nal THE TWO ORPHANS L&2^e. "Tell me what you see." Page 76. Frontispiece The TWO ORPHANS By ADOLPHE -JITENNERY WITH SCENES FROM THE PLAT R. F. FENNO & COMPANY 9 AND ii EAST SIXTEENTH STREET, NEW YORK 1904 A ROMANTIC PLAY, IN FOUR ACTS BY ADOLPHE D'ENNERY fef EUGENE CORMON The Original Union Square Theatre Version was made by Hart Jackson, Esq., for A. M. Palmer, and is played by arrangement with Kate Claxton, its present owner UNDER THE DIRECTION OF A. M. PALMER Cast of Characters CHEVALIER MAURICE DVAUDREY KYRLE BELLEW COUNT DE LIN1ERES, Minister of Police FREDERICK. PERRY PICARD, Valet to the Chevalier , E. M. HOLLAND JACQUES FROCHARD, an outlaw CHARLES WARNER PIERRE FROCHARD, the cripple, his brother JAMES O'NEILL MARQUIS DE PRESLES JAMESON LEE FINNEY DOCTOR OF THE HOSPITAL La Salpetriere FRANK ROBERTS M. DE MAILLY STANLEY JESSOP M. D'ESTREES (with song) STANLEY HAWKINS MARTIN, Citizen of Paris R. PATON GIBBS ANTOINE GEO. S. STEVENS LAFLEUR, in the service of the Marquis De Preiles FRANK CONNOR OFFICER OF THE GUARD BASIL WEST CHIEF CLERK MINISTRY OF POLICE HENRY J. HADFIELD FOOTMAN TO THE COUNTESS DE LINIERES ALFRED JAMES LOUISE f , ~ n . \ GRACE GEORGE HENRIETTE 1 The Tw Or P hans ) MARGARET ILLINGTON COUNTESS DE LINIERES ANNIE IRISH LA FROCHARD, Mother of Pierre and Jacques. ..ELITA PROCTOR OTIS MARIANNE, an outcast CLARA BLANDICK SISTER GENEVIEVE, Matron of La Salpetriere CLARA MORRIS JULIE MONA HARRISON FLORETTE MIGNON BER ANGER CORA CORINNE PARKER SISTER THERESE LUCY MILLIKEN THE TWO ORPHANS. CHAPTER I. FROM NORMANDY TO PARIS. THE dusty diligence which rolled over the hard road from Evreux to Paris, on a certain warm summer's day. in the year 18 , contained but two passengers, and they, young girls. As they sat on the hard leathern seats, weary from the effects of the long ride, which would cause more mature persons to look jaded, one can see that, so engrossed are they with the thoughts of their arrival in Paris, they have forgotten the discomforts of their reception. " Are you quite certain that the kind Monsieur Mar- tin will meet us, sister ? " asked the younger, for at least the twentieth time since the commencement of the ride. " He must be waiting our arrival, Louise ; for did I not write to say that we were coming ? " replied Henri- ette, as she smoothed her sister's fair hair with a caress- ing motion which was unusually tender even for a sister, and as one looks into the young girl's face, they see the reason of the watchful care which she exercises over her sister. Louise is blind. " But if he should not be there ?" persisted the blind girl. " Then we will go to his house ; I hTC th addreag. 4 THE TWO ORPHANS. We will not think of hia not being there, but rather enjoy the ride. I will describe to you everything we meet." For answer, Louise nestled close beside her sister ; and laid her head, with its wealth of golden hair, on her shoulder. While Henriette was thus engaged, let us explain why the two girls were thus journeying alone to the great city. Nearly six months previous to the opening of our story, the two girls were bereft of their only protector by the cold hand of death ; and had been offered a home in Paris by M. Martin, who was a cousin of the deceased mother. For several months the girls remained with their kind friends in Normandy, lingering near their childhood's home, as if intuition had warned them of the long train of evils which would attend them at the capital. They had started for Paris, thinking that no other warning to their relative, save a letter that was dispatch, ed the day previous to their departure, was necessary. So much for the reason of their journey, and before they arrive in Paris, we will visit the hotel occupied by the Marquis de Presles, whose vile scheming caused so much misery to our heroines. The marquis was the representative of one of the oldest families in Paris ; but, unlike his ancestors, he was notorious as a libertine and a rouS. Every pleasure that wealth or sin could purchase was his, and in that city of crime and pleasure, none so ready as he to adopt any scheme, however vile, to attain some new pleasure which should gratify his depraved taste. Seated before a breakfast-table, loaded with every delicacy which could tempt an appetite already blunted 0y dissipation, the marquis was partaking sparingly of THE TWO ORPHANS. 5 his morning meal, when his valet entered and waited permission to speak. " What is it, Antoine ? " " Monsieur Lafleur has some important " " Admit him," ordered the marquis, who saw in thil early visit some new scheme ; for Lafleur was one who, for the sake of a liberal reward, which the marquis waa ever ready to give his tools, pandered to the nobleman's vices. Lafleur entered with a cringing bow, and remained standing in a respectful attitude until his pa- tron should allow him to unfold his budget of villainy. " Three o'clock in the afternoon is not an early hour for Lafleur, monsieur," replied that worthy, as he availed himself of the marquis's permission to be seated. " People who have such vile taste as to retire at night, must expect to be out of their beds at any unreasonable hour ; but tell me what brings you here ? " " Monsieur has heard of the beauty of the girls of Normandy ? " " Yes, what of that ? " asks De Presles, listlessly. " There are two young girls from Normandy who are to arrive in Paris this evening. They are without relatives, except you call the cousin of their mother, who, by the way, is my brother-in-law, a relative," answered Lafleur, as he watched the face of his employer carefully ; and as he saw it light up at his information, he added : " My brother-in-law is in Lyons, and I have opened the letter sent by the two orphans, advising him of their intended arrival to-night. Therefore, I shall be obliged to meet them." " And you propose what ? " " Anything Monsieur the Marquis is pleased to wish." " How old are these girls ? " * The oldest is seventeen, and the blind one n I THE TWO ORPHANS. "Is one of them blind?" "She is." " Ah, then, I do not see how she could interest me. n " But the other might, monsieur." " You are right I " exclaimed the marquis, after a ihort pauae ; " but what should we do with the blind one? " "Neve? fear for her. She can go wherever she chooses," said Lafleur, in a careless tone. " Blindness is a good stock of trade in this city. Before I knew the liberality of the Marquis de Presles, I was often tempted lo wish that I was blind myself; for it is said that the good God has such under his especial keeping." " I am afraid, Lafleur, that if you were deaf and dumb as well as blind, the Lord would show you very little favor," said the marquis, with a laugh. " Perhaps not. But have you any commands for me ? " rejoined Lafleur, quickly. " Yes. If you bring me the girl without the blind one, remember I will pay you one hundred louis If you fail, I will not " " We do not think of failure, my dear Marquis," quickly interrupted Lafleur. " Where shall I take the girl?" "I am to have a party of friends at Bel- Air this evening, and you may take her there. Be sure you take her in such a condition that she can make no disturb- ance." " I will use the old remedy, and then you can awake her whenever you wish, as you have the antidote," replied Lafleur, as he arose to go. " You feel sure that you will succeed ? " asked the marquis, who had grown considerably interested in the cheme. "JFeel sure? I am as certain as if the Marquis dt THE TWO ORPHANS. 