The gold leaf. [volume] (Henderson, N.C.) 1881-1911, 1892-04-21

"Dixie'' from whose tones all the heart
had gone out.
At last, home. New Orleans with her
black yelled women gliding along her
black draped streets.
UpChartres street they marched again.
The little entre-sol was dark and silent.
The old jar stood on the balcony, but the
green spikes and white blossoms were
dead; the rose vine was torn away; only
the palm waved on.
On to the old Place d'Armes, where
the white walks were grass grown and
string of purple violets ran around
them-the purple of mourning.
Then on to their homes, such Of them
as had homes left, the others to quarters
prepared for the troops in the public
buildings.
Among these latter were young Colo
mel Beaumont and his valet.
That night when all was quiet the
master arose from his pallet.
Slowly he walked, as one might walk
in sleep, toward the street, his servant
following On past the guards with
solemn uplifted hand he went. On to
Cnartres street and the little entire sol.
Down on the wooden threshold he
sank-face to earth, heart to earth
In the shadow of neighboring court
way the servant waited and kept watch.
At daybreak the soldier crept back to
the quarters and lay down on his pallet,
covering his face with his old gray cape.
He had kept the death watch of his
Iovo Novoy moro bo1. pa,po mon
toned
Twilight came.
The crowds poured back into the city.
Life looked up and smiled.
The corridors were full of tired, mer-
ry, chattering people.
Servants dashed hither and thither
with trays of jingling ice water.
Out at Metairie, down at Chalmette,
dead. In speech and song each had
eulogized the other. The flag of the
Union covered all. They were brothers
now-the dead and the living. It was
as it should be. It was the peace that
comes of time and common interests
not Of the sword.
Still the old colonel slept in his dark
ened room.
The dining room was a blaze of light,
flowers, silver and glass, bright eyes and
ribbons. There were many northern
tourists among the guests. At one table
sat a middle aged woman and her daugh-
ter. 1Heir faces were the same-one of
yesterday, the other of today.
The girl was very beautiful. She had
full red lips and round. creamy arms.
She had Creole eyes and hair and north
ern skin-the eyes were her mothers,
She wore blue dress, and her cheeks
and throat were pink from the wind and
sun.
''Did you know, mamma" she was
saying, ''that the grand old man whose
sword cut my dress today in the ceme-
terry tainted in the procession and was
brought back to the city:'
"Indeedr' the mother answered. Then,
sadly: 'No, did not. l did not see
him; did not see nor hear anything; |
was back in my childhood
She paused; her eyes filled with tears,
and her hands trembled.
The daughter changed the subject.
Then some men opposite them began
talking. One said:
Have you heard from the colonel:'
Beaumont? Yes; he's resting all right.
The day was too much for him"
They went on talking, the girl listen
ing intently.
She was interrupted by her mother
touching her arm. She turned to.a face
grown old in moment. It was mute,
haggard.
The girl sprang to her feet and leaned
over her mothers chair. "What is it.
dearest:" she asked tenderly. "You are
i'll. l have let you tire yourself to death
to please me-"
She held glass of water to the blue
sistance in taking her mother to thell
rooms
cit is Auguste, Alice" she said wher
they We're alone; "Auguste Beaumont
who should have been my husband. Oh
the cruel necessities and contingencies
Of that awful war! Will he ever forgive
me? Dare l go to him? You shall go
Alice. He will forgive your mother TO
your sake"
Eager eyed and quick breathed tn
girl sped to the sick mans rooms. Sh
loved her mother with love borderin:
upon worship. She scarcely remem
bered her father. She knew that he
mother had been forced into marriag
with him against her will.
The old servant admitted the girl
The room was dimlv lit and the colone