The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1891-03-11
ECE PTloNS.

Translated from the Italian of Haydee.l
When, before the altar, the priest
asked her, care you content?" it was
with all her soul Comma had responded,
"Yesi'
Oh, yes; she was content indeed.
Through the cloud of costly lace which
enwrapped her in its snowy transparence
she saw the vast church all dotted with
lights, Respondent in the dark CLEAN of
moCaics upon golden backgrounds, ami
mated by the slight movement of the
very elegant crowd that filed it, lighted
by oblique rays descending from the
nave, all glitter of gold, silks and brill
iants, and it was her own future that
she seemed to see thus-the years of
] ury and wealth which her rich mar
riage was preparing for her. And had
it not been the dream for which she
sighed? She, the ideal blonde, of is
years, with the tall and proud figure;
the pure, disdainful profile under heavy
curls like those of an archangel, with
naughty eyes sparkling like blue gems
under the golden fringes of her long eye
la2hes.
She had been for long time poor
girl, the daughter of citizens who had
seen bet er days, that marvellous human
lily. She had experienced all the petty
troubles, all the cruel daily sufferings of
misery that conceals itself. The poor
and inelegant gowns, painfully remod-
eled every year; the insolence of credit
ors; humiliations; continual and tor
menting thoughts Of money-she had
experienced them all ard in her little
heart, eager for p-sasure and enjoy
ment, swollen with unsatisfied longings,
dream was arisen little by little, oc-
cupying all the room, rendering her in
sensible to all the rest-the dream of at
last becoming rich.
She wanted it, absolutely; she was
born for it; she was rich now. That
Eyes," which she had just pronounced,
had, by its three magic letters, changed
her destiny; and she was so content, so
happy, that it appeared to her it was all
a dream. that her Meehlin veil was a
cloud that transported her into the
realms of the impossible, across sidereal
heaven, of which the diamond pins
thrust among her laces formed the fam
ing stars; and, in order to return to
reality, she must cast her eyes toward
her husband, Luigo Marchis, lneeling
beside her in the mystic, velvety shade
of thea altar, Lit by the tremulous bright
ness of the candles.
All, there was nothing ideal about
him, poor fellowi In vain he straight
ened his correct person of an elegant
man, with his accurately shaver face,
with slender brown mustache, and
still fresh color that gave him something
the look of an actor; he remained none
the less old, with his powerful shoulders
a little bent, with his eyelids grown
heavy, and crows feet toward his tenn
Piles, with the gray locks that appeared
here and there among his brown hair,
with his forty-seven years, of which the
WEAKNESS was more conspicuous beside
that radiant and blonde spring.
Forty-seven yearsi How was it posi-
BILE? He felt his heart SO palpitating,
full of tears as in youth! And he could
not comprehend how SO much time had
passed; he could not persuade himself of
the incredible fact-fortyseven years
passed without knowing Comma.
For they had been acquainted with
each other only two months. Marchis,
however much he had frequented society,
drawn there by his banking connections,
had never let himself be talked to of
marriage. What! A wife, children,
troubles, cares, disappointments! Not
even by ideal
And at az years one evening, present
from motives Of curiosity at ball to
which the employees OF his bank had in
vited him, he must needs be smitten by
the exquisite, vapor g grace of that
b. q girl, dressed simply in white, en-
tie g on the arm of funny little man
w baby face and big, silvery
be d-her father, a modest clerk in the
bank; a rather ridiculous little old man,
who, beside that divine apparition, slen-
der in her robes of snow, made one think
of the gnomes Of folk tales, always
crouching at the feet of fairies.
All, weakness of hearts growing old!
That apparition was enough to shake all
the ideas of Lrigo Marchis concerning
matrimony, and as the old gnome, de-
spite his absolute nullity, was an honest
citizen. incapable of resisting the assidu-
tiles of the director to his pretty daugh-
ter, the sutton had been greatly pleased
with the consent Of that little maiden Of
1S, that beautiful creature, that blonde
being, to become his wife. Now he
trembled with joy. His eyes were misty
with vivid emotion-not perceiving that
that, too, was a sign Of old age-and it
was a voice choked with 10y that to tina
question of the priest, care you con-
tent" replied, "Oh, yesF'
Now it is done. United, forever united.
Having arisen to their feet, she with an
elegant and light impulse, like lily
wind lifted on its stem, he with little
effort and difficulty, wearied by emo
ton, they go downrfrum the altar arm
In arm. Now they pass through the
church amid the murmurs of compG-
ments which arise amid the shadowssof
the aisles, among the dull scraping Of
feet and the rustic of gowns; thereo the
peristyle, among the white columns, Is
living wave of sun and air which comes
to meet them, like a recall to real life
outside of the mystic dream of the
church, the cracking of the line of car
riages that advanced, the slow descent
of the steps, with the white train of the
bride spreading and dragging upon the
stairs in folds like snow, soft and light;
then the carriages depart; they are alone
for the first time in theAarrow space of
the carriage, which the bridal dress fills
with its wmteness, and the bouquet of
orange blossoms with its acute perfume
of intoxicating virgiuity; and it is then
that, conquered by the charm Of that
face, so delicate and proud amid its
large pallid curls, by the splendor Of
those blue eyes, the elderly bridegroom
bends over her to kiss her.
Dear me, dear me-"
And to see the tranquility with which
those finely cut, rose colored lips return
the kisses through the veil, the question
ARISES whether it is the hridegroomstha
she kisses or the Mechlin lace, at five hum
dred the meter.
Ali there were adorers around that
beautiful. Signora MARGINS, so lpzeays ana
80 young, married to an old mani Il
was expected that this fortress wuuld5b
an easy one to conquer. Precisely on
her wedding day Vico Molise, the most
elegant and skeptical of the journalists
of Upper Italy, had propounded to his
frianda this the0re1n: