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26 INDUSTRIAL SCHOOL ADVOCATE. “ Aye, what shall we do with them?” “ It is the very sum I need to set me all right in my small business,” said the tradesman. “ T hat is iust what the marquis suggest ed.” And so the priest handed over the money to the happy man and departed. In the mean time the Marquis Journot was being driven towards his hotel, which was situated on the Rue Rivoli. Scarcely had his coachman turned out of the Rue de la Paix, when he was once more sud- I denly brought to a standstill by the body of a man lying across the horses’ path. “ Well, Antoine, what is the trouble?” asked the marquis, a little petulantly. “ A drunken man beneath the very feet of the horses,” said the driver, striving to keep the animals off the body of a man just in front of them. “ Egad, that won’t do,” said the mar quis, with more energy than one would j have supposed him to possess, and at the ! same time jumping out of his vehicle, he seized upon the insensible man and by sheer physical strength dragged him from under the horses’ feet. “ Oh, Monsieur, it is my husband,” said a pretty young woman coming out of an humble abode. The coachman having handed his reins to a citizen, took hold of the inanimate body of the man, and together they bore him into the house. “ Does he often get in this way ?” asked the marquis. “ No,” said the young wife. “ B ut he has been sadly disappointed to-day.” “ In what way ?” “ Nobody would be god-father to our j baby. ” On the bed lay a sweet little infant, * clothed in very poor attire, to be'sure, but yet very neat and cleau. “ Is that your baby ? ” “ Yes,” said the young mother. She, too, was very pretty and neat.— These poor people had no one to befriend them. “How old is the little fellow ?” “ Only ten days.” “ Indeed!” “ And o h ! we want him christened, because you know, Monsieur, if he were to die by any accident before he was christened, why he would go to pur gatory. ” “ Do you think so ?” “ Of course,” replied the pretty little mother. “ And what an awful thought it is !” she added, clasping her hands in an attitude of unconscious grace and earnest ness. “ Bring your baby with me, you dear little woman,” said the marquis. “ W hither, Monsieur ?” “ To Notre Dame.” “ To church ?” “ Aye.” “ B ut we have no one for god-iather.” “ I will see to that;” “ Do you mean so, Monsieur ?” Jump right into my carriage. Here, wrap up the baby,” said the young mar quis, entering fully into the spirit of the affair. “ We’ll have him christened be fore your husband awakes from his stupid condition.” Ten m inutes later the little party enter ed the open doors of Notre Dame, and the Marquis Journot gave his name to the I humble child. He was not a person to do anything by halves. Mother and child j I were put into the carriage and driven ; back to the humble quarters from whence j | he had taken them. He emptied his j ' purse of some thirty or forty louis in her hands, and bade her good-bye after wish ing 1 °r much good fortune with her baby, j The young mother seized his hand and pressing her lips to it, said the baby should be brought up to revere his name. The Marquis Journot drove to his hotel j and in half an hour, had forgotten both episodes of that January day. And now we liiust ask the reader to pass over a period of twenty years; twenty years of French history, crowded with in cident, with tragedy written in litters of blood. Twenty years of checkered Paris ian life. Louis XV. was dead.—The new king appointed the Marquis Jonrnot to an important local civil office. He had married. His wild oats were long ago sown, and he had become a worthy and useful member of the government. Political France was at that time in a ferment. Jacobinism began to rear its head. “ Human equality” (socialism) was asserting itself under the name of the Commune. Even nature seemed to lend its hand to the turbulence of the period, ! for just then occurred the awful hurricane j of July, 1788, by which all France was de vastated, and banditti ravaged the country, the precurser of the revolution which fol lowed so soon after. Then came the great uprising—the des- ! truction of the Bastile, the attack upon the Tuilleries, and the Reign of Terror. This reversal of the wheel, of fortune found the Marquis Journot stripped of I everything. Fortune, place, all was gone, and according to the popular verdict he was a traitor. True, he had been a traitor | so far as to defend his king against the I attack of the Red Republicans. He freely | risked his own life to protect that of the royal family, and consequently he was de nounced, seized, thrown into prison, and condemned to death. Journot was a brave man. He did not fear death. Yet still he could not forget that he had a wife and two lovely children dependent upon his protection. Indeed he did not know what had become of them, what had been their fate in this terrible | confusion and uprising. He was permitted j no intercourse with any one, but was kept under strict guard in that famous prison, j the Conciergerie, upon the banks of the | Seine. It was midnight. Journot was awaken ed from a deep sleep by a sound which at j first he was disposed to think was the I fabrication of a dream, but at last the sound became so regular and distinct that he got up from his straw bed and listened intently. It was all darkness in his lonely cell. The sound evidently came from beneath the floor, until presently it came nearer and nearer. What could it possibly signify? Was some fellow prison er trying to make his escape ? He could only wait patiently and see. boon a large stone which formed one of ] the pavements of his cell door was remov ed, a n d a light liom a lantern burst full upon his eyes. In a moment the body of a man came up through the floor and stood in the cell. “ Be silent,” said the new comer. “ Who are you ?” demanded the mar quis. “ Listen, and I will tell you,” “ I am all attention.” “ I am jailer here.” “ Then you have the keys ?” “ Of course.” “ Why seek entrance to my cell after that extraordinary fashion if you have a key to the door ?” “ You shall be informed.” “ Or why have you come at all ?” “ You shall know. Citizen Journot, do you remember twenty years ago when you were riding through the Rue de la Paix, of stopping and freeing from the officer a man who had been turned out of his house for debt ?” The marquis thought for some moments before he could recall the circumstance. “ I do remember something of the sort.” “ I am that man 1 I have never lost sight of you and yours, and I have sworn if ever I had the chance, let it cost me what it might, I would repay that gener ous act, so noble and so disinterested.” “ W hat do you propose ?” “ You are condemned to die to-morrow.” “ I know it.” “ You shall live !” “ B ut you sacrifice yourself in freeing me.” “ I will take the risk, at all events.” “ I now see why you enter my cell after this style.” “ Exactly. I would have it appear that you effected your own escape.” “ Ex-€ellent.” “ Now follow me.” “ Instantly,” replied the marquis. In one m inute later the jailer and Jour not disappeared through the aperture in the floor, and after passing through one or two dark passages, they emerged at a gateway guarded by a single sentry. “ Journot,” said the jailer, “ here is your I godfather. You understand all. I can trust you.” “ W hat does this mean ?” asked the marquis. “ Another surprise,” said the jailer. “ You called him Journot.” “ I did.” “ E xplain.” “ Do you remember that upon that same January day when you released me from the minions of the law you also befriended an unfortunate young mother, gave her baby yoitNname in the church of Notre Dame, and supplied her with gold to clothe and feed it ?” “ I have a dim' recollection of some such event.” “ This lad is the one to which you gave I your name, and now he is ready to befriend j you in turn.” “ Strange that we should meet thus, and after twenty years.” “ You cast your bread upon the waters, and it has returned to you,” answered the , jailer. Then turning to the young man, the jailer contained: “ Lead him to a place of safety, Journot; I give me your gun, and I will keep this i j post until you return.”
