Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you donβt realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Refugees<br />A Tale of Two Continents by Arthur Conan Doyle (best free ebook reader .txt) π
- Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
Book online Β«The Refugees<br />A Tale of Two Continents by Arthur Conan Doyle (best free ebook reader .txt) πΒ». Author Arthur Conan Doyle
THE REFUGEES A Tale Of Two Continents By A. Conan Doyle
CONTENTS
PART I. β IN THE OLD WORLD.
CHAPTER I β THE MAN FROM AMERICA.
CHAPTER II β A MONARCH IN DESHABILLE.
CHAPTER III β THE HOLDING OF THE DOOR.
CHAPTER IV β THE FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE.
CHAPTER V β CHILDREN OF BELIAL.
CHAPTER VI β A HOUSE OF STRIFE.
CHAPTER VII β THE NEW WORLD AND THE OLD.
CHAPTER VIII β THE RISING SUN.
CHAPTER IX β LE ROI S'AMUSE.
CHAPTER X β AN ECLIPSE AT VERSAILLES.
CHAPTER XI β THE SUN REAPPEARS.
CHAPTER XII β THE KING RECEIVES.
CHAPTER XIII β THE KING HAS IDEAS.
CHAPTER XIV β THE LAST CARD.
CHAPTER XV β THE MIDNIGHT MISSION.
CHAPTER XVI β "WHEN THE DEVIL DRIVES."
CHAPTER XVII β THE DUNGEON OF PORTILLAC.
CHAPTER XVIII β A NIGHT OF SURPRISES.
CHAPTER XIX β IN THE KING'S CABINET.
CHAPTER XX β THE TWO FRANCOISES.
CHAPTER XXI β THE MAN IN THE CALECHE.
CHAPTER XXII β THE SCAFFOLD OF PORTILLAC.
CHAPTER XXIII β THE FALL OF THE CATINATS.
PART II. β IN THE NEW WORLD.
CHAPTER XXIV β THE START OF THE "GOLDEN ROD."
CHAPTER XXV β A BOAT OF THE DEAD.
CHAPTER XXVI β THE LAST PORT.
CHAPTER XXVII β A DWINDLING ISLAND.
CHAPTER XXVIII β IN THE POOL OF QUEBEC.
CHAPTER XXIX β THE VOICE AT THE PORT-HOLE.
CHAPTER XXX β THE INLAND WATERS.
CHAPTER XXXI β THE HAIRLESS MAN.
CHAPTER XXXII β THE LORD OF SAINTE MARIE.
CHAPTER XXXIII β THE SLAYING OF BROWN MOOSE.
CHAPTER XXXIV β THE MEN OF BLOOD.
CHAPTER XXXV β THE TAPPING OF DEATH.
CHAPTER XXXVI β THE TAKING OF THE STOCKADE.
CHAPTER XXXVII β THE COMING OF THE FRIAR.
CHAPTER XXXVIII β THE DINING HALL OF SAINTE MARIE.
CHAPTER XXXIX β THE TWO SWIMMERS.
CHAPTER XL.
PART I. β IN THE OLD WORLD.
CHAPTER I β THE MAN FROM AMERICA.
It was the sort of window which was common in Paris about the end of the seventeenth century. It was high, mullioned, with a broad transom across the centre, and above the middle of the transom a tiny coat of armsβthree caltrops gules upon a field argentβlet into the diamond-paned glass. Outside there projected a stout iron rod, from which hung a gilded miniature of a bale of wool which swung and squeaked with every puff of wind. Beyond that again were the houses of the other side, high, narrow, and prim, slashed with diagonal wood-work in front, and topped with a bristle of sharp gables and corner turrets. Between were the cobble-stones of the Rue St. Martin and the clatter of innumerable feet.
Inside, the window was furnished with a broad bancal of brown stamped Spanish leather, where the family might recline and have an eye from behind the curtains on all that was going forward in the busy world beneath them. Two of them sat there now, a man and a woman, but their backs were turned to the spectacle, and their faces to the large and richly furnished room. From time to time they stole a glance at each other, and their eyes told that they needed no other sight to make them happy.
Nor was it to be wondered at, for they were a well-favoured pair. She was very young, twenty at the most, with a face which was pale, indeed, and yet of a brilliant pallor, which was so clear and fresh, and carried with it such a suggestion of purity and innocence, that one would not wish its maiden grace to be marred by an intrusion of colour. Her features were delicate and sweet, and her blue-black hair and long dark eyelashes formed a piquant contrast to her dreamy gray eyes and her ivory skin. In her whole expression there was something quiet and subdued, which was accentuated by her simple dress of black taffeta, and by the little jet brooch and bracelet which were her sole ornaments. Such was Adele Catinat, the only daughter of the famous Huguenot cloth-merchant.
But if her dress was sombre, it was atoned for by the magnificence of her companion. He was a man who might have been ten years her senior, with a keen soldier face, small well-marked features, a carefully trimmed black moustache, and a dark hazel eye which might harden to command a man, or soften to supplicate a woman, and be successful at either. His coat was
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