time a squirrel had its home in the branches of a large tree that shaded the lawn of a great chateau, its nest was filled with choicest nuts; from the forest home of a rodent friend came a little female squirrel to visit it and share its bountiful hoard. One day, while at the foot of the tree eating nuts, a weary, rodent traveler stopped and asked for one, it was hungry and had no nest of its own, for when quite young it was caught by a bad boy and shut up in a cage for many seasons. It had just regained its free- dom and was going to the forest to make a nest and gather nuts for itself. But this female squirrel was very proud, and instead of giving a nut to the little traveler, it chippered with derision and ran up the tree. The weary rodent traveler passed on to the forest and before many seasons it had a fine home of its own, and lived with its mate in a high tree that stood on the banks of a beautiful stream. Not many seasons after, the proud squirrel came to the home of the once homeless and weary traveler, and, strange to say, the once despised and hungry beggar witnessed the pride of that haughty rodent punished by its own folly. Fanchette. Ha, ha, ha ! I understand you ; who has told you that I once refused an escaped convict food and then fed his dog? Ha, ha, ha ! you are angry, I SCARRED. 49 heard you railing against me when Gerard and I left you alone, because I did not warn the gentleman of the dangerous undertow. Victor. You did wrong, Fauchette. Fanchette. I would ask pardon if I could see them, and all for yo.ir sake (she laughs.) Victor. You can see them, Fanchette. Fanchette. I can? Victor. That convict is now your friend. Fanchette. My friend? Victor. Yes, your friend; and the other was your father. Fanchette. My father! Victor. And your victim (shows her the body). Fanchette. What, cold! dead! no, no; father! father ! those glassy eyes ! speak, oh, dead ! (she weeps, is led to the door by Gerard) . Victor. Gerard, our dreadful design is at au end, beyond his grave I'll guard her honor as I would my life; you must quit France immediately. Gerard. And for what reason? Victor. Because it is my wish. Gerard. That alone is not enough. Victor. Say you so? Gerard I have said it ; I would have your reason. Victor. I need your services no longer. Gerard. Very well ; absolved from any further obli- gations to obey your behests as a servant, you can now recognize me as a gentleman. Victor. Then you refuse to go? Gerard. Yes ; I refuse to go. Victor. To what end? Gerard. That I may marry Mademoiselle Fanchette ; if heaven hath interposed between her and your designs it hath not between her love and mine. 5o SCARRED. Victor. Don't assail my ears with such language. Gerard. Don't lose your temper, it will answer no purpose. Victor. Do you see that dial? Gerard. Yes, I see that dial. Victor. Mark well the time, if you refuse to go, in one hour you'll be under the protection of the police ; ay, count the seconds for at the sixty-first your answer will be too late. One, two, three— Gerard (aside). He forgets that he too was in the galleys, he dare not betray me. He has a terrible will, but he's not a fool. He tempted me with the prize and now as it is almost within my grasp he would place it beyond my reach, no, no. He cannot betray me with- out betraying himself. Victor. See, you mad villain, the time is almost up. Gerard. What does this mean? Victor. It means that I will call the police. Gerard. And in the presence of them all betray your own villainy. Victor. Ay, in the presence of them all; see, see, the time; oh, fool, will you go? (threatens to ring). Gerard. I defy you. Victor. 'Tis done; you have riveted your own chains; your ancestors never had such a chance to escape the galleys. Gerard. Rail as you will ; yea, scoff at my ancestors ^ but why don't you ring? why don't you rouse the in- mates of this house, and before them all denounce your friend and galley comrade, the man whom you have chosen to wed the daughter of the Marquis D'Or- ville, ay, the grandson of Louis Gerard, the companion of your childhood. ( Victor threatens to ring again) You dare not strike ! Summon them all, let them hear the SCARRED. 