7 Presles* louis were already jingling in my pocket," answered Lafleur, in a confident tone. "Very well, I shall expect you this evening." " I shall be there, my lord." And with a low bow, the villain, who was ready to sell more than his soul for gold, departed, leaving hia patron to gloat over the surprise he had in store for his friends ; and to their shame be it said, a greater portion of these friends were so-called ladies, and in attendance upon royalty itself. "Lest our readers should think this an exceptional case in the city of Paris at the time of which we write, we will refer them to the history of France for the latter part of the seventeenth and the beginning of the eight- eenth centuries, and they will find that abduction, murder, and all manner of crime stalked abroad through the beautiful city, setting the law, and those whose duty it was to enforce the law, at defiance. CHAPTER II. MOTHER AND SONS. " KNIVES to mend, scissors to grind, knives to grind 1" Among the large class of people who get their living from the street, as it were, none seemed to have as few customers as the scissors- grinders, although they are the most useful of their class , and it is not strange that on the day when the Normandy coach was to bring a new victim to the Marquis de Presles, Pierre Frochard, the crippled scissors-grinder, should have traversed a large portion of the city without having an opportunity of adding much to his little hoard. His plaintive cry, " Knives to mend, scissors to grind," was unlike a great majority of the street cries, inasmuch 8 THE TWO ORPHANS. as it seemed to be the cry of a wounded soul striving for something beyond its reach, instead of the rough, unmeaning jargon which venders give utterance to in a sing-song manner, and which expresses nothing save a confusion of guttural sounds. Pierre Frochard was a young man of about twenty years of age, but his sufferings caused him to have the appearance of one many years older. His face was pale and distorted, his form bent and misshapen, and yet he was one whom the careful observer would have become deeply interested in, and the charitably disposed to have bestowed alms upon, had Pierre not been one of those few whom alms hurt worse than a curse. "Weary and footsore, the poor scissors-grinder had, toward the close of the day, found himself near the Pont Neuf ; and after ascertaining that there were none near who were in need of his services, he placed his machine near one of the buildings, and was resting his aching limbs. Chance had brought him near the Normandy coach- house, and he resolved to await the coming of the dili- gence, in the hope of earning a few sous by carrying the baggage of some traveler. There was also in the vicinity a drinking saloon, filled with noisy revelers, and whenever a fresh burst of mirth from within was heard, Pierre shuddered visibly, The cripple leaned against his machine, as though long association with the wood and iron had endowed it with sympathy for his sufferings. The poor creature, although he had a mother and brother, had never known what it was to receive one word of pity or con- solation from a human being ; and what wonder he should cling affectionately to the rude machine that accompan- ied him everywhere, even if it was the work of his owa THE TWO ORPHANS. 9 hands, and endowed with action only when hia poor, withered foot pressed the treadle ? For some time he remained in this position, when he was aroused from his reverie by the closing of the door of the cabaret, and looking up, he saw a stout middle- aged woman approaching him. j She was in manner and appearance an exact opposite to the cripple. Her clothes were whole, and enveloped the stout form in a manner indicative of great comfort to the wearer. A pair of small, hard, gray eyes twink- led from the fat, round face, which was bordered with dhort, black hair, that formed a distinct beard; and one, on seeing La Frochard for the first time, would have judged her to be an easy, happy old soul, whose only care in life was to provide a good dinner, and whose only want was the material for a good dish of gossip. A change came over Pierre's face as he saw her. A change which plainly told that his poor, bent form was to receive some insult which would cut deeply the great, honest heart which it held. In a painfully limping manner he approached the woman, and in a tender, imploring voice said : " "Why, mother, is that you ? " "Yes, it's me, you lazy good-for-nothing I "replied the affectionate mother, as she gazed at her deformed boy, while a look of scorn passed over her face, completely changing her into a hard, grasping old woman. A look of sorrow came over the poor cripple's face aa he put out his hand as if to ward off the cruel words. " Lazy ? " he repeated. " Why, mother, I do all the work I can." " Work I " exclaimed the old woman, as she smiled incredulously. "You call that work? Bah! why did heaven bless you with such a beautiful deformity? Why, to earn your living, you puny, limping cripple 10 THBlTWO ORPHANS. and you work, when all you need to do is to sit here, hold out your hand, and make your fortune." And as La Frochard finished speaking she turned away with a gesture expressive of disgust at the honest living her son was trying to earn. A tear came into Pierre's eye as his mother finished peaking, and he answered, sadly : " Mother, I can not beg ; it is impossible." " Eh ? Not possible why not ? " queried Mother Frochard, in a sharp rasping voice. " Mother," said Pierre, going toward her and laying a thin, wasted hand upon her arm, " when I was an infant you carried me through the streets and taught me to repeat begging prayers I did not understand. They put money into your pocket, and I knew no shame. But now it is different. You drove me out, and bade me come here to beg. When I knelt and held out my hand to ask alms in the name of the misfortune with which Heaven has chastened me, shame choked my utterance, and I was overcome by anger at my own humiliation. A passer-by looked on me with pity and put a trifling coin in my hand. A great lump came in my throat and my eyes filled with tears. No, mother, I can not beg I can not I " And as Pierre finished speaking, he returned to his machine, and leaning over it, seemed to pour out hia grief to the rude structure. " You undutiful son I " exclaimed the old woman, in a burst of anger. "You had rather leave your poor brother and me to starve." This unkind thrust aroused Pierre, and he answered, quickly : " My brother need not starve. He" has health and strength, and yet you support him in idleness." " Why should my beautiful Jacques work ? " demand- THE TWO ORPHANS. 