The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1891-05-07


thy life. Dolts! Fools I'm ecilesm
de got up brusquely. walked to the
buffet, poured out and drank in succession
Two glasses OF strong liquor. / saw that his
hand shook teverishly. An inexplicable
dehrium seemed suddenly TO have seized
upon him.
ut is strange" resumed he, that l did
not comprehend at once what was going 20
De the result of-of wat has happened. Il
mas been with me work Of slow but steady
growth. At first there remained in me a
60 hmotlon nervous and terrible Every
time | saw my wife-my heroic wife-the
sensation returned to me Of those brutal
hands locked about my neck: of a knee that
crushed and bored my breast. and-you will
not oelleveIt, perhaps, but it is nevertheless
true-ot dirty, syeaty cd II Of that
murderOus Inarauder VINO would have had
my life. Then came the reporters; YOU
would never be able TO imagine even the
number OF them that it is possible to have
ring at ones door.
- stupidity received the first. They piled
me with questions; then Immediately de-
manded TO see my wife. that creature in
whom had loved moral modes V, the un
folding Of soul, the exquisite mystery of
sentiment and sensIbihty, become at a blow
That public individual of whom all tue
papers recounted the life and traced the
portrait, with from time to time demand
upon me for my picture as we'll.
"Ahl the disgust of 1t, the nauseating dis
gushing OF 1t all Yes, it is true, without
her l should have been killed. Ell bieul |
should rather have been killed!
Il tell myself at times that feeling like
this is the silly and ugly sentiment of a man
wounded in his vanity-humiliated at hav-
lag been defended and served By a weaker
being. There Is something in this, believe
1t truly. but this is nothing, wore tnan moth
ing, now that have suffered that | still
suffer so much.
THAT which l feel and have felt. that
which STILES and strangies me-that for
which wish to fly, to finish with every
thing to live alone, comprehended fully
the other day in that ignoble hall of Assizes.
more lgnobie in his glldings, its daubings
and It's tlnsel than a cavern of thieves
oozlng filth and degradation.
do you believe me madr' George
Lamanon continued. well, even that
may co ne. But perhaps you will ps abls
to comprehend what Isuffered on seeing,
on the table in that hall, the places of con
vlcton, as they call them, the bloody
clothes, the powder-grimed pistol, the Pho
tograph, the photograph, | say. of that
CHASTITY corpse, that bloated mass Of flesh
and bone scorched by the close discharge.
And that revolver like that which she, her
SSH ndu gwen me as present! Sle that
had so much loved
"Of the disgust, the horror that seized me
in that place where miasmas of infamy poi
son heart and blood, | am unable to speak:
but then aud there, in one binding flash, [
realized that which seemed to tear the soul
from my body; TO save my life my wIfe-my
heroic wife-had killed There was blood
on those darling little hands, death in those
white and slender fingers, aud perhaps in
hof cAtYlN hak I I'D L.1s 7
read like fair and open page, something
that desired to kill
"She is without remorse without mem
DRY even; at least it seems So her silvery,
careless laughter sounds always the same in
my ear, and tears my heart She did her
duty-her husband was going to die, but
she mas kiled-ste has killed! And ALWAYS
l see her, always picture her on her knees
oD that pavement, dimly lighted by dist
ant gas jet shattering the skull of that
man.
Il feel even the hot brains bespettering
my face with squirt of blood, and above
all, ah! above all else, | see through that
blood, that falls like hot rain on my flesh.
the frightful expression of fury of murder.
murder, IN the eyes of--my wife, once so
much loved.n
And still that ball went on, gay and Joy
Gus, and still through the hall and past the
open door Gabrielle Lamanon passed in the
arms Of a Walter.
But now, even to me, the red purple of
the ponegranate flower on her breast
seemed like a spot of blood amid the snowy
laces of the mantilla encompassing her face
like the aureole of Lochuer saint
And that was the enc, you ask me, the
end of the ball and the end Of this sorrow
full story?
No. my friend it was neither the end of
one or the other. Today on the walls of
Partisan atelier, and once the masterpiece
of the Paris salon, hangs picture with this
simple title: "A Heroine" scrawled upon
the corner of tho frame: scrawled there. too.
by the hand Of the painter, Bat without his
name
The subject A man on bis back, helple IS
and throttled by ruffians; a woman on her
knees beside the recJmbent figure, in her
hand smoking pistol, in her ewes a mur>
der and hate, and-but, why give details OF
drama and picture whose details you
know already
This time picture painted by Georges
Lamanon's hand, the masterpiece, the last
work of his brush, and beside which they
found him six months, day for day, from
that fatal night, dead-with a bnllet in his
own brain.
He had his visible had truly flushed
with it ALL