Wichita eagle., 1888-10-19
A FRENCHMAN'S TALE.

Whoever has CHANGED to spend a week
OF 90 at Frascati's hotel, Havre, during
the height Of the season, must remember
the Interesting rows of men which daily,
at the hour when the low tide signal Is
flying, form along the wooden walk from
the little village of green lighthouses to
the waters edge, to criticise or admire the
fair bathers as they trip by in their flow
ing peignoirs, with their lady's maids in
tow. Here, ct the top of the line, we have
the usual Englishman, with extravagant
checked knickerbockers, nudging tho
stout little Irishman at his side as each of
the peignoirs sails past. and saying to him
in a most audible whisper: "a mighty fine
gal-awl BY Georgel doosed pretty
anl1le!" to which our Irishman replies,
with the broadcast of accents: "Yis, by ST.
Patrick, but she wouldn't be the worst
for a pound or two the nlorel' And
down there, where the ripples break
on the stones, we recognize that
tall Monsieur lie Comte de s., with
his craning neck and his eyeglass. The
roguel He always takes up his stand
down there where he can study the graces
of the outlines revealed by the peignoirs
as they drop from naughty shoulders and
are caught by obse9uious maids. No
heiress nor dowager but he knows the ex-
act cut of her blue flannel "corsage," and
how much of the natural she has about
herl Between these two extremes Is
every Imaginable grade-from your high
treasury cockalorum down to your sleek
rombed groom and your white aproned
garcon. We have seen them hundred
times. and we know them by heart. The
never ending procession Of ladies--we are,
to our shame be it said, tired of that, too.
The fat have lost their charms in our
Batiated eyes; the thin no longer coil
themselte S about our hearts. The stones,
too. on which we are sitting for sand is
scarce on this rough beach, remind US
that they were never intended to be sat
on, and we are just preparing to leave
when the tall gentleman whom we met ut
the table dhote week ago strolls up and
sinks down beside US.
''Ah, but my good friend"-for he
speaks English as fuently as he does sew
eral other languages-'is it not pleasant
to sit down when one is tired? Here I
have been stalking about like lonely
Btork ever since Nina went into the
waterl'
Do not be surprised, reader, at the IA
miliar tone which this big Frenchman
talks. There is nothing like q week of
table d'hote neighborhood at Frascati's to
make friends, especially when one of the
parties is curious American and tho
Dther a laxative and travelled Frenchman.
Monsieur lie Quai had easily swept away
my reserve by showing mono himself, and
before our third dinner was done we had
gotten over an amount Of ground on tho
road to intimacy which, with reasonable
people and at reasonable times, is not to
be raced over in less than two weeks.
"Ah, madame is in the bathr' | re-
marked, scanning the crowd of heads bob
bling about on the waves,
La voila!' he said, pointing her out to
ne. She was standing up; the waves
reached only to her small waist, leaving
exposed a charnlingly graceful bust ard
admirable head. ain rather skeptic as
regards feminine beauty; but here YVES
truly face about which there could be
no doubt. Rich black hair and soft eyes,
full red lips. transpar- But | mover
was good at describing faces, especially
women's. Suffice it to say, she was an
ideal brunette. could not help telling
nv tall friend so. But" continued |,
her cast of feature is certainly not
French; she seems more to be Spanish"
No" said her husband, "she is not
Spanish"
'Italian?" I ventured. with more crIri-
osity than politeness.
mon pas Italienne."
As he did not advance any further in
formation, and thinking that he did not
wish to tell me. desisted, and was pro-
pairing to change the subject, when. with
out any warning, he began the following
story:
1t was on summer evening, in the
year 1877 that I IVES sitting on the YER
anda Of beautiful house near the city Of
Caracas. Directly before mo stretched
perspective of exquisitely kept lawns and
shaded walks, while further of, here and
there among the trees, shone a silvery
little lake: far in the distance the white
houses of the city caught the CLEAN Of
she evening sun as it sunk behind the
mountains Ia the west. Bat 1t was not
at this bit of natures painting that was
gazing; | needed not to search the dis
lance for beauties TO charm my eye, when
at nv side was seated what seemed to me
then to be the most beautiful woman in
the world. Whether she is what my
fancy painted her or not | leave you to
decide. for she is my wife"
/ mum bled something to the effect that
she was an angel of beauty. which the
story teller did not heed.
No words" continued he, "can de-
scribe the admiration which had for the
rich warmth of her dark hair and the
gentle depths of her black eyes. the melt
ing red of her lips, or the graceful curves
of her figure. Ny dear friend. had just
proposed to her. 1t took the courage of q
- Il
waited breathless for her answer. So in
tense were my feelings that l have not
forgotten single word of our converse
ton.
"'Nc. my dear Mr.. lie Quail she said
with that friendhness of tone so tantaliZ-
ing to @ lover who sees his doom ahead,
i do not doubt that what YOU say is true
that you love me with all your heart
and soul: and | cannot express how fat
tered am by it. / feel for you. sir. the
respect due to man whom nv father
has brought to his house as friend, and
the friendship which no woman can re-
fuse to man who has often amused and
sometimes instructed her
Miss Nina de Latore, | was wei aware.
was accustomed to the homage of all her
fathers numerous guests Hence had
little right to hope that would be the
favored one: bnt, with the obstinacy Of
all blind adorers, | fancied she was ge1sle-
to me than to the others, and thought
detected in the studied style of her re-
fusal a faint encouragement to persist.
Nevertheless, pretending to be in the Ut
most despair. | cried:
Then have nothing to hopes / am
utterly rejected. and must hereafter roam
the world with n bitfer beerf and G crnel