REACHING THE CLIMAX.

From this time forth Frederick commenced to go, from a moral standpoint, more and more down hill. On returning to Madrid he lived fast and recklessly, neglecting Dolores and spending his nights in gambling-hells, where he lost piles of money. On several occasions he was forced to appeal to his father-in-law to pay his debts of honor. The old gentleman came to his rescue without a murmur, his intense love for his daughter preventing him from using harsh words toward the husband whom she still continued to adore, notwithstanding the ever-increasing neglect with which he treated her. It is true that Dolores, having ceased going much into society, did not hear about the numerous successes of her lord among the demi-monde, but his once courteous and deferential behavior to her had now given place to continual irritability, and to never-ending quarrels about money and other domestic matters.

At last the climax came. Frederick, after a particularly unlucky week, during which he had sustained heavier losses than ever, finding it impossible to obtain the sum which he urgently required, actually went so far as to forge his father-in-law's name for the amount of 25,000 francs. Don Garces y Marcilla, giving way to the entreaties of his daughter, who threw herself at his feet, paid the amount and saved Frederick from prison and disgrace; but he declared to Dolores that if she did not leave her husband and return to the shelter of his house he would disown her and never see her again. There was a terrible scene; but Dolores was immovable, and refused to abandon the man she loved, although she could no longer either respect or esteem him. Her father, who was a violent man, drove her from the home of her childhood, and warned her if she ever dared to cross his threshold again he would have her turned away by his servants.

The situation had now become a truly desperate one. Frederick sold his horses and carriages, his furniture, and valuable bric-a-brac—yes, even his wife's jewels and costly dresses, and moved with her to a small house in the outskirts of Madrid. Unknown to her, however, he hired a suite of rooms in a fashionable street, and, going into partnership with two disreputable adventurers, he started a private gambling hell.

Poor Dolores! her days of happiness were over. She was now always alone in the dingy little house in the suburbs. Weeping and privations were fast robbing her of her beauty, and Frederick, whenever he looked at her, which was seldom, had the cruelty to taunt her with what he called “her washed-out appearance!” He bitterly complained of having married a woman who was of no earthly use to him.

“Had you but known how to play your cards,” he would often say to her, “you might have avoided the quarrel with your infernal old idiot of a father. He is soft enough, in all conscience, when one knows how to handle him. But, no; you must needs go into heroics and get yourself kicked out of the house for your pains. Upon my word, Dolores, you are worse than a fool. Without you I would never have come down in the world like this.”

The poor woman, terrified by the violence of her husband, who was fast losing his former refinement and distinction, and was becoming downright brutal, could only cry and sob, imploring her dear “Eric” to take pity on her. But her tears only seemed to exasperate him more, and as lately his gambling saloon, thanks to his partners, who were nothing but vulgar sharpers, had got into bad repute with the jeunesse doree, who cautiously avoided going there, he one fine morning gave the slip to his army of creditors, and, abandoning Dolores without a cent of money, started alone for Paris.

The unfortunate woman, when she discovered that she had been deserted, nearly went out of her mind with grief and despair. But nothing could destroy her love for Frederick, and she resolved to discover his hiding-place and to entreat him to let her live with him, if only as his servant.

Women are singularly illogical. The whole world may be against a man, but the woman who loves him will stand boldly forward as his champion. No matter how vile a man may be, if a woman loves him she exalts him to the rank of a demi-god and refuses to see the clay feet of her idol. When he is forsaken by all, she still clings to him. When all others frown, she still smiles on him, and when he dies, she adores and reverences his memory as that of a martyr of circumstances. God help the man who in time of trouble has not a true and loving woman to stand by his side and help him through life's bitter struggle!

However, Dolores, being penniless, had to leave her little house and to seek refuge at the lodgings of her old nurse, who lived in a narrow, dark street in the slums of Madrid. Old Carmen loved her, and, although the good woman was poor herself (her husband having, before he departed from this life, managed to drink up every penny), she took the unfortunate Dolores in and tended her through a violent fit of illness, brought on by sorrow and privation.

Dolores' home was now in a dark lane which glowed like a furnace during the hot months of the Spanish summer. She tried to earn some money by doing a little plain needlework, but often as she sat by the open casement of the small window which looked out into a dirty, ill-smelling alley, where ragged children played all day long in the dried-up gutter, she would let her head fall on the greasy window-sill and weep scalding tears of pain and regret. Far happier were the victims whom Frederick had dispatched from this world than this broken-hearted creature whose life he had shattered and ruined.

In the middle of 1883 Frederick arrived in Paris, and continued to live there in the same reckless and dissipated fashion. He lost all the little money he had brought with him from Spain, and sank lower and lower, cheating at cards, swindling hotel and lodging-house keepers, and gradually rolling to the very bottom of the social scale. More than once he went to bed without a dinner, and in one word he now belonged to the very lowest class of adventurers. Driven by the pangs of hunger and misery, he even went so far as to blackmail several ladies of high rank and position, but somehow or other always managed to escape the vigilant eye of the French police.

One night, having made a few napoleons at baccarat, he bought seats at the Folies-Bergeres, and after a scanty dinner at a cheap restaurant he proceeded thither accompanied by the woman who was then living with him, a gaudily dressed, red-haired, and brazen-faced creature, who was well known on the outer boulevards.

