A	>>	B	>>	C	>>	D	>>	E
F	>>	G	>>	H	>>	I	>>	J
K	>>	L	>>	M	>>	N	>>	O
P	>>	R	>>	S	>>	T	>>	U
V	>>	W	>>			X	>>	Z

Gaston Leroux - "The Phantom of the Opera"

William J. Kountz, Jr. - "Billy Baxter's Letters"

Ellen Robena Field - "Buttercup Gold and Other Stories"

Gilbert White - "Project Gutenberg surfs with a modem donated by Supra."

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

A Gentleman of France

S >> Stanley Weyman >> A Gentleman of France




For the moment I had evaded his pursuit, and, assisted by the
confusion caused everywhere by the death of Guise had succeeded
in thwarting his plans and affronting his authority with seeming
ease. But I knew too much of his power and had heard too many
instances of his fierce temper and resolute will to presume on
short impunity or to expect the future with anything but
diffidence and dismay.

The exclamations of my companions on coming within sight of Blois
aroused me from these reflections. I joined them, and fully
shared their emotion as I gazed on the stately towers which had
witnessed so many royal festivities, and, alas! one royal
tragedy; which had sheltered Louis the Well-beloved and Francis
the Great, and rung with the laughter of Diana of Poitiers and
the second Henry. The play of fancy wreathed the sombre building
with a hundred memories grave and gay. But, though the rich
plain of the Loire still swelled upward as of old in gentle
homage at the feet of the gallant town, the shadow of crime
seemed to darken all, and dim even the glories of the royal
standard which hung idly in the air.

We had heard so many reports of the fear and suspicion which
reigned in the city and of the strict supervision which was
exercised over all who entered--the king dreading a repetition of
the day of the Barricades--that we halted at a little inn a mile
short of the gate and broke up our company. I parted from my
Norman friend with mutual expressions of esteem, and from my own
men, whom I had paid off in the morning, complimenting each of
them with a handsome present, with a feeling of relief equally
sincere. I hoped--but the hope was not fated to be gratified
--that I might never see the knaves again.

It wanted less than an hour of sunset when I rode up to the gate,
a few paces in front of mademoiselle and her woman; as if I had
really been the intendant for whom the horse-dealer had mistaken
me. We found the guardhouse lined with soldiers, who scanned us
very narrowly as we approached, and whose stern features and
ordered weapons showed that they were not there for mere effect.
The fact, however, that we came from Tours, a city still in the
king's hands, served to allay suspicion, and we passed without
accident.

Once in the streets, and riding in single file between the
houses, to the windows of which the townsfolk seemed to be
attracted by the slightest commotion, so full of terror was the
air, I experienced a moment of huge relief. This was Blois--
Blois at last. We were within a few score yards of the Bleeding
Heart. In a few minutes I should receive a quittance, and be
free to think only of myself.

Nor was my pleasure much lessened by the fact that I was so soon
to part from Mademoiselle de la Vire. Frankly, I was far from
liking her. Exposure to the air of a court had spoiled, it
seemed to me, whatever graces of disposition the young lady had
ever possessed. She still maintained, and had maintained
throughout the journey, the cold and suspicious attitude assumed
at starting; nor had she ever expressed the least solicitude on
my behalf, or the slightest sense that we were incurring danger
in her service. She had not scrupled constantly to prefer her
whims to the common advantage, and even safety; while her sense
of self-importance had come to be so great, that she seemed to
hold herself exempt from the duty of thanking any human creature.
I could not deny that she was beautiful--indeed, I often thought,
when watching her, of the day when I had seen her in the King of
Navarre's antechamber in all the glory of her charms. But I felt
none the less that I could turn my back on her--leaving her in
safety--without regret; and be thankful that her path would never
again cross mine.

With such thoughts in my breast I turned the corner of the Rue de
St. Denys and came at once upon the Bleeding Heart, a small but
decent-looking hostelry situate near the end of the street and
opposite a church. A bluff grey-haired man, who was standing in
the doorway, came forward as we halted, and looking curiously at
mademoiselle asked what I lacked; adding civilly that the house
was full and they had no sleeping room, the late events having
drawn a great assemblage to Blois.

'I want only an address,' I answered, leaning from the saddle and
speaking in a low voice that I might not be overheard by the
passers-by. 'The Baron de Rosny is in Blois, is he not?'

The man started at the name of the Huguenot leader, and looked
round him nervously. But, seeing that no one was very near us,
he answered: 'He was, sir; but he left town a week ago and more.
'There have been strange doings here, and M. de Rosny thought
that the climate suited him ill.'

