The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1871-02-15
A BALLERINA.
FROM THE GERMAN OF ELISE PoLKo.

came sound OF gay talk and laughter from
the luxurious saloon of the charming Parisian
dGnseuse, Camille Petitpas The sweet fra
GRANGE Of roses pervaded, like an enlivening
breath, the brilliantly illuminated apartment
where, on satin-covered chat aud tabourets,
sat the loveliest women of the capital, sur
rounded by their elegant and distinguished
admirers
Who could have recognized, in the richly
dressed mistress of the saloon, the little daugh-
ter Of the locksmith of the Rue Montmartre,
who eight years ago skipped, singing aud
laughing, about the obscure house of her
father, or, with frock tucked up, and her
pretty feet neatly encased in pair of red
leather shoes delighted master and men with
her merry, original dances, while Jacques,
the youngest of the workmen, made quaint
music with two great keys and jewsharp!
The heavy braids of her golden hair, loosened
in the dance, fell like mantle about her
form; her saucy face glowed, her black eyes
flashed, and the severest gravity could scarce
resist the charm of her laughing mouth.
The grimy workmen gazed at her in won
deriug rapture. Their stout hands rested
even supper was awhile forgotten-no higher
tribute could have been rendered.
The street-door was, by chance, left open
one evening, and the ballet-master of the
royal theatre, passing by, looked in upon the
living picture-a circle of Cyclops, and the
little one in the midst, dancing upon
the shop-foor by the light of
single work-lamp and the
glare of the smiths fire. The unseen OBJ
server rubbed his hands with delight that his
good genius had led him there at the fortu-
nate moment. Only few days before the
famous Madlle Sale had suddenly gone with
an English duke to his native country; the
other dancers had grown faded and old in the
storm of Paris life; the almost aerial frailty of
Anne Camargo, his most promising pupil,
gave him serious apprehension. But here
bloomed before his ravshed eyes as fresh
rosebud as ever unfolded into perfect flower
"a being of strength and vitality, sufficient,
it seemed, to resist a simoom of the desert
He must have her, cost what it might
On the very next day negotiations were
begun. Camille had no mother, and aunts
and cousins We'd with each other in convinc-
ing the locksmith that fortunate star had
risen upon the house. The little girl herself
was radiant with Joy at the prospect of dane
ing all her life, admired by larger and more
distinguished circle than her fathers work.
men, and plying her little feet to music more
Intoxicating than that of poor jacques Jews
harp.
jacques opposed the ballet masters plans
with strange violence, and seemed almost be-
side himself at the thought of Camille's be-
coming dancer. His entreaties almost in
duced her to retract her consent. How hand
some he looked as he caught her hands, with
angry tears in his eyes, and, stamping his
feet, adjured her to remain with her father!
''Listen, Camille" he cried; 81 swear to
you that will do something great in the
world, and then 1 will come and marry you,
and You shall be good, happy woman you
may dance for me every day if you will, only
don't go among those wicked old monkeys and
wanton girls who dance for all the world
Nobody else will love you as L do-only be-
lieve that! I will work and buy beautiful
dresses for you, and gay ribbons, and the
prettiest red shoes in the werld!"
And, as be bent toward her with these
words, and, haf-sbyly, half boldly, encrcling
with his arm her slender waist, drew her to
him and kissed her hair, she had already
opened her lips to say, Jacques, 1 will stay
at home with my father, when just then she
heard the voice of the balet-master at the
door, and burst hastily from his arms.
Jacques turned away, his eyes flashing with
anger.
An hour later all was arranged, and on the
same evening Camille Petitpas left her
fathers house for that of her teacher. In
the twilight she met jacques once more in
the passage before the door of her room.
''Good-by, jacques" she said, in falter-
ing voice, holding out her hand; 81 cannot
help it; must go. But, of course, You will
come to see me often, and then, Jacques
do you not ee?-we can marry just the same
when you have become great man, and L
great dancer hope you will not forget
to love me"
81 will neither love you nor marry you !"
ne broke in hastily. go; you deserve to be
forgotten! You will never see me again.
And throwing off her hand, he gained the
staircase at q single stride.
The same evening he disappeared from the
workshop, and the men said to each other,
That proud Jacques has gone with the sol
diers."
Camille was heartily grieved at the loss of
her young friend, but she had little time to
spare for regrets; there was so much to learn
and to do. The locksmith's daughter was
soon the darling of the ballet-master. Her
beauty developed every day more brilliantly;
she mastered all her lessons with wonderful
quickness, and took the most difficult steps,
as If for pastime. But in the society of her
gay fellowp pupils she did not forget her
father, and often coaxed for herself leave to
spend few hours with him, Yet she danced
no more, in tucked-up frock and red shoes,
by the light of the smiths fire.
little thoughtful and grave she would sit
there. Where could be have gone-that
naughty, wild jacques? If she could but feel
his lips on her hair!
peared In solo pas as a nymph of the Seine
and her triumph and her rosy beauty were
the three days talk of Paris. Even the king
remarked her, and cast an approving smile at
his ballet-master. What piece of good for
tune! Pere Petitpas sat quite confused and
frightened in the back part of box among a
crowd of relatives. He saw his child whirI
to and fro before his eyes in her airy costume,
but she seemed strange to him, and he only