The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1892-08-31
Selected Storp.
Paule's Bluebells.

IT, falling from the blue sky, across which
the setting sun cast golden flames. Two
steps away Paris grumbled.
The Seine surrounded the Grande Jatte
isle with low, gentle murmur, a murmur
that was one long caress, and there was in
the atmosphere perfume of flowers and
freshly mown grass
Along the driveway on the other side of
the river carriages passed at a trot, bear
ing the happy occupants to the promenade
or taking them back to the city. On the
water Joyous merrymakers flew by in
yawls that seemed like toys, the rowers
shouting loud salutes to big, numbering
towboat, black and awkward, which made
them dance like cockleshels on the waves
made by its paddles. And the ferrymen,
who, for one sou passenger, made the
crossing from bank to bank, paused to let
pass the enormous mass of barges dragged
in tow, while the alert, laughing, noisy
oarsmen, full of bravado, dashed by brisk
ly plying their sculls
The Seine then was full of laughter,
rolling its green waters with a crisp, chop
ping sound tfat seemed to cry out to all,
"Come on, come on" and brushed the
banks with sly little kiss that bent the
reeds and the water lilies still ungathered
sparrows - little vagabonds with their
sweethearts-leaped and skipped in the
grassy nopks, near which the greenish
scum of tiny rivulets made moving spots
of emerald.
From time to time pretty girl at the
tiller threw laugh to the wind; voices
sounded everywhere; tights and jerseys,
red and white caps, and the gay toilets Of
women, casting for a moment the flash Of
their vivid color upon the rolling waves,
came and went and were little by little
effaced by the thickening mist that the
heat drew from the water.
"Oh, if only had some bluebellsl''
Paule spoke feebly in soft. muffled
voice, like the cooling of bird. Her friend
had made her a tiny nest of moss, and near
the little birch yawl, drawn out on the
grass, seated or rather reclining there, her
white flannel skirts spread out around her,
her black, curly hair thick and abundant,
bringing out by contrast the ivory pallor
of her skin, she seemed herself-with that
faint, wavering red deepening and paling
in the wan cheeks-some strange, frail
blossom.
She wanted bluebells, the within of
child, of one incurably ill Her beautiful
dark eyes, surrounded by blush circles
and shaded by long, curling lashes-eyes
almost too big for the delicate face-spark-
led with desire-she wanted bluebells!
But, dearest" her friend responded.
there are no bluebells here"
"Truel How very annoyingp'
And she gave a sigh that was nearly a
sob in her sunken little bosom.
All at once joyous racket came through
the trees, the crash of bass drum and the
fourishes of trombones marking the time
of gay quadrille. The boatmen of the
Seine dance with all their heart at these
island ballsl Paule listened and joyously
clapped her hands.
Come, let US see themp' said she.
And he, with a gentle, kindly smile, full
nevertheless of an unavowed sadness, he,
Paule's friend, held out his two strong
hands and said simply;
Get up then"
In the cabaret frequented by the boat
men the crowd was dense; pretty and
gayly dressed girls in the arms of stalwart
oarsmen-every muscle of the body plainly
outlined under the thin woven shirts
madly whirled about the table of the
drinkers. An orchestra of some dozen
musicians, led by signor something or
other, the name spread out in letters foot
long on gaudy poster, played furious
quadrille.
Some of the dancers affected the style of
the choregraphs of the outer barriers,
their gambolings, springs and alert gym
nastics; some, more serious, dance sedate-
ly and without bothering themselves
with the manner of others, CALAMITY lead
ing their loved ones here and there, with a
certain fine and lofty scorn of their sur
roundings.
Truly strange medley in which friend
and stranger elbowed each other as chance
threw them together, and each took pleas
ure, according to his taste, intoxicating
himself with the breath of the evening,
while the perfume of Pernod mingled in
the air with the smoke of pipes and cigars,
to be quickly swept TO the river or to hang
for a nomenclature blue clouds in the
trees-as if caught by the branches
"Ah, but life is goodp' sighed Paule,
leaning heavily on the arm of her friend.
Lifel the eternal dream of those early
doomed of those that dream of a morrow
they will never see, of morrow already
fyingl Paule had in her eyes now the in
toxication of blssful vision Why could
she not have in reality the joy that her
eyes beheld the deceptive mirage of the
happiness of othersP
Suddenly she uttered little cry;
"Bluebellsl Bluebells, Henri'
1t was true; there they were on the cor
sage of one of the women. She had passed
like a whirlwind close beside them. Or
the gray robe of the dancer the flowers
stuck out in an enticing tuft, and her cava
lier, a lad of perhaps twenty years, seemed
to breathe in the odor and to draw from
the faint perfume an always increasing
strength to clasp his companion to him.
Paule eagerly stretched out her thin lit
tie hands.
81 want some bluebells" said she, anC
she bent as if to seize them.
But the couple whirled on it was near
ing the end of the quadrille, and the.
whirled on and on and down the length o
the ballroom, while the music played loud
ly and the day finished dying, but from
time to time the dancers returned to pas
again beside Paule's table. Her wide opel
eyes still followed with eager interest tn
dance of the blue flowers on the breast o
the smiling Walter.
A sorrowful shadow insensibly cloude
the brow of Paule's friend. The flower
that the little one dreamed Of having wer
really her life She would never, neve
have them For her all was ended The