The morning call., 1890-11-09

by day SO faint and shadowy that the rosy
hue of benignanu old age gave place to the
ashen pallor OF secret grief.
But Nine. dAthis was not woman to
yield without struggle, and she determined
with the aid of Aarelie to make another bold
push to repossess herself of what she
deemed had been most basely purloned
from her, to wit: her sons affections.
Summoning Mademoiselle Seychelles, she
laid her plans fully before her and coniured
that young lady, even if the attempt called
for sacrifice of some Of the conventional
notions of maiden's modesty, to stand by
her. wretched mother that she was, in this
last effort to save her only child from swift
certain, terrible ruin.
Don't judge him as you would another
man, Aurelie, implored the Countess DOW
ager. He is a poet, not a reasoning being,
spoilt child of genius. Treat him as such;
treat him as if he were lad in his teens;
save him for his genius sake, for his own,
for my sake. for your sake, dear Aurelie
Have your wits about you, my child. 1t is
gloriOns chance for you, glorious: one, /
say!"
1t was arranged that on the poets ap-
preaching birthday fete should be given in
his honor at the villa. that all preparations
should be made secretly, so as not to alarm
him or to give him time to map out any fixed
plan of action.
A delightful autumnaI day was followed
by an evening of unwOnted mildpess and
! glory and fragrance and the air was carress-
| ingly soft and balmy. In the bosky depths
| of the pleasure grounds the nightingales
| poured forth sweeter songs than any earthly
poet had ever sung On his way home FROM
| old Father Sales cottage, Charles lad halted
| again and again to steep his soul in this de-
| licious harmony. The moon had not risen
yet, an the dull, liquid, opalescent glow of
| the star dust, like oil on troubled waters,
| stilled the conflict which was raging within
=; md ,f,rt
| qli,itely delightful to his tired soul Sud
| denly burst of joyous laughter broke upon
| his reverie with harsh and diScordaIt effect.
He turned quickly toward the villa and was
more than surprised to see Hood of light
| pouring from every window, and
to find the verandas Illuminated with
festoons of colored lanterns. With
| lightning-like swiftness the truth flashed
upon him that it was fete arranged in
honor of his birthday, and the idea-why he
| could not tell-seemed abhorrent TO him.
He removed his hat and passed his hand
! over his heated brow, and pushed his hair
| back to let the cool breeze reach his throb-
| bling temples. Then fixing his eyes for
moment upon the brilliantly illuminated
| villa. and bending eagerly forward 20 catch
| the low murmur of glad voices. he suddenly
| broke loose from the fascination of the spec.
| tacle and turned his footsteps toward the
peasants cottage, his pace quickening al
most into lun, as if he were escaping
| from some sudden anu real
| All at once the tall, 1.-THE, graceful figure
| of a woman blocked his retreat, and as he
| halted an arm was passed gently, almost
| lovingly, through his, aud deep. soft, mel
| low voice whispered:
"Why Charles. are you running away
| from your fete? 1t will never do. Come
| back. I'll go with you to the door"
| Great heaven, 1rma, is that you?" stam-
| mered the poet as he looked into her beau
titul face illumined with light as mystic
| rious as the glow oil the stars.
Yes, mon ami, it is |, she replied soft
| ". "but don't be aStoniShed to see me ont
| here alone. | could follow these paths with
| my eyes shut, so well are they known to me,
| and he would be a swift runner indeed who
| could overtake me or find me in my hiding
/ places ButIcome. you'll be late for your fete,"
| and gently urging him, lrma led the poet to-
ward the superb home which loomed up in
the distance like a castle Of enchantment.
"There Here begins the main path to
| the front entrance of the villa: | may go no
| further Go straight on. God bless you;
| goodnight"
"Irmav' almost shrieked Count d'Athis,
| but she had disappeared in the dark
| shadows of the shrubbery. Again he turned
| to make his escape, but it was too late. He
| had been seen by servants placed upon the
| lookout to announce his arrival and in
| almost an instant cries of Count Charles
has arlived~ "Our dear poet is here~
~ et the fete begin" ION with the fete"
resounded on all sides.
Ere AthiS could recover from the be-
| wilderment into which Irma's sudden inter-
| ference to prevent his escape from the fete,
| her exquisite tenderness in leading him back
! to the villa and her almost mysterious dis
appearance had plunged him, bevy of
maidens clad in white had surrounded him
| and begun to scatter white roses in his path
| way as they led him into the villa, mean
| while chanting his well-known beautiful
| ode To the Victor" which had been set to
music by Mile. de Seychelles.
| Like man suddenly awakened from deep
| sleep, Charles d'AthiS walked into the brill
iauty lighted salon, the walls, candeabrs,
pictures and statues of which were fairly
| buried beneath festoons, garlands and
wreaths of white roses. The scene was en-
tranengly beautiful and gradually the poet
recovered his wonted serenity and entered
upon the task of accepting this homage
gracefully and gratefully. But still his
| heart seemed heavy to him and he made
haste to lift glass of wine to his lips.
After an hour spent in heaping congratula-
tions upon the poet, silence was commanded
| by the Countess DOwager and Aurelie, her
lustrouS blue eyes filled with a radiance so
| soft and soulful as to seem born of another
world, opened volume of D'Athis' verses
| and began to read his poem entitled 1.-THE
| Chariot of Fire" Never had II lie. de Sey-
chelles seemed more unearthly beautiful to
| Charles. Her golden treSseS falling in
studied disorder upon her shoulders set an
aura Of celestial light about her face, and
| D'Athis trembled as he gazed upon her.
| With the ever-increa5ng pathos of the
!. poem, her beauty took on new effulgence,
and as she drew near the end deep still
nees broken only by the soft, round sympa-
thetic voice of Aurelie, fell upon the assem-
bled guests. D'Athis himself was deeply
| moved, and seized with some uncomfortable
| trend, as mysterious as it was delightful TO
| be Welded To, the poet threw himself on his
| knees at Aurelie's feet. Had this act been
| part OF the programme and carefully calcu-
lated, it could not have been more charm
| inglv opportune, for at signal from Aurelie,
beautiful child, richly dressed in the cos
tune of page, approached her, bearing
| upon purple cushion laurel wreath and
this the fair Aurele now set upon the poets
! head and then taking his hand amid the
| boisterous plaudits of the lo0kers-on, ex-
claimed:
Rise. child of genius, son of the gods,
arise! Thou art Orpheus, the Persuader,
and Apollo, the Driver. Thou alone canst
| guide 1.-The Chariot of Fire. as thy genius
| alone could have created it,"
Again heartfelt congratulations were
! showered upon the poet. who stood riveted
| to the spot, a thousand bewilderng thoughts
crowding his brain and robbing him of
speech.
Come, my dear son." cried the Countess
| Dowager, taking his arm, come into the
open air and collect your thoughts after this
| superb triumph.
The crowd fell back respectfully, and the
| poet, accompanied by his mother and
| Aurelie, passed out upon the yerandalI. The
moon had risen. and the pleasure grounds
| of the villa looked enchantingly beautiful.
| Charles awake from sort Of dream to find
himself wandering through them, now
| passing beneath an arbor, now skirtiDg a
trells heavy with Towering viues. On, on,
e { ~