51 history of Monsieur Victor Vedoc, the galley slave ; fear not, the memory of your ancestors will not suffer. Victor. Hold ! Your base insinuation I understand, another word and I'll drive this through you. Gerard. You need not draw unless to settle this dis- pute with your sword. Victor (shuts door, takes from table case of pistols). You have the choice of weapons. Gerard. I'll trust this blade. Victor. Be it so. [They fight, Gerard is disarmed and falls.~] Gerard. If you strike I'll cry aloud and swear your design was murder. Victor. Take your weapon (lie writes). This ends our quarrel, my wits are not enough for you. Gerard. You speak the truth; had you called the gendarmes I would have denounced you in the presence of every inmate of this house, and then would have escaped their clutches. [ Victor rings. Enters servant, gives note to servant] Victor. Some wine, ha, ha (exit servant). You thought I was in earnest when I threatened to call the police? Gerard. You looked serious, I assure you. [Enters servant with winc~\. Servant (to Vedoc). They have not left the chateau. [They drink.] Victor. Here's that we may never quarrel again, and that your journey may be a pleasant one. Gerard. My journey? I don't understand you. Victor. I shall try and make myself understood. Gerard {gets up from table excited). You have sent for the gendarmes, I understand all now, henceforth we are enemies. Beware ! I'm not yet in their 52 SCARRED. clutches, and before I depart from this house Madame Vedoc shall know that the man whom she calls her husband is Scarred, once a galley slave — ever a bas- tard. [ Vedoc draws sword, Gerard rushes to the door, gen- darmes appear. Gerard starts back]. Victor (to gendarmes). Arrest this man. Gerard (draws his sword, rushes at Vedoc, who parries his thrust), I'll kill you. [Gerard is disarmed by gendarmes]. 1st gendarme. Are you Michel Gerard who escaped from Toulon? Gerard. Yes, I'm Michel Gerard who escaped from Toulon; but know you that man? Victor (shuts the door), I'll save you the trouble of an introduction, (to gendarmes) You and my neigh- bors know me as Monsieur Victor Vedoc, he has known me as "Scarred," once a resident of Toulon, where I served the government f^rten years very faithfully and with but little recompense. 1st gendarme. Scarred? Gerard. Yes, Scarred the bastard, who served ten years in the galley for robbery. [Exeunt all but Scarred and 1st gendarme] 1st gendarme. Scarred, did you say? Victor. Yes, Scarred. 1st gendarme. I must go, I must go, but will return ; read this. (Exit) Victor. Bastard ! oh, God, it may be so ! Who am I? What am I? Never yet have I looked upon the face of one whom I could call my father (he sinks into a chair). Scarred, have the gendarmes heard of Scarred? Yes; as he gave me this he looked mysterious, and said I will return. (He reads) " The child was stolen by SCARRED. 53 a ruffian with the design to extort money from the grief-stricken parents for its restoration, but the Mar- quis D'Orville having left Paris the ruffian placed him- self in communication with La Brae, and to whom he re- vealed the whereabouts of the stolen child, on receipt of the money demanded; this discovery La Brae never revealed but had the child removed to obscure quarters in Paris iu charge of a wretch who was ignorant of its noble birth; for years nothing was known of the ill- fated offspring of the Marquis D'Orville and its re- membrance was well nigh obliterated even by the cruel La Brae, but these years of obscurity developed the helpless infant into promising manhood. But again the hand of the destroyer was upon him, for La Brae again recognized his victim, as no other than the youthful companion and lover of one whom he called his own child, by her the unfortunate youth became known to La Brae, for once he confided to her the story of a daring crime he committed, to explain the cause of a scar on his temple. La Brae gave Informa- tion that led to his arrest, and he was condemned to the galleys for ten years. He was known among the convicts as "Scarred." He was discharged five years ago, and was last seen near Paris by M. Lasache an old astronomer." My father! Oh, God, this cannot be! The rest is true, ah, too true. What ! yes, I see it all, a world of light breaks upon me, 'twas the will, the will! (he takes his father's hand) Oh, La Brae, La Brae, you could have