The Evening post. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1888-1889, 1888-11-22
JULES CLARIFIES ROMANCE.


just shaken like swarm through the
railway compartment, and which she
seemed now anxious to dispense with
the little embroidered handkerchief that
she was waving before her face.
A tinge of red had mounted TO her pale
cheeks, like those of little school girl
of 10, the blush of sudden trouble,
soon dissipated by the glow of sympathy
which she discovered in the looks of the
young bachelor Jules Claretie had list
ened to her with surprise ut first, then
with emotion, nursed by the caressng
music of her fresh voice, with its child
ish tones, us he felt crowd of tunul-
tuous pictures rise and swell within
him, though he had thought they were
laid to rest beneath the conscience of the
trained young scholar.
He was rather troubled than surprised
by the echo which every confidence of
Ophclia awoke in his heart, in the rest
less Imagination of the budding thinker
and writer, ever floating between dream
and reality, passionate alike for one and
for the other, already enamored of fan
tasy and analysis, of that two-fold ac
tivity of the soul, half way between
truth and the ideal, of which he was
hereafter to constitute the foundation
and the plan of his work in fiction.
TO be frank, we must here declare that
the impressions of Jules Claretie were
not for the moment as precise as we have
Just described them. Our judgments on
the men and things we come across are
in reality but an uninterrupted series of
subsequent images, and not OF instanta-
neous photographs, time alone, which
constructs the optics of facts, enabling
us to disentangle the philosophy of the
events wherein we have played part.
The young bachelor, then, was not
disposed to eXaggerate the Importance
and significance Of the scene which was
being enacted around him, not clearly
conceiving that it would furnish to others,
later on, the subject of a story of which
the hero would have become a famous
novelist, the occupant of IA chair in the
French Academy. He simply abandoned
himself to the impressions which sue
ceeded one another in his mind, reserv-
ing their analysis for a future occasion,
as every man who respects himself is
wont to do. And these impressions, it
must be said, were kind which Dor
dered more particularly on vanity, and
on a sentiment of tiattered pride.
He had evidently made n conquest.
lie was in luck, this shy bachelor who
had not yet dared to look Il woman in
the face. This enchanting Ophelia,
living incarnation of Shakspeare's
heroine, full of charming boastfulness,
whom he did not know five minutes be-
fore, but whose prototype he had for
merly admired on the stage, now be-
longed to him by all common aflinities of
their two natures, alike sentimental and
fanciful.
But still it was pity that the old
duenna was there to mar their outpour-
ings. and that the little Limousin in
front of them persisted in making the
desolate image of his poor Catissou float
over the surface of this delightful chap
ter of romance.
Ophelia, in truth, grew more and more
tender, and made ecstatic movements so
as to look at him in profile, so that he
grew pale with strong temptation to ask
her name, her address, to come to an un-
derstanding with her as to the mode by
which he might see her again as soon and
as often as possible when they returned
to Paris. At times even the voice of the
girl assumed tones that were quite ma
ternal. Now she was troubled about his
health, doubtless alarmed by the hollow
cough of the little mason, and seized on
this pretext to produce a little box of
sweetmeats, which she finally emptied
into his hands after it had gone the
round Of the company.
ooh, l do love bonbons," she said,
with little pearly laugh, "and | fancy
we have the same tastes-I am sure
of it."
Then, becoming serious and composed,
she took her album again, and began
once more to draw, saying that there was
no time to lose if she meant to finish the
portrait, for they would soon have to
leave the train at the next station.
In fact the next station was reached as
quickly as If 1t had rushed bodily to
meet the train, the rate of which dimin-
ishcd more and more. Its approach was
indirectly announced to the two young
people by the feverish fuss TO which the
duenna, who had not opened her lips,
began to abandon herself, long before
the carriage halted-a fuss, too, quite out
of proportion with the small number of
packages which she was collecting from
the racks One would have thought that
sudden trouble had taken possession of
her, which she tried to cover beneath the
number and variety of her movements.
The train stopped at last, amid the
noise of the drags which were put on.
An increasing emotion shone in the eyes
of the young bachelor. He had risen to
make room, not well knowing what he
did. His hand felt q warm contact; it
was Ophelias hand which was gliding
into his own. He looked at 1t, incapable
of finding word of farewell. She
moved her lips, and sudden consterna-
ton spread over her dark face. 1t seemed
to the young bachelor that distant star
was setting in her azure eyes She said
"Adieu," and he made some answer,
feeling sure that they would never see
each other again.
AT this moment the door of the com
partment was opened from without. Two
nuns with white hoods were standing on
the platform, close to the carriage One
came up to the step and held out her
hand to the girl, so as to help her out,
The other also came forward, with kind
and touching smile.
"This is Mile. de Chateauvinars, is il
not?"
Astounded by the incomprehensible
scene, not knowing how TO interpret the
movement of terror of the girl rs soon
as she saw the two nuns, Jules Claretie
sank back in his seat as the duenna
passed in front of him. Her head,
which naturally stopped, almost touched
his own, and he heard her whisper in
his ear as if 1t We're a dream:
Forget all this and pity the poor
child. She is mad !"
With straining heart, his eyes fixed
steadily on the hill which sheltered the
little station where she Ind oliuhtnI