The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1901-04-26
a BLIGHT
THAT BLOSSOMED
BY Elizabeth Pullen.
THAT winter it was the fad in a GER


tain clique of young girls to take
lessons in singing from M. Anatole
Fleury. He was very elegant, almost
too handsome, with great black eyes
that seemed to express a whole past,
and a mustache whose pensive droop
was due either to disillusions or to ar
tistic waxing. He had a delicious bari
tone, of what might be called "parlor-
organ" size, and a trick of singing eX-
individuals at once He was rather
amiablc, or he could not have tolerated
the vocalization of some of his pupils.
Upon his left wrist he wore a slender
gold c~irclet, ~padlocked. The girls
wished that they had the key to that
romantic mystery, when his fine linen
cuff, pushed back in playing their ac-
compartments, displayed the bracelet.
He declared that now-one thrilled to
imagine what an abyss of grief the
"now" might indicate!-now he lived
only for art. This, however, did not
prevent his asking and receiving prices
equal to those of that noble eX-prima
donna, Signora Stella, and of that ex-
pert discoverer and developer of
voices, Mr.. Bass, lately of London-to
them very sincere compliments!
Among the best pupils of M. Fleury
were Alice Broughton and Lily Vansit-
tart, both extremely pretty, and both
singing with great good will-Alice in
a full but breath-clouded c~ontralto,
Lily in the Observation-Disclosures
land type of North America high So
prano. Naturally, Alice fancied her.
self in dramatic selections; while Lily
had aspirations toward vocal feats on
the high trapeze. Both were only
daughters. Lily's father was rated at
two millions of dollars; Alice's at three
millions. Now you know which is the
heroine of the story.
Alice, in fact, had two admirers-M.
Anatole Fleury and her second cousin,
young Fred Willard, assistant to that
famous and dear old practitioner, DIR.
- Pardon! The name is lost in the
ink bottle-pray supply that of your
family physician, the foremost in New
York
Before the advent of M. F1eury
Cousin Fred had had a very good time;
he, however, ought to have compre-
hended hat Alice liked him too much
to love him. There lacked the ro-
nance of perspective in their cousinly
courtship. Their parents would have
been well pleased if the young people
had wished to marry.
Alice, accepting the subtly indicated
devotion of M. Fleury, was yet not
without anxieties. For Lily had a tor
menting way of telling the praises
given by the teacher to her light So
prano, topless, a real Eiffel tower of
notes in alt. But the cloud was dissi-
pated when, during Alice's hour-11 to
10 Tuesdays and Fridays-he told her
that the depths of sentiment, the tones
that vibrate from and to the heart,
were reserved for the grand c%ontralto
register.
ga voice of soprano, a thread of sill
yer strung with pearls if you will
touches it the soul? All non! To make
weep, one must have tears in the voice,
the beautiful voice of the chest!"
And Alice felt herself consoled. In
short, master and pupil were spinning
a perfect idyl. Until one day Alice's
mamma-who, though not understand
Ing the rapid, conversational French,
was always present at the lessons, as
a dutiful chaperon ought to be-was
called for a moment out of the room.
She reentered so softly-being a grace
full, light-footed creature, in some
ways her daughters junior-that her
step was unheard. What a sight! M.
Anatole Fleury on his knees, kissing
with rapture the hand of Alice. Mon
ange! Ma belle fiancee!"
Tableau. Then exit M. Fleurv by
the street door; exit mamma, driving
Alice before her upstairs. 81 don't
know what your father will say,
Alice!"
If he va like the usual American
father, he left his wife to do the most
of the talking. But Alice was forbid.
den to see again M. Fleury or to hold
any communication with him. The
only alienation of her lot was that the
Frenchman was accustomed to pass
every day at three in the afternoon,
ON the opposite side of the street, on
the way to the club where he had been
put up by some good-natured papa or
brother of a pupil. But this would
be little comfort; for Alice had given
her word, and she was a loyal crea-
ture. Nothing could be done, she
thought, as in solitude and despair she
sat in her own room, all a bower of
tender green and peach-fower silk
bangings.
Then the idea, sublimely juvenile in
it's tragedy, emerged from her sorrow
full mind. She could die! 1t is only
in later years that we learn that life is
not TO be turned off at will, like a gas
light. She would die! And how? Very
simply. a rapid pneumonia, a linger-
ing consumption-either would make
a touching end. She imagined it all,
with her exuberant young fantasy;
and sang, transposing the key to F
minor, the sobbing staccato adieu in
which the poor violetta regrets the
smiling dreams of her past.
Then Alice went into her dressing
room and plunged her feet, with the
dainty stockings of black silk and lace