had all, all of mine, ali but the name of an honest birth, could I have looked into this face ere death had closed these eyes forever, and said, this is my father (he weeps). Oh, father, I weep, this heart of stone now melts, to that marble brow so cold in death I press my lips in grief. Father, father, will you 54 SCARRED. not speak? art those lips forever mute? (he starts up) What ! I echo but the words of that poor child, whose heart now breaks as mine with grief. Oh, God, this is terrible! when I prayed heaven to revenge my wrong I say (he puts his hand on his head and bovis) I did not ask for this. Yes, I could have saved him, I could have saved him ! I refused to go with him bent as I was upon my terrible purpose. "Vengeance is mine : " yes, in that Holy Book Heaven hath said so; this is my punishment. [Enter servant.] Servant. Monsieur, 'tis very late, shall we retire? Victor. Yes, but first bear the Marquis to my room (he weeps). No lighted candles or shrouds of black; place him where the stars of heaven can shine upon his bier. In the darkness and with the dead I alone shall keep the watch. (Exeunt servants carrying the body of the Marquis from the stage). Oh, La Brae and my wife, 'twas well done, you sent me to the galleys. [Enters Marie excited'] . Marie. Oh, Victor, this is terrible. (She attempts to kiss the corpse, Vedoc catches hold of her). Victor. Hold, woman, your foul lips were never made for such a purpose. Marie. Victor, Victor, you are mad, you are mad ! Victor. Yes, mad ; your preseuce and the events of this hour have kindled in my breast every smouldering passion of anger, hate and revenge. Marie. Victor, Victor, what have I clone? Victor Such a sight as damns you in my sight for- ever. Marie (catching him by the arm). Oh, tell me what have I clone? Victor. Release your hold. SCARRED. 55 Marie. I cannot until you tell me the cause of your anger. Victor. Weep, weep on, weep until your heart con- tributes to those eyes, and then you'll see a stream as black as hell. Release your hold, I say. {He thrusts her from him, she falls on her knees). Marie. Father in Heaven, what does this mean? Victor. It means that I. hate you, woman. Marie. Kill me if you will, but if you will not, tell me the cause of your auger, I will brave your fury. Victor. Your blood shall not be upon my hands Marie. You are a coward to treat your wife in this way. Victor. Coward? Marie. Yea, and a brute : what crime have I com- mitted? {Enters servant.) Servant. A stranger desires to see madam e. Victor. Tell him to go. {Exit servant.) Marie. I repeat, what crime have I committed? Victor. Would you know? Must I too fall a victim to your broken vows? Marie. I don't understand you. Victor. When I married you — Marie. I said my heart was in the grave with an- other. Victor. Ay, but you swore to be true. Marie. Have I not? Victor. Yes, as faithful to me as you were to him. Marie. To whom? Victor. To the youth whom you sent to the galleys ; ay, you turn pale, so did I when I saw him chained in a living tomb, with the rusty shackles festering his naked limbs. $6 SCARRED. Marie. Don't, don't, I will hear no more. Victor, why talk of such dreadful thiugs to-night, when death is in our midst. Victor. You betrayed him, and you have proven false to me. Marie. It is not true. Victor. The contents of this box will prove it. Marie. No, no, 'tis mine, give it to me, you shall not open it. Victor. If you are innocent — Maine. I am, Victor, I am. Victor. The proof is here. Marie. Give it to me ; you shall not open it. (Enters servant.) Servant. The gentleman says he must see maclame. (Exit.) Marie. Have you no faith in your wife? Victor. You are not my wife. Go fly with him, you have been my mistress and perhaps his. Marie. Your mistress? Victor. Aye ! he who married us was not a priest. Marie. Victor Vedoc, can this be true? I see, I see this is the secret of your cruel neglect. I have it from your own lips, but you shall not go unpunished, (enter M Lasache and servant) you shall die. Lasache. My child, my daughter, I have at last found you. (She shoots Vedoc, he falls.) What, daughter, you have killed him ! (Tableau.) SCARRED. 