The San Francisco call., 1898-05-29

rooms were exchanged for a luxurious home, society sought one who was so obviously ito the manner born," and society not taken into her confidence, marveled sometimes why the beautiful eyes held dark shadows and the sweet face seemed lined with care.
 Her daughter could have told them. The daughter who used to wake up night after night and, seeing a white robed figure pacing reStlessly up and down. cry imploringly, Mamma, man. ma, are you never going to sleepy? A few months after her arrival in Sydney Mme Rastoul heard that the doctor, with eighteen others, had escaped from Noumea in a small boat. For five years her wistful eyes watched, night and day, for the arrival of that doomed crew. Then one day she heard an au- thentic tale of shipwreck; her step lost some of its elasticity, her beautiful hair silvered and her poor neighbors saw more of her than ever.
 For there was one side of Juliette RastouPs life which society took no note of. In drawing-rooms she was only known as a brilliant social orna- ment. But the woman in garret or eel lar, whose pain of travail had come upon her, the woman bending over her sick child's couch, the woman stand ing by her husbands corpse with no burial fee in hand, these knew that "madame's" bell might be rung at any hour of the night and that she would answer as ministering angel.
 At length, mysteriously, into ma dame's sorrowing life stole the glow of an Indian summer; genius knelt at her feet, offering loving homage and the tender heart was shared unawares. T thought all my heart was buried in the sea-" she would say, smiling wistfully. T never suspected there was any left fn eri. hut 6a took it."
 For years she had no cause to regret; she was the joy and pride of an ex- ceptionally artistic home the center of an intellectual Bohemian circle.
 Then. suddenly, the evil days fell upon her. I need not dwell on a tale of treachery and hishonor now buried in the grave. Enough that Madame" once more found herself cast upon the world, bearing for the first time be- smirched name. and obliged to battle for herself and the young grandchild she had adopted This new experience well-nigh killed her, nay there are some who know full well that it proved her deathblow, but she carried her mortal wound bravely. T die standing" she said once more, "and before I die dis name; my life must honor it."
 She kept her word. First In the pretty little town of Hobart, Tasmania, then in her well loved Sydney, she built up for herself a reputation that will not soon be effaced. Opposition, ca lumny, misrepresentation were active ly at work; to her wounded spirit the task was harder than of yore, yet she gallantly fought on Many a time her well-nigh failed, but the daunt- less cry was always wrung from her: 'I will not give in. I die standing, or I fall with honor"
 She died standing. Last January Sydney was startled by the news that its brilliant lecturess and au- thority on French literature, the found ress of its only French Cercle Litteraire and School of Dramatic Elocution, had died after a few days illness. Flowers were massed over her still form, wealth and fashion f1ocked to the fu neral, her country's official representa- tive stood at her grave, the newspapers view with one another in laudatory arti- cles, and adoring pupils erected mon Only the few guess that the heart under that monument was long since crushed and broken; that it was not life's blood, but honor, that kept it pulsating so long.
 ROSE DE BOHEME.