Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1879-12-13

nastics. She continued to smile, possibly be-
cause she saw no future rival in any OF them.
deepest contralto tones, IA pretty South Amer
lean had waTbled with grace and vtvacity, an
English maiden had acquitted herself credit
ably ably, Il fl, tremulously; Suddenly Mrs Brown
spot burning on her own sunken cheek.
HE is reckoning to you, Cynthy," she whis-
"Oh mol" shuddered Cynthia, drawing back.
The maestro was regarding her medtatively,
and stroking his mustache.
THE signora Bianchi is not coming. after
ALL he said. ''DO you think you could try
Robert, tot que j'aime?'"
Yes. assented Cynthia, with parching lips
and beating heart.
tent1on, and looked at Cynthia Brown, as she
was led across the polished floor to the piano.
She was lovely vision In an exquisite toilet OF
blue and silver, for Cynthia must be well dressed
in public, however plain, even rusty, was
mothers black gown. The fair face had lost
some OF Its youthful roundneSS there was per-
picked, even anxious expression in the Blue
eyes; otherwise here was a most radiant butter
fly escaped from the chrysalis Of homemade
merino gown. One can learn so much in foreign
lands!
The piano gave forth melodious prelude
under the maestro's skillful fingers, and the
human instrument, already overstrained, a
white face, put her hand 10 her throat, stopped
abruptly. and glanced wildly around. The
meaning clear to all others came last to herself
After that the maestro was kindly Offering her
glass Of water as she reclined on a sofa in
another room, but she had not lost cons :iOuS-
ness. The diva had risen to speak words as she
passed, which she failed to understand The
dumb anguish and entreaty of her look had
been only to take her away from The room, the
lights the people. If she could only hidel
The maestro was saying to Mrs. Brown, whose
face had grown as pale as Cyntha's, that doubt
less she had overIaxed her strength, and her
voice might even require rest. She must walt in
flr>o,
to hear the DIVA sing. Cynthia assented meekly;
mother was dumb, gazing at the carpet. A tall
cyntcal-loOking gentleman, with curling mus
taches, and a glittering order on his breast, had
aCcOSted the maestro on the threshold. break
In the music brought this fragment of converse
ton to Cyntia.
1.-The American girl in blue has sufficient
beauty to be success here in Paris-eh?" from
the cynical parsonage.
81 cannot give them all WINGS" returned the
maestro. Struggling his shoulders.
mothers hand.
Unjust rest, and then 1t will all come right
again." she whispered huskily.
Yes said mother, still gazing at the carpet.
Listen The diva was singing; soft. rich notes,
rounded, pure, and Of a pearly distinctness
reached Cynthia, as she crounched on the sofa
Of the ante-room, in wave after wave of modu-
lated harmonies, God gives one such voice to
generation, and seldom more. The thrush and
Wood-pigeon may MARBLE and coo after very
sweet fashion in their own sheltered hooks but
they can not be converted into n1ghtingales
The maestro had attempted to make Of Cynthia
81 own the wood-pigeon, nightingale. Why
noi? It was his profession. man does not
eject the bread brought to his mouth.
c, nthla rose ghost in aspect, and fed, the
beautiful voice following and haunting her
through the noisy streets. Mrs: Brown was 81
lent until they had climbed to the fifth story of
the large, shabby maison meublee where they
had rooms
T." " ~ Z, might go home and take in sewing. The
=. Wait, said CYNTHIA piteously. "Mother, it
81 might be forgiven for forgetting such dates
in foreign land, replied the mother, bitterly.
some time; your father did"
Cynthia was practtcing heroism; She kissed
her mother goodnight, ard sat down alone.
older, weaker woman, and would have concealed
this last blow, If possible. Left to herself she
burst into convulsive sobs. The shock had
come with such awful suddenness, had been so
overwhelming, SO unexpected, that the girls
very youth seemed to shrivel in fiery, light
ming flash to crumbling ashes. '.She must rest.
rest, with the slender store OF money in the
bank dwfndl1ng In expensive lessons, and the
fultlin:a nj reced1ng ever to the horizon? She
had practiced the trills and roulades OF the very
aria at least dozen times during the day; few
students make such progress as she had done
In so brief time She had been a doclle and
tractable pupil, studying early and Late always
with that goad to fresh exertion of mother,
homesick and frightened in foreign land,
awaiting the result of all the Sacrifices
made with certain sour patience. The months
mad slipped by, and Cynth1a'S tongue ceased to
falter In other languages. The Browns had
sought Paris as the art center of the world, but
when they reached the metropolis, weary ttmid
and anxious, the family to whom Mrs Van
Horne commended them had just sailed for
America. Cynthia had written the lady, VINO
did not reply for six months, owing to illness,
were pleasant, they partook of SO vague a
character that even poor Cynthia was made to
perceive her existence had become irksome to
the great Mrs. Townsend Van Horne, who
was now turning her attention to founding art
schools.
When the crowd ebbed away from the Paris
streets to Enghien, the Pyrenees, or vichy Gym
thia still sang scales in her shabby salon, while
mother painted at the window. There was
nerve-tensfon, feverish eagerneSs to excel in
this strain OF accommodating work pItiable to be-
hold. The girl must bear the burden on her
slender young shoulders, while mother, bewifd-
cred by foreign speech, ignorant in all such
matters; looked on, sourly patient, The great
step In life had been taken, and could not be re-
traced. II Mrs. Van Horne would give no fur
Their advice. Cynthia must act for herself. To
gain foothold, to become famous rich, no
sure OF speed employed, such was the fatal
creed with which the girl from Srampton had
become imbued.
In the maestro's salon she had failed mlsera
ably and disgracefully. Pooh! that was stage
fright. Her voice needed rest. Had he not told
her she had best go on to Italy?
Sile ultQ ner eyes, ana went 10 the WINDOW,
unmindful of her pretty dress. Mother had
said they could go home and sew for living.
Never!
Paris was outspread before her weary eyes in
the rain and darkness, promising its many vic
tins glory, success renown; falling these. the
Seine flowed in shadow past the Hotel de Vile,
The Place de Greve.. Cynthia knelt and gazed
forth blankly from the easement. The most op-
posite picture reverted to her mind. She saw
meadow on the slope of mountain, and two
children, boy and girl, seated among the frag-
rant heaps Of hay, mimicking the blackbird's
note The boy had placed tempting pear in
the little girls lap.
'.sIng Black Sheep and kiss me for it," he
had demanded.
She had complied, and the two baby mouths
met The boy was James Hard, the girl cynthia
Brown, and all this had happened in another
world
The living Cynthia, crushed and worn, prayed
for the recovery OF her voice, blindly and dis
palringly, until the scent of the hay seemed to
float up to her; there was clatter Of wooden
Sabots, and swish OF broOms on the pavement,
and pale light announced the coming day.
~
Milan on September day of fierce heat, the
dust, and the horizon line of Alps lost in q mist
OF sultry vapors. What garnish, noisy, modern
city 1t Is In such weather! No cool shadow of
lofty palaces, no cayernouS archways beside
dripping fountains; only galleria with roof of
glass, like a conservatory. But there is ever
the Cathedral, and in the tremulous rays of
heat its airy pinnacles. springtng upward toward
blue ether, seemed fashioned Of ice and snow.
clock struck fOllr when a yolncr N, N with