11 ed the old woman, with a look of disdain at the cripple. " My handsome boy, the very image of his poor dead father that those scoundrels of the law robbed me of." " He suffered death for a murder of which they found him guilty," timidly suggested Pierre. "And can I look to you to avenge him ? " asked the old woman, in derision. " No no ; my handsome Jacques wkl do that one of these days. He's no milk- sop. Nothing frightens him." " No, not even the sight of blood 1 " answered Pierre, with a shudder. " Shut up 1 You are good for nothing but to be honest I " screamed Mother Frochard, in a fury. " I hate honest people I scum that impose on the poor " At this moment the old woman's tirade was inter- rupted by the appearance of several people who were coming toward them, and changing her voice suddenly from one of the deepest anger for a whining tone habit- ual to professional beggars, she went toward them with outstretched hands, repeating the words she had so vainly endeavored to force Pierre to repeat. " Charity, good people. Charity, for the love of Heaven 1 " The poor cripple went back to the machine with a despondent air, and poured out his troubles in an under- tone to that companion. " Perhaps she is right. I am good for nothing except to be honest. Alas ! I have never had any one to teach me." Pierre's musings were destined to be disturbed on this evening, for he heard a loud, rough voice behind him, which caused him to start with fear. It was that of his brother Jacques. The handsome Jacques, as his mother had called him, 12 THE TWO ORPHANS. and if a good specimen of a ruffian may be called hand* some, then Jacques was a perfect beauty. He was a tall, strong, well-formed fellow of some twenty-four years, with a face that betokened brutality in every feature. He was dressed with a view to effect, wearing the flowered waistcoat so much in vogue at that period ; a red handkerchief was bound around his head, and on it was a wide-brimmed hat, blue stockings reaching to his knees, and in his ears hung large gold hoops, which were supposed to lend an air of distinction to the whole costume. In his mouth was a black clay pipe, and his whole bearing was that of a man who is well satisfied with himself, and who expected the rest of the world to admire him. " Hallo I Here is the old woman and her precious abortion of a son," was his first greeting, as he laughed heartily at the sight of poor Pierre, bending over his work. " Has Marianne come yet, mother ? " " Not yet, my eon," replied the old woman, gazing at him in admiration. "Never mind, she'll come in time," he said, half to himself and half to his mother. Then as he heard a noise from the crowd he had just left in the cabaret, he cried out : " You can order everything you want, wine^ brandy, anything, I'll stand it." Alarmed at this outbreak of liberality on her son's part, Mother Frochard asked, quickly : " My son, are you going to pay ? Have you found a purse ? " " No, but Marianne has. I have ordered her to bring me some money, and she'll do it." This answer appeared to please the old woman, for she clasped her hands as if in ecstasy of joy and admira- tion, and exclaimed, in a low voice : THE TWO ORPHAN!. IS "Isn't he in good humor ? " " Come here, Pierre," ordered Jacques, in a stern Toice. The cripple looked up, and for an instant seemed hesi- tating whether to obey or not ; but a warning look from his brother decided him, and he went slowly toward the man who knew neither pity nor love for his afflicted brother. "Look here, cripple I Good children always give an account of their earnings to their parents," said Jacques, in a sarcastic tone. Then turning to the old woman, he asked : " Isn't that so, mother ? " " Certainly, my lamb. You have excellent principles," and again the old woman compared one son with the other, as she had done hundreds of times since their birth. But poor Pierre looked up piteously at his brother, and said : " When I give you an account of my earnings you pocket all." " Well, what if I do ? " was Jacques' brutal answer. 44 It's unjust," said Pierre. " It's so like " " That's enough," interrupted Jacques. " I want your money, but none of your fine speeches. How much have you got ? " And he made a gesture as though to strike his brother, should his demand not be complied with quickly enougn. Pierre saw that it was useless to resist, and drawing out a handful of small coin he proceeded to count them. " Twenty-two livres, seven sous, and six deniers," he answered, as soon as he ascertained the amount. Jacques took the money from Pierre's hand with a motion which caused the cripple to wince with pain, and as he put them in his capacious pocket, he said, with tha tone of a man who has been defrauded out of his dues: 14 THE TWO OBPHAKS. " And all this fuss about that. Why, what have you been doing for a whole week with those spindle legs and arms ? " " I have walked the streets from morning until night, with my wheel upon my back," answered Pierre, as if eager to convince his brother that he had not been idle. " I have lived upon bread and water. I could do no more." " Well, your trade don't pay," was Jacques' rough answer. " I must find you something better." "Something better? You? No nol" exclaimed Pierre, as he moved away, trembling in every limb at the thought of being obliged to work after his broth- er's fashion. Jacques did not fancy Pierre's rejoinder, and would have heaped some fresh insult upon the cripple, had not La Frochard came forward, anxious to show her favorit* how well she had done. " I have saved three livres and eight sous. Put them with Pierre's, and that makes " " Oh, never mind how much it makes," said Jacques, impatiently, as he took the money from his mother's unwilling grasp ; " but I'll take it on principle." Then turning to his brother, he said, in a voice which Was intended to betray his good feelings : " Come, cripple, let's drink," and at the same time he moved toward the cabaret. " No," answered Pierre, sadly ; " drink always affects my head." Jacques gave utterance to a coarse laugh, as he said : " Why, who would think that we are brothers ? You have the blood of the sheep in your veins. You're a disgrace to the family, while I boast the blood of a Frochard, and the Frochards have been outlaws for a hundred and fifty years," THB TWO OKPHANS. 