The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1890-08-08
Neither of them grew tired, he Of being
sllDerb she of looking at him

jealous, although she had a sweetheart
i'll Marseilles, where he was working to
earn money enough to marry her-Maria
Grazia was looking for an idea. This
tete-a-tete might deprive her of an ad-
mirer; for Orlando never passed her with
out giving her glance and compli-
mentary word. He considered that
necessary, as matter of politeness, in
passing pretty women.
''Simpatica!' he would say to her,
which, among women of Maria GraZia's
class. is the supreme expression of at
traction.
Certainly Don Orlando might brush
against her as he passed, for he would
find out to whom he was talking if he
should ever try to kiss her.
Monteforte confined himself to flatter-
ing words. But in spite of this she looked
upon him as to some extent her property;
consequently she thought of disturbing
this dangerous tete-a-tete. This bold
Donna Teresa was running after him;
but he thought her homely, and Maria
Grazia, kind little heart, sought way to
rid him of her.
With this view she ran into the garden
and picked some orange flowers as fast
as she could; then, all out of breath, she
hurried up to the terrace, falling like
tempest into the middle of their silent
duet.
'What is the matter, Graziella?' asked
Orlando, slightly vexed.
Teresa had raised her head, sour and
little angry. Her jealous instinct sus-
pected some trick. For that matter, she
was always suspicious and jealous, even
without reason-a measure of prudence
and matter of instinct.
But she had met her match; the daugh-
ter of the FORTRESS was not to be discon-
certed by wicked look.
81 am bringing some flowers" she
said. "They are for signoras pastilles."
"What pastilles:" inquired Teresa.
"Why, the pastilles of the Paris style
that signora makes, to be sure,' retorted
Maria Grazia delighted to show su-
periority to the young girl in some other
woman.
"Of the Paris style" was a discovery;
this ugly, black creature, Teresa, did not
do things in the Paris style!
elbow does she use them?" asked Teresa
again.
"Why, first, she plucks the leaves off,"
said Graziella, with an important air,
land them
"Yes, yes, yes," interrupted Donna
Teresa hastily; "give me the basket; I
know what to do
Graziella was caught. In vain did she
try to think of reply. The other had
taken possession of the flowers; she took
off her hat, and placed stool before her
with plate to receive the petals. A
pretext for moving, for forcing the at
tention of the artist.
She had drawn nearer to him; the eff
feet, moreover, had completely changed.
The sun was going down; red light
at the horizon, mingling sky and sea,
threw them into sort of indefinite
shadow.
NJ. Teresa took the petals one by one,
casting sidelong glances.
They could fancy themselves alone in
creation. The melancholy of the brief
twilights of Italy, the perfume of the
flowers which the young girl was pick
ing to pieces, many mingled sensations
began to agitate the painter. A languor
invaded him, almost weakness, some
thing like sentiment of tenderness.
He laid down his brushes, rested
against the back of his chair. and looked
at his companion, who now lowered her
head in joy.
Suddenly, from a far off chamber,
they heard the regular tic-tac of the feet
of a chair-a nurse grading a child to
sleep with one of those dragging melo-
dies in which each phrase is prolonged
What a setting for a declaration of
love! And the pretext was there, near
in the shape of a smitten girl.
For tender sentiments, however ephe-
neral, were always ON the alert in the
young man.
In the charm of the hour, with the vi
bration of the song in space, moved by
the last voluptuous note like sleeping
sigh, he felt emotion creeping over him.
And emotion led inevitably to expansive
tenderness.
He took better look at his compan-
ion, whose Redeemed cheek bones in
creased the brightness of her black eyes.
was tempted to speak to her
Of love, to ask her hand in marriage, to
pledge himself, and to embrace her.
Unhappily Teresa, in bit of coquetry,
lifted her little dry hand in the air. And
,he artist remembered not only was this
hand not soft and supple, but its slen-
lerness became exaggerated in shaking
hands. And in Orlando's large warm
land-though his hand was small in
to his stature-this embry-
onic hand felt like piece of wood.
This changed the course of his ideas,
md while Teresa was watching the new
attitude of the lover whom she would
nave liked to make her affianced and ex-
Decting something like her dream, he,
growing cold, murmured to
himself:
Heart, soul, passion-these are very
inc things, but in words. Poor girl!
She hasn't enough body to contain her
'oul."
And this time, forgetful of her, Mon
eforte took up the nurses song where
he had dropped it, and sang its several
tanzas to the end.
Then he arranged his tools, carried
hem into the house and came back
gracefully to Teresa, thinking of the
title thin hand that would slip into his
,wn.
"Good evening, Donna Teresa" said
lie, serenely. II wait no longer; it is too
ate ~