Lyon County times. [volume] (Silver City, Nev.) 1874-1907, 1890-07-19

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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 dauyh-
ter of the FORTRESS was not to be discon-
certed by a wicked look.
II am bringing some flowers" she
said. "They are for signora's pastilles. "
"What pastilles?" inquired Teresa.
'tWhv. the pastilles Of the Paris style
that signora makes, to be sure," retorted
Maria Grazia, delighted to show SUI
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!
"How does she use them?" asked Teresa
again.
"Why, first, she plucks the leaves of"
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 a 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 ef-
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,
meanwhile 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 far off chamber,
they heard the regular tic-tac of the feet
Of chair-a nurse cradling child to
sleep with one of those dragging melo-
dies in which each phrase is prolonged.
What a setting for declaration Of
love! And the pretext was there, near
Orlando, in the shape Of 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 9
tenderness.
He took better look at his compan-
ion, whose redeemed cheek bones in
creased the brightness of her black eyes.
Monteforte 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
the artist remembered not only was this
hand not soft and supple, but its slen-
derness became exaggerated in shaking
hands. And in Orlando's large warm
hand-though his hand was small in
proportion to his stature-this embry-
onic hand felt like piece Of wood.
This changed the course of his ideas,
and while Teresa was watching the new
attitude Of the lover whom she would
have liked to make her affianced and ex-
pecting something like her dream, he,
suddenly growing cold, murmured to
himself:
Heart, soul, passion-these are very
fine things, but in words. Poor girl!
She hasn't enough body to contain her
SOUL"
And this time, forgetful of her, Mon.
teforte took up the nurses song where
she had dropped. it, and sang its several
stanzas to the end.
Then he arranged his tools, carried
them into the house and came back
gracefully to Teresa, thinking Of the
little tim hand that would slip into his
own.
"Good evening, Donna Teresa" said
he, serenely. II wait no longer; it is too
late"
Good evening, M. Monteforte," val.
iantly answered the young girl, with
swollen heart; but legitimate pride
dried her tears of vexation.
He went away, with his soft hat slight.
ly inclined upon his head. Outside she
still heard his clear voice:
"Good evening, Maria Grazia."
"Good evening, Don Orlando"
1t was over. Evidently he was colder
than marble.
Or else he was unwilling to see, because
he loved Rosa Falcone. Suppose they
were engaged!