Prologue—1783 A. D.
326 Words
Prologue—1783 A. D.They brought the boy home, the three of them—his two friends and the doctor —brought him home to die, for the surgeon said he could only last an hour at most.
Juliette did not cry, did not even utter a sound. Her great eyes wandered from the inanimate form of her brother before her to that of her father, whose joy and pride the boy had been.
The lad had quarrelled with the young Baron Deroulède—as gallant and honorable a gentleman as could be found at the King’s Court.
The motive of the quarrel? Ah, who could tell? Ostensibly a dispute over a deal at cards. Probably the bright eyes of one of the Queen’s Maids of Honor might not be altogether out of the question.
And so this morning they fought, in a carrefour of the Bois de Vincennes. The Baron Deroulède was a noted swordsman, and the lad fell after the third attack with a thrust through his left lung. The doctor thought it best to bring him home—to die in his father’s, his sister’s arms.
Presently, when it was all over, when the young body lay in marble-like majesty, when the friends had departed, and the old Count Marny was alone with his daughter, face to face with his great grief, he took Juliette's hand, and placing it on her dead brother’s head, he spoke in tones that were almost those of a maniac, so wild and purposeless they seemed; though to her they had the solemnity born of unconquerable sorrow.
“Juliette, I may be too old to accomplish it, but you are young; swear, Juliette, swear that he will not remain unavenged.”
Juliette repeated the oath her father thus dictated to her.
“You will find him out, Juliette; remember, you must be cunning, but God will help you to track him, the murderer. And I too, Juliette, when I am dead, my spirit will help you. Swear, little one . . . swear, once more.”
And Juliette swore, as her father commanded. Then the old man seemed satisfied.
––––––––
- Writer
