Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1882-07-13
It was about 8 in the afternoon when

It was about 8 i'm the afternoon when
we alighted at the door of the hotel, the
same that we had stopped at when we
came in April, and my uncle having
ordered dinner at 6, went in quest of
his late medical adviser. leaving me to
pass the interval as | thought proper,
after bidding me to be careful to bear
in mind The dinner-hour.
Not many more minutes than were
necessary. were consumed, as will be
supposed, in making myself sufficiently
tidy after our railway journey, for the
visit which had been promising myself
for some days past; nor had many sec
onds, after my uncle had left the hotel,
elapsed, ere l set out for TheOphile's
abode. How my heart throbbed at the
prospect of meeting her How would
she receive mep Would she be the
same TO me-quite-as when last saw
herp And then-and this thought has
troubled me much by the way-should
| find her at homer l had not liked to
write and tell her was coming. now
half regretted had not done so. How
ever, l reached the house the street
door, as usual, was open. / walked up
stairs and knocked at the door of the
sitting-rOom the family had been wont
to occupy. Madame Bertrand was
alone. She received me cOurteously,
indeed, rs ever but she seemed much
depressed about something, she did not
say what, and congratulated me on
having regained nay good looks, obseIv-
ing that had apparently derived great
benefit from my sojOurn in Switzer-
land.
After sitting some time, and The
ophile not appearing, l could restrain
myself no longer and asked the question,
How is TheOphilep'
'Ah, monsieur she replied, giving
vent to the feelings she had up to this
moment repressed, and bursting into
tears, 'Theophile nest plus ?
What L felt on hearing this announce
ment l shall not attempt to describe !;
but 1 question whether dagger thrust
into my heart would have caused me
greater anguish. We-neither of us
spoke for some minutes, both being
overcome with emotion but on recov-
ering herself. sufficiently, she told me
how, shortly after we had left COlmar,
her dearly loved daughter had been at
tackled with the same epidemic which so
nearly laid me low, and after lingering
some three weeks, sank under the at
tack.
ooh, Madame 7 exclaimed /, is it
possible am no more to see Theophile?
l loved Theophilep
Yes, Monsieur. l know it, and she
loved you, too. Her last words to you
| heard. They were "Au reooir;" but
she's gone az ciel, to fairer land than
this, where God grant you may meet.
Would Monsieur like to see the spot
where my cherished one reposes now in
peace? Then come with me-
Before quitting the house, however,
Madame Bertrand asked me whether |
should like a small memento of her
child.
Il should prize it dearly was my re-
ply. During her illness the doctor had
recommended that her hair should be
cat off quite short, and her mother had
kept it. She presented me with lock
which, as l took it from her hand, l
pressed to my lips, and thanked her
sincerely.
We walked together in silence to the
battle-ground, whittier all that was
mortal of dear Theophile had been con-
veyed some six weeks before. A wreath
of freshly gathered flowers lay upon
the grave, while plain white cross
bearing the simple inscription,
.THEoPHILE BERTRAND,
told briefly the tale of a comedy flower
prematurely stricken down, a choice
bud that had withered and passed hence
forever. After bidding Madame fare
well, made my way back to our hotel,
feeling anutterably miserable. with
weight upon my heart which time, as
it went on, scarce seemed to tighten.
1t is twenty-five years since this in
cident occurred, and l am still single.
have sometimes unused to myself what
might have been my course had not
paid Colmar a visit on our return jour-
ney, and never heard the story of The
ophile's end. Perhaps my attachment
to her might have abated, as such at
tachments formed in youth often do.
AS it is, however, the sweet memory
of Theophile has, as yet, undergone no
effacement.-1empIe Bar.