The Louisiana populist. [volume] (Natchitoches, Natchitoches Parish, La.) 1894-1898, 1896-05-22
ladies. like mowers IN a wen.vtockex

ladies, like flowers IN q wen-ytockeA
garden-bed with their f1uttering fans
all In motion, and their faces looking
very white and patrician in the strong
light; and then she saw the burning
pile Of conservatory flowers on the
platform, and one figure standing up
in gold and white which glimmered,
thought The old Parisienne In her
heart, like the blessed sunlight and
the holy moonlight caught and bound
in one sheaf;" and then-the voice.
Mother Pelletier was tottering up
&he crowded aisle, pushing between
the people, wedging herself past every
thing, slowly but resolutely up to the
platform, until, at the last verse Of the
song, she was directly in front, her
withered hands holding onto the edge
Of the stage her stock in trade lying
forgotten at her feet, while fine ladies'
and -lstached gents looked on in dis
may.
Madenioiselle Cephise, pausing after
q brilliant roulade for the instrument
to echo 1t, saw, for the first time. the
wrinkled face at her feet.
Suddenly her white-gloved hands
came together, and that form Of grace
became strangely rigid. The echo
died away, the players looked in sur
prise at their prima donna. Had she
forgotten? Had her voice failed her?
They repeated the echo once, twice.
No answer from the bird-like voice.
They family sketched the next few
bars in the desperate hope Of recalling
mademoiselle to herself, and the lead
er held toward her the sheets of music.
What? Mute still?
The orchestra rose In alarm, every
soul in the house did the same, as il
moved by one common panic.
And at this moment the prima donna
began to walk across the platform, and
to come down the steps into the hall,
with her long, golden train floating
behind her, and every satin fold be-
traying the tremulous motion Of the
limbs. while she held her white arms,
all laden with clanking bracelets, out
stretched toward old Mother Pelletier.
Mother! mother" sobbed the prima
donna, falling on her knees, and clasp
ing tie faded, dripping relic of human
ity to the silken breast. "Ah! do you
not remember your PetiteT
This is my daughters voice, but not
woman, trembling.
Then Mademoiselle Cephise tore of
a cunning mask, and disclosed the
sweetest girl-face ever mother gloated
over to the bewildered gaze of the
audience
And there was stupefied silence,
while the pair chung together in an
embrace which seemed as il it would
have no end.
At last the leader Of the orchestra
went down and spoke to the prima-
donna, and presently, with that lovely
young face still exposed, she swept
back to the platform on his arm, and
said, in clear, though faltering tones:
"My friends, l cannot sing again to
you tonight A great joy has come to
me. left my mother five years ago
in Paris, because she would have me
wed one who was worthless, though
wealthy. and came to this generous
land to earn my bread thus. Pardon
me, If, to be kept pure and stainless, |
wore this mask. 1 shall wear 1t no
longer. My mother will protect me.
After l left her, she fell into poverty.
and followed me to America, hoping
to find me. All, thank Heaven, that
Is over. Now, dear friends, l will stay
one day longer, and sing tomorrow
evening for you-without the mask"
And then they all applauded until
the hall rocked to its foundation.