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OHNET, GEORGES, a French editor, dramatist, and novelist, born in Paris, April 3, 1848. He was successively editor of Le Pays and of Le Constitutionnel, and was remarked for his vivacity and polemical spirit. Among his earlier works are a drama, Regina Sarpi (1875), and a comedy, Marthe (1877). Several of his novels have been dramatized. One of these, Le Maître de Forges (1882), was played a whole year. This and other romances-Serge Panine, Le Comtesse Sarah, Lise Fleuron, La Grande Marinière, Les Dames de CroixMort-were put forth as a series under the title Le Batailles de la Vie. Noir et Rose (1887) is a collection of stories. Volonté (1888) is directed against pessimism. La Conversion du Professeur Rameau, Le Dernier Amour (1890), and Dette de Haine (1891) are his most recent works.

"The success of his works," says Vapereau, "is due to the nicety and simplicity with which the author presents his subject and develops it; a unity of action, an honesty of purpose, and a certain philosophic carriage."

THE INVENTOR AND THE BANKER.

"Do not fear to ask too much. I will agree to whatever you wish. I am so sure of success."

Success! This one word dissipated the shadows in which the tyrant of La Neuville was losing himself. Success! The word typical of the inventor.

He re

membered the furnace of which he had heard so much. It was on the future of this invention that the marquis based his hopes of retrieving himself. It was by means of this extraordinary consumer that he proposed to again set going the work at the Great Marl-Pit, to pay his debts, to rebuild his fortune. The banker began to understand the situation. Carvajan became himself again.

"No doubt it is your furnace about which you are so anxious?" he said, looking coldly at the marquis. "But I must remind you that I am here to receive money and not to lend it-to terminate one transaction and not to commence another. Is that all you have to say to me?"

But the inventor, with the obstinacy and candor of a maniac, began to explain his plans, and to enumerate his chances of success. He forgot to whom he was addressing himself, and at what a terrible crisis he had arrived; he thought of nothing but his invention, and how best to describe its merits. He drew the banker into the corner of the laboratory, where the model stood, and proposed to set it going to describe how it acted; and, as he spoke, he became more and more excited, until he was simply overflowing with enthusiasm and confidence.

Carvajan's cold, cutting voice put a sudden stop to his ecstasies. "But under what pretext do you intend me to lend you money to try the merits of your invention ? You already owe me nearly four hundred thousand francs, my dear sir, a hundred and sixty thousand of which are due to me this very morning. Are you in a position to pay me?"

The marquis lowered his head.

"No, sir," he whispered.

"Your servant then. And in future pray remember not to trouble people simply to talk trash to them, and that when a man can't pay his debts he oughtn't to give himself the airs of a genius. Ha, ha, the consumer, indeed! By the way, it belongs to me now, like everything else here. And if it is worth anything, I really don't see why I shouldn't work it myself

"You!"

"Yes, I, marquis. I think the moment has come when you may as well give up all attempt at diplomacy. All that there is left for you to do is to pack up your odds and ends and say good-by to your countryhouse."

The tyrant planted himself in front of Monsieur de Clairefont, and, his face lighted up with malicious glee, resumed :

"Thirty years ago you had me thrown out of your house. To-day it is my turn. A bailiff is below taking an inventory." He burst into an insulting laugh, and, thrusting his hands into his pockets with insolent familiarity, walked up and down the room with the airs of a master.

The marquis had listened to his harangue with stupefaction. The illusions he had still preserved fled in a second, as the clouds before the breath of the stormwind. His reason returned to him, he regained his judgment, and blushed at having lowered himself so far as to make proposals to Carvajan. He no longer saw in him the lender, always ready for an advantageous investment-he recognized the bitter, determined enemy of his family.

"I

"I was mistaken," he said, contemptuously. thought I still possessed enough to tempt your cupidity." "Oh, insolence!" returned the banker, coldly. "That is a luxury in which your means will not permit you to indulge, my dear sir. When a man's in people's debt he should try to pay them in other coin than abuse."

"You are able to take advantage of my position, sir," said the marquis, bitterly. "I am at your mercy, and I ought not to be surprised at anything since my own children have been the first to forsake me. What consideration can I expect from a stranger when my daughter closes her purse to me, and my son leaves me to fight the battle alone? But let us put an end to this interview. There is nothing more to be said on either side."

Carvajan made a gesture of surprise, then his face. lighted up with diabolical delight.

"Excuse me," he said. "I see you have fallen into an error, and that I must undeceive you. You are ac

cusing your son and daughter wrongfully. No doubt you asked Mademoiselle de Clairefont to relieve you from your embarrassments and she refused, as you pretend. She had very good reasons for her refusal-the money you asked she gave long ago. So you complain of her ingratitude? Well, then, let me tell you that she has ruined herself for you, and secretly, and imploring that you should not be told the use she had made of her fortune. And that is what you call closing her purse to you."

The marquis did not utter a word, did not breathe one sigh. A wave of blood rushed to his head, and he turned first crimson, then livid. He only looked at Carvajan as might a victim at his murderer. He felt as though his heart were being wrung within his breast. He took a few steps, then forgetting that his tormentor was still present, mechanically seated himself in his arm-chair and leaning his head against the back, moved it restlessly from side to side.

But the mayor followed him, taking an exquisite delight in the agony of his enemy, and overpowering and crushing him with the weight of his hatred.

"As for your son," he went on, "if he is not with you now, you may be sure it is through no want of inclination on his part. He was arrested yesterday and taken to Rouen under escort of two gendarmes."

His brain reeled, and he stared wildly at the monster who was gloating over his agony. "If Heaven is just, you will be punished through your son," he cried. "Yes, since you have no pity for mine, yours will show no regard for you. Scoundrel! You are the parent of an honest man. He it is who will chasten you!"

These words uttered by the marquis with the fire of madness, made Carvajan shudder with fear and rage. "Why do you say that to me?" he cried.

He saw the old man walking aimlessly to and fro, with haggard eyes, and wild gesticulation. "I believe he is going mad!" he whispered to Tondeur.

"Ha, ha!" laughed the marquis. "My enemies themselves will avenge me. Yes, the son is an honorable man-he has already left his father's house once-he will loath what he will see being done around him."

Suddenly he turned on Carvajan.

"Go out of here, you monster!" he exclaimed. "Your work is done. You have robbed me of my fortune, you have robbed me of my honor. There is but my model left, and that you shall not have!"

He ran to his table, tore up his designs and trampled them under foot. Then, seizing a heavy hammer, he hurried to the stove, and laughing horribly all the time, tried to break it. Carvajan, in his exasperation, stepped forward to stop him. But the old man turned round with hair bristling and mouth foaming.

"Stay where you are or I'll kill you!" he cried.

"Sacrédié! I'm not afraid!" returned the banker. And he was on the point of rushing forward to save the stove from the destructive rage of the inventor, when the door was thrown open and Mademoiselle de Clairefont appeared. She had heard from below the marquis's high, excited tones.

"Father!" she cried.

She sprang to him, took the hammer from him and clasped him in her arms.-Antoinette (La Grande Marinière).

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