57 ACT IV. Scene — The upper observatory of the astronomer, La- sache, overlooking Paris. The city by moonlight. Lasache discovered at telescope. {Enters Marie). Marie. Father, I could not remain below. Lasache. The stars are out to-night, else I would not have left you. Marie. When I am alone I think of the past. Let me remain here, I too love the stars. Lasache. Yes, my child, here by my side. ( Offers a, chair) . Marie. No, no, I will not interrupt you, forget that I am here. Lasache. Forget that you are here ; ha, ha, 1 would not forget that. Marie. But the heavens are clear, and you were to make observations. Lasache. The heaven is clear, but in that starry vault no orb like thine could cross my field of view. Ay, they are moist, and there's a tear. Marie. I weep for her in Heaven. Lasache. For whom, my daughter? Marie. For my mother (Lasache starts) ; your hand trembles, and your face is like the dead; why, you are not well ! Lasache. I sometimes tremble like this, I am old now. Marie. Tell me how lonu - she has been dead. 58 SCARRED. Lasache. Talk not of the dead : we live, my darling child, and her old father. dfarie. Yes ; but tell me of her. Lasache. She was my wife, you bear her name, she was taken from me when you were an infant, and laid in the tomb. She's in heaven now. Marie. How were we separated? Lasache. I will tell you, my but we are not sep- arated now. Don't weep ; you have had more than your share of this world's sorrows. Marie. Yes, yes. (She weeps). Lasache. Forgive me; I was unkind to remind you of your misfortunes; but you will again be happy. Marie. No, never, never again, he will not forgive me, for I would have killed him. He told me I was not his wife, but his mistress. Lasache. He deceived you, you are his wife. Marie. When you told me that I went to his cham- ber, and on my knees I prayed for mercy and forgive- ness, but his pale and trembling lips only uttered words of scorn. Lasache. You must not talk of these things now, you are not well. Marie. And when the fever was at its height, I from my sick couch could hear him denounce me in his delirium. You have found your child, Fanchette her brother, but I have lost my husband. Lasache. Fanchette has found her brother! how do you know this? Yon were not to hear it until you were better. Marie. I only know the Marquis D'Orville's son was found, and he is my husband. Lasache. Who told you, my child? Marie. I heard it whispered at my bedside ere we separated forever. SCARRED. 59 Lasaehe. Not forever, he will forgive that rash act. Marie. You do not know him ; he never forgives. Lasaehe. He will forgive my child. Marie. But he may not recover. Oh, to die by my hand ! Lasaehe. He is gaining strength rapidly. Marie. Who has told you this, is it true? He will not die? Lasaehe. Not by your hand. Marie. And you are sure he. is beyond danger? Lasaehe. Yes, my child. Marie. Thank Heaven ! Though I may never see him again his life is spared. Lasaehe. You are his wife, w T hy should you not see him ; he will forgive you. Marie. Oh, you don't know all ! Lasaehe. What else? You love him and have been faithful to him? Marie. Yes; but even my fidelity he doubts. Lasaehe. That cannot be. Marie. Yes ; when I became his wife I told him that my heart belonged to another, yet I have been to him all that a wife could be, even this poor heart that once yearned for another's love, at length I gave to him all, all but one little spot in which the memory of one I loved long, long ago, became entombed. Lasaehe. I see, I see. Marie. Oh, father, he was not always kind to me, not always kind. (She weeps) At length I became un- happy, ay, desperate, the entombed affection of my early days would rise like the dead to haunt my break- ing heart. In a moment of temptation I sought to learn the whereabouts of him I vowed when but a girl to love forever. I secretly corresponded with a gen- 60 SCARRED. tlemau in Paris, who promised to aid me in my search, this was my crime. Lasache. In this you have not sinned. Marie. No ; but he can never understand those letters. Lasache. And those letters were the cause of your quarrel? Marie. Yes. Lasache. But he had not seen them. Marie. He saw them all, and in bitter tones told me I was false to him. Lasache. The box was locked when I picked it from the floor. Marie. He saw them before, for when I asked him how he knew of him who went to the galleys, he