15 This burst of boasting was again too much for Mother Frochard. She was obliged to give vent to her feelings by raising her hands to Heaven, and exclaiming : " Ah, what a man ! I love him so so like his father." " Come along, then, if you love me," said Jacques, who had heard his mother's fervent exclamation, " for I am thirsty." As they opened the door of the cabaret, he turned again to Pierre, who was again bending over his wheel, and asked : " Are you coming with us ? " " No no," answered the cripple, and as he heard the sound of wheels, he added, but not until his brother and mother had disappeared within for drink : " There's the Normandy coach just arriving. I will run and see if there's not a chance to make a few sous." And Pierre hastened toward the coach as fast as his crippled limbs would admit, little thinking what the diligence would bring that day, and how closely his life would be connected with one of the occupants, at least. CHAPTER III. THE OUTCAST. As Pierre said, the Normandy coach had just arrived; but the poor cripple saw at a glance that his chance of earning a few sous was hopeless. The only passengers that alighted from the rickety old coach were the two young girls whom we have seen in our first chapter. They alighted in a dazed sort of manner, as if the bustle and din of the great city had confused them, 16 THE TWO ORPHANS. and Henriotte, leading Louise by the band, entered ths open space in front of the coach-office. A bench (which, from the numerous marks of knives and pencils upon it, showed that it served as a resting place for the loungers who always cluster round places of this kind and talk horsey slang while admiring the noble brutes that form the establishment of the proprie- tor) was just outside the office door, and it was to this Henriette led her blind sister. " Sit here, Louise," she said, in a low, sweet voice. which told all the love she felt for the afflicted girl. Henriette looked vainly round for the relative whom they expected to meet ; but not a person was to be seen. She could not repress a feeling of anxiety ; but she bravely strove to hide her feelings from Louise. But the blind girl was anxious as well as Henriette. " I am surprised that Monsieur Martin is not here to meet us," she said, half to herself. Henriette's quick ear caught the murmur, and she endeavored to divert her sister's mind. " Oh, he'll come soon I " she said, reassuringly. Then, to occupy the blind girl's mind with other matters than their own condition, she added : " Oh, Louise I Paris is so beautiful ! Oh, my poor sister, if you could only see its wonders I " "Tell me what you see. Where are we?" asked Louise, excitedly. " In an open square at the end of a beautiful bridge," answered Henriette, looking round her, "which has a magnificent statue in the middle." "That must be the Pont Neuf," said Louise, as she remembered the picture Henriette had called up to her Kiind. " Papa used to speak of it." 44 And on this side I can see two great towers," ovtt THE TWO ORPHANS. 17 tlnued the beautiful girl, who was thus supplying the place of her sister's sight. " It must be Notre Dame." " Notre Dame," repeated Louise, sadly, as she arose from her seat. " How I wish I could see it. It was on that spot, that I, a helpless infant, was left to perish," and as the blind girl thus recalled the thoughts of the past, the tears, unbidden, came to her eyes, and the sight- less orbs were turned toward the spot she would see, as if they would burst their filmy veil, and forced by her grief, gaze upon the spot where she had been left to die of cold or starvation. " It was there your dear father found me. But for him I should have died perhaps perhaps that would have been better," she added, in a tone of anguish that was almost a wail, so much misery was there embodied in it. " My darling sister! " exclaimed Henriette, " why do you say that ? " "Because," replied Louise, in the same sad tone, "I should not have lived to become blind and unhappy." "Louise, do not speak thus!" said Henriette, as she clasped her sister in her arms. " Our dear parents loved us both alike you were their consolation and happi- ness, as it was their first grief when Heaven deprived you of your sight." "Misfortune pursues me, sister," said Louise, refusing to be comforted, " for scarcely had this affliction befallen me when we were left orphans, without help or friends." " No no, dear Louise I " interrupted Henriette, " not without friends, I hope. I have turned all we possessed into money, and we are in this great Paris, where there are skillful doctors who will soon restore my poor Louise's eyes to their old time brightness," and there was in Henriette's voice something which ever had the power to cheer her afflicted sister. u Heaven errant that your hopes may b realized," laid 18 THE TWO ORPHANS. Louise, more hopefully. Then thinking of their present situation again, she asked : " But where can Monsieur Martin be ? Why does he not come for us ? " For a moment Henriette had forgotten the forsaken condition in which they were. Alone in Paris, without friends, or even acquaintances, and unless the relative whom they were expecting should come for them, what could they do ? Henriette hardly dared to think of such an alternative, and more to satisfy her sister than from any expectation of finding him, she proposed to go and look for M. Mar- tin. As Henriette went to look for M. Martin, a young woman of about twenty years of age entered the open space in front of the cabaret, and stood gazing sadly at the swift-running river. Her face was that of a woman who had once been beautiful ; but who was now pursued by remorse and sorrow. Her garments were scrupulously clean and neat, but with no attempt at display, and she wandered about like one having no aim or purpose save to escape from her own thoughts. She stood silent and motionless, as if she were some quaint figure of wood or stone, rather than a woman in whose breast love and hate could wage eternal conflict ; so absorbed was she in her bitter thoughts, that her face expressed her feelings as well as words could have done. Henriette returned to her sister with the information that their relative could not be seen, and just at that moment a burst of laughter and music came from the half open door of the cabaret, which prevented the wanderer from hearing Heuriette's approach or her voice. Among the voices which could be heard from the drinking saloon, Jacques Frochard's coarse, brutal tone* THE TWO ORPHANS. 19 could be distinguished ; and as she heard it, the poor woman started as though stung by a viper. " Yes, it is his voice," she said, as she turned so as to face the doors of the cabaret, " his voice singing aud laughing. Ay I drink and carouse! forget her whose heart you have broken. Enjoy yourself, while the victim of your brutality seeks the only refuge left her death ! The river is near, one plunge and it will all be over. May my dying shriek of despair ring in your ears as a never-ending curse ! " And in the extremity of her anguish, the wanderer rushed toward the wall and the sudden death she sought. Goaded by despair, the unhappy woman was about to yield up her life to her Maker in all its sin, forgetting that as it was too vile for this world, what would be its appearance there where all was holy. As she was about to commit this rash act, her wild and almost maniacal gaze rested on several persons who were passing near, and she drew back, shuddering. " No, it is not yet dark enough," she muttered, " I should be seen and perhaps saved." As she said this she clasped her hands on her head, and seemingly bewildered by the conflict of passions, sunk down upon the cold damp pavement. Henriette, who had been regarding the strange appear- ing woman, exclaimed as she fell : " What can be the matter with that woman ? She has fallen ; she must be ill I " " Go to her and see if you can aid her ; go