Nebraska Newspapers

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A Weak, Nervous Sufferer
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A woman isn't necessarily Industri
als because she has a busy tongue.
Its Tendency.
“Mayme has a very open counte
nance, hasn’t she?”
“Yes, and one that Is very hard to
•hut up."
Proved.
“Her father thinks a great deal of
you."
“Huhl He refused me her hand In
marriage."
“That proves It.”
Rays of Humor.
From underneath the war cloud lit
tle Cashes of humor escape now and
again.
Two Irish sergeants, brought
wounded to Paris, are reported as say
ing that they did not know exactly
where the battle was, but they had
Just been “fighting at Copenhagen.”
They probably meant Compelgn, but
It made no difference in their willing
ness to fight.
The Paris Figaro pictures as a com
mon sight on the streets two men
reading their respective newspapers
through to the end, and then exchang
ing a Figaro for a Matin, and absorb
ingly rereading in tho second newspa
per the identical official announcement
whloh they had read in the first.
Life retains its shades of fun even
In the darkest shadow of trouble.
inventor of the Airbrake.
Who really Invented the airbrake?
Certainly the automatic airbrake, the
one that has proved practicable and ot
permanent value In modern railroad
ing, waa tbe product of the late George
Weetlnghouse’s Ingenuity. His patent
for the automatic brake was taken out
In 1872, superseding the non-automatlo
or “straight” Westinghouse airbrake
patented In 1869, and later tbe West
lnghouee vacuum brake was Invented.
But, as In tbe case of most other In
ventions, there are several claimants
for originality in this field. Thus,
Mme. M. Drouane, daugheer of M.
Debruges of Paris, claims the distinc
tion of priority for her father. The
New York Times has a letter from
State Senator William P. Fiero of
White Plains containing a patent office
declaration by his grandfather, Henry
Miller, of a “new and useful improve
ment In the application of steam and
compressed air to the purpose of op
erating railroad brakes,” recorded Jan
uary 2, 1855. Mr. Miller was doubt
less a pioneer In the progress of air
brake Invention.
Keep Down Uric Acid
Urlo acid la a poison formed Inside onr bodies
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and by the burning up of nerve and muscle
eells during exertion.
Urlo acid Is harmless as long as the kldncv*
filter it promptly fropi the blood, but people
who overdo and overeat, make urlo acid so fast
that it overloads the blood, weakens the kid
neys, and attacks the nerves, causing rheu
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arteries and brlngson dropsy or Bright's disease.
By restoring the kldn ys to normal activity I
Doan's Kidney Pills help to overcome excess
nrlo add.
An Iowa Case
blism t*il * (luji Mrs. C. Bucilnf,
-TWITOTt ICIB• 414 N Locust St..
Waverly, Iowa,
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generally after
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l had awful back
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Cat Doan's at Any Store. 50c s Boa
DOAN’S VAAV
fOOTEB-MlLBURN CO., BUFFALO. N. Y.
>w WUAL1ULU' 'i ■ ggggBBSS
Alta® of L IraordiR ary Bss^sictisa
The Marshal
2?yMary Raymond Shipman Andrews
Author jjie perfecf Tribute, efa
_ Corrrinht, The Tlohh*-Aterrfll C_
CHAPTER XXXVII—(Continued).
"You know I am not abusing our
Francois," Alixe protested. "Why, Pie
tro, my father believes and 1 believe,
that if affairs should so happen that he
has his opportunity he may yet be one
of the great characters in history. My
father says he is made up of inspira
tions, illuminations—and limitations.”
"Yes,” said Pietro thoughtfully. “He
has the faults of brilliancy and fear
lessness. He Judges too rapidly. If
he were afraid ever—if he saw the other
side of a question ever, his judgment
would be safer. It may well happen
that he will be one of the great men
of Europe; it may also happen that
by some single act of mismanagement
he will throw away his career—or his
life. God keep him safe!" Pietro said
simply.
And Alixe echoed it—"God keep him
safe!” And then, "I am going to write
him. Pietro—about us. My father knows
where to reach him at Boulogne.
I am going to say Just a word—that
what he has fished for all his life is
true. It will get to him the night be
fore the battle.”
"Are you sure you are right, Alixe?”
Pietro asked doubtfully.
"Sure," said Alixe buoyantly.
“Give him my love, then," said
Pietro.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
20
feet, a letter grasped In his hand, and
stood waiting.
