The Caldwell tribune. [volume] (Caldwell, Idaho Territory [Idaho]) 1883-1928, 1889-07-13
A Pilgrimage of Love.
BY A. X. HAVEN.

Translated from the French OF George
Durney.l
BY A. X. HAVEN.
When Oliver and Mariette first low.
I'd their united ages did not make
forty years. He had just carried of
the grand prize in sculpture. She
was a governess in II wealthy family.
Marietta went with the family to
Italy, and Oliver decided to follow
her, There, for three years which
seemed to Iass almost us swiftly as
ttotfrs, they ted together, rs cent
rades and lovers, a happy life of
work and careless gayety. Then
they parted, because the love of
vouth-that love which embalms the
memory OF lifc's morning-is subject
10 the same law of quick decay as
the most delicate flowers and the
most luscious fruit. They parted
without ecriminations, without a
bitter word just as they recognized
that their love was failing. Instead
of emptying the fiagon filed with de-
iicious essence and then casting 1t
aside, they preferred to preserve care
fully the last drop in order that they
might find later something of that
perfume which seemed SO sweet to
them before.
Olivier became celebrated and rich.
He was envied by men and loved by
women, receiving in divers but equal
~ flattering ways, the homagewhich
each sex, after it's own matter, pays
to growing regulations.
Marietta had an adventure into
which she was led by nomadie in
stinct of her heart that was little in
clined to entertain the same senti-
ment for any length of time. She
had many lovers. She married one
of them, who, wishing to do every
thing in his power to please her, soon
left her a widow with fortune and
the title of Marquise.
Fifteen years passed, and they did
not see each other after their separa.
ton until chance, the irony OF which
is pleased by these rencounters,
brought them together at a ball.
"Who is that pretty woman?'
said Oliver to himself.
He did not recognize-under the
Jewels with which she was almost
covered-his little sweetheart of
other days; she who then never wore
richer ornament than a white
camelia in her hair or O bunch of
roses at her waist.
"Who is that handsome man.
thought Marietta, who remembered
having seen somewhere a pointed
beard and turned-up moustaches
which resembled his, though they
were then black, not shot with white
as now.
Their eyes met; they recognized
each other, across the crowd of in
different people who separated them,
Marietta and Olivier smiled sweetly
on each other as in that former time,
when, having but one thing to say,
always the same, they often re-
manned for u long time without
speaking, hand clasped in hand.
Suddenly their eyes were bathed with
moisture as came to them quickly,
like fash of lightning, the memory
of those happy by-gone days. Two
tender thoughts passed each other,
invisible messengers of the heart,
bearing greetings. Then, as if some
mysterious lode stone still attracted
these two beings, whose flesh and
spirits had formerly mingled in kisses
without number, at the self-same
moment the artist started toward
the Marquise and she rose to 60 to
him.
"Ah? it is you!' said Mariette, ex-
tending her hand to him. "What an
unexpected meeting!'
They drew away from the throng
and seated themselves in little de.
serted salon, instinctively seeking re-
tirement and silence. a large lamp,
having a shade of rose-colored paper,
discreetly lighted the room to which
the lively strains of the waltz, sifted
through the velvet portieres and
mutfled by the oriental carpet, came
like distant melody, which lulled the
timidity Of their conversation and
inclined them to tender condolences.
They told each other how happy
this meeting had made them, what
emotion they had experienced when
they recognized each other, and re-
lated the events of their lives during
the past fifteen years. Their CONVEX
sation was charmingly frank; but
through the badinage in which they
INDUCED ran keen regret that they
were no longer all in all to each other,
like timid avowal of the fault both
had committed in seeking
elsewhere the happiness which was
in their hands. At the moment when
the orchestra struck up one Of those /,
Gypsy airs whose heady music intoX-
icates one like the perfume of a trop-
zeal flower, Marietta noticed in Oil
vier's earnest look the fire of his for
mer passion, which had been sudden
ly revived; and this look, which fel |
upon her like u caress-this look, at |
once imperious and suppliant, made
her throat palpitate and n maiden
like blush mount to her cheeks. He |
leaned toward her, and, in a voice !
which trembled a little, murmured |
some words in her ear.
You wish, then" she said, ito add
II chapter to our romance? Be it so |
but on one condition: That we
take it up at the page where we left |
off. | start tomorrow for Rome.
Join me there in three days. Speak !
to me no more OF your grand passion |
,,.o hnx.n ,,,,,l.n Ali, !