The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1901-06-06

ouI WueH ILLS yOutu LuaC maze IL all
fair should have passed, when there
should be left in its stead only shame
lessness, hardihood, vice, WEAKNESS,
those who found the prettiest jest in
her now would be the first to cast
aside with an oath the charred,
wrecked rocket stick of a life from
which no golden, careless stream of
many colored fires of coquette caprices
would rise and enchant them then.
"Who is it that sent these?' asked
Leon Ramon later on as his hands still
wandered among the flowers. For the
moment he was at peace; the ice and
the hours of quietude had Gained him.
Cecil told him again.
"What does Cigarette know Of her"
he pursued.
Nothing, except, believe, she knew
that Nine. Corona accepted my chess
carvings"
"Ah, 1 thought the little one was jeal-
GUS, Victor"
jealous? Pshaw OF whom?''
"Of any one you admire, especially
of this grande dame"
absurd" said Cecil, with sense of
annoyance. "Cigarette is far too bold
little trooper to have any thoughts Of
those follies, and as for this grande
dame, as you call her, shall in every
likelihood never see her again unless
when the word is given to carry
swords or 1ances' at the generals sa-
lutte, where she reins her horse beside
A IL oho1 Oh ho-
done this morning.
The keen ear of the sick man caught
the infection of an impotence, of a
modification, in the tone that the
speaker himself was unconscious of.
"Cigarette is right" said Ramon, with
a slight smile. "Your heart is with
your old order. Well, keep your his
tory as you have always done, if you
will. What my friend was matters
nothing. I know we'll what he is and
how true friend. AS for miladi, she
will be best out of your path. Victor.
Women! God, they are so fatal! Do
you know what brought me here? No?
AS little as know what brought you,
though we have been close comrades
all these years. Well, it was she! 1
was an artist. I had no money, I had
few friends, but I had youth, I had
ambition, had, think, genius till she
killed it. loved my art with a great
love, and I was happy. Happy-until
she looked at me-" he pursued, while
his voice grew in feyerish haste over
the words. "Why would she not let
me be-? She had them all in her gold
en- nets-nobles and princes and poets
and soldiers; she swept them In
far and wide. She had her empire.
Why must she seek out man who had
but his art and his youth and steal
these? 1t was the first year I touched
triumph that I saw her. They began
for the first time to speak of me- It
was the little painting of Cigarette
as child of the army that did it. All,
God, I thought myself already SO ia
nous! Well, she sent for me to take
her picture, and went. 1 went, and
painted her as Cleopatra-by her wish.
All, it was a face for Cleopatra, the
eyes that burn your youth dead, the
lips that kiss your honor blind!
grew, and my passion grew with it,
famed by her hand. She knew that
never would man paint her beauty
like one WHO gave his soul for the
price of success. Then came my re-
ward. When the picture was done, her
fancy had changed. A light scorn, a
careless laugh, a touch of her fan on
my cheek. Could I not understand?
Was I still such q child? Must l be
broken more harshly in to learn to
give place? That was all, and at last
her lackey pushed me back with his
wand from her gates! She had killed
me. She had struck my genius dead.
What of that? She had her beauty
eternal in the picture she needed, and
the whole city rang with her lovelinees
as they looked on my work. I have
never painted again. I came here.
What of that? An artist the less,
then, the world did not care. A life
the less soon, she will not care eitherr'
Then as the words ended a great
wave of blood beat back his breath and
burst from the pent up torture of his
striving lungs and stained red the dark
and silken masses of his beard. His
comrade held him upward in his arms
and shouted loud for help. The great
luminous eyes Of the French soldier
looked up at him through their mist
with the deep, fond gratitude that
beams in the eyes of a dog as it drops
down to die, knowing one touch and
one voice to the last,
"You do not forsake," he murmured
brokeAly, while his voice ebbed faint
ly away as the stream of, his life flowed
faster and faster out. 1T is over now
so best! If only I could have seen
France once more-France''- Then a
deep sigh quivered through his lips,
his hand strove to close on the hand Of
his comrade, and his head fell, resting
on the flushed blossoms of the rose
buds of Provence.
He was dead.
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