THE SPY: OR A FATHER'S ATONEMENT.

Wairarapa Standard, Volume I, Issue 1, 5 January 1867, Page 4

THE SPY: OR A FATHER'S ATONEMENT.

UiAPi i.R i.

In 1 Olt, there was situated in the Rue St. Thomas du Louvre in Paris, now better known as the Place du Carrousel, a two-storied house with three windows peeping with a demure slyness in the narrow and secluded street. This humble dwelling, of mean and comfortless exterior was the domicile of Monsieur Le Sage, a man of grave quiet deportment, whose daily custom was to leave home at au early hour and wend his way in the direction of the Palais’; Royal, returning with rigid punctuality at 12‘o’clock for dinner by the road which branched at the corner of the Rue du Doyenne: then quitting home an hour later to return at the close of the day.

Although upwards of fifty years of age Monsieur Le Sage, notwithstanding his full habit of body, displayed an almost incredible activity of limb. His deep black thoughtful eyes threw a shade of melancholy over features calm and lofty in repose, but possessing a facility to express the workings of a mind and will that were indomitable. Even a mere casual observer might easily perceive that beneath the usual placid surface reposed strong passions, which, once roused, were difficult to quell; and the very intonation of his voice impressed the hearer that he was a man used to command, and whose authority it would be perilous to dispute.

The other dwellers in this humble home were an elderly woman and a youth on the verge of manhood. From the kindly face of the former, a p xisant expression, which the hand of Time had failed to overshadow, still beamed forth. Old Manette had for many years served in the capacity’ of housekeeper to Monsieur Le Sage, and by her precise demeanour, always shunning the common tattle of the neighbours, had excited the curiosity of some, and the envy of others. But whatever odium might otherwise have rested on the sanctity of this quiet household, the presence of Adrien, the nephew of Le Sage, served at once to dispel. The passionate affection with which Le Sage regarded Adrien almost amounted to idolatry 7 . Every care had been lavished on the youth’s mental training: and so fearful was his uncle that he might fall into error, however insignificant or slight, that a tutor had been appointed, with strict injunctions that his watchftil gaze should be most rigid and unceasing. When the hopeful period of manhood overtook Adrien, he selected the medical profession «s his future sphere of life. His uncle’s deep love shone out then clear as ever in the fervent anxiety he evinced to procure for him the most scientific masters that Paris could afford. Still, however, the same unwearying vigilance pursued the young man. Under no pretence was he ever permitted to wander forth alone. Where ever he went, whatever he did, were faithfully reported to Le Sage. The bright and variegated mantle of Summer was exchanging itself for the sober and richer robe of early Autumn. The hot afternoon sun poured through the open latticed windows of the large square room, falling in white patches on the polished oak furniture and dark wainscoting. A well-stored bookcase stood against the wall, over which was suspended the portrait of a female. In a large high-backed arm-chair was seated Monsieur Le Sage, his ‘robe de chamber’ thrown carelessly about his person, and his hrad resting on his hand. His mind seemed dcooly tdr-orbed in «ome painful reflection. The heavy sighs that broke at intervals from him. and the death-like pallor that overspread his writhing features, gave clearest evidence that he was lighting with a fiercer enemy than physical disease. The worm of some terrible secret was feeding at hi? heart, and the memory of a perpetrated bitter wrong stood spectre like before him. This was the tenth day 7 of his seclusion and of his pretended illness, and every day his agony of thought and mind had grown in its intensity’, until his brain fairly quivered beneath the continuous strain.

Do not smile upon me, Marie,” he said, looking with a strained gaze at the portrait on the wall. “I deserve your frowns, your hit red even from the grave, from death, but mt that love-lit smile which the painter’s art i.-an«lerred from your living face to the dull cold canvas. Oh Heaven, let me work out rnv redemption for that crime by any sacrifice but one.

As he ceased speaking, he bowed his head between his hands with a shuddering sigh, and sank info gloomy reverie.

The cheerful voice of Adrien, who entered the room at this moment accompanied by his tutor, M. Bernard, broke the spell of La tinge’s meditations. He approached his uncle wi 'h child-like revet •ence, and, kissing his brow, took hands bet ween his own ; then, changing his manner into one of playful “ badinage,” he Aquired, with the mock gravity of a practised •in;,; or, to he aJioyveii to feel M. Le Sage’s puke.

•• Pslm !’’ replied his uncle, ■with a pettish playfulness. “Do not imagine because you have been two years at the Academy that you are a doctor. Believe me, boy, that age and experience alone entitle men to offices of trust. But tell me, ” he added, in a more serious tone, “ was there anything new at the Academy to-day ? ”

“ Yes,” replied Adrien : “ there was a public examination on the science of medicine, ending with a dissertation on a new system of philosophy.”

•“What system ? ” inquired LcSage, eagerly. “ A system,” continued Adrien, “by which to judge mankind morally by the examination of the head and analysis of the brain. These researches having met with the approval of the faculty in Germany, who have for several years past experimented on the craniumns of certain criminals.”

“ But,” interposed M. Bernard,“ the doctrine met with the ridicule it deserved—”

“ Yes,” interrupted Le Sage, with a slight asperity in his tone, “it is a French failing to laugh at anything people cannot comprehend,” then, turning to Adrien, he said, “ I trust you will not let this new branch of science receive much attention from you.” “ Excuse me, dear uncle,” said Adrien, but I must inform you that one of our most eminent physicians has declared that it is not permitted to throw any new light on the living through the agency of the dead.” “ 1 do not wish to controvert the fact that it is wrong to desecrate the dead,” rejoined Le Sago ; “but you will find that many sacrifices of our high and better feelings have to be offered up at the shrine of Science.”

