A WALK AND A WARNING.
After breakfast, Frank, Jack, and Harry started out for a stroll.
Frenchmen of leisure seldom see Paris in the morning. For that matter,
the majority of foreigners seldom see it at that time. It is the
universal belief that “gay Paree” is at its best at night, and
foreigners with that “frisky feeling” usually wear off much of their
exuberance at night, and sleep away forenoons in recuperating for
another night. But the Yale lads were there to see the city by day, as
well as by night. They found it very bright and beautiful that sunny
morning, as they strolled down the Rivoli. The fountains were sparkling
in the sunshine, and sparrows were chittering on the brink of the stone
bowls. They came to the Place du Châtelet, and strolled over the bridge,
where the heavy carts were rumbling, and an occasional omnibus rolled
along. From the bridge, the city looked very attractive, rising amid a
bower of trees, magnificent and graceful in architecture, and harmonious
in its general effect. Columns and arches could be seen, and, as they
walked onward slowly, they came in view of the great Cathedral of Notre
Dame, rising beyond the barracks. To the right was the Palais de
Justice, with its clock and turrets, and stalking sentinels, in blue and
vermilion. Then they came to the Place St. Michel, where there was a
jumble of carts and omnibuses at that early hour, rumbling about the
fountain of ugly, water-spitting griffins.
As they strolled leisurely along, Frank talked to them of the places
they passed. Diamond was intensely interested in everything. Paris had a
history, and, for him, it was fascinating in a thousand ways.
They passed on up the hill of the Boulevard St. Michel, where there were
tooting trams and dawdling gendarmes, strolling in the sunshine, and
Merry explained that, when they stepped from the stones of the Place St.
Michel, they had “crossed the frontier” and entered the famous Latin
Quartier. At last they came to the Luxembourg, which was a blaze of
flowers. They walked slowly along the tree-lined avenues, passing
moss-covered marbles and old-time columns, and strolled through the
grove of the bronze lion, till they came out to the tree-crowned terrace
above the fountain.
Diamond uttered an exclamation of pleasure.
“Beautiful!” he cried, gazing down at the basin, shimmering in the
morning sunshine.
All around them were trees, and flowers, and statues, and winding walks.
At a distance, where ended an avenue of trees, the Observatory rose, its
white dome looming up amid the green like an Eastern mosque. At the
opposite end of the avenue was the massive palace, with its every window
fiery in the morning sunshine. Around the fountain doves were wheeling
and cooing. Bees were buzzing amid the flowers, and a gendarme, or
policeman, was loitering on his way.
They found a place to sit down and talk. The bells of St. Sulpice chimed
the hour, and the palace answered them, stroke for stroke. It was all so
peaceful and beautiful that it did not seem possible men had ever fought
like wild beasts there in that happy city. It did not seem possible the
streets had been deluged with innocent blood, that wild-eyed fanatics
had razed the beautiful columns and statues, had burned, and wrecked,
and ruined. It did not seem possible that the city had been besieged,
and bombarded, and pillaged. They sat and talked of those things.
“Those days are past forever,” said Rattleton.
“Who knows?” spoke Frank.
They looked at him in surprise.
“What do you think?” asked Jack. “Do you look for another revolution in
France?”
“It may come.”
“What will bring it?”
“Justice.”
“By that you mean—just what?”
“The reversal of the Dreyfus verdict—perhaps. To-day, France is resting
over a slumbering volcano; it is impossible to predict when the eruption
may occur.”
“Then you believe there is a possibility that poor Dreyfus may obtain
justice?”
“A possibility—yes. At any rate, the whole Dreyfus affair is an
ineffaceable blot on France. The country is army-ridden. The army
condemned the poor Jew to Devil’s Island, and the army can make no
mistake. The honor of the army must be maintained, at any cost, and so
conspiracy follows conspiracy, and forgery follows forgery, till the
whole affair is so tangled and twisted that a revolution may cut the
twisted skein, which nothing seems to unravel.”
“And then what will happen?”
“Who can tell? The streets of Paris may again run red with human blood,
works of art may be destroyed, beautiful buildings may be razed, and
from the ashes and ruins another form of government may rise. It is not
easy to foretell the future of France. Frenchmen are changeable. What
pleases them to-day they regard with indifference or contempt
to-morrow.”
“Well, I fancy we’ll have a peaceful time here,” said Jack.
“It’ll be a change from what we have been having,” came quickly from
Harry. “Things were exciting enough in England.”
“Yes,” nodded Frank; “we did have a hot time there, take it all
together.”
