Waterbury Democrat., 1901-05-20

E H~A KIGARETTE was as caustic as S Voltaire this morning. Com ESSTssssl ing through the entrance of tzsS1zseasy the hospital, she had casually heard that Mme. Ia Princesse Corona d'Amague had made a gift of singular muniicence and mercy to the invalid soldiers-a gift of wine, of fruit, of flowers, that would brighten theirilong, dreary hours for many weeks. Who Mime. Ia Princesse might be she knew not; but the title was enough; she was silver pheasant-bah! And with a word here and a touch there, tender, soft and bright, since, however ironic her mood, she never brought anything except sunshine to those who lay in such sore need of it, beholding the sun in the heavens only through the nar- row chink of a hospital window. At last she reached the bed she came most specially to visit-a bed on which was stretched the emaciated form of a man once beautiful as Greek dream of god. The dews of a great agony stood on his forehead; his teeth were tight clinched on lips white and parched. She bent oyer him softly.
 Good day, M. Leon. I have brought you some ice"
 His weary eyes turned on her grate- fully. He sought to speak, but the ef- fort brought the spasm on his lungs afresh. It shook him with horrible violence from head to foot, and the foam on his auburn beard was red with blood.
 There was no one by to watch him. He was sure to die; Q week sooner or later-what mattered it? He was use less as a soldier = good only to be thrown into pit, with some quicklime to hasten destruction and do the work of the slower earthworms.
 Cigarette said not word, but she took out of some vine leaves a cold, hard lump of ice and held it to him. The delicious coolness and freshness in that parching noontide heat stilled the convulsion. His eyes thanked her, though his lips could not. He lay panting, exhausted, but relieved, and she, thoughtfully for her, slid herself down on the floor and began singing low and sweetly as a fairy might sing on the raft of water lily leaf.
 "Ah, that is sweet" murmured the dying man. "It is like the brooks like the birds-like the winds in the leaves"
 He was but half conscious, but the lulling of that gliding voice brought him peace. And Cigarette sang on, only moving to reach him some fresh touch of ice, while time travelled on kl. c across the bare floor. It was fete day in Algiers. There were flags and banners huttering from the houses; there were Arab races and Arab ma neuvers; there was a review of troops for some foreign general; there were all the mirth and the mischief that she loved and that never went on without her. But still she never moved, though all her vivacious life was longing to be out and in their midst on the back of desert horse, on the head of huge drum, perched on the iron sup port of a high hung lanterp, standing on q cannon wlele the horse artillery swept full gallop, firing down a volley of argot on the hot homage of hun- dred lovers. But she never moved. She knew that in the general gala these sickbeds would be left more de- serted and less soothed than ever. She knew, too, that it was for the sake of this man, lying dying here from the lunge of a Bedouin lance through his lungs, that the ivory wreaths and crosses and statuettes had been sold.
 And Cigarette had done more than this ere now many time for her "chil- dren."
 very quiet The ice for his chest and the sonG for his ear gave him1hat semi oblivion, dreamy and comparatively painless, which was the only mercy which could come to him.
 A step sounded on the bare boards. She looked up, and the wounded man raised his weary lids with gleam of gladness under them. Cecil bent above his couch.
 Dear Leon, how is it with youY
 His voice was softened to infinite ten derness. Leon Ramon had been for many & year his comrade and his friend, an artist of Paris, a man of marvellous genius, of high idealic creeds, who in fatal moment of rash despair had flung his talents, his bro- ken fortunes, his pure and noble spirit into the fiery furnace of the hell of mill itary Africa and now lay dying here, common soldier, forgotten as though he were already in his grave.
 @"-Ihe GeyieM is just oyers.. I got ten