Connecticut western news., 1897-09-23
CANAAN CONN. THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 23 1897.

But the bitter certainty that she was dead, vision of the head as it rested upon a pillow of flowers, of the pale I 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 a 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 divined all. He arose trem bling. 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
 bidden act, takes to flight.
 He walked long time-it mattered not where-across the fields, not know ing whither 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 uo udo lOFou JouuB SlIl-ouno hO hoo 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 reproaches, the cruel words with which she would shortly receive him. Vainly he told himself that this youthful ten- derness had left in him only languish- 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 resem blance between this dream of 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 openedl What follyl It would be well 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 f0 To hi fot | 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 mol She spoke, and very sweet ly, with her soft voice.
 "Ahl Iris 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
 
 a fete day, and that the florist had just left them.
 "These flowers, Cecile?'' he asked hesitatingly.
 "Whatr' she said, and her voice grew still sweeter. Did 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" !"
 ''Ah, dear one," he said, falling up- on his knees, ''how merciful you are to me and how kind to the poor little one who fell asleep so young. Yes, l will carry the flowers to her, or rather we will take them together. '
 But Cecile said:
 No, mol Not that" And she smiled
 a little sadly. !" 'Tis the same with
 children, 'tis 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. WEI NNh