Litchfield enquirer., 1878-10-31
WHOLE NO. 2735

| D1eu but It IS horrible !! walle0 poor, pfOuu, l sensitive Melanie, with @ sob, as she flung open tiny square of the quaint old window and let the soft evening air tremble in over her hot cheeks.
 Some sweet and tender spirit of the night | seemed to float in with that faint and fragrant breeze, cooling the fever of the girls burn-
 ing cheek, and soothing her quick indignant heart beats into calm and even flow.
 'After all," she thought, the hopefullness of youth asserting itsef life is fair and sweet, and if one man forgets himself, the world is not less kind; whole year of freedom is still before me-" and half smiling at the excited Melanie of a moment since, the young girl turned and sat down before the ancient organ, faithful confidant of all her moods, from grave to gay.
 | It's slow and solemn tones had been the old Comte de Beauvais's daily solace when his | earthly pleasures were growing few, and when the bright and smiling world seemed slipping away from his age-dimmed sight; over it's time stained keys had he and Melanie spent many an hour together and now they had laid him on the hillside between the forest and the sea, and his place would know him no | more.
 | Lovingly the girls slim hands fell upon those yellow keys which had so often sounded forth tremblingly responsive to her dead | grandfather's feeble touch, while slow and plaintive from beneath her firm young fingers swelled out into the silent chamber prelude to the ''Ave Maria" he had loved so much to hear her sing.
 | And soon from among those slowly swelling chords arose Schubert's Prayer to the Vir- gin" in such pure and tender tones that the si- | lent youth who listened in his distant corner felt a sudden, strange, yet not unpleasing shock steal through his heart.
 | 'Madre d. amor Odi tu-l moi dOlorv pleaded the fresh girlish voice in tender, pas sionate cry and here, perhaps overcome by memories of the dead, or the pathos of her own fearful strains, or, it may be-for who can fathom the solemn mysteries of young girls heart ?-trembling beneath the sudden vibra- tion of some yet subtler chord within, Melanie | stopped as if smitten dumb, and as the organ gave forth a sad discordant vail, she finished the prayer in low and passionate weeping. l Paul de Font-Re made no sign, but for | the first time in his five-and-twenty years he sighed for the Anglo Saxon freedom which would have let him rise up and try to comfort this poor child, whose sensitive, thousand -stringed harp seemed played upon l by every passing breath.
 | "Poor little Melanie," he thought, ''how far we all have been from understanding her!' and venturing within his friendly shadow to | lift furtive hand, the elegant and not easily moved Paul de Font -Reale discovered, to his own profound surprise, that ''poOr little Mel anies' were not the only wet eyes the room | contained.
 Silently the girls hot tears dripped down upon the mute and yellow organ keys, and si- lently an unwonted drop fell upon the faded dragon embroidered on the Louis XIII. chair, until at length hum of voices in the room be- yond startled Melanie to her feet, and spring | ing lightly down from her perch lsbefOre the or l cha cr0aA intpf fho lorna old rpd filed hall and up the winding stairs-a triumph of true | Norman architecture-tO her own white-drap- | ed nest above.
 Paul de Font-R -Reale stretching his long legs with half sigh, slipped noselessly through that same hall door, and betook himself and his thoughts out into the dewy night. Not many minutes later he appeared, smil- ing in at the open window through which his uncle had found a short way to the garden an | hour before.
 ''Here is the truant now.!" cried Monsieur | De Beauvais ''Your uncle and 1 have also 1 been to the shore; how was it we missed yOu?' ''I suppose because you came through the bois," craftily haZarded the innocent-l0Oking | youth, leaning indolently against the window. ''The sea is wonderful tonight" l "Ah, yes," sighed the baron; ''it looks as calm and peaceful as a lake, but it made mo shiver to look over those smiling waters and
  | to their treacherous moon-lit depths. Didsl thou hear Paul, that poor Henri, Monsieur Sainton's faithful valet, fell last night from the falaise, and his body has just been washed ashore? An, but it is frightful 1 can not" ''Melanie should have been there to save him." put in Monsieur De Beauvais; ''she swims and dives like vrai poisson. Why, the child has saved two lives this summer" and good Monsieur De Beauvais's eyes grew Nf hso ,tprfu fearlessness and the gratitude of those poor fsherwomen whose children she had restored to their despairing hearts came over him. '"Then she will save third life, said the old baron, with superstitious decision ''eveTy | thing goes by threes. But she has the heart of a lion, that slim young girl;" and muttering | to himself that she was treasure which Paul must and should possess, Monsieur De Font Reale made his slow and careful way up the | slippery winding stairs.
 II.
 The full moon paled and faded before rosy morning twilight that stole forth into a blue and cloudless sky, and then from behind the green and dewy hills, swift, sudden, and | splendid, the young day sprang up over a l glowing purple sea. Half her sphere of lam- bent flame seemed to pour down into those rosy, waveless depths Neptune, in soft and tender mood, was blushing and trembling with pleasure as Aurora's kiss fell lightly down upon his calm and smiling face. Caressingly his lmpid tide crept up the pebbly shore, still | dotted with it's row of tiny bathing houses for the mellow sunny September had lured the little circle of visitors to that sheltered sea- side nook much beyond it's wonted stay-or marked an ever-rising line of wet against the tall steep cliffs on either side. l Between these treacherous heights charm- ingly irregular picturesque little village strag- gling halfway up long and gently rising hill, where, as if weary with climbing it stop | ped short, and left the hard white road to wan der off alone amid fields of waving grain be- yond. At the right, looking landward, behind an ancient ruined temple, rose the friendly | lighthouse; while at the left, among the for est trees that stood dark and motionless against the morning sky. looked out the windows of Melanie de Beauvais's sunny home.
 Melanie arose almost with the day, and, like the day, the girls first look was at her beloved sea.
 s'Oh. Justine p she cried to the maid who entered, ''but look Was that beautiful sea ever so fair before? Quick, Justine bring my coffee, and get the bathing things ready; we will go at once, SO that can have those wide cool, blue waters all to myself ;" and Melanie | gave little cry of ecstasy as she turned once more to gaze out over that sparkling liquid l plain.
 But although the lingering bathers had scarcely opened their sleepy eyes, Melanie did not have the sea quite to herself, after all. A I couple of children with their careful bOnne were dabbling among the small and slippery stones while out beyond the floating platform, which was the supposed limit of venturesome | swimmers, the gold brown curls of Paul de Font-Reale rose and dipped among the glanc- 1 ing sunbeamS.
 ''But mademoiselle was right" said Justine, deftly picking her way among she rolling pcb- bles; ''nevcr was there more lovely sea can count eleven distinct shades of beautiful 1 blue green ]" and coming to the twelfth, Jus tines quick eye fell upon the human hea that broke the ''blue- green" line. ''Mademoi. selle's kingdom has been taken possession of before her," she laughed: ''See! MonsieU. Paul how he looks at his ease, and how we'll he swims !"
 s'But can swim as well, Justine, you are going to see :" and with all the delight of a