Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1897-09-21

L
| all at once of my shipwreck in the Black
sea- 1t must have been thus that day,
calm and Indifferent as ever, while out
there in my last hour thought of it, but
the train was stopping just in front Of it,
and | saw in the garden under the arbor,
surrounded by children and grandchildren,
an elderly woman, not really aged, but
with bands of silvery hair under large
cap.
1t was Laurine! No one would have
known her but me. Not one minute was
/ in doubt. And in a flash | saw her
again as a child, playing with her doll,
then as a girl, then as a woman, now as a
grandmother, always different, yet always
like herself. This time regretted bitterly
that must go away. l knew that would
never pass this way again, and wanted
to stop moment to speak at least to this
old friend of 40 years whom l did not
know. Chance favored my wish. A slight
accident happened to the engine. They
told us we would have an hour at least to
wait That decided me.
/ advanced almost trembling to the gate.
| tell you was never so moved. l was
never timid, however, and had just seen
some rough times among the Turks. At
last rang. The gardener opened the
gate. told him that wanted to speak
to the elderly lady in the arbor. He told
me to enter, ran to tell the lady, and she
came.
The next minute Laurine was near me,
| and knew no longer what to say to her.
1t was she who broke the silence.
"What is it, monsieur, to which l owe
| the honor of your VISIT"
| Timidly l asked, "Do you not know
| me?"
"No, indeed, monsieur"
"But know you we'll. Just think, it
is long time that 1 have known you |
saw you as child playing with your doll
| in this garden. was the man, you must
remember, who said good day from the car
window when you were betrothed, and
later, quite a little later, it was l who
threw an orange to the little''-
The good lady looked at me quito
frightened. She had at first receded Soy
eral steps, taking me no doubt for a mad
man. Then, treasured by my good old
face, she answered quite sweetly:
"You are certainly in error, monsieur
my family and l have lived in the blue
house only about year."
l was stupefcd. "You-are--not--
Lau i-ne"-
"Laurine9 I do not know what you
mean. We have no one here by that
name.''
1t seemed as though dreamed AS she
walked away asked:
Pardon me, madame, one more qrles-
ton. Who lived here before you did,"
Before us? An old man, bachelor
He lived here ten years. ="
Bowling tremendously, she took me to
the gate and closed it behind me. / found
myself in the tiny streets of Blaisy Bias,
quite confused my heart heavy, as though
after some misfortune. l wished, how
ever, to inquire about the matter, quite
sure that there was some unheard of mis-
take, some strange coincidence. ques-
toned the guard at the station. He knew
nothing, being new in the country, but he
directed me to an old man, the Oldest in
the village, who lived quite near the sta
ton, just opposite the blue house.
He gathered together his thoughts.
"Laurine--let me see-Laurine.
don't remember
But the lady saw in the garden about
Is years ago, rather plump and having
light chestnut hair. She had with her a
little child and great dog"
"Ah, said he, with a great dog. Wait
a minute-with great dog. Oh, yes, that
was the wife of the comptroller. She was
from Macon, Mime. Gilamet, but her name
was not Laurine. l remember well, for
was over there great deal Her name
was FRANCHISE
l was dumfounded.
"But look here, monsieur, think back
about ten years before. A young girl fair
also; tall, with blue ribbon in her hair,
who was there with tall, dark young
man, her fiance. "
The old man thought and thought. At
last he called his wife, little old woman,
with bright eyes and a determined step,
who seemed to have good memory. We
told her our discussion.
ooh, that was Mile. Stephanie, the
daughter of the contractor, tall girl,
with ribbon. Certainly, that was she.
She married a merchant from Dion, poor
girl, and they are separated. She lives
with her parents up there at Sombernon,
and is very unhappy" felt my head
swim. The hour was over and the train
was ready to sart.
"But Laurine," l exclaimed, "but Lau-
rine. saw her when she was quite small
and heard her name. 1t seems to me l see
her yet playing with her doll in tho gar
den.'
"Why, monsieur began the old lady,
"why didn't you say that at first? You
speak first of woman, then of a young
girl, and at last of child. Yes, recall
her. l have my faculties yet, she said,
with pride. "Laurine? Yes, that is it,
but you speak of a long time ago. 1t is
no less than 40 years. A little blond, the
daughter Of the druggist. They were rela
tives of ours. We lost her just as she was
finishing her tenth year, poor thing, in
the same year in the month of May
just the year and month in which for
the first time had noticed the blue house.
A few days at most after l had passed
through, and for 40 years had followed
her life
AT this place in his story my uncle al
ways became sad. He would pass his hand
two or three times across his forehead and
would say slowly: "You see, my boy, my
story is Of no Importance, and yet it is tho
whole of life 10 live happily in our delu
sions we must not examine them too close
", nor open our eyes too wide, nor descend
too far into the depths of things. Trans
lated For Short Stories.
Who First Opened a Sunday School?
Robert Raikes has been much belauded