The Montgomery advertiser., 1902-03-04
TRAUMEREL.
BY DABNEY MARSHALL.

. DA LS<AoIN11 <SA<AAsOAA<AAAs
 The curtain rose slowly. the audience hushed it's persifiage. and settled into ex- pectancy. The lights on the stage dim med until just mist of gold diffused ahe air. Lawrence Dinsmore swept the au- ditorium with a lazy, indifferent glance, and then turned his attention to the stage. It was empty, but in a moment the great violinist had advanced to its center and was adjusting his instrument. Law renee looked at him a minute. then was the first number. It was Traumerei.
 The Hungarian swept his bow across the strings passionately. like the lips of his kisses. Dinsmore was about to say to the lady next to him, "He is great. " but before he tould form the phrase. such an arrestirig gush of music thrilled the air, that he lost consciousness of himself and surroundings.
 The water on the scenes was no more paint and canvas for him now. It was the water of the Gulf of Mexico, golden under the April sunlight. That speck in the distance was Ship Island, sfimmerfng wore the fishing schooners of Pierre Le Roux and Jean La Baud, sailing dream- like through the red of the sunset.
 He was seated on the roots of the old
 
 she had come to him that morning long ago. He saw once more the golden hair, the soft eyes, the little rounded chin, white and dimpled like a water lily ~ns RRho.e at minor ns notes swinging out upon the air, they are no violin notes. but her words that fiutter. ed from her fiower-iike lips that morn-
 She has left him with a sIad laugh Ing, saying he shall see her again. What tonic has been infused in the air ? There must be healing and balm in the scent of the magnolia and sweet bay nowers, for his cough Is less painful and He puts his fishing rod aside. starts to smoke, but finally sits with his hands clasped idly In his lap. and watches a yellow butterfly daintily swing from wild minds him of the free. woodland move ments of that girl. Then he thinks of Hortense. What a contrast between ,Hortense and this girl. Amfce-Amice Le Bastienne. How superb was Hort ense, almost to superb and imperial! Yet how proud he would be of her. when once she was his wife! Yes. he would be proud but happy-but that was another ques- ton.
 As the days came and went he met Amice often in his haunts and his strolls, through the magnolia woods. There was always the same, soothing tonic in the air as on the day he first saw her!
 The days went racing by. and the partner wrote he was needed in Chicago. and his mother expressed desire for his return. But he lingerel and fingered. Early summer, with its riot of blooms and lights is so alluring and beautiful on the Gulf shore.
 At last one June, afternoon he invited Amice to go boating with him up Bayou De Morne. From either shore of the bayou the water hyacinths fioated green islands and burned purple lamps of and there silver and golden water lilies lifted carven censers and caught the crimson sunset. 4 thread of water wound and unwound. like 2 lane of rubies wide enough to give passage to a slen- der skin. Lazily they drifted over the red waters, and Iazily and dreamily they talked. but oftenest they relapsed into a silence fllled with q content too sweet to be broken by words.
 Finally Lawrence broke one of these in- tervals by suddenly saying, in a voice so full of regret, that 1t startled even himself, "I am tomorrow. Miss Amice. f' The girl lowered her head, and said in a alvoicc which trernbled at first just q .httle.s ."Going? Going tomorrow? Well. I am glad you are going to see your friends so soon."
 "Glad?" he replied. wistfully. glad I am going? Why. Miss Amice. had thought. had hoped. rather, you liked me being with you"
 going to see Miss Hortense. (Some time he had mentioned Hortense, and the girl half divined their relationship.) "She will be delighted to see you, even If you have been such a truant." .,....
 "Oh, I see," he said, "vour grief at my departure is swallowed up in your delight in the thought of .the pleasure my presence will give another woman.
 Wednesdays story. THE GHOST OF NC