"Sire!” he said.
Prince Louis flung out his hand with
i a gesture of impulsiveness strange to
his controlled manner, yet not out of
drawing to those who knew him well.
' Ah, Francois," he cried. "Let the
titles go for tonight. Say, ‘Louis,’ as
on that day when we first saw each
other; when the four children played
together in the old chateau ruins. I
have a great desire to hear soma one
who loves me speak my name, simply
as friend to friend. With all those
good fellows”—and he tossed a wave of
the hand to tho door which the con
spirators had left him—“with my of
ficers, it is necessary to keep up for
mality—I realize (,t. But you, my in
spired peasant, are different. You
stand in no class; you would guard my
dignity more quickly than I, myself. I
can trust it to you. The memory of my
mother’s voice calling me 'Louis’ is in*
your heart; call me so, then, tonight,
my friend, as if we were indeed the
brothers we once had to be for five
days.” And Francois smiled his ra
diant. exquisite smile and answered
quietly. “But yes, my brother—Louis.”
And went on, ‘‘I believe I shall not
sleep tonight, Louis. I believe I am
too happy to sleep."
As one reads a novel for relaxation in
the strain of a critical affair, Prince
Louis caught at the distraction of this
side issue. The next morning was
planned to the last detail; there was
nothing to do till daylight, yet he could
not sleep at present. Here was a
romance of some sort. He sank back
on the cushions of the couch of Lieu
tenant Aladenize’s smoking room and
put his feet up luxuriously, and slowly
lighted a cigar of Havana.
‘‘Tell me,” he ordered, and the
gentleness of appeal was in the order.
“Sire”—tho young man began—and
corrected himself. “Louis," he said.
Tho Prince smiled dimly. “Since our
landing I have known that a wonder
ful thing has happened to me. It is”—
he spoke lower—“it is the love of the
woman who is to me the only one in
the world.”
Prince Louis, extended on the couch
smoking, a picture of expressionless
Inattention, missing not an inflection,
cast his mind back rapidly many years.
There, a vague memeory now, he found
a picture-of a spirited, white-clad, little
girl framed in the ruins of the old
castle; of a boy stepping to her side
to champion her sudden embarrass
ment. The heavy-lidded eyes turned a
kindly glance on the erect figure in its
new uniform of an officer of the For
tieth.
THE NIGHT BEFORE.
Out in the dark, In the harbor of
Boulogne the whip Edinburgh Castle
lay rocking in the wind. Prince Louis
Bonaparte, who had chartered her, and
the handful of his followers who had
flailed with him on her from England
had disembarked quietly at twilight,
and in small companies had succeeded
in entering the town and the quarters
of the officers who were, in France, the
nucleus and the hope of their attempt.
In the rooms of Lieutenant Aladenize,
the host of the prince, a short council
had been held to go over once more
the plans which had been discussed
and settled by letters for weeks al
ready. The work was carefully ar
ranged; there was almost nothing to be
changed, and the little company of men
who were trying so large a fate, scat
tered, with grave faces, with quiet
good nights to the prince who might
tomorrow night be their emperor, to
the prince for whose sake they might
tomorrow night be any or all ruined
men or dead men.
Charles Thelin, his valet of many
years, unpacked his highness’ belong
ings busily in Lieutenant Aladenize’s
bedroom; the prince heard—subcon
sciously attentive to small tilings—as
the servant moved about, yet he stood
lost In his thoughts, as the last of
ficer left him. One hand lay on a
tablo littered with papers of the expedi
tion; the gray dull eyes were fixed yet
on the door that had shut out his
friends. There was no hint of waver
ing In the poised mind; there was no
shadow of doubt of his destiny, yet the
man was very human, and tonight
great loneliness seized him. These good
fellows who were risking their lives and
their fortunes for him were devoted to
him without doubt, yet what did it
amount to? That they hoped for ad
vancement though him, it would be
absurd to resent; one and all they be
lieved that he woidd be emperor; they
knew that he would be grateful; their
fortunes were made if tomorrow should
succeed. They had much friendliness
for him—he realized that under his
father s taciturn manner he had his
mother's gift of winning hearts and
that his followers loved him—In a way.
