THE WOMAN INT THE IRON MASK.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XVI, Issue 93, 20 April 1881, Page 4

THE WOMAN INT THE IRON MASK.

On the berks of the Marne, close to the village of R., and abont threequarters of an hour distant from Paris, stands the chateau of the Marquis of R„ Helmets are the particular bobby of the Marquis, wbo ie, or rather was, prouder of his collection tban of anything else in the world, until he toob unto himself a wife, when, so long as the novelty of the situation lasted, she assumed the first place in hia .Sections, But the Marchioness, who is a restless little Pari.ienne, did not like the village of R., nor the chateau of R. She found the neighbours dull, Bnd saw no charms in the Sunday evening's game of whist with the notary, the cure, and her hu.band. Time hung heavily on her hands; she had nothing to do, ond 80 looked about for some distraction, bb she was rs much out of place in the old gloomy costle as would be a c. nary bird inside a connoo. She found it naturally; most people do find what they wont if tbey seek it diligently, and are aided by the devil, as she was, for the dis tractor appeared in the form of Mr. 1. P. the son of an eminent Parisian doctor, who h_B a villa in the environs, AU through tha summer their flirta tinnswenton nicely if wickedly; but. as u<uil, the pitcher wmt to tbe well too of'en. One of the servants con. aiderately informed his master of Madame's <« carrying on," aod when Monsieur came in unexpectedly upon the turtle doves last Wednesday evening he was not left in any doubt. Mr K. P. jumped out of tbe window and was not shot after ; the lady dropped on her knees and asked for mercy; "Madame," said M. de R., with a calmness more terrible than would have been en explosion of wrath, " be gcod enough to, get up aod accompany me," and he led the wey to the armory. "It. is all over with me," thought the Marcbionea., he means to cut my head off," but they; passed by the * glave of justice, ano never stopped until they reacted; the helmet department. So far the prologue. On Thursday morning, ac the milk carts came in at the Gr.enehV gate of the fortifioation, their driver. , were astonished to see a female silting on the pavement, in deshabille, but witb her head surmounted by an iron casque, from whicb floated an immense plume of ostrich feathers. Wbo was she? Whence came she? What; was tbe inebning of this strange ac-| coutrement? All those questions were; asked, first by the milkmen, and then by the police agents, who conveyed her to the nearest guard-house. The^ answers came but were inaudible; fromj behind tbat lowered vißor her voice' sounded like the bark of her little dog i "at tbe bottom of a copper kettle with its cover on. At last Bomebody thought that perhaps she might be able to write her Ptory, which as my readers may have supposed, is a continuation of the promenade in the R. armory. Tben A locksmith was sent for, but be could do noibin? toward ridding her of tbe cumbersome headgear, the secret spring of who.c fastenings is only known to lhe Marquis himself. A dispatch wbb posted off to R , but the Marquis hart left— -for two yearß, said the steward, and without giving any address, except that of his banker in Paris, who has to not been told yet whether he has to direct his correspondence. So stands the affair now, and there is no reason to anticipate its speedy termination. The victim is fed on liquids through a tube paesed between the bars of the helmet, and gets juet enough air to avnid suffocation; but can she endure the torture until her lord relents ? The steel is so marvellously tempered that it turns the edge of every tool so far tried upon it, and the unluoky heroine cf tbis extraordinary but positively veracious history is, not likely to derive much consolation from the inscription four.d upon the piece of armour, from whioh it appears that it is one of the chefs - d'ceuvre of that celebrated Florentine, armorer Galalti, made by him expressly for Alphonso d'Este, the fourth husband of the notorious Lucretia Borgia.— New York Times,