CHAPTER III.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.