Petersburg High School - Missile Yearbook (Petersburg, VA)

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Y Y Q me IIIIIIIPIIDOIIIIMQIHIHIIII IIIIIIIHIIVIIllllllllllllllIIIIOINIIIIIIillllllvlllllvlvlllldlllllllI1IllINIIItIllllllllllllllllllltllilIllblIIIIIIIIIIllllllllllllllllllllllllIIIIIIIIllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPINOilllllllllllllltlllllIIIIllllllllllllllllllllllll desolate. The nameless terrible fear in Henriette's eyes haunted him constantly. To his tortured mind, the burning eyes stared at him from every page he tried to read. He would take from his vest the locket which contained a lock of her hair so dread- fully stained, and stare at it for hours. It was too much for his reason. In six months Viloque was quite mad, harmless but such a tragic wreck of a man. But what of Gregge Menet? Rejoiced over the recovery of Marie, he felt vaguely sorry about Viloque. But at this time all Paris was going mad, so there was little enough time for Grigge's stupid mind to dwell on his own feelings. His only two emotions were fierce love for Marie and an ever fiercer ha- tred of all the upper classes. Perhaps his dull fanatical brain was incapable of remorse. But at the time of the Terror, he rectified his deed, in his own mind at least. He saved the life . . . the anguished, tortured, useless existence of the mad Duc de Viloque. 11 Poems By Eleanor White A Token of Spring Cherolee, cherolee, cherolee, Sang the happy little bird, As from out his pretty throat Came this tender little note, That I'm sure you've often heard. Happily, happily, happily Sang the amorous little birdie. From among the branches there, Swiftly flew his lady fair, As his pleading voice grew sturdy. Joyfully, joyfully, joyfully, Sang the contented little bird. Will your true love then entwine, This poor aching heart of mine? Then his voice is plainly heard. nxmmnumumnunum ll 1 IH Page thirteen .

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Q .77 afml! QRAAAJC V V Meanwhile the child Marie's father, Grigge Menet, believed his child was dead. Grief-stricken, he raged to his friend, Penon. They torture us in every way possible! Cold and hunger are not enough! No, they must kill our children! Well, this one shall not escape my vengeance. You say the Viloque arms were on the coach. Do you know where this Viloque lives? Having gained this information, he would not be stayed by Penon's warnings. Why did no one think to see if Henriette slept well? Why didn't her father come to say good-night? Where was the governess? Was mademoiselle's maid asleep? N03 only the dark shadow in the hall, creeping closer and closer to the door beyond which Henriette de Tournee slept so peacefully. The shadow was in the room at last. Now it had reached the bed, but the lust for vengeance was not to be deterred by the inno- cence of the lovely sleeping child. The dagger rose and fell, and the shadow departed as noiselessly as it had come. The next morning, before breakfast, even before showing Henriette her birthday gifts, Viloque took dark, shy, little Marie Menet to the woman in the shop who promised to find Grigge Menet. ' When he returned, he met his housekeeper in tears. In- stinctively, he thought of Henriette. Before any one could pre- vent him, he was in her room. He stopped horror-struck as he reached her bed. The beautiful child had become a hideous sight. The dear, generous little hands were cold and still and did not respond to the loving pressure. The pale hair was daubed with blood, and the white of her gown was turned to crimson, but her face . . . her face . . . the dear little smile was gone, her once rosy lips pale and slightly parted, and the dark eyes wide and staring in stark terror! Viloque tried to close them but could not. He caught the small tragic figure to his heart and wept in anguish. Before they led him away, he saw the soiled note on the table with the words, Your child for mine. Madame Ledoux, Henriette's governess, wept and stormed about the canille. But Viloque turned his pale, stricken face toward her and said, But he didn't understand. He didn't know any better. Viloque could never bear to return to Bonne Retraite, and conditions there got steadily worse. Meanwhile in Paris, the Duke, still unembittered toward those whose cause he had pleaded so long, grew more and more unnuu1nnmnuunmmnnnn . . Page twelve

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MSR gylllddifaln V V Cherolee, cherolee, cherolee, Answered then the lady bird. ' Oh, this poor trusting heart of mine Is just longing to be thine. This I'm sure you've often heard. lnfidelity If you should ever cease to care for me, And from my loving arms should turn away To tell me then that it could never be, I would not care to live another day, And from this place I'd ever Wish to roam, Ne'er to return. My life would empty beg An aching voidg no love, no faith, no home, No port to come to in a storm at seag No hopes, no joys, no aims for which to live, My fond hopes blighted if you fail me when I look to you for love, for strength to give Me day by day which only death can end. But though these things in fancy now I see, I really know they ne'er will come to me. The Waterfall Over the ledges Leaping and lashing, Rushes the waterfall. Colors flashing Forth in the sunlight, Dazzling in hue: A wonder that nature Displays for you. an-mnnmnumuunununnnnnunnmummunn Page fourteen