St. Landry clarion. (Opelousas, La.) 1890-1921, 1893-04-29
| sprang forward to the bedside.
might say with Dryden:
The remnant of nv tale is of a length

IHlgaI say WlLH DTyQaH.
The remnant of my tale is of length
To tire your patience,
for the years that followed were not en-
tire1y without their events. but pass
over them all.
Instead Of drowning myself, had
amassed wealth. had chased the
shining dollars with the same spirit q
despairing wretch takes dose of poison.
was rich man and great man, but
oh, how hated the wealth" and the
'sgreatnessl''
could never forget that year of my
youth; it hung like ghost on my every
movement
Well, went to Europe, for what OBJ
ject hardly know, unless it was to for
get myself in the multitude of new
sights and scenes. was in my room in
the Hotel Beauvais, in the "proud old
city" of Marseilles, "full of wealth and
rich with works of art"
Europe! Franeei She had come to
Europe after her marriage; her hus-
band was Frenchman; and perhaps
was in the same country with her.
had heard but very little concerning
her fate, and that was only some init
nation that the Count de Vauvineauz
had turned out badly, and that Mr..
Spencer never received letters from his
daughter. But | took this as mere
scandal and thought little of it.
In France found my old love to visit
and dream over ancient things reviving,
the contemplation of that dead, yet ever
living greatness that fills us "with
thoughts beyond the reaches of our
souls" and | sailed ont to saunter
through the older and more time worn
haunts of the town.
had been visiting the moldering re-
mains of a once celebrated triunphal
arch, and not far from this, wandering
among the proud relics of a long aban-
doned Roman church, when my return
ing steps led me through narrow.
winding street. Many parts of it were
SO filthy and loathsome that almost
feared the contagion of some disease,
and surely in this dark spot the dagger
of the assassin might naturally be
looked for.
It was in this place, and engaged In
reflections natural to it, that I was
startled, almost alarmed, by the shrill
cry of a female voice-she herself, a
ragged, dirty, gypsy looking woman,
running ont into the street from door
quite near me. "Mon Dieui Mon Dieu.
Ellie est fo1lel. she exclaimed, fastening
up to me; and then perceiving that Twas
a foreigner she continued, aAnglaisl
Ang1ais!' and half drew me in the door.
Surely / do not know how many
flights of stairs we climbed up before
we came to little green door without
latch or panel, but we eame to such a
one, and the gypsy woman cautiously
opened it.
The whole apartment could be COM
pretended in all its parts in one glance,
for certainly 1t was not more than ten
feet square, and much less that in
height. But the most noticeable appur-
tenance of the apartment was low rag
covered bed in one corner, and as the
door creaked behind us, form started
uD wildly from it, and looked at me
with a terrible, unearthly stare. She
was very, very beautiful woman. Her
face was as cold and colorless as a block
of marble: her jet hair hung loosely and
wildly about her shoulders, and her
eyes, oh, how bright, how glaring they
werei It might have been a minute
that we stood TINS gazing at each other.
At last ] took q step toward her and
addressed her kindly in English, when
e11hsl.rir1airlra 10 III, Ga rinrn 81 81 \ r1ar