The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1895-10-17
THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE WASHINGTON O. THURSDAY

| lie became reckless unprinclpled, under
the fever of his love, as he saw her weaken
ing. Cecilia gazed at him in open-eyed ed,
innocent wonder.
And a carriage" she gasped, I" like the
great signoras have who drive up and down
here?"
"Yes. You shall have a chariot of gold
drawn by white horses!"
Ceclia's face FELL "White2" she said,
disappointedly. az like black, like the
Prince has, with long hair and foamy
mOuths."
"Yes. They shall be black, and the chariot
shall be lined with red satin, and there shall
be red plumes on the horses heads" Her
face frightened again. "You shall never
be tired or hungry again, dear child"
Cecilia turned away, with proud coldness.
I'm not tired or hungry" she said, scorn-
fully, all the light fading from her eyes, and
her lip curling.
81 know" the man cried, hastily. regret
ting this false step. "Of course, you have
everything that other girls have here, but
You can't guess what life is in my country;
| there is no sorrow there, no pain J"
Cecilia looked ut him, her face paling.
She was thinking. The vision of a young,
brOnzed, manly face arose before her
Petros tender eyes in whose love she had
been SO happy. They looked reproachful,
and her heart ached. With sudden passion
she cried:
There is no country but this! Bella
| Napoli is the world! Go; L hate you! /
don't want your gold and chariOts! God
! is here, and mia cara Madonna! You are
the devilis-let me go!" for be had seized
her hand. "White horses! 1t is rdmore
that makes life sweet. Va, You are hate
ful!'
AWAIT, Cecilial wait! You are mad Do
| not give you love; such love as you have
never dreamed of? Is there u
Love! You call this love? Ha! ha!
oh, Pietro. mio Pietro!" With one jerk
| she freed herself and was gone.
Late that afternoon, when the brown,
| furrowed-skinned fishermen sat at the little
tables of the Piccolo Paradise" they found
their lovely Hebe absent-minded, needless.
and forgetful of orders; but no one scolded
her but Maria, who, human-like having un-
questioned possession and authority, exer-
cised her power with pitiless severity. The
afternoon was breaihless and sultry, and her
mothers harsh words seemed to strike
deeper than they had ever done before; her
back ached, and her feet were tired; but
she said no word. Was she growing tired
already? she asked herself. Why had she
listened to the strangers stories Would
PIetro never come? AS she handed bowl
of boiled snails to n rather elderly fisher
man, whose coarse shirt was open at the
neck, showing the strong, sepia-colored
throat and chest beneath, he looked up at
her. Semitic Cdrind Z" he said IN that ten
dor tone, which is existent in even the rough
est Neapolitan character. "What have you
done to my lad, my poor Pietro? By st.
Antonio, the very fish grow soft-eyed when
they see him, for he's got that pale and thin
He sings forever of love- and stars and pearls!
1t seems he's forgot that fishes live in the sea
for people to eat. Only the other day he
wept outright when he unlocked lovely
silyer-slded aringa, because he said o.
Cecilia fled to the door.
" Madonna mia have offended the lass?"
cried the old man, dropping his pewter
spoon.
No, no, good soul |" answered Maria, her
whole fat body shaking with laughter and
slapping him heavily on the shoulder. "By
the saints, she's a bit daft, Pm thinking,
these days"
Cecilia stood By the open door. How hate
ful this life was 'grOwing The changeless
toiling days, what was there in it? Work
all day with no thanks, only the recompense
OF food. Food! which only made it longer
At that moment the clear note of a coaching
horn rang through the sunlit air, and four
in-hand, driven by the Prince of Naples |
rolled slowly up, for just here were a num-
Der of vehicles, which rather impeded the |
way. 1t came to a full stop before the "PIc-
colo Paradise" for moment. The shining |
black horses, with their impatient feet work |
ing up and down, we're quite near to Cecilia; |
she could hear their powerful BREATH and |
see the outstretched crimson nostrils, and |
II
with the heated, silvered harness. Some |
ladies, with lace parasols and lovely gowns,
were looking down at her from the top |
through their lorgnettes, with undisguised
admiration. Cecilia was thrilled She had
often seen that look before but had never
recognized its meaning until the foreigner
had come. For the first time she really
tasted that insidious poison! Her very soul
expanded; her cheeks grew hotter, her eyes
blazed the air seemed to suffocate her
she wanted to be above there, with those
noble people. Yes, the stranger was right,
she thought; that was her sphere Why,
did not even this slight proximity wake in
her feelings she had never known before;
higher, better than she had ever guessed.
Her brain reeled. She would speak to them;
they would understand, and take her away
"Dao how beautiful that peasant is!
cried one of the ladies, ecstatically.
Cecilia looked up; their eyes met "Sig-
nora !" she cried, choked by excitement and
desire; "Signora -
A silver laugh reached her; the coach
started.
Without the condiment of gold, flattery
is uDpalatabe 10 the peasant! " said the same
lady. Alberto, give me some silver; she is
too fair a mendicant to disappoint." With
that she flung two francs into the dirt at the
girls feet. But Cecilia ignored them. She
gazed after the coach in silence. In that
moment she learned TO sneer. When il was
gone she crossed the road to where an old
woman sat doubled up ON the curb, emaciated
by hunger and pain, who had pleaded for help
in vain from those on the coach.
"Amica mia !" Cecilia said, gently; "here
is something for you"
The old woman looked up. Ah, Geatlezza :"
she said your mother will beat you again
if she finds you've fed me any more. Go
away, CariRa, and God bless you!"
But it is not food Come, you can buy.
your dinner tonight" aud she pointed to
the coins, which the old woman seized in
haste murmuring, Grazia DiO!
Then they approached the "Picco'o Para
diso but the familiar odor ofgarlic, of boiled
snails, fish, beans, macaroni, and cheese
sickened Cecilia. She shrank back, with a
strange, new pain--a heavy dependency as
hopeless as broken wings must cause a bird.
She had tasted of that treacherons fruit; her |