But what did it amount to—love of
followers for a prince? He longed to
night for something more personal and
suddenly, with a pang, he knew what
he wanted—like the homesick lad who
had cried himself to sleep at the Tuil
leries 25 years before, he wanted his
mother.
i congratulate you, mon ami,” he
said gently. “Is it by any chance the
delightful little Mademoiselle Alixe of
the old chateau?"
Beaupre turned scarlet. He was a
marvelous man. this Prince Louis. How
had he guessed? "She loves me— I
have here a letter in which she tells
me that she loves me. Will his high
ness read it?" With an impetuous step
forward ho held the paper toward
Louis Napoleon.
“I thank you,” the prince said grave
ly. He read:
"Francois, what you have wished all
your life is true. The good fairies have
granted one of your wishes before the
battle. That they will give you the
other two on the day of the battle is
the belief of your Alixe.”
And below was written hurriedly,
"Pierto sends his love.”
The prince gave back the letter with
a respectful hand; then looked at
Francois inquiringly. " ‘What you have
wished all your life,’ mon ami?” Fran
cois laughed happily. "One must ex
plain. if it will not tire his highness."
And he told, in a few words, of that
day when his self- restraint had given
way and how, when his guard
was down and he was on the
point of telling his lifelong secret
love, some spirit of perversity—
but Francois did not know it was an
angel—had caught Alixe, and she had
accused him of wishing always that
she might love Pietro. And how,
meshed in that same net of hurt reck
lessness, he had answered in her own
manner—“Yes,” he had said, “it was
that which had been the wish of his
life—that Alixe might love Pietro!"
And Francois laughed gaily, telling the
simple entanglement to the prince, the
night before the battle. “One sees
how she is quick and clear-sighted, my
Alixe,” he said. "For she knew well
even then it was not that I wished.” He
stopped, for in the quiet contained look
of the listener an intangible some
thing struck a chill to his delicately
poised sensitiveness. “What is it,
Louis?” he cried out. “You do not
think I mistake her—mistake—Alixe!”
Prince Louis saw the dawning of
conternation. Rapidly he considered.
Was It well to take away a man’s hap
piness and courage just before a fight?
He lkinembered some words of
Francois spoken three years before,
worlds whoso dramatic bareness had
struck him. "When a knight of the old
time went into battle,” the young man
had said, "he wore on his helmet the
badge of his lady, and the thought of
her in his heart. A man fights better
so." Very well. This blind knight
should have his letter, with the mean
ing ho had read into it, for his lady's
badge, and he should fight tomorrow
with the thought of her in his heart.
The letter suggested another mean
ing to sophisticated Louis Bonaparte,
but there is no need to hasten the feet
of unhappiness. The resonant French |
voice spoke at last in an unused ac
cent of cordiality and the Prince lied,
with ungrudging graciousness.
“Mistaken, my Francois! Not at all.
The little billet-doux breathes love for
you in each line—there is no question!
But, mon ami. you have not finished
your story.!’ So Francois explained ;
about the fetter left with Lucy
Hampton and its premature sending.
“That has reached her now—she
knows now that X love her, she knows
what has really been my lifelong wish
! —she has hurried this,” and his hand
I crushed his note tenderly—“she has
! hurried this to me before the fight—
i that I might know her love also—that]
! I might tight before for you, my
; Prince—Louis—with that joy in my
heart." Prince Louis, his head thrown
back, his expressionless eyes watching
the rings of smoke which he puffed
from his mouth—ring after ring,
mounting in dream-like procession to
' the low ceiling, considered again.
Somewhere in the chain of events of
this love affair his keen practical sense
felt a link that did not fit—a link
i forced into connection. Vaguely he dis
cerned how it was—something had
happened to the Virginian letter—
. there had been a confusion some
where. To him the four words of
nc univveen nortense and this
youngest and dearest son had been
close, and this was the first great event
of h s eventful life In which her clear
mind and charming spirit had not
played Its part. Before Ills attempt on
btrnsburg, now three years ago, he had
prepared two letters, one In case of
success, one of failure, to be sent off
post-haste to the queen. 111 at Arene
herg: tonight there was no one to write
to, no one to whom his success or
failure meant more than to himself.
