A turn of the wheel of fortune.

Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume VIII, Issue 2325, 19 June 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

A turn of the wheel of fortune.

Chapter t.—Thk Vvibbst.

On the third day of January, IS-tO. during the intense cold which reigned severely in the city of Paris, and at the moment when the snow was falling in heavy Bakes, a stoppage of posaenand vehicles took place suddenly at the corner of the Rue St. Horone and the Rue de I'Arbre-sec. " What is the matter here I" asked a young man, whose accent declared him to be an inhabitant ot the south of

France " I r»ally car*not inform yon, Monsieur," said the person to whom the question was put ; " for i was about to seek the same intortnaSioa you require.

" Oh. it's only an old man who has fallen on the ice," exclaimed an ancient dame, a vertdsr of oranges, who had over heard the colloquy. *' Nothing more. Come, buy fine oranges ; only two sous apiece •• It's a man ds;ul drunk, I caa smell the €<m de vU at this distance." Sato u heavily laden %Af-porter pashtug his way out of the crowd, which appeared to hamper him more than the huge hamper upon hij shoulder. " Bah !" cried au old crone ; •* I'll bet mi even jou its one of those con founded omnibuses that has knocked downsonv- poor de»il. I had ruy leg broken by one ot th« cursod things about two veara smce.' "No such thing," cried a stoat middiu ;iged man. warmly wrapped up in a thick blue pilot-coat, a Targe confarter up to his a,we, ami hii hind* incused, in his ample side pockets. " It's no such tiling E tell you. £t'a a roar, struck w:th cold and hunger. He is adyinit. that is evident. foor dnvil these ffung'j qui-'e affect me! I am naturally tender hearted, and should hav- stooped to lend him some assist unci-, bur, th;: tact is t sun too iatfc aa it is, t'or nit better half is waning dinner for rue. Pardou. .Monsieur. permit me to pas:: : it i-s urigallant to keep a lady waiting t'>r her dinner." The .;craii;>e'\ ho .vt-ver. to v.-'uoiu this ft."|uesr. was .:dd:essed T pushed the ali•/ t'U-u'fr Lfiv&tl animal m the hlue-piioc m th- contrary direction, and dashed as once through the crowd ot idle gazers unr.il he arrived, not without some ditfi--ulf-v. at. the spot where the cause of the assemblage was Iving. Th-rc, near tee fountain, was extended on the ice an agxi man, scarce!v covered with the few rags that hung about his person. The stranger, yielding ouiv to tin dictates of a kind heart, stooped down, and was in the act of raising the unhappy man, when a cry broke the ail -nee of the crowd, and a sweet dear v,.i->; exclaimed with deep emor.i'.;: - •' It is ":v poor old man I'' At the same moment a young girl, piercing the crowd. came lorward, to join her f - bie aid to that of the kindhearted young stranger. " You know him then f hedemanded without looking at the new-comer, but trying to prevent her *'rom having any share in the burden. " Yes.and no. Monsieur,'" she replied taking a little smellin-; bottle from her pocket, which she applied to the old man's nostrils " I know him by sight, but am ignorant of his name and residence."

A third person now came forward to add his to thehurtiane efforts of the young people. "As I live, it is old Gerard I" said he ;'* he must hav« .gone oat this morning for thy first time for thn'->? live davs. Th!* way. Monsieur," said he, addressing rhs strarger : he lives hard by. at number thirty, and 1 am porter of the house. Come, let me tokeyour place. my kind-hearted little ui*ideQ." eoatmued he to the young girl ; " this good gentleman, suid I can take the poor old man to his room at th« top of the home. It ia sheer want that has reduced him to this sad fate. They say he wai once rich, and I believ« it; for it U only the rich who allow theuj-ieives to famish from hunger ■when they are poor—they are too prond to beg. I wouiii r.o*. be guilty of sneh a foolish. act : I at once go to the m;iyor and <i-.:,'ind aid : no matt ought Co starve m this city, while thousands revel in luxury and riot in dissipation Take care, my friend ; the stairs are steep, and we hava yet two stories to go lip ; mind, Monsieur, theie is one -step »li>wu before ascend the next Bight: it is an dark here you can't Weil salt. [t is diti'.T'at with me, lam used to the place That's all riirht, now push against the door—poor fellow he neve>* n.'■ !>.,! a key to lock up his treasure*. tliev say Monsieur, that Gerard is not his real name.