tried to deceive me by saying he was his friend, that he had seen him in the galleys ; but no, all this he read from my letters. Lasache. Tell me, my daughter, who was this youth? Marie. Father, pity me. Even now my heart breaks when I think of him and his sad fate. Lasache. No, no, you need not speak of him if it gives you any pain. Marie. Yes, you shall know all. He was a gentle, brave youth, I loved him, oh, heaven knows that; the last time I saw him I noticed a scar just above his temple, I had never seen it before; at first I was frightened ; I asked him how it came there, he did not answer me, but the next day he sent me a letter, in which he told me of a crime he once committed, to explain the cause of that dreadful scar. This letter with others was taken from me by La Brae. This led to his arrest and he was condemned to the galleys for ten years. SCARRED. 6 I Lasache. Was it him you loved? Marie. Yes. .Lasache. I knew him then, and I know him now. Marie Know him? is he alive, where is he? What became of him? no, no, I kuow by your look that he is dead. Lasache. He is alive and well. Marie. He lives, he lives, my Maurice ! — but what, what is he to me? Lasache. Yes, he lives ; and your father loves him and his darling wife. Marie (screams). His wife! Oh, God! this poor heart! No, no, he's dead — his wife (she weeps). Lasache. I see, I see you don't understand all. Marie. Yes, I understand all. 'Twas I who first broke that solemn vow. Speak of him no more, this bleeding heart belongs to another — my husband ; but, oh God, even his love is denied me ! Lasache. Cheer up, my child, you are in the dark ; ere yonder star shall cross the spire of St. James, you shall know all. [Lasache prepares to go.'] Marie. Where are you going? Lasache. To your husband. Marie. 'Twill avail nothing. Lasache. Trust to me. Marie. No, uo, it will do no good to plead with him for his unhappy wife, his stern look and bitter sarcasm will confound you. You must not go, these gray locks shall suffer no indignity for me. Lasache. Ha, ha, he will not offend me. Marie. Then if you must go plead for ine, tell him I can explain those letters. Lasache. See ; see the star, there is no time to be 62 SCARRED. lost. Ere that star shall pass yonder spire your heart and his shall be united with bauds of love so firm that death alone shall sever them. Marie. I cannot hope for that, but when will you return? Lasache. Soon, very soon. Marie. Is it not far? Lasache. Chateau d'Amont is in sight. Marie. In sight ! Where, where is it? In which direction? Lasache. See yonder light? Marie. Where? Lasache. On the hill, from that sombre pile that rears against the heavens. Marie. Yes, I see 'tis Chateau d'Amont, and my husband is there. Lasache. Yes, that's Chateau d'Amont, once the home of the monster La Brae, but now while he's an outcast and justice pursues him, his victim, the Mar- quis d'Orville dwells there ; and, Marie, he's your hus- baud. Marie;. See, see that shadow flitting across the lighted square, it may be the shadow of him. Lasache. Good bye, you soon shall know all. {Exit.) Marie. Alone ! with weeping eyes I stand to catch a glimpse of the distant shadow of one whose forgive- ness alone can make me happy. I shall go mad. What, these strange sights, huge telescopes raid black charts with figures of men and serpents. I remember a scene like this before. No, it must have been some dreadful dream; then they called me mad. Can it be? Oh, what will become of me (she screams) father, father, don't leave me, don't leave me ! [Enters Lasache.] SCARRED. 63 Lasache. My child, — Marie. Oh, tell me is this a dream, or am I mad? Lasache. Mad? Why no, Marie, you are not mad. Marie. I am afraid my mind is going, [ dare not remain alone. Oh, if I should lose my mind ! my blood freezes at the thought; father, if I lose my mind and you have ever loved me, you will not let me live, promise you will kill me. Lasache. If you talk like this you will break my heart. Marie. Oh, I am not mad, I am not mad ! am I? tell me, father, it is not so. Lasache. No, you are not mad. Calm yourself, you are excited. Marie, this is the saddest blow of all. [Lasache weeps. ] Marie. Forgive me ; don't weep, father. I am calm now, see, I am laughing. I will wait here all alone until you return, I shall not be afraid. Lasache. You shall not remain alone, I was mad to think of it; my good friend, Montrichard, will remain with you until I return. See the star, Marie, I have no time to lose. Marie. Yes, go ; I will not detain you. Lasache. But you must be calm. Promise me this, talk not to him of your troubles. Marie. I promise, father, I'll laugh and talk with him of the stars. Lasache. You will keep your promise? Marie. Yes. [Exit Lasache'] [Enters Montrichard.] Mont. Has Mademoiselle been studying the heavens? Marie. No, Monsieur, not studying the heavens, only gazing at the stars. 