Daily inter mountain. [volume] (Butte, Mont.) 1881-1901, 1901-02-06

MANI EkLE
BY Elizabeth N. Gilmer.


Copyright. 1900. by Daily Story Pub. Co.
i The number--it doesn't matter.
The house its If is one of the dingy,
old buildings in the French quarter of
New Orleans whore the pink stucco is
Falling from the walls and the rust is
eating away the exquisite hand-wrought
iron of the balconies Thick batten
upon the street, and the door opens and
closes only once in the day-when
Mam'selle and Toinette slip out in the
early morning, first to the old gray
cathedral to mass, and then to make
their frugal purchases in the French
market
4 1t is always just the same Just
those two. No company, not even on
New Years. when it is the point of
Alonor and duty for a Creole to call
upon every relative even those he cuts
the balance of the year. No gayety
Nothing.
Ma fol-" says old Jean at the oyster
shop at the corner, 1.-The house of
Mam'selle is neighbor the most triste
and dull. The cemetaire ces mo- gay"
Yet once the high tide of wealth and
fashion rolled through this narrow
street, where MANI Selfe ielSueU ike
little queen and was the toast of half
the gallants in town. That was long,
aong ago when she was young and very
beautiful. and when she had just come
ahome from Paris where she had been
educated. and where even her masters
had raved over her glorius voice.
| "Mon Dieu.' they cried. but 1T is a
gacriiege for such a voice to be lost to
the world" hut Mamselle only laughed.
and shrugged her shoulders. She sang
as the birds did. to please herself For
the rest she was going back to New
Orleans to be mistress of her uncle's
eStablishment--the good uncle who had
1avished so much luxury upon Ter, and
whom she could not even remember.
! Old people will tell you that MANI
selle flashed upon the little world of
New Orleans society like some strange
tropic bird that almost took ones breath
away with its splendor. The creamy
richness of her skin, the slumbrous
depths of her dusky eyes. the matchless
grace of her superb figure. the almost
barbaric gorgeousness of her dress. all
combined to produce an effect of daz-
cling and bewildering beauty. After
wards people remembered that they had
asked each other who She was, and
that the answer "old Grigsbys niece"
had seemed a tribe vague for cOmmu-
nifty that prided itself upon it's aristo-
cratic eXclusivauesS, but old Grigsby
himself was a northern man, who had
come south and made his fortune in
sugar. and naturally one couldn't be
expected to know all the qualifications
of his family connections.
So it was that Mam'sele held her
court. and the old house. with it's walls
frescoed by Canova, with Cupid playing
at love among the roses, scintillated
with light and merriment and society
passed in and out through the high
carved doorway. Gossip said that
Mam'selle was liirt. and. indeed, more
than one duel was fought for her under
the Old Metailie oaks. The truth was
that the girl smiled on all alike because
her heart had never been touched. 1t
waited for its master, and in the mean
tinfp-
TfenS. one must amuse oneself, and
over glove or a rose one has worn
at ones breast. or if they are so dull
they do not know when a glance comes
from the heart. and when from the
eye. it is their own affair. Bah. they
are the stupid. these men," and MANI
selie waved away the thought with an
angry gesture. and murmuring a pray
err. turned over and slept the sleep OF
the innocent.
There are times. however when
Nlamselle no longer scoffed at love.
Her fate came to her-as perhaps it
does to most of us--in the .uisc in
which she least expected It. To the
gay gallRnts. with their bold chances
ana fine speeches, she might be the