“And the wind-up was about as hot as anything,” grinned Rattleton. “We
went down into the country with Reynolds, where we thought it would be
dead quiet, and things fairly sizzled. Harris turned up again, and tried
to kidnap Elsie. The cross-country gallop turned into a man-hunt, and
Merry came near finishing Harris when he caught him.”
“He escaped being hanged when he was drowned, after that,” declared
Diamond. “He’ll never trouble anybody again.”
“Never,” nodded Frank. “I am glad his blood is not on my hands, but I
did come near finishing him at the bridge.”
“You came out of your trance then,” said the Virginian. “Harris realized
that the time when you would spare him was past, and that is why he made
such a desperate attempt to escape by swimming the river.”
“Let’s not talk about the poor devil,” said Merry seriously. “He is
dead.”
“And so is his running-mate, Brattle.”
“No. I have learned that Martin Brattle was not killed in London, but
was seriously injured, and taken to a hospital, where he gave a
fictitious name. I have reasons to believe he recovered.”
“Well, it’s hardly probable he’ll ever trouble you again.”
“I hope he’ll have sense enough to keep away from me. One thing that
happened in London I seriously regret.”
“What was that?”
“I do not know what became of the man of mystery, Mr. Noname, but it
seems that he must have perished in the East End fire, at which Brattle
was injured.”
“He was a queer creature.”
“And it was remarkable that he took such an interest in me. I did not
understand it then, and I do not understand it now. He claimed that he
was my guardian spirit—my good genius.”
“He talked like a lunatic sometimes.”
“And yet to him I owe so much! But for him, I might never have found
Elsie when Brattle carried her off. He led me straight to her, and then
he vanished. Before that, when I was in danger, he appeared, and warned
me; since then, no matter what danger has menaced me, he has not
appeared, so I fear he perished in the fire.”
“Well, it’s not likely you will need to be warned in Paris, for I fancy
our visit here will pass off quietly, with nothing at all in the way of
dangerous adventure.”
After awhile, they rose, and started to stroll back to the hotel. They
passed out of the Luxembourg to the Boulevard, but had not walked far
before a closed carriage drew close to the curbing. From behind the
curtained window a black-gloved hand reached out, and beckoned, while a
voice called:
“Frank Merriwell!”
Merry started at the sound of that voice. It seemed to stir slumbering
memories in his heart, and it caused a strange sensation to pass over
him. The hand disappeared, reappeared, held a folded paper toward Frank.
Again the voice spoke his name. Merry stepped toward the cab, and took
the bit of paper. Then he reached to draw the curtain, but the driver
whipped up his horses, and the cab rolled away.
He unfolded the paper, and read:
“In Paris, you must face perils such as never before menaced
you, but I shall be near to warn you of danger.”
“THE MAN WITHOUT A NAME.”
Frank would have pursued the carriage, but it was rolling away too
swiftly for him to overtake it.
His companions observed his excitement, and, as such agitation was
something rare in him, they knew it meant more than they could
understand.
“What is it?” asked Diamond.
“What’s the matter?” spluttered Rattleton.
Frank stared at the slip of paper.
“It must be a trick,” he said. “Did either of you see the person who
handed me this?”
Neither of them had.
“I saw nothing but his hand,” said Jack.
“And that was covered by a black glove,” spoke Harry.
“What’s it say?” asked the Virginian.
Frank read it aloud, and then looked into the faces of his friends.
“What do you think of it?” he asked.
“You can search me!” gasped Harry. “I don’t know what to think of it.
Dut the whickens—no; what the dickens does it mean?”
“It can’t be from the Man of Mystery,” asserted the Virginian. “Still,
he called himself the Man Without a Name.”
Frank stared hard at the writing on the paper. After a little, he said:
“It is as if one had risen from the dead, for I believe this came from
Mr. Noname.”
“Well, this mysterious business is getting thin!” cried Jack.
“I think it’s getting thick,” said Harry.
“What’ll you do, Frank?” asked the Virginian.
“Nothing; simply wait for developments.”
“You must be getting rather tired of this. Here, we were just saying
we’d have a peaceful, jolly time here in Paris, and right on top of it
the fun begins. Why should you be in danger here? Harris will not
trouble you, and Brattle is in London. You are practically a stranger in
a strange city. I think it’s rot! I don’t take any stock in it.”
“Whether you take any stock in it or not, you must confess that it is
rather odd.”
“It couldn’t be a joke? You don’t suppose Browning——”
“I thought of that, but it doesn’t seem likely. I’ll wager that Bruce is
sleeping off the excitement of last night.”
The more they talked about it, the more mystified they became, till, at
last, they gave it up. Frank put the paper in his pocket, and they
continued their careless stroll back to the hotel.
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