During a pause in the performance the well-assorted couple repaired to the foyer, where they began to pace up and down, arm in arm, among the crowd of habitues, where here and there a stranger was noticeable who had come to see the fun.

Suddenly Frederick and his companion found themselves face to face with a lady and gentleman who were just about to leave the place. As Frederick caught sight of the lady he unconsciously dropped his companion's arm and bowed low. Lady Margaret, for it was she, looked at him in haughty surprise, then turned to her husband as if to complain of this piece of insolence.

“Well,” exclaimed the latter in English, and in a very audible tone of voice, “I told you what you would expose yourself to if you came here. You see, Pearl, that's what comes of always insisting on visiting the most extraordinary places.”

That night, for the first time in his life, Frederick von Waldberg got drunk; the words of the young Englishman had shown him, more than anything else, to what depths he had sunk. Lady Margaret, the girl whom he had once fancied loved him, had not even recognized, in the degraded individual he had now become, the man who had aspired to her hand. Crimsoning to the very roots of his hair, he left the red-haired cocotte standing in the middle of the floor, directed his steps towards the buvette, and, ordering a demi-setier (about half a pint) of brandy to be served him, drained it at a gulp.

One evening, in the month of January, 1885, Frederick, who beyond the clothes on his back now possessed nothing but a well-worn suit of evening dress and a few shirts, happened to be strolling down the Champs Elysees, when suddenly his attention was attracted by sounds of a violent altercation. On approaching the spot whence they proceeded he found a middle-aged man, manifestly a foreigner, who was undergoing severe treatment at the hands of a couple of students from the Quartier Latin. The stranger was accompanied by a tall and exceedingly handsome blonde. The students, with the impudence peculiar to their class, had ventured on some remarks of a tender and even indiscreet nature to the lady, whose escort had been quick to resent the insult. The students, however, were decidedly getting the best of the scuffle when Frederick appeared on the scene. Not even the life of dissipation and debauchery into which he had allowed himself to sink had been able to diminish the power of his muscular arms. Dashing his fist into the face of the taller of the two students, he sent him sprawling on the ground at some distance, on seeing which the other prudently took to his heels. Then bending down Frederick picked up the little man's hat and returned it to him, at the same time expressing the hope that he had escaped without any serious damage. The stranger was most profuse in his expressions of gratitude, in which the lady cordially joined, and insisted that Frederick should accompany them to take supper at the Cafe “Americain.” Nothing loth, Frederick acquiesced, and it was almost daylight before they finally separated.

Frederick found that his new acquaintance was an American, whose name is equally well known in the highest social circles both of New York and New Orleans, and whose mature age and sedate appearance does not prevent him from burning the candle at both ends, in Europe as well as in the States. The lady by whom he was accompanied was a Mme. Varlay, who had deserted her husband some three months previous to this date, and had adopted the “nom de guerre” of Eugenie Forestier. During the course of the supper the fair Eugenie cast several admiring glances at the man who had displayed such muscular power in effecting their deliverance, and Frederick quickly perceived that he had made an impression upon her. Before they parted a mutual interchange of addresses took place, and arrangements were made for a theater party to take place some days later.

On the following afternoon Frederick called on Mme. Forestier, who soon became deeply infatuated with him. Indeed, from that time forth Frederick may be said to have practically lived at her expense—or rather at that of her American lover. When, however, in the month of April the latter took his departure for the United States, the finances of the lady underwent a disastrous change. The drafts received from New York and Newport were few and far between, and in course of time Eugenie found it necessary to dispose of her jewels, and even of her fine laces and dresses, in order to keep the wolf from the door.

It was during this period of penury that Frederick spent much of his time in dictating to Eugenie letters to her American friend, in which terms of endearment and devotion were most artistically blended with requests for money. Clever as were these compositions, they ended by dispelling any feelings of affection which might have existed on the part of her ex-lover, and in the month of October he sent her from New Orleans a draft on a bank at Boulogne-sur-Mer for a couple of thousand francs, announcing to her at the same time that it would be impossible for him to make any further remittances. Within a few weeks the money was spent, and in the month of January, 1886, almost every article of any value possessed by Eugenie or by Frederick had found its way to the mont-de-piete (pawnshop).

Frederick's companion during most of this time was a Spaniard of the name of Ybanez, his accomplice in many of his schemes for raising the wind by all kinds of questionable means. One night about the 15th or 16th of January, 1886, Ybanez came to Frederick and informed him that an Italian friend of his had a certain number of jewels in his possession which he (Ybanez) believed to be the proceeds of a robbery, and which his friend the Italian was anxious to get rid of on the sly. Ybanez added that as he himself had been afraid to take any action in the matter, and that as his friend had fully realized the danger of disposing of the jewels at Paris, he had advised him to sell them either at Marseilles, Bordeaux, or some other large provincial town at a distance from the metropolis.

“Well, where has he finally decided to take them to?” inquired Frederick, quickly.

“To Marseilles,” replied Ybanez.

“When is he going to start?”

“By the rapide (limited express) of to-night.”

The two men looked sharply at one another for a few seconds. They had understood each other.

Negligently and without apparent intention Ybanez continued to speak of his Italian friend, and casually gave Frederick a full and minute description of his personal appearance.