VALERIE'S CHOICE.
A LITTLE way down the garden-path François paused in his headlong flight, stood still, and began slowly to retrace his steps. Having yielded to two impulses of the wild beast caged in most men's natures, Fight and Flight, he now submitted to the tardier but in the main stronger coercion of education, civilization, or, if you please, honor, the legitimate child of education and civilization.
Three steps of retrogression, and the young man felt his arm grasped from behind, and an eager voice demanded,—
"What is it, Monsieur le Baron? You have fought with your brother? You have killed him? Is he dead?"
"We fought? I do not know. God forbid! I am going to see. Come, mon père."
"Come! Go, I should rather say. Fly while there is time. The house will be roused in a moment: the governess is flying along the terrace already, shrieking like a sea-gull, and Mademoiselle Valerie"—
"What are you thinking of, abbé? Fly! Escape! What words are these for a gentleman to hear? If I have by sore mischance killed my brother, I will abide
