Fairhaven herald. [volume] (Fairhaven, Wash.) 1890-????, 1892-07-29

mad said TO him, 1T Is merely question
of time"
The chaplain whom Paule had wished to
see, and who had been the confdant Of her
griefs, had murmured in his ear;
'She is lost, monsieur, poor child; make
her happy six months-at most"
And the priest, persisting in the belief
that Paule was his wife, had added:
at is the duty of good husband"
And really, after all, why should she not
have the flowers she wanted-why should
not he, her friend, crafty the little ones
Innocent desire?
"Waitl" said he.
And as the dance had ended he rose and
went straight to the shady little thicket
where the one with the bluebells had
taken refuge to rest for moment with
her breathless partner. The orchestra
played now dreamy song waltz, to which
some danced and all joined in the words,
the deep bass of the men supporting and
strengthening the treble OF the grizettes,
the leader of the band pointing the measure
gayly, and lending his aid to direct and
harmonic this choral and instrumental
| concert.
Paule, leaning back in her chair, de-
lighted with everything, had a tight,
harsh little cough that from time TO time
was smothered in her handkerchief, but
the surrounding Joy was insensibly infec-
tious; 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 them" cried she, ''you have
the bluebellsp'
Her friend did not answer, but held
them to her She seized them as a 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
bellsf One must truly love much to be
capable Of 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 "A poor
sick child. A mad caprice, he knew it
well, but no one was selling them, he
could not buy them, and disappointment
would sadden the last hours of a dying
one. Then compassionately, before her
dumb struck escort could bow or say
yes" the girl had pulled them from her
breast and thrust the bluebells into his
hand.
"You have themp' 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. 1t was cruel-terribe
All, but life was shorti And men but
fools to live as If it were longl And for
such trifles,, too, did vitality expend itself,
wiseacres and artists use up their wits,
lawyers SOW ruin, and politics and war do
the restl That poor little bloodless body so
pretty, so frail, nearly transparent, that a
cold breeze would wlther tomorrow like a
leaf without sap-was IL not the image Of
life, so brief and fleeting'
Dear little Paule She would last, like
the bluebells she loved, just long enough
to charm-and to be gathered
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 q
kiosque that overlooked the Seine.
Are we going to dine hereS" demanded
she happily.
Eyes, dearest; and if you arc too much
tired, as believe, will have the yawl put
in a 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 shall see the Seine running under
the stars all night long," said she
"But no; you'll be sleeping"
~ Oh no, sleep so little"
II 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 seryent entered and set down
a 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
hands, ike bits OF snowl
IF only" sighed she presently, in her
soft, weary voice, answering some I'M
spoken thought, "if only could dine on
| flowers, like the butterfiiesl'
Something strange in her tone made her
| friend raise wondering eyes; she continued,
never needing;
Eyes, ON aowcrs--these bluebells here"
her voice broke little, but she went on
bravely, "for-for | am going soon, and l
know it. But ! am very happy, all the the
same, knowing IL. And because Of it.
knowing it, | mean-that | wanted-just
for the last time to come with you today.
IL | 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