The Bottineau pioneer. (Bottineau, N.D.) 1885-1895, 1894-06-23
THE AWAKENING.

MademOiselle Sylvine dOutreVai
lived in a little house at the corner OF
the Rue des Recollets-a little house
which slept in the shadow of b caoneo-
raj towers. Mademoiselle SylVine was
a little wrinkled, faded, feeble OLD
woman, with scarcely strength enough
to drag herself from one easy chair TO
another, who passed the solitary hours
coaxing the fire with her trembling
hands cased in their black mitts; los
ing the dreary present In little maps
which brought dreams Of a happy past
and listening to the perpetual n IN
changing inanities of her garrulous gray
green parrot.
No clock told the gentle passage Of
time in the lonely, silent salon. Time
was of little account to Mademoiselle
Sylvine. She was alone in the Worla'
the last OF. her name. and h had OUT
lived earthly hopes and earthly re-
erets. She awaited the summons to a
brighter existence with the patient faith
Of the devout believer. She had ceased
even to count the years which, piled
one upon the other, were slowly crush
ing her beneath their weight, and which
had already narrowed the limits or her
life until she was reduced to the CON-
partnership of a faithful servant, as
aged as herself, and n poor, old
chevalier Of Malta, who had adored
Mademoiselle d'Outreval in the far
away time of her youth.
He adored her still, and every even
ing at the same hour-as the faithful
90 to worship-the Chevalier de Nauvri-
court left his lodgings at the other end
of Paris, and, in his perruque and his
buckled shoes, with the aid Of his gold
headed cane, he hobbled across the city
to drink tea and play cards with Ma
demoiselle Sylvine.
Between these two old people existed
an affection-confiding and peaceful-as
sweet and touching as the faint fra
GRANGE of winter roses, whose petals,
dropping at a touch, suggest the falling
of snow.
They never disputed, evincing for each
other always the same delicate c0nsid.
Grafton and a tenderness strong yet
timid.
They forgot their great age; they
saw in each other nc trace Of time;
they even cherished dreams and fancies
as pure as they were visionary-ike
those fleeting, fairy pictures the ice
shows to the sun.
Sylvine had filed the narrow lodging
Of M. de N%euvricourt with absurd tri.
aes which Uttered his bureaus and
etageres; with gay bits of old-fashioned
needlework, symbolic embroideries, and
sentimental drawings in the stilted and
Impossible style of other days.
h The chevalier patiently economical
his meager pension and denied himself
even his precious tobacco d'Espagne fol
the greater luxury of sometimes offer.
ing Slyvine q bunch Of early violets or
q little package of burnt almonds.
And every night they sat ut the card
table, the yellow light from the lamp,
with its great shade of lace, streaming
over them, their bird-like silhouettes
dancing fantastically on the wall, their
withered fingers trembling among the
cards-counting points in their feeble
voices, rejecting gravely at every criti.
cal point in the game, laughing shrilly
at each small victory.
Weakened to youthful animation by
this simple diversion, their spectacles
glistened as their old heads nodded un.
certainly and the the fragrant steam
rose gently from the cups on the table
beside them.
Aid when the game was ended, the
eheEalier would draw his chair close to
s. lvine's, venture an ol1.tlme compli.
ment On the aroma Of her poudre de
riz, or the color Of her ribbons, imprint
q kiss on her wrist-firSt, audaciously
still holding the wrinkled hand which
Sylvine abandoned IT, his clasp, he
would murmur with reproachful ten
derness:
do you remember, my heart, how
cruel you were to me in the past?"
And Sylvine would reply with a sigh,
and together their thoughts wandered
back to the days when they were young
and gay and lived only for each other;
yet when he had taken her hand and
pushed aside her glove, as now, to kiss
the wrist-then young and fair, she had
only tossed her head and drawn her
hand away. And when she met his
passionate pr~otestations with her sweet
incredulous laughter and a hooking
gleam in her velvet eyes, and at last
turned from him trilling a foolish air,
he had flung himself away in bitter an.
ger and gone to risk his life in twenty
battles, as one would play a louis on q
green table.
do you remember, Sylvine?"
And M~ademoiselle Oo'utreval, smiling
gently, would murmur at last:
"Ahi nv dear chavaIier. and If II had
been otherwise, would we have been
the same good friends we are to-day ~
Anc NJ. de Nauvricourt sighed the
- a.