The evening tribune. (Pawtucket, R.I.) 189?-190?, 1897-08-12

blue house nppenred 40 before IN fbe sur
light I5y u singular coincidence Thought
all at once of ny shipwrcc!s ~ the Black
nea, II must havc lscn thus that day,
calm and Indifferent ns ever, while out
there ~ my last hour thought OF ", but
the train wns stopping Just IN 'front.' OF IT,
and | gaw in the Rardc, under the nrb)F,
surrounded by children and grGnchllCreD,
an elderly woman, not really ngcd, but
with bands Of silyery hair under - largo
cap
IL was Iaurlne, No one would have
known her but iso. Not one minute was
I In doubt. And IN % flash ! saw her
sHnin as child, playing with her doll,
then as girl, then as woman, now ~ /"
grandmother, always different, yet always
| ike herself This time ! regretted bitterly
| that must go away. ! knew that would
never pass this way again. and ] wanted
| to stop moment 10 speak at least 10 THIS
| old friend Of 40 years whom l did not
| know. Chance favored my wish. A eight
accident happened To the engine. They
| told us we would have an hour at least to
| wait That decided me.
| I advanced almost trembling to the gate
| tell you was never so moved. was
never timid, however, and had just seen
some rough times among the TURKS. AZ
last / rang. The gardener opened tho
| gate. told him that Wanted to speak
to the elderly lady In the arbor. He told
mo to enter, ran 10 tell the lady, and she
| came.
The next r1iMutc Laurine WINS near me,
and knew no longer what to say to her.
1t was she who broke the silence.
what IL it, monsieur, 10 which owe
the honor of your visity"
Timidly I asked, "Do you not know
mes"
"No, indeed, monsieur"
"But know you well. Just think, 1t
IL long time that have known you. l
saw you az child, playing with your doll
In this garden. was the man, you must
remember, who said good day from tho car
window when you were betrothed, and
later, quite a little later. 1t was who
threw an orange to the little"--
The good lady looked at me quite
frightened. She had at first receded sew
eral steps, taking Inc no doubt for mad
man. Then, treasured by my good old
face, she answered quite sweetly:
"You are certainly In error, monsieur,
my family and have lived In the blue
house only about year.
LAu-ri -ne'-
'Laurinef 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 ques-
tion. Who lived here before you didT'
Before usY An old man, q bachelor.
He lived here ten years"
Bowling tremendously, she took me t<
the gate and closed 1t behind me. I found
myself In the tiny streets Of Blaisy -Bas
quite confused, my heart heavy, az though
| after some misfortune. 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 III
directed me to an old man, the Oldest II
the village, who lived quite near the sta
tion, just opposite the blue house.
He gathered together his thoughts.
"Laurine-let me see-Laurine.
don't remem ber''-
"But the lady saw In the garden abou
Is years ago, rather plump and having
light chestnut hair. She had with her
little child and great dog"
"Ah," said he, with great dog. Wal
a mlnute-with great dog. Oh,.yes, tina
was the wife Of the comptroller. She wa
from Macon, Nine. Gilamet, but her mann
was not Laurine. remember WELL for
wars over there great deal. Her nam
was Franchise"
was dumfounded.
"But look here monsieur, think bacl
about ten years before. A young girl, fai
also; tall, with blue ribbon in her hair
who was there with tall, dark youni
man, her fiance."
The old man thought and thought. A
last he called his wife, little old woman
with bright eyes and determined step
who seemed to have good memory. W.
told her our discussion.
"Oh. that was Mile. Stephanie, th'
daughter Of the contractor, a tall girl
with ribbon. Certainly, that was she
She married a merchant from Dijon, poo
girl, and they are separated. She live
with her parents up there at Sombernon
and is very unhappy" felt my heat
swim. The hour was over and the trail
was ready to sart.
"But Laurine," I exclaimed, "but Lau
rine. I saw her when she was quite small
and heard her name. 1t seems to me SCI
her yet playing with her doll In the gar
den."
"Why, monsieur" began the old lady
| Why uiuh you soy thso hIbV AOs
speak first of woman, then Of yount
girl, and ut last Of child. Yes, I recall
her. have my faculties yet, she said
with pride. "LaurineP Yes, that is It
but you speak Of long time ago. 1t il
no less than 40 years. A little blond, th'
daughter Of the druggist They were rela
tivos of ours. We lost her just as she wa
finishing her tenth year. poor thing, In
the same year In the month of May"
Just the year and month In which fo
the first time had noticed the blue house
A few days at most after l had passet
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 hanC
two or three times across his forehead ant
would say slowly: You see, my boy, my
story Is of no Importance, and yet IL is th,
whole OF life. TO 1.-Two happily In our dclu
sions we must not examine them too close
ly nor open our eyes too wide nor descend
too fur into the depths OF things. Trans