A1J.that warmth and eager hopefulness
which had outlasted danger and exile
and illness and ago, had gone from
earth, and the body of Hortense lav in
the little church of Revil. near Mnh
maison. Iho Kmperor-to-be dropped
into a chair, his head fell and his o\it
stretched arms rustled amid the plans
of fortifications, and the writing under
his cheek was wet. The weakness was
only for a moment, and quietly, as he
did everything, the prince pulled him
self together. He sat erect and list
with enelln T*8 brllshing clothes
with energy in the bedroom, and
through another door there came a
hglit sound of a paper turned, of a
gay song sung softly. And a
&.BU2<ien,y warmed the prince’s
heart: here was some one who
h?fWkrT°iVn hls. mOther, who hud been,
indeed, for a few days her son: here
I'”}? borie. one who eared for him. he
believed It. with a half-consilming
Hi".1!6 r dev°r}1™- Since the man’s ar
rival from Virginia six weeks before
to have him near himself had been a
Pleasure to Rouis Bonaparte he
seemed to bring back the freshness of
5*? ®ar'y days' of the young confidence
s!?,ono for him. distant
pei haps, but undimmed by the black
clouds vvhich drove now across it. He
was a bit superstittious about Fran
cois as well, with an idea, vvhich he
spoke to no one, that a pivotal interest
u,.c career rested in the modest flg
’.'Have a care of that young man my
prince had said General Montholon,
the old soldier. “Do not trust him too
rar.
The princes faint smile gleamed. “I
would trust the empire to his loyal
heart, general."
“But yes,” answered the general
swiftly. t° his heart, but not to his
head. He is of the dreamers—a vis
ionary. He might ruin many months'
vvork with one good intention." And
the Jinnee reflected, hut did not agree.
lie rose, this night In Boulogne, ns
the paper rustled and the little French
i Provisional chanson sounded front the
room where Francois Beaupre. now Ills
! secretary, had been stalled, and stepped
to tho closed door.
| “De tous cote's l'on que Je suis bote.”
rrancois sang softly. The prince
I ^"dled. He knew the song and Us
place in French history. As he opened
the door the singing stopped: the
young man sprang respectfully to his
I - -
Alixe’s postscript were final. "Pletrr
sends his love." A subsconscious
reasoning made him certain that
Pietro would not have come into such
a letter if it had been indeed a love let
ter; that the three lines of writ
ing just before the battle could
not have held another man’s name,
if they had been written to the
man whom she loved. Very dimly,
very surely the Prince concluded these
things: and then he lowered his cigar,
and his gray dull eyes came down from
the ceiling and rested, kindly on the
radiant face. "You are right, my
friend. It was an exquisite thought of
your lady-love to put this other
weapon, this bright sword of happi
ness into your hand, to fight with to
morrow. Mon Dieu, we will reward
her by sending her back a marshal's
baton by you; a marshal’s baton to
morrow. Francois! How would it
sound, par exemple, to say ‘Madame la
Marechale'?"
The list from Francois' eyes was like
a lamp.
“My Prince—Sire—there are three
things I have desired all my life, all
great things, but of them that one—
the baton of a marshal—is the least.
If I might win her love—I have said;
if I might help put you in Napoleon's
place and shout ‘Vive l’Emperpur’ for
you on the throne of France; if I
might fulfil the emperor’s prophecy
and be not a ‘marshal some day’ any
longer but a marshal of your empire—
It is asking much of one lifetime, above
all for a man born a peasant, is it not?
Yet of those three wishes one wonder
ful fufilment has come to me"—and he
gripped his letter closer—“and once, I
believe tomorrow brings. Before to
morrow night”—his great eyes were
lifted toward the ceiling of the room,
and in them was the rapt look of the
child of the farm house in the Jura, a
look of a seer of visions, a look that
caught at the Prince’s nerves, and made
him draw a breath quickly. “Something
above myself tells me,” Francois said
slowly, and the words came with a
danguid power, as if his personality
were a medium, “that before tomorrow
night the officers who stand about you
shall hail you emperor over the body
of a man who lies before you.”
In the silence, the prince's watch
could be heard ticking. Francois
shivered violently.
“TT.rVi f •* V, V,l~ *_♦ V. _
Ing. “It gives me a crise de nerfs’,
that trick of vision seeing. I do not
like it, and yet at times it seizes nte.
Why should it come to a man happy
as I am—a man tvho has dared ask
three enormous wishes oi the good
fairies; who holds one of them in his
hand”—he lifted the letter—"who sees
another in easy reach, and who,” he
smiled brilliantly, “who will be well
content without the third, my prince,
the first two being his.” He shivered
again. “Is the night raw? It is as if
I were in a grave, this coldness,” he
said, “looking about with a disturbed
gaze, “yet my life is just beginning.”
