The Saint Paul globe., 1900-04-22

petua1 bloom7" he questioned himself.
Thus sadly. he spent considerable Of the
time walking between the place Pigalie''
and place Blanche" where he had so
often awaited her. unable to look upon
the villa des Platanes" since she had left
IL. and which impassably continued to
stand In It's princely glory, unconscious of
tha loss 1t had sustained In the precious
establishment of the blue-eyed woman
who possessed his love.
One day as he moodily strolled by the
Cafe des Quatre-Arts" he saw the Bard
seated near the entrance, and who imme-
diately hailed him;
Il say, Bremontl Are you ill2"
The young man sadly shrugged his
shoulders, but did not reply.
1T must be a love affair, then2" his
companion queried. IA man does not
change as you have without reasonl 1
assure you. the Green Muse alone can
assuage such pain''
| The Green Musel Again it suddenly ap-
| peared before Fremont, its eyes more
deeply tinted and its smile more enigmati-
cal.
''Heyi garconl One absinthe!" the Bard
then cried. You must drink my health, -
he added, turning to the painter, land
| tell me what you think of it?"
Then. for the first time, Fremont car
ried the cup of the perfidious muse to his
lips, and for the first time his mind freed
itself from the weight Of suffering that
had overpowered 1t since Lucienne's de-
parture.
He returned each day, and gradually the
poison no longer had the same effect, and
so the quantity was increased
shortly, he passed his life at the wine
shop, ceasing all work living on borrowed
capital and losing in the stupor Of intoxi-
cation even the memory of the one for
whom he had debased himself.
Nothing remained Of that refined ele-
gance that once was Bremonts With a
STOPPING gait, emaciated features, hag-
gard eyes. cleaning with a somber fire,
shaggy locks, a long, badly kept beard
and shabby garments, he had indeed be-
come the worthy lover of the Green Muse.
A year passed. The salon again opened its
doors, andfthose who had prophesied
future for him, sought in vain for one of
his paintings. Fremont continued to
stupefy his powers in the insidious liquid.
Luciennes short, hastily written letters
grew more and more rare.
She Is forgetting me- he unused, In his
brief moments Of lucidity, and then he
would again hasten to the one who was
| ever faithful, his Muse, with the emerald
tinted eyes.
And it speedily absorbed every thought
that he possessed.
In his Authorizations he saw it come to
him with open arms; he felt It's pale lips
rest upon his. and then a strange tremor
would but increase his delirium Of
thought.
1t would clasp him in a firm embrace,
encircling him with it's green veil, and
carry him into the realms OF dreamland,
giving him ecstatio sensations, which
would leave him more enfeebled and be-
sotted than before.
This second life gradually effaced the
real one, which now seemed to Fremont
like an indefinable haze. He grew to be
that sorry. stupef1ed spectacle, the drunk
ard, In all It's enormity.
One morning he received a dispatch
With utter Indifference he opened it and
read:
ST am free, will be In Paris tomorrow.
Lucienne.'
| He had thrown himself on the sofa in
his studio, a glass Of absinthe on a table
beside him, his hair disheveled, his gar
ments sordid
|, "Ah! she can come, If she wants to.
Love is idiotic The Green Muse, intoxi-
cation. and all it means to one, Is the
only true happiness
And emptying his glass in a thrice he
fell back upon the cushion an inert mass.