Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1895-09-12

knew not what to answer. but gather
Ing my wits together l smiled and an
swered readily in the Affirmative:
"And you?' said gaily. How goes
the clolera?''
The landlord shook his head dole
fully.
'sHoly Joseph! dc not speak Of it!
The people die like flies in a honey
pot. Only yesterday-body Of Bac-
chus-who would have thought it,"
And he sighed deeply as he poured
out the steaming coffee and shook his
head more sorrowfully than before.
why, what hal pened yesterday?'
I asked. though knew pei fectly well
stranger in Naples, and empty of
news"
The perspiring Pietro laid fat
thumb on the marble top Of tne table,
and with it traced 4 pattern medita-
lively.
''You never heard of the rich Count
Romani?" he inquired.
made sign III the negative, and
bent my face over my coffee cup.
"Ah, well!' he went on with half
groan, sit does not nlatter-there is no
Count Romani any more. 1t is all
gone--fnished! But he was rich-as
rich as the king, they say-you see
how low the saints brought him? Ira
Cipriano of the Ber edictines carried
him in here yesterday Inorning-he
was struck by the plague; in five
hours he was dead,"-here the land
lord caught mosquito ard killed it
t'as dead as that zanzara! Yes, he,
lay dead on that very wooden bench
opposite to you. They buried him be-
fore sunset 1t is like bad dream!'
affected to be deeply eugrossed
with the cutting ard spreading Of my
roll and butter.
II see nothing paltit ular about it,"
I said, indifferently. "1'Eat he was
rich is notbing-rich and poor must
die alike
':And that is true. very true" as
sented Pictro. with another groan,
car rot all his poverty could save
the blessed CipriaDo.
started, but quickly controlled nv
self.
''What do you mean?" 1 asked. as
-careiessly as could. care you talk
ing Of some saint?'
swell. if he We're rot canonized. he
deserves to be- replied the landlord;
81 spoke of the holy Benedictine faith
mani in dying condition. All. little
he knew how soon the good God
would call him hinselfv'
1 felt a sickening sensation at my
heart
lis he dead?" 1 exclaimed.
Dead as the martyrs!" answered
Pietro. 'He caught the plague,
suppose, from the count, for he was
bending over him to the last. Ay,
and he sprinkled holy water over the
corpse, and laid his own c:ucifix upon
1t in the coffin. Then up he went to
the Villa Romani. taking with the
counts trinkets his watch. ring and
cigar case. and nothing would satisfy
him but that he should deliver them
himself to the young countess, telling
her how her husband died"
my poor Nina" 1 thought. "Was
she much grieyed?" I inquired with q
vague curiosity.
How do 1 know?' said the land
lord. struggling his bulky shoulders.
The reverend father said nothing,
save that she swooned away. But
what of that? Women swoon at every
thing. from a mouse to a corpse. AS
l said. the good Cipriano attended the
counts burial. and he had scarce re-
turned from it when he was seized
with the illness. And this morning he
died at the monastery; may his soul
rest in peace! heard the news only
an hour ago. All! he was holy man!
He has promised me a warm corner
In Paradise, and know he will keep
bis word as truly as st. Peter him
SELF"
I pushed away the rest of my meal
untasted. The food choked me. I
fould have shed tears for the noble,
satient life thus self-sacrjfced. One
hero the less In this world of unhe-
roic, uninspired persons. I sat silent,
lost in sorrowful thought. The land
lord looked at me curiously.
1.-THE coffee does not please you?"
he said at last. "You have no appe-
tite?"
l forced q smile.
may, your words would take the
edge off the keenest appetite ever
born of the breath of the sea- Truly
Naples affords but sorry entertain
ment to stranger; is there naught to
hear but stories of the dying and the
-dead?'
Pietro put on an air that was al
most apologize.
wen, truly, ne answered., resign
edly, very little else. But what would
you, AMIGO? 1t is the plague and the
will of God"
AS he said the last words my gaze
was caught and rivited by the figure
of man strolling leisurely past the
door of the cafe. 1t was Guido Fer
rari. my friend. l would have rushed
out to speak to him. but something in
his look and manner checked the i'm
pulse as it rose in me. He was walk
ing very slowly, smoking cigar as he
went. There was smile on his face,
and in his coat he wore freshly
gathered rose-a Glorie de France,
similar TO those that grew in pro.
fusion on the upper terrace of my
villa. stared at him as he passed;
my feeling underwent kind of shock
He looked perfectly happy and tram
squil, happier indeed than ever I re.
membered to have seen him; and yet
and yet. according to his knowledge,
]. his best friend. had died only yes
,terday. With this sorrow fresh upon
him he could smile like a man going
to q fiesta, and wear coral pink rose,