The Opelousas courier., 1899-04-22

woman who had been driven to
strange suicide by terror and remorse
She was highly bred and cultured
Suspected of completely in a crime OF
which she had been a mute witness,
in despair at her irreparable coward.
Ice, tormented by a perpetual night.
mare that showed her her husband
pointing her out with his rotting fin.
ger to the magistrates, she became
the helpless prey of her overwrought
nerves. A trifing circumstance de.
termined her fate. Her little nephew
was living with her. One morning, as
usual, he was learning his lesson in
the dining room; she was sitting near
by. The child began to translate,
word for word, some verses from
Sophocles. He said over the Greek
and French terms as he wrote them
out: Kara teton, the divine head
Iokastes, of Yocasta; letneked, is dead
l.. Sposa konnen, tearing her
hair; kalei, she calls; Laion nekron,
dead Lais. . . Eisedomen, we
saw; ten gunaika kremasten, the
woman hanged" He wound up with
a flourish of his pen, stuck out his
tongue violet with ink and sang:
Hanged! hanged! hanged!" The
wretched. woman, her will-power ut
terly destroyed. obeyed the sugges-
ton of the thrice-heard. word. She
rose without a word, without a glance,
and fastened to her room. \ few
hours later the commissary Of police,
called in to investigate her violent
end, made this reflection: Il have
seen many a women who has COM
mitted suicide. This is the first one
I've known to hang herself"
This case recalled a similar one to
my mind, that of my unfortunate com
rade aud friend, Alexandra Mansel.
In the foregoing story tie heroine
was killed by a verse Of Sophocles;
my friends life was brought to an end
by a sentence of Lamprides.
Mansel, who WAS a schoolmate Of
mine at the Lycee of Avranches, was
different from all other boys. He
seemed both older and younger than he
really was. Small and slight, at fifteen
he was afraid of 1.-THE bugaboos that
terrify children of five. He had a hor-
ror Of the dark. We were not fond of
him; he would have become our butt
if he had not impressed us by a Ger
tain fierce pride and his record as a
clever scholar. Though he worked
spasmodically, he often stood at the
head of his class. They used to say
that he talked at night in the dormi-
tory and walked in his sleep. None
of us could swear to 1t, for we never
woke after our heads once touched the
pillow.
For a long time I was more curious
about him than fond of him. We sud
denly grew great friends on an excur-
sion that we all took together to the
abbey of Mont ST. Michel. We had
walked barefooted along the single,
carrying our shoes and our luncheon
on the end of our sticfs, all singing
at the top of our voicA. We crossed
the d~rawbridge and sat down side by
side on one of the old cannon, rusted
by five centuries of rain and spray.
Looking with his dim eyes from the
old stones to the sky, swinging his
bare feet, Alexandra abruptly spoke
to me:
II should like to have been a knight
In the old vars. I would have taken
: hundred amor I would have
fought single-handed on the ramparts,
and the Archangel st. Michael would
have stood ove my head like a white
cloud"
From that day on I understood
far better than before my schoolmate's
character. I discovered that it was
founded on an immense pride that I
had not suspected. I need not tell
you that at fifteen I was not a pro-
found psychologist, and Mansel's
pride was too subtle to be at first evil
dent. It extended itself to vague
chimeras and had no tangible form.
Yet it inspired all my friends senti-
ments and gave a sort Of unity to his
whimsical, incoherent ideas.
During the vacation following our
excursion to Mont st. Michel, Mansel
invited me to spend a day at his
parents home at st. Julien. Secur-
ing my mothers rather unwilling con-
sent, I started of, in a white vest and
blue tie, early one Sunday morning.
Alexandra, smiling like a happy
child, was waiting for me on the thresh-
old. he led me by the hand into the
"best ROOM" Though the house
half rustic, half bourgeoise was
neither poor nor disorderly, 1 was OPP
pressed or entering it, so silent and
sad 1t was. Near the window, whose
slightly parted curtains denoted a GER
tain curiosity, was seated a womsn to
all appearances old-perhaps not so
old as she looked. She was thin and
sallow; her eyes glittered in their dark
sockets under their Redeemed lids. In
spite of the warm summer day she
was swathed, head and all. in black
garments. But the strangest thing
about her was the metal circlet that
elasped her brow like a diadem.
"Hers is my mother; she has her
neuralgia"
Nine. Mansel made me welcome in
. faint voice and, observing my pug
sled look, said, smiling:
! my young Sir, what you take for a
crown is a magnetic circle I wear to
sure my headaches"
Mansel led me into the garden,
where we caught sight of a little bald
man gliding down the path like a
phantom. He was SO frail and slight
that he looked as if the wind would
blow him away. His uncertain gait,
his long, thin neck craned forward.