J}iaf>U ! how precious cold it is under these tiles !"

They placed the old man on some straw in one corner of the miserable garret, and the young stranger hastened to feet his pulse. He is dying: of cold and want." cried he : " here, my friend, here is some money f>r you ; make haste and procure some wine and a fire." The porter held out his hand to take the money, when the stranger suddenly exclaimed, after frtving searched his pockets—" Good th»y have taken my purse," and his ftatares expressed most vividly vexation and fear for the old man s recovery.

•' I will procure them for you,'' cried a gentlu yotce. It waa that ot a voung girl, "who had followed them ttpatrtii's nriperceived. Sh;: fmrrii*! '>ut

of llm room nud relumed speedily ; for sh- jierci'ivwl thut the slightest delay might prt»ve fatal. A woman followed her. bringing a light and woid, with which sli« made a fire and then retired. The fair girl was loaded with a bottle of wine, a small loaf, and the wing ol a fowl wrapped up in a piece of newspaper. She placed the whole near the old man, and then kneeling down, arranged the fire, which she soon stirrol into a cheerful blaze. The uUI man by degree recovered his svnses; he was presented with food and wine in small quantities, and in a short time animation was restored Too weak so thank his benefactors, he could only express his feeling by looks of the most touching gratitude, particularly when they rested on the young girl still occupied near the lifturtb. In the eyes of the young stranger she appeared nothing else than : a charming, a mysterious vision. Who i could this young creature he who so | earnestly and effectively de* oted herself [to a work of charity, when her own attire gave indicat'on of privation and penury ? Cold hs the weather was. the bonnet which encircled her delicate and beautiful features was of black straw ; thiri silk gloves, meuded in several served to cover her hands, but certainly not to protect them, from the bitter and biting cold. An old cashmere, worn to the last extremity, was thrown over a faded gown of durk Silk, ami her whole appearance betoken the abjieacs of any warm or seasonable garment. The young man wonld undoubtedly have b?;e» struck by the extreme beauty of her features, had tlier- been no other charm to attract him : but there was aliout her that iiulescrible aoinetbiitg which pleases man fT mors than mere beauty, and and that id a union of goodness and elegance,'which is indeed but seldom ri; ■: with, but "hen seen is irresistable. At I.i*t her self-imposed tank was over ; approached the old man, and stooping towards him, nodded her head kindly as she uttered the words—"l will return again very soon." She then cook up a small case which she had put down on her entrance, and, saluting the stranger, she leit the room and dosoenle I the narrow stairs v.ifh a light and rapid s".ep. Thii young man gazed after her for a moment, and then turned towards the invalid. "I, on the contrary, shall n't', return, tor I leave Paris this evening : Vntc you snail som hear from me." He titers pressed the old man's hand kindly, and departed. When he emerged from the gateway of the house into the street, though hopeless of seeing his young assistant in the work of benevolence in which he had been eng.igep, he still could not avoid looking around, to ses if by chance she was still in sight. As chance would have it, he had not proceeded many paces ere disco vered her standing, as if undecided, at the door of a jeweller's shop at some little distance. At last she appeared to have formed her determination, for she opened the door and entered. Without exactly analyzing the cause of her curiosity, the stranger approached the window of the shop, and observed what was passing inside. He saw the vnung girl take off her

glove, unci whilst he was admiring the dazzling whiteness and aristocratic form of the hand, she drew, with some emotion, a rinj; from her finger, and presented it to the person at the connter. He took it, examined it circuity, rubbed and tested the stone, and then methodically lookout a small pair of scales, and having ascertained the weight, o tiered hi? fair customer a pric •, which it w.-is easy to see she accepted, from tht. movement of assent with which sh»r bent her head. The jeweller o{«uetl a drawer, and counted out some money, which he pushed over the counter: and having written down in his book her name and address, he cnat th-' ling into another drawer amongst a heap of jewrls of all forms and colours. The girl then dep-irted, and in a minute afterwards the young man entered the shop.