go, sister ! " exclaimed Louise, quickly, and in her excite- ment rising from the seat and endeavoring to grope her way to the prostrate woman. Like some angel of mercy Henriette went to the world- weary woman, and in a voice that resembled a silvery 90 THE TWO ORPHANS. cliime of vesper bells, so gratefully did they fall upon the wanderer's ears, asked : "Pardon me, madame ; can I do any thing for you? " " You can do nothing." " You seem exhausted ; are you suffering ? " " Yes yes, I am suffering." As she said this, thus inviting the pity, as it were, of the good angel beside her, she arose from the ground ; and Louise, who had been listening to the short conver- sation, eagerly said to Henriette and there was a world of pathos in her voice : " She said that with a voice full of misery and despair. Help her, sister." Henriette needed not to be prompted to do a chari- table action; but her sister's words caused her to re- double her efforts to assist the poor woman. " Madame, have confidence in us," she said, kindly. " We are not rich, but we can help you " " I have already told you," interrupted the woman, fiercely, "that I want nothing. There are griefs that can not be consoled ; sufferings that can not be alleviated. I only wish to to " "You wish to die I " exclaimed Louise, as she clasped her hands in an agony of grief at the thought of the other's suffering. "Who told you that? "added the woman, passion- ately. " How do you know I want to die ? " " I feel it while I listen to you," answered the blind girl, who, standing with her hands clasped, resembled more one of Eaphael's Madonnas than a simple country girl. " Do you know that we who are blind whom no external object distracts, listen with our whole being ? " " Tell us your troubles," said Henriette, soothingly. " Perhaps we can relieve them." The woman gazed sadly at the fair girl who would THE TWO ORPHAN*. 21 thus take another's sorrows upon herself, in the hope of lightening the unhappy one's burden. " Why should I tell you when you do not even know me ? '' she said, slowly, and at the same time as if she wished to pour out her troubles. " You have nevei seen me before, and yet you pity me. No no, there is no help for me. Leave me, leave me, and do not attempt to save me ! '* As she finished speaking, the unhappy woman turned away and would have left the place, but that she heard Henriette's voice. " Stay 1 " she said, in a pleading tone. " For the love of Heaven, do not leave me thus ! " entreated Louise. The poor woman was not proof against these plead- ings, and yet she hesitated to open her heart, wicked as it was, to these pure girls. " I am pursued by the officers of the law," she said, hurriedly. " I have not strength to fly further, and they will arrest me." "What have you done? " asked Henriette, pityingly. "I have stolen I" answered the woman, and as she saw the young girls shudder, she added, quickly, as if in extenuation : "I have stolen money committed to my care ; all the savings of a poor working girl. I stole it for him, for a wretch whom I fear, but whom, alas, 1 love!" At this moment Jacques' voice was heard from the cabaret, and it sounded like some mocking fiend exult ing over its triumphs. " Good joke a capital joke ! " What demon could have put into his mouth thove words, which probably would have expressed exactly his idea of the repentance of the girl whom he had wronged I 44 Listen," said the woman, quietly, while a look of 22 THE TWO ORPHANS. pain passed over her face, " that is his voice. He is there wasting in debauchery the money purchased by my crime. When I am away from him my reason returns, and I only feel the hate his baseness inspires. Alas I when he speaks to me my hate disappears ; I cower and tremble before him and am his slave. I have stolen for him, and I believe I would kill at his bid- ding!" She remained silent for a moment, and then, hiding her face in her hands, burst into an agony of tears, and exclaimed : "No no! it is better that I should die!" "You can not atone for a fault by committing a crime," said Henriette. " If I am found they will arrest imprison me I " exclaimed the woman, clasping her hands. "And repentance will pay the debt you owe to Heaven," added the blind girl's low voice, like a song, sweet and veiled. " Heaven I Do you believe there is a Heaven ? " asked the woman, almost roughly, hiding her real feelings behind a mask of brusquerie. The two girls started as if they had received a blow, and their faces expressed the sorrow they felt at this implied atheism. " Do I believe there is a Heaven ? " asked Henriette, in astonishment. " I can not believe there is a Heaven for outcasts like me." "Oh, unhappy woman ! " exclaimed Louise, in tones of deepest sorrow. Then drawing some money from her little store, she handed it to the woman. But although she could receive words of encourage- ment and advice from the orphans, and be grateful, she THE TWO ORPHANS. 28 could not take their money, and she drew back quickly, exclaiming, petulantly : "No no I" " Do not refuse, I implore you I " entreated Louise, as she turned toward the woman, with an imploring look upon her face. Thus entreated, the woman could do no less than comply with their request ; and as she took the small amount of money, which was more valuable than price- less gems because of the sympathy which accompanied it, she said : " Now I know that you are right. There must be a Heaven, for has it not sent two angels to succor and to save me ? " And turning aside, the unhappy woman wiped the tears away which this kind action had caused to flow. " Courage, have courage," said Henriette, as she laid her little hand caressingly on the woman's arm. " Yes, yes ; I will have courage. I'll fly from Paris and from him. I wish I could give my life for you.'* she said, as she took the hands of the two orphans and pressed them to her lips. " May Heaven bless you farewell," she sobbed, as she turned to go. But she had not seen the door of the cabaret open, nor did she see Jacques, as he stood just outside the door. " Ah ah I " he chuckled. " Madame Marianne, at last!" Then, as he saw the woman moving quickly away, he cried : " Marianne I " The sound of that voice was too potent for that poor woman. " Where are you going ? " demanded Jacques, coarsely. "Away from you, whom I hope never to see again 1 " answered Marianne, firmly. 24 THE TWO ORPHANS. Jacques went toward her quickly, and laid his hand roughly upon her trembling arm. " Bah I " he said, savagely, " you don't want to see me ? Then why did you stop when I called? What makes your hand tremble ? " "It does not tremble," answered Marianne, trying to appear firm. " I have found strength to resist you. 1 am ashamed of the life I lead, and of the infamy into which you have plunged me." