Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1892-08-19
harmonic this choral and Instrumental

uSACeu WIN everything, l1Q GlSnG,
harsh little cough that from time to time
was smothered in her handkerchief, but
the surrounding joy was insensibly infec-
tlous; Paule's face soon was radiant with
smile that made her for an instant bean
tiful with youth and health. Then her
friend was back again, a bunch Of blue
bells in his hand.
You have themy' cried she, ''you have
the bluebells!''
Her friend did not answer, but held
them to her. She seized them as child
seizes an offered plaything, with brusque
gesture, inspired apparently at once by
pleasure and fear-the pleasure of having,
the fear of losing.
But how had her friend secured the blue
bells? One must truly love much to be
capable of a devotion that borders on the
ridiculous. Two words had told the story
of the happy girl with the flowers
He wanted them, he said, his voice trem-
bling with dread of refusal, for poor
sick child. A mad caprice, he knew it
well, but no one was selling them, he
could not bug them, and disappointment
would sadden the last hours of dying
one. Then compassionately. before her
dumb struck escort could bow or say
Eyes," the girl had pulled them from her
breast and thrust the blueDells into his
hand.
"You have then!'' repeated Paule, and
without asking how he had obtained
them, she took them tenderly in her hot
clasp, carried them to her lips and pinned
them to her corsage. smiling, content and
proud.
Her friend regarded her sadly with
swimming eyes, his gaze vague and alb
sent. Beyond the present, SO near, he saw
the morrow. It was cruel-terrible.
All, but life was shortl And men but
fools to live as if it were long! And for
such trifies, too, did vitality expend itself,
wiseacres and artists use up their wits,
lawyers SOW ruin, and politics and war do
the rest! That poor little bloodless body, SO
pretty, SO frail, nearly transparent, that a
cold breeze would wither tomorrow like a
leaf without sap-was it not the image of
life, SO brief and feeting?
Dear little Paule She would last, like
the bluebells she loved, just long enough
to charnl-and to be gatheredI
Meanwhile all about them the music,
noise and laughter went on.
Evening now had fallen, and everywhere
they were setting the tables among the
trees and the shrubbery and along the
banks, brilliant with Venetian lanterns;
some of the boatmen were going away,
whole boat trains in fact, but double as
many had come and still were coming
Paule's friend, seeing the ever deepening
flame in the white little face led her to a
kiosque that overlooked the Seine.
.'Are we going to dine here?" demanded
she happily.
eyes, dearest; and if you are too much
tired, as believe, will have the yawl put
in boathouse and we will also sleep here,
that you may rest"
Paule clasped her hands delightedly; the
idea of sleeping on the isle made her smile
Immediately.
"And l shall see the Seine running under
the stars all night long" said she.
"But no; you'll be sleeping"
81? Oh no, sleep so little"
It was true, she did not sleep. At night
the cough killed her, the fever burned her,
ceaselessly, without respite. Even now,
with the sun an hour gone, the little hand
kerchief was raised more and more fire.
quently to the pale lips.
Just then a servent entered and set down
lamp Paule spread out her flowers on
the clean white cloth, nonchalantly leaned
her elbows on the table and her chin in
her two hands-such feeble. bloodless little
khands, like bits of snow!
eff only" sighed she presently, in her
soft, weary voice, answering some I'M
spoken thought, eff only l. could dino Oh
flowers, like the butterfiesl,
Co,oe4l.:-r,.s+. ,sIrsr III her tone made her
friend raise wondering eyes; she continued,
never needing:
-"Yes, on fowers-these bluebells here''
her voice broke little, but she went on
brayely, "for-for am going soon, and
know it. But am very happy, all the the
same, knowing it. And because of it
knowing it, mean-that | wanted-just
for the last time to come with you today.
If could eat bluebells like the butterflies
they would spring from my grave, come
up all around me, growing from my body,
and-and you could gather them" Oh,
the heartbreak in the pitiful little voice.
As she spoke, slowly, with evident effort,
but smiling at her friend to prove to him
that she was indeed happy, Paule strove
to raise her head and give her hand to her
startled lover, who, unwilling to see the
truth, had still not moved.
But the support of her hand removed, the
heavy little head fell helplessly forward on
the table and the pale brow lay among the
scattered bluebells.
"Paulel Paule!" cried her friend, spring
ing with a sob toward the poor little body.
Just at this moment, after brief rest,
the orchestra began again waltz by
Strauss, to which whirled couples intoxi-
Gated with life, while the rowers, depart
ing in their Illuminated crafts, accom-
panied with their strong young voices the
strains of the horns and violins.
But Paule heard no longer; Paule was
gone, though the soul, perhaps, still hoy
cred over the fading blueballs that the
tears of her friend bathed with scalding
dew.
And all the Seine. under the moon that
silvered it, rang with cries and songs from
the Bineau bridge to the bridge of As
nieres. and the river rolled it's waters with
murmuring sound that seemed to say
ssCome on! come on!' and brushed its
banks with sly little kiss that bent the
reeds and the water lilies; while in the
distance Mont Valerien slept now under a
sky full of stars, and two steps away Paris
grumbled. -Translated from the French of
Leon Bigot Tor Short Stories bv Henry
Jordan.