The prince rose and tossed his cigar
to the fireplace. "It is simply that you
are tired. Francois,” he said in the
tranquil tones which no peril disturbed.
“The nerves of us all are stretched and
yours are the finest strung. Go to
bed, and at daylight you will be warm
enough, with'the work that awaits us.
Sleep well—good night, my friend.”
Later, in the darkness of his cham
ber, Prince Louis lay awake, his im
agination filled with the man whose
dramatic personality appealed to him
as few had ever done. He thought of
his own life, according to his lights
not a bad life, radically strong and
radically gentle, yet complicated, ab
normal from its start, with many
shadows and many stains; then of the
crystal clearness of this other’s, with
his three wishes in which ho trusted
as simply as a child -would trust to the
fairies. A small almost tender stole
across the mask-like features in the
dark. “There is no doubt but the girl
will marry the marquis,” he reflected.
“Yet I am glad I left him his hope and
his happiness.” A vision of Francois'
beatified look rose before him.
“A man fights better so,” the prince
murmured aloud, and, his own sad
ness forgotten in another man’s joy.
he fell asleep.
PITT \ TimVT>v» iTTrirTTr
THE BUGLE-CALL.
The gray dawn of a Sunday morn
ing began to break over the sleeping
city of Boulogne, yet earlier than the
dawn anxious eyes opened to watch,
and men’s hearts beat fast to meet it.
Scattered in lodging houses and bar
racks Louis Napoleon’s followers were
waiting before daylight for the part
they had to play. No man among
them was as quiet, as little nervous as
the prince, yet his as well as every
gallant heart of them felt a throb of
relief with its bound of excitement
when a trumpet from the Austerlitz
barracks, the barracks of the fourth
artillery, Napoleon’s own regiment,
suddenly sounded.
It was the signal, and in a moment
the Prince and his escort were mov
ing down the dark street toward Col
onel Vaudrey’s quarters, toward that
ringing note not yet died out from the
pulsing air. One could see a little
bustle through the drowsy place—a
head out of a window here and there,
blinking puzzled eyes to see what the
unusual summons, the early trumpet
note might mean. But a handful of
men in uniform was no sensation in
the garrison town and the good citi
zens went tack to their morning naps.
The city was tranquil when Prince
Louis reached the barrack gate, and
the soldier blood in him rushed in a
tide when he saw 60 mounted artil
lerymen posted at the entrance, and
beyond, in the yard, statue-like, war
like, silent, the regiment formed in
square. If the fourth artillery fol
lowed its colonel, if the day wrent well,
this was the core of his army. Colonel
Vaudrey was in the center of the
square; the prince marched quietly to
him and as he came, with a sharp
simultaneous clatter that was the
music of heaven to his ears, the whole
regiment presented arms.
In the glowing light the soldiers
w’ho fronted toward him could see that
the colorless face turned grayer, but
that was all, and quickly Colonel Vau
i drey spoke to his men.
| “Soldiers of the fourth artillery,” he
| said loudly, "a revolution begins today
under the nephew of the Emperor Na
■ poleon. He is before you, and
comes to lead you. He has re
turned to his land to give back
I the people their rights, the army
i its greatness. He trusts in your cour
I J*ge, your devotion to accomplish this
glorious mission. My soldiers your colo
nel has answered for you. Shout then
with me ‘Long live Napoleon! Long live
the emperor.’ ”
The terse soldierly words were hard
ly finished when the regiment, strongly
Bonapartist always, carried off its feet
by the sight of the prince, by the honor
of being the first to whom he came,
caught up the cry, and the deep voices
sent it rolling down the empty streets.
Louis Bonaparte, standing erect, mo
tionless, impassive as always, won
dered if a pulse might beat harder than
this and not break. He held up his
hand, and rapidly, yet with lingering
shouts of enthusiasm, the tumult quiet
ed. The regiment to its farthest man
heard every word of the strong tones.
