Waterbury evening Democrat., 1904-08-01

am poor; you are blessed with health, I am wreck; you love me, while hate you-yes, hate you for your kindness and the humiliation have suffered. De- spite my hatred, however, am forced to play the hypocrite. I must be espe- cially amiable this day above all, be- cause I intend to borrow a thousand francs from you"
 But the revelation did not end here. Prince Fortunate, with the aid of the glasses of truth, further learned that from the time they had played marbles together, Albert had envied and hated him. He felt himself growing dizzy-it was like a beautiful edifice crumbling away, leaving his soul aghast.
 "Go away, false friend" shrieked he, at last, you have permitted spirit of meah jealousy to destroy noble friend ship" And without more ado, he thrust his comrade out of the studio, and when Albert looked back beseechingly he slammed the door in his face.
 Later In the evening, when the duslky shades of night were silently stealing into the studio, Prince Fortunate, lost in dreams. was Joined by his beautiful wife. She kissed him tenderly, sat by his side. and, as usual, talked of the numerous nothings that filled her days. She had been to bargain sale at the Louvre; 1t had rained little at about three o'clock; it was said that the new drama at the Gymnase was very inter- esting. And then, in a careless manner, she yentured: "Oh, by the way, met the captain. He will dine with us this evening. Pretending to be bored, she added: Annoying, isn't it, dear? can't abide the fop he's so conceited" A servant softly entered and lighted the lamps. Prince Fortunate, who, in the darkness of his studio, had almost forgotten his magic glasses, raised his head and met his wifes eyes, which seemed, at that moment, to be contem- plating charming souvenir. This Is what was really disclosed to him: Tn an elegantly furnished apartment in one of the leading hotels of the city he observed two lovers wrapped in each others arms. Prince Fortunate smothered cry of pain, for in the picture he recognized his wife and the captain
 At first he was 1oath to believe the awful revelation. These glasses lie,' he thought. This cannot be possible. z Then he looked fxedly at his wife, whose glance fell under his gaze. Her eyes shone with an unnatural bril- liancy, she was i'll at ease, nervous, | and when she hastily left the room he was convinced that the glasses had told the truth; that her thoughts were not with him, but with the captain, whom he had believed to be an ad- mirer of his work instead of his wife.
 The sculptor was overwhelmed. Bow ing his head he exclaimed: "Oh! Truth. thou has taken from me all that made my life complete and happy!'' Mechanically he turned toward his \ unfinished work, the Lymph and the Satyr Here lies my only consola- tioIi." he murmured, gratefully. Moth ing can rob me of the joy of being an artist, of being able to create the beau tiful.''
 But upon approaching his work he was surprised to hear the statues con- versing.
 Why am so homely?" moaned the Lymph. T, who should be SO beau tiful and sylph-like. Look at my dis torted form and the imperfection of < my lines'
 'eYes, it is sad to be chiseled by an ignorant and unskilled artist" sym pathized the Satyr Would that had been born in the great Rodin's studio, Instead of being brought to light by this miserable amateur''
 At last the sculptor's spirit was broken. How great was my folly to , put these glasses on my syes!' he cried. Il will shatter them in thou sand pieces"
 X Vainly he tried to remove them; they were fast to his eyes. Then he realized that forever and ever he was des- l tined to see life in it's true aspect; that < one may rid himself of Falsehood, but not of Truth, for she is pitiless and ,I will ever cling.
 After that day, so the story goes, the sculptor no longer considered him. self Fortunes favorite. On the con trary he was the most unhappy of mortals, with but Q single ray of hope left him-the return of the strange peddler with his varied assortment of yellow. green, blue and pink glasses, for any of which he was now willing to exchange the gray and somber ones that reflected only the painful truth I Adapted from the French of Maurice Magre, by Jeannette Brule, in San Francisco Argonaut.s