Wichita eagle., 1889-10-11
TALE OF AN OLD HOUSE.


New Orleans, down in the French quarter, is
an old, old house where the pink stucco is
falling from its wall, and where the beauti-
full iron balconies are fast being eaten away
by the hungry red rust gnawing ccaselessly
at its exquisite hand wrought scrolls and ara
besques. The doors and windows are guard
ed by heavy batten shutters, so long
closed that the hinges have become so set
one could not, if one chose, open them to
the blessed light of day.
Beyond the house and facing the street is a
deep, narrow garden, shut in by high brick
wall, over whose top spray of jessamine or
riotous rose occasionally filings cut banner
and fiaunts it in the wind in the bravado of
beauty, but beyond that one can only see that
the tall orange trees within are white with
bloom or yellow with fruit, as the season
may be-
1t IS house that has evidently ''come down
in the world" and that bears unmistakable
evidence Of having seen better days Society
and fashion that once tripped up its broad
steps, and smiled and smirked at itself in the
ornate gilded mirrors in the long saloon, has
found its way to the broad boulevard Esplan-
ade beyond ard left it stranded in side
street where no one wants to live Somehow
the leaEy cutters and pent roof seem miser-
ably conscious of all this and weep and frown
down upon The placards nailed on either door
post, lii which the public is informed that
this house is to rent, and that one is to apply
to Messrs. Blank 6 Blank, who have in charge
the succession of the d Avril estate. No one
wants TO rent it, however, and when the adj
vertisements grow faded by the sun or sod
der by the rain, fall dejectedly off on the
l.. O.
boy, who nails on a fresh poster, which, in
turn, shares the fate of its predecessors.
Nine. Charpentier, who lives Just across
the street, and who leans comfortably out of
The window to have a chat with the baker
about her own house, says to him for the
hundredth time:
"Ah, M'sieu Gragnou, it viii be to some
one else you bring the bread soon. 1t is not
/ who viii live III a house not fit for pig. 1t
is yesterday M'sieu Paul comes for the rent
Mon Dieu, Msieu,' l say, and is it rent you
ask for this coop, this sly? Look at the roof,
Like a sieve! When it rains fish would be
drownedp"
''Mais, oui, interrupts the baker, as ma
dame pauses for breath, ''but where will you
go: Over there. perhaps" and he fourished
a twisted loaf of bread toward the d'Avril
house across the way, where the red and blus
posters were distinctly visible
Nine. Charpentier gave gasp and threw
out her hands In a gesture of amazement and
depreciation
"Mon Dieu, no." she cried; 81 am not SUPER
stitious, no; | go 10 mass and make my con-
feSsion, as good Christian should, but ono
has ones little prejudices, and one knows
quite well that IL that house is not haunted
items, it was always strange, that house; no
one coming or going, no fetes, no anything
but silence, and nowr-and Nine. Charpen.
tier threw out her hands in q gesture that in
cluded every possibility.
1t was a favorite topic with her, this
d'Avrl house, and she would dearly have
liked to tell the baker the latest story about
it. That Titine and Iuisette and Francois
had heard some one within moving. moving,
moving with muflied steps across the rooms.
But the baker had taken advantage of the
very first pause iii the story to deposit her two
loaves of twisted bread on the window sill,
and now he was far down the street, whist
ling as he went. Nine Carpenter was
naturally incensed. She tossed the loaveS
contemptuously or the table.
BAH" she said, heavy as lead! 1t is
what one might expect from man with no
sympathy and no imagination
Mime Cha1pentier voiced the belief of the
neighborhood when she said that the d Avril
house was uncanny. 1t might not be haunted,
but what were the strange noises one heard!
Had not Toinettc. items, if not Toinette
then Luisette, or perhaps Jean-well, mon
Dieu, it was all one and not worth breaths
difference-had not some one heard, as they
were coming home late at night, deep sobs
from behind the closed shutters? If one
stood on tip toe one was juSt on level with
the window
1t was the talk of the neighborhood When
Mime. Charpeutier and Mime. Blanc met at
the little cafe. where they Went TO fetch
pint of win ordinair, they stopped and talked
it over with their fat hands resting on their
ample hips. When woman went to the
priests to buy scapular to hang around the
baby's neck to help it through teething, and
stopped for n moment ct a friends fer bit
of gossip. she was sure ~ hear some fresh
story about the haunted house that would
send her homo making the sign of the cross,
and tightly clasping the bit of prayer or holy
relic sewed up in the scrap of silk.
1t had been many years since the report
that the house was haunted gained currency,
but it was only within the last few months
that Blank 4 Blank had displayed on its door
post their alluring assortment of posters
only, indeed, since Nine. d'Ayril died Dur
ing the many years in which the house was
shut so securely against prying curiosity, and
In which the rumor gained strength, no one
had ever been permitted to penetrate behind
those closed doors save only the priest and
physician.
The neighborhood, which never suffered
anything TO happen unseen or unhe2rd,
would have told YOU ii you would have
stopped for a Moment and leaned over the
little counter In Nine. Charpentier's shop
and if you had evinced the fainteSt curiosity
in the subject, that no one was ever seen
about the house across the street but quad
room.
Almost white tall and thin-like q ghost.
1t is she who ALWAYS answers the ring NJ the
garden gate. not that that is often. Ma foi!
The butcher with q hit OF meat, the baker,
the milkman, for, Just heaven. one must live
even III a house like that For the rest. every
Saturday, as regular as clock work, as
m'Sieur may see for himself II be chooses,
Just as the clock strikes ten, one may see the
priest and the physician meet at the little
garden gate. II Is opened for then-a Little
way-no more-thev disappear In an hour,
perhaps more, perhaps less, they come out.
That Is all. / could tel msleur no more II l
Sas at confession, and lie waS the father con-
fessor himself and Nine Carpenter
shrugged her shoulders up TO where the
great gold hoops dangied in her big ears, and
made gesture thSt said, plainly as words.
that she washed her hands of all that went
on behind the closed doors Of the d'Avrl