The Maryville times. (Maryville, Tenn.) 1884-1944, 1898-10-22
Il
s THE LIONS CLAW
n An End-of-the-Century Love Story.
q BY FRANCOIS C0pPfE.
IEUT. JULIEN DE RHE had r.
BY FRANCOIS coppfE.

turned from his station in Cochin
China. Convalescent, after three
months illness at his mothers home
In Touraine, he shivered at the first
wintry breath in the autumn air, and
was ordered by the doctor to Pau:
"Just what you want-mild but brac-
ing climate"
So in mid-November Julien sat at
his sunny window in Hotel Garderes,
gazing at the Pyrenees and smoking
cigarette in honor of his recovery.
"My faith! Pau is full of pretty
women" he said to himself, the first
time he went to listen to the military
band at the Place Royale. Neither
libertine nor fop, the young fellow
thrilled with a fresh joy in living as
he put on his coat with its shining
three straps, the rosette of the Legion
of Honor in the button-hole-the ros-
cite his mother had laid on his bed
when he was so Ill, and that he thought
he would only wear in his coffin.
How jolly Pau was, anyhow, with
its vast horizon, its snowy peaks, its
brilliant sun, the cosmopolitan crowd,
where pretty foreigners chartered all
the languages of Europe, like tropic
birds in an aviary. A few sad sights,
to be sure--the consumptive young
Englishman in bath chair, wrapped
in plaids, with the eyes OF a boiled
fish, black taffeta muller over his
mouth 1t gave one a SILVER, yet
man is so selfsh-it made Julien re-
member what skeleton he had been
three months ago, with chocolate rings
under his eyes, and here he was cured,
tossing silver coins to the beggars
and watching the hearty little Amer
lean girls in fy-away white frocks
and black gloves and stockings, dane
ing ''ring-around-a-rosy" to the
bands quickstep.
Just the frame of mind for falling in
love, wasn't it? Which the happy con-
valescent proceeded to 90 the first time
he set eyes on Mile. olga Babarine,
the belle of the Russian colony, as
she dismounted in front of Hotel Gas
son--the coup de foudre, in fact. Back
from fox-hunting one evening at five,
she had slipped from her horse into the
arms of the nimblest of the pink-coat-
edadorers who rushed for her stirrup.
Striking the veranda table with her
crop, she had called for cup of milk,
and drank it off at draught. Look
ing like a Primaticcio goddess, her
slim figure and copper-colored hair
illuminated by the Aaring sunset, she
paused, laughing merrily, creamy
mustache on her short upper lip. Sud-
denly grave, with curt, imperious
rod, she left the red-coats and entered
the hotel, tapping her riding-habit
with her whip.
Three days later, after many "Who
Is she? l must know her!" to his ac-
quaintances, Julien got himself intro
duced-not difficult process-and
Joined the fair Russians court.
Was she Russian, after all, this in
toxicating creature, who rode all day
and waltzed all night? Yes, by her
putative father, her mothers first hus-
band, Count Babarine.
But everyone remembered that at
the time of Olga's birth, her mother
the daughter, by the way of New
York banker named Jacobson--was
getting a divorce, probably on ac-
count of her notorious liaison with d
northern prince-royal, some Christian,
or Oscar, or other. What was the
nationality of child brought up sue
cessively in Scottish nursery, a Nea-
politan convent, Genevan pensionnat,
who had slept half her nights on the
cushions of the express, whose mem
DRY was a stereoscope in which re-
volved a series of watering places and
winter resorts, whittier her mother.
handsome still in spite of erysipelas,
had carried the ennui of fading CO.
quette along with her samoyar and her
pet monkeys? The odd girl used to
say, laughing at herself: II am neither
of London, nor of Paris, nor of Vienna,
nor of Petersburg-Pm Of the table,
d'hote!"
Had she any family? Hardly more
so. Her real father, the Oscar or
Christian, so often referredto by Nine.
Babarine, had been dead some years,
and the Russian count, her legal ia
Their, never bothered his head about
her. Utterly bankrupt, civilized
leather-st ocking, who won at all
pigeon-matches his unerring gun gave
him living. The countess, in spite of
periodical attacks of maternal devo-
painfully hollow-was gifted
with one of the perfect, absolute.
spherical egotisms that never show a
flow; when Olga at eight had almost
Gied of typhoid, Nine. Barbarine, of
the white hands-for the sake of de-
cency sitting up with her child-did
not once forget to put on her giants
gras.
All this De Rhe learned after en-
listing in the flying squadron that ma
neuvered about fair Olga. He began to
love the strange girl who let him look
straight into her eyes, and who said
to him, as she lit a pheresli cigarette,
the day friend presented him: "Ah!
You are the man who are so much in
love with me? How do you do?" Civ
ing him hearty hand-shake like a
man. The sailor, true-hearted fellow
that he was, loved her the more as he
grew to understand and pity her. For
he was right; Olga was fantastic, Ill
brought up, but neither a f1irt nor a
snob. Feeling, perhaps, thevanity of her