"The room

rot."

"Madame," replied the girl, "in the guard's room I spoke, and you rudely commanded me to be silent. In the king's chamber I am silent, and you rudely com

mand me to speak. Madame, I find some difficulty in pleasing you.' "You impudent jade, how dare you so address yourself to me? Apparently you know to whom you speak, therefore speak respectfully." Respect, Madame," said the girl," al"always commands re- . spect. On the walls of this building are graven the words, Liberty. Equality. Fraternity.' I considered you my equal, Madame, until your language and your manner to me too clearly proclaimed you my inferior; I cannot, therefore, regard you with feelings of fraternity, and I exercise my liberty in saying to you, that if you do not treat me with civility, I will lock the doors upon you and refuse to conduct you further." "You vixen!" cried the actress, "I shall make you smart for this. The moment I return to Paris, I shall see friends of mine in the government and have such a custodian as you are turned out into the streets, where you doubtless belong."

the smaller room on the north front of the chateau, where King Henry III. had slept. They were all deeply agitated, but pretended not to be so. They gazed about the room and through the windows at the street below, while their conductor stood silent like an offended goddess, and was about to precede them, without speaking, into the third room when Madame Clement addressed her in a voice trembling with anger.

"What happened in this room?" she cried. "I would have you understand that

The girl laughed in rippling tones, rich and melodious, and unless one caught the flash of her beautiful eyes, the mistake might have been made that she was not angry.

"There," she said, pointing to a spot near the wall," the Duc de Guise fell and

died, having fought his way, covered with forty wounds, from the third room beyond. We now enter the adjoining chapel, where prayers were being said for the success of the crime."

To the great relief of the old manager there were no further hostilities until the party found itself again in the courtyard. The manager, with a sigh of comfort, offered their conductor a piece of gold.

"Stop!" cried Madame Clement. "You shall pay her exactly what the law allows, and nothing more. One franc for each person."

"Madame is right," replied the girl. "I will give you the change, Monsieur; I have it here in my pocket.'

least to injure me. I am a Parisian, like yourselves, at Blois for a short holiday. The old man who is custodian of the chateau knows nothing of my presence here, for he is bed-ridden through honorable wounds received in the service of his country; it is his wife and daughter who usually conduct visitors through the chateau. I have taken their place to-day because they are absent at Seuvre, where the wife's sister is ill. may perhaps have power to injure this poor family, but I warn you that if you do, I have a brother on the staff of a leading Paris journal to whom I shall tell every word that has been spoken, and you, Madame Clement, will wake one fine morning to find all Paris laughing at you and commenting on your bad.

You

hension, I fear a tickle world will say, that

The girl shrugged her shoulders.

"I refuse to accept a franc for Madame Clement. She has journeyed through the chateau as my guest, and I should like you to know, Madame, that all your interest with the government will not enable you in the

complished actress than herself."

Before any reply could be made, the girl, with a low bow that seemed to include the whole party, turned and fled rapidly up the stair. It was a sombre and silent procession that walked to the railway station and entered

the waiting car. The" Rapide" had not yet come in from the west.

Father and son walked together up and down the platform, and the old man's familiar action resembled the wringing of his hands. He was in a state of the deepest dejection.

"Oh, Adolph, Adolph," he cried. "There will be much to pay for this day's work. What are we to do? Oh, what are we to do?"

"There is plenty of time," replied the young man, soothingly. "Durand's play cannot possibly come on for two months yet, and the Madame cannot break her contract with you until the run of the 'Princess Diaboline' ends. If she cuts up rough about the Duc de Guise,' you can keep the Princess' running and hold the Madame to her contract."

"It is easy enough to say that, Adolph, but you forget that I also am under contract to produce Durand's tragedy."

66

man, there isn't a woman in

my company except the Madame who can take the part of Catherine."

"Don't trouble about that, father," replied the son. "I have an actress in my eye for the part, who will burst upon Paris with all the brilliancy of a sky rocket."

"Good heavens!" cried the old man eagerly. "Who is she, Adolph? Do I know her?" "You may have seen her, but I doubt if you know her."

As he spoke the "Rapide" came thundering in, and the old man hurried towards the private car, the transient elation which he had felt when his son spoke of the new actress rapidly evaporating as he thought of his two hours' journey with the displeased queen of tragedy.

"Oh, Adolph," he beseeched, "you will apologize to her, my boy, for my sake? And don't mind anything she says, and don't reply, if you do not wish to bring your father to an untimely grave.

"I have a better plan than that, father," said Adolph. "I will go on to Paris by a later train. You see, I am not in the cast, and it won't matter. You can speak soothingly to the Madame, as is your custom, and throw all the blame on my shoulders. should only be a marplot at best."

"Well, perhaps there is wisdom in that," mused the old man, entering the carriage.

I

Adolph Gerard saw the "Rapide" disappear; then, with a laugh, he turned and walked again to the chateau. The girl with the keys looked up as he approached the foot of the grand stairway, and she smiled without evincing surprise at seeing him.

"Mademoiselle," said Adolph, raising his hat with the utmost courtesy, would you do me the honor to conduct me to the room in which the Duc de Guise was assassinated?"

"With pleasure, Monsieur," replied the girl, with a graceful inclination that would have been difficult to excel by the most stately lady in the land. "The charge will be one franc," and her merry laugh echoed in the old courtyard.

"Mademoiselle, I assure you the pleasure of accompanying you would be cheap at a thousand."