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Jacques, as he went toward the door of the cabaret. " Put all of that stuff out of your head, and follow me ! " "I will not!" said the poor woman, as she turned again to go. " You must ! " insisted Jacques, with an angry ges- ture ; and then, as she did not move, he added : " Come do you hear? " For a moment Marianne was on the point of obeying him ; but one glance at the two young girls, who were anxiously awaiting her decision, seemed to give her strength, and she answered, boldly : " Yes, I hear, and I refuse. I will not obey you ! " " You want me to persuade you in the usual way, eh ! do you?" cried Jacques, brutally, as he went quickly toward the shrinking woman. "You shall not never again ! " exclaimed Marianne, as she endeavored to escape from his cruel grasp. But she was too late ; Jacques grasped her by the hair with one hand, while with the other he clasped her slender throat, and in a moment his brawny hands would have choked her senseless, but that he heard the heavy tramp of armed men approaching. In an instant he had released her ; and Marianne, rush- ing up to the guard, exclaimed : " Monsieur, arrest me, I am a thief 1 " -o O. THE TWO OBPHAlfl. 25 Jacques was petrified with astonish ment, while the two orphans waited with beating heart the denouemem of this strange drama. " Arrest you ? Who are you ? " asked the officer, in HO little surprise. " My name is Marianne Vauthier. Officera are in search for me. I escaped from them an hour ago," said Marianne, hurriedly, as if she feared her courage would give way. "Now I wish to deliver myself to justice!" "She has gone crazy!" ejaculated Jacques, as he moved to a convenient distance, in order to make his escape should she denounce him. " Marianne Vauthier," said the officer, reading from a paper which he had taken from his pocket, " accused of theft " "Of which I am guilty," interrupted the woman. " Well, if you confess it, I must take you to La Sal- petriere," said the officer, half doubting her sanity, as he motioned her between two files of soldiers. " My expiation begins," said Marianne, as she passed by where the two orphans were standing. " Pray that Heaven may give me courage to complete it." The soldiers moved on, bearing the self-convicted woman with them, while Henrietta and Louise could only pray silently that her expiation might be the means of restoring her to the place she had lost through her unhappy love. Jacques remained looking after the departing prisoner for a few moments, and then giving vent to a low whistle, expressive of surprise, regret, and perhaps shame, dis- appeared into the cabaret, saying, as he entered : " To Salpetriere I She's a fool I " And in a few minutes he was joining his comrades in their debauchery, with not a thought of the unfortunafct 26 THE TWO ORPHANS. girl who, for his sake, had committed a crime for which she must now suffer long, weary months, perhaps years. And while he was thus occupying his time, the two orphans awaited the coming of their relative. CHAPTER IV. THE ABDUCTION. FOR a few moments after Marianne had been carried away by the guards, the two orphans stood silent. They had, in the few moments that had elapsed since their arrival in Paris, seen more misery in one poor girl's life than they had thought could exist, from evil causes, in the whole city. Having been born and reared in the quiet Norman town, they knew none of that misery which arises from sin, and judging others by their own pure and spotless lives, were shocked beyond measure by Marianne's brief confession of guilt. For a moment nothing could have presented so touch- ing a sight as the two young girls, standing clasped in each other's arms, and striving to comfort each other in their grief at Marianne's sad fate. Although, as the poor outcast had said, they had never before seen her, nevertheless, from out their pure, tender hearts went a great flood of sympathy and sor- row for the poor creature who, forsaken in her hour of trouble by the man for whose sake she had set upon her- self the brand of infamy, had now commenced her life of expiation. Louise was the first to break the silence. Her quick ear had caught the sound of Pierre's footsteps as he came back from a neighboring street, and she trembled involuntarily. THE TWO ORPHANS. 27 "Henriette, where are you?" she said, iu a voice which betrayed her emotion. " You are frightened, sister," answered Henriette, look- ing anxiously at the blind girl. " Yes yes, I am, indeed," exclaimed Louise, as she grasped her sister's arms, as if to receive some assurance of her safety. "And the night is falling fast," said Henriette to her- self, beginning to feel seriously alarmed on account of the non-appearance of their relative. During this time Pierre had remained by his wheel, busying himself in performing some trifling work, and listening intently to the conversation, that he might know if it was not possible for him to render them some assistance. Those to whom fate has been unkind, are ever more ready to assist their suffering fellows than they who have received all the gifts a kind Providence can bestow upon them. The unprotected condition of the two girls had to the poor cripple something touching in it, and he longed to assist them ; or at least to say some comforting word. "Why does not Monsieur Martin come ?" exclaimed Louise, giving herself up entirely to her fears. As she spoke, and almost in response to her question, a man advanced toward them, coming, apparently, from out of the shadow of the buildings. We have no need to describe him, for the reader has met him before. It was Lafleur. " Here I am, mademoiselle," he said, as if in answer to Louise's agonized question. Henriette gave utterance to a cry which was at the same time expressive of relief and fear. 28 THB TWO ORPHANS. She disliked even the appearance of the man, and instinctively she recoiled from his approach. Louise's " At last ! " was as significant as her sister'g exclamation. She could not see the approaching man's form, but she could hear his voice, and she could distinguish a pecu- liar tone which caused her to fear this man on whom she believed that she was dependent for support. Pierre saw that the friend whom the girls were expect- ing bad arrived, and taking up the water can from his wheel, he limped slowly down the long flight of stone steps which led to the river, to fill it. He could not repress a sigh as he went, thinking that he should never again see the fair young girls who were so pure and so holy, that while in their presence it seemed to him he was standing in a bright, glorious ray of sun- light. " We began to be very anxious," said Henriette, as the man waited for her to speak. Lafleur could not meet the gaze of the pure girl against whom he was about to commit so great and deadly a wrong, and holding his head in such a position that his eyes might not meet hers, he said : " You must excuse me, for I live at a great distance from here." " A great distance? " exclaimed Henriette, in surprise. " Why, we were told that your house was but a few steps from the bridge," said Louise, excitedly, at thus receiv- ing such direct confirmation to the fears which his voice had aroused in her mind. Lafleur saw at once that he had made a mistake. He was thinking of Bel- Air, and had, for the moment, for- gotten the part he was playing. And in his endeavor to rectify his error quickly, he made matters very much THE TWO ORPHANS. 