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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE.
waited thru weary days for her husband's return. All day she sat by the window with her blue-eyed babe, looking eagerly down the street. All night she lay sleepless, the babe cuddled on her arm, listening for his footsteps. Inquiry, advertisement, search, were all in vain.
"Where could he have gone, DeFarge, what could have happened?" she moaned, pitifully, to the young servant who, from a mere child, had been her husband's devoted follower. But the faithful fellow could only shake his head sor
r o w
The golden head turned upon the pillow. A faint sigh escaped the trembling lips, the white lids closed over the tired eyes, once so radiant, and the eager spirit of the young wife went forth, seeking its mate.
Twenty years glided slowly by. The nobility danced and feasted and carried everything with a high hand. The common horde slaved and starved and lived, apparently, for the pleasure and sustenance of their lords and masters. If tiny rivulets of discontent were joining a n d s w e lling
fully.
Swiftly the young wife faded. One mornino defarge takes little
she called De
Farge and put the child in his arms.
"I shall soon go," she said, faintly, "and I leave my child in your care. Our little property is with Tellson's Bank, in England. Take Lucie to Mr. Lorry, their agent here in Paris. I wish him to be her guardian, and to have her cared for and educated in England. Let her life be unclouded by this awful shadow of uncertainty. Let her believe herself an orphan from infancy. Oh, my husband, my beloved, if I could but know ! Promise me, DeFarge, that you will follow my wishes."
"I promise," said DeFarge, solemnly.
LUCIE TO MR. LORRY.
steady tide, soon to drench the land with a red flood of horror, the nobility did not know it. Their doctrine was perfectly simple — the under dogs should be under dogs, forever; should one growl, or show a gleam of white teeth, ofT with his head, and on with the dancing and feasting.
In a narrow street of the suburb of Saint Antoine stood the wineshop of Monsieur DeFarge. There was excitement in the thorofare. A large cask of wine had accidentally been broken and its contents were gushing forth into the street. From attics and from cellars, and from foul, miserable tenements, flocked half-starved women, ragged, desperate men, and little children with thin, old faces. All were