The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-08-07

the date when a man is bitten and when
he goes mad is longer than that. / bell eve
il there ever was any danger for either of
us, it is all over now. 1t certainly was a
curious coincidence that she should have
been bitten on the same dav as | was, but
l cannot say l think anything of that !;
and still less do | mind her foolish fancies
about the dogs being alike. Herlihy's
dog was Just common brindled cur, and
it would be much funnier thing if there
were not good many others like him in
the world, than il there were an odd one
of the same type.
However, as / am forever saying to her,
we are both quite sound and fit, and it
might be the same dog or devil either,
twenty times over, for all / care.
She and meet each other now every
day. We meet at u o'clock at dejc,mer.
and after that we generally walk down to
the river, and then along under the horse
chestnuts, that have all broken into tull
leaf during these last warm DAYS, to the
Pont d lena. and so on into the gardens of
the Trocadero, where there is every sweet
shrub Towering and the birds singing,
and think of Carrig Frass and thank
God | am not there.
She knows no one in Paris any more
than do. Her people, think, are very
poor. She was talking to me lew days
ago about her loneliness here, and she
said she had only just enough to keep her
and her servant for the six weeks for
which they had settled to come here, and
to pay their way back to southern Hun
gary again. Her six weeks will be up
this day week She has taken the treat
ment regularly, and / should think she is
as safe as any one can be, but it is easy TO
see that she does not think so herself.
She has often Eighty, excitable way with
her that shows the state her nerves are
in. She badly wants some one to look
after her.
To-day she was telling me about her
life In that big flat, silent country she
comes from. The long quiet plains,
speckled as far as you can see with flocks
of sheep and herds of cattle and horses T;
the little villages dotted here and there
over the wide sea of grass, and the Danube,
sweeping its burden of RATS and barges
between fringes OF poplar into the level
blue distance, seem to fulill all her ideas
OF what landscape ought to be. / be-
lieye could show her something better
than that at home in the County Clare.
She says she is going to be musician,
and until she came here all her days were
given to practicing the violin with that OBJ
ject in view.
"Here l have to give up nv eight hours
| a dav," she said with a look at me that
had laughter behind it, though her face
might not like it. But I play as much as
can, F" she went on; sit is my violin that
keeps me alive-only for it" She broke
off and leaned toward me across the lit
tie yellow tin table at which we were sit
ting; for we were in our usual quiet cor
ner in the gardens of the Trocadero.
"Were you disturbed by my playing last
at was a hot night" Z answered evas-
iyely Il should not have slept in any
case" Indeed. long after she had ceased,
had lain awake tossing and thinking,
thinking
"There are some nights" she went on
quickly, with the scared white look COM
ing into her face which had seen in it
before, "when must play; then cannot
hear the sound of its feet galloping softly
toward me, and its paintings. Last night
/ thought OF you, and | would not play
more. / put the violin away and put
out the light and got into my bed. / told
myself | was an imbecile. | would not
listen; but it came, 1 heard it coming
across the tioor-Rado was asleep; she was
buOTluE 80 iUuulN NOu hOutl lidNC bllOuEAil
/ could hear nothing else f, but l knew it
was there"
"How did you know it?' I said, though
l knew l was fool TO encourage her in
speaking of such fancies.
Her right hand was lying on the table,
ungloved; my eyes followed hers to the
purple mark of the now healed wound.
HE licked it," she said, ''he laid his hot
tongue on it; there, on the place where he
had bitten it.
Her face was quivering and she kept
giving quick short looks to every side, as
she expected TO see the creature she had
dreamed of coming again to attack her.
1t was more than l could stand, to sit
there and watch her. / got up and walked
round the table and sat down by her side.
"Dear mademoiselIe," l said, taking her
cold hand in mine. ''these are all fancies.
Your nerves are strung too high, and your
Imagination plays on them as you do on
your violin, You soon will leave Paris,
and will forget all about this trouble and
everything connected with it. / suppose
1 ought to hope that for that reason you
will also forget me, but | am not capable
of so much unseltshness."
| tried TO make my voice sound as little
serious as | could, but it shook bit in
spite of me. Something in the touch of
her hand unsteadied me, and the speak
ing of her going away had made the
thought OF her doing so more of a reality
than it had ever been before.
"But | cannot forget" she answered,
quickly Withdrawing her hand from mine.
1T hangs over me always-Tm not afraid
OF death, but il is the shame of ito die
like an animal-or TO be snothered; they
did that to a man in village near us who
was mad. Promise me, ;" she said, turning
her shining frightened eyes upon me,
promise me if it comes upon me here
that you will shoot mel shall not mind
that-there would be no degradation in
dying like that would not ask you, but
you are the only friend / have IN Paris.
tried to answer her, but / could find
no words. A passion of love and pity was
fighting with the knowledge that man
with death at his elbow, as have, has no
right to speak of such things. She
watched my face anxiously.
"Will you not promise ?" she said. 81
know there might be danger for you too
but thought hoped
Ny self-control broke down. / said no
word to her, but took her in my arms
and kissed her many times. | was mad
for the moment l forgot everything but
the sense that she was in my arms, held
tight up against my heart. with the wind
blowing her hair all about my hot fore
head, and her sweet lips giving their
sweetness to me.
do not know what said to her, and