The Opelousas courier., 1891-12-12
".You are an artist2, said.

opals on the table before me.
"tThis is the one | have always
worm he said, indicating the more bril-.
liant. That chiIlier one l gave once to
the woman whom l loved. It was more
Sivid then. They are strange stones
'tHe said nothing more, and I sat il
perfect silence, only dreading that he
should not speak again. lam not making
you understand how he impressed me
In the delicate, hopeless patience, of hi
face, In the refined, uninsistent~ accents
of his voice, there was somehow struck a
note of self abnegation, of a~loofness from
the world, pathetic in any n so young.
81 am old. There is little in life that
I care for. My interests are largely
affected. Wine does not warm me now,
and beauty seems no longer beautiful,
but / thank heaven | am not beyond the
reach of a penetrating personality. I
have at least the ordinary instincts for
convention in social matters, but | assure
you it seemed not in the least strange to
me that | should be sitting in the private
apartment of a man whom / had met
only half an hour before, and then in q
pawnbroker's shop, listening eagerly for
account of matters wholly personal to
himself. It struck me as the most natural
and charming thing in the world. 1t
was just such chance passing intercourse
as / expect to hold with wandering
spirits on the green hills of paradise.
SIT was some time before he spoke
again.
"'I saw her first, he said, looking at
the paler opal, as if it was of that he
spoke, ION the street in Florence. It
was a day in April, and the air was liquid
gold. She was looking at the Campo
nile, as if she were akin to it. 1t was
the friendly grace of one lily looking at
another. Later, l met her as one meets
other people, and was presented to her.
And after that the days went fast. I
think she was she sweetest woman God
ever made. I Sometimes wonder how
He came to think of her. Whatever you
may have missed in hfe,' he said, lifting
calm eyes to mine, and smiling a little,
you whose aspect is so sweet, decorus,
and depressing, whose griefs, if you have
griefs, are the subtle sorrows of the old
and unimpassioned'-I remember his
phrases literally. thought them strik-
ing and descriptive" confessed Hayden
- Il hope you have not missed that
last touch of exaltation which I knew
then. 1t is the most exquisite thing in
life. The Fates must hate those from
whose lips they keep that cup He
unused awhile, and added, There is
only one real want in life, ana that is
comradeship-comradeship with the d.
vine. and that We call religion; with the
human, and that we call love-
your definitions are literature I
ventured to suggest, 'but they are not
fact. Believe me, neither love nor re-
ligion* is exactly what you call 1t. And
there are other things almost as good In
life, as surely you must know. There is
art, and there is work which is work
only, and yet il good
"sYou speak from your own expert
ence2' he said, simply.
sit was a home thrust. | did not,
and / knew / did not. I am slxty-fve
years old, and I have never known just
complete satisfaction which l be-
lieve arises from the perfect performance
Of distasteful work. I said SO. He
81 knew it when ! set my eyes upon
you, and | knew you would listen to mo
and My vaporing. Your sympathy with
me is what you feel toward all forms of
weakness, and in the last analysis it is
self-syr,pathy. You are beautiful, not
strong lie added, with an air of finali-
ty, land Ii am like you.'
81 enjoyed this singular analysis of
but ! wanted something else.
g You were telling me Of the opals,'
| suggested.
1.-THE opals, yes. Opats always made
me happy, you know. While I wore one,
| felt that a friend was near. My father
found these in Hungary, and sent them.
to me-two perfect jewels. He said they
were the twin halves of asingle stone. I
believe it to be true. Their mutual reIa-
ton is an odd me-. One has paled as
the other frightened. You see them now.
When they were both mine, they were
Of almost equal brilliancy. This touch
ing the paler, lis the one | gave to her.
You see the difference in them now. Hers
began to pale before she had worn il a
LIDO not try to explain it, not
even on the ground Of the old supersti-
ton. 1t was not her fault that they made
her send it back to me. But the fact re-
mains; her opal is fading slowly mine is
burning to a deeper red. Some day hers
will be frozen quite, while mine-mine
- his voice wavered and fell on silence,
is the flame of a candle fighting against
The wind fickers and goes out.
aI waited many minutes for him to
speak again, but the silence was I'M
At last | rose. Surely you did
not mean to part with either stone,' !
HE locked up as from a dream. Part
With them9 Why should / sell my souI2
would not part with them if were
/ had a minutes temptation,
tut that is past now Then, with d
Of manner, sYon are going2 He
with q gesture that / felt then and
till feel as a benediction. sGood-by. I
wish for your own sake that you had not
,een 20 like my poor self that I knew
gu for a friend
aWe had exchanged cards, but / did
lot see Or hear of him again. Last week
hese stones caus1 to me, sent by some
ne here in New York Of his own name
his executor. He il dead. and left me