The Caldwell tribune. [volume] (Caldwell, Idaho Territory [Idaho]) 1883-1928, 1889-07-13

lightful sensation of restfulness, as
if he were already granted Il foretaste
of the happiness he is seeking.
Turin, Florence, 0rvieto! The
fields are still green and fiowery; the
breeze is freighted with delicate
odors;t the atmosphere is transparent;
the vine, climbing to the branches OF
F.: the young elms, weaves from tree to
| tree the purple garlands which de-
lighted the eyes ut Virgil.
Olivier dreams continually Of
Marietta. One does not meet, still
young and beautiful, a sweetheart
loved in former days without being
convinced that the senses have ttllfieiiff
memory, sometimes more tenacious
and more prompt to awaken than
the memory of the heart. The re-
membrane OF old caresses-a re-
membrane so keen that one is I'M
able to say whether it is pleasure or
pain-enters our flesh like an arrow
and arouses suddenly an imperious
desire to know again the sweetness oil
kisses which it was the thought had
been forgotten forever. That is why
Olivier, on again meeting Marietta,
felt through all his being that thrill
which is the harbinger ofthe spring
time of passion; that is why he went
to their rendezvous in Rome doubly
infatuated, since he had found in her
two women, the girlish sweetheart of
his youth, whom he was about to
regain, and the charming women Of
the world whose acquaintance he had
still to make.
AS he descended in tine morning
from the railway carriage i'll Rome
he saw Marietta awaiting him at the
station. She was clad in d simple
brown dress, she wore a hat with d
narrow brim fanked with two gray
wings OF d ring-dove, such as Olivier
remembered that she had worn when
she had started for Italy fifteen
years before, and which gave to the
blooming Marquise, superb in the
opulent beauty of her thirty-three
years, something of the air of mod
esty which characterized the little
governess of other days.
"Ah, my dear Marietta" says
Oliver, 81 find you the same sweet
girl as of old. 1t was yesterday,
was it not. when we two parted"
"Come," she says, with a smile of
ineffable tenderness, II am going to
take you with me-
They took a carriage which lett
them, in the via San Claudio, at the
door of a house which the artist at
once recognized. They assembled to
the third floor; she opened a door,
saying:
Here, we are at home"
1t was the reception room of the
apartment in which she had formerly
dwelt, and in which he had so often
visited her. Every piece of furniture
was in it's old place; the table, with
it's red cover, stained with the con-
tents of an inkstand he had over
turned: the arm chair, in which she
had sat upon his knees like a cajoling
child; the sofa, upholstered in flow
cred stuff. He cast a tender glance
over the furniture, commonplace to
Others but not him, for there was
not in the room an object which did
not possess for him a poetic 1eminis-
cence of their love. He saw that
Marietta had placed flowers every
where; camedias, white and red,
damask roses, Parma violets-those
which they used to gather in the gar
dens of the Villa Ludovisi, and some
of which she always slipped into her
bosom in order that her lover, when
he kissed her in the evening, might
find herneck as fragrant as a bouquet.
"Ah, my darlingn' he exclaimed,
"how happy we are going to bel"
He tried to take her in his arms,
but she nimbly disengaged herself
from his embrace and with mutinous
grace replied:
mo, no, my dear Oliver! This is
only the first stage of our Pilgrim
age" And, as he importuned her,
she added; "Ah! you like all other
men! You always yield to the i'm
pulse of the moment. DO you not
understand that exquisite refinement
which can make one delay happiness
in order to enjoy it the more? An!
in love you are II gourmand, not an
eplcure."
"Ah! my DEAR" said Olivier, cit
seems to me that you are well versed
in the philosophy of love"
Thereupon they gayly left the
Marietta proposed that
they should go to the banks OF the
Tiber and breakfast at a trattoria
where they had often gone before to
eat spaghetti, sauced with the white
wine of Orvieto. Olivier thought the
idea charming, and they were soon
seated in the open air on the terrace
of a restaurant in the shade of
large orange tree before a table on
which they found cut in the wood
with knife theirintertwined initials.
"Ahp' said Olivier, "look! Those
letters were cut seventeen years ago.
Do you remember how happy we
were that day."
"Yes,' said Mariette, "you had
just finished your DIANA We drank
to your success, but with the clear
water of the Aqua-Marcia in our
champagne glasses. for there re-
only three francs to carry
you through the month. And then
we went to see the Moses of Michael
And then you accompanied
me home All, how we'll l remember
it all! All. what a delightful day!
What a happy time that was, was it
notY'
They were silent for a few minutes,
each lost in a dream through which
passed, now half efiaced like old pho
tographs faded by the sun, now
clearly defined, the memories of 9TH
err days. Above their heads Bonded
the great blue dome of the italian
skies; insects hummed among the
dark foliage of the orange tree. whose
flowers impregnated the air with an
exquisite, enervating perfume. At
their feet the river rolled with the
sound of Il torrent, it's rapid and tur-
Il x.,b;ah x,hs,,lnl ~,,.oo&