St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1889-08-04
LOVES TRAGEDY.
Typical Story of Fashionable French Life in Paris

i.o,,Jni.o,.S 9ou " youi pii'"'0
Fernando raised her eyes with move
ment of establishment. In ten years of
married life NJ. de Ryant departed for
the first time from his regular habits.
For but moment" he added, land,
by the way do not forget that tonight
is the first night OF Francillon. You re-
cover in good time"
Meanwhile, arrived at her little Solon,
Fernando seated herself and regarded
her husband, tall man and thin, cold
and impaSSively calm, the CLEAN of his
blue eyes like the sheen of tempered
metal.
Yes" he began. "my dear Fernando,
to speak with you, as | said, briefly, in
order to place before you our reciprocal
situation. When l married you you
were poor. l did not demand your love.
but your friendship. | have received
from you what had right to expect,
being double your own age.
YOU BROUGHT ME SUPERB BEAUTY,
Incompatible wit and a finished educa-
ton. So much of all three did you
bring me that my salon is one of the
half dozen or so that still exist in the
city. Upon my side | believe that L
have faithfully observed the tacit con-
u dCI OGtWCCIl 10. 1OuI llIC 10 ClilllCly
free. You have your relations the same
but one thing-simply that should it
please you to have friends-more init
mate than others, those friends, then,
should please me. Until at present
have had nothing with which to re-
proach you. The men and women you
receive here have all been charming
people of wit and letters, like R0uvray,
for instance. and artists like Henri Ser
vain. / see no harm in it."
Fernando trembled. The Comte re-
sumed steadily, camly, emphasizing no
special word.
Very amusing, this Rouvray; toler-
ably intelligent and with great tact, and
paid you aSSiduOuS court, did he not?
Nay, do not blush; am not jealous;
and then, have seen him less during
the past twelve months! Poor kou-
vray! Unfortunately, he has no ear for
music, of which, for a fact, there has
been a great deal in our house. Henri
Servain has doubtless wearied him.
Charming, also, this friend of yours, and
talented, but unhappily little
TOO NAUGHTY AND ToUCHY.
You should counsel him to soften his
character: he affects too great concern
for money; you see this, of course; my
poor miIlions Rouvray perpetually
talked of his horses; Servain perpetu-
ally of his music, and I-well, l admit
it, am sensitive to the manners of peo-
pie. Ii Servain were as amiable as
Rouvray. l assure you that he would
not diSpleaSe me-"
Fernando cOmprehended. She was
cold to the soul, but forcing herself to
nVt ward ~ m GOinn n pncnnnd
when suddenly her husband. until then
in front of her, seated himself at her
side.
dear child" he resumed. "now that
| have engaged you to give counsel to
your friend Servain, listen to counsel
that | have still to give you. DO you
know what it is that hate most in life?
No? Then will tell you-it is drama;
behind drama there is always scandal.
Well,
THE WORLD PARDONS EVERYTHING
BUT SCANDAL.
''Opinion, public opinion, that is. re-
SpectS it always-it is the secret of life.
So far, so good; now find you nervous,
you say i'll, and [ say that you must
calm yourself; that you must cure your
self-immediately We are invulnera-
bic. remember. one and all of us, so long
as we escape public uproar. Public
opinion is formidable force, my dear
est"
Fernando made gesture of revolt,
her womanly mOdeSty cut to the quick.
As well might her husband have said:
Thy new lover does not please me;
prefer the otherm for evidently he
believed that such had been the rela-
ton to her of that stupidity smiling M.
de Rouvray. M. de Ryant saw the
movement. but without word or look
that betrayed the fact rose to his feet,
pressed
GERS,
and with a brief until evening, Fer
nande," turned and left the apartment.
The face of this man had resumed the
mask of impaSSibility. He crossed the
two salons and the long gallery crowded
with pictures and groups of marble as if
he did not see them. Upon the TIRES
hold of his private office his confidential
calet awaited him.
''Th9 mail of M. lie Comte." SAID he,
''is ready for him on the table"
Fifty or sixty personal letters, for
which in his own house NJ. de Ryant re-
CURED no secretary. Two thirds of
them speedily disposed of in the waste
basket, the rest of them piled at his
elbow for immediate attention. The
last of this pile, as he tore it open,
began with the phrase,
my DEAREST"
Ny dearest? M. de Ryant reversed it
hastily. Al-h! as he supposed the let
ter was intended for his wife. He hest
tated second then reversed it again
and read it slowly:
My Dearest: You will receive this
by II o'clock, when, as | know, you are
alone. / shall await you in the Avenue
Kleber until o'clock; if you do not
come, if you do not pardon me, l shall
keep my word and-kill myself.
HENRI.
Once more a strange flash darted
from the eyes of the C0mte de Ryant.
Something like grimace curled his
lips. He simply, however, glided the
letter into his pocket, rang for his valet
de chambre and ordered his coupe.
Fernando, the COmtesse de Ryant,
had just completed her toilet to go out.
1t was O'Clock, the hour when usually
she went to throw herself into
THE ARMS OF HER LOVER.
Since breakfast cruel thoughts had
haunted her soul, and little by little
suffering consumed her jealousy. Love
had begun to revive in that heart so
cruelty wounded. How empty the world
would seem to her if Henri would fill it
no more! All at once there was a rap
at the door; it opened, and M. de Ryant
appeared.
Pardon my lack of ceremony" said
he, "but am in haste, Fernando, to re-
pair forgetfulness. They brought me
this letter by mistake. [ opened it
without noticing it was yours" And he
watched her intently as he handed her
Servants letter.
Had he read it, her husband? Did he
know all? A thousand thoughts crowd
ed the brain of Fernando. She felt in
stinctiveiy the drama was closing about
her. No matter, she would meet it
meet it bravely-even though it was
trap into which her husband was hunt
ing her. She also regarded him intent
ly and then she read. At the last line
SHE UTTERED A CRY.
A cry? No; a ferocious Interrogation,
one single and laconic word:
"Henrir'
'sDead.'
"Dead.' she staggered like wound
ed bird. but instantly recovering her