He said this with so much meaning, as well as concern that he
should not be overheard, that, though I was taken aback and
bitterly disappointed, I succeeded in restraining all
exclamations and even show of feeling. After a pause of dismay,
I asked whither M. de Rosny had gone.

'To Rosny,' was the answer.

'And Rosny?'

'Is beyond Chartres, pretty well all the way to Mantes,' the man
answered, stroking my horse's neck. 'Say thirty leagues.'

I turned my horse, and hurriedly communicated what he said to
mademoiselle, who was waiting a few paces away. Unwelcome to me,
the news was still less welcome to her. Her chagrin and
indignation knew no bounds. For a moment words failed her, but
her flashing eyes said more than her tongue as she cried to me:
'Well, sir, and what now? Is this the end of your fine promises?
Where is your Rosny, if all be not a lying invention of your
own?'

Feeling that she had some excuse I suppressed my choler, and
humbly repeating that Rosny was at his house, two days farther
on, and that I could see nothing for it but to go to him, I asked
the landlord where we could find a lodging for the night.

'Indeed, sir, that is more than I can say,' he answered, looking
curiously at us, and thinking, I doubt not, that with my shabby
cloak and fine horse, and mademoiselle's mask and spattered
riding-coat, we were an odd couple. 'There is not an inn which
is not full to the garrets--nay, and the stables; and, what is
more, people are chary of taking strangers in. These are strange
times. They say,' be continued in a lower tone, 'that the old
queen is dying up there, and will not last the night.'

I nodded. 'We must go somewhere' I said.

'I would help you if I could,' he answered, shrugging his
shoulders. 'But there it is! Blois is full from the tiles to
the cellars.'

My horse shivered under me, and mademoiselle, whose patience was
gone, cried harshly to me to do something. 'We cannot spend the
night in the streets,' she said fiercely.

I saw that she was worn out and scarcely mistress of herself.
The light was falling, and with it some rain. The reek of the
kennels and the close air from the houses seemed to stifle us.
The bell at the church behind us was jangling out vespers. A few
people, attracted by the sight of our horses standing before the
inn, had gathered round and were watching us.

Something I saw must be done, and done quickly. In despair, and
seeing no other resort, I broached a proposal of which I had not
hitherto even dreamed. 'Mademoiselle,' I said bluntly, 'I must
take you to my mother's.'

'To your mother's, sir?' she cried, rousing herself. Her voice
rang with haughty surprise.

'Yes,' I replied brusquely; 'since, as you say, we cannot spend
the night in the streets, and I do not know where else I can
dispose of you. From the last advices I had I believe her to
have followed the court hither. My friend,' I continued, turning
to the landlord, 'do you know by name a Madame de Bonne, who
should be in Blois?'

'A Madame de Bonne!' he muttered, reflecting. 'I have heard the
name lately. Wait a moment.' Disappearing into the house, he
returned almost immediately, followed by a lanky pale-faced youth
wearing a tattered black soutane. 'Yes,' he said nodding, 'there
is a worthy lady of that name lodging in the next street, I am
told. As it happens, this young man lives in the same house, and
will guide you, if you like.'

I assented, and, thanking him for his information, turned my
horse and requested the youth to lead the way. We had scarcely
passed the corner of the street, however, and entered one
somewhat more narrow and less frequented, when mademoiselle, who
was riding behind me, stopped and called to me. I drew rein,
and, turning, asked what it was.

'I am not coming,' she said, her voice trembling slightly, but
whether with alarm or anger I could not determine. 'I know
nothing of you, and I--I demand to be taken to M. de Rosny.'

'If you cry that name aloud in the streets of Blois,
mademoiselle,' I retorted, 'you are like enough to be taken
whither you will not care to go! As for M. de Rosny, I have told
you that he is not here. He has gone to his seat at Mantes.'

'Then take me to him!'

'At this hour of the night?' I said drily. 'It is two days'
journey from here.'

'Then I will go to an inn,' she replied sullenly.

'You have heard that there is no room in the inns ' I rejoined
with what patience I could. 'And to go from inn to inn at this
hour might lead us into trouble. I can assure you that I am as
much taken aback by M. de Rosny's absence as you are. For the
present, we are close to my mother's lodging, and--'

'I know nothing of your mother!' she exclaimed passionately, her
voice raised. 'You have enticed me hither by false pretences,
sir, and I will endure it no longer. I will--'

'What you will do, I do not know then, mademoiselle,' I replied,
quite at my wits' end; for what with the rain and the darkness,
the unknown streets--in which our tarrying might at any moment
collect a crowd--and this stubborn girl's opposition, I knew not
whither to turn. 'For my part I can suggest nothing else. It
does not become me to speak of my mother,' I continued, 'or I
might say that even Mademoiselle de la Vire need not be ashamed
to accept the hospitality of Madame de Bonne. Nor are my
mother's circumstances,' I added proudly, 'though narrow, so mean
as to deprive her of the privileges of her birth.'

