Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-12-06

The month was waning and several Of the
visitors had left the chateau but the party
seemed only cosier and more lively as the
circle grew smaller. ''Just the right number
for sitting around the fire and telling stories v
Maxine said, they drew their chairs in a
semi-circle about the wide hearth in the central
hall, hearth whereon burned huge logs Of red
fri exhaling aromatic odors just the right
number to appreciate Lucie de valliers low
sweet voice as she sang Heine's ballads or De
Musset's passionate love songs, in the gloam-
ing.
"'Ninon, ,Ninon. que fails tn de Ia vie
Ioi, qui n pas fainour!"
''what did she do with her life this tranquil,
dignifed chatelaine?' Viyien asked himself
she who seemed to know nothing of loye-cer-
tainly not OF love as he interpreted the pas
sion-a wicked, transient fever prompting to all
manner Of falsehood and treachery; a burning,
merry furnace from which woman energies
able brand of infamy.
Inc meet had been more remote than usual
and the hounds had gone far in a direction
that led further and further away from St.
WALLER 10 hol: SO on this particular evening
Maxine was riding home alone, having left his
friends Tolpache, the painter, and the advo-
cate, Bartrond, to take their own line. He
knew that his wife would be full Of anxieties
and morbid fancies about him should he not
return tn long after dark, and to stay with the
q
homecoming. He had left the hounds at 8
o'clock, by which time they had lost their first
| 1ox and were drawing q wood fifteen miles from
st. Eaiiier 10 Roi. In all probability the fox
would take them further away from that point
and the run might finish thirty miles from
home.
Maxime was riding q second horse, which
| TOOK him homeward at the rate of seven miles
an hour, and the sun was just beginning to set
as ne rode out OF bride track through q
1 Dllnfa6 Hv nol aud 4 10
carriage road which Madame Belfort had
chrlstened the phantom's highway. Nothing
! was further from his thoughts than the tradi-
ton 81 his family upon that particular evening.
ne was In excellent health and spirits, and was
thinking how delightful it would be to get
home IN advance Of the other men and to enjoy
quiet hour with Lucie, tete-a-tete in that
quaint Old turret room, which she had made
her boudoir. How sweet it would be to sit be-
| side the ire in the curious hooded chimney
corner. talking contidentially and all in all to
each other. just for that one quiet hour, before
| 1t was time to dress for dinner.
He rode slowly along, thinking of the woman
ne loved 30 dearly with such a pure and placid
faith; love across whose brightness there had
| never fallen the shadow of a change. As
Maxine reached the turn of the road and saw
the glade in slanting line before him. he was
startled by the sound of horn, curiously
faint, yet seeming near. and looking straight
| before him he saw a carriage approaching, and
mechanically pulled his horse out of the mar
row road to make way for 1t. The carriage was
large and heavy looking, drawn by four horses
and neither wheels nor horses hoofs sounded
| on the hard gravel road.
1t drove slowly past him, filed with men
whose faces were all turned to him, pallid in
| the gray faint light; the face of Gerard de Ner-
val, who hanged himself in the Rue de la Vielle
Lanterne; the face of Alfred de Musset, who
wrecked his constitution by drink and dissipa-
faces far hon hoe fxvo
all gone before One, his Oldest, dearest trust
lest friend III the long ago. stood ND in the car
| riage and, looking at him earnestly, pointed
with solemn gesture to the setting sun. The
and the day was dead.
Gee cher Horace" sighed Maxine, as the
carriage vanished into the shadows of the wood
That means rendezvous. We are to meet
soon."
He code homeward very slowly. He had
never believed in this legend Of the char-a-
bancs, and yet the fact Of having seen it and
| the faces Of his dead friends gave him no sur
prise. 1t seemed as if he had known always that
he should see these familiar faces and receive
this message of approaching death. Yet only a
few minutes ago he had been rejoicing in the
idea OF long and happy years lying before him,
| a quiet, leisurely journey hand i'm hand with
his beloved, down the hill of life. The effect Of
that strange vision upon him was like the effect
| OF blow that produces brief Inconsistencies
| confused sense Of times feels as if years had
| gone by in those few minutes of total oblivion.
| Not for a moment did he try to reason away
| the vision, to think it delusiOn Of mind pre-
| possessed by that particular image. To him
the thing was truth, positive indisputable
fulfllment Of the family legend. He was
doomed shortly to die. In the midst Of his
| calm delight in life the fateful summons had
| come, and he must obey. He could not mis-
| understand that look in his dead friends face.
mi nj IN hootnE ipv
too. the sun Of life was going down. He had
| fancied himself so much improved i'm health. so
much stronger than Of old, A falacy born of
contented mind, perhaps. That decay which
citadel Of life; heart or lungs. somewhere there
must be hidden mischief, and the finger of
| death had marked him.
'Tll see what science says OF me-" he
| thought, 'and if the doctors verdict comedies
with the spectral warning1 shall know that NV
race is run. There is always some comfort in
certainty. will go to Paris by the Rapide to-
morrow and let Bianchon overhaul met
Having come to this decision, he put his
horse at trot and rode rapidly home, arriving
in time for a cup of tea, which Lucie called lie
5 o'clock" in the turret boudoir and for that
long coy talk with his wife, which he had an
ticipated. She praised him for his devotion in
leaving the hounds and coming home alone,
lest she should spend uneasy hours after dark.
She gay, caressing charming and it was
| with her. Not by one word or sigh did Maxine
reveal the mental shock he had experienced:
yet, in the midst OF their light talk and laughter
he was thinking Of day near at hand when
she would be sitting lonely and widowed in that
room, and he was recalling the provisions of
the will which he had made directly after his
marriages. will which left his wife every-
thing.
Before going to her boudoir he had dis
patched a mounted messenger with a telegram,
| asking DR.. BianchOn to expect him at a certain
hour on the following day. He would take the
omnibus train from st. Waller lie ROi to Dion
| that night in time to start from Dion by the
Rapide. After much happy talk he told Lucie
that he had to go to Paris on particular bust
| ness and that he meant to travel at night, both
in going and returning, so that he might be
absent for the shortest time possible.
But you will fatigue yourself dreadfully by
| two night Journeys" said Lucie. growing sad
at the prospect of even this brief separation
''Not at all. I shall take a wagon-lit each
way"
"Be sure you do. And you will be back
"The day after tomorrow, much too early for
breakfast"
Il will have breakfast ready for you, however
early yon may be. shall be at the station with
the carriage"
| II beg that you will do no such thing. A
long drive on cold, wintry morning might
| give you dangerous chill"
| Il am too hardy plant for that Maxine
The life lead in these delicious woods has
| made me as strong as a iOness."
| my lioness. he cried, smothering the fair
bright face with kisses, "Queen of my forests
and of my hearth
The gong sounded loud in the vaulted hall.