The Washington critic., 1890-02-19

tanned terrified me. His frayed cuffs were
perfectly black at the edges, and so were
his finger nails
had no sooner taken a seat by his side
than this parsonage said to me quietly:
"llow do you dopn
turned to him with u start and looked
ut his face. He continued:
"Do you not recognize me ?"
"No.n
'Des Barrets.n
was astoundcd. IL was the Count Jean
des Bauets, my old school-felow.
| shook hands with him, SO amazed that
could not think of anything to say.
At last ] stammered:
"And you, how do you dog 80
He answered placldly:
"Oh! as ! cam
He became silent. / tried to be amiable
and hunted for phrase:
"And-what are You doing?'
''IOu see.n
felt myself blush. ! persisted:
''But every day."
Filling the air with dense puffs of tobacco
smoke he said
"Every day the same thing.n
Then tapping on the marble table with
small coin that had been lying there, he
cried:
"Waiter, too beers''
a distant voice repeated:
''Two beers at number four!i'
Another vote, still further of reiOined
Ath sharp: "There you are" Then
man in white apron appeared, carrying
two beers, from which lie splashed yellow
drops over the sanded floor as he ran.
Des Barrets emptied his glass at one
swallow and put 1t back on the table, while
he sucked in the foam left on his mustache.
Then he asked
"And what is there new?"
knew nothing to tell him, in truth.
stammered:
''Why, nothing, old man. ! am a mer-
chant"
With his ever-unvarying voice he said:
'.And-does that amuse you?'
'No; but what would you have me do?
One must do somethingY''
"Why sop
''Oh, to occupy myself"
whats the use9 | do nothing, as Yop
see--nothiug whatever When one hasn't
penny can understand why he works,
but when one has enough to live on it Is
useless. What's the use of working? Do
you do it for yourself or for othersg If you
do 1t for yourself and 1t amuses you, well
and good; if you do 1t for others you are
only simpleton.n
Then, laying his pipe down on the mar
BILE, he shouted again: "Waiter, one beer"
and went on:
at makes me thirsty to talk. I'm not
used to 1t. Yes, do nothing; l let things
! go as they will; | grow old. On my death
| bed l shall have nothing to regret. shall
have no memory, except that of this beer
saloon. No wife, no children, no anxieties,
I no sorrows-nothing. That's the best
way
He emptied the glass that had been
brought him, passed his tongue over his
lips, and resumed his pipe.
! | looked at him in astonishment. ! asked
him:
''But you have not always been this
way?"
''Pardon me; always-eyer since ] left
SCHOOL,
''This is not life, my good fellow. It's
horrible. Come, you must do something
you love something; you have friends"
"No; rise at noon; come here; break
fast; drink beers; wait for night drint
beers; then, about 80 in the morning, | g
to bed, because they shut up. That's wha
annoys me most OF the last ten years
have spent SIX on this bench here in III.
corner and the rest in my bed; never any
where else. | talk sometimes with thu
habitues.n
"But on arriving at Paris what did yol
do iirst?''
81 studied law at the Cafe des Medicis.'
'And then?n
"Then crossed the river and came here.
"Why did you take that troubles"
"What could you expect? One canno
stay in the Latin quarter all his life. TIL
students make too much noise. Now,
shall not bulge. Waiter, one beer.n
thought he was guying me. insisted
'Come, be frank. You have had som
great sorrow? Disappointed in love, III
doubt? Surely you are man on WHOM
home misfortune has fallen. How old ar
your
''Thirty three years. But look at leas
4b.,i
took good look at him. His wrinkled
ill-cared-for face seemed almost that of a
old man. On the top OF his head fey
long hairs wandered over a scalp of doubt
| full cleanliness. He had enormous eye
brows, a heavy mustache and thic
beard. ! suddenly had vision, | kne'
not why, Of basin full of blackish water
water IN which all this mass Of hair ha
been washed.
"Truly, you seem older than you are
Certainly you have had sorrows"
lie replied
81 assure you have not / am old he
cause never take the air. There is nothin
that Injuries people so much as life in
cafe.n
| could not believe him.
"You must at some time have lived go
life. At your age one is not as bald as yo
are unless ne mas Decn IaSt
He quietly shook his head, scattering ovt
his back the dandruff that fell from his n
naming hair, as he answered: "No, hay
always been prudent and, raising bis ey'
to the chandelier that heated our heads,
continued: ''lf ! am bald 1t is the fault
the gas. II is the enemy of the hair. %
90 Waiter, one beer! % You al
not thirstyYn
, "No, thank you. But really you intere
me. How long have you been in this stat
of discouragementS 1t is not normal, is M
natural. There is something undernea'
all this
''Yes, it dates from my childhood.
received a shock when was small, and
, has made everything black for me 10
, Gver.n
"What was IT,"
"Do you wish to know? Then liste
Iou must remember the country house
which j was brought up, since you visitt
me there FIVE or six times In the vacation
| You remember that large gray building
} the middle Of all immense park, and Il
long avenues of oaks stretching out towal
the four points of the compass. You
4. member my father ana my mother, both
them ceremonious, solemn and severe.
e 81 adored my mother; feared my fathC
and i respected them both, accustomed
! was to see everybody bow before thel
To the whole neighbOThood they we
monsieur the Count and madame h
u Countess; and our neighbors also, the Ia
a nemares, the Rayelets, the Brennevllle
showed extraordinary consideration for II
parents.
n 81 was 10 years old. was gay, content,
S with everything, as one Is at that age,
full of the happiness of living.
"Now, toward the end of September,
few days before my return TO school, us
Nlra Ia.
, running amid the branches and foliage,
saw, as crossed the avenue, papa al
mamma out walking.
: ~ renlemheI II as q II were yesLeraay.