Evening journal., 1891-06-12

plain, pale as a ghost, and badly dressed;
no doubt she belonged to the inhuman
phalanx OF women who write romances and
wear mourning as to their finger nail. Auffl
All her hopes must be crushed at once, and
at one blow.
II am sorry" he answered slowly, tear
ing open nervously the envelopes OF the let
ters and wrappers and newspapers IL am
sorry, my dear young lady, bat The Gre.
puscolo has pigeonhoies full of stories
which perhaps it will never publish. Yours
excuse me, what is it aboutS How is IT
entitledr
The young girl felt her throat com.
pressed ms il by hand of iron, and blamed
a hundred times over the hour and the mo
ment In which the idea had come to her OF
presenting herself to that discourteous
man; yet, since now there is no turning
back.
1T is a moral story" she stammered; IS
story where it is shown"-
THAT virtue is its own rewardy" asked
the journalist, laughing, while he began tc
make notes in regard to the letters which
he was arranging in an elegant letter file.
THE theme could not be more amusing.
And the title, pleasew
The Last Love,'n murmured the un.
happy girl, in a spent voice. believe,
signor, that have written it with soul
with feeling There are none Of the usual
descriptions of things not honest, as are too
much the fashion nowadays but you will
see that in my story there is truth from
the first to the last page, and"--
Il am perfectly convinced Of what you
tell me, dear young lady" said Anderni,
absent mindedly, without noticing the Wis.
ShIn ganvcfpal crf II.
pure little face. but, you see yours is
just the sort Of story that does not suit q
newspaper"
"Then you take away every hope from
me-" said the GIRL swaying, placing in.
stinctively her hand upon her heart.
For PHYS sake, don't talk in that sen.
timental wayl We will see it some other
time. These young ladiesl All with the
mania TO write, while so many hands are
needed in trades-in woman's work. More
over"- He could not continue. The
young girl stretched her arms toward
him as if in search of aid, stammered one
wOrd-only one-the first that we learn as
babies; Mammal And turning quickly, she
fell stiH upon the same divan where, a few
minutes before, she had dreamed of com
fort for her poor old woman.
Anderni gave a stihed cry, and rushed tc
her. The poor girl breathed no more; her
eyes were wide open, glazed, and her lips
contracted.
"Quickw he shouted, opening the door
"Quick, physicianw All the staff has
tened into the little sanctum, and the
young man with the weary eyes ran to the
girl, raising her poor lifeless head upon his
shoulder.
"She is dead" said Adolph Lewis, after
having felt her pulse AT any rate, will
run for the doctor"
'She is dead she is deadr' they all ex
claimed, shaking their heads Only the
young man with the tired eyes did not
speak, but busted himself with composing
decently the dress and damp hair Of An
nina.
Gomez cried Anderni, turning to Fable
Leoni, the reporter of The Crepuscolo
"Don't stand there spellbound before the
girl. Take this manuscript and send it tc
the composing room. 1t would be better
that you should take it there yourself
Have it set up at once, with paragraph
about it. Tell the facts briefly"
And as Fabio Leoni remained dazed
looking at the girl:
Look herel" cried the chief editor, agi
tated, conyulsed. "This girl has brought
me WUfh Ol ueESs Inc lldSJ Love ant
has died while handing it to me. Do you
take in the Importance of this fact? 1t il
a solemn, mysterious thing. We must ge
out a double edition of the paper You
can announce the story at once as a refined
honest thing, destined to interest our TAI
4 readers-but make haste-the deucel All
here is the physicianl Doctorp'
All gathered again around the corpse
and the word aneurism passed from on
mouth to another.
1T is necessary to inform the coronei
| and the Misericordia at once" said the doc
l tor, beginning to write.
All returned, more or less affected, int
the editorial room to prepare the numbe
i which was to come out at noon. Only tn
weary eyed young man staid, unobserved
to contemplate the dead girl. Obi at las
he recollected. The little waxen face tina
was before him resembled that Of his onl.
sister, dead of consumption a year before
when he had gone ON The Crepuscolo a
fifty lire month
The brethren of the Misericordia came
in midst of a crowd of idlers who wishe
to learn what the facts were. But no on
knew, not even poor little old woman il
Via Panica, who had heard the thre
strokes Of the bell of the charitable CON
pany, and had crossed herself with devC
ton, praying for the peace Of whoever, a
that moment, was dying perhaps alone
on the street, unl1issed Translated by
Cavazza for Short Stories.