"Soldiers,” he said, “I have come to
you first because between you and me
there are great memories. With you
the emperor, my uncle, served as cap
tain; with you he won glory at the
siege of Toulon; you opened the gates
| of Grenoble to Mm when he came back
from Elba. Soldiers, the honor of be
ginning a new empire shall be yours;
yours shall be the honor of saluting
first the eagle of Austerlitz and Wag
ram. He caught the standard from an
officer and held it high. "It is the sign
of French glory; ijt has shone over
every battle field; it has passed through
every capitol of Europe. Soldiers, rally
to the eagle! I trust it to you—we will
march today against the oppressors,
crying ‘Long live France.’ ’’
One who has not heard a regiment
gone mad can not know how it was.
With deafening clatter and roar every
sword wras drawn and the shakos flew
aloft and again and again the men’s
deep voices sent up in broken magnifi
cent chorus the great historic cry to
which armies had gone into battle.
“Vive rEmpereur! Vive Napoleon!"
The souls of 1,000 men were on fire
with memories and traditions, with a
passion of consecration to a cause, and
as if the spell of the name grew strong
er with its repetition they shouted over
and over, in tremendous unison, over
and over and over.
“Vive Napoleon! Vive rEmpereur!"
It was necessary at last for the quiet
slender young man who was the storm
center to raise his hand again and with
a word, with the glimmer of a smile to
speak his gratitude—to stop the storm.
There was much to be done. The Fourth
artillery was but one of several regi
ments to be gained if the victory were
to be complete. Colonel Lombard was
despatched to a printing office with
proclamations to be struck off; Lieu
tenant Laity hurried away to his bat
talion; a detachment was sent to hold
the telegraph office; the tumult once
quieted, the yard was a scene of effi
cient business, for all this had been
planned and each officer knew his
work. In a very few moments the of
ficers of the Third artillery who were
with the prince had hastened to their
quarters, another had been sent to
arouse the Forty-sixth of the line, at
the Place d’ Alton barracks, and shortly
Prince Louis himself was on his way
to the same place. Through the streets
of the city, no longer empty, he passed
with his officers, and the people poured
from their houses and joined and an
swered the shouts of the soldiers.
“Vive l’Empereur!” the soldiers cried.
“It Is the nephew of Napoleon,” and
the citizens threw back, “Vive ’Em
pereur! It is the son of the honest king
of Holland! It is the grandson of Jose
phine!”
picaocu »u uuse nuuut me small
figure in its Swiss uniform of a colonel
that for a moment he was separated
from his officers, and Colonel Vaudrey,
smiling for all his military discipline,
was forced to order his mounted artil
lerymen to clear the road. Every mo
ment an old soldier broke out of the
mass and embraced the eagle which
Lieutenant de Querelles carried proud
ly high above all this emotion; the sol
diers’ eyes flashed with success; the*!
prince’s heart beat high for joy to know
that he had not misread the heart of
army or people. When the column
passed the gendarmerie the guard
turned out and presented arms, shout
ing, “Long live the emperor!" So he
went through the streets of Boulogne,
Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, eight long
years before he came to his own, and
marched in triumph and acclamation
to a failure.
And close by his side, his look as ra
diant as the prince’s look was contained
and impassive, marched always Fran
cois Beaupre. The hard-earned mili
tary knowledge, the patient toil of
preparation had come into play, and in
100 ways the man had been useful.
With no exact rank as yet, but ready
at any moment, eager for the hardest
task, never asking for rest, quick wit
ted, resourceful, officers, as well as
prince, had developed a habit of turn
ing to Beaupre for service after ser
vice. And always they were met with
glad consent which encouraged them to
ask more until the prince had said:
“It is the case of the willing horse; I
will not permit that my right-hand
man be worked to death—it must stop."
Today, however, Francois, had a def
inite duty of responsibility. While the
prince marched, gathering strength at
every yard, thdough the town toward
the Place d’ Alton at its farther side,
Colonel Couard of the Third artillery
had gone to proclaim the great news to
his regiment and to hold them ready.
In case of success at the Place d’ Al
ton, Beaupre was to go back and bring
them to join the prince.In case of fail
ure they were to be his reserve. The
Place d’ Alton barracks lay betw;een
town and ramparts, to be reachced
from the town side only by a narrow
lane; but the ramparts commanded
with a large open space the yard where
the soldiers assmebled. If the prince
entered from the town side, from the
street—Faubourg Pierre— only an es
cort could go with him. If he went by
the ramparts the whole enthusiastic
Fourth artillery might be at his back.
This then was the route chosen.
