Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-02-15

to be forgotten April night in Florence, when.
standing in a mOonlit garden, he heard a
WON ans careless speech from an open window
just above his head-speech which told him
with bitter unreserve that the woman he had
worshiped as more than half saint was an
audacious and remOrseIess sinner.
Never till that night had Gilbert Florestan
deliberately listened to a conversation that was
not meant for his ear. and on that night he
stood beneath the windowsil for less than five
minutes. He only waited long enough to be
sure that he had not deceived himself-that the
horrld words he had heard were not a delusion
enSendercd of his own fevered brain. There.
hidden amidst the foliage of magnolia and
orange. he stood and listened to the two who
leaned upon the cushioned sill above him. look
ing dreamily out into the night. No, there was
no illusion. Those words were real-silvery
sweet, though 70 him they sounded like the
kissing of Medusa's snakes They told him that
the woman he WAS pursuing with adoring and
all-cOnfIing love was the mistress of another
man-that if she were to yield to bis prayers
and marry him-a question which she was now
debating with her lover-the marriage would
be simple matter of convenience, and the
lover would not be the less beloved or the less
favored.
''FOr thee, Carissimo. it would be always the
same said the silver voice; and the music of
the waltz IN the adjoining bail room seemed to
take up the strain. Always the same-always
the same"
Florestan waited to hear no more. He left
the garden OF that seml-royal villa, walked
Straight home to bis lodgings in the Via Cavour
packed up the lady's lotters-those cherished
letters, every one of which-from the tiuiest
note acknowledging bouquet to the longest
and most romantic disquisition upon the old
theme of he loves me, loves me not-he had
treasured IN a locked drawer, together with
every flower he had begged from the clusters
she wore on her breast, every old glove he had
gathered and the satin slipper for which he
had paid more than its weight in gold to her
maid He dld not write her letter. He
would not stoop SO low to give any express
sion 10 his anger or his scOrn. He had been
deceived that was all The woman he loved
had only existed in his imagination The
Beauty which had won him belonged to quite a
inherent Kind OF woman. Perhaps there was
no such wOman-OUt of a book-as the woman
he had imagined, the only woman he cared to
win.
Il know you; goodbye"
Those five words were all the explanation or
farewell which he deigned to send her. He
wrote them in AIS bold strong hand upon a
sheet OF Bath post, and wrapped il around the
packet of letters. Then he packed them in
another sheet and sealed them with the seal
Add uttn set upon so many ardent
outpourlng OF his passionate heart
Yes. he had loved her with all the fire and
freshness of three-and-twenty-with all the
romantic tervor of mind fed upon classic
Greek and stepped in Italian poetry He had
come to Florence a romantic youth he left
Florence blase man of the world, and vet
now, hye years after. III this busting cosmo-
pohtan and distinctly modern Paris the very
thought OF those old palaces in which he had
Sdheed Win her. those old gardens where they
Iuf~A HI
bltter-sweet memory OF u dream and a delusion
that had been dearer than words can tell
He had not been at FOuntainhead his birth
pace oy the river. except for a week or a fort
night al a time since he came OF age and sold
the meadows adjoining River Lawn to Robert
HatreH- But although he had been living
abroad SINCE he left the university he had
never consented to let strangers inhablt the
house IN which his father and mother had
NVed and died. albeit agents had been desirous
TO ind him an eligible tenant" The house
remained shut up. IN the of his mothers
FAITHFUL house keeper and her nephew a handy
young man who helped in the gardens where
expenses had been cut down to the lowest level
compatible with the preservation of the beauty
OF grounds which had been the chief delight
OF young Mrs. Florestln's life. womnn
taxes To garden naturally as a duckling
saASs 70 water, and eherIshes II, and watches it,
M anu thinks about 1t as If 1t were a living thing
The worship of flowers and shrubs is Inherent
IN tne female mind, and a woman who did
not care for her garden would be a monster.
Inc mousse was old, old as the Tudors and
u was Just one OF those places which the mod
ern mlllonalre would have ruthlessly RACED to
the ground or SO altered, restored enlarged
anu oeautiAed as TO obliterate its every charm
OF age and pleturesqueness. Florestan was
content to leave il alone IN all it, suhdued 81
orlng, quaintneSs and Inconvenience of con-
suuctlon, telling OF a civilization long past and
OF HE less PTetentious and more domestic
ne gardens had all the grave beauty of an
honoraole old age Very httle money had been
spent upon them. but there had been taste and
care from the beginning of things when thew
VINO plaanc iAem had Lord Bacon's essay an
gardens IL tEc.r minds d new thing and had
known Er.s.4cIs Bacon IN the flesh aud talked
with him O.-tne trees aud flowers he loved
Nagrant diplomacy had carried Gilbert Flo
restan very Ear from the old home in which his
ancestors had dwelt from generation to genera
ton. but be k,pt the image of his birthplace in
acorner OF his heart. and he would almost az
Pon have sold bis hearts best blood a. the