Waterbury evening Democrat., 1891-05-09
KILLED BY A KISS.
One Moro in the Series of Possi-
 ble Gases.
Guy do NTaupassant Narrates an Episode of Exquisite Sentiment and Harsh RealIsm-The Gruesome Tale Told
 by tho Younger Chantal.
lcoPYRIGHT. IS91.l

youngest of three brothers. My grand father had been a shipping merchant in the north of France and had left large estate. My Uncle Jerome, the eldest, went to Paris and married, and thither, somewhat later, Francois, the second brother, followed him. my father re- mnining in Havre.
 Henri Chantal was an eccentric man, silent and studious, with a passion for books in fine bindings. He made ire quent trips to Paris to attend auction sales, but never permitted me to accom- pany him. When I was eighteen years old he died, by his will appointing Uncle Francois the guardian of my per son and estate. Francois was a remark ably handsome man and very fond of wine, woman and song. Either through "eless investments or riotous living sstne say both-he wasted his own and my estate, too, and became pensioner upon his brother Jerome.
 When attained my majority, finding myself toiling for a miserable pittance in a shipping house, resolved to turn my back on France and try my fortunes In the new world For more than twen- ty years I knocked about the United States and Canada, often succeeding in amaSsing quite a little property; but | my love of speculation invariably swal- lowed 1t up. and after an absence of
 more than twenty years I returned to France and hunted up my Cousin Gas ton. Jerome's son, who had kept his l money and was living quiet married l life in the suburbs of Paris. He re- ceived me very well, advanced me some l money and assured me that his house was always open to me. His wife and two daughters were likewise so friendly to me that soon became much attached to them.
 But the member of Cousin Gaston's family who interested me most was a
 maiden lady we'll on towards fifty, with
 face of purest oval, a skin like a young girls, hair still luxuriant in
 growth and but slightly flccl1ed with gray, nose of most delicate and aristo-
 cratic pattern, and eyes of liquid blue,
 soft as June sky, large, soulful, tender
 and eloquent
 ! "Who is she, Cousin Gaston?' I asked
 one day.
 "Come up to the billiard room," said
 he, ''where we may be alone, and I'll
 tell you"
 "Nearly fifty years ago." Gaston be- | gan, with a long drawn sigh, "before
 you were born, we lived at Rouy le Tors,
 on the Notifications. We had fine old
 mansion and garden on the ramparts,
 so high in the air that we used to call
 it the hanging garden, from the borders
 of which we could look out for miles
 across the plain. There was hidden
 flight of stone stairs leading from this
 garden down to the plain, used by the peasants and huclxsters as a short cut
 to the mansion. One winters night
 ahl well do remember that night-a
 binding snowstorm had set in at dusk, | but we didn't let that check our gayety,
 for it was Twelfth night and father
 and Uncle Francois were entertaining
 Q large party at dinner. Suddenly,
 from way out on the plain came the
 dull, deep baying of dog, half howl,
 half bark. At first no one noticed it,
 for the merry feast in the dining-room
 was at it's height; but as again and
 again it reached our ears, the bowling
 each time taking a more piteous tone,
 some one called out:
 l "'Why, that sounds like Stcntor" this
 being the name of large and extreme