Motion Picture Story Magazine (Aug 1911-Jan 1912)

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TEE COURIER OF LYONS 89 PLANNING THE ROBBERY him with condescending good-natured indifference. Presently Cnrriol had produced a paper, and was pointing eagerly to a certain item. Dubosc's eyes narrowed with interest as he listened to the knave's insinuating words. ' ' The mail-coach which passes Lieusaint tomorrow afternoon bears a precious burden. General Bonaparte has requisitioned seventy-five thousand pounds for the Army of Italy. Did you see Lesurques, who just went out? He is the image of yourself, except for the fact that he has not your honor's imposing manner. His father, the old Lesurques, keeps the inn at Lieusaint. Why not call upon the old man? Surely a man who can drink like you can see thru a millstone with a hole in it." ' ' Done ! ' ' said Dubosc, abruptly. "And these?" "Are with you to the death," replied Curriol for his two ragged henchmen. They cringed and nodded ingratiatingly. The following morning, Lesurques betook himself to the house of Chopard's wife. Madame Chopard gained a scant living by renting horses to occasional travelers, and thanked her stars devoutly each time the horse was returned. There could be no doubt of Lesurques' honesty, however. One glance was sufficient, and Madame Chopard gladly rented him a dark bay. One of Lesurques' pockets was heavy with a bag of gold, for he had heard that his father's affairs had not prospered, and he was setting out to relieve his distress. His heart was as light as his pocket was heavy, as he rode away thinking fondly of his father's joy at seeing him and the gratification he anticipated from the giving of the timely relief. He sang a hunting-song sturdily, as he set out on the road to Lieusaint. If Lesurques had not taken his daughter to dine at the Restaurant du Plat d'Etain, the diabolic scheme never would have hatched in Curriol's cunning brain. If he had not broken his spur in his haste to see his old father, the whole course of his existence would have been changed, and this true story of it would never have been written. Ignorant of all this, he swung from his horse in front of the old inn whence hung the battered sign "Lesurques — Traiteur, " and called loudly to those within. The horse-boy led away his mount, as the old man rushed out to greet his son, and kist him, tremulous with joy. "Father," began Lesurques, without preamble, "they bring me sad tales of the hard times you are undergoing. I take it ill that you did not let me know. But, thanks to God, I am able to repair your fortunes without impairing your granddaughter's dot. I bring you this." The old man thrust back the proffered bag of gold with a touch of pride. ' ' Good son ! good son ! " he cried, "I want but little at my time of life. The love you bring me is worth all that gold, and more. No, no. My boy and I make out a living. The mail-coach stops here twice a week : I sell my wines." Urge as he would, Lesurques could not induce his aged father to accept the money as gift or loan. Secretly proud of the old man's sturdy independence, he finally arose to take his leave. After a last fond embrace, the old man hobbled hastily away to conceal the tears that contained as much of joy and gratitude for such a son as grief at his departure. When the