The Kidnapped Prince.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXVIII, Issue 7930, 2 January 1906, Page 2

The Kidnapped Prince.

CHAPTER XXU. Continued. Vanquished, abashed, confounded, Du Berri faltered out an answering and most submissive farewell. The lion was tamed indeed; Paul the conspirator quitted the scene of his contemplated crime a sadder and a wiser raau, and loft the house, as they say in the reports of weddings, en loute for the Continent. And since nothing has been heard of him since, it is open to the reader to ■ suppose either that he reformed his life, took off his corsets, gave up his emerald ring, and settled down as a virtuous and law abiding citizen under en established .Republic; or else that he reaped the fruit of his iniquity, and paid his debt to the Society of Fire with his life. Both al ternatives, we say, are open; and those who like to see Virtue rewarded and Vice oxterimuated, will probably prefer the latter. And certainly that seems the more probable; and yet—there are many cheap and pretty villages in the South of - France where an old soldier, say, or a penitent conspirator, might live very agreeably under his own vino and his own fig tree, and stand in great reputation with his country neighbours on the strength of his acquaintance with the monde, which was really not at all creditable, and one can imagine such a man getting his daily paper down from Paris every morning and scanning its columns with eager, wistful eyes, to see whether anything was going on in the great world or if a King had any need of his subject's services. But Clement Carre, after standing for an instant immobile (as they all did), wheeled round and poked Roland in the chest with the same point of the same sword which had recently touched him in the same place, and remarked: "JNice little job to start Mrs Carew in her married life; she'll have to darn her husband's new waistcoat before he's fit to be seen." "I dou't quite realise yet that I've got any husband left to darn," said (Violet plaintively; then, collecting her energies, she addod in a more spiteful tone: "I never heard of anybody so stupid as to oome off here all alone and say nothing to nobody. I am really ashamed of you, Roland!" "We all are!" said Auburn, pointing a severe finger at tne bridegroom, who wa* still gazing helplessly, first at the bride anc! then at Clement Carre. "My brain works slowly," he said, retreating a pace or two. ""These things have gone too Quick for me. • How did ynu get here, Auburn. And what is Violet doing in bedroom slippers?" 'lt's much too long a story to be gone into now," said Best Man with promptitude. "Let's go home and finish up the wedding breakfast. I know there was a lot left, and I want a glass of fiz"z sadly." "Besides," he added, ushering the party into the hall; "to tell the sober truth, 'l'm sick and tired of Grenier Buildings." |j The King passed out first, as precedence demanded, and Auburn followed him. Roland and Violet very discreetly brought up the rear. It is always wise to bring up the rear under these circumstances; you can then put your arm—but, no matter where you put your arm. That is another point which may be left to the discernment of the reader. ■ "So much for the Eyes of Fire!") said Violet, literally shaking off the dust of Paul's cellar, as she stepped across the threshold into the street. "I told Paul he didn't know the way to run a conspiracy." "And so begins our wedded life," said Roland, standing beside her on the pavement, while Auburn and the King went to get a cab. "Ah, Violet, Violet! did you find your first adventure quite as pleasant as you expected?" "There were too many black beetles!" said Violet, perversely. Then she looked up into Roland's face and their eyes met. "Don't go away again Roland," said the bride, with quivering lips. "On, I don't think 1 can ever let you out of sight again! [ can't talk, often; but—you do understand, don't you?" Auburn ordered the cab to go round to Grenier Buildings and pick up his fares. He said to Clement Carre that personally he preferred to walk. "They don't want us now," "he explained airily. "You may be monarch, but you're only a lookeron now, Bourbon—same like me." "I like being a dramatis personam best," remarked Clement Carre, pensively. "Faith, you ought to sit on your father's throne," said Auburn,, glancing critically into the innocent face of the child of joy, with its lurking look of ambiguous diablerie. "You never will be King now, though; how do you like that?" "Weil,l've been King once," said Clement Carre; "And as to the future—who knows?" TOE END.

By R. K. and R. A. Weekes. Author of "Prisoners of War," *'Unknown," etc., etc.