Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1897-08-02

had died in the autumn, before having
received his first kiss. But Roger had
never forgotten her. Now, before this
grave where he had knelt down, he
seemed to see her again alive, and so
pretty, with her sweet, pale eyes and
delicate lips which would never again
be red. He lived over again those fur
tive hours of their rendezvous behind
the garden hedge, the hope, the impa-
thence with which he awaited the let
ter which Denise every day as she re-
turned from school would slip beneath
the gate. Here in the silence of the
graveyard he seemed to hear her voice.
But the bitter certainty that she was
dead, vision Of the head as it rested
upon pillow of flowers, of the pale
forehead and closed eyes, overwhelmed
him. He suffered again, after ten years,
as he suffered before. His eyes closed
and tears fell from beneath his lashes.
There was noise behind him. He
turned. Cecile, who had followed him,
was standing there close to him. She
looked at him. She looked at the grave.
She must have read the inscription, and
surely she had OWNED all. He arose
trembling. He dared not say word to
his wife nor take her hand. He moved
aside, walked away from her and pass
ed out of the graveyard with the air Of
child that being caught in some for
hidden act, takes to fight.
He walked long time-it mattered
not where-aoross the fields, not know
ing whittier he went not having the
courage to enter the village. He feared
to meet Cecile, for, loving and jealous
as he knew her to be, she would be furi-
ous-or sad, which would be still worse.
Surely she knew now what he had so
long hidden from her. She knew that
he had loved young girl-that he had
loved her tenderly, since he still wept
for her. Perhaps she would have par
doned him this early love-this love
that he had felt before he met her, but
she would never pardon the tears that
the old love revived. No. she would
never forgive that. He thought of the
reproaohes the cruel words with which
she would shortly receive him. Vainly
he told himself that this youthful ten
derness had left in him only anguish
ing remembrance, very vague one, re-
vived by his return to the village and
by the sight of the barren and nearly
forgotten grave Was there the slightest
resemblance between this dream of a
child, faded and vanished, and the man
ly reality of the ardent and imperish-
able passion which he felt for her, Ce-
cile? She jealous? Jealous of little
girl who had died before her heart had
opened! What folly 1t would be we'll
enough to say these things and many
others to Cecile But she would never
listen to him. She would repeat with
sobs and tears, "You have loved her."
or else (and this would be much worse)
she would sit unmoved and look at him
coldly-silently.
Nevertheless he could not remain all
day in the fields. He must return to
the tavern, where Cecile had already
gone.
He searched for the path and regain
ed it. He resolved to walk rapidly, but
as he approached the village he slack
ened his pace, and it took him over an
hour to get to his lodgings and ten
minutes more to mount the stairs. Be-
fore the door his heart beat strangely.
At last he entered.
Alasl What would she say, if she
deigned to speak at all? He awaited
sad discourse or sadder silence.
But no! She spoke, and very sweet
ly, with her soft voice.
"Ah! TITS you, she said, and, smil-
ing, she raised her forehead for kiss.
What! She was not angry? She was
not sad? He did not see that her eyes
were little red, as though she had
been weeping. Perhaps, he thought she
did not read the name upon the stone.
Another surprise awaited him.
Upon the table, in great perfumed
punches, were lilies and white roses.
One would have said that they were for
fete day, and that the florist had just
left them.
"These flowers, Cecile?" be asked
hesitatingly.
"What!" she said, and her voice grew
still sweeter. odd you not see that it
was all bare and SO gloomy-the little
grave in the cemetery? Here are some
flowers, Roger Take them to Denise 4"
"Ah, dear one, he said, falling up
on his knees, how meroiful you are to
me and how kind to the poor little one
who fell asleep SO young. Yes, I will
carry the flowers to her, or rather we
will take them together.
But Cecile said:
No, no! Not that" And she smiled
a little sadly Ills the same with
children, It's the same with the dead.
We are all "a little jealous. Look you,
dear one. Should I accompany you to
the graveyard Denise would be less
pleased to have flowers upon her tomb.
From the French For Short Stories.
The Huns.
The first mention of the Huns in his