San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1886-12-15

The short interval Of silence was fol-
lowed by such burst Of applause Is is
not often heard. The public literally
brought the house down with their We
hement cries Of "Fleur de Mariel Fleur
de MarieT
Never had her voice sounded so spir-
itual, and yet so sad. 1t WAS as if each
note were a spoken tear
She was, however. not listening 10 the
roar of many voices, or the hurricane Of
clapping hands. she did not heed the
flowers that fell at her sandRled feet
She felt as one walking in n dream. She
only thought:
"What does il all avail. since he loves
me no lungerl What is fame to me, since
! fail ~ lcok fair in his eyesi Oh. Cab
risl, Gabriel, one hedgerow wild blossom
thrown by your hand at this moment
would mean more to me than the costliest
and rarest Of these exotics, which are
cast. after sll, To my voice, and not TO me-
She knew where he was. and how he
was looking At her ~ one looks at the
| Venus de M",lici or any other famous bit
of beauty, critically and casually. She
saw al this flom under her dropping
eyelids, as she stood enduring the worlds
applause. He was leaning against a side
scene, Whispering and laughing with the
Leopard, with passion in his dusky eyes,
and rose between his teeth. He was
toying idly with it as he had tridsd with
her. Presently he would cast it aside,
withered and bruised.
This woman, her rival, had won him in
the lottery of life as one wins gold heap
at game Of cards. Therein lay her
triumph.
Fleur de Marie passed out, followed by
men in the operas livery, laden with the
flowers the world had given her. Cries
arose of "Leopardi Gabriel" Gabriel,
Leopardiw He led her on the stage, bow
ing right and left.
"He shares his success with her and
no+ with me-" cried Flour de Marie, as
she closed the door of her dressing-room
and threw herself into a chair. while fan
and flowers dropped to the ground
81 see how it is He loves me ne longer.
1t is useless-nay, it is breaking my heart
to 20 on like this. There is no hope for
me now, because she has won him. How
cruel she isl Could she not be content
with half London at her fsetf She does
not care for anyone save herself-and l
have only this one to love. will 20
right away! cannot endure to see him
daily, to sing with him nightly, and be no
more to him than the dancing girl in the
ballet. will go right away. All this
fretting will iniurs my voice, and then
shall stsrvs. cannot see another, and
ono so unworthy, spoil Gabriers life, blight
his fame, as she will, assuredly she will.
How cruel she is! but oh, wish Gabriel
might come back to me as in those dear
old days. What has fame given me after
ALI Only heartache and few flowers :
and with these thoughts Mysie o'Fsrrell
gathered her wraps about her, and swept
down the steps to her brougham, which
was waiting in the midst Of crowd to
bear her TO her home.
The afternoon was drawing to a close.
1t was barely four o'clock, but the streets
were dark, and the lamps were lighted
At one Of the lower front windows OF =
house in Warrington crescent sat q wo-
man in black silk dress, with a face
most discOnsolate.
Certainly the outlook was dreary. and
the room in which she found herself was
weird with the tlickeling. ftful freight.
She rose from her seat behind the cur
tain, when the sounds of singing in the
street arrested her attention-she drew
up the blind and peered out into the
street. She only saw a dirty, gaily-
dressed pair OF beggars standing by the
pavement, both little Savoyards, brown
and handsome. Their vocalisation was
SO atrocious that the listener mechanical
ly put her finger TO her ear and WINGED
but still she remained where she stood,
for something in the sight Of those two
ragged, screaming children recalled old
days to her. She opened the window and
cast out handful Of cOppers to them.
The boy crossed the street, hat in
hand, and the girl helped him to gather
them up, bowling and gesticulating their
thanks to the giver. Then the watcher
saw them put their dusky heads together,
and count their earnings with smiling
faces.
"Ah, how happy they arel dirty, des-
pissed, homeless, often penniless, but how
happy Just as was once"
She drew down the blind once more. As
she did so the servant entered. bearing .
salver covered with pile Of letters.
Poor little Mysic O'Farrell! Less than
five years ago she was only stray street
singer, and Row each pest brought petit
lions from half the opera directors in Eu-
rope and America, begging her to give
them if only couple of nights, with
promises d fabulous remuneration.
She now took up the heap Of letters
YEARLY. Suddenly she started. as her
eyes fell on bold, untidy handwriting.
scrawled across a foreign envelope, which
bore the post-mark Bombay"
"Ah!" she exclaimed, '.he has not for
gotten. fancied he would. But no; this
is the very day, September Goth, he said
he would write'
She opened the letter. and hurriedly
read its contents; it was not long, but
characteristic.
HOTEL, BOMBAY, August IS
~ have waited patiently and in silence,
through the year. Now, ] ask you once more
and for the last time, for would not weary q
woman: Will you he my wifcI | love you
better than myself; ! prize your happiness
more than my own. ] never have seen any
one at all MI X "i GSns.nu.d Z" "-''" II"
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