Chapter lI.—A Chasqe or Fortune. In a short time afterwards she turned into a plain bat neat-looking bouse, in one of the streets off the Rue St. Honore: and opening the door of a room on th" sheentered hastily, rxcltsimtng—" Here I am, dear mother. You must have been very uneasy at my long absence." Madame Kevial, the person to whom hose words were addressed, appeared infirm, though more from trouble than years. She was stretched on a sofa, ind appeared to be in delicate health, tier fe.ituies, usually pale, assumed an ippearanee of animation when her laughter entered the apartment, and then immediately became more sombre than before. " Dearest Annette," said she, " I have an unpleasant piece of news to acquaint you with. It was this, perhaps, that made me rather fear your return than take note of your prolonged absence." Annette, having placed on a chair her shawl and bonnet, immediately seated herself on a low stool near the end of the sofa which supported her mother's head. The latter passed hdr hand affectionately over the dark hair of her daughter, and then continued—- " You know, iny dear child, that vour father had promised your hand to the son of M. Bars3cof Bordeaux, his oldest and most esteemed friend. The death of vour father—the loss of your fortune—the lengthened illness which has so much reduced me—had not overcome my cotiruge as long as I

could indulge in the hope of seeing you one day rich and happy under the protection of a worthy and kind husbaud. This very morning the scaffolding of happiness, which 1 loved so much to build up for you, fell to the ground. This letter, addressed to our old habitation, ought to have come to hand yesterday. Take it my child, and read it for vourself."

Annette took the letter which her mother held out to her, and looking at the signature remarked—" It is from if. Julius Barsac himself." She then read the contents aloud :

" Madame. —As long as fortune smiled on me, I thought with delight on the alliance that M. Revial and my father had contracted for me ; but the late failure of the firm of Danderlias and Co. has drawn on our house considerable embarrassment; and a man of honour I deem myself bound to restore you your promise. It your daughter and myself had been acquainted, and if mutual affection had been the base of the projected union, I would have bent my knee before you, Madam, and prayed you to wait until I had repaired our disasters : but have I the right to call then on another to partake in my poverty, and to join in my labours 1 Do I even know what space of time it may take to acquire a fortuna worthy of that which you have lost ? He whose divine hands govern all things alone can tell. Your daughter, Madame, brought up under, your protecting care, is, I arc informed, both amiable and lovely. Who is there, then, who will not be proud and happy to give her an honorable name and a position in society equal to that in which she was borne ? Will you pardon me, Madame, tor leaving Paris without paying my respects to you; but I should fear, after having seen your daughter, to carry with me a keen regret, which might trouble the calm of an existence now consecrated to labour.

" Farewell, then, Madame ; believe rue to be penetrated with every respect for you, and to remain your most humble and obedient servant '• Jules Barsac."

The young girl paused a moment after reading the note, and theu raising her eyes to meet her mother's, she remarked, as she placed it on the work tabie —" Do you not think, mother, that this letter is perfect, except the too high opinioh expressed of me? I really think that M. Barsac writes with the utmost good sense. I ->lmost regret that I have not seen a man whose conduct is actuated by such honorable motives."

" This letter," said Madame Revial, mournfully, •• certainly augments my regret. 1 feel that 1 could have loved this you ag man as a son. Now what a different lot awaits you ! Are you not terrified at tiie idea of being obliged to work for your poor mother ?" How unkind," said Annette, "how unlike yourself. Why, what is that, after all ? Formerly I embroidered to amuse myself, now I can do the same to contribute to your comfort, dearest mother. The latter will be surely more agreeable. Besides I can do it much more cleverely. Look, I have disposed of the collar," and she showed the empty case which she brought in, " and here is the price obtained for it," placing the pieces of money on the table.

A light knock at the door interrupted the conversation. Annette cast a look of inquietude at her mother, for, since the loss of their fortune, no friendly visit had broken their solitude. "Go and open the door," said Madame Revial witih a smile.

Annette obeyed, and the opened door gave entrance to h man whom she immediately recognized as the stranger who had assisted her "poor old man." When Mademoiselle Revial opened the door to admit the stranger, her countenance assumed a grave and severe expression. Her mother perceived the change, but before she could make an inqiury {into the canse, tlie stranger advanced, and saluting hsr with respect said—" Madame, you are I presume, the mother of this young tody?"

