The record-union., 1891-09-26

assured me-and, / believe, with reason
that it was house where the indirect
or Arctic invitation greatly prevailed-in
brief, where one met very queer people.
The hostess was an American, very
charming woman of unimpeachable an
tecedentS, but whose passion for society,
which, while it must always be interest
ing, need not always be equally reputa-
bic, had exposed her evenings to the sus-
plclon OF her compatrlots. And when
had discharged my part of the pro-
gramme and had leisure to look around
me- saw at glance that their suspicion
was justified-very queer people indeed
were there. The large, hot rooms were
mopolitan-infidels and Jews, every
body and nobody; scandalously pro-
miscuous assemblage And there with
half start, which was not at first recogni-
ton, my eyes stopped before a face
which brought me confused rush
of memories. 1t was that of woman,
who sat on an ottoman in the smallest
room which was almost empty. Her
companion was small, vivacious man,
with gray imperial and red ribbon in
his buttonhole, TO whose continuous
stream of talk, eked out with meridional
gestures, she had the air of being list
lessly resigned. Her dress, marvel of
discretion, it's color the yellow of old
ivory, was of the very rich and stiff stuff
cut high to her neck; that and her great
black hair, clustered to crimson rose at
the topEof her head made the pallor of her
face thing to marvel at. Her beauty
was at once sonlber and illuminating,
and youthful, too. 1t was the woman of
/ so; but her complexion. and her arms,
which were bare, were soft in texture as
young girls.
| made my way, as well as | could, for
the crowd, to my hostess, listened, with
what patience | might, to some polite
praise OF my playing and made my re-
quest.
vor TO ask. Introduce me to Nine. Ro-
manotf!''
She gave me a quick, shrewd smile;
| then | remembered stories of her intimate
| acquaintanees.
My dear young man, 1 have no OBJ
lection. Only [ warn you, she is not con-
versational; you VIII make no good of it,
and you will be disappointed; perhaps
that will be best. Please remember,
am responsible for nobody"
''Is she so dangerous?'' | asked. "But
never mind; believe that | have some
thing to say which may interest her."
"Oh, for that!" she smiled elliptically;
''yes, she is most dangerous. But will
| introduce you; you shall tell me how you
succeed
! | bowed and smiled; she laid a light
| hand on my arm, and | piloted her to the
desired corner. 1t seemed that the chance
was with me. The little, fluent foreigner
had just vacated his seat: aud when the
| prima donna had acknowledged the hasty
| mention of my name, with bare incli-
nation of her head, | was emboldened
! to succeed to it. And then / was silent.
In the perfection of that dolorous face
l could not but be reminded of the tradi-
ton which has always aScribed some
thing fatal and inevitable to the possess
! sion of great gifts of genius, or uncom-
mon fortune, or singular personal beau
! ty, and the commonplace of conversation
| failed me.
After while she looked askance at me
with sudden flash of resentment.
You speak no French, monsieur! And
yet you write it well enough. l have read
| your STORIES"
| acknowledged madame's irony, per-
mitting myselfto hope that my efforts had
met with madame's approval.
"a Ia bonnie heHTet l perceive you
also speak it. Is that why you wished
to be presented to hear my criticisms?"
Let me answer that-question when
you have answered mine"
She glanced curiously over her feath-
| cred fan, then with the slightest upward
inclination OF herIstatuesque shoulder
81 admire your books; but are your
women quite just? / prefer your play
ing
SThat is better, madame! 1t was to
talk of that l came"
Your playing?"
MY violin"
'You want me to look at it? 1t is Gre
mona?'
cit is not Cremona; but if you like 1
will give it to you"
Her dark eyes shone out in amazed
amusement.
| You are eccentric, monsieur! but your
nation has privilege of eccentrlcity. At
least you amuse NE, and have wearied
myself enough this long evening. Show
me your violin; l am something of vir-
! tuoSa."
| I took the instrument from it's case.
| handed it to her in silence, watching her
| graveiy. She received it with the deX-
ferrous hands of a musician, looked at the
| splendid stains on the back, then bent
1 over toward the light in a curious scru-
tiny OF the little faded signature of its
maker, the feclt OF an obscure Bavarian of
the seventeenth century. It was long
! time before she raised her eyes.
| When she spoke her rich voice had a
note of imperious entreaty in it. "Your
violin interests me, monsieur! Oh, 1
know that wood! 1t came to you
"a legacy from an esteemed friend"
His manner" she cried, with the flash
which / waited for.
Maurice Cristlch, madame''
we were deserted in our corner. The
company had strayed in, one by one, to
the large salon with its great piano, where
young russian musician, a pupil of
| Chopin, sat down to play with no con-
ventional essay preliminary chords, an
expected morsel. The strains of it walled
! in just then through the heavy screening
curtains, mad valse of his own that no
| human feet could dance to; pitiful, pas
| sionate thing that thrilled the nerves
painfully, ringing the changes between
| voluptuous sorrow and the merriment of
! devils, and burdened always with the
WEAKNESS of "all the Russians"-the
proper 'Welt-schmerz'' of young, dis
consulate people. 1t seemed to charge the
air like electricity with passionate tacili-
ties and tense personal note to our in
teryiew.
GA legacy? So he is goner' She swayed
to me, with wall in her voice, in a sort
Of childish abandonment: ''And you tell
| me! Ah!'' She drew back, chilling sud-
denly with touch of visible suspicion.
y on hurt me, monsieuri Is it stroke
at random! You spoke of gift; you say
| you knew, esteemed him. You were
| with him? Perhaps message-u
He died alone, madame! I have no
message. If there were none it might be,
! perhaps, that he believed you had not
cared for ii. If that were wrong I could
tell you that you were not forgotten. Oh!
he loved you! l had his word for it and
| the story. The violin is yours. Do not
mistake me; it is not for your sake, but
his. He died alone; value it, as l should,
madame"
They were insolent words, perhaps
cruel, provoked from me by the mixed
| nature of my attraction to her; the need
of turning a reasonable and cool front to
that pathetic beauty, that artful music
which whipped jaded nerves to mutiny.
The arrow in them struck so true th at I
was shocked at my work. 1t transfixed
the child in her, latent in most women