Bellows Falls times. [volume] (Bellows Falls, Vt.) 1856-1965, 1895-02-28

| do not know how long ! slept, but
when | awoke there WAS a gray light
in the room. ] was very cold and still,
but | could hear, close 10y, the soft regu'
lar breathing of the child. There was
great uneasiness on me; and after a
while | stole out across the passage and
knocked at the Counts door. There
was no answer, but 1t gave when
tried it, and so | went in. The lamp
had smouldered out there was a sick
odor of petrol everywhere, and the
shutters were closed but through the
chinks the pitiless gray dawn streamed
in, aud showed me the Count sitting
very still by the table. His face wor-
most curious smile, and had not his
great cavernous eyes been open, should
have believed him asleep suddenly il
came to me that he was dead. He was
not a good man, monsieur, nor an
amiable but a true virtuoso and full
of information, and grieved. | have
had masses said for the .repose of his
soul.
He paid a tribute of silence to the
dead mans memory, and then he went
on: at seemed quite natural that |
should take his child. There was nc
one to care, no one to object; it happened
quite easily. We went, the little one
and [, to another part of the city. We
made quite new life. Oh! my God!
it is very long time ago"
Quite suddenly his voice became
tremulous; but after pause, hardly
perceptible, he recovered himself, and
continued with an accent of apology:
~ am a foolish old man, aud very gar
rulous. 1t is not good to think of that
nor to talk of it; do not know why |
do. But what would you have? She
loved me then, and she had the voice
and the disposition of an angel. 1t was
to the Conservatoire at Milan that l
sent her finally, and it was at La Scala
too, poor child, she met her evil genius,
the man named Romanoff, a baritone
in her company, own son of the devil,
whom she married. All, if | could have
prevented it!'
He lapsed into long silence.
But [ did not prevent it, he said
at last, "for all my good will; perhaps
merely fastened it by unreasonable in
reference. And 50 we went in differ
ent ways, with anger, | fear, and at
least with sore hearts and misunder-
standing.u
He spoke with an accent of finality,
and so sadly that in a sudden rush of
pity | was moved to protest.
"But surely you meet sometimes;
surely this woman, who was as your
He stopped me with solemn ap-
pealing gesture.
"You are young, and you do not alto
gether understand. You must not
judge her; you must not believe that she
forgets, that she does not care. Only
it is better like this, because it could
never be as befoIe. | could not help
her. [ want nothing that she can give
me, no-not anything; I have my
[ hear of her from time to
| hear what the world says of her, the
imbecile world, and / smile. DO not
know best?-I, who carried her in my
arms when she was that highp'
III.
/ saw him once more at the little res
taurant in Soho, before sudden change
of fortune, calling me abroad for an alb
sence, as it happened, of years, closed
the habit of our society. 1t proved to
be our last meeting. / went to Paris;
a fitful correspondence interviewed,
grew infrequent, ceased; then little
later came to me the notification, very
brief and official, Of his death in the
French Hospital of pneumonia. 1t
was followed by a few remembrances
of him, sent at his request, 1 learned,
by the priest who had administered to
him, the last offices, some books that he
had greatly cherished, works of Gluck,
for the most part; an antique ivory cru
cifiX of very curious workmanship, and
his violin, bea atiful instrument dated
1870 and made at Nuremberg, yet with
a tone which seemed to me at least as
fine as that of the Cremonas. 1t had
an intrinsic value to me apart from it's
associations, for | too, was something
of an amateur, and since this seasoned
melodious wood had come into my
possession, / was inspired to take my
facility more seriously. To play in
public, indeed, | had neither leisure
nor desire; but in certain salons of my
acquaintance, where music was much
in vogue, made from time to time a
desuitory appearance. | set down
these facts because, as it happened, this
Intellectual talent OF mine which poor
Cristich's legacy had recalled to life
was to procure me an interesting en-
counter. had played at a house where
was a stranger, brought there by a
friend, to whose insistence | had yield
ed somewhat reluctantly, although he
had assured me-and, | believe, with
it was house where the
indirect or Attic invitation greatly pre-
vailed-in brief, place where one met
very queer people. The hostess was
charming woman of un-
antecedent, but whose
passion for society, which, while it
must always be interesting, need not
always be equally reputable, had ex-
posed her evenings to the suspicion of
her compatriots. And when | had dis
charged my part in the program and
had leisure to look around me, | saw at
a glance that their suspicion was justi-
fed; very queer people indeed were
there. The large, hot rooms We're cos
everybody and nobody was
there; scandaiously promiscuous as
And there with a half start,
which was at first recognition, my
eyes stopped before a face which brought
me confused rush of memories. 1t
was that of woman, who sat on n OF
toman in the smallest room, which was
almost empty. Her companion was
a small, vivacious man, with gray inn
perial and the red ribbon in his button
hole, to whose continuous stream of
talk, eked out with meridianal gestures,
she had the air of being listlessly re-
To- -;