Madame Reviel made a sign of assent, and pointed out a chair to the strauger. He took it, and continued—- •' Chance, this morning, brought Mademoiselle and myself together in affording assistance to an unhappy—" •' Oh!mother " interrupted the young maiduH, whose neck and face were covered with blushes at this allusion to the morning's adventure, " I have not i.ad time to tell you all about it. Do you remember the poor old man who geuerally took up his station at the door of our hotel formerly 1 He always wore a green bandage over his eyes to conceal his face from the passer-by, and held a basket of matches in his hand.—"

" Yes," interrupted Madame Kevial in her turn, " I remember him well ; your poor father always dropped some small coin into his basket when returning from the Bourse. Why, Annette, you used always to call hiui your 'poor nld man •' and, little as you then were, you always delighted in giving him everything von could scrape together." " Well, since our departure from the hotel, we have asked each other about one hundred times what could have become of him," said Annette. " Yes," said Madame Re vial with evident interest.

" Well, mother, 1 found him to-day at last, but in such a state of wretchedness and misery that £ was really shocked. Stretched on the snow, dving absolutely of cold and hunger; and, without the kind assistance of

this gentleman, he must have perished where he lay." "Say, rsther, with yours/' said the voung man earnestly. " I could do nothing for I had lost my purse, to you mid yeu alone is he indebted for life. But," continued he, in a different tone, seeing the bright color mounting to Annette's face, "ic is not for the purpose of disclosing to this lady the secret ot vour good actions that I have followed you here : it is to request you to take the trouble of buying a bed and some other little necessaries for this child of misfortune. Here are one hundred francs that you will oblige me by having the kindness to employ for this purpose. I beg you to believe that if I was not a stranger .in Paris, and on the poict of quitting it this very evening, I would not dare to take this liberty with persons to whom I am not known. I trust, ladies, that you will excuse my request." " There is no necessity, Sir, to offer any apology," said Madame Revial; "on the contrary, we ought to thank you for having seleqted us t® complete so benevolent an action." " Now, Madame," added the young man with a hesitating and timid manner, "it only remains for me to enquire the name of my excellent young sister in this work of kindness and charity." " Mademoiselle Annete Revial,"

A cry of astonishment broke from the young stranger. "Do my ears deceive me 1 Surely not Mademoiselle Anuette Revial, the daughter ot M. Revial, formerly of Bordeaux, who lost his fortune by trusting a friead, and died of grief ?" " Alas ! 3ir," you have but too truly stated the case. How does it happen thit you are acquainted with these facts ?"

" I am Jules Barsac," said the youns; man in a voice scarcely audible for emotion.

Annette grew pale and went and placed herself near her mother's seat. A mournful silence succeeded for a short time and it was Jules who broke

" Ah, Madame," said lie, suddenly rising, " I perceive that yesterday I sent you my renunciation of a life of happiness. This letter," and he took it from the table; " this letter," he repeated, as he slightly touched it with a look of disgust; permit me to destroy it and . forget that it was ever written 1" Looking from one lady to the other and observing no sign of opposition, he tore it down the middle and threw the portions into the fire. He watched until the flame had seized on every part; and then as if content that it was wholly and irrecoverably destroyed, he approached Madame fievial and bent his knee before her, as she regarded alternately, with the utmost satisfaction, her daughter and him whom she would have chosen for her son-in-law if the choice had been in her power. " Oh, if the memory of this unfortunate letter cannot altogether pass away—and part of it must remain in your remembrance—think only of the words which say—' If your daughter and myself had been acquainted.' We are already acquainted and know each other as if we had never been apart. Do not, I implore you, dear lady, separate those whom the divine rite of charity has united. I just now called Mademoiselle by the name of sister; let me call her by another name, no less kind, but more sacred —that of wife ? I have no fortune to offer her; but I feel myself now animated by double courage and hope. For her, for you Madame, you will never quit üb, I will work with energy and determination ; anil I feel that with the blessing of divine Providence I shall succeed in my efforts. Oh ! Madame, deign to answer tug ; but you weep—give me your hand- - you consent to my request V '• And you, dearest Annette, what do vou say V' asked Madame Rttvial, as she held out her hand to her daughter. " Save I ever had other will than yours dear mother 1 as she pressed the hand to her lips. " You consent then Mademoiselle T> •aid Jules. " Then you will allow me to present you with this ring as a token of our engagement V' He handed her a little ring set round with torquoises. "It is Annette's ring ¥' exclaimed Madame Revial with snrprise. "Yes mother," said the blushing maiden, quite confused ; " I was obliged to sell it to replace the money I had received for my embroidery this morning." "It was in purchasing that I discovered vour address," said Jules ; although you entered in the jeweller's book only Annette, ft is to this ring that I owe the happiness of again beholding you." He took as he spoke the unresisting hand of the young girl, and placed on her finger the pledge of their union. The same evening, in order to fulfil the benevolent intentions of M. Barsac who was obliged to leave for Bordeaux, Annette, according to promise, returned to the lodging of her old man. He was no longer to be found—he had disappeared without pointing out his new abode. Chapeer lll.—The Unexpected Guest. Two months had passed away since the departure of the young stranger for Bordeaux, and no tidings of poor old Geraid had reached the fievial family. One evening a few friends were assembled in the humble lodging erf