64 SCARRED. Mont. They shine brightly. Marie. Yes, Monsieur, and how brilliant Paris looks by night, myriads of lights all burning like camptires. I recognize many buildings ; oh, how high we are. There's Chateau d'Amont, is it not? Mont. The chateau on the hill? Marie. Yes, Monsieur. Mont. Where the lights shine? Marie. Yes; but the light has disappeared now. (Montrichard hitches rope on telescope.) Are you to make an observation, Monsieur? Mont. No, Mademoiselle. Marie (aside). I must forget him. What are these wires for? Mont. Ha, ha! you don't understand, neither did I when I first saw this wonderful contrivance. I will explain all, Mademoiselle. Marie. Thank you. Mont. You see that track? Marie. Yes, Monsieur, Mont. It runs beyond the window of the tower on this platform. Marie. Oh, Monsieur! your observations are not made on that, it's very frail. Mont. No, the frame of the telescope rests upon that. Marie (looks out window, starts back). Oh, how high we are, the lights below shine like sparks upon the pavement. Mont. Does Mademoiselle see those strong beams projecting from the stones above? Marie. Yes, Monsieur, and those wires run through iron hooks at each end. Mont. Now, Mademoiselle, put your foot gentiy on this little knob (Marie obeys, the instrument moves) . SCARRED. 65 Marie. I see it is pulled by those wires. Mont. Ha, ha! but what pulled the wires? Marie. How strange, Monsieur. Mont. Hugh irons that wind up like the weights of a clock descend when this is touched and pull the wires. Marie. Oh yes, I understand now. See, the lights shine again. Direct the telescope towards Chateau d'Araont. Mont. With pleasure, Mademoiselle, I think you can see. [Marie looks through telescope']. Marie. No, Monsieur, I cannot see. Mont. The light has disappeared. Marie. Yes, it has disappeared. Mont. Let me direct the glass to the stars, Madem- oiselle may find some pleasure in viewing the heavens. Marie. No, Monsieur, no pleasure for me. Mont. Now, Mademoiselle, you'll see the instrument return. (Presses knob on the vjall, and the telescope rolls back. Marie tries to open box that Montrichard has placed in middle of the stage.) Mont, (excited). No, no, don't touch that, no, no, don't touch those handles. Ha, ha, Mademoiselle, you don't know what you have escaped. Marie. Oh, Monsieur, you frighten me, what is it? Mont. Ah, Mademoiselle, that is a secret to all but Monsieur Lasache (he hitches the end of each wire in hooks that project from tJiebox), but the world will know some day. 'Tis some wonderful discovery. Oh, Mad- emoiselle, you have escaped a dreadful catastrophe, it was lucky you did not touch those handles. I took hold of them one day, and the instant I pulled I was thrown on my side by a violent shock I tried to let 66 SCARRED. go of the handles but I could not, I screamed for help, soon Monsieur Lasache came to my aid, and shut off the current; ha, ha, that is what he called releasiug me from this infernal machine. Ah, 'tis some wonder- ful discovery. (He starts to go.) Marie. Are you going below, Monsieur? Mont. Yes, Mademoiselle, as I came up I saw a stranger entering the yard, he maj r be below waiting for Monsieur Lasache. (Exit.) Marie (looking out of window) . It shines again, but not for me, not for me. Had I but the wings of a tender fledgling I would plunge through the darkness, ay, venture all, but to fall at his feet and implore his forgiveness. Oh, I am growing desperate, mad! Vic- tor, Victor, my poor heart is wrecked. (She looks out the window again) Shining still! no, no, be merciful, Victor, extinguish that light, it mocks the agony of my soul (she covers her face with her hands'). I dare not