My last words appeared to make some impression upon my companion.
She turned and spoke to her woman, who replied in a low voice,
tossing her head the while and glaring at me in speechless
indignation. Had there been anything else for it, they would
doubtless have flouted my offer still; but apparently Fanchette
could suggest nothing, and presently mademoiselle, with a sullen
air, bade me lead on.

Taking this for permission, the lanky youth in the black soutane,
who had remained at my bridle throughout the discussion, now
listening and now staring, nodded and resumed his way; and I
followed. After proceeding a little more than fifty yards he
stopped before a mean-looking doorway, flanked by grated windows,
and fronted by a lofty wall which I took to be the back of some
nobleman's garden. The street at this point was unlighted, and
little better than an alley; nor was the appearance of the house,
which was narrow and ill-looking, though lofty, calculated, as
far as I could make it out is the darkness, to allay
mademoiselle's suspicions. Knowing, however, that people of
position are often obliged in towns to lodge in poor houses, I
thought nothing of this, and only strove to get mademoiselle
dismounted as quickly as possible. The lad groped about and
found two rings beside the door, and to these I tied up the
horses. Then, bidding him lead the way, and begging mademoiselle
to follow, I plunged into the darkness of the passage and felt my
way to the foot of the staircase, which was entirely unlighted,
and smelled close and unpleasant.

'Which floor?' I asked my guide.

'The fourth,' he answered quietly.

'Morbleu!' I muttered, as I began to ascend, my hand on the
wall. 'What is the meaning of this?'

For I was perplexed. The revenues of Marsac, though small,
should have kept; my mother, whom I had last seen in Paris before
the Nemours edict, in tolerable comfort--such modest comfort, at
any rate, as could scarcely be looked for in such a house as
this--obscure, ill-tended, unlighted. To my perplexity was
added, before I reached the top of the stairs, disquietude--
disquietude on her account as well as on mademoiselle's. I felt
that something was wrong, and would have given much to recall the
invitation I had pressed on the latter.

What the young lady thought herself I could pretty well guess, as
I listened to her hurried breathing at my shoulder. With every
step I expected her to refuse to go farther. But, having once
made up her mind, she followed me stubbornly, though the darkness
was such that involuntarily I loosened my dagger, and prepared to
defend myself should this turn out to be a trap.

We reached the top, however, without accident. Our guide knocked
softly at a door and immediately opened it without waiting for an
answer. A feeble light shone out on the stair-head, and bending
my head, for the lintel was low, I stepped into the room.

I advanced two paces and stood looking about me in angry
bewilderment. The bareness of extreme poverty marked everything
on which my eyes rested. A cracked earthenware lamp smoked and
sputtered on a stool in the middle of the rotting floor. An old
black cloak nailed to the wall, and flapping to and fro in the
draught like some dead gallowsbird, hung in front of the unglazed
window. A jar in a corner caught the drippings from a hole in
the roof. An iron pot and a second stool--the latter casting a
long shadow across the floor--stood beside the handful of wood
ashes, which smouldered on the hearth. And that was all the
furniture I saw, except a bed which filled the farther end of the
long narrow room, and was curtained off so as to form a kind of
miserable alcove.

A glance sufficed to show me all this, and that the room was
empty, or apparently empty. Yet I looked again and again,
stupefied. At last finding my voice, I turned to the young man
who had brought us hither, and with a fierce oath demanded of him
what he meant.

He shrank back behind the open door, and yet; answered with a
kind of sullen surprise that I had asked for Madame de Bonne's,
and this was it.

'Madame de Bonne's!' I muttered. 'This Madame de Bonne's!'

He nodded.

'Of course it is! And you know it!' mademoiselle hissed in my
ear, her voice, as she interposed, hoarse with passion. 'Don't
think that you can deceive us any longer. We know all! This,'
she continued, looking round, her cheeks scarlet, her eyes ablaze
with scorn, 'is your mother's, is it! Your mother who has
followed the court hither--whose means are narrow, but not so
small as to deprive her of the privileges of her rank! This is
your mother's hospitality, is it? You are a cheat, sir! and a
detected cheat! Let us begone! Let me go, sir, I say!'

