The Brunswick times. [volume] (Brunswick, Ga.) 188?-1900, 1897-10-24

| AAO NAASSOt'A SRiAS lLelAl lislIlNS ULG1S AOM
that the dull season has begun to set in.
But have been positively promised a
place in the chorus of the new opera at
the Comique, provided | can only learn
how to use my voice little better than
use it now. My sister, you see. mon
sleur, will then become my mother S
nurse, and the money that she can no
longer earn I will earn instead. At
least this is my hope, for it seems too
hard that the whole burden Of our fam
lily maintenance should fall upon poor
Achille here. Look at him, monsieur.
Achille is not strong. See how pale and
thin he is and only just 1911 But he has
marked musical talent, and he is help
ing me great deal Oh, pray do not
have us turned away It has cost so
much for us to get our piano up here
and pay the rent of the room-so much,
l mean, for us IN our forlorn poverty I"
The girls lips quivered with entreaty
as she paused Her eyes, large and
black, were quite fearless, but they
burned with a keen, dry shine.
"And what is this new opera, asked
Duroc gently, Gin the chorus of which
you hope to obtain a position?"
docs not monsieur know?" here
politely asked Achille, whose slender
frame was as dim to Duroc as the lat
ter's taller and burlier one was dim to
him. 1t is 'Fiordelisa, by the celebrat-
ed composer M. Albert Charantelle.
He is the writer of five or six other
works, all of which have been great
successes here in Paris. 1t is said that
'Fiordelisa' will eclipse them all M.
Albert Charantelle is a strange gentle
man i'll certain ways, though greatly
beloved, am told, by wide circle of
friends. For instance. when he has
thoroughly completed an OPERA and
everything is ready for the first rehears-
al, he has an odd way OF disappearing
from the world for week or more and
nobody can find his whereabouts They
say that he has now disappeared like
this. 1t is to gain rest, complete rest,
or so have been informed, before the
great labor shall begin of putting the
opera on TIE stage. But punctually on
the morning Of rehearsal he will appear
at the Opera Comique and take up his
baton and drill the singers and the
choruses untiringly for days, until
everybody is perfect in every part. "
"Ah, indeed, " said NJ Duroc rather
deep down in his throat
Without another word he moved past
the threshold of the small, bare room
and seated himself before the little up
right old fashioned piano For a mo-
ment his fingers wandered dreamily
over it's keys, and then, with almost
magic amplitude and finish, q gush of
the most beautiful melody burst upon
the stiffness. AS it continued it seemed
to blossom even more than to sound.
You might have fancied it some gar
land woven from flowers of music by
the hands of invisible spirits The poor
little i'll tuned piano seemed to its lis
teners an instrument of diapason divine
Entranced, intoxicated, the young
girl felt her brothers. hand clutch her
own.
1T is he, Gilberte," gasped Achille.
"It is M, Albert Charantelle himself
I once heard him play at a concert, and
some one near me said, If he had not
chosen to be great composer, he would
have been the greatest Of pianistsP ="
"Mon Dieu'' faltered the young girl,
and Nine Toudouche, enveloped in an
extremely unbecoming wrapper, gave a
whinny of CONSERVATION.
Here the music slowly ceased in a
ripple of tinkling arpeggios. With his
hands dropping away from the keys, NJ.
Albert Charantelle turned toward the
young girl.
MY dear mademoiselle, you must
accept from me louis tonight for the
sake Of your poor mother
"Oh, monsieuri'' cried Gilberte,
bursting into sobs
"And at 10 o'clock, juste Pheure,
next Monday morning, present yourself
with this card at the stage entrance Of
the Opera Comique. Then you shall see
what you shall see. From your tjra-
liras feel already quite convinced that
you will do excellently well in at least
one or two Of the choruses of Flor
delisa- 4"
Gilberte passionately kissed the card.
"Oh, Achille, you are right 1t is he
it is the real M. Charantelle himself
All, what a wonderful stroke of good
| luckP'
And now, " said the gentleman, run
ming one hand through his short glossy
curls while he fixed the gaze of his
brilliant, tawny brown eyes first on
Achille and then on his sister, 81 have
to beg favor Of you both. Please give
me few quiet nights from now until
Monday next. Will you not kindly
grantme this favor?" Achille broke in
to laugh atwhat struck him as the
delicate satire of these words, but Gil
berte wiped her eyes, from which the
grateful tears had not yet ceased to
fow.-Edgar Fawcett in Golfers
Weekly.