look again. Oh, Victor, that gleaming flame pierces through the darkness of my heart and shows me its desolation (she weeps). Oh, God, in thy mercy take me from this world. Yes, yes, I would die, I would die (she looks from the window, below) Yes (she looks again, starts back) . Beyond the casement through the darkness phantom figures are beckoning to — (she screams, turns round) who told me to jump — I am — that voice again ! (she listens and repeats) "Marie jump, jump, 'tis but a passage to a better world; have courage, courage; yes, I have courage; 'twill be no sin, no, no, I deserve it, I would have killed him ; I will (enters Victor unob- served, stands behind Marie). Victor, farewell, ere the shades of night shall leave thy couch my spirit shall be there. Fear not, I shall love thee even beyond the grave (she weeps). But there's another, my poor SCARRED. 6*] Maurice, my last breath shall bear thy name. Now, Victor Vecloc, the heart that would have destroyed you now destroys itself; the tempests of life have driven this poor wretched heart upon the breakers of death, soon it will be dashed to pieces, and sink forever be- neath the waves. The light has gone, 'tis well, I, would go down iu darkness amid the storm, with all nature as black as death. Farewell Victor, farewell Maurice, I have loved you in life, I will love you even in death, (she starts to jump, is held, by Vedoc). Victor. Marie. Marie. Victor, my husband! and do you come again to chide me? Victor. Not to chide, Marie, to forgive. Marie. To forgive? (she falls on her knees). Victor. Arise Marie ; I am not strong now, yet I had strength enough to read your letters, the contents of that little box has nearly broken my heart (she weeps) . Marie. Oh Victor, my husband, forgive me! I can explain those letters. Victor. All is explained, Marie, you love another. Marie. But I have been true to you. Victor. Yes, Marie, and true to him. Marie. Forgive me, my darling, forgive me. Victor. Was it he whom you called Maurice? Marie. Yes. Victor. But whom they called Scarred in the galleys? Marie. Yes, but he was — Victor. Condemned for robbery. Marie. The money he stole was to buy food for a starving child. Victor. You did not condemn him for that? Marie. No, no, but he was condemned on my ac- count, it was for me, your wife, he stole the money. 68 SCARRED. Victor. And you have always loved this galley slave? Marie. It was between you and him I shared this poor heart. Victor. Marie, can you not choose between us? Marie. He belongs to another. Victor. But he loves you, Marie. Marie. No, no, don't say those words again. Oh, Victor, I wish you had not said that, it was cruel, but you did not mean to be unkind. Victor. You love him, I have it from your own lips, why then should he not love you? Marie. You are killing me ; I know how this must end. Victor. You have loved him for fifteen years in silence with the devotion of a true and noble woman. Oh, Marie, I have at last heard you say that you have loved Scarred, the galley slave. I would rather die than to hear you retract those words ; when they fell upon my ears the cloud of misery that for ten years had lowered upon my heart at once became dispelled. Marie. Oh, Victor, this means that I must live apart from you forever. Victor. It means that hereafter your heart and mine shall be one. Marie. What Victor! Do I understand you? Victor. No, you have never understood me, you have never known me. I thought I knew you, but no, not until I read the contents of that little box ; then I learned it was not you who sent me to the galleys. Marie. You ? Victor. Yes me ; look (he shows the scar on his tem- ple) I am Scarred — your Maurice — for ten years a gal- ley slave. SCARRED. 69 Marie (falls in his arms'), Oh Victor, Victor. Victor. Call me Maurice forever more, not Victor. [Enters Lasache] . Lasache. Look, look! the star is now passing the the cross of St. James. [Marie tries to walk to window, falls into chair~\. Victor. My darling, you are faint. Marie. No, but after all these things I would rest. Victor. You shall have rest. Marie. Yes, and happiness too ; shall I not, Mau- rice? Victor. Yes, Marie. Marie. I am stronger now, oh Maurice, my poor Maurice (throws arms about his neck) Lasache (looking out window). What is that? See, see, the Chateau d'Amont is on fire. Victor. On fire! (They look from window). 