, 1885-05-13
LIFE AND DEATH.


eyes we're dim, and his gray hair lell
earelessly over his shoulders. While
his eyes aud hair seemed to be those OF
a man of SO. his whole apl eardncs
showed MIN to 10 hardly 30 years old.
He was evidently an American-at least,
to Judge from his face. for the
physiognomy of an American is unmis-
taxable. lie was certainly q man w.,o
had seen a great deal Of the world.
This man has had an eventful life,
said /, in n scarcely audible tone; how
] should like 10 know the history OF IT,
''if that is So. SAID a voice at my
side, which | at once recognized as that
OF my friend, Mr.: A. II can tell you
the history OF this man, and shonld be
surprised If you knew a man whose.
history can compare with his.
DO you know him, thenf'
II do not know him personally, but !
am acquainted with a peculiar event in
his life. | was In Paris at the time
when his corpse was buried.
'Burielf''
Vel, not strictly speaking, but still
something OF the kind. II you have a
half hour TO spare, let us take a seat on
that bench. aud ! viii tell you the story
which created a great sensation in Paris
several years ago
ID The following is the story as related
TO me by my friend;
In a room in Paris which had but n
window sat three persons. Monsieur
Dorine was reading The journal des De
bats. his back turned to the sofa, on
which sat Mademoiselle Dorine aud a
young American gentleman. The Joy
ft1 aAunfap.noa Of tho latfar chAsuaA
plainly In what relationship he was to
the Dorine family. There was on this
afternoon no happier person in all Paris
than Philip Wentworth. Life for him
was so full of Joy, that he almost feared
the next day might bring n change.
What more could the future bring hint
But what could it not rob him of
The greatest JOY is always coupled
with sadness, with a certain indescriba-
bic presentiment OF evil. Wentworth
felt this strange feeling come over him,
as he pressed the hand Of Julia Dorine
TO his lips and took his leave.
Monsieur norine laid aside the paper
and approached him. ''If the house
answers TO Mr.. Cherbonneau's descrip-
ton, - said he, 81 advise you to buy it
without delay. I would like to accom-
pany You, hilip, but ! must confess /
am too much grieved at the loss Of my
little bird to help you in choosing a cage.
Meanwhile do not forget that the last
train returns at ; o'clock. We have
tickets, you know. for Sardou'sne com
edy, which is to he played tomorrow
evening.
The next morning the train brought
hilip Wentworth to n charming little
town in the vicinity of Paris. A beauti-
FIJI vista half n mile long. led to the
villa of Mr.. Cherbonneau. The young
man walked from one room to the other,
then visited the stable, the beautiful
lawn in front of the house, the lovely
little wood. and after he had dined with
Mr.. Cherbonneau, settled the purchase,
and wendell his steps to the depot in
order to be in time for the express
train. When the evening twilight be-
gan TO set in and Paris appeared in the
distance, it seemed to the young man
as if he had been travelling a year. Ar
rived in the depot, he quickly betook
himself to his hotel. where he found
several letters on his table. But he
hardly looked at the addresses, and
quickly changed his travelling costume
for an evening toilet.
His yearning desire to sec Madem-
oiselle norine made the journey APP
pear long; at last the coach halted be.
fore the house of Mr.. Dorine. The
door was opened as Philip mounted the
steps. and the servant silently relieved
him OF his %oyercoat and hat.
rs no one at homef he asked.
Mr.. ] orine cannot see you at this
moment. answered the servant slowly.
He desires 20 / to wait in the parlor
is Mademoisclle-
"les, sir.
"Alone.
"Ycs, sir, - answered the servant,
with a peculiar look. Philip could
hardly repress an exclamation of joy; it
was the first time that such n privilege
had been allowed him. Hitherto his
meetings with Julie had been only in
presence of Mr.. Dorine or some other
member of the family. A well-bred
Partisan lady makes only n formal ac-
quaintancc with her atiianced. Philip
did not stop to consider for one moment.
He softly opened the door Of jules
room. Under the large chandelier stood
"A small black coffin. A burning candle,
n crucifix and a few white flowers stood
ph - idbit hVoi y "hi' ioAlio wa,
dead.
When Nh. Eorine heard the shrek OF
anguish, which broke the solemn still.
ness Of the hour, he FASTENED to the
room and found Philip standing like a
statue in the center Of the o
II wal only after the lapse of some
time that Wentworth learned the full
particulars of the Unreasonable mis-
fortune which had befallen him. The
previous evening Miss Dorine had be
taken herself TO her room, apparently
in perfect health. She had told her
maid to wake her early the next morn
ing. When the girl came at the APP
pointed time, Mile. porine sat in her
arm chair, where she lid evidently Leen
overtaken by sleep At her fvsl lay a
book half open. The mail was terrified
when she saw that Lie bed was un-
touched, and that her mistress rad moi
yet laid aside her toilet. She tried to
awake her; but in vain he rus moi
asleep-but dead
Two letters were immediately gent to
Philip, one to the depot in G., and the
other TO his hotel, The former had
reached its place Of destination loo
late; the latter had not L,s,l opened by
Philip.
The wealth Of the young lady, her
sudden death, and the romantic court
ship OF the young AmcI lean, caused q
large multitude of persons 10 lie present
at the funeral. The corpse was TO te
placed in the family vault Of tt orine,
in the cemetery Of Hontmartre. This
vault wa surrounded by nm iron rail.
ing, through which could lc seen
heavy oaken door, which i4cnrl in.c
the vault proper. The "a. II was Atom
twenty feet squars. had a small air hcis