Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1888-02-05
,,lo Nipette, expecting to get two at the

" Here ~ trauc, nc e",u'
wait for change" and putting q com IN
Ninette's hand he turned into the thea
fro. Ninette ran toward me with her
owes cleaning. She held up the piece
ri money exultingly. "Tiens, Anton q"
sbe cried. and saw that 1t was not
franc. as we had thought at first, but
gold Napoleon. ..
believe the good little boy and girl
in tho story books would have I'M
mediately sought out the unfortunate
gentleman and bid him rectify his mis-
take. generally receiving, so the legend
runs. a far larger bonus as reward OF
their integrity. ! have never been a
particularly good little boy, however,
and 7 don't think it ever struck either
Ninette or myself-perhaps we were not
sufficiently speculative-that any other
course was open to MS than to proht by
the mistake. Ninette began to consider
how we were to spend it.
"Think of il, Anton, a whole gold
Louis. A Louis" said Ninette, count
ing laboriously, "is twenty francs,
franc is twenty sous, Anton how many
sous are there in Louis ? More than
hundred ?"
But this piece OF arithmetic was be-
yond me; / shook my head dubious
~.
"What shall we buy first?' said Nj.
nette, with sparkling eyes. I" You shall
have new things, Anton, pair OF new
shoes and nat F.; and =
But had other things than clothes in
my minds eye; interrupted her.
'"Ninette. dear little Ninette, " said
coaxingly, remember the fiddle.
Ninette's face fell. but she was ten
der little thing, and she showed no hest
tation.
Certainly, Anton" she said, but
with less enthusiasm, eve will get it to-
morrow-one of the fddles you showed
me in NJ. Boudinot's shop on the Quai.
Do YOU think the ten-franc one will DO,
or the light one for fifteen francs?"
ooh, the light one, dear Ninette, L
said sit is worth more than the extra
money. Besides, we shall soon earn it
back now. Why, if you could earn such
lot as you have with your old organ,
when YOU only have to turn n handle,
think what lot 1 shall make, tiddling.
For you have to be something to play
the fiddle, Ninette."
eyes" said the little girl, wincing !;
"you are right, dear Anton. Perhaps
you will get rich and go away and leave
me ?"
"No. Ninette," declared grandly,
twill always take care Of you. Ihave
no doubt | shall get rich, because | am
going to be a great musician, but | shall
not leave yen. will have big house
in the Champs Elysees, and then you
shall come and live with me and be my
housekeeper. And in the evenings l
will play to you and make you open
your eyes, Ninette. You will like me
to play, you know we are often dull IN
the evenings"
yes" said Ninette, meekly, eve
will buy your fiddle tomorrow, dear
Anton. Let us 90 home now.
Poor vanished Ninette, | must often
have made the little heart sore with some
of the careless things | said. Yet look
ing back at it now. know that | never
cared for any living person 50 much as L
did for Ninette.
/ have very few illusions left now; n
/ childhood such as mine does not tend to
preserve them, and time and success
have not made me less cynical. Still l
have never let my skeptlclsm touch that
childish presence. Lady Greville once
said to me, in the presence of her
nephew, Felix Leominster, musician.
too, like myself that We three were curl
ously suited, for that we were, without
exception, the three most cynical per-
sons in the universe. Perhaps in a way
she was right. Yet for all her cynicism
Lady Greville / know has bundle OF
old and faded letters, tied up in black
ribbon in some hidden drawer, that per
haps she never reads now, but that she
cannot forget or destroy. They are in
bold handwriting, that is not, | think,
that of the miserable old debauchee, her
husband, from whom she has been
separated since the first year of
her marriage, and their envelopes bear
Indian postmarks.
And Felix, who told me the his
tory of those letters, with a smile
OF pity on his thin, ironical lips
Felix, who carries as light a load
of principles as it is possible for a
man to do with and escape the clutch Of
the law, and in whom | believe as little as
he does in me, found out by accident
not so very long ago. 1t wasOn the day OF
All Souls, the melancholy festival ofsou-
venirs, celebrated once year under the
November fogs, that l strayed into the
Montparnasse Cemetery, to seek inspi-
ration for my art And though he did
not see me, I saw Felix, the prince of
railers, who believes in nothing, and
cares for nothing except himself, for mu-
sic is not with him a passion, but an
agreement.
And myself, the last of the trio, at the
mercy of street organ, l cannot forget
Nineite. Though it was not until many
years had passed that l heard that little
criticism, the purchase Of my eddie was
destined very shortly to bring my life in
contact with its author.
Those were the days when a certain
restraint grew up between Ninette and
myself. Ninette, it must be confessed,
was jealous of the fiddle. Perhaps she
knew instlnctvely that music was with
me Il single and absorbing passion, from
which she was excluded. She was no
genius, little Ninette, and her organ was
nothing more to her than the means Of
making a livelihood she felt not the
smallest tondreSSe for it, and could
not understand why a dead and inani-
mate fiddle, made Of mere wood and cat
gut, should be any more to me thnn that.
How could she know that to me 1t was
never a dead thing that even when il
hung hopelessly ont of my reach, in the
window of NJ. Boudinot, before ever it
had given out wild, imprisoned music
beneath my hands. it was always live
thing to me, alive and with human,
throbbing heart, vibrating with hope
and passion.
So Ninette was jealous Of the fiddle,
and being proud III her way, she be-
came more and more quiet and reticent,
and drew herself aloof from me, al
though, wrapped up as l was in the
double egotism OF art and boyhood, |
failed to notice this. have been sorry
since that any shadow of misunder-
standing should have clouded the