After some further conversation of a similar tendency, Le Sage dismissed Adrien to his own room, under the double plea of indisposition, and a wish to transact some private business with his tutor; but scarcely had the door closed upon the young man, when La Sage bent his keen eyes with a penetrating gaze upon Bernard.

“Well the news ?” he asked in an under tone.

“ Have you not heard,” said the tutor, “ that Paris is in a state of great alarm at the almost incredible events ”

“ Do not talk of Paris men,” interrupted La Sage, angrily; “ tell me of him—Adrien. You followed him yesterday ? ” “ I followed him everywhere,” replied the tutor.

“ And where did he go ? ” inquired Le Sage. “ After leavifig home,” said the tutor, “he bent his steps towards the Palais Royal, took a rapid walk through the grounds, and looked eagerly at every female face.” “ What!” almost shrieked Le Sage, starting from his chair; then, as if conscious he had betrayed some hidden meaning, he recovered by an effort his usual calmness, and said, quietly, “ Proceed.” “ Then,” resumed M. Bernard, “he went to the gardens of the Tuileries, and traversed the promenades as if searching for some one.” “For four days has he pursued the same course!” soliloquised Le Sage; “ well ?” “He afterwards retraced his steps,” replied M. Bernard.

“ Through what streets ?” inquired Le Sage. “ After passing through the courtyard of the palace,” said the tutor, “ he took his way along the banks of the Seine towards the Pont Neuf; he there turned off in the direction of Notre Dame ; he entered the Cathedral come out shortly afterwards, and reached home.”

“ What has been the theme of your conversation to-day ?” was Le Sage’s next question. “After our first meeting,” said the tutor, “he preserved an unbroken silence for upwards of an hour, and frequently sighed deeply 7. At length he halted abruptly, and turned suddenly upon me, exclaiming harshly, ‘ Are you engaged by my uncle to play the spy upon my actions ?’ ”

“ And what answer did yon make ?" asked Le Sage. “ None,” replied Bernard. “ I saw the tears swelling in ins eyes, and by the workings of his face I also saw the deeper struggle that was rending his heart, and which he vainly was striving to subdue. ‘ Does my uncle doubt me ?’ he said, in a voice choked with emotion. ‘Do I not feel and know that I owe everything in life to him P Am I so base that I could be guilty of any act, however slightly mean, that would tarnish the deep debt of gratitude I owe to him ? Let me then beg ofyou, m 3' kind old tutor, to relax the rein b} r which, you hold me; suffer me to feel that which I 3'cam for in m3’ nightly dreams and daily wishes—a liberty of thought and action.” “ And 3’ou ?” asked Le Sage, with breathless eagerness.

I oisented,” replied the tutor. “ Fool!” exclaimed Le Sage. “ Not for the heirdom of our good king should you have made such a concession. From this time you must double your lynx-eyed watchfulness; never abate it for a single moment. You comprehend me ?” he asked sternly, “ or must I seek another who will fulfil your duties better ?”

“ I fully comprehend the task imposed upon me, and I will do it,” replied Bernard. “ But may I ask you why you feel this deep anxiety respecting Adrien ?" * “ You, who know Paris so well,” said Le Sage with a sarcastic laugh, “ must be aware that danger besets the young and unwary at every step. Did you not tell me how closely he examined every female face ?" “ But surely, to resist temptation is a stronger virtue than to shun it,” said Bernard. You do not know the boy as I do,” returned Le Sage; “ susceptible, warm-hearted and trusting he would fall an easy prey to the first corrupt mind he came in contact with.”

The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of Manette, holding a letter in her hand, which she presented to her master. After glancing at the address, his brow contracted, and his countenance became overspread with an expression of gloomy fierceness. He read the contents of the letter, and threw it with an angry movement into the fire. Then turning to Manette, he bade her inform the bearer that he was ill and unable to reply to the note.

“I may have other motives, Monsieur Bernard,” be continued, again addressing the tutor the moment Manette had quitted the room; “but it forms no part of our compact that they should be explained to you. I rely

upon your future discretion. Now leave me.”

Left alone, with none to observe the agitation which had cost him almost superhuman skill to conceal, Le Sage paced the room with rapid strides, as if, by so doing, he hoped to still the tumult of his soul. Suddenly, his arms folded across his broad chest, he halted at the door of Adrien’s chamber, and for a moment seemed lost in thought. “’Tis a step taken,” he murmured to himself “ a resolution made which no earthly power shall shake. Too long have I endured this hated life, fraught with bitter humiliation. In that room sits the only being in this wide world that holds a place in this selfish sterile heart.”

His hand sought the handle of Adrien’s chamber door while speaking, he was about to turn it, but, moved by a sudden impulse, he withdrew, and again threw himself into his chair.

“What are the thoughts that seem to burthen his pure soul ? I would give this good right hand to fathom them. He withholds his confidence from me. I do not deserve it. Great Heaven! ” he exclaimed, with sudden and passionate vehemence, “ can he suspect ? If so, I can never more meet his bright look of innocence. No, no,” he continued, with renewed calmness, “ that secret is safe in my own keeping. It is the false glittering flame I dread that lias already lured so many to their doom.”

He rvas started from his painful revere by the voice of Manette, calling through the opened door, that the bearer of the letter had returned and demanded to see him. “ I will not go,” he shrieked forth, in a voice harsh with sudden passion; “ no, I null not go. Say that lam ill; that I have gone to bed. Admit no one. -You understand?” (to be continued.)