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A Splendid Hazard
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Title: A Splendid Hazard
Author: Harold MacGrath
Release Date: April 20, 2005 [EBook #15671]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A
SPLENDID HAZARD ***
Produced by Al Haines
SPLENDID HAZARD
By
HAROLD MACGRATH
AUTHOR OF
THE GOOSE GIRL, THE LURE OF THE MASK, THE MAN ON
THE BOX, ETC.
With Illustrations by
HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY
[Transcriber's note: All illustrations were missing from book.]
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1910
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I
A MEMORABLE DATE II THE BUTTERFLY MAN III A
PLASTER STATUETTE IV PIRATES AND SECRETARIES V NO
FALSE PRETENSES VI SOME EXPLANATIONS VII A BIT OF
ROMANTIC HISTORY VIII SOME BIRDS IN A CHIMNEY IX
THEY DRESS FOR DINNER X THE GHOST OF AN OLD REGIME
XI PREPARATIONS AND COGITATIONS XII M. FERRAUD
INTRODUCES HIMSELF XIII THE WOMAN WHO KNEW XIV
THE DRAMA BEGINS XV THEY GO A-SAILING XVI
CROSS-PURPOSES XVII A QUESTION PROM KEATS XVIII
CATHEWE ADVISES AND THE ADMIRAL DISCLOSES XIX
BREITMANN MAKES HIS FIRST BLUNDER XX AN OLD
SCANDAL XXI CAPTAIN FLANAGAN MEETS A DUKE XXII
THE ADMIRAL BEGINS TO DOUBT XXIII CATHEWE ASKS
QUESTIONS XXIV THE PINES OF AITONE XXV THE DUPE
XXVI THE END OF THE DREAM
A SPLENDID HAZARD
CHAPTER I
A MEMORABLE DATE
A blurring rain fell upon Paris that day; a rain so fine and cold that it
penetrated the soles of men's shoes and their hearts alike, a dispiriting
drizzle through which the pale, acrid smoke of innumerable wood fires
faltered upward from the clustering chimney-pots, only to be rent into
fragments and beaten down upon the glistening tiles of the mansard
roofs. The wide asphalts reflected the horses and carriages and trains
and pedestrians in forms grotesque, zigzagging, flitting, amusing, like a
shadow-play upon a wrinkled, wind-blown curtain. The sixteenth of
June. To Fitzgerald there was something electric in the date, a tingle of
that ecstasy which frequently comes into the blood of a man to whom
the romance of a great battle is more than its history or its effect upon
the destinies of human beings. Many years before, this date had marked
the end to a certain hundred days, the eclipse of a sun more dazzling
than Rome, in the heyday of her august Caesars, had ever known:
Waterloo. A little corporal of artillery; from a cocked hat to a crown,
from Corsica to St. Helena: Napoleon.
Fitzgerald, as he pressed his way along the Boulevard des Invalides, his
umbrella swaying and snapping in the wind much like the sail of a
derelict, could see in fancy that celebrated field whereon this eclipse
had been supernally prearranged. He could hear the boom of cannon,
the thunder of cavalry, the patter of musketry, now thick, now scattered,
and again not unlike the subdued rattle of rain on the bulging silk
careening before him. He held the handle of the umbrella under his arm,
for the wind had a temper mawling and destructive, and veered into the
Place Vauban. Another man, coming with equal haste from the
opposite direction, from the entrance of the tomb itself, was also two
parts hidden behind an umbrella. The two came together with a jolt as
sounding as that of two old crusaders in a friendly just. Instantly they
retreated, lowering their shields.
"I beg your pardon," said Fitzgerald in French.
"It is of no consequence," replied the stranger, laughing. "This is
always a devil of a corner on a windy day." His French had a slight
German twist to it.
Briefly they inspected each other, as strangers will, carelessly, with
annoyance and amusement interplaying in their eyes and on their lips,
all in a trifling moment. Then each raised his hat and proceeded, as
tranquilly and unconcernedly as though destiny had no ulterior motive
in bringing them thus really together. And yet, when they had passed
and disappeared from each other's view, both were struck with the fact
that somewhere they had met before.
Fitzgerald went into the tomb, his head bared. The marble underfoot
bore the imprint of many shoes and rubbers and hobnails, of all sizes
and--mayhap--of all nations. He recollected, with a burn on his cheeks,
a sacrilege of his raw and eager youth, some twelve years since; he had
forgotten to take off his hat. Never would he
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