Lazarre by Mary Hartwell Catherwood
page 12 of 444 (02%)
page 12 of 444 (02%)
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them noted the traits of his house, even to his ears, which were full at
top, and without any indentation at the bottom where they met the sweep of the jaw. The dauphin of France had been the most tortured victim of his country's Revolution. By a jailer who cut his eyebrow open with a blow, and knocked him down on the slightest pretext, the child had been forced to drown memory in fiery liquor, month after month. During six worse months, which might have been bettered by even such a jailer, hid from the light in an airless dungeon, covered with rags which were never changed, and with filth and vermin which daily accumulated, having his food passed to him through a slit in the door, hearing no human voice, seeing no human face, his joints swelling with poisoned blood, he had died in everything except physical vitality, and was taken out at last merely a breathing corpse. Then it was proclaimed that this corpse had ceased to breathe. The heir of a long line of kings was coffined and buried. While the elder De Ferrier shed nervous tears, the younger looked on with eyes which had seen the drollery of the French Revolution. "I wish I knew the man who has played this clever trick, and whether honest men or the rabble are behind it." "Let us find him and embrace him!" "_I_ would rather embrace his prospects when the house of Bourbon comes again to the throne of France. Who is that fellow at the gate? He looks as if he had some business here." |
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