66

'Oh, it is quite plain," she said to him over her shoulder, as she lightly mounted the stair," that I have at last engaged in my proper avocation. If there were many tourists so generous as you are, I might soon buy the castle itself from the government."

They were now in the guard's hall.

"Yes," he said, "if Madame Clement did not use her influence to dispossess you."

"What a dreadful woman!" cried the girl, with something almost resembling a shudder. "And to think that up to this day I have worshiped her from afar."

"She is a beast," said Adolph, with conviction," and must keep everyone round her in terror or she is not happy."

"But a great actress," sighed the girl.

"You have seen her on the stage then?"

"Oh, often, and always nearly cried my eyes out."

"That did not interfere with their flashing fire to-day. I never saw anything more magnificent," cried the enthusiastic young man, looking the admiration he felt.

The girl veiled the brilliants under discussion, and fixed her gaze on the floor that the Duc de Guise had trodden when he departed on his fatal mission.

"The elderly gentleman is your father, is he not, and manager of the Theatre Tragique? I have often heard of him, but never saw him before. I did not think so distinguished a man could be so cowed and browbeaten by any woman."

"Alas," replied the young man with a sigh, "we are all the victims of some woman, if not in one way, then in another. My name," he continued, "is Adolph Gerard. May I have the happiness of learning yours, Mademoiselle?"

"Pauline Ducharme," she answered, looking up at him. "But I thought, Monsieur Gerard, that you came to study ancient history, and not to learn anything so modern as my undistinguished name."

"It need not remain undistinguished," he cried, with enthusiasm. "I am sure you are an actress."

"My friends have flattered me by calling me so. I had a small part at the Theatre Apollon until it closed, then I came here to rest and study. Monsieur Gerard, I shall be perfectly frank with you. This morning a white dove with a leaf in its beak alighted for a moment on my window-sill. I had been praying to my saint for success, and when I

saw the bird I knew that my chance would come to-day. A dove brought back a branch to the ark to show that the waters had abated. When I saw Madame Clement this

"There was an expression of worry on the manager's face."

morning, my heart leaped with joy, and I said to myself, my chance is coming from the hands of a woman I have adored ever since I was a little girl. But when you spoke, Monsieur, I knew it was to come through you. I was waiting for you at the foot of the stair when you returned."

66

"I had hoped," said the young man in a plaintive tone, that your desire to see me return might be partly personal, as well as theatrical."

The girl laughed brightly, and looked frankly into his eager eyes. "If that were true," she said, "you would not expect me to confess it. Therefore let us leave the personal element to take care of itself, and turn our minds entirely towards the actor and the actress and not towards the man and the woman. I know you are an actor, for I have seen you play, although you are not in the present cast at the Theatre Tragique.

You have your foot on the boards, and the whole world lies before you. I want you to extend a hand to me, and help me to a position on the stage. If I cannot maintain it, then let me sink; all I want is my chance." As the girl said this she seemed to grow in stature, tall as she was. Her voice rang with a confidence that confirmed the young man's opinion of her histrionic abilities, and little as his imagination needed spur, he saw before him a woman who could adequately impersonate the Catherine into whose actual apartments below led the narrow winding secret stairway near which they stood.

"You shall have your chance," he cried. "Durand has written a great play called The Duc de Guise.' He has taken some liberties with history, and Catherine, the queen, is the heroine. Madame Clement has been blowing hot and cold for months past, driving the dramatic author to the verge of distraction. Several times we have come to a deadlock, the Madame wishing more lines put in or others changed, and Durand obstinately inflexible, as he has every right to be, and my poor father the buffer between them. One day she is enthusiastic about the character, another she will not play it on any terms, and we have to circle on our knees about her. I am tired of Madame's attitude myself, and my father's reason is tottering. Durand has fled to the country, and no one knows where he hides. Yesterday Madame was all for the play, and nothing would do but my father must get a private car to bring her and part of the company to Blois. I don't know why they assassinated the Duc de Guise, but if he made himself half so objectionable as Madame Clement, I can find it in my heart to forgive his murderers. Now I feel it in my

ΑΝ

heart that the Madame is going to make the final outburst and revolt to-day. She hasn't changed her mind for twenty-four hours, so a revolution is due. You live in Blois, Mademoiselle; may I venture to ask your address?"

"I live with my father, No. 16 Rue de Tours."

"Very well," said Adolph, noting down the number and street. "I will go to Paris at once, and if things are as I hope to find them, I shall briefly console my father, then return here, bringing with me a copy of the play. Old Durand takes the Figaro' wherever he is, so I shall put an advertisement in that paper, which he alone will understand. When he communicates with me, I shall induce him to come to Blois and coach you in your part."

"But may not Monsieur Durand object to so unknown a person as I taking the leading part in his great play?"

"Object? Oh, no! How little you understand the conceit of the successful dramatic author; it quite equals that of Madame Clement herself. This is why my poor father is ground between them. Durand fully believes his play would be a success if it were acted by chimney-sweeps. And now, adieu, Mademoiselle. I must return by slow train to Paris."

For an account of La Pauline's tremendous success in Durand's now celebrated play, the reader is referred to files of the Parisian papers of that year. So well did Mademoiselle Ducharme enact the love scenes of the drama with Monsieur Adolph Gerard, that they seemed to have carried their respective parts into private life, for the same journals have related that they began their wedding journey at Tours.

man can run. It destroys the glamour of the elephant's charge that we stumble up against in hunting stories. I timed the elephants myself in an elephant race at a great fair which is held yearly a few miles outside of Meerut, in India.