Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 93: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HIS SERVICE TO FOLLY. “De Tourraine? A kinsman of the marquis and Violetter” “Their kinsman. Grand Pré was my birthplace and would have been mine had I not been stolen—and broken. I escaped death. But what has life been to me? It is just, young master, that a De Tourraine should be the means of vengeance on Chris- tophe.” “T thought that honor, if it be honor, would fall on De Banana to- night,” said Basil. “When I left, the emperor seemed as if seized by a fit, he had been so terrified and was after- ward so enraged.” “De Banana, being in danger of los- ing both bride and Grand Pré thought a fright might compel Christophe to carry out his promise, so he persuaded the Mad Dancer to the task of playing ghost. “ The Little Fire is light on her feet as thistle-down. JI wish I had seen that dance. Swathed in white, with the death mask of Sans Souci, she must have frightened him.’ Gefondo smacked his lips as if he tasted a wine of rare bouquet, and again grinned. “ Well, young master, it promises to be a busy day for all.” ‘What of your kinsman, the mar- quis?’ asked Basil. “T had news, but it is sad. When his daughter disappeared last night he swore she had been stolen by the em- peror’s connivance, and his grief was too great a trial at his age. He was suddenly stricken. Fortunately, he will die.”’ “ How pitiful. Where is he? Ill go and see him and assure him that—’ Gefondo made a gesture to com- mand silence. “ Assure him that these walls have ears, young master. His death will leave me heir of Grand Pré, now that De Banana has turned fool and is like to drive you from your position at court. “Tt is passing strange, but as I called 231 to see the marquis not a half hour ago, his wandering mind mistook me for his cousin, and he spoke as if we had just met on the quay. He was happy over his welcome. ‘““T left him because of this turmoil in the royal bedchamber, and thought I would sleep a moment.” “You never seem to rest, Gefondo.”’ “On board Le Diable Noir you heard that on this island sleep was dan- gerous, and closed eyes an invitation to death. It is true.” “ This land looks so beautiful,” com- mented Basil, “but surely it is hell.” “*Men’s greed and passions have made it hell. Once, they say, it was like paradise. I was born too late to remember anything but a dream of dusk and stars and a woman who crooned lullabies as my head lay on her breast. ‘They stole me from her arms.” The lips of Gefondo snarled like an animal’s. “‘ They took me to the jun- gle and I became one of the brother- hood, a thing like leprosy in my life, which ostracizes a man from his peo- ple for all time. I, who am a De Tourraine!’”’ The acrid bitterness of his voice, the hatred shining in his eyes made a de- moniac mask of his face. He leaped at the window frame, catching stones and cornices, swung out, and like a spider scuttled at an incredible speed which showed long practice, to the courtyard below. Sun gold gilded the pearl gray light of dawn flowing over Milot Valley. Basil dropped back on the pillow and © closed his eyes. ‘Thoughts tormented him like stinging insects he could not brush aside. He should never have returned to the Citadel. It was impossible now to save the bed-ridden and dying marquis whose release was in the hands of a higher king than Christophe. How, since he was again prisoner, could he escape again and find Violette? TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK EOPMICLOOO (E@)