Evening capital. (Annapolis, Md.) 1884-1910, 1895-10-18

eshaf happy times Of work and con-
fdence we hadl / suspected nothing.
Everything she said appeared so true,
SO natural I could reproach her with
only one thing sometimes, in telling
me about the families to which her pu-
pills belonged, she gave quantity Of
intimate details and told Of imaginary
intrigues. She saw always the romance
around her and seemed to live in dra-
matte combinations. These dreams trou-
bled my happiness. ]. who wished to
fiy far from the rest Of the world TO live
alone with her, often found her occupied
with indifferent things. But could
pardon these dreams in a woman young
and unhappy, whose life had been sad
romance, without hope of a happy de-
movement.
Once only l became suspicious, or,
rather, uneasy. One Sunday evening
she did not return. / was in despair
What should / do? Go TO st. German?
/ could not do that without compromis-
ing her. However, after a fearful night,
I bad Just decided to so there when
she arrived, pale and troubled. Her
sister was. i'll; she had remained TO care
for her l believed what she told me,
not suspecting the flow of words which
met the least questioning. Two or
three times, in the same week, she re-
turned to spend the night; finally, the
sister having recovered, she again took
up her regular and tranquil life.
Unhappily, some time afterward, it
was her turn to fall i'll. One day she
came home from giving lessons, trem-
bling, weak, feverish. Inflammation
of the lungs declared itself, became
more serious, and soon--the doctor told
me-irremediable was crazed with
grief. Then l thought that l would
make her last hours happy. Her family,
which she loved so much, of which she
was so proud, would bring to her bed
side. Without saying anything to her,
| wrote first TO her sister at ST. Ger
main and went myself to the grand
rabbi, her uncle. When arrived at
his house, / was ushered into an ante
chamber, and soon the grand rabbi came
to receive me.
"There are moments, sir, began,
when hatred ought TO be forgotten. +"
He looked at me in establishment. /
went on:
"Your niece is dyingp'
"My niece have no niecel You
are mistaken. I"
81 beg of you, sir, to forget that fool
ish quarrel. / speak of Nine. Deloche,
the wife of Captain
Il 80 l-,,1xrv N,na Daln0ha Won
are mistaken, my child, assure you. "
And kindly he pushed me toward the
door, taking me for lunatic or fool
may have looked so, indeed. What
/ had heard was so terrible, so unex-
pected. She had lied, then. But whyG
Suddenly an idea struck me. would
90 to the address Of one of her pupils,
of whom she was always talking, the
daughter of well known banker.
mime. Deloche, 7" began to the serv-
ant.
"She does not live here y
Eyes; | know that. She is the lady
who gives piano lessons to the young
ladies' .
"There are no young ladies in the
house-not even piano. 1 do not know
what you mean," and she closed the
door in my face
went no farther. / was sure Of re-
ceiving the same answer everywhere.
Returning to our poor little home, let
ter was handed me, postmarked St
German. / opened it, knowing already
what its contents were. The general did
not know Nine. Deloche. He had, more
over, neither wife nor child.
This was the last blow. So for five
years every word she had uttered had
been a lie. A thousand jealous thoughts
seized me, and foolishly, not knowing
what did, ran to the room where she
lay dying. All the questions which tor
mented me poured from my lips in a
torrent of words. "What did you go to
st. German every Sunday for? At
whose house have you passed your days?
Where did you stay that night? Come,
answer mel And / caught hold of her,
searching through her eyes into the
depths of her soul. But she remained
mute-passive.
/ was trembling with rage "You
where. No one knows you. Come,
where did you get the money, those
laces, those jewels?"
She gave me one long, sad look, and
that was all. Ishould have spared her,
/ should have allowed her to die in
peace. But loved her too much.
jealousy was stronger than pity.
"You have deceived me for five
years., went ON. "You have lied to
me every day, every hour. You know
all my life, and know absolutely
nothing of yours. Nothing-not even
your namel Because it is not yours,
this name that You bear Oh, liar,
liarl'
She was dying, and / not to know
what name to call heri Come, now,
who are you? Where did you come
from? Why did you come into my life?
Speak, Tell me something 70
Instead of replying she turned her
face to the wall. as if she feared that