29 worse by the hesitating, nervous manner in which ho spke. " Yes yes, indeed it was that is, I did live but a short distance from here ; but you see I have moved,, Come come, let us go, mademoiselle." " You have moved ? " replied Henriette, still too much surprised by her relative's appearance to be able fully to collect her ideas. "Yes yes, only yesterday," replied Lafleur, impa- tiently, as he felt he could not keep up the very thin semblance of honesty which he had assumed, much longer before the searching eyes of these innocent girls. " And you said nothing of it in your letter ? " queried Henriette, as she shrunk back from any contact with the base wretch who stood before her. " No," answered Lafleur, quickly. " I did not men- tion it because because, in short, I did not know that I was going to move, but if you doubt me, here are some neighbors of mine, good, honest citizens, who will vouch for me." As he spoke he made a sign which was unseen by Henriette. and at the same instant three men came out from the same atigle of the building at which Lafleur emerged, and came toward the little group. It was impossible to see one sign of honesty about these neighbors of Lafleur's ; but on the contrary, their appearance and manner proclaimed them to be men who, for the sake of a few francs, would not hesitate at any action, however vile. Had honest Pierre been sent by fate just at that par- ticular moment, he would have had no difficulty in recognizing them as cut-throats who were known to be ready for any species of villainy which promised to bring them in money. As Henriette saw the men advancing toward her, she 30 THE TWO OKPHAN looked into their faces, and in an instant had read thei* characters as plainly as if she were reading the pages of a book. Louise felt intuitively that some trouble impended, for she caught her sister by the arm and exclaimed : " Henriette, do not leave me ! " Henriette had no time to answer her sister's entreaty, for the men whom Lafleur had called up had approached very near, and one had stepped between her and Louise. " What is the meaning of this ? " she asked, panting with fear. She received no reply ; but Lafleur turned quickly to his men, and cried: "Come come, we have lost time enough. To the carriage t " This was evidently the signal which the scoundrels were waiting to hear, for they at once sprung upon Hen- riette and grasped her firmly. Struggling impotently in their clutches, she got her head free long enough to cry in an imploring voice : " No no ! Help help ! " and vainly tried to prevent the villains from covering her face with a handkerchief which was saturated with some pungent odor. The struggle was very brief. In less than thirty sec- onds the dastardly deed was done, and Henriette wa* borne rapidly away, leaving Louise petrified with fear. THE TWO ORPHANS, 81 CHAPTER V. BLIND AND ALONE. FOR an instant the blind girl stood in an anxious, lis- tening attitude, hoping to hear her sister's voice again ; but no familiar sound met her ear, only the rushing of the water, or the footsteps of some pedestrian in the dis- tance. She was alone in Paris. Blind and alone, without relatives or friends. No one to whom she could go save to Him who watches over the sparrow, and His ways are not man's ways. " I hear nothing," said Louise, in a terrified whisper, as she again bent her head to listen. Then, in a voice trembling with fear, she cried : " Henriette, where is that man 1 Sister, why do you not answer me ? " But no reply came to her agonized cries. "Henriette! Henriette! Speak to me, speak one word. Answer me, Henriette ! " No answer, no reply ! At this moment she heard a half stifled cry in the dis- tance, and recognized the tones of the voice. " Louise," was the cry, and the poor blind girl knew that her sister was beyond reach, and in the power of cruel men who knew no mercy. "Ah! 'tis she. They have dragged her away from me ! " exclaimed Louise, in a tone which would have thrilled a hearer's heart with pity. " Oh, what shall I do ! Alone alone I abandoned ! " And with the last word the full measure of her situa- tion surged across her brain with irresistible force, and she burst into a torrent of tears. Would that it were possible to express through the cold medium of letters all the intense suffering which came from the poor girl's heart with that one word " Abandoned." THE TWO ORPHANS. The reader, sitting in his or her cozy home, surrounded by friends, can have no idea of what the word may ex- press ; no idea of how a loving heart may be wrung when that word portrays their situation as fully as it did in Louise's position. " What will become of me ? " she cried, between her sobs. " Alone in this great city ; helpless and blind my God ! what shall I do ? Where am I to go ? I do not know which way to turn I " The poor child knew that she was standing in the street, and in danger of being rudely pushed about by any party of revelers, or so-called gallants, that might pass her, and her instinct, for her brain was in such a whirl that she could not think, warned her to try and reach some place less exposed. She groped her way around; but her hands touched nothing, until unwittingly she approached the railing or wall which served as a guard to the steep bank that de- scended to the river. Along this she felt her way until suddenly her handa met the empty air. It was the angle formed by the long flights of rough stone steps which led to the water, and all unconscious of her danger, she was about to pur- sue her way. Another step and she would have been dashed upon jhe rocky shore below, when, without having heard a sound, she found herself clasped in a man's arms. It was Pierre, who, having filled his water-can, had toiled laboriously to the top of the steps just in time to save the life of her who, to him, had seemed little less than an angel. "Great heavens I " he exclaimed, as he bore her to the centre of the small square, " what were you going to do?" "Nothing nothing what was it? " cried Louise, in- o THE TWO coherently, as, pale and trembling, she tried to compre- hend all. "Another step and you would have fallen in the river 1" answered Pierre, in a tone of horror at the thought of what might have happened. " Oh, save me save me 1 " cried Louise, grasping Pierre by the arm, as though fearful of being separated from one who could ussist her. By a singular chance, Pierre's mother had finished her drinking bout with her beautiful son Jacques, which was paid for with a cripple's scanty earnings, just at this mo- ment, and she emerged from the cabaret just in time to aee her son supporting a beautiful young girl on his arm. It was seldom that Mother Frochard allowed herself to be surprised by anything she saw ; but in this instance she was astonished. Had it been Jacques she would not have wondered ; indeed, it only would have seemed natural. But Pierre ! why, the girl must be crazy, was her first thought ; and then with her masculine stride she went up to them, and peered curiously in Louise's