San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-07-16

at would be ridiculous to go
to Paris without them. But why will
you not get them yourself, Cesare, and
bring them here to me?"
They are so MANY" / returned
quietly, land l do not know which you
would prefer. Some are more valuable
than others. And it will give me spe-
cial satiSfacton-one that / have long
waited for-to see you making your own
choice."j
She smiled half shyly, half cunningly.
perhaps l will make no choice" she
whispered; "perhaps l will take them
all. Cesare. What will YOU saw then?"
THAT you are perfectly welcome to
them" replied.
She looked slightly surprised.
"You are really too good to me, caro-
mio," she said; ''you spoil me-"
Can you be spoilt?" / asked half Jest
ingly. Good women are like fine bril-
liants-the more richly they are set the
more thew shine"
She stroked my hand caressingly.
mo one ever made such pretty
speeches to me as you dol" she muir
INJURED.
mot even Guido Ferrari?" suggested
ironically.
She drew herself up with an inimit-
ably well-acted gesture of lofty disdain.
"Guido Ferrsrip she exclaimed. HE
dared not address me save with the
greatest respect! l was as queen to
him! 1t was only lately that he began
to presume on the trust left him by my
husband, and then he became too IA
miliar, mistake On his part, for which
you punished him-as he deserved"
/ rose from my seat beside her.
could not answer for my own composure
while sitting so close to the actual muir
deress of my friend and her lover. Had
she forgotten her own familiar" treat
ment Of the dead man-the thousand
nameless wiles and witcheries and tricks
OF her trade, by which she had beguiled
his soul and ruined his honour.
81 am glad you are satisfied with
my action in that affair."" l said
coldly and steadily. 81 myself
nate young man and shall continue to
do so. My nature, unhapply, is an
over-senstive one, and is apt to be af
fected by trifles. But now, mia bella,
farewell until tomorrow-happy tomor-
row!-when l shall call you mine in
deed!'
A warm flush tinted her cheeks; she
came to me where | stood and leaned
against me.
''Shall not see you again till we meet
in the church," she inquired, with a be-
coming bashfulness.
mo. | will leave YOU the last day OF
your brief widowhood alone 1t is not
well that l should obtrude myself
upon your thoughts or prayers Stay!"
and | caught her hand that toYed with
the flower in my buttonhole. II see you
still wear your former wedding ring.
May l take it Off"
Certainly" And she smiled while l
deftly drew off the plain gold circiet
had placed there nearly four years
since.
"Will you let me keep it?"
''If you like. would rather not see
it again"
"You shall not" l answered, as l
slipped it into my pocket. ut will be
replaced by new one tomorrow-one
that | hope may be the symbyl of more
joy to you than this has been"
And as her eyes turned to my face in
all their melting, perfdious languOr,
conquered my hatred of her by strong
effort, and stopped and kissed her. Had
l yielded to my real impulses, | would
have crushed her cruelty in my arms,
and bruised her delicate flesh with brutal
ferocity of caresses born. of bitterest
loathing, not love. But no sign of my
aversion escaped me,-all she saw was
her elderly-lOOking admirer, with his
calmly courteous demeanor, chill smile,
and almost parental tenderness; and she
judged him merelyaS an Influential gentle
man of good position and unlimited In
come, who was about to make her one of
the most envied women in all Italy.
The fugitive resemblance she traced
in me to her dead husband was GER
tainly attributed by her to be a purely
accidental likeness common to many per-
sons in this world, where every man,
they say, has his double, and for that
matter every woman also. Who does
not remember the touching surprise of
Heinrich Heine, when on visiting the
picture gallery of the Palazza Durazzo
in Genoa, he was brought face to face
with the portrait, as he thought, of a
dead woman he had loved, MARIA la
HloI TO- IL HdIIeIe Gu nOJ W HIN CndJ Ine
picture was very old, that it had been
painted by Giorgio Barbarelli centuries
before his Maria" could have lived; he
simply declares-"Il est vraiment dune
resemblance admirable, reSembant JUS
qu'au silence de la mort!''
Such likenesses are common enough,
and my wife, though my resemblance to
myself (D troubled her a little, was very
far from imagining the real truth of the
matter, as Indeed how should she? What
woman, believing and knowing, as far
as anything can be known, her husband
to be dead and fast buried, is likely to
accept even the idea of his possible
escape from the tomb? Not one!-else
the diSconSolate widows wouId indaad