Madame Revial, to witness the, signing of the marriage : contiaes of Annette and Jules, before the notary ( who soon make his appearance, attended by an elderly gentleman handsomely attired in* deep mourciug. As the latterwas not introduced, no person took much notice of him, for ,ca h was top much occupied with the ceremony for which thjy had come together. Madame Revial was - still an invalid, and had her daughter seated near her ; Jules .Barsac was standing on the other side. The notary placed his portfolio on the table, and took from it a contract of marriage, which he proceeded to read aioUd. The stranger guest occupied a seat behind the notary; the latter having specified the little property of the bridegroom, went on to detail the fortune of the bride—- " Madame Revial, widow of tke late M. Revial, formerly a merchant in the city of Bordeaux, makes over to her only daughter, Annette Revial, the sum of £IOOO per annum—"

" You are making a mistake Monsieur Notary," said Madame Revial rising ; "formerly, indeed, my husband had some intention to settle—"

" One thousand a year, arising from money at Dresent invested in the public funds, for which I here produce the securities:" .

Saying this, he took from his port: folio the coupons, and placed them upou the table. Madame Revial, her daughter, J ules Barsac, and the triends assembled, all made a movement of surprise, when the aged stranger arose, and made a sign to them to resume their seats. Surprised at this interference, they awaited with interest the result of this extraordinary scene.

" What !" said.the old man, with a broken voice, and addressing Annette, " what, Mademoiselle Revial, do you not remember your 'poor old man?'" Whilst she was lookiug earnestly at him, trying to read in his calm and venerable countenance the marks of misery and suffering, he continued—- '• You have, then, forgotten ten years of daily kindaess 1 You have forgotten the third of last January, with the assistance you gave so opportunely—the tire—the wine—and the wing of a fowl wiapped up in the piece of a newspaper?—all forgotten ! Well, that very piece of newspaper is the cause of all my misery being at au end. | In an advertisement which it contained I read the intelligence that a French gentleman, named Francois de Chazel, had been for years seeking in vain for his only brother, Jacques de Chazel, ruined like him in the Revolution: and that by'his will which he had made a short time previous to his death, which took place in London, he had ordered that an advertisement should be inserted every week for three years in some Parisian journal, that the brother might come forward and claim his ample fortune. That Jaques de (Jhazel stands now before you. It is I. Without delay I set out for the English capital and having arranged ray business satisfactorily, I only returned to Paris yesterday. Your notary," continued he, speaking to Madame Revial, "is also mine; frbm him I heard the pleasing intelligence of the intended marriage of Madamoisville Annette. To that dear angel I owe my life, and the least I can do is to present her with some portion of that fortune which, without her aid, might never have reached my hand 3."

" But Monsieur," said Madame Revial, with emotion, " perhaps you have a family." " Yes, Madame," replied the, venerable old man, bowing low as he spoke, " if you will admit me into yours." " Ah, you have made part of our family for such a long time," said Annette, pressing in h«r hands those of M. de Chazel, " that we cannot refuse your request." Then, with a gesture full of naivete and grace, pointing to her intended husband, she added, in a low voice—lt is he who took you up; Do you not recollect him 1 Ah ! you say that to me you owe your life ; if you only knew how much I am indebted to you—if you, only knew it—but we will separate no more, andl shall hare time co tell you all about it." The old man extended his hand to Jules, which he grasped with ardour ; he then joined it to that of Annette ; and having offered up a fervent prayer for the happiness of the young couple, said—" There: go my children, the notary is waiting for you." Jules having presented the pen to his fair bride, and both having signed the marriage contract, Jacques de Chazel took up the pen, and placed his signature to the deed, observing, as he did so—" May the name; of' the 'poor old man' bring happiness to this union." Formed under such auspices, who can doubt that this " turn of the wheel of fortune" produced the utmost happiness that flesh is heir to 1