The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1902-09-25

rains that come in the midst of Paris
winter and persist for days.
Celia Reardon came home through
it, letting her skirts flap against her
heels. The package of sketches she
had not sold to the dealer on the Rue
Bonaparte was under her arm. From
beneath the dark tent of her umbrella
she looked straight before her down
the vista of the street, glistening and
winklng from its lamps and windows.
The light, striking clearly on her face,
revealed it as small, pale, and plain,
with a tight line of lip. and eyes SOM
berly staring at nothing. She made
no attempt to lift her sodden skirt, or
avoid puddfes
Walking heavily forward through the
early dusk, she was advancing to meet
the Giant Despair.
This was on her mind, and, to the
observant eye, in her face. Celia knew
of only one way to evade the approach
ing giant. 1t was by the turn that
led to the river. Many people, in their
terror at his approach, took this turn.
She had seen them in the Morgue in
the days when she was new to Paris,
and went about seeing sights like a
tourist.
After the dealer on the Rue Bona
parte had given her back the sketches,
telling her it was impossible to sell
them, she had turned downward to-
ward the quais, and came out there,
under the skeleton trees, where the
book-stalls line the wall. The dark,
slumberous current Of the river swept
by under the gemmed arches Of its
bridges. 1t was carrying away all the
foul and useless things of the days
tumultuous life, all going helter- skelt-
er, pell-mell, to the oblivion of the sea.
She thought of herself goitg with
them, Whirling about in the Hrrents,
serenely Indifferent to everything that
tortured her now. The thought had a
creeping fascination. She drew near
er, staring down at the water, stabbed
with hundreds Of quivering lights, and
saw herself-a face, a trail Of hair, a
few folds of eddying drapery-go float
ing by. A sudden gust of wind snatch
ed at her umbrella, and shook a de-
luge from the tree boughs, fretting
the surface of the pools. 1t reused
her, and she turned away shuddering.
She would wait and meet the Giant
face to face.
AS she turned into the impasse where
her studio was, she felt that he was
getting very near. The long walk had
tired her. Since yesterday her only
food had been the free tea at the Girls
club. Her door was the last on the
left hand side, and broke the face of
what looked a blank wall. Near 1t a
bell-handle hung on the end of a wire.
On the fourth floor she opened a door
that had her card nailed to it.
The studio was dark, only the large
window showed a dim, gray square.
She lit the lamp, and then, suddenly,
in the recklessness Of her desperation,
wood and six briquettes in the box.
She would burn them ALL She would
burn the bed and the chairs, but she
would be warm tonight. Tomorrow
was twelve hours off.
The light showed the emptiness Of
the chill, barn-like room. The walls
alone were furnished, decorated with
a series Of life-class studies, some
made twenty years before, when she
had been the star of one Of the Julians.
Now these spirited delineations of
nakedness unlovely and unabashed, Of
fered silent testimony to the brilliant
promise of Celia Reardon's youth. To-
night she only thought of the fire and
covered over tia little pale shadow
of a woman, near upon middle age.
For hours she sat watching the
flames dart up through the holes In the
briquettes. The warmth consoled her.
She grew dreamy and retrospective.
Her thoughts went slipping back from
point to point in the glamourous past,
when she had been hung in the Salon,
and sold her pictures, and was an ar
fist people spoke Of who would some
day ARRIVE" From those radiant days
Of youth and hope, things had been
gradually declining to thfs-one by one
stand-bys failing and her old patrons
leaving, rich Americans who ordered
copies growing scarcer and scarcer;
Finally no money to hire models, bad
food, and, in consequence, declining
health, poor work that failed to find
a market; pride coming to her aid and
withdrawing her from the help of
friends; furtive visits to the Mont de
Piete, and more dreaded ones to the
dealers on the Rue Bonaparte; and to-
night the end of all things.
It was late when she slept. Waking
in the gray dawn she found herself
lying cramped and cold in front of the
white ashes of the fire, and crept shiv-
ering to bed. There she slept on till
after midday She felt weak and stu
pid when she rose, and her dressing
took long time. She began to realize
that her state was nearly as bad ply
sically as it was financially.
1t was better to walk about the
streets till the hour of tea than to
freeze in the studio. She put on her
hat and Jacket, relics of better days
went forth. In the night the ther-
mometer had fallen and the rain had
turned to snow She buried her chin
In her collar and tried to walk briskly.
She thought she would go to the
Louvre, which was warm, and sit there
till four, when she could come back
to the Girls club. Both walks were
long, but the hours rest at the Louvre
would strengthen her, and there was
fo;, nf n ~
someone she knew who would order a
copy.
She felt singularly tired when the
long flank Of Catharine de Medici's
part Of the old palace came into view
with the river sucking at the wall.
All the surroundings were gray and
motionless like a picture, and in The
midst of this dead immobility the swift
turbulent tide rolled on, a thing of
sinister life, calling to her as 1t sped.
Midway across the bridge she stopped
to look down on it, and then stood
gazing, fascinated, unable to tear her
self away.
Close to her, on the coping of the
wall, an image seller had set out his
wares. They were a dream of fair
women, classic and modern. The SOL
emn majesty of the great Venus was
contrasted with Phryne hiding her
eyes In a SpaSm OF modeSty. Clyt1e,
with the perfect fall of her shoulders.
rising from the lily leaves that fold
back as if unwilling to hide so much
beauty, stood droopingly beside the
proud nakedness of Falguiere's Diane.
The boy who presided over this gal
lery of lovliness-a meagre Italian, his
face nipped with frost-stood hunch-
ed-up, wretched figure, his eyes ques-
tioning the passers-by.
Presently one of these halted in the
hurrying march with an eye on Clytfe.
The boy drew his hands from his
pockets, and with piteous eagerness
held out the bust. The tones of his
voice penetrated Celia's dark musings,
and she looked that way.
The buyer was a lady, young, and Of
q curiously soft and silly prettinesS.