The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1894-02-28
UNDER THE SOFA.

'i'h' tio L rhN'I from OrpneuS was
open on n spinet; the chairs had Tyres
FOR backs; n mahogany writing-desk
white bed with it's decoration in
roses; painted doves in pairs along
the cornice; the whole seemed to
smile with a tender grace. The lamp
shono softly, and the flickering fire.
Light filed the dus<y corners as with
paipitating wings. Seated before the
writing-dcsk in loose gown. her del
icate neck inclined under the pale.
magnificent aureole Of her hair, Juli-
ette Is looking over old letters, which
have lain, tied up with ribbons, for
gotten in the drawers.
The stroke of midnight soun ds: it is
the sign of the merging of the old year
into the new. The dainty clock, upon
which laughing, gilded love is
perched, announces that the year of
1898 is ended
At the moment when the hands con-
Ioin' little phantom appears. A
pretty child issuing from tiny room
adjoining, where he sleeps, comes to
throw himself into his mothers arms
and wish her happy New Year.
"a hlppy New Year, Pierre, I
thank you; but do you know what a
happy year is?"
He thinks he knows, but she wishes
to impress the lesson still deeper.
"A year is good, my darling, for
those who have pissed it without hate
and without fear.
She kisses him and carries him back
TO tie bed he has left, and then reseats
herself before the desk. She gazcs
first at the Aimes glowing on the hearth
and then at the letters, from which
faded flowers are dropping. 1t costs her
much to burn them, butit must be done
because these letters, if discovered,
would send to the guillotine him who
wrote and her who received them. Ii
she alone were in question, she would
not destroy tham, so weary is she of
contending for her life; but she
thinks OF him, hunted, prescribed de.
nounced, Mt this very moment hiding
in some hay-loft at the other end of
Paris. 1t would take but single one
of these letters to track him out and
give him over to death.
Pierre is snugly asleep in the next
room, aud the two servants have re-
tired to tho upper regions. The deep
silence OF tho season of snow reigns
without. The sharp pure air quickens
the flame in the fireplace. Julie is
going to burn the letters, but il is n
task she knows she cannot accomplish
without deep and sad reflection. She
is going to burn the letters, but not
without reading them.
They are arranged in order, for
Julie infusos everything pertaining to
her with the eXactIcss of her mind.
Some, already yellowed, are dated
three years back, and Julie, in the
silence of the night, lives over again
enchanted hours. Not single page
is consigned TO the flames before the
beloved syllables that cover it are ten
times spelled.
The calm IL profound around her.
Occasionally, az the hours pass. she
goes to tho window and, lifting the
curtain, sees in the silent darkness the
spIre of Saint Germain-de Pres sill
vered in the moonlight; then she
takes up again her work of slew and
regretful destruction. And how can
she refrain from drinking in for last
time these delicious pages? How can
she give to the flames those dear lines
without first engraving them forever
ON heart? The calm is profund
around her, and her soul is palpitating
with youth and love. She reads:
II Zee you when absent, Julie. 1
walk surrounded by the images my
fancy creates / see you, not motion
less and cold, but warm, alive always
= changing, always perfect. draw
around you in my dreams the most
magnificent spectacles of the universe.
How happy is ne who is jules lover
ALI things charm him, because he
secs her in them all. Loving her. he
loves to live; he admires The
world that she illumines; he cherishes
tho earth that blooms under her foot
steps. Love reveals to him hidden