Twice I had tried to stop the current of her words; but in vain.
Now with anger which surpassed hers a hundredfold--for who, being
a man, would hear himself misnamed before his mother?--I
succeeded, 'Silence, mademoiselle!' I cried, my grasp on her
wrist. 'Silence, I say! This is my mother!'

And running forward to the bed, I fell on my knees beside it. A
feeble hand had half withdrawn the curtain, and through the gap
my mother's stricken face looked out, a great fear stamped upon
it.



CHAPTER VII.

SIMON FLEIX.

For some minutes I forgot mademoiselle in paying those assiduous
attentions to my mother which her state and my duty demanded; and
which I offered the more anxiously that I recognised, with a
sinking heart, the changes which age and illness had made in her
since my last visit. The shock of mademoiselle's words had
thrown her into a syncope, from which she did not recover for
some time; and then rather through the assistance of our strange
guide, who seemed well aware what to do, than through my efforts.
Anxious as I was to learn what had reduced her to such straits
and such a place, this was not the time to satisfy my curiosity,
and I prepared myself instead for the task of effacing the
painful impression which mademoiselle's words had made on her
mind.

On first coming to herself she did not remember them, but,
content to find me by her side--for there is something so
alchemic in a mother's love that I doubt not my presence changed
her garret to a palace--she spent herself in feeble caresses and
broken words. Presently, however, her eye falling on
mademoiselle and her maid, who remained standing by the hearth,
looking darkly at us from time to time, she recalled, first the
shock which had prostrated her, and then its cause, and raising
herself on her elbow, looked about her wildly. 'Gaston!' she
cried, clutching my hand with her thin fingers, 'what was it I
heard? It was of you someone spoke--a woman! She called you--or
did I dream it?--a cheat! You!'

'Madame, madame,' I said, striving to speak carelessly, though
the sight; of her grey hair, straggling and dishevelled, moved me
strangely, 'was it; likely? Would anyone dare to use such
expressions of me is your presence? You must indeed have dreamed
it!'

The words, however, returning more and more vividly to her mind,
she looked at me very pitifully, and in great agitation laid her
arm on my neck, as though she would shelter me with the puny
strength which just enabled her to rise in bed. 'But someone,'
she muttered, her eyes on the strangers, 'said it, Gaston? I
heard it. What did it mean?'

'What you heard, madame,' I answered, with an attempt at gaiety,
though the tears stood in my eyes, 'was, doubtless, mademoiselle
here scolding our guide from Tours, who demanded three times the
proper POURBOIRE. The impudent rascal deserved all that was said
to him, I assure you.'

'Was that it?' she murmured doubtfully.

'That must have been what you heard, madame,' I answered, as if I
felt no doubt.

She fell back with a sigh of relief, and a little colour came
into her wan face. But her eyes still dwelt curiously, and with
apprehension, on mademoiselle, who stood looking sullenly into
the fire; and seeing this my heart misgave me sorely that I had
done a foolish thing in bringing the girl there. I foresaw a
hundred questions which would be asked, and a hundred
complications which must ensue, and felt already the blush of
shame mounting to my cheek.

'Who is that?' my mother asked softly. 'I am ill. She must
excuse me.' She pointed with her fragile finger to my
companions.

I rose, and still keeping her hand in mine, turned so as to face
the hearth. 'This, madame,' I answered formally, 'is
Mademoiselle--, but her name I will commit to you later, and in
private. Suffice it to say that she is a lady of rank, who has
been committed to my charge by a high personage.'

'A high personage?' my mother repeated gently, glancing at me
with a smile of gratification.

'One of the highest,' I said, 'Such a charge being a great honour
to me, I felt that I could not better execute it madame, since we
must lie in Blois one night, than by requesting your hospitality
on her behalf.'

I dared mademoiselle as I spoke--I dared her with my eye to
contradict or interrupt me. For answer, she looked at me once,
inclining her head a little, and gazing at us from under her long
eyelashes. Then she turned back to the fire, and her foot
resumed its angry tapping on the floor.

'I regret that I cannot receive her better,' my mother answered
feebly. 'I have had losses of late. I--but I will speak of that
at another time. Mademoiselle doubtless knows,' she continued
with dignity, 'you and your position in the south too well to
think ill of the momentary straits to which she finds me
reduced.'

I saw mademoiselle start, and I writhed under the glance of
covert scorn, of amazed indignation, which she shot at me. But
my mother gently patting my hand, I answered patiently,
'Mademoiselle will think only what is kind, madame--of that I am
assured. And lodgings are scarce to-night in Blois.'