pala nd frightened face. " Why, what is the matter? " she asked. "What art you doing there, Pierre ? " But Pierre was too much occupied with his charge to make any reply, and La Frochard seized Louise by the arm with no gentle force, and asked in her shrill rasping voice : " Young woman, did you fall ? " Harsh and coarse as the voice was, it was a welcome sound to Louise, for she knew it was one of her own sex who had spoken. She took hold of the hard, dirty hand, and because it was a woman's touch that met hers, she could have kissed it. " Oh, madame," she cried, in an imploring tone. " Do 84 THE TWO ORPHANS. not leave me, I beg. I entreat you not to leave me her* all alone." Mother Frochard prided herself upon not being weak, and she did not deign to answer Louise's prayer. But Pierre hastened to reassure her. " Calm yourself, mademoiselle, there is no dange, now," he said, soothingly, as he gazed upon her beauti- ful face. "What is it?" asked the old woman, impatiently. " Have you lost your head ? " And in the last question there was a sneer in the tones of the voice which were growing harder and harder every moment. " Yes yes," answered Louise, hardly knowing what she said. " I believe I shall go mad. Alas I madame, a few moments ago my sister was here with me and they have stolen her away from me." "Stolen her? " replied Pierre, in tones of the deepeai commiseration, which presented a striking contrast to his mother's remark. " Well, you must let your parents know," she said, coldly, as though having a child stolen were nothing' more than a bit of pleasantry which was easily rectified. "Our parents!" exclaimed Louise, sadly, breaking once more into tears. " Alas, madame, we are orphans I " " You have acquaintances friends ? " said Pierre. " We have only just arrived in Paris, and I know n^ one here." To Pierre this intelligence was sad ; but his mother seemed to view the matter differently, for she asked, eagerly : "No one no one at all?" Louise shook her head Badly. " Were the people who took your sister away, gentle- THE TWO ORPHANS. 35 men or common people ? " asked Pierre, with the faint hope that he might aid her to find her sister. "How can I tell?" asked Louise, mournfully. "You could see their clothes," said Mother Fro- ehard, impatient at what she believed tke stupidity of the girl. " Alas, madame, I am blind," said Louise, sadly. " You are blind I " exclaimed Pierre, pityingly, as he gazed at her sightless eyes. Mother Frochard looked at the young girl much as one would look at some newly discovered treasure, and she saw in a moment many ways of turning her prize to account. u Ah, ha I" she thought, " Blind, without relations friends, or acquaintances in Paris; and young and pretty." ** It is true," said the cripple, as he finished his exam- ination of the poor girl's eyes, and turned sadly away. **So young and pretty, too," he said, half to himself, wiping away a tear, that, despite all his efforts, would make its appearance. "Go! leave me alone with her," said the old woman. M I'll take care of her." But Mother Frochard's promise to " take care " of the poor girl meant a great deal more than the words con- veyed. Her care was something to be shunned, and God have mercy on the unfortunate whom the old woman should take under her protecting care ! "Yes, mother," said Pierre, signifying his readiness to obey his mother's commands, " we must help her to find her sister." "That's all right!" exclaimed the old woman, in a voice which she meant should be kind and motherly ; but at the same time darting a furious look at Pierre, WJio still lingered. " I know what to do." 36 THE TWO ORPHANS. Pierre stood gazing at the blind girl, who still retained her hold of the old woman's arm, and it seemed as if he was- unable to leave her charmed presence. " You get out I " exclaimed the old woman suddenly, in a fierce whisper, as she unloosed the girl's grasp, and went toward the cripple. Fearing lest she was about to be deprived of her pro- tectress, Louise said, as she vainly endeavored to touch her arm again : " You will not leave me, madame I " " Never fear, my dear, I am here," replied Mother Frochard, cheeringly. Pierre went slowly toward his wheel, and raising it on his back, started to go. He could not resist a last glance at the young girl. " Blind I " he exclaimed, as he gazed upon her slight form. " So young and so pretty." Then, as he thought of his own deformity, a bitter smile passed over his face, which in its bitterness was painful, because of the misery which it served to portray, and he added : " Pretty 1 what is that to you, miserable cripple? ' And as if he had convinced himself that he must not think of beauty, or any thing but his own wretchedness, he walked wearily away, while his cry of " Knives to grind 1" was doubly pathetic in the intensity of the de- spair that seemed to come with it. " Come come, my pretty child, don't be downcast," said Mother Frochard, as she laid her hand on the blind girl's shoulder, and took mental note of the clothing which the poor girl wore. "Alas! to whom shall I go for help? " asked Louise, sadly. " To me," said La Frochard, throwing all the dignity find maternal tone possible into her words. " I am an THE TWO ORPHANS. 87 honest woman, and mother of a family. I will gire you a home until you find your sister." " Ah, madame, you are very good to have pity on me,* 1 said Louise, thankfully. " But we will find my sister, will we not ? " "Oh, yes, certainly, in time," said the old woman, thinking that she would take plenty of time to do it " come, then, come along with me." Louise, without a fear of what she was to suffer through the old woman's fiendishness, said, confidingly : " I trust myself to you, madame." " You couldn't do better, for you have fallen into good hands." And the old woman led the blind girl to her vile den, and the sister, who had been stolen, was still in the hands of her abductors. CHAPTER VI. THE HOME OF THE FROCHARD9. MOTHER FROCHARD led Louise along the streets in a careful manner, although, had the poor girl not been so engrossed with the thoughts of the loss she had just sus- tained, she would have noticed that although they walked in a leisurely manner through those streets that were evidently deserted, the old woman Quickened her pace very perceptibly whenever they approached any trav eler. For some moments neither La Frochard nor Louise spoke. The one was thinking of the prize she had found, and of the best means of making her serve her purpose, while the other was thinking of the siater she had lost. Jfow it was not Mother Frochard's custom to walk 88 THE) TWO ORPHANS. through the streets in this quiet manner; for she was a professional beggar, and her monotonous, nasal cry of " Charity, good people charity for a poor old woman," was well known in the quarters which she frequented. But on this occasion, she did not wish to let Louise know what her business was ; and again, she did not wish to at- tract attention, as she feared it might excite suspicion if she was observed with the neatly dressed, innocent look* ing country girl.