The herald., 1895-04-29
Group of Short Stories for Blue Mondays Idle Hours
HOW HECTOR
SAVED THE ARTIST FROM
DEATH

Hector Merot left his office at midnight
and went into a cafe to get something to
eat. When he had finished, he put silver
coin on the table ready for the waiter and
turned round to pick up his stick.
The lights inside the cafe were being
put out, so that everything was beginning
to look very dreary. just as Hector rose
hand suddenly snatched up the silver coin,
and tho thief Immediately disappeared
round the corner of the next street
In an instant Hector drew another coin
from his pocket, threw it on the table,
called to the waiter and then started off
in pursuit.
Hector was interested for he was too
much of a Partisan not to know that the
man in front Of him was not an ordinary
pickpocket He suddenly turned down one
street, ran at full speed, and came out
again under lamp just as the wretched
man reached it.
The man before him was apparently
quito young, but his face was pale and
pinchcd, and his black hair and mustache
gave him a ghostlike look.
Hector, at the sight of such evident mis-
cry, felt rs though he himself had been
guilty of some crime, and when the wretch
ed man held out the silver coin to his ac-
cuser, without attempting to offer q word
of apology, but with an expression of utter
despair in his sunken eyes, our journalist
could not find n word to say.
He took the coin put it in his purse and
then pressed the purse into the mans
hands and made off himself as though he
had been the thief
After ten years Of up hill work and strug-
gle Hector had gained for himself an i'm
portant position as journalist and art critic.
In spite of his success and his fame the
first hard years of struggle had left their
traces on him. There was always a touch
of melancholy which he never quite sue
ceedcd in throwing off. He had seen the
comedy of human life too near, and it is.
alas, no comedy for those who are behind
the scenes
On this bright May day, however, Hec-
tor was quite gay as he entered Ledoyen's
restaurant. 1t was the opening day of the
salon, and there was an animated discus
sion going on among group of artists
sculptors and journalists as to the respec-
tive merits of the works exhibited this
year.
Somewhat absently, and yet with the
easy cordially of n man accustomed to So
ciety, he answered the various greetings
and then took his customary place at
small table, where Paul Nielssery, the
young landscape painter, and Charles Zir-
thus, the aquarellist, were waiting Tor him.
"Why, Hector" exclaimed Paul, "you
look positively radiant this morning.
What has happened and what have you
been doingp''
why, precisely the same as every one
else. I have been looking Mt pictures and
sculpture, but have discovered one piece
which has done me good for the whole
day. A perfect masterpiece, an inspira-
ton!
"Thcre certainly are some fine things
this year in the salon. but in my opinion
there is one that surpasses all, one such as
we only get once in about ten years.
mean Jean Meunier's Wreck +"
A murmur Of approval was heard from
the other tables as Hector pronounced the
young sculptor's name.
During the dessert Charles Zirtius got
up from the table and went across to the
other end Of the restaurant. He soon re-
turned, accompanied by tall, handsome
man of about 80, we'll dressed and bearing
tho unmistakable stamp of gentleman
His dark deep set, brown eyes were full
OF restless energy, but there was an express
sion of earnestness in them which almost
amounted to sadness. This morning, how
ever, his delicate oval face was lighted up
with happiness. Fame had appeared to
him. Glory had touched him with her
wings.
Hector, said Charles II want to in
troduco my friend to you, Jean Meunier. "
Tho journalist rose quickly and shook
hands warmly with the young sculptor.
II must thank you," he said, for the
enjoyment have had this morning. Your
Wreck is a marvellous work of art, and
certainly think have never felt SO much
pleasure in seeing piece Of sculpture as
in that
During the conversation Hector looked
hard at Jean, trying to recall where and
when he had seen that refined face with
the intense expression in it's dark eyes.
Finally he decided that it must simply
be resemblance that he saw to some one
else, and he got so interested in the con-
versation of the three artists that he forgot
it at last and ceased to ransack his mem
DRY. Gradually tho tables around were de-
serted, and Hector called the waiter and
paid the bill.
He left some change on the table for the
walters pourboire, and seeing that he had
not picked up small silver coin half hid
den by plate he called him back, say
ing, ''Take this too"
Suddenly Jean Meunier looked at it and
then at Hector. His pale face became still
palcr, the expression in his eyes still more
intense, shudder ran through him, and
at the same time the memory of an utterly
wretched face seen on November evening
by the light of u street lamp, ten years ago,
flashed across Hector.
They were all getting up from the table.
He smiled synpathetically at the young
sculptor and held out his hand, which the
latter grasped and wrung silently, but
with gratitude of his whole soul.
Hector and Jean were from this day
forth firm friends, and the sculptor told
the story of the utter misery and poverty
he had been in when Hector's timely and
sympathetic help had rescued him from
despair and his beautiful young sister from
death.
Hector was q frequent visitor at the
SCULPTOR studio and he often joined the
brother and sister at their dinner table.
The tingc of melancholy gradually dis
appeared from his face, and one morning
ell