The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1898-01-23

1
| from death. She was his idol. His every
thought was of her; it seemed as if her
extreme beauty had entranced him.
month sWent on. Paolo had finished the
Madonna he had painted from Rosale's
model, and disposed of il advantageously
10 a dealer for a sum we considered large
IN those days. My own picture was COM
pete, TOO but il was, alas, adjudged an
absolute failure. Spring had come again.
Inc trees in the Tuleries Gardens were
pudding, and Paris was bright and fresh
DeHSdth clear sky. when one morning
| quarrel occurred. Some trifiing matter had
aroused Antoines quick jealousy, and he
| announced his intention of leaving US and
placing Rosalie who had promised to be-
come ms wife. in the care of his married
sister over at Charenton.
! That night, Antoine being compelled to
Keep a business appointment on the OPP
Poslts SIDE of Paris, Rosalie dined with
me- ana when l asked her for details of
~, me aHair which had thrown our strange
niue menage into such confusion, she
shook her head, saying:
1t is all so foolish. Antoine is en- all
surdiy Jealous that / really fear to speak
| 20 either OF the others. Yet you have all
Deeh so extremely kind to me, for you
you nave saved my life"
CURED Gnu ~ III
II have ended it," she answered. signing
o my family 1 am already dead | died
Gh that night when Antoine dragged me
| from the Seine" ''
You love him." I said.
VI course, she answered with a smile.
ne mas oeen so good to me-"
mat night none of us retired 10 he'd nm
VI the early hours, for Jean Chauvel was
" piu US farewell next morning. His uncle
| at Lyons had died leaving him possessor
~ lalr income. therefore he was parting
from US not however, without considera-
he s.rt,
Iiis hdd been forgotten In wine we drank
| long life to Antoine and Rosalie. and after
WARDS toasted each other subsequently,
| retiring TO rest.
| now long | slept know not, but it was
| Ant9ine who dashed into my tiny white
| washed room and awakened me-
| Look he cried, trembling, his face
| pale as death. Read thsr'
| started up and eagerly scanned the
mes or hurried writing. 1t was a brief
hote Ieft by Rosalie, saying that she had
| lett Paris with Paola, whom she loved
ana urging Antoine to forget her.
| And they have gomez" 1 cried, dis
mayed
| yes" he answered, in voice broken
! by emotion. Yes, they have gone-they
nave gone! But 1 will follow" And
| snatching up his hat, he crushed the cruel
| letter into his pocket and dashed out and
| down the stairs.
| Neither Jean nor myself touched our
| coffee that morning. We discussed the af-
! talr dolefully, and tried In vain to account
for Rosalie's sudden desertion of the man
| VINO loved her so deVotedly. At eleven
however, l saw Jean off to Lyons. He
| gripped my hand before ascending into the
| carrsage, but at that moment of parting
| no word passed between us, so full of sor-
| row were both our hearts. Unexpectedly
| our quartette had been broken up. | alone
| remained
To the silent, deserted studio I returned.
| heaVy-hearted, and, entering Rosalie's
| room, glanced around. In a drawer l dis
| covered a note written to her by Paolo
| which made it plain that he had for a
| long time loved her, and that she on her
| part, feared to cause pain to Antoine, the
| man who had rescued her from death.
| Alone In that old place, the scene of so
much gaiety, so many happy idle hours
and so much good-fellowship, / patiently
| awaited Autoine's return. | felt that he
| must come back, yet although l waited
| three whole days he neither wrote nor re-
| turned.
on the afternoon of the fourth day I
| could bear the suspense no longer, there
| tore having left a message with the con-
| cierge, l Went out, wandering along the
| boulevards for hours, wondering whether
| my friend had discovered the fugitive pair
| Until sunset l walked on and on my return
my footsteps led me behind Notre Dame
and past the morgue.
Involuntariy l. turned in, carried on by
| the crowd of morbid sight-seers and the
| first object that greeted my gaze behind
the dingy glass partition was Antoine,
| cold and rigid in death. The body was
lying propDed up with face exposed to-
wards the crowd awaiting identification,
and a its feet was the letter Rosalie had
| written, spread open so that all could read
His clothes were dripping with water and
| covered with mud He had drowned him
| self in the Seine.
In an instant my eyes took in all the
| tragic details, then turning l fled from the
| presence of the body of the man who had
| been so cruelty wronged crossed the river
and blindly climbed the stairs to our
studio. Disappointed that my picture
should have been a failure, heart-broken
at the loss of my dearest friend. l resolved
to leave Paris forever. In an hour 1 had
! sold to a secondhand dealer all my few
| belongings, and with the eighteen francs
he gave me in my pocket l took my hat
and stick and that night set out from
| Paris alone ard friendless needless of my
future or of where l went
Ali the days that followed I can never
! forget, Without money and without friends
| l trudged forward, picking up a living
by doing various sorts of mental work
| often thankful to sleep in barns and out
houses, and sometimes glad enough to eat
a turnip or an onion from a field. Still 1
pressed forward through many hot weary
months until | al last found myself In
Italy, doing eleven hours daily in a mar
! BILE quarry near Carrara
How l developed from n cosmdpolitan
! out-at-elbow tramp into a London jour
na'ist. and subsequently into a writer of
| fiction, does not concern the present mar
rauve. This is not an autobiography but
| merely a memory.
! In my capacity as journalist ATTENDED
! one summers evening six years ago, a
| fashionable wedding at St. PauTs,
Knightsbridge, and Judge my amazement
when on arrival of the bride leaning on
her fathers arm, / recognized our mystic
| rious and errant Resale.
Like one in dream l sat watching the
| ceremony until IL had concluded. and all
the parties had left. Then l entered the
vestry TO inspect the register. Yes, there
| was no mis- stake about the signature Her
| Christian name was written in the same
| well known angular hand as upon that
/ letter exhibited al the foot of Antoine's
lfeless body in the Paris morgue. Eager
/ " / read the other entries, and from them
| learned that the beautiful mysterious girl
| whom he had rescued from death was
! none other than the youngest daughter Of
the Earl OF brentwood and that the man