'But tell me of yourself, Gaston,' my mother cried eagerly; and I
had not the heart, with her touch on my hand, her eyes on my
face, to tear myself away, much as I dreaded what was coming, and
longed to end the scene. 'Tell me of yourself. You are still in
favour with the king of -- I will not name him here?'

'Still, madame,' I answered, looking steadily at mademoiselle,
though my face burned.

'You are still--he consults you, Gaston?'

'Still, madame.'

My mother heaved a happy sigh, and sank lower in the bed. 'And
your employments?' she murmured, her voice trembling with
gratification. 'They have not been reduced? You still retain
them, Gaston?'

'Still, madame,' I answered, the perspiration standing on my
brow, my shame almost more than I could bear.

'Twelve thousand livres a year, I think?'

'The same, madame.'

'And your establishment? How many do you keep now? Your valet,
of course? And lackeys--how many at present?' She glanced, with
an eye of pride, while she waited for my answer, first at the two
silent figures by the fire, then at the poverty-stricken room; as
if the sight of its bareness heightened for her the joy of my
prosperity.

She had no suspicion of my trouble, my misery, or that the last
question almost filled the cup too full. Hitherto all had been
easy, but this seemed to choke me. I stammered and lost my
voice. Mademoiselle, her head bowed, was gazing into the fire.
Fanchette was staring at me, her black eyes round as saucers, her
mouth half-open. 'Well, madame,' I muttered at length, 'to tell
you the truth, at present, you must understand, I have been
forced to--'

'What, Gaston?' Madame de Bonne half rose in bed. Her voice was
sharp with disappointment and apprehension; the grasp of her
fingers on my hand grew closer.

I could not resist that appeal. I flung away the last rag of
shame. 'To reduce my establishment somewhat,' I answered,
looking a miserable defiance at mademoiselle's averted figure.
She had called me a liar and a cheat--here in the room! I must
stand before her a liar and a cheat confessed. 'I keep but three
lackeys now, madame.'

Still it is creditable,' my mother muttered thoughtfully, her
eyes shining. 'Your dress, however, Gaston--only my eyes are
weak--seems to me--'

'Tut, tut! It is but a disguise,' I answered quickly.

'I might have known that,' she rejoined, sinking back with a
smile and a sigh of content. 'But when I first saw you I was
almost afraid that something had happened to you. And I have
been uneasy lately,' she went on, releasing my hand, and
beginning to play with the coverlet, as though the remembrance
troubled her. 'There was a man here a while ago--a friend of
Simon Fleix there--who had been south to Pau and Nerac, and he
said there was no M. de Marsac about the Court.'

'He probably knew less of the Court than the wine-tavern,' I
answered with a ghastly smile.

'That was just what I told him,' my mother responded quickly and
eagerly. 'I warrant you I sent him away ill-satisfied.'

'Of course,' I said; 'there will always be people of that kind.
But now, if you will permit me, madame, I will make such
arrangements for mademoiselle as are necessary.'

Begging her accordingly to lie down and compose herself--for even
so short a conversation, following on the excitement of our
arrival, had exhausted her to a painful degree--I took the youth,
who had just returned from stabling our horses, a little aside,
and learning that he lodged in a smaller chamber on the farther
side of the landing, secured it for the use of mademoiselle and
her woman. In spite of a certain excitability which marked him
at times, he seemed to be a quick, ready fellow, and he willingly
undertook to go out, late as it was, and procure some provisions
and a few other things which were sadly needed, as well for my
mother's comfort as for our own. I directed Fanchette to aid him
in the preparation of the other chamber, and thus for a while I
was left alone with mademoiselle. She had taken one of the
stools, and sat cowering over the fire, the hood of her cloak
drawn about her head; in such a manner that even when she looked
at me, which she did from time to time, I saw little more than
her eyes, bright with contemptuous anger.

'So, sir,' she presently began, speaking in a low voice, and
turning slightly towards me, 'you practise lying even here?'

I felt so strongly the futility of denial or explanation that I
shrugged my shoulders and remained silent under the sneer. Two
more days--two more days would take us to Rosny, and my task
would be done, and Mademoiselle and I would part for good and
all. What would it matter then what she thought of me? What did
it matter now?

For the first time in our intercourse my silence seemed to
disconcert and displease her. 'Have you nothing to say for
yourself?' she muttered sharply, crushing a fragment of charcoal
under her foot, and stooping to peer at the ashes. 'Have you not
another lie in your quiver, M. de Marsac?' De Marsac!' And she
repeated the title, with a scornful laugh, as if she put no faith
in my claim to it.

Copyright (c) 2007. fullstories.net. All rights reserved.