Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

A REPUBLICAN MARRIAGE. 103 "Make him salute the cap of liberty!" thundered the burly Carriere. He roughly snatched a tri-colored scarf from one of his men, and presented it to the trembling Cyril. The latter louted low to the cap of liberty, and bound the scarf about his waist. A derisive cheer went up from the soldiery. "And now the woman/' Carriere commanded. The soldier held up the cap before her as Carriere offered her a scarf. At last she changed from her rigid immobility. Snatching the scarf with her tiny fingers, she tore it across and trampled it beneath her feet. And she shook her white fist at the cap of liberty. With a roar the mob surged upon her as she stood in silence, an empress defied. With something like fear they recoiled again as Bernard le Fer dashed in between. He thrust them like mannikins away from her, and turned upon the raging Carriere. "Here," he said, pointing to the breast of his uniform, "is the medal I won at Valmy. Here is the ribbon I won at Jemappes. This cross I got at Valenciennes. That was when they made me a Sergeant. For all this I now claim my reward. Give me the life of this woman! I love her!" Carriere laughed brutally in Bernard's face. He signalled the soldiery to sieze the Countess Helene, but once again the huge blacksmith thrust them back. Tearing the tri-colored scarf from his waist, he placed himself at the Countess' side. Next came the medals, torn from his breast, and be trampled them savagely beneath his feet. "That for Valmy, for Jemappes, for Valenciennes!" he cried. "A thousand devils take your Republic! If I die, I die with her that 1 love !" At Carriere's signal the mob closed once more about them. There was a brief but violent struggle. Then Bernard in his tattered uniform, and the Countess in her silken gown were led forth from the room. The sack of the castle went merrily on. From the window of the prison cell the guillotine could be seen rising gaunt and stark against the sere November trees. Bernard sat silently on a stool, and Helene de la Croix sat at the rough wooden table. Xo word passed between them as they waited the hour. The door was flung open, and Carriere blustered in. A rough friendliness had superseded his former truculent violence. Bernard le Fer was a valuable man. "Come, Bernard," he said to the latter who had risen, "come, old friend, I can still save you. See, here is a liberty cap. Put it on. It is your last chance." He patted him clumsily on the shoulder. _ "Come," he said. "For the last time, I offer you this cap. Will you come back to us?" Helene de la Croix had raised her head. For the first time in her proud young life her eyes sought Bernard's. He never glanced at the proffered cap, but his eyes held hers for a long-drawn moment. His head was high and his attitude haughty, but there was that in his eyes that seemed seeking, seeking to read a meaning. Then he slowly shook his head. "What!" snarled Carriere in fury. "What ! You will not accept my offer ? You prefer the woman?" Bernard silently nodded, his voice drowned out by the roar of the mob that was raging outside. Carriere stepped to the open window, and gestured above their heads toward the guillotine. "Choose," he said hoarsely. "Choose this cap — and me, or else tin's woman — and the guillotine! Which shall it be?" For one instant Bernard shifted his eyes to Carriere's with an expression of supreme contempt. Then he pointed to Helene and the window. "I will take love;' he said, -—and death." Some occult power she could not control brought the Countess Helene to her feet. Her pure white face shone with a holy light above her soiled and