'Tis well, 'tis well, may those flames devour every timber, may they burn and burn until Chateau d'Amont is wiped from the face of the earth. It was once your prison, it shall never be your home. Lasache. Go my children, there may be danger in delay. Marie. Yes, yes, Fanchette, your sister ! Father, adieu. Lasache. Adieu. God bless you, my children, God bless you. [Exeunt Victor and Marie.'] Lasache (looking from window at Chateau d'Amont). Yes, 'tis his work, he is here, yes (he prepares to go) I must follow them for he is here, and there may be danger. [Enters Baron de La Brae]. Baron. Yes he is here, and there is danger. JO SCARRED. Lasache. La Brae, you are here, but you have been there. Baron. Yes ; I left. Lasache. Your torches — Baron. But uot my sword. Lasache. I will not quarrel with you. Baron. But I will quarrel with you, for you have betrayed me. Lasache. La Brae, beware ! the police and vigilaut do you not fear? Baron. I fear no one. not even the heir of the Mar- quis D'Orville. Lasache. You have much to fear from him. Baron. Not now, not now, the} r could not find his remains hi the ruins of Chateau d'Orville, but they'll have better luck when they search the ruins of Cha- teau d'Amont. Lasache (aside). If he knew the truth Victor might be in danger. {Aloud) La Brae, when does your hell- ish work end? Baron. When you or I am iu the grave. Lasache. What do you mean? Baron. First give me the letter I wrote you when you personated in court the man from whom the heir of the Marquis D'Orville stole fifteen francs ; do you understand? When you perjured your soul and sent your son-in-law to the galleys for ten years. Lasache. I understand. Baron. Then obey. Lasache I will not. Baron. You shall, or — Lasache. Or what, La Brae? Baron. I will kill you. Lasache. I am alone, you are a wicked man, you may take my life, but you can never have that letter. SCARRED. 71 Baron. Do you prize the document that comprom- ises my honor and yours more highly than you do your life? Lasache. You want one thing too many. Baron. I want that letter. Lasache. And my life. Baron. You're right, I want both, and both I will have. Lasache, I give yon a chance for your life. Lasache. I'll take the chance myself, it comes not from you. {Lasache takes dozen sword). Baron. Be it so. {They fight. Lasache receives wound in the arm]. Baron. Again I ask, will you give up that letter? I care not for your blood, I was jesting. Lasache. Never, though I were to fall with a thou- sand cnts. [They fight again. Lasache falls mortally wounded']. Baron. I've destroyed the living witness, and now I'll destroy — [He catches the handles on the end of the electric wire that passes through the box containing the electric pile . He pulls, the transmission of the electric fluid throws him on his side ; vjhen he falls he strikes the knob on the floor, instantly the box is pulled tovmrds the window of the toioer. He struggles to free himself but cannot, and is dragged towards the window.] My God, Lasache release me ! Lasache. You have destroyed the living witness, and I fear you have destroyed yourself. Baron. Release me, Lasache, in the name of Heaven ! Lasache. I will, I will. La Brae, I would die a Christian man, forgiving the man who kills me {He tries to stand but fails ; then tries to reach the knob on 72 SCARRED. the floor but his strength fails him). I cannot reach the knob. I am going — I am dying. Oh, La Brae, the tower window ! Baron (utters a cry of horror) . The window! help, help, the window ! release me, Lasache, release me ! [He throvjs Jiis legs around every object near him in or- der to break his hold, but he is steadily pulled towards the window). Help, help, or I shall be dashed below! (He bites the wires with his teeth) save me, save me ! (He is pulled beyond the tower window up to the beams that project from above. Lasache makes a desperate effort to reach the knob but fails again. La Brae's hold is broken, he utters a horrible cry and falls below.) Lasache. Oh God, he is hurled below. What! 'tis growing dark — I cannot see — yet I am stronger (he stands) Father in Heaven, forgive me. I have repent- ed — I can't see, I am — 'tis death ! (dies) . Curtain.