The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1891-07-23

relief TO the loneliness that vaguely op-
pressed it. When she sang, Renee was nap
py. To sing had been her uufailing comfort
through all the trials Of her lonely little lie.
Yet she was Is years old before she knew that
she was lonely. She knew well that size WAS
often sad. She knew, too, that she couid not
tell why she was 50. Those with whom she
had lived since her mothers death, her uncle
and aunt, were always kind, kind as they knew
how 10 be, but something was still wanting
ever wanting 10 the child who had come over
the sea 10 the quiet country home, from the
sunny vineyard lands Of France.
The elderly couple, their own children being
married and gone to homes Of their own. re-
ceived gladly tho child Of the sailor brother
whose French wife they had never known.
She IS not pretty" they said, but she has
beautiful gray eyes, and she IS loving chiid.
Her gray eyes were, perhaps, from her French
mother. They were eyes not beautiful only,
they were deep, wonderful, lovely. Hearing
her voice, in singing, you saw Benee's eyes; IN
gazing az her eyes. you could hear her voice ;
IN the voice and the eyes trembe and shine the
mind and soul.
And now Renee stood in the shadow OF tho
trees and sang low aud sweetly, when, from
the darkness a boat shot into the moonlight.
and pausing there as if the oarsman were list
oning caused her song TO cease. a full, soft
voice took up the quaint old air and gently
sang to the close. Then slowly the little bark
ioated from the silver path and was lost IN the
darkness beyond.
Renee hid her face I'm her hands, her eyes
were full of tears, and for the first time she
knew how very lonely she had always been.
And 10 Renee in that Summer time came
the Joy that is almost pain" Under the
bending trees in the long shady lanes, by the
river IN sunlight and shade the sweetest ot all
idyls was told yet, not told, but known with
tynrda md ruf sire had hggn
lonely. But the Summer faded, and in the
Winter SHOWS Renee walked alone.
"You've not heard her yet? Your first op-
portunity tonight? ! envy you, hearing her
for the first time, and yet, that is nothing TO
the second, nor TO the 22d! You'll be carried
away like the rest of Us, and Madame your
bride will not be jealous Such a voice IS di-
vine, and this opera is written expressly for
her. All to hear her sing that last air, which
indeed runs through the whole opera. That
last air carries one to Heaven"
So, with the enthusiasm Of a Frenchman and
a lover Of music, spoke one Of the devOtces Of
the wonderful singer 10 his friends, the newly
arrived bride and bridegroom. Aud that night
sitting in front box, they heard the voice that
was charming all Europe.
Never had the audience been so enthusiastic.
as on that night; never bad the singer won
such laurels; aud when, III the last scene, the
prevailing air, quaint aud full of pathOs, was
sung by her alone. tho house was hushed into
silence more rapturOus than the storm OF ap-
plause which followed.
Tears stood in the young brides eyes. She
said, Tomorrow We will send her beautiful
flOwersi"
Yes" said the bridegroom, but he answered
absently. He seemed TO look at something far
away, away where his thoughts were travelling
seven long years away, when, floating ON q
moOnlit stream he had first heard that song,
that voice. He had heard it, too, in words
sweeter thanany song
The next day he and his bride chose flowers,
the most beautiful they could find and sent
them to the singer Bat Renee lay still and
white upon her bed. and knew not of the hOw-
ers. She knew not that on the heart that had
broken for her lover his flowers were laid.
For him, for him alone, had she sung her last
song on that last night Of her life.
And the city mourned for the rare singer,
who was gone.