But as the prince and the regiment
and the swinging shouting mass of
citizens made its way toward the quar
ters, suddenly, too late, the officers
about his highness saw that some one
had blundered. Somewhere in the van
a man had lost his head, had forgotten,
and the compact inelastic procession
had been led toward the approach from
Faubourg Pierre, the narrow lane at
the side toward the city. It was a ser
ious mistake, yet not of necessity fatal,
and at all events they must make the
best of it. The prince could not make
a dramatic entrance at the head of a
shouting regiment, but for all that he
might win the Forty-sixth.
He did win the Forty-sixth. Some
thing had happened to the officer sent
to arouse them—another slip in the
chain—and instead of being drawn up
in the yard they were getting ready for
Sunday inspection, but they flocked to
the windows at the noise, they rushed
into the yard at the name of Napoleon.
An old sergeant of the Imperial Guard
ran forward and kissed Prince Louis'
hand, and the reserved face lightened—
he knew the value of a bit of sentiment
with Frenchmen; he was not wrong;
in a moment the line regiment had
caught up the cries of “Vive 1’ Emper
eur!”. raised by the artillerymen, and
the earlier scene of the Austerlitz bar
racks was being repeated here. Prince
Louis, pale and composed in, the center
of the road of voices, the seething sea
of excitment, heard a word at his ear
and turned.
'•Qiro > * lo c 11 a c- d T 1,-I
your majesty’s other regiment,” Fran
cois said, and the prince answered
quietly:
“Yes, It Is success. Go, mon ami.”
In a moment the messenger had
thrown himself on the horse of an artil
leryman and forced a way through
tho recoiling mass, down the lane, and
out to the Faubourg Pierre. In the
free street he galloped the horse,
through the windings that he had
learned with this moment in his mind.
The Third was drawn up waiting, and
j a shout like a clap of thunder greeted
i his news. Buoyant, proud, he took his
place by the colonel at their head, and
gaily the joyful march back began.
The sun had come from behind the
clouds of early morning and shone
' gloriously on glancing steel on the bril
j liant swinging line of the regiment.
Low branches of trees brushed Fran
cois' shoulder as he rode and the touch
I thrilled him, for he knew by it that this
j was true and not a dream, and he,
' Francois Beaupre, was leading a reg
! lment of France to France's emperor,
j The glory, the joy of his happy life, cul
minated in those bright moments.
Suddenly a man galloped from a side
street, in front of the advancing troops,
————■——M——.»
he stopped, saluted, called a word. II!
was not a day to take anything for
granted; Colonel Cpuard halted the
regiment. i
“The arsenal,” the man gasped.
"They have taken Monsieur de Persigny
prisoner. Monsieur le General Volrol
is on his way, but he is distant. It is
a step from here. The Third artillery
could arrive# there before him—they
would surrender—Monsieur de Persigny
would be released”—he stopped breath
less.
The colonel turned an Inquiring look
on Francois. As ihe prince's messen
ger. as the man whom he had seen clos
est to the prince's person, he deferred!
to him, and Francois realized that ho
must make, and make quickly, a mo
mentous decision.
T#ie arsenal was immense and lightly
guarded. De Persigny had been sent
with a small force to take It, for the;
ammunition it held might at any mo
ment be of supreme importance. It
seemed that the detachment which
guarded it had been underrated, for it
had made prisoners of De Persigny and
his men, and this aide-de-camp had
alone escaped. If they were to bo
rescued, if the arsenal was to be gained
for the prince, this very moment must
be seized. General Voirot, royalist, the
commandant at Boulonge, was on bis
way with reinforcements and tlia
Third might well hold the arsenal
against him nut not gain it
from him, with his whole being con
centrated Francois thought. The or
ders were plain—to lead the third artil
lery to join the Prince on the ramparts.
But there are times in history when to
obey orders is treachery. Was not this
moment heavy with the right or wrong
of his decision, one of them? Was it
not the part of a mind capable of great
ness to know and grasp the flying sec
ond of opportunity? Would not the
Prince reproach him, if he stupidly let
this one chance in a thousand go by,
for servile fear of disobeying orders?
He had left his Highness safe with two
regiments at his back; this other could
do nothing at the Place d’Alton bar
racks but swell the ranks; here, by
a turn of a hand, they might win for
the cause the very blood and bones of
success, a mighty arsenal, and for
themselves honor and gratitude from
their Emperor. In Francois’ mind was
a touch of innocent vanity that he
should have the power to render so sig
np' a service, yet no thought at all for
himself or for the honor he might gain
or lose; whole-heartedly he weighed the
reasons why or why not it would be
best for the Prince.
The aide-de-camp’s voice broke In.
“My Colonel, I beg you, I implore you,
save Monsieur de Persigny. The Prince
loves him—he will be very angry if he
is • left helpless—they threaten to exe
cut him—I myself heard—I implore
you. Monsieur le Colonel. For the rest,
it is indeed the moment of fate to win
the arsenal.”
Francois’ face lit with a fire of de
cision. “My Colonel, it is for the
Prince—it would be his will— we must
not let slip the gift of destiny. To tha
arsenal!”
And while orders rang out sharply
and the regiments wheeled into sliding
lines that doubled and parted and
flowed together again in an elastic
stream toward the looming arsenal,
Francois, with a quick word to De Per
signy’s aide-do-camp, was writing rap
idly on a bit of paper.
“You will take this to the Prince at
once,” he ordered, and the young offi
cer saluted, for he. too, knew, as most
of them did, this man's anomalous yet
strong hold on Prince Louis.
Francois rode again to the colonel’s
side, and he did not doubt that he had
decided rightly.
(Continued next week.)
JAP’S CARE IN WAR.
General Oku, In speaking of the
Japanese victories in 1904, said: “With
the Germans in 1870-71 the school
master won the victory; with the Jap
anese it was the microscope.” Never
in the history of modern warfare has
a nation gone to conflict with so com
plete an equipment for protection
against disease as did the Japs in 1904.
At the head of the work of sanita
tion there was a general sanitary di
rector with headquarters at Tokio.;
Under him were eight chief sanitary
officers of armies. Then followed'
chief sanitary officers of divisions. For
each infantry regiment there were six
sanitary officers, 15 noncommissioned
officers, 12 nurses, and 24 bearers.
Each regiment was equipped with
four sanitary chests and four litters
on pack animals (In lieu of the Ger
man sanitary wagon). In addition
there were a full equipment of di
vision sanitarians and supplies and
complemental equipment at advan
tageous points.
Says Major Duncan in the Military
Surgeon: "The Japanese leaders un
derstood thoroughly the meaning of
themaxim, ‘The less the outgo from
the army in exhausted and sick, the
greater is its fighting ability.’ ”
Never in history were private sol
diers so thoroughly drilled in sanita
tion. hygiene and care of the body.
Each soldier was issued a sanitary
guide in which advice as to march
ing and living could be found. Each
soldier carried a first aid packet in
which there were a few simple rem
edies. After hard marches the men
bathed their bodies. From officer to
soldier great car was taken with foot
wear. They used foot cloths instead
of stockings. At every resting place
■water was ready boiled and cooled.
Field trains were equipped with great
filters.
In the trenches and huts the greatest
cleanliness prevailed. Great quanti
ties of lime were issued to the troops
in the field. Rations of rice and dried
plums were issued to the men. On
the company wagon were fish, dried
meat, dried vegetables and condensed
milk.
The diet at the beginning consisted
too much of polished rice, and, in con
sequence, a great epidemic of beriberi
developed. After this the quantity of
meat and fish was increased, and some
white bread was added to the ration.
During battles the cooking was done in
the rear, and warm food was carried
to the men in the trenches.
From the Atlantic.
Among many primitive peoples It waa
customary to eliminate epileptics Idiots
lunatics, and those afflicted with Incur
able Ills; and the practice of putting to
death weak, deformed, and sickly chil
dren was extremely prevalent. The cus
tom among the Spartans of raising only
their stronger children will occur to
every one; even Aristotle advocates the
rule that nothing Imperfect or maimed
shall be brought up. And Plato, who elab
orated the most rigid eugenic program
ever devised, recommends that the chil
dren of the more depraved, and such oth
ers as are In any way Imperfect, be hidden
away in some secret and obscure place
Eugenics is by no means a modern sci
ence. Primitive peoples took it much
more seriously and practiced It more con
sistently than we do today. There can
be no manner of doubt that the weak de
formed, the foolish, the insane and’ de
generate of all kinds, have a much great
er opportunity to survive and propagate
their defects than they commonly had
among primitive peoples.
By a curious old law dating back to
1779 all the grapes left on the vinea
after the harvest at Beziers, France,
go to the poor, but no attention Is paid
to this law.
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