Virginia free press. (Charlestown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1832-1916, 1865-08-24

hood fingered vet in her blue eyes.
Paul forgot the flowers. "Will you sit for
me. hesaid abruptly. Then remembering that
she might not understand him, he went on, Il
am an artist. / desire to find a model for
figure ! am painting. If you will obhge me, !
will pay You WE'LL
The girl shook her head slowly, hesitated,
and said, in low voice, IN the English language,
81 DO not understand. am an American"
Paul collected his thoughts He had a smat-
tering of English, and he said, Il shall speak
t. YOU in rAnglaise You comprehend
"Yes, said the girl simply, and she listened
as he spoke, and explained in broken English,
musical and pretty enough, what he meant and
wanted
She understood and unused a moment, when
she looked up into his eyes, and said, Can l
trust your
He answered the look, for there were no
words, Il shall be good to you. There is no
need to fear"
And his kind eyes looked frankly into hers,
and she arose andfollowed him, with her violets
on her arm. up those long dingy stairs to the
atelicr. with snorth light and its heterogeneous
belongings. where, throaed ON the dias, she look
cd lovelier than ever, as he taught her how to
turn her head. and place herself, and painted
her shadowy outline on the canvas. The first
sitting was not the last. She came again and
again and again. At length Monsieur Paul
discovered why she was SO glad to earn the coin
he gave her. Her mother was dying slowly of
consumption. She was an American. a year
before she had come 10 Paris, led by the hope of
recovering some property which had belonged
10 her dead father, who was a native of France.
That hope was futile; and by the time they
knew it to be 50. the mother had fallen i'll, and
now their money was all gone, and they could
not return to their native land, as she was dy-
ing.
so what could do?' said the girl; Il could
not see her starve Though my father was a
Frcnchman, do not understand the language
] need do nothing but offer these flowers, and |
have earned bread and little wine and soup
for my mother When she is gone shall care
no longer, but Just Tic down and die. ''lt Is
sad for You. said the young Frenchman, "but
the Young and beautiful should live, not die"
Should live and lovel he thought, although
he did not say so. Monsieur Paul Dupont was
poor himself. but after this many dainty and
many a bottle Of wine found its way to the un-
known woman dying in a foreign land. From
that dav she did not suffer from want.
And that picture was long painting. 1t
seemed as though the golden hair and blue eyes
would never be done. Paul Dupont was in no
haste whatever; for let the secret creep out, this
friendleSs American girl, selling her flowers IN
the streets of Paris, hapry'to earn the iraasseI
gave her for the copying of that sweet face, had
won the young artists heart. He hardly knew
il himself, until one day she entered his room
trembling and weeping, and sObbed forth, "My
mother is dead" Then the truth flashed upon
him, and he bent over her and took her hand,
and said in French
"But thou hast friend vet left, beloved.
That day he looked upon the dead face of the
flower girls mother, and did what son might
have done The foreign lady lies in a quiet
grave, with a little cross above her head, and
there were two mOurnerS, her daughter and
Paul Dupont 1t was beside her grave he said
to her tender words Of cUmfort-there, also, he
whispered
Thou cans't sell flowers no longer Thou
dost not hate me. Letmy heart shelter thec-bc
my wife,
And in this brief time she had learned to un-
dcrstand his native tongue. Lonely, and low
ing him as he did her, there was but one answer
to be given That night an old priest married
them. and Paul took his wife home to his atelier.
a sweet. sweet task it seemed To dry her tears,
to comfort herr very sweet to teach her his native
tongue. His English and her French were on
a par; but lovers can understand each other
without language of any kind. The prettieSt
pair ever saw were deaf and dumb, and held
converse with their eyes. For a few days that
atelicr was a Paradise, and
1t was in the dead hours Of the night. They
started wide awake together, with noise and
glare about them The building was on fire
People were screaming, wood cracking flames
licking up d0Or-postS and window-frameS with
its red tongues Fifteen minutes more would
have been the end Of them. As it was, Paul
had barely time to wrap his darling in a cover
ld and fly down the blazing stairs for life She
was not hurt, but he was Singed about the face
and hands, and badly burnt on his arm. He
hardly knew it until next day, when the debris
of the furniture was rescued from the ruins and
they had found another lodging. Thenthe pain
became more severe That he didn't mind as
long as she nurSed him; but as the DAYS passed
ON. and he grew rather worse than better, the
fear that he might not be able to paint before
their little purse grew empty, grew strong
The surgeon shook his head Il looked grave over
the burn, and would give no opinion. EStelIe
that was Tic name Paul had given her, and
she had accepted, because her English name,
Ruth was "a MYSTERIOUS impoSibility to his
French touguc-did all she could. She spent
the sous frugally with an old man who sold
cheap articles Of food on one side of his shop,
while ON the other were stored old books, waste
paper and rags. Paul knew him well Many
ofthose old books had been found amidst his
refuse, and bought for few sous. He sympa-
tbized with and prescribed for the artist. All
in vain. The arm grew worse; and slowly, day
by day, the little money vanished, vanished,
until they were pennileSS.
The first day Of absolute want, Paul kissed
bis wife with many words Of love, and went
out 20 see the surgeon. He came back with a
white face, and sat down, saying nothing. Es-
telle trembled. She crept up to him and kissed
his forehead. Then he burst into tears, and
sobbed in her BOSOM. The surgeon had told
him that his arm must come off, or he must die.